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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70525 ***</div>

<div class="container figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=
"">
</div>

<div class="page">
<div class="box1">
<p class="center letter-spaced underline"><em>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em>
</p>

<p class="hang1just">OUT OF THE WORLD NORTH OF NIGERIA: EXPLORATION
OF AÏR</p>

<p class="hang1just">WILD LIFE IN CANADA</p>

<p class="hang1just">THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA</p>

<p class="med center"><em>For details see end of book.</em>
</p>
</div>

<p class="center space-above med sc">All Rights Reserved</p>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw02">
<figure class="iw02" id="i01"><img src="images/i01.jpg" alt="">
<p>THE EDGE OF THE UNKNOWN</p>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="title_page">
<div class="title_block">
<h1>SAHARA</h1>

<p class="center nospaced"><span class=
"xlarge spaced15 word-spaced6">BY ANGUS BUCHANAN, M.C.,
F.R.S.G.S.</span><br>
<span class="tiny spaced1"><span class=
"word-spaced6 letter-spaced001">AUTHOR OF “WILD LIFE IN CANADA,”
“THREE</span><br>
<span class="word-spaced4">YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA,” “OUT OF
THE</span><br>
WORLD NORTH OF NIGERIA”</span>
</p>
</div>

<p class="center space-above med letter-spaced">WITH NUMEROUS
PHOTOGRAPHS, SKETCHES, AND A MAP</p>

<p class="publisher">LONDON<br>
<span class="large letter-spaced word-spaced4">JOHN MURRAY,
ALBEMARLE STREET, W.</span><br>
<span class="less">1926</span></p>
</div>

<div class="dedication">
<hr class="chap">

<p class="center space-above2">TO<br>
<span class="xxlarge letter-spaced02">FERI N’GASHI</span><br>
<span class="word-spaced2">ONLY A CAMEL,</span><br>
<span class="word-spaced2 letter-spaced02">BUT
STEEL-TRUE</span><br>
<span class="word-spaced4">AND GREAT OF HEART</span></p>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwdedic">
<figure class="iwdedic"><img src='images/c00.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>

<hr class="chap">
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span>
</p>

<h2>FOREWORD</h2>

<p class="center spaced15 sc">By The RT. HON. LORD SALVESEN, P.C.,
K.C.</p>

<p class="center med"><em>Late President of the Royal Scottish
Geographical Society</em>
</p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">The</span> author of this book is
not merely an intrepid and successful explorer, but an accomplished
biologist, who has added many new species of birds and animals to
the ever-growing list of nature’s marvels. The desert of Sahara
presents to the explorer many points of resemblance to the frozen
wastes which surround the Poles, and to which so much attention has
recently been directed. Its area is vast, its resources meagre in
the extreme, the perils of travel great, and such as to test the
highest qualities of the explorer. But here the resemblance ends.
In the nature of the experiences and the hazards which the explorer
encounters there could be no greater contrast, but oddly enough the
man who can endure the one seems also fitted to withstand the
other—of this Captain Buchanan is a living proof, for he, too, has
been a traveller in Arctic regions.</p>

<p>This book is in no sense a diary of day-to-day travel. Only a
single chapter is devoted to the account of the extraordinary
journey which Captain<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_viii">[viii]</span> Buchanan and his cinematographer, Mr.
Glover, made from Kano in Nigeria to Touggourt in Algiers—a journey
of over 3,500 miles through the great desert of Africa. Some idea
of the hardships which they encountered may be gathered from the
fact that, while they started with a caravan of thirty-six camels
and fifteen natives, they finished with a single camel and only two
natives, after fifteen months of travel. The reader is never
wearied by monotonous logs of distances covered day by day or of
the countless difficulties overcome on the long long trail. Only
the last few days, when victory was in sight, are briefly sketched.
But in earlier chapters we have vivid pictures of the perils that
are inseparable from travel over vast sandy wastes, where a burning
sun beats down with relentless fury, and where the lives of men and
beasts alike depend on their finding water at least every six or
seven days. One chapter describes one of the sandstorms that all
but engulfed the caravan in the shelterless plain—another, the rare
experience of torrential rain which may be almost as devastating,
but, unlike the sandstorm, is fraught with blessing, for it brings
food to the starving mammals that haunt the fringe of the great
desert.</p>

<p>The author’s knowledge of the Sahara is not based merely on the
one long journey which took him across its widest part. The book is
partly based on a previous lengthy visit to the Sahara, during
which he studied the fauna of the district as it has never been
studied before, and the weird<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_ix">[ix]</span> and impoverished races which are found in its
habitable areas. The Sahara is not a mere plain of sand—it embraces
more than one mountainous and picturesque area as large as Wales,
but, unlike that country, arid in the extreme; besides numerous
oases where a scanty subsistence is yielded by palms for small
communities, and which are largely dependent on the visits of
travelling caravans in quest of that most precious of all
commodities—water. In these places, isolated by vast seas of
desert, dwell the remnants of tribes once more numerous, who
migrated thither when conditions were more favourable, for alas!
Captain Buchanan’s observations lead him to the conclusion that the
constantly accumulating sand-drifts are gradually destroying the
already scanty resources of the still inhabited portions. Readers
will find interest in his description of the two oases of Bilma and
Fachi, both of which derive their subsistence from salt-mines, and
whose dwellings and the forts which protect them are built entirely
of blocks of salt, now blackened by age.</p>

<p>The perils of the desert are illustrated by the striking story
of Rali, which forms one of the most vivid and entrancing chapters
of the book. One of the nomad tribe of Tuaregs who lead a roving
life amongst the few areas where pasturage of a kind is obtainable
for their flocks, he was the victim of a dastardly raid in which
his young and beautiful wife was carried off by a band of raiders.
His adventures in seeking to recover her and avenge<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span> himself on her captors are told
with a rare insight into the character of the natives and their
mastery of their environment. Strange to say, although the vast
majority of the natives are predatory and cruel, the author came
across one community of religious pacifists who have never
organised any defence against persistent raids. As might be
expected, these unhappy creatures live in the direst poverty, for,
if they should by hard work accumulate any food or other
commodities, they are promptly relieved of them by rapacious bands
who live largely on the spoliation of their neighbours.</p>

<p>Naturalists will find ample evidence in the description of
Saharan birds and mammals of the remarkable adaptation of the forms
there existing to their arid environment. The appendices contain
complete lists of the Saharan fauna.</p>

<p>It was in my dual capacity of President of the Royal Scottish
Geographical Society and of the Zoological Society of Scotland that
I had the privilege of making the author’s acquaintance by
presiding at the first lecture which he delivered in Scotland on
the result of his travels in the Sahara. This book, which embodies
them in greater detail, should have a wide circle of readers if the
appeal which it made to myself is any index of popular
interest.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span>
</p>

<h2>CONTENTS</h2>

<table class="toc">
<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER I</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Preparations</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c01" class="pginternal">1</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER II</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Caravan</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c02" class="pginternal">9</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">An Explanation</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c02_2" class="pginternal">29</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER III</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Ship of the Desert</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c03" class="pginternal">31</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER IV</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Great South Road</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c04" class="pginternal">45</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER V</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Taralum</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c05" class="pginternal">69</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER VI</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A City of Shadows</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c06" class="pginternal">98</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER VII</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Salt of the Earth</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c07" class="pginternal">109</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER VIII</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The People of the Veil</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c08" class="pginternal">129</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_xii">[xii]</span>CHAPTER IX</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Hand of Doom</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c09" class="pginternal">155</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER X</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Servitude</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c10" class="pginternal">188</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER XI</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Strange Camp-fires</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c11" class="pginternal">197</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER XII</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Feathers, and the Places they frequent</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c12" class="pginternal">215</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER XIII</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Mammals of the Sahara</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c13" class="pginternal">285</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER XIV</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The North Star</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c14" class="pginternal">255</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">CHAPTER XV</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Civilisation</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#c15" class="pginternal">271</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">APPENDIX I</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Scientific Nomenclature of Saharan Bird Life</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#app1" class="pginternal">291</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc">APPENDIX II</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Scientific Nomenclature of Saharan Animal Life</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#app2" class="pginternal">295</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Index</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#ind" class="pginternal">297</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</span>
</p>

<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>

<table class="toi">
<tr>
<td class="sc">The Edge of the Unknown</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i01" class=
"pginternal"><em>Frontispiece</em></a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td class="tiny tdr">FACING PAGE</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">In Agades</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i02" class="pginternal">4</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Native Food for the Long Trail</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i03" class="pginternal">6</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">An Ordinary Night Camp</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i04" class="pginternal">12</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Long, Exacting March</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i05" class="pginternal">16</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Nomad and Camel-man</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i06" class="pginternal">20</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Through to Water and Resting</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i07" class="pginternal">28</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Branded</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i08" class="pginternal">34</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">All my Comrades carried Strange Boxes</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i09" class="pginternal">36</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">My New Master rode me all that Day—</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i10a" class="pginternal">38</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">—And that was the Beginning of a Great
Friendship</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i10b" class="pginternal">38</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">He stroked me often</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i11" class="pginternal">42</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Nook in the Mountainland of Aïr</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i12" class="pginternal">50</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Salt-bush</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i13" class="pginternal">52</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Disintegrating Rock</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i14" class="pginternal">52</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Deserted Stone-built Village</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i15" class="pginternal">54</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Typical Tassili</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i16" class="pginternal">58</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Deep Ravine in Tassili</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i17" class="pginternal">60</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Saharan River-bed</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i18" class="pginternal">62</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Corner of the Camp at Tabello</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i19" class="pginternal">72</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Food for Camels</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i20" class="pginternal">78</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Glimpses of the Taralum</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i21a" class="pginternal">80</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Part of the Taralum camped</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i22" class="pginternal">82</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Among Sand-dunes</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i23" class="pginternal">86</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Toll of the Desert</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i24" class="pginternal">86</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_xiv">[xiv]</span>Efali</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i25" class="pginternal">90</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Doorway in Fachi</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i26" class="pginternal">96</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The “Seven Palms”</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i27" class="pginternal">96</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Ramparts</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i28" class="pginternal">98</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Town built of Salt</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i29" class="pginternal">100</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Shadows at Every Turn</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i30" class="pginternal">102</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Women of Fachi</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i31a" class="pginternal">104</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Den of the Forty Thieves</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i32" class="pginternal">106</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Salt-pits of Bilma</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i33" class="pginternal">114</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Setting the Salt</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i34" class="pginternal">116</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Men of the Oasis</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i35a" class="pginternal">118</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">From the Roof-tops they watched</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i36" class="pginternal">122</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Salt-pans of Tigguida N’Tisem</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i37" class="pginternal">124</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Salt of Tigguida</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i38" class="pginternal">126</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Veil</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i39" class="pginternal">132</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Tuareg Woman</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i40" class="pginternal">134</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Maiden</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i41" class="pginternal">138</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Tuareg Lads</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i42" class="pginternal">140</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Tuareg Home</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i43" class="pginternal">144</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Eating from the One Dish</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i44" class="pginternal">146</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Tuareg Village</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i45" class="pginternal">150</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Well-head</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i46" class="pginternal">150</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">With Rifle and Equipment</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i47" class="pginternal">152</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Brief Halt</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i48" class="pginternal">160</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Scene in Aïr</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i49" class="pginternal">166</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Spellbound in the Grip of Limitless Silence</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i50" class="pginternal">170</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">When the Day dawned</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i51" class="pginternal">176</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Tombs on the Desert</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i52" class="pginternal">180</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Slave Woman</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i53" class="pginternal">185</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Tebu Woman</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i54" class="pginternal">186</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Tebu Man</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i55" class="pginternal">186</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_xv">[xv]</span>Semi-sedentary—an Egummi Native</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i56" class="pginternal">188</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Water for Irrigation</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i57" class="pginternal">190</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Date Grove</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i58" class="pginternal">192</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Woman of the “Diarabba”</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i59" class="pginternal">194</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Halt at an Old Well</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i60" class="pginternal">200</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Saharan Well</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i61" class="pginternal">202</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Sunk through Rock</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i62" class="pginternal">206</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Camp-fire</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i63" class="pginternal">210</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">The Wayfarer’s Possessions</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i64" class="pginternal">212</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Bird Disguise</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i65a" class="pginternal">220</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Two Male Ostriches</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i66" class="pginternal">222</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Cattle Egrets</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i67" class="pginternal">224</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Arab Bustards</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i68" class="pginternal">226</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Carrion Vultures</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i69" class="pginternal">230</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Morning’s Bag</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i70" class="pginternal">238</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Big Game</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i71" class="pginternal">240</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Dorcas Gazelle</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i72" class="pginternal">244</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Aardvark</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i73" class="pginternal">248</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">A Desert Fox</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i74" class="pginternal">252</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Ever heading North</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i75" class="pginternal">258</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">In-Salah Market</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i76" class="pginternal">260</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Scene in Ouargla</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i77" class="pginternal">262</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Buchanan</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i78" class="pginternal">264</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Glover, T. A.</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i79" class="pginternal">266</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Together to the End</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i80" class="pginternal">268</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Good-bye to Africa</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i81" class="pginternal">276</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Back to Civilised Clothes</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i82" class="pginternal">280</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Ali and Sakari in England</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#i83" class="pginternal">284</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2">
<hr class="med">
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Map</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#map1" class="pginternal"><em>p.</em>
46</a>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="sc">Diagram of Rock Decay</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#map2" class="pginternal"><em>p.</em>
65</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span><a id=
"c01"></a>CHAPTER I<br>
PREPARATIONS</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c01.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_3">[3]</span>CHAPTER I<br>
<span class="med">PREPARATIONS</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">It</span> is strange how the
maddest of dreams come true in the end; provided one has faith to
hold on to them dearly.</p>

<p>Twenty-one months before setting out on the journey recorded in
these pages, when I was on my way back from the Northern Regions of
Aïr, I remember, as clearly as if it was to-day, sitting in the
dim, mud dwelling-room of the fort quarters at Agades discussing
with Monsieur le Capitaine, in charge of that last outpost of
French military administration, the prospects of my returning again
at another time and undertaking further and greater exploration of
that vast and mystical land that men know by the name <span class=
"sc letter-spaced">Sahara</span>.</p>

<p>At that time I had some acquaintance with the country, and, like
other explorers, once having tasted the charm of discovery, I was
eager to push onward into the dimmest recesses of the land, since
it held, at brilliant moments, stirring promise of new and strange
secrets of unknown character—secrets that shyly withdrew behind
the mist of the desert’s horizon, dancing like will-o’-the-wisps,
until<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> they disappeared,
leaving behind a taste of temptation that beckoned alluringly.</p>

<p>Le Capitaine was a wise and experienced traveller and bushman—a
man of iron; a man of understanding; and he fanned the sparks of my
newly kindled ideas with such zest and earnestness that, in the
late hours of our discussions, they enlarged to the magnitude of
absolute ideals.</p>

<p>For that alone I owe Le Capitaine a debt of gratitude; but I
have gratitude also for having met him and shaken his hand in
friendship.</p>

<p>To-day men of Le Capitaine’s type are rare. He was, when I knew
him, and is no doubt still, a pioneer; one of that little group of
exceptional men who stand head and shoulders above the rank and
file of their brethren in outdoor adaptability, and who leave a
deeply cut mark on the furthermost frontiers of a nation’s
colonies. Men of his type have the geography of Africa at their
finger-ends in infinite outlines, great though Africa is, and under
many flags. The ultimate future of all things is their particular
study and concern, since men have time to think and ponder deeply
over intimate problems who spend their lives in desperately lonely
environment. And, above all else, these rare <em>individuals</em>
are men of deadly earnestness and unquestionable honesty.</p>

<p>It is a delight to induce such men, in the aftermeal hours of
merciful evening coolness, to discuss their schemes for the
building of colonies and empires, and hear them lay out a network
of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> railways and
enterprises from place to place, across a continent, with the clear
precision and absolute accuracy that only is possible to the
student who thoroughly knows his subject.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i02"><img src='images/i02.jpg' alt=''>
<p>IN AGADES; WHERE DREAMS OF A SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE SAHARA
FIRST DAWNED</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>From the date of those camp-fire talks that carried us away into
the midnight hours of the brooding, sand-surrounded fort, a second
expedition to the Sahara was firmly planted in my mind.</p>

<p>But it was not until September 1921 that I found myself again
free to think of continuing travel on natural history research, and
was able to give to my dreams a definite shape.</p>

<p>At that time I wrote to Lord Rothschild’s Museum, and the
British Museum, to ascertain their views of the zoological value of
an extended journey right across the Sahara, starting from the West
Coast of Africa and striking northward until the sea-coast of the
Mediterranean was reached.</p>

<p>Encouraging replies were immediately forthcoming, and both these
great Natural History Institutions were anxious that I should make
the effort and offered to support me so far as lay in their
power.</p>

<p>Their support made my decision to attempt a second expedition
final; whereupon Lord Rothschild at once took steps, on my behalf,
to forward, through the French Embassy in London, a request for
official consent to be granted to the expedition’s travelling
through the French territories of the Sudan and Sahara.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>But formal
preliminaries of this kind move very slowly at times, and for four
and a half months the matter lay unsettled and I lived in an
atmosphere of uncertainty, doubtful as to the view the French
authorities would take of a journey that was undoubtedly hazardous;
doubtful, also, as to the date at which it might be possible to
sail. If I was to make a well-timed start to catch the rains in
barren areas of the Sahara in August or September, I estimated that
I must set out not later than the 8th of March, on the West Coast
ship sailing at that date.</p>

<p>Weeks slipped by. No word came from across the Channel. The 8th
of March loomed nearer and nearer, and I grew restless and
worried.</p>

<p>At last the time came when the French authorities said, “You may
go.” And then there was gladness and bustle and transformation.</p>

<p>Everything in the way of equipment had to be secured in three
weeks. My days were spent in London, flying here, there, and
everywhere on seemingly endless shopping errands, until on the eve
of sailing the entire equipment was tolerably complete.</p>

<p>I will describe one amusing incident that relates to
shopping:</p>

<p>I drove up to a large West-End establishment and asked the
taxi-driver to wait, while, in company with my wife, I entered the
shop.</p>

<p>I had told the taxi-driver I would not be long, but was detained
almost an hour.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i03"><img src='images/i03.jpg' alt=''>
<p>NATIVE FOOD FOR THE LONG TRAIL</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>My wife became
anxious about the taxi-man’s temper, and, after considerable time
had passed, went to pacify him.</p>

<p>“My husband won’t be long now,” she said. “You must excuse him;
he is in there buying food for a year.”</p>

<p>“Gawd! Where’s he going, Miss?” the taxi-man exclaimed, and when
my wife explained, “To explore the Sahara,” he got excited and
thoroughly interested, and at once started to confide the news to a
fellow taxi-man on another waiting cab.</p>

<p>This incident brings sharply before the mind the enormous
contrast between a land of plenty and a land of poverty, while it
makes us appreciate how much we rely on our everyday habit of
shopping.</p>

<p>At home we have to think of little purchases of parcels for the
needs of the day, and we suffer no severe penalty if something
required has been overlooked, for any such omission can usually be
rectified in an hour or so by ’phone, or message, or by a second
call.</p>

<p>How different in the Sahara!—no shops; scanty food; less
water—wilderness, often without living soul. Shopping that has to
foresee every emergency for so long a time as a year or more in
such environment is indeed a task of consequence. Not an item must
be forgotten, big or little, and it is the little things that are
the hardest to keep sight of (and to purchase, for that
matter).</p>

<p>Yet, no matter how careful, after six months on the way,
something is sure to be badly missed; some<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_8">[8]</span> provoking little thing, of increased importance
the moment one is aware it is not to be had for love or money.
Then, if you are kind, have pity, for the loss will be great and
real. All must have some fellow feelings in such a circumstance,
for has not everyone known what it is to be “put out” when some
little purchase has been forgotten on the shop’s <em>half-closing
day?</em> Half a day! For 365 days I have known what it is to do
without things I believed were indispensable.</p>

<p>On the 8th March 1922, with equipment collected and complete
according to views that were the outcome of previous experience, I
sailed from Liverpool to land at Lagos; on the West Coast of
Africa.</p>

<p>My companions were: Francis Rodd, who was to go with me as far
as Aïr, on ethnological and geographical research, and the
cinematographer of the expedition, T. A. Glover.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span><a id=
"c02"></a>CHAPTER II<br>
THE CARAVAN</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c02.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_11">[11]</span>CHAPTER II<br>
<span class="med">THE CARAVAN</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">A drowsy</span>, uncertain voice,
casting a word or two across the darkness in search of comrade,
disturbs my deep sleep of night. In a moment I am consciously
awake.</p>

<p>“Lord!” I think, “it seems but an hour since I wearily sought
repose.”</p>

<p>I feel dreadfully heavy and muscle-weary, and my blanket seems
the snuggest place on earth. But the laws of the wilderness are
pitiless. The caravan is four days out from water, and has three
more days to go—if we travel continuously.</p>

<p>With a groan, in protest and to pick up pluck, the mind wins
obedience over jaded flesh, and with sudden forced resolve I jerk
into sitting position on the sand, before I have time to change my
mind.</p>

<p>My head camel-man, the owner of the drowsy voice, is stirring
uneasily. Mindful of overnight orders, he has kept a faithful eye
on the starlit sky and knows it to be about two hours from dawn—
the time set for wakening the camp.</p>

<p>“Elatu! . . . Mohammed! . . . Gumbo!” I cry. “Wake up! . . .
Hurry! . . . Load the camels!”</p>

<p>As darkness is known to those who live in houses,<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> it is still deep and utter
night. But it is not so opaque to the wayfarer: the unroofed camp,
under the great blue star-lit dome, can be made out grouped like a
tiny island of dark, huddled boulders in a vast sea of sand, dimly
visible for a distance. There is barely a suggestion of light. Yet
it is there—that faint glow of a Saharan night, that is influenced
by unobstructed skies and vast white plains of sand. The accustomed
eye can almost “sense” the approach of day, but we know also by the
position of the stars that the hour is 4 a.m., and that dawn will
surely break at the appointed time.</p>

<p>The men gird travel-soiled garments about them. Instructions go
forth with perfect understanding. Camels grunt and roar as they are
head-roped and shifted from night-lairs to positions beside their
loads.</p>

<p>In a little a fire flares up, bright and dim by turns, fed by
the straw-leavings of overnight camel fodder.</p>

<p>By the fitful light stray ropes are recovered half buried in
sand, or difficult loads secured; while Elatu, Mohammed, and the
others work at a feverish pace so that the first animals loaded
will not have to wait overlong for the last of their comrades.</p>

<p>It is harsh work, hard and exacting; but the men, skilled and
able, go through with it. They have been with me for months. They
are men of the Sahara, and I know that loads will be
well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> balanced and
unerringly roped when, out on the trail, dawn breaks to reveal the
merit of their workmanship.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i04"><img src='images/i04.jpg' alt=''>
<p>AN ORDINARY NIGHT CAMP IN TRAVELLING THE DESERT</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>The camp, deep in sleep and deadly still during the night, is
now appallingly noisy in comparison with the vast quiet that lies
outside its immediate circle. It is impossible to try to conceal
our whereabouts. No matter if raiders, or the deadliest enemies of
war, are at hand, the message of a camel-camp on the move goes out
into the night unfettered—and the risk recognised.</p>

<p>One by one garrulous camels are released from knee-ropes that
have kept them down, obedient to the task of loading, and rise from
the sand to stand in dim outline, ready for the road, tall and
gaunt, with jutting side-burdens.</p>

<p>Half an hour has passed, and still the caravan is not ready. It
is foolish to be impatient. The groping work of the men in the dark
seems provokingly slow; but patience, cheerfulness, and coolness
are tonic for the moment—so the leader learns to wait, and make
light of it—and reaps the gratitude of his henchmen in return.</p>

<p>“White Feather,” my faithful, travel-wise, long-tried camel,
kneels beside me ready to move. I have seen to it that the
riding-saddle—a slim, perched-on, Tuareg saddle of the Sahara—is
comfortable on the animal, and secure and level, for it is to serve
for many hours to come. On the long, hard day that lies ahead every
detail is important. In their places, calculated with purpose to
balance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> on either
side of the saddle evenly, are hung an old army water-bottle, a
pair of field-glasses, a revolver, and two grass saddle-satchels
with dates, tobacco, ammunition, and maps; while over the flanks
drop leather buckets containing a shot-gun and a rifle.</p>

<p>It is too dark to see the worn condition of equipment, battered
and broken by months of “roughing it” in the open; nor men who are
rugged and hard, and lean as the camels they saddle, from strain of
relentless effort. Yet those conditions are there, uncovered till
kindness of night departs and reveals the sternness of endless
enduring.</p>

<p>At the end of an hour we start, and two long lines of camels
head northward into the darkness. And thenceforth the din, that was
in camp, dies out; broken only once or twice, to begin with, as a
camel protests while watchful native runs alongside to straighten
an uneasy load.</p>

<p>Soon there is scarcely a sound, and the soft-footed caravan
moves ghostlike over a great empty land that is dead.</p>

<p>The long, exacting march has begun, and another day’s effort to
conquer the vastness of Space and Sand.</p>

<p>At the start the camels travel well. The men are slightly urging
the pace by persuasive foot-pressure on the nape of the neck. They
want to make the most of this hour, but they do not press the
animals inconsiderately, for long, hot hours lie in front. Always
the best pace of the day is<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_15">[15]</span> made during the cool hour before dawn and
through the delightful hour succeeding it.</p>

<p>I ride alongside Elatu’s camel, up in front of the caravan, and
enter into low conversation to gather the vital news of the
morning. Elatu—a tall, lean Tuareg of some thirty years—is my head
camel-man, and a ceaseless worker of exceptional ability. He is one
of those very fine natives whom a white man may win and come to
hold in esteem, conquered by sheer value of labour and
fidelity.</p>

<p>Our minds are on the welfare of the caravan. “How sits the
saddle on Awena this morning?” I asked. “Is the sore worse?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” Elatu answered. “But, before I slept last night, I made a
rough cradle to try to keep the saddle from rubbing; and he carries
his load to-day. But he cannot last. To be any good again he must
reach a place to rest and recover strength, and heal the
wound.”</p>

<p>“Owrak has no load to-day, nor Mizobe, and that swollen foot of
Tezarif will give trouble before the sun sets.”</p>

<p>“Bah! This desert is no good. We know that camels must die. In
my far-distant home I have seen them die since childhood. But Allah
hits hard this moon<a id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1"
class="fnanchor">[1]</a>—and the way is yet far. We need our camels
now.”</p>

<p>“That is bad news, Elatu,” I replied. “But we will get
through—we always have—and we will again.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>“Break up Awena’s
load to-night when we camp and take him along empty, if he can
walk—if not, we will have to turn him loose to take his chance, or
shoot him, if there is no prospect of grazing. Split up his main
baggage among the fittest animals, if you can—if not, we will have
to risk letting some food go.</p>

<p>“Gumbo tells me Sili is ill this morning. I’m afraid he won’t
last much longer, poor lad. He has been sick too often lately, and
looks bad.” I passed Elatu two aspirin tabloids. “Give him those
and make him ride all day with his eyes covered from the sun so far
as possible. Also, let him have extra water if he wants it badly
before the end of the day.”</p>

<p>My camel went on, and Elatu halted. He would find Sili in the
rear.</p>

<p>Camels—men—food—water—those make up one endless round of anxiety
to all who travel the vast, empty world that makes up uttermost
desert. Therein Nature is antagonistic to anything that lives.
Wherefore, to those who venture forth, life is alert to its very
foundation, and the contest for existence severe, and often bitter.
Long, weary days bring few successes, and many disappointments and
failures; and great lessons of life are taught and comprehended,
though few words go forth in complaint of those things of tragedy
and disaster that men keep hidden away in the closed book of the
soul.</p>

<p>I muse in my saddle over the strange gamble of it all, so
similar, in plan, to the gamble of life,<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_17">[17]</span> familiar to most of us who have intimately
known struggle for existence. But here the gamble is intensified,
the material rude and raw, with vast wastes of barrenness immediate
on all sides, and on the very threshold, ready to engulf and
destroy the moment weakness is declared.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw02">
<figure class="iw02" id="i05"><img src='images/i05.jpg' alt=''>
<p>“THE LONG, EXACTING MARCH”</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>I am still pondering over this philosophy when I become aware
that there is just a faint glow of light commencing to show in the
east. It is the first indication of dawn.</p>

<p>Ever so slowly it increases till the distant line between earth
and sky begins to form.</p>

<p>In a little time it is discerned that the light is coming from
behind the earth, below the far eastern horizon.</p>

<p>Gradually the stars go out, and the earth becomes mistily
unfolded.</p>

<p>We are alert to know the prospect of the landscape—hopeful of
change to cheer our way. But, when the full expanse is revealed,
the morning is as yesterday—no “land” in sight—nothing but the same
old vast endless “sea” of sand that has come to be so familiar and
so haunting.</p>

<p>But, with the light, comes a lifting of spirits. The men
commence to chatter; and someone breaks into hopeful rhythmic
song—a love-lilt of a tribe, reminiscent of home-fond memories.
Others pick it up, rough-tuned and jazz-fashion, and a gay voice
laughs after it has inserted a sly line or two of misquotation to
point the words to a comrade’s sweetheart.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>And so are rough
men wooed to cheerfulness, even in time of stress, by the soft
magic hand of morn, and its influence, that resembles the touch of
a woman’s caress. For a space, all too short, the caravan
<em>lives</em> at its best, careless of aught but the hour.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, the first flush of day creeps on. And soon, away at
the sand-end “Edge of the World,” the great golden sun, till now
the hidden source of day, blazes suddenly into sight, in the east,
shooting coloured shaft-rays in the sky by the very glory of its
brilliance.</p>

<p>It is the signal for Mohammedan prayer, and I order the caravan
to halt in consideration of the religion of my followers.</p>

<p>All except the sick man, Sili, move out clear of the camels.</p>

<p>Facing the east, where far-off, in another world, lie Mecca and
the Shrine of the Prophet, the men remove their sandals and,
barefoot, reverently pray.</p>

<p>First they stoop to touch the ground with the palms of the
hands, then pass them, dust-begrimed, over the face before they
meet again, in an action that resembles washing. Then, standing,
the prayer is commenced. Soon, the figures bend down to sit on the
sand while continuously muttering softly modulated prayer, and
dipping the forehead in the dust in moments of stress, or in
gesticulations of respect.</p>

<p>There they sit for a little, stooping anon as before.</p>

<p>Again they rise upright.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>Again they sit
down. And then a gradual repose sets in.</p>

<p>Finally the prayer dies out restfully, and, by the subtle
composure of the figures, the onlooker is conscious that the minds
of the natives have settled in peace.</p>

<p>In a little they rise and rejoin the caravan; and the camels
move on.</p>

<p>Let no man idly misunderstand or underrate the faith of these
peoples of the East. It is a tremendous faith—and no single day may
pass without deep worship and thought of Allah. It may be, in the
Sahara, the faith of the primitive, the faith of an outdoor people,
but it is complete and ever present. And who of us dare say so much
of the Christianity of modern civilisation?</p>

<p>And this strength of religion has its political significance.
Notwithstanding the French influence, and the venturings of
missionaries, in parts that surround the Sahara, I am confident
that, throughout the length and breadth of the desert to-day, its
scattered peoples have, at heart, only the faith of Islam, and
really admit true friendship and allegiance to the Caliph, and to
none other. Wherever the wayfarer goes he will find the inner mind
of the nomad turn ever to one magic name—“Stombole”—the Turkish
centre in Constantinople, and the home of the Caliph.</p>

<p>Meantime, the sun has come completely into view; a great glowing
orb, looking twice the size it will appear when later it is high in
the sky.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>The time is 6 a.m.
For an hour more we travel in comparative coolness; but by 9 a.m.
we are into the full heat of day—that awful, dreaded heat, that
constantly torments and sets out, without pity, to subdue and
conquer the stoutest. In the desert the sun is master, cruel and
remorseless beyond belief, with bleaching blaze that eats up life
and kills. For the rest of the day the caravan must pass under the
rule of its greatest enemy.</p>

<p>Throughout the morning the camels travel well and the spirit of
the men is fairly cheerful. Though there is not much talking among
them now, as they sit huddled on their camels with their gowns
thrown over their heads as covering from the sun. They know well
that it is wise to conserve their strength, for long, weary hours
lie ahead.</p>

<p>I scan the caravan as we plod monotonously along.</p>

<p>We have been travelling close on two hundred days, and the ranks
are sadly thinned, though the journey is not yet half
completed.</p>

<p>There were sixteen natives at the start: now there are only
six—Elatu, Mohammed, Sili, Gumbo, Sakari, and Ali. Most of the
others have gone through fear of the dangers of the journey, lack
of heart for the hard, endless work, physical weakness, and
incurable sickness. (Two of the latter, left behind in good hands,
to recover, when next heard of, had died).</p>

<p>There had been forty-four camels at the start; now there are but
twenty-one. I have long learned<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_21">[21]</span> to know them by their native names. Those
that are with us still are:</p>

<table>
<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Awena”</td>
<td class="hang1 width30">=“Wall-eyed, or piebald-eyed.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Banri”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The one-eyed one.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Alletat”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“White Belly.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Aberok”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The dark grey one.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Kadede”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The thin one.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Adignas”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The white one.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Terfurfus”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The piebald female.” (A female, because of the
T prefixed before the name, which designates sex in the Tamascheq
language of the Tuareg nomads of the Sahara).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Korurimi”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The earless one” (because ears damaged).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Tabzow”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The white one, but not quite white.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Emuscha”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The white-mouthed one.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Owrak”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The pale fawn male.” (A male designated because
there is no T.)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Towrak”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The pale fawn female.” (A female designated
because of the T that is prefixed.)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Ezarif”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The pale grey male.” (T omitted denotes
sex.)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Tezarif”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The pale grey female.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Mizobe”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The broken-nosed one.” (So named because he has
a piece out of one nostril where a rein-ring has been torn
away.)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Buzak”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The white-footed one.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Ajemelel”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The spotted one.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Kelbado”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“Big Belly.”</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Doki”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“The Horse.” (Because a very diminutive camel,
about the size of a horse.)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Bako”</td>
<td class="hang1">=so named, in hausa, before it came into my
possession.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top sc">“Feri n’Gashi”</td>
<td class="hang1">=“White feather.” My riding camel.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i06"><img src='images/i06.jpg' alt=''>
<p>NOMAD AND CAMEL-MAN</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>I am conscious, as
I look the caravan over, of a soft-hearted affection towards both
man and beast. They have all served loyally, and have given of
strength to the uttermost. Moreover, the whole caravan has come to
embrace that free-and-easy, comprehending comradeship, that belongs
to the wise when long on the great Open Road.</p>

<p>We have, therefore, as a body, lost all rawness and idle
ornament. The weaknesses in our composition at the start have been
found out and gone under. Battered, but hardened, we are travelling
now as a band complete and experienced through grim wilderness of
naked reality. The men that remain are of sterling quality, and
all, except Sili, look like lasting through any amount of
hardship.</p>

<p>But it is not so with the camels. Good as they are, they are not
built to endure continuous work for ever; and the greatest struggle
and sacrifice are theirs. No matter how much one may try to save
them, the pitiless country claims its victims from their midst. All
along the trail that lies behind I have witnessed their comrades go
out, and know that, inevitably, others must follow. Indeed, too
well I know that few, if any, will ever reach the goal; and that it
will be left to others—that must be found among natives in remote
oases—to carry us through to the North African Coast—if we are ever
to reach our distant destination.</p>

<p>But all wayfarers in the desert become fatalistic, and the many
misfortunes of the trail teach the<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_23">[23]</span> traveller to consign all disasters to
“Kismet,” or “Mektuib”; for it is learned, sooner or later, that
this is a land where Destiny irrevocably takes its course, whatever
man’s hopes may be. Wherefore the deep eastern sadness that is
found in the hearts of the nomads of the desert, and that touches
the soul of the white man in the end.</p>

<p>As if to bear out my thoughts, trouble rides upon us.</p>

<p>The caravan has halted suddenly. Something is wrong in the
rear.</p>

<p>Gumbo calls out that Mizobe is down.</p>

<p>We find that he has collapsed wearily on the sand and does not
want to move. He is far through, but we cannot camp and wait beside
him. So in a little time he is persuaded to rise to his feet again;
and the caravan moves slowly on.</p>

<p>But it is not very long before the poor old fellow gives up
again, for his is a losing fight in the full heat of the midday
sun. We try for a little to encourage him to get up, but to no
avail. He is past further struggle.</p>

<p>I order the caravan to move onward, and remain behind with
Elatu, beside the prostrate animal, for I cannot leave the poor
brute to die a slow, lingering death, with the agony of pitiless
surroundings holding finality immediately before his eyes.</p>

<p>When the caravan is distant there is a single revolver shot—and
we are one less in our band.</p>

<p>Even although it is only an animal that has gone, Death casts a
shadow that disturbs the<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_24">[24]</span> human mind; and Elatu and I ride forward to
rejoin the caravan with a pang of sadness in our hearts.</p>

<p>But such feelings are soon deadened of further thought. Shut out
and overpowered by the throbbing, awful heat of the day, which has
now reached its worst.</p>

<p>It is a heat that is tremendous; unbelievably trying, unless one
has experienced it in actual fact. The full rays of the noonday sun
blaze directly and intensely overhead, scorching the earth as a
furnace blast; while hot-baked desert sands reflect the heat like
the tray of an oven. It is small wonder that the caravan, oppressed
by a pitiless force that attacks both from overhead and underfoot,
wilts as a thing that is withering and sorely exhausted. In naked
truth, man and beast of our little band are at the full mercy of a
tyrant, and toil, yard by yard and mile by mile, slowly onward,
sticking to the allotted task, because it is fated so to toil in
the great ways of the desert. The shoulders of the camel-men are
drooped languidly, and no one speaks; while head-coverings are
drawn more and more closely about their faces in attempt to fight
off the sun and protect eyes that are wearied to actual pain by the
dazzling, incessant glare on the sand.</p>

<p>Thus is the desert at its worst, and its unspeakable heat.</p>

<p>But, through all, the camels keep ever on, though ever since the
sun’s great heat set in their<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_25">[25]</span> pace has slowed down—and, now, they are just
crawling onward on their patient unquestioned task.</p>

<p>Hour after hour the monotonous ride continues. Our band, a mere
handful of outgone men who for the present are victims of
circumstance destined, as it were, to travel the very plains of
Hell, steeped in awful heat and desolation, from which there can
never be real escape until that distant “Dreamtime” when we may
come to pass out and beyond to a promised land where weary limbs
and weary minds may lay them down and rest.</p>

<p>About 4 p.m. Tezarif (the camel that has contracted an ugly
swelling in one of her feet) is lagging badly, and pulling hard on
the rope that secures her to the camel in front. I shook up Gumbo,
dozing and listless from long, comfortless riding, and bade him
dismount and get beside the ailing camel to encourage her on and to
keep up with the others.</p>

<p>Obediently the man jumped down, and I dropped back with him so
that I might talk and keep him to his irksome task. Thereafter he
remained beside the camel, encouraging and driving it to keep up
with the caravan. And when Gumbo tired, another took his place. So,
at the expense of considerable effort, the sick animal is kept to
the trail.</p>

<p>And in this way the long afternoon passed on, until, at last,
the sun commenced to relax its grip on the earth, and gradually the
caravan recovered a certain measure of wakefulness.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>Yet man and beast
show that they are now very tired. None of the brief, bright
gayness of the morning is present, even although the merciful
retreat of the sun makes the evening hour delicious and tempting.
The fact is that spirits are wearied beyond caring for aught on
earth—except a longing to rest and sleep.</p>

<p>About 6 p.m. the hot day closes over the heated earth, as the
tyrant sun sets in gorgeous beauty amidst rainbow tints of every
hue that mistily touch both earth and sky with magic wand, and
belie the terror of that pitiless reign that has passed.</p>

<p>And again the men dismount and pray.</p>

<p>On, through the dusk we travel—and into the night. Body and soul
ache for the word to halt and camp; but still we hold on. All know
the need that drives us to uttermost effort—need to reach water—and
the goal still a long way ahead.</p>

<p>The night is strangely still. The desert’s lack of living
creature is more intimately apparent now than through the day, for
the vast range of our daylight surroundings has narrowed to our
immediate circle, which is no more than a thin line of passage
cleaved through thick banks of blackness. In our path no jackal
cries; no hyena laughs. Neither does ground-bird twitter, nor wings
of night-flight ruffle the air. Nothing moves, nothing lives. We
can almost “hear” the silence, it is so acute; and the noiseless
feet of the camels move over the sand as if they were ghosts,
afraid of disturbing a land of the dead.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>If you have ever
waited, with deep anxiety, for a precious sound—the cry that tells
you that a lost comrade has been found, or, a sound-signal that
fulfils a vital appointment after it has kept you, tuned to
expectancy, waiting overlong in suspense—you must know one of the
greatest joys that can fall on human ears, when, by a sudden whim
of chance, the world gives up the message you have prayed for. It
had gone 9 p.m. when I drew my camel to a halt, and shouted
“<span class="sc">Subka</span>!” The effect of revival along the
caravan was startling. It was the glad signal that everyone was
aching for—the signal that meant “Camp at last” and “Rest.”</p>

<p>And a great sigh of gladness went up from the hearts of the
weary men, as they dropped stiffly from their camels and started to
unload.</p>

<p>There was no need to urge the camels to get down. We had no
sooner halted than each sank to the sand, leg-weary beyond the
telling—for sixteen long, weary hours their feet had never ceased
to pass onward over the desert.</p>

<p>We had camped in our tracks; there was no choice of
ground—nothing but endless sand, duneless and featureless.</p>

<p>Stiffly the men moved about; they were overtired for the work of
unloading and accordingly it moved slowly. When everything was
off-loaded the poor fellows sat in dazed fashion on various bundles
of kit gaining a breathing spell of rest for deadened minds and
aching limbs, utterly careless<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_28">[28]</span> of further effort. Gladly would the most
spent of them sleep as they are without food, without water and
without a thought of the morrow; overpowered by the forces of utter
fatigue. But Elatu and I are watchful, for we have been through
these experiences before, and we shake them up to keep awake. The
last tasks of the camp are completed—a bale or two of rough Asben
hay, carried for the camels, is unroped and fed to them, a ration
of water issued to the men, while, one by one, small husbanded
camp-fires broke into light, speedily to cook a frugal meal,
devoured by men who needed it sorely.</p>

<p>Half an hour from the time of halting the whole camp is wrapped
deep in sleep—a dog-tired and dreamless band, at rest at last;
mercifully unconscious of the toil that is past or the toil that
awaits them on the morrow.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i07"><img src='images/i07.jpg' alt=''>
<p>THROUGH TO WATER AND RESTING FOR A DAY</p>

<p class="small">THE CAMELS ARE AT THE WELL IN THE BACKGROUND</p>
</figure>
</div>

<h3><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span><a id=
"c02_2"></a><span class="sc">An Explanation</span>
</h3>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">The</span> foregoing is an account
of a day in the world’s greatest desert; a day in the heart of the
Sahara—travel at its worst; not at its best—<em>that</em> is what I
have endeavoured to describe.</p>

<p>We were then about 200 days out, and the camel-caravan travelled
405 days before the end, so it may be that I have learned a little
of the desert.</p>

<p>Should that be so, and should pen be able and reader forgiving,
I humbly try, in the contents of this book, to set down something
of a little-known land; going swiftly to the subject I would
reveal, and not slowly along the trail where the footprints of my
camels were sometimes all that there was to record over oceans of
wasting sand.</p>

<p>In a previous book, <em>Out of the World</em>, I dealt with the
journey of a 1st Saharan Expedition so far as the region of Aïr:
wherefore this work endeavours to touch almost entirely upon new
ground (beyond Aïr) explored on my last and more comprehensive
expedition across the entire Sahara.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_31">[31]</span><a id="c03"></a>CHAPTER III<br>
A SHIP OF THE DESERT</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c03.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_33">[33]</span>CHAPTER III<br>
<span class="med">A SHIP OF THE DESERT
(AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL)</span></p>

<p class="nind">“<span class="sc">I am</span> 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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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 <em>appearances do not
matter at all in the land I travel</em>, I treat their gibes with
silent scorn, for the great desert asks only one thing:
Endurance—aye, endurance to the point of death.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“And from this you may have gathered that I am only a camel.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>“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 <em>hunger</em> is that which is of
greatest import in the lives of all camels.</p>

<p>“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.<a id=
"FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“One day, when I was six years old, there arose much stir in
camp. The men-people commenced<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_35">[35]</span> 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.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw02">
<figure class="iw02" id="i08"><img src='images/i08.jpg' alt=''>
<p>BRANDED</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

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

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“While I remained at Katsina the men-people who guarded me
called me Zaki.<a id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class=
"fnanchor">[3]</a> And on festival<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_37">[37]</span> 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.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i09"><img src='images/i09.jpg' alt=''>
<p>“ALL MY COMRADES CARRIED STRANGE BOXES”</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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 <em>white</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> 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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“Next day we were roped and trussed and hurt for a few moments
by a stinging fire,<a id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4"
class="fnanchor">[4]</a> 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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_39">[39]</span> 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.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw13">
<figure class="iw13" id="i10a"><img src='images/i10a.jpg' alt=''>
<p>“MY NEW MASTER RODE ALL THAT DAY—</p>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw13">
<figure class="iw13" id="i10b"><img src='images/i10b.jpg' alt=''>
<p>—AND THAT WAS THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT FRIENDSHIP”</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“It was chiefly on account of this trait that I was given the
name by which my master called me: <i>Feri n’Gashi</i>, 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.</p>

<p>“Moon followed moon in the wilderness, and<span class="pagenum"
id="Page_41">[41]</span> 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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> 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.</p>

<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_43">[43]</span> Then it was seen that he was bleeding
profusely, and could no longer walk.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i11"><img src='images/i11.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="center">“HE STROKED ME OFTEN WHILE THE LOADS WERE BEING
TAKEN AWAY”</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

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

<p class="space-above15">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.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_45">[45]</span><a id="c04"></a>CHAPTER IV<br>
THE GREAT SOUTH ROAD</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c04.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>
</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="map1"><img src='images/map1.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="center"><a href="images/map1_large.jpg">(<i>Large-size</i>)</a>
</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_47">[47]</span>CHAPTER IV<br>
<span class="med">THE GREAT SOUTH ROAD</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">Twice</span>, in the course of my
travels, I have found myself in great wildernesses that gave me no
field of comparison until I turned to thought of the boundless
sea—and then I had a simile that was almost complete. These
wildernesses were: Arctic Canada and the Great Sahara.</p>

<p>With desire to describe the Sahara, and its ocean-like vastness,
I have sketched a map that lies before me (see opposite page)—and I
am disappointed. It is only some inches square. My Sahara that, for
the sake of lucid explanation, I want to represent as the ocean,
could be covered with a dinner plate; and might be a duck-pond, or
a trout lake with an island or two, if, for a single moment, I
forget the niceties of proportion and scale. That, precisely, is an
influence on the senses that it is well to guard against because of
the possibility of it turning the mind from reality, for, no matter
how willing and piercing the scrutiny, this insignificant little
sheet of paper can never be the actual Sahara.</p>

<p>And, after all, it is only the <em>Real</em> that matters;
particularly to the frontiersman who lives close<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> to the earth and beyond the ken
of the subtleties of Civilisation, for he sees, with the eye of the
untrammelled, the dominion of the world’s outer ranges and the
bigness of things as they are. Wherefore, with pen directed by hand
accustomed to rope a load, coax a rein, fondle a rifle, heal a
wound, or kindle a camp-fire, I set out, as an awkward man of the
outdoor places, without geographical technicalities, to describe
the Great Sahara as I have come to read its character in the wake
of many a trail over leagues of intimate sands.</p>

<p>Let us first endeavour to picture something of the vastness of
the Sahara. In approximate area—excepting the Libyan Desert—it is
about eighteen times larger than Britain and Ireland and about half
the area of the United States. Large as that may seem, it must be
taken into count that there is a sentimental vastness far beyond
that—the sentiment of environment. To illustrate this. Suppose
that one sets out to travel for a day, or a week, or a month,
through rich, inhabited country with good roads, and with the good
things of life always closely about one. Is it not the case that
the plenitude of the countryside pleases to such a comforting
extent that <em>Distance</em> is prone to be unesteemed, and
unthought of as a cause for anxiety? Consequently, under such
circumstances, all <em>fear of distance</em>, and <em>the
significance of overpowering immensity</em>, do not enter into
calculation. But it so happens that that is a tremendously
important<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> factor,
which must always be reckoned with, in any considered treatment of
the Sahara, where conditions are entirely opposite. No one would
hesitate to cross America to-day, but could anyone contemplate a
journey in the Great Desert without, at once, being confronted with
lively dread of its vastness and desolation? Indeed, so strong is
this influence that the eventual result, once one enters that
mystical land, is that the mind becomes almost disqualified to
reckon in terms of numerals. All that one is constantly aware of
is, that limitless leagues of drear desolate sand lie ahead, and
that, no matter what effort is made, no matter how well the caravan
travels, the twenty or thirty odd miles that are the record of a
day’s endeavour leave one apparently in the same position as
before, with horizon, and sand, and sky no nearer to the vision
than from camps that lie on the trail behind.</p>

<p>In that prospect there is, surely, a sentiment of the
temperament of the sea, in likeness of boundless, unchanging,
unconquerable leagues. But the sea swings and curls and breaks in
foam, and is alive; whereas the sands of the desert lie ever
expressionless and dead. So that, if we accept that in majestic
space the sea and the desert are the same, we still have to admit
that the lassitude of the desert multiplies the seeds of desolation
to such an extent that, almost tangibly, certainly sentiently, it
enlarges its empty vastness.</p>

<p>Wherefore I am confident that it is in all such<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> intriguing influences that we
find the very essence of the desert’s desolation and magnitude of
space.</p>

<p>That it has a very real vastness that intimidates is borne out,
in our everyday life, by the accounts of tourists who have
travelled in Algeria, or elsewhere, and who have been a few days
south of, say, Biskra by camel, and who return to recount how they
have seen the Sahara. How many such tourists have stood on this
mere threshold of a mighty sandscape, beneath the Aurès Mountains,
and conjectured on the immensity of the Great South Road that
points the way to the heart and the mystery of another world,
unyieldingly remote, and not as theirs.</p>

<p>And what happens then? Why is it that we do not have record that
some of those tourists have got down from this doorstep of Biskra
and set out into the Great Desert? If it was a fair land that lay
before them most surely they would flock upon the way. But it is
not so, and no foot makes the move. They have viewed an
awe-inspiring immensity that casts a deadly spell of dread. And,
one by one, year by year, they are repelled and go their way;
<em>back through the friendly mountains</em>. After all, this is
far from astonishing of strangers, for they but express something
of the deep-rooted, superstitious dread of the desert which is
found in the soul of every native who lives anywhere within reach
of its borders, or in its interior.</p>

<p>Furthermore, it may be well to remember that the Sahara is a
land of great antiquity, that takes<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_51">[51]</span> one to realms of Biblical times. Steeped in
the religion of Islam, it knows little perceptible change to-day,
and is not on a plane with the modern world. Wherefore, even if we
only set our minds back in keeping with a not very distant period
of the past, it is not difficult thus to find another simile to the
sea in picturing that it was only a little more than four centuries
ago that the Atlantic Ocean probably held a similar dread of
immensity before Columbus discovered America.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw02">
<figure class="iw02" id="i12"><img src='images/i12.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A NOOK IN THE MOUNTAINLAND OF AÏR</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>All those influences are important, for they can never be
brought out on any map, and yet they are an intrinsic part of the
land. Furthermore, they are a part of the poignant forces that
teach the traveller wonderment and awe of the desert when he camps
in the mighty company of its gigantic spaces; particularly if he
catches a gently poised breath of the Moslem’s “Allah!” which is an
indelible part of the mystic sadness it holds.</p>

<p>If we look, now, at the map, and picture that the Sahara is,
broadly speaking, a vast sheet of sand with a few island mountains,
it will suffice in dealing generally with its boundaries of the
past.</p>

<p>It is my belief that the Sahara is increasing in size, and I
think there are many conditions that go to prove it. Wherefore I
ask you, in the first place, to conceive that the sand in the
desert has steadily risen, with consequent result that the shores
have become appreciably less. The belt that has been so engulfed
all around the margin, or wherever the surface was shallow, may be
taken<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> to represent
the regions that are to-day pre-Saharan, though, so far as I am
aware, such pre-Saharan areas are seldom more than vaguely referred
to, and have not been geographically defined.</p>

<p>I will take, as an example, the southern area of the Sahara,
because I have visited it more than once and know that region best.
Not vastly distant from the shore there is the mountainland of Aïr,
standing high above the surrounding country. Let us suppose that,
before the Sahara commenced to fill up and change, this particular
mountainland was not surrounded by sand, but was a part of a
fertile foreland, and that the bushland of the Western Sudan, with
its tropical fauna and vegetation and rainy season, either jutted
out as a wedge or stretched right across Africa about the 20th
degree of latitude, or 5 degrees farther north than obtains, with
any solidity, at the present time.<a id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href=
"#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> If that was the case
intimate problems that I have had to contend with would be
logically explained.</p>

<p>My primary work in the Sahara was that of a field naturalist,
and the following extracts from Dr. Hartert’s paper in <i>Novitates
Zoologicæ</i>, May 1921, regarding my first journey, have bearing
on one of the problems that I wish to deal with:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“The best zoogeographical boundary, apart
from the oceans, has hitherto been the Sahara, a wide belt of
poorly inhabited and unexplored country.<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_53">[53]</span> As long as we knew very little about it, this
was a very simple question—north of the Sahara palæarctic, south of
it Ethiopian. This contention, however, was bound to be shaken to
some extent when the Sahara (as it is marked on maps) became
zoologically explored. Until the second decade of this century the
Great Desert had only been touched by zoological collectors on some
of its borders.</p>

<p>“Looking at any map, a somewhat large mountainland, Aïr, or
Asben, catches the eye in the middle of the Sahara, on older maps
and in textbooks called an ‘Oasis,’ which is, however, a most
misleading name for a mountainous country with desert tracks and
valleys, towns and villages, and mountains rising up to about 2,000
m. in height.</p>

<p>“Zoologically Aïr remained absolutely unknown until Buchanan’s
expedition. We knew already, from Barth’s <i>Travels</i>, that Aïr
has tropical vegetation, that some valleys are fertile and contain
good water, that ostriches, lions, giraffes, birds were seen by
him, that near Agades he observed monkeys and butterflies. Jean, in
1909, in his book, <i>Les Touaregs du Sud-Est, l’Aïr</i>, mentions
lions in the mountains of Timgue and Baguezan, foxes, hyenas, cats,
antelopes, monkeys, but he adds that giraffes do not now exist in
the country, and that the ostrich is not found north of
Damergu.</p>

<p>“Meagre as these statements are, they proved that the fauna of
Asben is chiefly, if not entirely, tropical. This is borne out by
Buchanan’s collections. Of the birds nearly all—apart from
migrants—may be called tropical species or subspecies. The mammals
are on a whole Sudanese, and not found in Algeria proper. The
Lepidoptera are essentially Saharan, many forms being similar to
those found by Geyr and myself in the Sahara<span class="pagenum"
id="Page_54">[54]</span> between the Atlas and Tidikelt, and the
Hoggar Mountains.</p>

<p>“The boundary between the palæarctic and tropical fauna may
therefore be regarded as fairly fixed to about the 20th degree of
latitude, though it is, of course, not a hard-and-fast dividing
line, there being many exceptions—even among birds, which form the
main basis of these notes.”</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i13"><img src='images/i13.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="center">SALT-BUSH IN THE HEART OF THE SAHARA KILLED OUT
BY CHOKING SANDS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i14"><img src='images/i14.jpg' alt=''>
<p>DISINTEGRATING ROCK IN A REGION OF TASSILI</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Again, in a further paper in <i>Novitates Zoologicæ</i>, March
1924, dealing with my second expedition, Dr. Hartert adds:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“More than ever it is clear that the ornis
of Aïr is tropical, as a country where Sunbirds, Barbets, Glossy
Starlings, etc., live has a tropical ornis, though there are a
number of palæarctic species, to which now a few must be added. On
the other hand, these striking tropical families like Sunbirds,
Glossy Starlings, Emerald Cuckoos, Hornbills, Barbets, are absent
from the Ahaggar (Hoggar) Mountains, and the almost lifeless desert
between Aïr and Ahaggar forms the boundary between the palæarctic
and tropical African faunas.”</p>

<p class="space-above15">From all this it is clear that Aïr
maintains many tropical influences that penetrate northward, like a
wedge, far into the Sahara, although its surroundings are foreign
to like conditions. For instance, regarding the last remark, if we
draw longitudinal lines 200 miles or so clear of either side of the
Aïr Mountains, immediately those lines leave the southern shores of
the Sahara, about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>
latitude 15°, they enter desert where all tropical influence
ceases.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw02">
<figure class="iw02" id="i15"><img src='images/i15.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A DESERTED STONE-BUILT VILLAGE OF AÏR</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>If we ponder over the thought that the Sahara is increasing in
sand, and size, is it not conceivable that this mountainland of Aïr
is as an island that, because of its altitude, is left high and dry
out in the open while the plains surrounding it have been gradually
smitten as by a plague that has slowly driven back the line of
fertility, while that which remains, as representative of a
configuration of the past, is the rugged rock land that still
offers a bold front to the advances of time and decay?</p>

<p>I am confident that therein lies the truth—that formerly a wide
pre-Saharan region of fertility once reached much farther north
than at present; and, when it became flooded over with rising sand,
and lost, Aïr still remained, and, behind the shelter of its rocks,
retained a good deal of its old characteristics. All around the
Sahara I believe that conditions of a similar nature exist.</p>

<p>Wherefore the vast arid interior, made up chiefly of rock and
sand, may, to-day, be likened to a pear that has rotted at the
core, and that cannot be prevented from increasing the consuming
advance of an unhealthy interior that grows outward, and ever
larger in circle.</p>

<p>Stern and drastic though they are, I am prepared to accept those
theories because they are in keeping with the nature of the
country. Moreover, they lead to the solution of problems that ever
bring me back to the source that is the cause of<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> every change in the land—which I
read to be <em>decay</em>.</p>

<p>To make clear this perpetual insinuation of decay, which is
everywhere in the atmosphere of the Sahara to-day, I will endeavour
to cite a few instances that have bearing on the subject.</p>

<p>First, reverting to the topic of the tropical life in Aïr. In
1850-51 Barth stated that he saw giraffes and ostriches, yet in
1909 we find that Jean wrote that “Giraffes and ostriches <em>do
not exist</em> in Aïr.” Both those travellers, however, recorded
lions in the region, but in 1922, though I hunted particularly for
lion, because of those very records, I could find neither trace nor
track of a single specimen. All that my diligent investigations
revealed was that one had been killed at Aouderas in 1915, and
another, the last, in 1918 by the Chief of Baguezan. I believe them
to be extinct in Aïr to-day. To give an opening for the further
continuance of this sequence of singular disappearance of wild
life, I can state that, at the present time, wart-hog and
guinea-fowl live in Aïr—and I have actual specimens to prove it—but
I am tolerably sure that travellers who may follow in my footsteps
will come to find that both have disappeared within the next
half-century or so.</p>

<p>As the people are dying out also, these changes cannot be
accounted for on the score of huntsmen. It is, I maintain, the
natural result of increasing sand and the drying up and dying out
of vegetation. Giraffes and ostriches have departed
from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> a land that can
no longer nourish them, and lions have disappeared because the
gazelle which they hunted have grown scarce, and open water-holes
are a rarity. Eventually the wart-hog and guinea-fowl will vanish
from the land for like reasons.</p>

<p>Furthermore, Nature accepts no denial to her whims of
devastation, wherever they rule, and, in the Sahara, the sweep of
her scythe has taken, in its path, the mowing down of the very
people of the land, who depart, like the creatures of the wild,
when the struggle for existence becomes no longer possible. Hence,
in Aïr alone, there are scores of stone-built villages deserted and
in ruins, and steeped in pathos, no longer harbouring a single
living soul.</p>

<p>In those, and in other ways, we learn that decay is sure. The
elusive problem is to gauge the duration of its reign, which can
only be conjectured, since the history of the Sahara is unwritten.
It may have set in a very long time ago, and be moving slowly, or
it may have been active but a few centuries.</p>

<p>That it has altered the aspect of the land is, to my mind,
undoubted. Here is an instance of the kind that sets one thinking.
South of Aïr, in country that is now desert, there is a well of
astonishing age, named Melen, in a basin surrounded by low hills of
bare, rough, stony nature. It is sunk through <em>solid rock</em>
to a depth of 70 feet, and is old beyond all calculation. One looks
down its depth and speaks in a hushed voice, and the dark chamber
booms back a whole volume of sound; a pebble is dropped to the
bottom and the splash<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>
of it sounds like the lashing of surf on the sea-coast. The wall of
the well is seared, in a remarkable way, with deep channels worn in
the solid rock by the friction of bucket-ropes that have passed up
and down the well—for who knows how long? It seems almost
impossible that they have been worn in an era within historic
times. The well offers a problem. There is no good grazing around
it; no means that would, to-day, enable a band of men to camp there
for a prolonged period while they laboured (with rock-drilling
implements, of which there is no record) on the tremendous task of
sinking the shaft through solid rock. Natives have no knowledge of
how the work was accomplished. Therefore I try to set back the
hands of Time and look over the land, imagining it as once covered
with vegetation for herds of camels and goats, and with pools of
water in the low hills. And, as a dreamer, I conjure up a picture
of a past when, mayhap, a tribe of happy nomads camped in the
hollow, in olden times, with everything in the neighbourhood that
they required for themselves and their herds; and the old chief of
the camp setting out to keep his slaves employed, at a time of
plenty, in drilling this well, maybe partly as a whim, and partly
to be assured of water for his people in the height of an over-long
summer.</p>

<p>Since visiting Melen I have travelled far in the Sahara, and
know many wells in like God-forsaken places, each of which suggests
that it belongs to a bygone age when greater fertility made it
possible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> for the
nomads to camp where they willed, which—if we take such wells as
significant—was sometimes in localities that they cannot camp in
now.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i16"><img src='images/i16.jpg' alt=''>
<p>TYPICAL TASSILI</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Wherefore, in many strange ways, it comes back to one, always,
that the Sahara is a decadent land. And that is a steadfast
impression, that the traveller is always catching, even when least
expected.</p>

<p>And, now, to broadly picture the aspect of the country, the
Sahara is not, of course, as is often popularly believed, simply a
vast track of desert sand. The “floor” of its vast area is made up,
principally, of four types of country, which I describe as follows,
along with the names by which they are known to the nomads:</p>

<table>
<colgroup>
<col>
<col class="width20">
<col class="width30">
</colgroup>

<tr>
<td class="tdl-top">(1)<span class="mock fnanchor">[6]</span></td>
<td class="tdl-top">“<i>Tenere</i>” (Tamascheq<a id=
"FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class=
"fnanchor">[6]</a>)</td>
<td rowspan="2" class="tdl-top hang1">=Absolute sandy
desert.<span class="mock fnanchor">[6]</span></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td>“<i>Arummila</i>” (Arabic)</td>
</tr>

<tr class="row-height">
<td class="tdl-top">(2)</td>
<td class="tdl-top">“<i>Adjadi</i>” or “<i>Igidi</i>”
(Tamascheq)</td>
<td rowspan="2" class="tdl-top hang1">=Regions of permanent
sand-dunes, sometimes barren, sometimes with scattered
vegetation.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td class="tdl-top">“<i>Erg</i>” (Arabic)</td>
</tr>

<tr class="row-height">
<td class="tdl-top">(3)</td>
<td class="tdl-top">“<i>Tanezrouft</i>” (Tamascheq)</td>
<td rowspan="2" class="tdl-top hang1">=Regions where the sand is
hard and interspersed with plains of pebbles. Sometimes great
gravel plains as barren as sand desert and hence often called
<em>Black Desert</em> by the Tuaregs.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td class="tdl-top">“<i>Reg</i>” (Arabic)</td>
</tr>

<tr class="row-height">
<td class="tdl-top">(4)</td>
<td class="tdl-top">“<i>Tassili</i>” (Tamascheq)</td>
<td rowspan="2" class="tdl-top hang1">=Regions of chiefly
horizontal, rough, rocky, much crevassed ground, often of shelf
rock, where decomposition is very rapid and outcrops much cracked
and broken apart. The ground surface, or plateau surface, is
usually as barren as sand desert, but in deep ravines in such
country there is often a sparse growth of vegetation.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td class="tdl-top">“<i>Elkideà</i>” (Arabic)</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>As a whole all
those regions are practically horizontal, and, except in the north,
are on a level well above the sea. Between longitude 5° and 10°,
from south to north, the altitudes of the Saharan plains, above
sea-level, are approximately:</p>

<table>
<colgroup>
<col class="width6">
<col class="width15">
<col class="width1">
<col class="width20">
</colgroup>

<tr>
<td>Latitude 15°</td>
<td colspan="3">1,525 feet (north of Tanout)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td colspan="3">1,800 feet (Tanout).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr word-spaced2em">„ 18°</td>
<td colspan="3">1,000 feet (desert west of Aïr)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td colspan="3">1,600 feet (desert east of Aïr)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td colspan="3">1,220 feet (Bilma Oasis. Longitude 13°)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr word-spaced2em">„ 20°</td>
<td colspan="3">1,500 feet (Gara Tindi)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td colspan="3">1,350 feet (In-Azaoua)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr word-spaced2em">„ 22°</td>
<td>3,100 feet (Zazir)</td>
<td rowspan="3" class="tdc-mid">⎫<br>
⎬<br>
⎭</td>
<td rowspan="3" class="tdc-mid">Land rising to the Ahaggar
Mountains.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td>3,700 feet (Tenacurt)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td>4,200 feet (Tamanrasset)</td>
</tr>

<tr class="row-height">
<td class="tdr-top word-spaced2em">„ 30°</td>
<td class="tdl-top">350 feet (Hassi Inifel)</td>
<td>
</td>
<td rowspan="2" class="tdl-top hang1">Land that falls gradually
away to a low basin in the El Erg region between the Ahaggar and
Atlas Mountains.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td class="tdl-top">600 feet (Messedli)</td>
<td>
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>The widespread aspect of the Sahara is of vast desolate plains
of rock and sand. But a fact which has been overlooked to an
astonishing degree, by popular consent, is that the Great Desert is
relieved by some very remarkable mountain groups, chief of which
are Aïr, Ahaggar, and Tibesti—each in extent as large as the whole
of England, and towering majestically to altitudes of 6,000 to
10,000 feet.</p>

<p>They are mountains that are lost to the world; full of mystical
silence, like the rest of the Sahara, and bleak and wild, yet they
are vast and rich in rugged grandeur; and the greys and browns
of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> their slopes are a
feast to the eyes of traveller weary of scanning limitless plains
of sand.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10 pb">
<figure class="iw10" id="i17"><img src='images/i17.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A DEEP RAVINE IN THE TASSILI OF AHAGGAR</p>

<p class="small">WITH POTHOLES OF WATER IN THE BOWELS OF THE
ROCK</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Aïr and Ahaggar I know well; Tibesti I have not visited. The
former are, in general, alike, particularly in rocky bareness and
eerie desolation; but, of the two, Aïr is the more picturesque and
fascinating. Both, accentuated by their desert surroundings, stand
out in strong, clear relief, aggressively bold and
dominant—majestic in every line, amid unrestricted space of earth
and sky.</p>

<p class="space-above15">“They are made up of range upon range of
hills, sometimes with narrow sand-flats and river-beds between;
massive hills of giant grey boulders, and others—not nearly so
numerous—with rounded summits and a surface of apparent
overlappings and downpourings of smooth loose reddish and grey
fragments, as if the peaks were of volcanic origin, though no
craters are there. But it is the formation of the many hills of
giant boulders that make these mountains so astonishing, so rugged,
and so unique. You might be on the roughest sea-coast in the world,
and not find scenes to surpass them in desolation and utter
wildness. They are hills that appear, to the eye, as if a mighty
energy underneath had, at some time, heaved and shouldered boulder
upon boulder of colossal proportions into position, until large,
wide-based, solid masses were raised into magnificent being. On the
other hand, there are instances where hills appear as if the forces
underneath had built their edifices badly, and in a manner not fit
to withstand the ravages of Time; and those are places where part
of the pile has apparently collapsed, and there remains<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> a bleak cliff face and the ruins
of rocks at the foot.”<a id="FNanchor_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7"
class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p>

<p class="space-above15">The slopes and the bastions of the summits
of those rugged, gravely picturesque mountains present a sentiment
of the sadness that goes with great age; and their dark
countenances are the very quintessence of patience. For all time
they have stood as over-masters of the Great Desert. Proudly they
overlook the far-flung wastes beneath them, where foot-hills die
out among black, stony, boulder-strewn plains, and <em>“lakes”</em>
of sand, relieved, here and there, by odd-shaped pill-box or
church-like kopjes that stand as miniature guardians of the
mountains behind them—beyond, right to the faint horizon, nothing
but the great dead plains of the desert.</p>

<p>Ahaggar is not, as a whole, so rugged and picturesque as Aïr,
though it has many similar summits, especially the bare,
disintegrating hills of loose brown stone that are rounded and have
no pronounced contour.</p>

<p>The highest point I reached in Ahaggar was 6,000 feet (near
Tazeruk), and in Aïr 6,050 feet (Baguezan).</p>

<p>Ahaggar, on the whole, I consider less habitable than Aïr. At
the time of my journey, in the months of March and April, the
scattered acacias in wadis and mountain valleys were leafless from
prolonged lack of rain, and many of them had been<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> completely ruined through
natives lopping off all the main branches so as to feed their goats
in extremity. Pasturage had completely given out in many places,
and herds had left the region to seek grazing ground where life was
possible. (Whole families of the <i>Ehaggaran</i> Tuaregs had at
that time trekked 500 to 600 miles, to outlying wadis west of Aïr,
to keep their flocks and camels alive on <i>Alwat</i>, a plant
common to some regions, in sandy wadis and among <i>Ergs</i>.)</p>

<div class="figcenter iw07">
<figure class="iw07" id="i18"><img src='images/i18.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="center">A SANDY RIVER-BED, IN THE MOUNTAINS, SHORTLY
AFTER RAIN HAS SWEPT DOWN IT</p>

<p class="small">NOTE HOW PASSAGE OF CURRENT HAS RIPPLED THE
SAND</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>On the other hand, I noted that places of water—wells, and,
particularly, oozing surface springs in river-beds, often salt and
chemical bearing, were more numerous in Ahaggar than in Aïr, and
where such conditions exist there is also more domestic,
garden-plot cultivation, executed chiefly by <i>Zakummeran</i> and
<i>Imrad</i> tribes, and not by the haughty nomadic Tuaregs.</p>

<p>As a whole, these mountains of the Sahara attract more rain than
the desert, on the rare occasions when the rain condescends to fall
from the sky. But that advantage is almost momentary, for, owing to
the naked, growthless, and soilless slopes, and the quick fall of
the intricate network of mountain brooks and river-courses, so soon
as rain touches the bare hills it streams down, to be swept away
out into estuaries on the desert that drink in water with a thirst
that knows no quenching.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, a frugal benefit is left behind, for the passing
of mountain torrents leaves some moisture in the river-banks, and
pools in the best of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>
deep-gullied streams, and in a brief week green vegetation springs
to life in thin lines in places, and grows quickly to maturity. And
it is this that is the grazing supply of the year—whether browsed
over then or in the long, dreary months that follow, when grass and
plants, in scattered tussocks, lie hay-dry and uninviting, but are
the best that the country has to offer.</p>

<p>I noted in Ahaggar that clouds were often in the sky; which I
had not remarked in Aïr, or, for that matter, anywhere farther
south, except at the season of rains (July-August) in the Western
Sudan—rains which sometimes move northwards over parts of the
Sahara. It may be that out-thrown influences of the northern
hemisphere, despatched from the Mediterranean over the Atlas
Mountains, reach southward to about the latitude of Ahaggar. Later
on, when marching to the north of the Algerian Sahara, I noted in
my diary the <em>coolness</em> of north winds, when they blew, and
imagined I sensed a tang of the sea in my nostrils. (Born and
reared by the sea, my senses are acutely tuned in that
respect.)</p>

<p>In conclusion, the Sahara is, in entirety, a vast waste land in
its interior; its greater area made up of broken, desolate plains;
its features of relief extraordinary mountain-lands of rugged
grandeur.</p>

<p>Throughout the whole decay appears insistent and sure, and the
increase of sand incessant. It has been shown to be a land
containing considerable rock surface, and wherever one goes much
of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> such country is
disintegrating and crumbling away; thus forming more and more sand,
which accumulates, at the whim of the prevailing wind, to bank up
and choke out the plant life of the country. In places one may dig
down at the roots of shrubs and plants that are dead and find that
the old surface of the ground is a foot or so beneath that of
to-day.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="map2"><img src='images/map2.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>

<p>The accompanying diagram is an illustration of rock
disintegration in the Sahara.</p>

<p>There is no tangible counteraction to these advances of decay,
and it would seem that they are destined irrevocably to continue.
But on this score the question of rainfall is intensely
interesting, for should the elements ever be kind, and really good
and consistent rains fall for two or three years in succession, the
whole land would undoubtedly<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_66">[66]</span> revive its vegetation with astonishing speed.
Perhaps such revivals have occurred in the past, and may occur
again. But I fear that, at best, they can be but short-lived.
Indeed, conditions at the present are the opposite, and the
prospect is that they will so continue. One hears from the nomads
of regions having no rain for three years, four years, and even
seven years; while have I myself seen <em>had</em> dried out and
dead, though natives declare that it never dies except when there
are more than four rainless years.</p>

<p>The Sahara is not yet devoid of vegetation, but its poverty is
advancing. To-day we find the old caravan roads across Africa
unfrequented—the Cyrenaican-Kufra-Wadai road, the
Tripoli-Bilma-Chad road, the Tunis-Tripoli-Ghat-Aïr-Kano road: all
of great antiquity, and from time immemorial the trade routes
across North Africa. These roads are still to be seen, ten to
fifteen parallel paths, camel-width apart, with undiminished
clearness, where they pass over stony ground, powdered down to
clean-cut furrows by passage of countless feet. They are steeped in
the romance and mystery of the Sahara. Over them have passed
hard-won pilgrimages to Mecca, cavalcades of slaves fettered and
limb-weary and fearful, and rich caravans of merchandise that
reached their goal or were looted—a gamble that made or lost a
fortune for the masters who sent them forth. To-day they are
unused, and the commerce of the Sahara is dead. And this is
comprehensible when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>
the poverty of the land is reviewed and the belief held that
growing dearth of vegetation has made it well-nigh impossible for
large caravans to live to-day on those roads.</p>

<p>The same melancholy decline is to be found among the people of
the Sahara. Its population is scattered and thin, and some regions
are uninhabited altogether. We can only approximately estimate the
numbers in the interior, which I believe, from data collected, to
be about 40,000. Say 200 to 600 in oases here and there at wide
intervals; 5,000 in the Aïr region; 5,000 in Ahaggar, and 10,000
Tebu in Tibesti; roughly, about one human soul to every sixty
square miles.</p>

<p>In Aïr, and Ahaggar, and, excepting Tibesti, throughout the
scattered grazing-grounds of the Sahara the masters or
range-holders are chiefly Tuaregs, who are a southern race of
Berbers. It is not proposed to deal with their history here, and it
will suffice to say that they are a white race, descended from some
of the oldest European stocks, and that the love of fighting and
adventure that is born in them is an inheritance from forefathers
who made their wars historic.</p>

<p>At an early stage in this chapter I stated that to-day Aïr
contained scores of deserted villages. They are illuminating as
illustrative of the drastic extent of change and decay. They have
completely died out.</p>

<p>And what of Agades, which is still alive? Its dwellings are half
in ruins. It supports about<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_68">[68]</span> 2,000 inhabitants, and to-day its
surroundings are drear beyond description. Yet it was once a great
desert city, on a famous route across Africa of great antiquity,
and is said to have once contained 50,000 inhabitants—more than the
whole population of the Sahara’s interior to-day.</p>

<p>Verily, ever it comes back to me; the Sahara is a land of decay.
To the traveller it holds its principal charm in its strange mystic
beauty and wonderful vastness, and in the fact that it is a land of
Allah, steeped in inherent sadness.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_69">[69]</span><a id="c05"></a>CHAPTER V<br>
THE TARALUM</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c05.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_71">[71]</span>CHAPTER V<br>
<span class="med">THE TARALUM</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">The</span> Bilma Salt Caravan, the
great <i>Taralum</i> of the Sahara: few have ever heard of it, or
its fame. Yet in one part of Africa its journey is the event of the
year, and the date of departure as important as a national fête in
civilised lands.</p>

<p>Like a fleet of ships taking to the high seas to bring home
riches, so this famous concourse of camels sets out over oceans of
sand to bring south the salt supply of the year to many people
dependent upon it.</p>

<p>The caravan’s “Port of Departure,” each year, is from harbouring
foothills on the south-east side of the Aïr Mountains, and the
great gathering takes place from all quarters of the land.</p>

<p>The harbour is well chosen, and the time of the year, for the
caravan starts at the season when there is the best chance of water
in the river-beds, and grazing for camels for a number of days.</p>

<p>Beyond the harbour, befitting a port, away to the east, lies
open, stony “Reg” and, thence, the vast, empty desert.</p>

<p>It was into this harbour that, with the purpose of joining the
<i>Taralum</i>, my caravan rode, on a<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_72">[72]</span> certain day in October; the camels,
unhurried, picking their way over stones with habitual caution. We
had been travelling for hours in country impressively forsaken, and
still, and silent. But, with a shock, the whole atmosphere was
suddenly changed and all sense of solitude dispelled.</p>

<p>We had ridden in upon a camp of astounding proportions and
unique picturesqueness. Before us stood <em>thousands of
camels</em>, not a hundred or two, which would have been amazing
enough, but, literally, <em>thousands</em>; and the spectacle was
one never to be forgotten.</p>

<p>Where the ruins of the old forsaken village of Tabello squat
dolefully on the banks of the river-bed of that name, the great
caravan had already congregated in part, and was still in process
of expansion.</p>

<p>As far as eye could see camps were settled on the banks and on
the sand of the river-bed—camps full of pack-saddles, water-skins,
bundles of coarse hay-fodder and bundles of firewood; all in
readiness for the long desert journey.</p>

<p>About the camps, among the camels, picturesque camel-men moved
gracefully, or reclined upon the sand—athletic-looking men, of the
long trails, familiar with their tasks, strong and resourceful, as
befits men who live constantly out-of-doors.</p>

<p>Some were engaged in preparing a meal, but the greater number
were working on such jobs as plaiting rope from palm-leaves for
binding their camel-loads, strengthening pack-saddles that
required<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> repair,
mending sandals, and patching rents in cotton garbing—in fact,
putting all the odd touches to their gear that go to perfect and
complete outfits for a strenuous ordeal.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i19"><img src='images/i19.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A CORNER OF THE CAMP AT TABELLO</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>And, all the time, they talked with an unwonted air of
excitement, passing round the latest and most sensational news of
camp, and again and again going over the details and hazards of the
journey ahead of them. In this keyed-up excitement there was
something of the atmosphere of an army on the move that has an
action impending.</p>

<p>They are chiefly Tuaregs from the northern regions of the
Southern Sahara, and a scattering of Hausas from the territories
farther south, while both have their quota of <i>Buzus</i>
(slaves), who are men of many mixtures of breed and are appointed
the most menial work in camp and on the road.</p>

<p>The whole concourse has gathered from far and wide to this
appointed rendezvous: from Kano, Katsina, and Sokoto, in Northern
Nigeria; from Gourè and Zinder and other towns in Damagarim, and
from many quarters in Damergou and Aïr.</p>

<p>Upon inquiry I learned that between 4,000 and 5,000 camels had
already arrived; truly a magnificent array of animals. And not only
were their numbers great: they were <em>the pick of the camels of
the country</em>, for it is recognised, by all who know the route,
that only the finest are fit to live through the long, hard journey
over the terrible wastes of sand, that are as a cruel expansive sea
on the trackless way that lies between them and Bilma.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>We had camped on
the fringe of the crowd, and thenceforth became a unit of it.
Salutations acclaimed us on all sides. The <i>Taralum</i> is
renowned for its meetings of long-lost friends who travel far
afield. Hausas and Tuaregs stalked smilingly into camp whom I had
met a year or two ago, or back on the trail on the present journey;
while my camelmen found a whole host of friends whom they knew
directly or indirectly “back home.” News of all kinds was gleaned,
of the south and of the outer trails, and friendliness was in the
air and everyone in high spirits.</p>

<p>After a night’s rest we settled down, like the others, to the
immediate concerns of the journey ahead, and were kept busy
knitting our gear to perfection of strength and compactness.</p>

<p>Like the others, also, we had to watch our camels alertly to
keep them from straying and mixing with others while shifting for
ourselves in the competition for the best of grazing.</p>

<p>To feed such an enormous caravan, even but for a brief day or
two, is a tremendous consideration, and Tabello had been chosen for
this very reason because it offered the best conditions to be found
in a region where drear poverty of growth is the general rule.</p>

<p>Sharp-thorned acacias, shrubs, prickly ground plants, coarse
grass tussocks—all make a camel’s meal; for they will tackle most
things, and they eat heavily when the chance offers. The skill with
which they strip the leaves from cruel-barbed<span class="pagenum"
id="Page_75">[75]</span> trees and plants is truly astonishing when
one remembers that their lips and noses are soft as velvet and
sensitive in the extreme.</p>

<p>Acacias are the chief trees at Tabello; low, insignificant, and
far removed from the tall, leafy plants that one usually associates
with the name. They are nowhere in forests, and grow in an
irregular line along the dry river-bed banks, or in scattered,
scraggy groups in hollows where they happen to have found a bare
footing. There are a number of varieties, chief of which are:
<i>tashrar</i>, <i>tamat</i>, and <i>tigar</i>—thorny,
squat-branched, lean and small-leafed; yet all splendid camel food.
Among them, particularly where bushes grow together, is
<i>aborer</i>, a densely branched tree with long green thorns and
sappy wood. A choice tree to the camel is <i>agar</i>, which seeks
the solitudes and often grows alone in the open. It is a
pale-coloured evergreen with thick twisting branches closely
covered with tiny leaves. Then there is <i>abisgee</i>, which is
not an acacia. It grows, willow-like, in clumps, and is very green,
and has a pungent smell not unlike skunk. Camels eat it—and, as a
consequence, smell foully—but only sparingly, unless no other food
offers.</p>

<p>Underfoot, on the sand, in scanty patches, grow tussocks of
coarse grass and prickly plants; among them <i>tasmir</i>,
<i>taruma</i>, <i>thelult</i>, <i>tatite</i>, <i>afazo</i>, and
<i>alwat</i>.<a id="FNanchor_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8" class=
"fnanchor">[8]</a> These plants were essential to the life
of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> the camp, for they
meant food and contentment to the camels, whose huge numbers roamed
the country-side, rapidly eating down whatever growth could be
found within reach.</p>

<p>As to the food of the future: no camel had trekked into camp
without a big load of dry, harsh tussock-grass on either side,
gathered from the most favourable places <i>en route</i>: and those
bales, which every animal will carry at the start, are the
camel-food that must serve throughout the journey on the
desert.</p>

<p>The departure for Bilma was delayed. On the day appointed to
start news reached camp that a lot of <i>Kel-Ferouan</i> Tuaregs,
on the way back from Hausaland, were not yet in. It was also known
that there were some stragglers on the way. So that during the few
days of camp-life that followed our arrival at Tabello others
trekked in, as we had done, with their lines of fodder-loaded
camels swelling the numbers, until 7,000 animals were the total on
the eve of departure—a mighty cavalcade, and one of the largest
caravans of modern times.</p>

<p>It represented, massed into one narrow area, the greater part of
the wealth of a land that has no wealth if reckoned to the square
mile of its vastness and general desolation. At a fair valuation
each animal is worth £15 per head, making the total value of the
<i>Taralum</i> £105,000.</p>

<p>Owing to this value, which, besides being monetary, represents
the cream of the transport stock of the whole region, whose loss
would be irreparable,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>
precautions to protect the caravan are taken, each year, by the
French Administration of the Territoire du Niger.</p>

<p>Wherefore a force of <i>Meharists</i> had been sent from the
south to join the <i>Taralum</i> at Tabello and act as an escort
while crossing the desert. In addition, every native with the
caravan is armed with weapons of war of some sort—rifle, sword, or
lance; while some even carried the remarkable oryx-hide
battle-shield that is peculiar to the Tuaregs. All are familiar
with the danger of raids in the Sahara, and many have experienced
them and fought before.</p>

<p>The date of departure of the <i>Taralum</i> is an event in the
Sahara as notable as Christmas Day in civilised countries. It is
fixed by tribes who know nothing of printed calendars, and the
appointed date is: “Two days after the new moon <i>Ganni
Wazuwirin</i> (the October-November moon). On this occasion,
because of the delay already referred to, the great caravan started
two days late.</p>

<p>On the 25th of October, at the first streak of dawn, the dark,
gaunt forms of lines of camels, bulkily loaded with fodder, and
food and water for a severe journey, could be just discerned at the
mouth of a hill track, leading east out of Tabello river-bed.</p>

<p>In the dark comrade called to comrade in endeavour to find one
another. There is a good deal of confusion; the Awe of Silence is
absent.</p>

<p>The great cavalcade is saddled and ready to<span class="pagenum"
id="Page_78">[78]</span> march, and, but for the sound of voices,
might well be taken for a stealthy army setting out on great
enterprise. The huge massed groups of men and animals have all the
significance of a powerful force on the move. And, like an army, it
is unwieldy at the commencement.</p>

<p>There is a period of loitering. Some camps are late and their
animals troublesome to load. Some men inquire the plan of march,
and that is explained to them. While yet others say good-bye to
friends they are leaving behind.</p>

<p>Eventually a low exchange of queries and orders set the foremost
camels off on the track, with others following as close behind as
possible; like a mere trickle, at the beginning, running out from
the black mass of a mighty flood along a tiny newly discovered
channel of escape.</p>

<p>We were off. The great journey had begun.</p>

<p>That first day, to each possessor of a line of camels, was a
tale of fractious animals and broken loads. All first days out are
the same, even if the animals have only been idle in camp for a
brief spell. Trouble can only be prevented to some extent. And the
secret, there, is to take care that the same saddle, and the same
load, if possible, is never changed from the animal to which it is
originally allocated, for until the same load has been carried
regularly there is bound to be trouble from individuals. They are
timid of anything new, and eye any odd-shaped or odd-coloured part
of a load with uneasy suspicion. But the commonest<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> cause of trouble is from new
loads that have been put up so that they fit uneasily and rub or
jab the bearer; until the worried animal decides to get rid of
it—which, with a buck and a plunge or two, is only a matter of a
few moments. That ungodly act is disastrous enough, but it is
doubled or trebled when the pranks of one involve the upset of the
whole line in the neighbourhood.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw04">
<figure class="iw04" id="i20"><img src='images/i20.jpg' alt=''>
<p>FOOD FOR CAMELS ON A DESERT JOURNEY</p>

<p class="small">EACH BALE WEIGHS ABOUT 80 LBS.</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>The day moved slowly and halts were constant in one line of
camels or another, while in the wake of the caravan lay a trail of
rope-ends and saddle leavings. The type of country did not help
matters, for it was <i>reg</i> of stone and rocks; rough on the
camels’ feet, and uneven in contour.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, the <i>Taralum</i> travelled painstakingly for
fourteen hours, and, after dark, reached the end of the rough
<i>reg</i> country to camp on the edge of a vast ocean of sand,
that held, somewhere in its bosom, the salt-giving oases of Fachi
and Bilma—the latter the goal of the caravan.</p>

<p>Like everyone else, I was tired, yet the sounds and scenes of
that first camping of the <i>Taralum</i> were so astonishing that I
almost forgot my fatigue.</p>

<p>Camels being off-loaded are noisy at any time, but tired camels
seem to believe in letting everyone within hearing know that they
have a cause for complaint. The twenty to thirty of one’s own line
can make noise enough. But add to that the clamourings and
complaints of <em>thousands</em>, and then try to imagine something
of the astonishing uproar<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_80">[80]</span> that resounded through the encampment of the
<i>Taralum</i>.</p>

<p>Nor was the commotion all over in a little. It kept on almost
until midnight, while, like a great cable being drawn slowly in,
the huge caravan rolled slowly forward to arrive length by length
and find resting-place, band beside band, on the “floor” of the
sheltered basin that had been chosen for the night.</p>

<p>The shallow valley, drear and dead when we arrived, was soon a
vast arena of twinkling camp-fires, in area ever increasing as
fresh arrivals came in. There were no trees or other hindrance to
the vision, and the whole massed encampment lay open to view. It
made an impressive scene; impressive because of its size and
singular wilderness character, and because of its romantic mission.
It comprised an army of nomads and animals on their first step of
invasion, halted in an alcove below the dark rocks of the outland
of Aïr, while beyond lay the ocean of sand, which on the morrow,
and thereafter, held their adventure.</p>

<p>In my own band our camp was about as usual, for we were seasoned
travellers long ere this. But we were all tired, since the day had
been irksome and long. Wherefore we were soon in our blankets,
resting but awake, because of the noise around us.</p>

<p>Our camels had been offered some of the coarse hay we carried,
only to sniff at it disdainfully and refuse it. Whereupon my head
camelman smiled and rebaled it, remarking in his own tongue:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>“Wait till this
time to-morrow. They won’t be so particular when real hunger seizes
them.”</p>

<div class="figcenter iwlong">
<figure class="iwlong" id="i21a"><img src='images/i21a.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iwlong">
<figure class="iwlong" id="i21b"><img src='images/i21b.jpg' alt=''>
<p>GLIMPSES OF THE <i>TARALUM</i></p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>The voyage of the <i>Taralum</i>, on the days that followed,
was, in essentials, one long test of <em>patience</em>,
<em>perseverance</em>, and <em>endurance</em>, in travelling a
desert of terrifying desolation.</p>

<p>The Bilma Desert is desert at its worst; an absolute sea of
sand, destitute of the minutest object. Nothing relieves the eye,
not even a morsel of the insignificance of a branch-end to hint of
vegetation; and there is no living creature whatever.</p>

<p>Day after day, endless leagues of level, wind-rippled sand are
passed and lie ahead. The desolation holds monotonous intensity;
barely relieved, even by the banks of dunes which are encountered
in places, softly rounded like the swing of great waves rolling to
the land on a calming ocean, and petrified in the act. When it is
calm the sand rests. But that is seldom, for there are two forces
that are constant in the desert: wind and sun. And when the wind
blows the sands of the surface are never still, and legions of
particles fly before its bidding.</p>

<p>But to the traveller the wind is his salvation, unless it rises
to a gale and brings that terror of the desert—a sandstorm. Even
though hot, with the breath of the glowing sand, the wind is a
measure of counteraction to the oppression of the tremendous
blazing heat of the overhead sun.</p>

<p>Beyond all else, the desert is the Kingdom of<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> the Sun. Of all lands where it
rules, none know it in greater strength nor more pitiless mood than
here. It subdues and kills; it has conquered the earth. It is
antagonistic to everything that lives. It even glares on the
caravans of the desert as a tyrant on foolish intruders that are
prey to be destroyed. Day after day, almost without a break
throughout the year, it rises, a globe of gold set in a halo, to
rule through long monotonous hours, white in intensity, and
ungilded when high in the sky, until the hour arrives for it to
sink to rest: when it passes to another sphere followed by
mutterings of relief from the tired lips of men who thank Allah
that it has gone.</p>

<p>It was 200 miles from Tabello to Fachi, another 100 miles to
Bilma; and the same distance on the return journey—600 miles in
all. Fresh water for man and beast was to be obtained in the region
only at these oases. By forced marches, Fachi, first in our path,
was to be reached on the sixth day. All water-skins, the very life
of the people of the caravan, would be empty by then, and the
camels in sore need of slaking their thirst. It was no land to
dally in. All sensed the danger of thirst and starvation, which was
in the very sand of the desert about them. Wherefore the whole
caravan pushed ever on with anxious earnestness, and with an
invisible discipline peculiar to tribal traditions.</p>

<p>The <i>Taralum</i> travelled 38 to 40 miles per day: 14 to 18
hours of patient, steady plodding. There<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_83">[83]</span> was no halt to rest animals. They carried
their burdens throughout the livelong day, with the men of the
caravan riding on the top of the loads. The proportion of men was
one to every 5 or 7 animals; in all, about 1,100 human lives.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i22"><img src='images/i22.jpg' alt=''>
<p>PART OF THE <i>TARALUM</i> CAMPED AT FACHI OASIS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>In the open desert the <i>Taralum</i> made an astonishing array.
The space that the 7,000 camels occupied on the march is almost
past belief. From a situation in the centre of the caravan one
viewed neither the head of the cavalcade nor the tail. So far as
eye could see, out in front, or back in the rear, the marching army
diminished until vanishing lines met the horizon, dark specks on
the light sand, looking like mere swarms of flies on the carpet of
the world.</p>

<p>The marvellous length of the caravan set me figuring. Individual
lines controlled by one wisehead and two helpers, numbering fifteen
to twenty camels. I measured five camels travelling in line,
including the head-ropes by which each is attached to the camel in
front, and found the distance to be fifty feet. This meant that if
the whole caravan travelled as one single line it would extend over
thirteen miles. However, in the wide, roadless expanse of the
desert, they are in the habit of forming irregularly, and often
bunch together in groups of four to six lines abreast, with a gap
between each massed formation, or connected by a straggling line or
two. Therefore, I estimated that the grouping into four or more
lines abreast about levelled up on the gaps, and arrived at the
conclusion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> that the
whole caravan travelled about as a double line, and was therefore
<em>six to seven miles in length</em>.</p>

<p>But those are cold figures and, though it is hoped that they may
convey some conception of the magnitude of the <i>Taralum</i>, they
do not go further. To enter into the true spirit of the great
onward-moving army one must grasp the atmosphere of an old-world
pilgrimage, that surrounds the cavalcade. It is all as it might
have been in the far-back pages of biblical history. And these
nomads, who man the caravan, are descendants of peoples of historic
antiquity, they retain the grace and the dress and the breeding of
their forebears, they are primitively armed, they are primitively
fearless, they are primitively mounted: and in their very
primitiveness throughout they are a part of the past—while the
forsaken world they travel is an age-old land of infinite
mystery.</p>

<p>It may be fitting to describe here one of these war-able yet
curiously religious nomads of the desert places whose military
record goes back through many centuries, and who are to-day,
although wholly unmodern, a select few of the finest travellers and
camel-men in the world. I choose, because he is near at hand, Hamid
of Timmersu. He is twenty-five years of age, tall, strong, and
graceful. Like all true Tuaregs, he is coppery pale skinned,<a id=
"FNanchor_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> not
negroid black. But,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>
as he is heavily veiled, little of his features are seen. Were they
revealed, however, they would be, like his hands and feet, clearly
formed and delicate; almost refined. Of his face there is only a
slit uncovered, through which his dark eyes gleam and rove. The
veil, protecting his face from driving sand, and shading his eyes
from the sun, is of swathes of light cotton webbing wrapped in many
folds around the head. It is blue and much faded by the sun. Small
growths of side-whiskers protrude secretively at the angles where
the upper and lower swathes join near the ears in drawing to the
back of the head. A tiny tassel of shiny plaited hair protrudes
below the veil at the back of the neck; a detail of vanity. His
gown is loose and flowing, and carried easily. Like his veil, it is
blue, and much faded by the sun. It is relieved in front by a
cluster of leather wallets, containing “The Blessings of Allah,”
which hang from a black cord from the neck to the waist. A homespun
blanket is flung, as a plaid, over his right shoulder and passes
under the left armpit. It drops to his knees, for he is girded up
for the work of the road,<a id="FNanchor_10"></a><a href=
"#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> and strong bare legs show
below, with soiled travel-worn sandals protecting the soles of the
feet. His arms are bare from the elbows, and a bundle of small
leather charms hangs from a blackstone bangle above the elbow of
the left arm; which is his working arm, for Hamid is a left-handed
man. And for this reason, also, his leather-sheathed sword
hangs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> on his
<em>right</em> side. Everything about him is carried with an easy,
unconscious grace that is inherent in all—and Hamid of Timmersu is
true to the type of Tuareg lineage.</p>

<p>The nights on the desert with the <i>Taralum</i> were memorable.
Sunset, dusk, darkness; then an hour or two of patient, soft-footed
plodding, one dark column following another, each trying to keep in
touch with the next shadowy mass in front. These hours appeared
doubly cool, after the malicious heat of day, except for occasional
reminders of the heat that had passed that was borne to us in puffs
of hot soft wind off sand that still simmered. With the passing of
day, atmospheric lights of softest rainbow hues hung over the
sands, changeful and momentary and unpossessible, briefly colouring
everything in the land with a gentle Asiatic glow of arresting
beauty, ere vanishing before the night. It is such moments of
wonderful colouring that have given to all deserts their far-famed
reputation for mystic beauty, and the more remote the region the
greater the effect.</p>

<p>With the night come the stars, timidly at first, in the
unclouded canopy, then in their thousands as the hours deepen. By
name the natives know the planets and constellations and principal
stars, and, like sailors at sea, use them as guides to check and
direct their course.</p>

<p>Time moves on. Men sing a snatch of song in effort to liven
drooping spirits, some chew a few hard dates to allay a gnawing
hunger, while, in my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>
own line, we, like the others, covertly look ahead, anxious to
catch the first lights of the leaders’ camp-fires, that will tell
that at last the long, long day is done.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i23"><img src='images/i23.jpg' alt=''>
<p>AMONG SAND-DUNES</p>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i24"><img src='images/i24.jpg' alt=''>
<p>THE TOLL OF THE DESERT</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>We mount a rise. We do not see it in the darkness, but we feel
our camels ascending. We reach the crest, and, behold! the
merriest, most welcome lights in all the world twinkle in the
distance. Camp for the night is immediately ahead. All fatigue, for
the moment, is over, every trial is forgotten in view of those
beckoning lights.</p>

<p>Slowly the great caravan troops in; to camp as they arrive. With
incredible swiftness all are busy at once, getting loads off,
barracking camels, and lighting tiny fires with a few sticks from
precious bundles of firewood. Hurriedly cooked, a meal of sorts is
devoured ravenously.</p>

<p>Then the camels are attended to. They are viciously hungry. So
hungry that many of them have been muzzled all day, with a net over
their mouths to keep them from stealing from the loads <i>en
route</i>. They have now to be fed, a little fodder at a time. It
is dangerous to let them gulp down the coarse baled tussock-grass
over-rapidly. But they can only have a limited ration from the
supply, and that disappears almost as quickly as our own
repast.</p>

<p>Then to sleep beneath the stars, dog-tired and dreamless, and
utterly regardless of the din of incoming camels as the rear of the
caravan continues to arrive in the encampment long into the depth
of night.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>At three or four
o’clock, on the morning that follows, feeling more dead than alive,
and that we have hardly been asleep at all, we are forced to rise
from our couches. Camels are roaring on all sides; the caravan is
about to set out again. It is bitterly cold before dawn at this
season, and all shiver in thin clothing. A fire is out of the
question; we have only a bare supply of fuel. So we busy ourselves
reloading and are off again well before daybreak.</p>

<p>Thus the long days, and short nights, passed, as the
<i>Taralum</i> held on its steady course across the seas of
desert.</p>

<p>Each individual throughout the caravan who had not made the
journey to Bilma before was known as <i>Rago</i> (sheep); while,
once the journey has been made, a man attains the distinction of
the title, <i>Sofo Aroki</i> (Old Traveller).</p>

<p>Many had made the journey during previous years, yet to one man
only was entrusted the right to guide, and his judgment was
absolute law. No one questioned it, and, without chart or compass,
or any mechanical aid whatever, he travelled unerringly to the
goal. His name was Efali: a little old man, with remarkable,
piercing eyes. He was famous as a traveller and as an old raider;
but most famous of all as a guide in the desert. He held the life
of the caravan in his hands, and his judgment of direction was
uncanny in the exactitude with which he traversed the featureless
wastes that each day lay before him like a vacant sea. It was only
at rare intervals that anyone<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_89">[89]</span> in doubt became aware that he was travelling
true. At such times, when we were no doubt travelling an old trail,
minute signs that might escape the layman were noted by sharp eyes,
such as a half-buried pellet of camel-dung, or a thread of frayed
and crumbled rope, or a tiny piece of clothing-end. And those
sometimes led to something much more tangible—the bleached bones of
camels half buried in sand.</p>

<p>As illustrative of the exacting nature of this redoubtable
voyage over the Bilma Desert, some account regarding the strain of
it may be of interest.</p>

<p>The men of the <i>Taralum</i> undoubtedly rank among the ablest
travellers and camel-men in the world, yet throughout the journey
much weariness was remarked in the caravan. Men and camels tired
badly; tired, too, in many cases, long before the end. The
excessively long days, and the heat of a merciless sun, told their
tale.</p>

<p>Truly it is the dominion of the sun, which is the most
exhausting thing of all in an utterly pitiless land. Many men
suffered terribly from constant sun-glare on eyes that could not
endure the strain, which not only caused aches and pains, but also
induced acute fatigue. Men so affected, after a time, cannot look
upon the landscape without great effort, and one sees them sitting
on their loads, with gowns drawn closely over their faces, while
they doze and droop to the point of falling from their seats.</p>

<p>In due course the strange, diminutive, sand-blown<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> oasis of Fachi was reached, and
a week later Bilma. And, when the harvest of salt-cones was
bartered for and loaded, without delay the <i>Taralum</i> set out
on the return journey; fearful of tarrying, even at the oases
because of the poverty of food for camels or men. Indeed, the
sand-surrounded oases were almost as appallingly barren as the
desert around them, except for their groves of dates, which bore no
fruit at that season of the year.</p>

<p>On the way back to Aïr, the prolonged strain told most heavily
toward the end, partly from natural causes, and partly as a result
of having subsisted overlong on scant nourishment. Indeed, so
closely gauged were the food supplies of the <i>Taralum</i> that
they began to give out before the end, even under the most rigid
economy.</p>

<p>Men and animals weakened perceptibly. Of the former, nearly
everyone limped when walking on foot, most of them suffering from
numerous dry cracks that had opened cruelly in toes and soles of
sandalled feet, through the extreme dryness of the atmosphere and
the cutting friction of hot, bone-dry sand.</p>

<p>Even Efali, the fine old guide, had the appearance of a broken
man in the end; limping, and stooping almost double, though, at the
start, he had presented a trim, nimble figure remarkable for a man
of his age.</p>

<p>Some camels died on the outward journey, but many more were lost
on the way back. Those were individual losses, a few here and there
in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> almost every
company, and the total loss in the <i>Taralum</i> was not recorded
as a whole. But, on the third day before the end, it was common
news that no fewer than forty camels had fallen out, unable to
struggle on at the pace the caravan travelled. These were left
behind in the tracks of the caravan, some at the point of death,
others to take their chance of struggling through, unloaded, at
their own gait.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i25"><img src='images/i25.jpg' alt=''>
<p>EFALI</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>After twenty-seven days on the desert the caravan drew near to
the friendly foot-hills of Aïr, and, when the first dim outline
could be discerned, it was akin to sighting land after a long
voyage at sea.</p>

<p>To all, these distant hills were a vastly pleasant sight because
of their relief from the monotony of sand, and doubly pleasant
because they represented home.</p>

<p>Next day we were among them, and how peaceful they seemed, and
restful to the eyes! One forgot their customary barrenness in an
ecstasy of delight in their tangible solidity and sheltering
slopes.</p>

<p>I caught myself at sundown listening dreamily, as if to some
rare music, and awoke to the fact that it was only a cricket
chirping a homily in the grass. Yet it was a volume of sweet sound
after the silence of the great empty spaces.</p>

<p>On the 21st of November we recamped at Tabello, and after a
day’s rest speedily dispersed our diverse ways.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>My last
recollection is of Efali. I chanced to come upon him in camp
enjoying a well-earned rest, and the luxury of <em>shade</em>,
beneath a tree. He was through at last, with the strain of carrying
the life of the <i>Taralum</i> in his hands. The old man struggled
to his feet to come forward to shake hands, and, though every step
gave him pain, the undaunted fire of a great traveller was in his
eyes, and the spirit that knows no defeat in the big places of the
world. With gladness we shook hands, and went our different
ways.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_93">[93]</span><a id="c06"></a>CHAPTER VI<br>
A CITY OF SHADOWS</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c06.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_95">[95]</span>CHAPTER VI<br>
<span class="med">A CITY OF SHADOWS</span><br>
(<em>Fachi Oasis</em>)</p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">In</span> a land of overpowering
solitude Fachi stands alone: a forlorn group of dwellings in a
mighty wilderness of colourless sands. All around is absolute
desert, vast and silent, and depressingly poverty-stricken. Not
until far beyond its immediate ranges are outland borders situated,
that finally interrupt the sway of the desert seas. To the east,
100 miles away, lies the Kowar Depression, and, farther on,
Tibesti; to the west, 200 miles away, the mountainland of Aïr: to
the south, some 300 miles, the desert merges into the bush of the
French Sudan; while in the north it extends to the Fezzan.</p>

<p>The environment of Fachi might well terrify the stoutest.
Moreover, the vast desert that surrounds it is an open highway for
raiders, and others, who seek to pass across it, on secretive
journeys, from one distant region to another.</p>

<p>Lost in a land of this kind, where few but raiders pass, without
neighbours, without anyone to call to for help, one wonders, to
begin with, how Fachi can exist. It shelters no more than a mere
handful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> of sedentary
natives, about 150 to 200 human souls in all, yet this strangest of
primitive dens stands unbroken, alone, as it has stood since its
beginning, as a citadel of the desert.</p>

<p>Raiders who come and go are free to pass before Fachi at will,
for, once clear of the desert’s borders, there is no living soul to
stay them. And the natives of the town will tell you, with
comprehensible pride, but with a hard light in their eyes, that
evil-visaged men have sat down and looked upon Fachi from a
distance, coveting its capture—in the end to rise and go their way,
foiled by the fear of death in the traps of a wizards’ den.</p>

<p>In the modern history of Fachi, caravans visiting the oasis have
been attacked outside its walls, where bleached human skulls still
deck the sands; but only once has the town itself been threatened
with destruction. That occurred fifteen years ago, when the
raiders, said to number 1,500, forced a temporary entrance and
fought through the western side of the town: the houses of which
part still lie in ruins eloquent of the destruction of the fateful
day.</p>

<p>It is obvious that to stand thus alone and live, self-reliant
and self-dependent, Fachi must be strong—<em>strong with an uncanny
genius</em>. And that that is so is soon revealed.</p>

<p>Its outer fortifications are the walls that enclose it—a double
line of ramparts, with a broad moatlike ditch between. To-day the
outer barrier is incomplete, for it is battered and broken in
places<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> that have not
been repaired, but the inner and principal wall is all that a
powerful defence should be: high and grim and unscalable.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw14">
<figure class="iw14" id="i26"><img src='images/i26.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A DOORWAY IN FACHI</p>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw13">
<figure class="iw13" id="i27"><img src='images/i27.jpg' alt=''>
<p>THE “SEVEN PALMS” OF FACHI</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>My feelings, when I first entered Fachi through its frowning
walls, were of bewilderment and astonishment.</p>

<p>Through an open doorway, unpretentious from the outside, one
passed down a few crumbling steps, and stood on the threshold of
the town. Sense of protection from the outside world, with its
blighting sun and sand-filled wind, was present at once, while an
eerie gloominess already threatened; for the level of the town was
almost cellar-depth below the land outside. Flung back against the
thick exterior wall, rested the first grim evidence of defence: a
heavy, palm-plank door riveted, primitively, and chained together,
while a great beam and a stone set into the floor of the court
within showed how it was closed and buttressed when need arose (I
was soon to learn that every street, every dwelling entrance, every
room within these dens, had doors of the same character of
formidable strength). Over this portcullis type of entrance, which
gave the only way of entry to the town, the white jaw-bones and
skull of a camel are built into the wall, on the inside, for all
the world like the crest of a gang of pirates.</p>

<p>But the strangest novelty, in those first moments, lay in the
discovery that, on all sides, the walls were constructed with
<em>salt</em>, blackened with dust and age, yet, surely,
<em>salt</em>, set as hard as the finest<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_98">[98]</span> concrete and rasping as broken glass. It was
not long before it dawned on me that the whole of the remarkable
town was built of the same material.</p>

<p>The court, or area, inside the entrance, is small. But, passing
on through a dark, shadowy, covered porchway, I soon learned that
everywhere space was given away with niggardly economy.</p>

<p>Leaving the entrance, one enters a maze of alleys which
represent the streets of the town: alleys that twist and turn in an
amazing fashion, so that it is difficult to get an unobstructed
view of more than a mere twenty or thirty feet of fairway. They are
the narrowest slits of lanes, man-wide in places, but twice that
width on an average; closely confined by black dwelling-high walls.
Such sections of them as are fortunate enough to have a narrow
overhead outlet to the sky are filled with shadows. Where roofed
over they are dark and grim; mouse-ridden nooks, where man might
lurk at any hour of the day who wished to cut an enemy’s
throat.</p>

<p>Bare, earthy settees are recessed in places in these alleys
where a foot or two of extra space permits an addition without
entirely blocking up the pathway. There a single person may repose
in the cool of evening; or sit cross-legged with another,
exchanging idle gossip, or hatching cunning schemes.</p>

<p>Twisting and turning, portalled at points of advantage with a
confusion of plank doors, these alleys lead an interminable
distance. I find myself in the position of believing I am lost in a
large city, and will never get back unguided to the
point<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> of setting out.
I have been a score of times in Fachi. On the last visit, as on the
first, I found myself at dubious turnings, enquiring of furtive
den-dwellers, “Which way leads to the blue sky outside?” Can one
credit this of a place no greater in area than a country village?
It seems hardly possible; yet it is so, and it is chiefly the
closely knit network of lane-slits that leads to this erroneous
impression of great size.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw08">
<figure class="iw08" id="i28"><img src='images/i28.jpg' alt=''>
<p>THE RAMPARTS OF FACHI</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Nearly empty of people, the lanes are full of shadows and a
sense of a thousand mysteries. Everywhere there are
<em>shadows</em>: and on the day that I first entered Fachi I found
myself repeating, under my breath: “It is a lost city, and its name
should be, <em>The City of Shadows</em>.</p>

<p>Shadows, always shadows, meet one at every turn in ever-changing
phase. Weird, attractive shapes when cast from parts where
unskilled, unplotted building has found a happy architectural
result, or frowning nooks where lurk the sentiments of witchery or
ghosts of the wicked dead.</p>

<p>A few natives pass. They brush against me because of the
narrowness of the lane. Close to them I see that their clothes are
dirt soiled, their features hard and villainous. They hurry on and
vanish out of the street with a single step aside. They have turned
a corner or entered a dwelling.</p>

<p>All the dwellings are entered directly from the alleys. The
burrowing for shelter is increased in the dwellings; their floors
are farther under the ground than the dusty lanes. (They have
nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> to fear
from rain and consequent flooding; for it does not rain.) A low,
earthy parapet guards a few steps underground, and a tiny door, of
hatchway size, through which only a stooping figure can pass. When
there are no occupants at home, even during the day, these
palm-plank, rudely anchored doors are closed and barred with the
forbidding strength already described; as if neighbour trusted not
neighbour.</p>

<p>But the issue that is vital to Fachi’s scheme of defence is in
the fact that, from within, at a moment’s notice, <em>the whole
town can be barred and buttressed and placed under lock and
key</em>.</p>

<p>Packed like the skep of a hive, with intent to utilise space,
Fachi is a regular honeycomb of crowded dens. They are salt-built,
like the rest of the town, and as dark and shadowy and mysterious
as the alleys outside. Each cell in the honeycomb has its narrow
slit of a door, with a spy-hole, no larger than a halfpenny,
drilled through the wall near the side of the jamb, so that folks
may be peered at when approaching, or when arrived and knocking for
admission.</p>

<p>Even by day nearly all the dwellings are locked and barred.
When, perchance, a door stands ajar a feeble ray of light steals
into a bare-walled, smoke-blackened den that has no more furnishing
than a heap of dates on a mat and a skin of water hanging from the
low ceiling. Once admittance has been gained from outside, it is
seen that the interior of every home is comprised of den
leading<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> to den,
each with its thick plank door and its air of suspicion and
secrecy. Before entering a single dwelling I had already realised
that every yard of the lanes within Fachi could be defended almost
single-handed, and that, should defenders happen to be driven back
or killed at any one point, a fresh rally could be made with
success at every gateway in their course. In the barred doors
within the dens themselves I again thought of the cunning strategy
from the point of view of hand-to-hand defensive fighting.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw04">
<figure class="iw04" id="i29"><img src='images/i29.jpg' alt=''>
<p>PART OF FACHI, WHICH IS BUILT ENTIRELY OF SALT</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Seeking through a honeycomb of dens with curiosity thoroughly
aroused, I eventually came out into daylight in a tiny courtyard in
the centre. Thence an outside stairway mounted to the roofs.
Climbing it, I viewed a panorama of the flat, parapeted housetops
of Fachi. Beside me were attic store-rooms, locked and barred like
so many of the chambers, and a confusion of jagged parapets,
well-nigh impassable to anyone who might try to scale them. Weedy
dates, old bones, broken earth-jars, all the odd refuse of
primitive homes, lay scattered on these roofs; and I realised that
the rubbish-heaps of Fachi’s den-dwelling people lay over the roofs
of their burrows, and not in the alleys or in the dwellings. It was
a condition of things that revealed the animal sense of people
accustomed to stick closely to their warrens. These roofs,
<em>outside</em>, were the nearest spaces to the open air; moreover
the unsightly squalor seldom waxed fetid there owing to the baking
sun and extreme<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>
dryness of the atmosphere: a state of affairs that did not exist
when old bones, or aught else outcast, lay fly-festering in the
shade below.</p>

<p>I came out from investigating a honeycomb of dwellings with a
back that ached with stooping through hatchway doors.</p>

<p>I moved on. There was one more sight to see.</p>

<p>I had by this time, by promise of food, persuaded an ill-clad,
hungry-looking individual to act as guide; one of the most
villainous, indolent-looking men I have ever seen. I asked him to
lead me to the fortress of the town, which I had seen from the
outside, standing behind the double ramparts of the exterior, near
to the remarkable “Seven Palms of Fachi,” which stand in a stately
group close to the north front.</p>

<p>I am led through a maze of alleys. A heavy door, barring our
path, is reached and unlatched, and a final lane lies before me. My
guide vouchsafes the information that the fort is at the other
end.</p>

<p>In a few moments we reach the rear courtyard of the fort, the
largest open space in Fachi. It is uninteresting, for it is empty
for the time being, and its high, unscalable walls seem stiffly
posed like a petrified place awaiting the assembly of war-girded
hordes.</p>

<p>We pass on inside—and I stand amazed. Before me is <em>the den
of the Forty Thieves</em>, or a scene equivalent; but real, and not
imaginary. The fort, with high, naked walls towering around it,
looks like a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>
gigantic square-cut pit, with the bottom packed, almost to
overflowing, with giant earthen jars. It is those jars that make
the most amazing sight of all. Gleaming whitely, they fill the
entire fort, except where the roofed-in, low, gloomy corridors jut
out from the base of the main wall, giving access to the pit and to
the four corner towers.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i30"><img src='images/i30.jpg' alt=''>
<p>SHADOWS, ALWAYS SHADOWS, MEET ONE AT EVERY TURN</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>The fort might be compared to a vast, unused cupboard full of
gigantic empty jam-pots—but jam-pots far above the most exaggerated
dreams of the hungriest schoolboy. I started to count them, but
gave it up. They looked, in their unevenly lined hundreds, as
numerous and as disorderly as a flock of sheep.</p>

<p>Some were measured. The largest are 7 feet in diameter by 8 feet
4 inches high; the smallest 5 feet in diameter by 4 feet high.
Though the sizes vary, they are all of one shape: giant jars
tapering to a wide-mouthed neck at the top. They are constructed
out of white chalky clay, knit with fibrous hairs of vegetation.
Steps are moulded in the sides of all the larger jars, so that
anyone may mount to gain entry at the top.</p>

<p>We had entered the final stronghold of Fachi; the last place of
refuge in a city conceived, from end to end, with one great
purpose—<em>its strength of defence</em>. And whoever may have been
the wizard—for it is no haphazard work—he had the genius of a great
man-at-arms. These giant urns, ready to be filled with dates and
grain in time of siege, the deep well of water that is hidden in
the centre<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> of them,
are eloquent of their purpose; like all else in the war-prepared
fastness.</p>

<p>Reluctantly I left this strange open-air hall to climb to one of
the watch-towers. The way was perpendicular; up notched palm-poles,
and niches cut in the hard salt walls; then, through loopholes,
into each of the three turret rooms that made up its height. On
reaching any lofty outlook with country around it one usually looks
outward on the vast panorama of landscape that presents itself. My
first impulse here, on stepping out on the tower roof, was
different. I turned at once in toward the town to peer down into
the haunting pit I had just left, where glistened whitely in the
sun, the urns of “The Forty Thieves,” like a picture of another
age.</p>

<p>And from that strange scene I slowly lifted my eyes in vain
endeavour to learn where one single street in Fachi began and
ended. Then I was lost in unstinted wonder at it all.</p>

<p>Native history—imparted to me by the <i>Malam</i>, or learned
man, of Fachi—has it that in bygone times the people of the town
had no cunning in war, and were terribly harassed by raids. Arab
caravans, with rich merchandise from Algeria and Tripoli to Bornu
and Wadai, in those days passed through Fachi, and the uncertain
safety of the place was not to their liking or benefit. Wherefore,
the story goes, there came a time when Arabs arrived on the heels
of an attack, when the town had been hard hit, and much reduced in
strength. It happened that a great Arab from Tripoli
was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> this caravan’s
leader. He called the people of Fachi about him and said, in
effect, according to the story, “Why is this? Enemy destroy you.
You fear! You fly like the jackal into the desert to die!</p>

<p>“Bah! You have not sense! But Allah has sent us to your aid. We
will show you how to build so that henceforth you shall fear no
one.”</p>

<div class="figure-pair space-above2">
<figure class="iw15" id="i31a"><img src='images/i31a.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>

<figure class="iw17" id="i31b"><img src='images/i31b.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figure-pair space-below2">
<figure class="iw15" id="i31c"><img src='images/i31c.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>

<figure class="iw17" id="i31d"><img src='images/i31d.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="center">WOMEN OF FACHI AND THEIR CURIOUS HEAD-DRESS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Whereupon they set about building a completely new city, not
imperfectly, but under the strict supervision of the great Arab. It
is said that if any part was imperfect it was ordered to be taken
down and rebuilt.</p>

<p>So that, in the <i>Malam’s</i> words:</p>

<p>“Fachi is built as it stands to-day, because a great Arab came
from the north and taught our people sense.”</p>

<p>He could not name the great benefactor, nor could I find anyone
who knew. But that he came from Tripoli all affirmed.</p>

<p>It is not impossible that he was one of the renowned Oulad
Sliman tribe—Tripolitans who, in the past, migrated to settle near
Mao, on the north of Lake Chad, to escape Turkish oppression.</p>

<p>I turned from contemplation of the town to look over the
landscape. From the top of the tower it was not so barren as from
below, for the green groves of date-palms were prominently in view.
The oasis holds little more of value than a narrow belt of palms,
the pits of salt, and a good supply of subterranean water. For the
rest, nothing but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>
sand; the whole environment so unprepossessing that one cannot
escape its terrible poverty.</p>

<p>And inside the town a population that has barely food to keep
body and soul together.</p>

<p>I caught myself thinking:</p>

<p>“What queer, ungodly places some people live in!”</p>

<p>I had just muttered:</p>

<p>“I suppose it is their native soil. They have lived here all
their lives, like animals born in a cage, and they know no other
world.”</p>

<p>Then I caught sight of my guide, whom I had forgotten, glued
against the wall, peering, ever so cautiously, out of one of the
tower loopholes, aiming with his fingers, as if he held a rifle.
From head to foot, he looked a perfect brigand.</p>

<p>I followed the cue. Who knew the occupation of these people from
one year’s end to the other? The brief halt of passing caravan told
one nothing of that. Did raids go forth from those grim walls when
hunger pressed, and all was quiet about them? It was more than
likely. Certainly they possessed an unfettered freedom that gave
outlet to that wildness of the wilderness that was in them, which
ran, unknown to living soul outside their own little world, untamed
and unchecked, through the shadowy alleys and dark dens within the
walls, and, mayhap, found a fiercer outlet in evil-doing
abroad.</p>

<p>The hard-featured natives of the town are Beri-Beri. They are
strangely animal-like, in general,<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_107">[107]</span> perhaps because of their terrible
environment, and their life is an underworld of vice.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw03">
<figure class="iw03" id="i32"><img src='images/i32.jpg' alt=''>
<p>“THE DEN OF THE FORTY THIEVES”</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>I ceased pondering, and called the guide from his look-out.</p>

<p>I asked him one question before we began the descent from the
tower:</p>

<p>“How many men have you killed?”</p>

<p>He smiled at once, as if I had hit on a subject he knew
something of, and that was much more pleasant than guiding a
stranger through his town. Then he extended his left hand, and,
with the other, slowly bent over each finger until they were all
counted out. Whereupon he answered:</p>

<p>“Five men I have killed.”</p>

<p>At the outset I called Fachi <em>A City of Shadows</em>,
impelled by the original beauty and magic of its wealth of shadowy
scenes. That title has grown fourfold. Beside aught that there is
of beauty, and threatening it, there are never-ending shadows in
its openness to danger from outside, sharp shadows in its periods
of hunger, and uncanny shadows in the threat of evil that lies
behind barred doors and in the visages of cold-eyed men.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_109">[109]</span><a id="c07"></a>CHAPTER VII<br>
SALT OF THE EARTH</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c07.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_111">[111]</span>CHAPTER VII<br>
<span class="med">SALT OF THE EARTH</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">Throughout</span> the commercial
history of civilised countries the digging out of riches from the
bowels of the earth has for ever played an important part; and from
among the minerals so obtained the currency of our world has always
been minted. It is my purpose to suggest that in this there is
clearly a resemblance between the civilised State and the
primitive. But that which is mined by the one is sometimes vastly
different from the wealth that is sought by the other. The gold of
the Yukon, or the diamonds of Kimberley, are the highest ideals of
civilised States; but possessions much more humble often suffice
the primitive, and in the Sahara that which is sought by the
indigenous tribes, and prized, as a necessity and as a currency, is
humble salt of the earth.</p>

<p>It is possible that salt has been a medium of currency in the
Sahara for all time. It was the Arabs, in the past, who brought the
cowrie from the north coast of Africa to introduce it into the
Sahara, and the rich countries farther south, as “money” to assist
them in their trade; but the silver of the white man has displaced
the cowrie<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> now,
while salt, because of its tangible value, continues to be a ready
medium of purchase. Therefore salt has outlived the cowrie, which,
after all, had little more than an ornamental value.</p>

<p>In a few places, renowned to-day, and doubly renowned in the
legendary history of the Sahara, there exist, in the remote
interior, age-old salt-pits of inexhaustible supply. They are
worked to-day as of old, and the methods of centuries are
unchanged. But the trade is diminishing. The tide of the white
man’s advance in Africa is having an influence on distant markets;
and that influence is reflected at the remote source of supply. No
longer do the great native populations of the Western Sudan depend
chiefly on the Sahara for their salt, for to-day whole shiploads of
the commercial commodity are imported by way of the west coast to
vie with the supply of the renowned salt deposits of the Sahara,
that were wont to supply half a continent.</p>

<p>But, despite the strength of the foreign invasion, there has
always been a native prejudice against the imported salt and a
liking for the natural salt of the Sahara—a prejudice that the
importer has been fighting down ever since he entered the field—and
it is no doubt that favourable prejudice, along with the existing
value of salt as currency, has much to do with the continuance of a
curious and primitive trade in the interior of the Sahara.</p>

<p>Like gold in other lands, the famed deposits of<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> salt in the Sahara are not
numerous. I know of only three that are of great reputation: Bilma,
Tigguida n’Tisem, and Taudeni. There are possibly others, in the
great desert, of renown that has not reached me. The two former I
have visited, and will endeavour to describe, while Taudeni, about
400 miles in the desert north of the Niger bend, contains the
famous mines of rock-salt that, in being transported south through
Timbuktu, gives to that world-famous town its chief trade.</p>

<p>I will deal first with Bilma. The oasis of that name lies in a
basin in the midst of a great region of loose sand-dunes which
offer extraordinary natural protection. No stranger may find his
way into Bilma through those dunes unguided, and its position is so
secretive, a tiny place in a hollow in one boundless sea of dunes,
that its presence is absolutely unsuspected until one comes
suddenly, with astonishment, right on top of it.</p>

<p>A long, lake-like stretch of bare sun-cracked flats of soda and
salt, glaring fiercely white in the stifling sun, lie before the
small town, which is at the south end, while at the other end, a
mile or so distant, are the piled-up, uneven hills of the workings
of the famous salt-pits. The town, and the French fort that is
there, are sheltered to some extent by small groves of
date-palms.</p>

<p>The French occupation of Bilma is unique in the territory. It is
a far-flung outpost, and the fort stands alone like a Dreadnought
in an unknown sea, far from recognised frontiers. That such
a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> fort has been
established, and held, is eloquent acknowledgment of the value of
the salt-pits and the strategic position that Bilma holds in
checking the wanderings of the cut-throat raiders that seek to pass
between Tibesti and Aïr, or from the Fezzan to the northern fringes
of Hausaland.</p>

<p>Bilma was first occupied by the French in 1906, and the founding
of a post so remote, and in the heart of enemies’ country, was
filled with dangers and difficulties. To-day, over the door of the
sturdy, earth-built post in Bilma, are the words <span class=
"sc">Fort Dromard</span>, and by reason of the name the fort has
been made a lasting monument to Lieutenant Amédée Dromard, a
soldier-pioneer who, single-handed with native soldiers, fought for
the French flag’s erection in Bilma, defended its brave upstanding,
and won—to die in completing his noble task.</p>

<p>The record of his career hangs on the walls, worthy of the best
traditions of his country; indeed, a record of which any country
might well be proud. In the concluding paragraphs one reads:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“He fought conspicuously at Agadem (south
of Bilma) on 7th January 1908.”</p>

<p class="space-above15">And finally:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“He was wounded in fighting at Achegur
(north-west of Bilma) on 1st July 1909, and died at Bilma on 5th
September of the same year, after being carried for two weeks on
the shoulders of his faithful native followers.”</p>

<div class="figcenter iw04">
<figure class="iw04" id="i33"><img src='images/i33.jpg' alt=''>
<p>AT WORK IN THE SALT-PITS OF BILMA</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>The whole
depression of Kowar, stretching north and south from Jado to the
Chad basin, in which the oasis of Bilma is situated, has a
population of about 3,000 natives. About 700 of those are in Bilma;
chiefly Beri-Beri, and a certain number of Tebu. But absolute
purity of race is dying out owing to much intermingling of the two
races. Like the den-dwellers of Fachi, these natives are
hard-featured, cold-eyed, and barbarous.</p>

<p>Of other small oases along the line of the Kowar depression,
Dirku has a few families of Beri-Beri and the remainder are
occupied by Tebu. But here, as elsewhere in the Sahara, the natives
are declining in numbers and most of the outlying places are almost
deserted; among them the once important centre of Jado, which is
completely abandoned.</p>

<p>The following quaint traditions and history of Kowar were
collected at Bilma:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“The first people of Kowar were <i>Sos</i>
(giants) from the Fezzan. Legend declares they were a very big
race, while it is still claimed by the natives that the skeletons
of these giants, and the great houses where they lived, are even
yet to be seen in the Fezzan near Tedjerri. These giants were
<em>tall as twenty elbows</em>.</p>

<p>“In due course the Sultan of the Beri-Beri came to Bilma and
asked the Sultan of the <i>Sos</i> for permission to settle there
with his people. Where upon the giant King, answering nothing, took
a wand and, extending it, turned slowly round so that he formed a
mighty circle, the edge of which<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_116">[116]</span> extended to Yeggeba, in northern Kowar, and
to Dibbela in the south (a diameter of 100 miles or more); and
within that area the Beri-Beri were permitted to live.</p>

<p>“The <i>Sos</i> were at that time settled in the oasis in the
valley of Bilma, <em>the rainfall of which was coming from Jado,
and going to Fachi and Termitt</em>.”<a id=
"FNanchor_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11" class=
"fnanchor">[11]</a></p>

<p class="space-above15">After this legendary time it is said
that:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“In 800 <span class="sc2">A.D.</span>
there was a great invasion of Beri-Beri, who were Moslems. They
came from Yemen in Arabia by way of the Fezzan and Kowar, and
continued to the country of Mao (Lake Chad territory) leaving in
their passage some people who thought the country of Bilma
attractive and suitable to settle in.</p>

<p>“In this way the foundation was laid of Jado, Seggudim, Dirku,
and Bilma.</p>

<p>“Furthermore <em>all oases</em><a id="FNanchor_12"></a><a href=
"#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> <em>between Bilma and
Chad</em> were colonised by Beri-Beri. Some of them were already
occupied, but the inhabitants were ejected by the Beri-Beri. The
original people were a tribe named Koiam and representatives of the
race are still to be found in Bornu.</p>

<p>“When the Tebu came to the region they found the Beri-Beri had
already been in occupation of Kowar for a long time. The first Tebu
came from Termitt, and it is claimed that the tribe originated from
lawless people who had committed murder<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_117">[117]</span> in their own countries to the south, and
were obliged to flee and become outlaws. Later in their history,
when the Tebu were an established race in Tibesti, the first of the
tribe to discover Kowar chanced across it by accident when in
pursuit of strayed camels. This adventurer found the country
promising to live in, and returned to Tibesti with the news. As a
consequence of this discovery a number of Tebu crossed to Kowar
with their families to settle.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i34"><img src='images/i34.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="relative"><span class="pad30left">A FINISHED
SALT-BLOCK</span><span class="float-right pad30right">THE
MOULD</span>
</p>

<p>SETTING THE SALT IN MOULDS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>“In this way Achinuma, Arrighi, Tiggumama, Gassar, and Chimmidur
were founded.</p>

<p>“In time the Tebu grew in strength and gained supremacy over the
Beri-Beri, who became subject to them.</p>

<p>“Later on the Tuaregs of Aïr came to Bilma and Fachi, and took
them over as colonies, exacting tax, which for a long time was paid
to the Sultan of Agades. But the Tuaregs never occupied the
country.”</p>

<p class="space-above15">The three oldest towns in Kowar are:
Bilma, Dirku, and Gadzebi. Of these Bilma is by far the most
important because of its prolific salt-pits.</p>

<p>As a place of outstanding fame in the Sahara it is naturally
rich in local history. At various periods the town has occupied
three different situations. The site of the oldest town, known to
the natives as Balabili, is about a quarter of a mile south of the
Bilma of the present. It is a grave ground, with a gruesome
history, for it was almost completely annihilated, at a single
blow, about 200 years ago, by Arabs who came from Wadai. The story
of the tragedy, as told to me by the Chief of Bilma,<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> is that all the inhabitants
had gathered to the mosque on a festal occasion of Mohammedan
worship, when they were swooped upon and trapped by their
remorseless enemies; and a frightful massacre ensued, from which
few escaped. The tragic remains of that awful day are still there
for all to see, and I have looked with pity and awe on ground that
is thickly strewn with the sun-bleached bones of those who
perished. Not a dwelling stands on the desolate site; only a corner
of the fateful mosque remains, and that is slowly crumbling and
vanishing—vanishing to join the dust of those who once worshipped
within its walls.</p>

<p>In time another town, locally called Kalala, was established,
farther north, beside the salt-pits. Like Fachi, this was built of
salt, and the roofless ruins of the old hutments are still
standing. The old Chief of Bilma informed me that it was completely
abandoned forty-seven years ago, owing to its being constantly
attacked by hostile caravans, who looted everything, and even
carried off the women and children.</p>

<p>But gradually, notwithstanding the loss from such disturbances,
the present town had grown into being, fortified for defence, and
possessing a fort; to which the people of Kalala were in the habit
of fleeing to take refuge in time of raids. Comprehending, in this
way, the greater safety that the new town offered, harassed Kalala
was eventually abandoned, and everyone moved to settle in the
quarter that is the Bilma of to-day.</p>

<div class="figure-pair space-above2">
<figure class="iw14" id="i35a"><img src='images/i35a.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>

<figure class="iw16" id="i35b"><img src='images/i35b.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>

<p class="caption center space-below2">MEN OF THE SALT OASIS</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>That is
something of the history of the famous salt oasis. And the past and
the present would seem to have resemblance, for the existing town
is decaying. It is already half in ruins, and, moreover, has the
woebegone appearance of a place that has lost its spirit—the spirit
of the wild in wilderness, that fights to live against any odds;
the spirit to endure in the most desolate and unknown places of the
earth; the spirit that is found in Fachi.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, the far-famed prolific salt-pits of Bilma remain
remarkable. Their crowded hills of cast-up salt debris resemble the
outworks of a great minehead, and no one knows how long they have
been in existence down through the centuries of time. Their
antiquity is acknowledged by all.</p>

<p>The area of ground covered by the mounds of the workings is very
extensive, but by far the larger number of pits are idle or old,
and just an odd one, here and there, is in use.</p>

<p>The salt is secured from wide open bottoms that are of no great
depth. It is in large pure crystals ranging from the size of
sugar-grains to cubes as large as ¼-inch. When a pit is being
worked the bottom of it is flooded with water of a rich dark claret
colour, stained by the natron, or native carbonate of sodium<a id=
"FNanchor_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a>
that is put in as a chemical that settles and separates the sandy
sediment and other foreign matter from the desired
crystals.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>
Bare-limbed men, in dirty ragged garb, work in this discoloured
water up to their knees, and delve underneath with short-handled
hoes to loosen the crystals, which they tread down with their naked
feet to cleanse of sediment, before thrusting a shallow scoop below
the surface, to bring it up piled with glistening salt. So rich is
the deposit that quantity is rapidly secured. The wet salt is at
once carried from the pit and mixed, with about an equal portion of
dry salt, into a concrete-like consistency which is emptied into
pyramid moulds, constructed for the purpose out of palm staves and
bound with camel-hide. The whole process entails very little
labour, and an abundance of cones of salt is produced with
astonishing rapidity and ease.</p>

<p>The caravans that go to Bilma for salt secure it chiefly by
barter, trading food and clothing to the value of their purchases.
To gauge its actual value in coin, one block or cone of salt,
weighing about 35 lbs., is worth two pennies in Bilma; but, when
carried away south to Hausaland,<a id="FNanchor_14"></a><a href=
"#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> it is resold, or
rebartered, at an entirely different value. At Tessawa it realises
as much as eight shillings, or the equivalent, and at Kano ten
shillings.</p>

<p>In considering values, however, the long period spent on the
journey to and from Bilma, and the loss of camels through hunger
and fatigue, should be reckoned in favour of the man who brings
the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> salt to the
markets of the south, for on that account, when all is said and
done, his profits at best are but little; which is all that the
best type of native expects or asks.</p>

<p>Tigguida n’Tisem is very different from Bilma, though both are
renowned salt centres, and both of a character that would have
assuredly made them central figures in the history of the Sahara,
had the races who have come and gone through the dark ages of
Africa’s existence kept comprehensive records of their country.</p>

<p>This salt centre is not so remote as Bilma, and is easier of
access from Hausaland. It lies west of Agades, and north of
In-Gall, in <em>black desert</em> beyond the mountains of Aïr. Its
actual position happens to be in a region wherein tend the main
lines of drainage of the rare storm-rains of western Aïr; drainage
that, at the present time, seeps eventually into the desert, but
that, doubtless, once ran much further on its course, which heads,
even to-day, in the direction of the Niger Basin. At Tigguida
n’Tisem this watercourse, remarkable because of its size, takes the
form of immense flats of clayey soil, resembling the sediment of an
estuary, and the salt, which is the mainstay of the town, is
located in a low hill in the very centre of this strange arid
bottom. Indeed, on account of its position in the watercourse, when
rains do happen to occur, which is, perhaps, once a year, or once
in three years, according to chance, Tigguida n’Tisem is entirely
surrounded by water, and at such times<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_122">[122]</span> the population are in the habit of trekking
south to take refuge in In-Gall.</p>

<p>But for the most part the hot sun-smitten land lies ever barren
and petrified, while the wind-swept, dust-covered, diminutive town
crouches, like the dens of fearful creatures, in a lost land of
featureless flatness and terrible desolation. Why anyone should
live there at all is beyond comprehension, until one halts at the
significant word, <em>Salt!</em> which constitutes the main
occupation at present, though early geographers believed the
settlement was concerned with copper.</p>

<p>Tigguida n’Tisem is very remarkable for two reasons: the rare
race of people who occupy it, and its extremely picturesque
salt-pans.</p>

<p>The whole locality is essentially Tuareg, and it is an
astonishing fact that the natives of the town are not of that race,
nor yet sedentary vassals of Beri-Beri, or Hausa slave caste from
the south, who are invariably the workers of the Tuareg camps. They
are known as <i>Azawaren</i>, and so completely separate are they
in race that their language is unintelligible to the true natives
of the region.</p>

<p>They are without written history, but the tribe was referred to
by early geographers as a relic of the Sonrhay race, and, if that
should come to be indisputably proved,<a id=
"FNanchor_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>
then at Tigguida n’Tisem, in the Sahara, the language of that once
great Empire of the Niger still survives.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i36"><img src='images/i36.jpg' alt=''>
<p>“FROM THE ROOF-TOPS THEY WATCHED OUR CARAVAN”</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>There are about
four hundred of the tribe within the walls of Tigguida, and they
are entirely town people. None frequent the country-side, and they
herd neither goats nor sheep.</p>

<p>They believe that the settlement was founded by an old priest of
the tribe a very long time ago. They are very pious, and carry no
arms whatever, and hence know nothing of warfare, despite their
living in a disturbed and dangerous region. Their prayers, and
their industrious work at the salt-pans, appear to be their only
interests. Seeking for records of their origin, I tried to secure
an old weapon or piece of metal-work or embroidery, but failed to
find anything that hinted of art in the past or in the present.
Undoubtedly their two outstanding characteristics are that they are
hard and careful workers, and religious far beyond the
ordinary.</p>

<p>On account of the latter trait, and the fact that they never
resort to arms, the town is constantly raided, and only a few days
before I arrived it was attacked by a band of some thirty robbers
who had come from the Ghat-Murzuk region. No fight was made. The
inhabitants simply hid in their huts until the raid, and its curse,
had passed. Seven or eight people were killed and wounded, and
thirty camels raided belonging to a caravan visiting the town for
salt.</p>

<p>When I arrived the inhabitants climbed to the hut roofs to
scrutinise my caravan’s approach across the low flats, excited and
watchful, until<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>
assured that the strange camels carried friends; for the shock of
the recent raid was still fresh in their minds. But no other action
revealed anything of the late disturbance, and for the most part
the people were back at their salt-pans working calmly.</p>

<p>The town of Tigguida n’Tisem is small. The tiny mud huts of the
people are closely crowded together for protection from sweeping
winds and sand. It is not a walled town, nor, in any way, built for
defence. The surroundings are almost entirely uninhabited; vast in
extent, and bleak beyond description.</p>

<p>Neither in the buildings of the town nor in the faces of the
people is there hint of anything remarkable. The attraction it
possesses lies partly in the eerie environment, and in the mystery
of unrecorded history, but chiefly in the salt-pits and <em>the
work of the people</em>.</p>

<p>The town is barely fifty yards from the salt workings, which are
not only unique but also extremely picturesque. They are made up of
a series of very flat, pond-like spaces, connected to one another
in an irregular chain by gate-wide necks. By reason of the
excavations that have made the areas, they lie between high banks
and cuttings of earth. The whole of the pond-like spaces, which
constitute the floors of the workings, are on one level, and the
amazing fact is that the whole place is one sea of closely crowded
toilet-like basins, shaped with clay rims on the top of a level
base.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> They are the
brine-pans of Tigguida n’Tisem, where salt is obtained by a natural
process of evaporation. And, looked at from the high banks of the
workings, they make a very remarkable picture in their network
array of countless water-filled or salt-glistening circles, and
method of neatness and plan; while graceful figures, busy at work
among them, add to the extreme novelty and attractiveness of the
scene.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i37"><img src='images/i37.jpg' alt=''>
<p>THE SALT-PANS OF TIGGUIDA N’TISEM</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>These workings are even more unusual and more picturesque than
Bilma, and they differ, also, in the fact that a great deal of
labour is demanded in obtaining very modest quantities of salt.</p>

<p>The method of obtaining the salt is as follows:</p>

<p>The product is secreted in the soil and sand of the low hill.
Well-like pools down in the workings among the salt basins, are the
“mixing pots,” where the salt-bearing earth from the hill and
water, already brackish, are mixed to make a fluid of strong brine.
On close inspection it is found that the bottom of the workings is
of solid <em>rock</em>, and the basins are formed thereon, to hold
water securely, simply by moulding carefully plastered rims of clay
to the circle desired. As each shallow basin dries out, and after
the frigid salt sediment, or crust, has been collected, it is
scrupulously cleaned with a hand-whisk and refilled with a
skin-bucket or two of brine. The basin is then left undisturbed,
beneath blue sky and blazing sun, for the day or two required for
the water to completely evaporate.</p>

<p>And thus the people of Tigguida labour constantly<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> in these workings, which
provide their sole means of livelihood. Whether puddling clay,
carrying water, sweeping out basins, or collecting the salt crust,
they are ever busy at one ploy or another; exhibiting a commendable
diligence that is foreign to other people of the land.</p>

<p>From the workings the salt is carried to the dwellings in the
town, where it is spread out to harden into flat oblong cakes of a
size suitable to bale into compact camel loads. The cakes are of
pale <em>pink</em> colour, and on account of this it is easily
recognisable when seen south of the Sahara in the bazaars of the
markets of West Africa, where it is prized on account of its high
quality.</p>

<p>Thus is <em>salt</em> obtained from two remarkable places in the
Sahara.</p>

<p>Its romance as currency begins at the very commencement of its
existence as a product. Almost everything that the two towns secure
from the outside, most of the food, and all of the clothes they
require, is purchased by barter for salt.</p>

<p>Sometimes the exchanges are curious—a score of blocks of salt,
at Bilma, for an article of adornment, or a lover’s gift; half a
dozen blocks for a sheaf of raw tobacco, and a single block for a
few sticks of scarce firewood.</p>

<p>At Tigguida n’Tisem all the water in the town is very salt.
Hence <em>fresh water</em> is transported from a distance by
donkeys and sold in the streets every day, a handful of raw salt
being the purchase price of a half-filled calabash bowl of fresh
water.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i38"><img src='images/i38.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="center">SETTING OUT THE SALT OF TIGUIDDA TO HARDEN INTO
CAKES</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>From the time of
leaving the salt-pits the career of each block, or slab, is one
continual round of exchange, until they end in eventual
consumption.</p>

<p>Although tribal customs are changing in the Western Sudan, there
are still instances of local taxes being paid in salt; and builders
and contractors; while raw materials, such as hides, ground-nuts,
and other produce desired for export to Europe are often bartered
for the same commodity. Nevertheless, it is as a native medium of
exchange for little purchases that salt has its chief use as a
currency at the present time.</p>

<p>Lastly, the nearest approach to dramatic entertainment that the
West African native enjoys is furnished by curious Punch and Judy
shows. And in the manner that one pays sixpence or a shilling to
gain admittance, say, to a cinema, so the actors, or puppet
manipulators, of “Punch and Judy” are often rewarded by small
admirers with merely a “pinch of <em>salt</em>.”</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_129">[129]</span><a id="c08"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br>
THE PEOPLE OF THE VEIL</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c08.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_131">[131]</span>CHAPTER VIII<br>
<span class="med">THE PEOPLE OF THE VEIL</span></p>

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

<p>To appreciate their remarkable character it should be borne in
mind that the Tuaregs are a southern race of Berbers, whose
military history goes back through many centuries. Indeed, Berber
armies twice invaded Europe: in the time of Hannibal, and when the
Moors invaded Spain in 710 <span class="sc2">A.D.</span> Since
those early days of history they have ever been a warlike people,
and in the unrest of the Riffs to-day, more than half of whom are
Berbers, we have an example of the psychology of<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> recurrent forces of a dominant
characteristic of the race.</p>

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

<p>By the very fact of their ancestral inheritance, the Tuaregs are
able clansmen in an appropriate sphere; and the wild fastnesses
that make up their environment encourage every trait of feudal
fitness to develop rather than recede. So that, when these
circumstances are embraced and weighed in the scale of reasoning,
it is not altogether surprising to find that they are, beyond all
else, past-masters in cunning war-craft; and that there is no
Tuareg, over the age of childhood, who is not fully versed in every
detail of a subject that is their primary education. Consequently,
whatever the conditions under which they are met, the Tuaregs are,
in foremost characteristic, a people skilled and able in war, and
every man a disciplined soldier when need arises. And though it is
a fact that feuds and raids are on a whole growing less violent and
numerous in the Sahara to-day, owing to the military activities of
the French Administrations of Algiers and the Sudan, and the
increasing poverty of the interior, the hereditary quality of the
soldier in the Tuaregs is so ineradicable that one is always aware
of their true character and<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_133">[133]</span> inclinations, no matter in what
circumstance or environment they are encountered.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i39"><img src='images/i39.jpg' alt=''>
<p>THE VEIL</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Here is a pen-picture of a far-famed raider of the interior:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“He is a little old man; old in years, but
young in activities and spirit. He has not the long, raking swing
of the tireless footpad nor the graceful ease of bearing that
belongs to the average man of his race. He walks with a short,
perky step peculiarly his own.</p>

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

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

<p>“Riding or walking, a double-edged sword hangs on his left side,
and he carries a long shafted spear in his hand. He cannot count
how many raids he has taken part in; the number is too great. His
biggest success was the capture of three hundred camels and seventy
women and children on one raid. His most memorable failure occurred
when he had taken two hundred camels and fifty captives and was
five days out on the desert on<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_134">[134]</span> his homeward journey when counter-attacked
in the night by the people he had plundered and completely routed.
His band scattered and had terrible difficulty in reaching their
mountain stronghold in Aïr. Seven of his comrades were lost and
died of exhaustion or thirst—‘Bah! It was not good!’</p>

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

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

<p>“No man knows the road he travels.”</p>

<p class="space-above15">Another raider, with the ugly scar of a
sword-slash on his left side, that sometimes showed in raising the
arm, when the loose robes blew aside, told me the following story
of his most exciting adventure:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“It occurred about thirty years ago. We
had no rifles; only swords and spears. There were a<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> hundred men in our band, all
mounted on camels. Some camels carried two men.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw12 pb">
<figure class="iw12" id="i40"><img src='images/i40.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A TUAREG WOMAN OF AHAGGAR</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

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

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

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

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

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

<p>“But one of the men with a rifle got away on a bare-backed
horse, and he came near creating a panic among us. However,
luckily, most of his<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_136">[136]</span> ammunition was in his saddle-bag, and we
soon discovered he could shoot no more.</p>

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

<p class="space-above15">Later I met one who knew some of the Arabs
who were killed in that raid, which confirmed R———’s story.</p>

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

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

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

<p>But there is one modern change: the rifle is<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> surely replacing the sword in
combat. Do not be deceived in this. The sword is a part of the
Tuareg’s national dress, and accordingly is ever present. But,
though they may deem it wise to conceal their knowledge, and bury
any arms they may possess, the Tuaregs have learned the value of
the rifle in attack. Yet, unless you happen to be a proved friend,
it is odds against them revealing anything of that, for they are
ever suspicious of any human presence outside their own camp, even
to dreading traitors among their neighbours; while they fear the
laws of the white man that endeavour to prevent strength of arms.
This attitude of cunning concealment is aptly expressed in one of
their proverbs:</p>

<p>“It is wise to kiss the hand that you cannot cut off.”</p>

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

<p>During my travels in the Sahara I happened to<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> be intimately in touch with
three raids. While between In-Azaoua and the Ahaggar Mountains,
although blissfully ignorant until afterwards, when the tracks were
discovered in the sand, my caravan was followed by raiders from the
Fezzan, who sheered off without attacking when we reached the hills
and the protection of the <i>Ehaggaran</i> Tuaregs. It transpired
that the robbers had picked up and followed our tracks from the
well of In-Azaoua, where we had taken water.</p>

<p>Timia<a id="FNanchor_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16" class=
"fnanchor">[16]</a> and Tigguida n’Tisem were both attacked and
plundered just before I entered them, while Aouderas, when I camped
there, was the scene of great excitement and expectancy of attack,
when a raid, of which warning was out, attacked and burned
Anai.</p>

<p>It is of interest that Timia was attacked when <em>the pick of
its able-bodied men were away</em> south to Hausaland with their
caravans, while Tigguida n’Tisem is <em>entirely a town of
religious people who know nothing of fighting</em>, and made no
defence whatever when the robbers attacked.</p>

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

<p>The most renowned robber chiefs in the Sahara during my travels
were Chibikee, Fawna (the fugitive Chief of the <i>Kel-Wai</i>),
Amud, and Alifa; and<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_139">[139]</span> each was a significant name of outlawry
that had power to strike dread in the hearts of the bravest. Of
these, Chibikee has died (1920), and Alifa, in 1923, had come to be
the most notorious character in the land.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i41"><img src='images/i41.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A TUAREG MAIDEN OF AÏR; ALMOST WHITE</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

<p>It is curious, too, how the nature of environment affects them.
They are not all the same. Like wild creatures under the blue sky,
they reflect the influences about them. The Tuareg who lives under
the cover of the remote mountains of Aïr is wild and comparatively
timid. He is often like a hunted creature that dreads to venture
forth—he is aware of the strength of the rugged glens and caves,
and the protection they offer. On the other<span class="pagenum"
id="Page_140">[140]</span> hand, the Tuareg of the <i>Ergs</i>, who
of necessity lives in open seas of sand, is bold and daring, and,
because of the lack of any place of refuge, takes the risk of raids
every day of his adventurous life. As a consequence, he is a force
to be reckoned with, and I have little doubt that from among such
folk come the chief raiding bands of to-day.</p>

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

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

<p>Regarding their distribution, one may chance<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> across Tuaregs known by such
tribal names as <i>Ekaskazan</i>, <i>Efararen</i>,
<i>Ehaggaran</i>, <i>Kel-Rada</i>, <i>Kel-Geras</i>,
<i>Kel-Tedili</i>, <i>Kel-Wai</i>, and many others; but those are
simply names that imply the locality they belong to. For instance,
<i>Kel-Ferouan</i> means “The people of Iferouan.”</p>

<div class="figcenter iw06">
<figure class="iw06" id="i42"><img src='images/i42.jpg' alt=''>
<p>TUAREG LADS WHO SHOW TRACES OF NEGROID IMPURITY</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

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

<p>The Tuaregs exact homage from their serfs, and from the
sedentary peoples of the Saharan Oases, who seldom dream of
opposing them. They resemble haughty cavaliers who drift, on
occasions, into the society of towns where they are strangers, and
conduct themselves as such. They do their business and keep their
counsels to themselves, and depart as abruptly as they came.
Consequently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> they
have few friends, and are, at heart, hated by the townsfolk, who
are well aware of their scornful demeanour toward all who work with
their hands, which is, to some degree, expressed in a Tuareg
proverb:</p>

<p>“Shame enters the family that tills the soil.”</p>

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

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

<p>Their encampments are usually widely scattered: half a dozen
huts where the head of the family is<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_143">[143]</span> located, then a few other families, perhaps
miles apart. It is the economic necessity to be within reach of
grazing for their live-stock that causes this isolated method of
camping. Sometimes food is so very scarce that a single family is
the sole occupant of a wide area.</p>

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

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

<p>Grazing for their camels, and herds of goats, and short-haired,
lop-eared sheep, never lasts long in<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_144">[144]</span> any one place, hence the nomad constantly
shifts from one quarter to another. On occasions, owing to scarcity
of vegetation, it is necessary to camp far out from water: a day,
or a day and a half’s journey from the nearest point of supply.
This means long treks to water for the herds, and a journey with
camels at least once a week to fetch supplies in goat-skins for the
pressing needs of camp. It is not uncommon to come upon one man,
and, perhaps, two naked, athletic-looking, boys at a remote
well-head in the open, alone on bare, sand-swept desert, with about
eight to ten camels, employed on the task of filling goat-skins.
Without surprise, they tell that they have eight, twelve, or
fifteen hours’ journey before they will get back to their camp. In
all likelihood they carry no food, and will not eat till they get
home, unless one of the camels should chance to be a female with
milk.</p>

<p>The frail, gipsy-like huts of the Tuaregs are usually domed to
shape like exaggerated mole-heaps. A dozen slim poles and lighter
laths cut from acacias or palm-leaf stems, bent over and laced to
form a framework, some grass matting and tanned skins
indiscriminately thrown over them, and tied down in rude patchwork
disorder, compose their low-crouched, diminutive dwellings wherever
they select to pitch them near a chosen patch of grazing.
Furnishing consists of a branch-built couch, about 15 inches off
the ground. It occupies nearly all the floor space, and upon this
the whole family are accustomed to sit or sleep,<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> closely wedged together. In
addition, there are a few equally primitive utensils, such as a
couple of wooden mortar bowls and pestle-poles for crushing grains
and herbs, some broken-edged calabash bowls and earthen jars and
goat-skins, for holding food, milk, and water. But there end the
main possessions of any nomad’s dwelling. The arms that defend them
go abroad with the menfolk, or remain concealed. By their very
humbleness these belongings have two qualifications that are
commendable: they are easily moved from place to place; they are
little to lose if abandoned in the panic of a raid.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i43"><img src='images/i43.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A TUAREG HOME</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

<p>It is not always realised that strong winds are prevalent in the
wide, unsheltered ranges of the Sahara, and that consequently
sand-dust is ever in the air. This is particularly so in September
in the Southern Sahara, when a steady season of winds, that rise
almost to gales every night, sets in,<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_146">[146]</span> known in the Sudan as: <i>Eskar Kaka</i>,
“The winds that dry the harvest.”</p>

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

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

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

<div class="figcenter iw02">
<figure class="iw02" id="i44"><img src='images/i44.jpg' alt=''>
<p>EATING FROM THE ONE DISH WITH CURIOUS WOODEN SPOONS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>As a whole they
are a healthy race, aided by their constant life in the open air.
But they are caught at a disadvantage when any year chances to send
them rare bursts of heavy rain, for their frail shelters and
belongings are poor protection then. In thin clothing, they are
drenched through the day, whether in their huts or out of them, and
shiver with cold and damp at night. As a consequence much
<i>Tenadee</i> (malaria) follows; which causes a lot of mortality,
particularly among the little children, and it is chiefly on this
account that large families are seldom seen. It is a great pity
that they have no white doctors, and know nothing of quinine. In
fighting the fell malady they commonly use only one imperfect
herb.</p>

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

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

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>But wheat,
guinea corn and <i>Gero</i>, a smaller green-coloured millet, are
the chief solids of their table. Those they obtain, when they can
afford it, by barter, from the sedentary people of oases, or from
the granaries of the Western Sudan.</p>

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

<p>A curious antidote to constant diet of milk is tobacco, and most
Tuaregs of the wilderness crave it for the purpose of chewing along
with natron; particularly the womenfolk, and often have the fair
sex, old and young, pestered the life out of me<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> for some of my precious pipe
store, to be mightily pleased with even the smallest of
portions.</p>

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

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

<p>As a race, the Tuaregs are grave and haughty, and stand aloof
from everyone. Their bearing suggests the inheritance that is
claimed for them, for it is fairly well established that they are
a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> white race akin
to some of the oldest European stocks. Some can trace their descent
back about 500 years, in the district they reside in to-day; but
they have no written records, and all declare that they came
originally from Mecca or Medina, which, as they are Moslems, is
their general way of expressing that they came from the north, from
a land beyond Africa.</p>

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

<p>In spirit, when by themselves, they are care-free and moderately
contented; nevertheless, there is a curious underlying sadness in
their character, caught partly, perhaps, from the religion of the
Koran, and partly from drear environment where
existence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> of
necessity, is eked out to the lowest ebb of fortune in a land that
holds no kindness, and ever threatens the destruction of their
race.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i45"><img src='images/i45.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="small">A TUAREG VILLAGE</p>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i46"><img src='images/i46.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="small">THE WELL-HEAD</p>

<p class="center">PASTORAL SCENES</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

<p>I conclude with an extract from my diary:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“The Tuareg encampment is situated in a
fork of the Tesselaman Wadi, among low, wintry-looking acacias.
Monotonous ranges of pale sand, and odd tufts of bleached grass, is
all else in view. A hot, sand-filled wind sweeps across the land,
and the sting of the glowing sun sickens all that lives.</p>

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

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

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

<p>“We move under the shade of an acacia, and sit<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> on the loose sand and chat. My
camel-men do most of the talking, and I am aware that they progress
toward friendship.</p>

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

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

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

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

<p>“Approaching the well, I see that flocks are being watered;
gathered in from fenceless wastes<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_153">[153]</span> to slake their pressing thirst. They rest
on the sand, waiting their turn to drink, while the slow process of
drawing a bucketful of water at a time is laboured at by their
owners. And all the while the insistent cries of weary, thirsty
animals ring in the air.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i47"><img src='images/i47.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A TUAREG WITH RIFLE AND EQUIPMENT</p>

<p class="small">BESIDE AN ABANDONED WHEAT URN IN NORTHERN AÏR</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

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

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

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

<p class="space-above15">And they are tolerably happy, if left to
themselves, notwithstanding the suppressed melancholy that is an
inherent characteristic of the race. One must know them well before
they will express their moods of infinite sadness that lead toward
brooding over their harassed life and the decadence of race and
power.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>If we, in
Europe, with thoughts turned towards Africa, ever happen to view
the new moon in May we can know that the people of Islam, in the
remotest corners of the Sahara, have entered on the Thirty Days’
Fast of <i>Rhamadan</i>, when no one may eat before sunset; while
on the first sight of the new moon of June it ends in the Feast of
<i>Bairam</i>. That religious observation, strangely enough, is
typical of the life of “The People of the Veil,” who throughout
their walks of life have long associations with sadness and want,
and intensified joy when they have the good fortune to reach a
brief spell of plenty and peace of mind.</p>

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

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_155">[155]</span><a id="c09"></a>CHAPTER IX<br>
THE HAND OF DOOM</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c09.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_157">[157]</span>CHAPTER IX<br>
<span class="med">THE HAND OF DOOM</span></p>

<h3>I</h3>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">Rali</span> was hard hit. The
inscrutable reserve which was wont to give strength to his proud
features had broken down.</p>

<p>A terrible thing had happened. In the night a powerful band of
robbers from the north had swept through the camp of his tribe, and
had captured and driven away many camels.</p>

<p>Only a month before the impoverished remnants of Rali’s band had
moved south from the robber-molested mountains of Aïr to seek
shelter and peace on the borders of bushland and desert in the
territory of Damergou. But it had availed them nothing to seek to
flee from the age-old oppression of a remorseless Destiny that
pursued them.</p>

<p>Yet more had happened than met the eye, for Rali, chief of the
band, was overwrought with grief, and this, of a man of his stamp,
who had lived from boyhood in a wilderness of bandit warfare, and
played with life as an easy hazard, surely told that the disaster
of the night, terrible though it had been in general loss of
property,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> held yet
a deeper blow, to him, than appeared on the surface. And it was so.
For, after the raid, it had been discovered that the robbers had
carried off Kahena, the pale-faced wife of Rali, his bride of a few
months, and belle of the tribe. And, whereas, to plunder camels is
fair enough fortune of war in the remote and disturbed territories
of the Sahara, to steal a man’s wife is an unpardonable
offence.</p>

<p>For the moment Rali was bewildered and dazed by the blow that
had fallen upon him.</p>

<p>But not for long would defeat overwhelm his proud and sensitive
spirit. Verily he would awake. Like a creature of the wild, stung
to blood-red anger, the time would come when he would seek his
enemies—and kill!</p>

<p>For such is the law of the wilderness.</p>

<h3>II</h3>

<p>Months later, in a certain Tuareg camp on the edge of the
desert, two men were engrossed in working out a sum upon the sand;
in native fashion, marking out rows of double dots with imprint of
the first two fingers of the right hand; then flicking out some
portions of their handiwork when mutual consultation advised
correction.</p>

<p>The men were Rali and his brother Yofa, and they were
calculating the stages of a long journey. Their dark, hawk-like
eyes, peering through the slit of their veils, glinted actively;
and assuredly some great enterprise was afoot. At last the
sums<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> on the sand
were swept out by a stroke or two of the hand, and the men
arose.</p>

<p>“We have met on the tenth day of the moon which is called
<i>Togaso</i>,” said Rali. “If Allah is kind we shall reach the
country of our enemies on the fourteenth day of the moon which is
called <i>Assum</i>.”</p>

<p>For months Rali had waited with that patience and will that are
gifted to his race. Now it was <em>his turn</em> to move the pawn
of breathless import that should win or lose a mighty stake in the
gamble of life. Now, surely, his opponents had grown unwary,
forgetful of the danger of being followed, and vigilance relaxed in
confidence of their security behind tracks that had grown dim upon
the sand, or obliterated by kindly elements of Time. Not now would
the robbers guess that Rali had followed those self-same tracks
while they were yet fresh to the vision, and had read there the
riddle of the sands as clearly as scholar might read parchment. For
two days he had followed them; afterwards he had stored in his mind
the acute observations by which he hoped he would ultimately run
the robbers to earth. He knew the tribe the robbers belonged to;
knew each camel of the band should he ever cross their tracks
again: marvellous observation and memory that are second nature to
the tribes of the desert places, reared by the wayside of drifting
sand and shepherds of camels from childhood.</p>

<p>It was evening. The sun, which had blazed down on the hot sand
all day with the heat of a<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_160">[160]</span> furnace fire, had dipped below the straight
plain-edge of the horizon. For a fleeting moment the sand took on a
ruddy glow, and, in the gracious, luminous light, even the soiled
dress of the men and women of the bush-camp lost all shabbiness.
Then the soft light died out, and it was almost night.</p>

<p>In the centre of the Tuareg encampment, of frail skin-covered
gipsy shelters, three saddled camels were kneeling ready for a
journey. Two awaited riders, the third was burdened with
provisions; leather bags containing native food, and goatskins
filled with precious water.</p>

<p>Presently Rali and Yofa, accompanied by a group of their
friends, came up to the camels in readiness to depart. Both were
fully armed with modern rifles and belts of ammunition. Solemnly
the travellers bade good-bye to their comrades in camp. Then they
swung easily into their saddles; and on the instant the camels felt
touch of human hand they rose from the ground.</p>

<p>“Brothers, we depart,” cried Rali. “Tidings wing faster than the
winds across the sands. See! we start south on the way to Kano, our
tracks will lead in that direction and be lost. Hold fast our
secret. Ere to-morrow we will turn about and speed north—and no
stranger must know. In your salaams to the Rising Sun plead that
Allah protect us. If life be spared we shall come back, bearing
with us the beautiful Kahena, when the days are young in the moon
which is called <i>Germuda</i>.”</p>

<div class="figcenter iw06">
<figure class="iw06" id="i48"><img src='images/i48.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A BRIEF HALT</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>And the camels
padded noiselessly off into the night: gaunt, moving objects that
dwindled down to shadowy specks on the plain of sand—then
disappeared.</p>

<p>The journey which Rali and Yofa set out upon, which they had
reckoned would entail thirty-five days of incessant travel, held no
great hardship for them. Their anxiety lay in the danger of it, the
strain of constant watchfulness, the duty of following out to the
end the elusive trail of the robbers, now old and faint and
altogether blank in places.</p>

<p>“We have tracked the wild sheep of our mountains to their cool
dark caves in the summits with only the pin-scrape of an odd
hoof-slip on the hard rocks to guide us, and our fathers have
followed the ill-fated caravans of our tribe when lost in the
sandstorms of the desert until they have found the bleached bones
and the resting-place of those who had perished. May the eyes of
the vulture be given us, and the cunning of the jackal, so that we,
in our great need, shall not fail.”</p>

<p>Thus spoke Rali, when they commenced to follow the trail of the
robbers at the place where he had marked it months before, while it
was yet fresh.</p>

<p>Slowly they tracked the trail onward, day after day, ever
heading northward along the margins of wastes of sand that lay
spell-bound in the grip of limitless silence.</p>

<p>One night they passed close under the great,<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> darkly frowning mass of
Baguezan, a prominent range in Aïr; and two days later found them
east of the mountains, seeking the tracks in the sand while the sun
went down in golden splendour behind the rugged peaks of Timia.</p>

<p>Later on, vague signs in the sand told them that the robbers had
altered their course, and they swung westward into the
mountain-land through the wide plain that trends toward the great
Agoras river-bed.</p>

<p>Near its source they turned again northward.</p>

<p>They were now in a forsaken land that had once been the
stronghold of their race throughout the hey-day of their
power—stricken, deserted, northern Aïr, no longer harbouring living
soul, no longer prospering in any way whatever.</p>

<p>Village after village they passed of tiny huts built from the
stones of the mountains, and all stood grave and silent as tombs of
the dead.</p>

<p>“The legends our mothers have taught us tell that we come of a
great race,” said Rali. “And truly it was so. But a curse has
fallen upon us with such merciless weight that, in our depression,
we have come to believe that our race shall die until none
remain.”</p>

<p>“Yes, brother,” answered Yofa. “I fear thou speakest truth.
There are many kinds of misfortune, as there are many kinds of
peoples on the earth; little peoples and great peoples. The
incomprehensible purpose of destiny may single out any one of them,
or any group of them, at any<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_163">[163]</span> time if they trend toward ill-advised and
unhealthy disguise of the soul, which has been bequeathed to them,
and, mayhap, they shall fade like the leaves of the forest, until
they die. Thus, sometimes, to halt an evil that has escaped beyond
the shores of restraint, a great blight doth fall, that spreadeth
broadcast in the land, since the victims, in their self-confident
security, do not see that it is among them, nor seek a remedy, nor
hear the words of wisdom of the far-seeing wizards. Allah is
strong, and we but as pebbles on the sand. They are there for a
purpose, as we are here; when the purpose is past, or unduly
transgressed, we shall be overcome and laid low, as drifting sand
doth smother those stones.</p>

<p>“But every failure and every shortcoming hath remedy, if we
search diligently to find it. And seldom doth hard struggle to ward
off disaster go unrewarded. Wherefore blame is upon us, for we, as
a race, are no longer great of will; we idle by our herds, we drift
like grass seeds to and fro upon the desert, and we take not firm
root anywhere in the soil. Yea, verily, we are drifting, ever
drifting wherever soft winds blow.”</p>

<p>In answer to these words, and in conclusion, Rali stretched out
his hand to embrace the landscape of noble, strong-featured
mountains that encompassed them, and exclaimed:</p>

<p>“They, the once dearly loved hills of our forefathers, more
fortunate than we, are immovable to the influence of sunshine or
storm. We may<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>
falter in the conduct of our lives, and pass carelessly on; but
they shall remain, for ever monuments to the land of our race,
their purpose fulfilled, their infinite composure pointing calmness
and resolution, yet offering neither reproof nor scorn upon the
shortcomings of humanity.”</p>

<p>Thus spoke those grave Tuareg men, revealing the inherent
melancholy of their race, and the remnants of nobility of character
that spring forth like gleams of light on occasions of deep
emotion, but quickly die out in the willy-nilly idling of careless,
aimless lives. For in their camps the Tuaregs of to-day may be
likened to the lizards on the stones by their hut-doors: creatures
content to idle and bask in the sun, contemplative, perhaps, but
making no great exertion to do aught but eat and sleep and exist at
freedom in the languishing temperature of African climate.</p>

<p>Meantime, onward they journeyed, day after day; sometimes, night
after night; sleuths with their eyes to the ground clinging to the
slightest fragment of sign of the robbers’ old trail. No check, and
they had many, could shake them from their purpose nor confuse
their wonderful intelligence in tracking. Ever they held on, out
into the wastes of sand, out into the Unknown, far beyond the
limits of their territory. Whither they were going they knew not!
<em>That</em> the faint tracks at their feet alone could ultimately
answer.</p>

<h3><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>III</h3>

<p>A band of Ehaggaran natives, engaged in tending to the grazing
of their herds of goats and camels, were camped beneath the eastern
slopes of the Ahaggar mountain-range near Tiririn, not vastly
distant from Ghat, on the borders of the Fezzan.</p>

<p>In the cool of late afternoon the women were bestirring about
the tasks of camp; voices floated softly into the great space of
the surroundings; wood-smoke rose from freshly nourished
camp-fires, untroubled by wind; and altogether the scene was
pastoral and peaceful.</p>

<p>None would suspect that the camp sheltered bandits. Yet it is
often thus that, mingled with the commonplace simplicity of rural
atmosphere, gangs of robbers of the Sahara, when off the trail,
live and protect themselves against discovery at the hands of
unfriendly neighbours. Surrounded by peaceful occupation and
circumspect behaviour, they live the routine life of their camps,
their weapons of warfare carefully hidden, and all other traces of
evil-doing; while they retreat behind a curtain of deceit, and
cunning, and secrecy; in which they are past-masters. And, in this
camp near Tiririn, behind the veil of placid scene, lay Kahena, the
bride of Rali.</p>

<p>Among a group of congested hutments Kahena, her cotton shawl
drawn closely about her features, was hidden in a dark chamber,
free from bonds,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>
but hourly watched over by the women of the robber band so that she
should not endeavour to escape; though escape in such a wilderness,
should she be desperate enough to attempt it, could only spell
death.</p>

<p>Poor child! no longer had she the proud bearing of belle of her
tribe. Distress and fear in long enduring her terrible position had
left little of youth’s freshness and vigour, and she had come near
to collapse and absolute surrender, though to this hour
unsubmissive and fiercely antagonistic to the advances of her
captors.</p>

<p>But her plight, and everything sinister in the inner life of the
camp was, for the time being, securely hidden behind the disarming
atmosphere of natural peacefulness of the scene.</p>

<p>But, of a sudden, a deep hush fell—and men, reclining idly on
the sand by the huts, rose hastily to their feet and gazed to the
south. Two travellers were approaching—a rare occurrence from such
a quarter. Bezzou, chief of the village, tall and strong and good
to look upon, yet with evil glint in his eyes, felt for the dagger
in his sash. Like all men with blood upon their hands, he had
twinges of conscience, and for one fleeting moment he showed his
character and suspicions. But soon it was seen that the travellers
were unarmed, and that no caravan followed behind them; and all
misgivings were allayed.</p>

<p>With weary gait the camels of the travellers drew near to camp,
their riders, dust-covered and careless,<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_167">[167]</span> drooping forward over the high cross-heads
of their saddles as if they dozed in excess of fatigue.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw02">
<figure class="iw02" id="i49"><img src='images/i49.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A SCENE IN AÏR</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>At the edge of the camp they ordered their camels to kneel, and
wearily dismounted, to be greeted with the steely gaze of Bezzou
and his men, which scrutiny they returned with equal rudeness and
aloofness, as is the custom of the land when stranger meets
stranger. After a few moments of eye-to-eye duel the travellers,
without uttering a word, gave attention to their camels, removing
the riding-saddles and the load, then hobbling the forefeet and
turning them free to roll in the sand and search for grazing.</p>

<p>But, for all their travel-soiled, fatigued appearance, for all
their seeming haughty indifference, those two men, little as it
could be guessed, were, in reality, keyed up to the highest pitch
of alertness—for the sleuths of the sand-trail had run their quarry
to earth, and Rali and Yofa stood before their bitterest
enemies—and well they knew their danger and need of courage.</p>

<p>In time Rali limped feebly forward and addressed himself to
Bezzou in his own dialect:</p>

<p>“Chief of a strange people! to-night we would camp with thee!
The seas of sand are wide between Kano and Tripoli, and voice of
mankind is heard but seldom; and, sometimes, if he is heard, he is
not a friend. See! I walk no longer like the gazelle. Six days ago
we met foul robbers, who shot and chased us; but our camels are
fleet of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> foot—and
so we are here! But my leg, which is wounded, paineth me. I would
have water to bathe it, and water to quench the thirst that sits
sorely upon us both. I am a merchant; I have gift of cloth for thee
if thou wilt bid men to serve our little wants.”</p>

<p>Now Bezzou had noted, with greedy eyes, the bale of merchandise
that they carried, and it served his wishes of the moment that the
stranger should tarry in his camp. Hence he answered:</p>

<p>“Welcome, wizard of travel! thou hast set out upon a long
journey, like unto our forefathers who were wont to go to Mecca to
kneel at the feet of the Prophet. Water shall be brought to you
speedily, and food, and, wish ye aught else, speak that wish and it
shall be granted!”</p>

<p>This request filled Rali with gladness, for it gave him the
opening he sought. He had followed the old robber tracks near to
this camp, but, as yet, knew not for certain if he had reached the
end of his search. He had but one sure way to confirm his
suspicions: he must see some of the camels belonging to the tribe,
for he could recognise the footprints of any beast of the robber
band the moment he cast eyes on them. Therefore he replied:</p>

<p>“I have one pressing need, O great and generous Chief! and it
would be a providence of Allah if it could be granted. The camel
which carries our merchandise is taken with dire sickness of the
flesh, where resteth the pack-saddle, and I would<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> fain purchase another, if
camels thou hast for sale.”</p>

<p>To his request Bezzou answered: “I shall command that six
beasts, fair to look upon, shall be brought before thee ere the sun
setteth, and thou shalt choose from among them, provided thou shalt
pay me in silver of the white men of Kano.”</p>

<p>“Verily, I shall pay thee in the silver of the white man,”
agreed Rali, at the same moment catching a fleeting glint of
covetousness in his benefactor’s eyes.</p>

<p>Whereupon they parted for a time, and Rali and Yofa drank deep
of water, and sat down at a little distance from the camp,
ostensibly to bathe the wound from which Rali suffered. But when
the blood-stained rags which bound the limb were removed no wound
was there. Rali could still walk or run with the freedom of the
gazelle when need arose. But he replaced the discoloured rags, and
groaned in seeming stiffness and as if in great pain.</p>

<p>Ere night camels were brought to Rali, so that he might purchase
one. He was startled, almost to the extent of uttering an unwary
exclamation, the moment he cast eyes upon them, for among them was
one of the animals that had been stolen during the robber raid upon
his tribe. However, he successfully suppressed all signs of
recognition, and carefully inspected each animal in turn,
bargaining over the price of them with the customary shrewdness
expected of a merchant. To alleviate any lingering suspicion that
might exist among the<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_170">[170]</span> tribe concerning him, Rali was careful to
take most interest in his own stolen camel, and he discussed it as
an animal born and reared in the neighbourhood and entirely strange
to him. And in the end it was this beast that he chose to select to
purchase.</p>

<p>Meantime his keen eyes had not been idle, and he noted that two
of the other animals made footprints in the sand exactly as they
had been made months before on the robber trail. No fragment of
doubt remained. He had tracked the bandits to their den.</p>

<p>But where was Kahena? Was Bezzou the leader of the band, as well
as chief of the tribe? For, if so, it might be he to whom she had
been allotted, to be one of his wives or slave women. He must plan
to gain access to Bezzou’s dwelling. This mentally decided, he
said:</p>

<p>“O generous Chief! this camel I shall take from thine herd when
I go forth, but this day I shall pay thee silver of the white men
of Kano in token of good faith. Anon, when thou hast feasted of the
evening meal, if it be well advised, I shall come to thy door with
bag of silver and gift of cloth.”</p>

<p>And Bezzou answered, with greed in his eyes: “It is well,
friend. Come, and thou shalt be welcomed.”</p>

<p>Wherefore, in due time, when the shades of night had fallen,
Rali limped to the door of the encampment of Bezzou, and was
admitted.</p>

<p>The chief and two old councillors awaited him.<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> They had been deep in evil
plans, for Bezzou had already made up his mind that the harmless
travellers, with their camels, and merchandise, and bags of silver,
should never leave the camp alive.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i50"><img src='images/i50.jpg' alt=''>
<p>SPELLBOUND IN THE GRIP OF LIMITLESS SILENCE</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Rali made his generous gift of cloth to the chief, and, from a
bag concealed in the folds of his garment, counted out the dole of
silver which was the price of the camel he had purchased, the while
he discussed, in voice pitched more high than usual, the small
incidents of the journey and the hardships which he and Yofa had
experienced by the way. He was fencing to disarm suspicion, fencing
for time; hopeful that Kahena was near—even that she might catch
the sound of his voice. In vain, when unobserved, his keen eyes
roved over the hut in search of a clue.</p>

<p>Presently a woman entered from the rear bringing some wood for
the fire that smouldered between stones on the floor. She was an
Ehaggaran native, and, beyond one brief glance at her, Rali
appeared indifferent to her presence. Yet, if one could have
guessed it, his downcast eyes missed nothing. But vain was his
covert inspection; her person revealed no clue of Kahena’s
immediate presence; and his heart sank within him as she retired
from the hut, for he had hoped that it might be otherwise.</p>

<p>Conversation had lagged, and Rali had risen to depart to his
rest, when, with the curiosity of her sex, the woman re-entered on
pretext of mending the fire, in reality to hear the parting words
that passed between the stranger and her people.<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> She was in the act of adding
fuel to the fire, when Rali suddenly stumbled and emitted a
smothered groan, as if from the pain of his wound.</p>

<p>“Brother! thou art unfit to travel further for the present,”
exclaimed Bezzou, supporting him, and inwardly intent on his evil
schemes. “Rest in this camp, where thou art welcome, until thou
hast recovered.”</p>

<p>And, as he limped off to join Yofa in rest, Rali answered: “I
thank thee, O great and generous Chief! Gladly will I stay here for
a few days until this sickness of the evil one has passed.”</p>

<p>Once outside in the darkness, Rali’s features relaxed in strange
grimace, half expressing satisfaction, yet shadowed with burning
hatred. For what had happened, at the moment when he had appeared
to be seized with pain, was that the woman, in the act of
stretching out a thin arm from under cover of the folds of her
shawl to nourish the fire, had exposed a metal bangle on her wrist
that had once been the property of Kahena.</p>

<p>He joined Yofa at the edge of the encampment, and together they
rolled themselves in their blankets and lay down side by side upon
the sand. But not to sleep—for long they discussed the exciting
incidents of the day and planned for the future in low
whisperings.</p>

<p>Undoubtedly Kahena was in camp, or had been killed. If alive,
how were they to effect her rescue and wreak revenge? for vengeance
was almost as dear to them as the rescue of Kahena.
There<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> were many men
in this camp, and for the present they appeared to have no
occupation which took them far afield during day or night.</p>

<p>At last Rali, who shrewdly suspected that, if he did not act
quickly, Bezzou, in his greed, would frustrate him by some
treachery, proposed a daring plan, and, after much discussion of
its inner details, it was agreed upon.</p>

<p>So that it came to pass that in the night Yofa crept from his
sleeping-place and, with saddle and money-bags of Rali, set out
across the sand to trace the grazing camels, so that he should
mount and ride away in the direction of Ghat with all speed.</p>

<h3>IV</h3>

<p>The first faint light of dawn was in the sky when Rali, in
accordance with prearranged plans, sat up upon his couch upon the
sand and gave the alarm.</p>

<p>Groans and curses escaped from him; he grovelled on the ground
and cast sand upon his head; he cried aloud to Allah—and men came
running from their hut doors to look upon him in consternation.</p>

<p>Seizing a staff, he limped, as if in excessive pain from his
wound, to the huts of Bezzou, crying: “Infidel! Thief! Traitor! I
am a ruined man!”</p>

<p>Espying Bezzou, he fell upon the ground before him, exclaiming:
“O generous one! Canst thou assist me? Great evil has fallen. In
the night my trusted servant, thrice cursed son of the faithless,
has stolen from this camp, as jackal stealeth,<span class="pagenum"
id="Page_174">[174]</span> bearing with him my bags of silver.
Traitor! infamous traitor! and how am I to follow him, with this
great sickness of limb upon me?”</p>

<p>Bezzou was alarmed, not on account of Rali’s distress, but
because the coveted bags of silver had escaped from his grasp in a
totally unexpected way. Sharply, without troubling to disguise his
contempt of the supposed cripple, he gave orders to his men, and
immediately shouts of haste and excitement stirred the camp to
thorough wakefulness ere the full light of day was in the sky.</p>

<p>In no time camels were hurried in from grazing and a band of
well-mounted men armed with rifles—which had appeared mysteriously
from cunning places of hiding—streamed out of camp on the clear,
fresh tracks of Yofa and urged their camels into a steady, ungainly
run, while Bezzou alone stood aside and watched them go.</p>

<p>Meanwhile Rali lay upon his couch on the sand, fitfully groaning
in pain and calling upon Allah to bring down curses on the head of
the faithless one.</p>

<p>But, in time, general peacefulness settled on the camp as the
morning advanced. One by one, the women departed in divers
directions, driving their herds of goats before them to place of
grazing, or set out to gather herbs or firewood.</p>

<p>In due course the hour had come for which Rali had planned and
waited; and thereupon he rose slowly from his couch and limped
painfully to the hutments of Bezzou.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>Once there, he
begged shelter from the sun of the old woman who answered his
summons. But no sooner had he set foot indoors than his pitiful
demeanour underwent startling change and he sprang with agility
upon the woman to seize her in powerful grasp and force her to the
ground, where he speedily gagged and bound her securely.</p>

<p>Sound of the scuffle disturbed Bezzou, who had been sleeping in
an inner chamber, and he was in the act of entering the room to
inquire the cause of it when Rali was upon him like a whirlwind
with naked knife in his hand. Whereupon ensued a terrible combat,
as the two strong men locked in grasp of deadly intent, and panted
and struggled and staggered with the excessive strength of bitter
hatred.</p>

<p>But Rali had the advantage of having taken his enemy by
surprise, and gradually he improved his hold, until, suddenly, with
one great effort, he freed his hand from the grasp of his powerful
opponent, and buried his knife deep in Bezzou’s heart.</p>

<p>And, as he looked up from his exertions, Kahena stood in the
doorway of the inner chamber with eyes filled with tears yet
sparkling with gladness.</p>

<p>“Rali!” she cried softly, “last night I heard your voice; to-day
I knew you would come.”</p>

<p>Without time for words of affection, Rali exclaimed:</p>

<p>“Quick, child! retire, seek some clothes of Bezzou’s women and
change thy garb with all<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_176">[176]</span> speed and cover thy fair face well; the men
of this camp, who have been enticed away in pursuit of Yofa, who
came hither with me to seek thee, may return at any moment. Follow
me outdoors when thou art disguised. I go to catch our camels.”</p>

<p>And, with parting glance of deep satisfaction upon the dead man
who had sinned so deeply against him, Rali went forth from the hut,
still calling, at intervals, his lamentations of misfortune so that
no woman or child remaining in camp should suspect him of
deceit.</p>

<p>Soon he had caught his camels, for Yofa had driven them near to
camp before he had departed in the night. Slowly he brought them in
and caused them to kneel under cover of a ruined hut so that he
might saddle them unobserved. Then Kahena joined him, in strange
clothes and carrying a bundle of wood, the very simplicity of her
disguise making safe her passage through the camp.</p>

<p>But at last the services of disguise were unnecessary, and with
bounding heart Rali lifted Kahena to her camel. A moment more, and
they were speeding south.</p>

<p>About two hours later Rali halted the camels among some
sand-dunes, while saddles were adjusted and they rested to partake
of some dried dates which Rali produced from one of his leather
saddlebags. He carried also a single skin of water, upon which they
must depend for the next few days.</p>

<p>Before remounting Rali searched diligently in a sandy gully,
then commenced to excavate; and<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_177">[177]</span> when he stood upright again he carried two
rifles in his hands. This was where Yofa and he had buried their
arms before entering the camp of the strangers. He then proceeded
to extract cartridges from a belt beneath his garment and fully
loaded the weapons ere he hung them by their slings to his
saddle-head.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i51"><img src='images/i51.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="center">WHEN DAY DAWNED THEY WERE IN A STRANGE LAND OF
ROUGH, ROCKY HILLS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Two days went past of anxious, constant travel across ungiving
desert. Then they reached the point where Rali had arranged that
Yofa should rejoin him. But Yofa was not there, and Rali was much
perturbed. “Faithful, courageous brother, who had deliberately
undertaken to draw the whole hornet’s nest of robbers in chase of
him; pray Allah no ill-merited fate had befallen him! Yet Yofa was
tireless and skilled in travel, and his camel fleet of foot: why
did he wait not here?”</p>

<p>Rali had grave misgivings that the worst had befallen his
comrade. More serious thought still, if Yofa had been captured the
robbers would have returned speedily to their camp, to discover his
deceit and the flight of Kahena, and, at the moment, in all
probability, they were following the incriminating tracks in the
sand.</p>

<p>That night Rali dared not camp, and wearily but surely he picked
his way in the dark, ever onward, ever nearer to the mountains of
Aïr.</p>

<p>Another uneventful day passed, and then, terribly exhausted, in
particular Kahena, at risk of being overtaken, they lay down at
night to sleep, while<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_178">[178]</span> the hungry camels were hobbled and turned
away to snatch what pickings they could find in plant-starved,
ungenerous surroundings.</p>

<p>Next morning, as they hurried on southward, the northern ranges
of Aïr loomed in sight, at first low and smoke-blue on the distant
horizon; thereafter ever growing in dimensions and solidity as the
interval lessened between the fugitives and the ancient land of
their race, which offered a measure of protection.</p>

<p>Alas! just when hope of successful escape appeared to be
materialising, Rali, who had always been casting anxious glance
behind, saw at last that which he dreaded to see—a cloud of dust
rising faintly on the horizon. But he said not a word of this
discovery to Kahena, and thereafter gave all his attention to
urging the camels onward.</p>

<p>But by noon he could deceive her no longer, for the small
dust-cloud had grown larger and unmistakable, and eyes might almost
discern the raiders that were overtaking them.</p>

<p>“Kahena! fair and delicate flower of the desert,” he said, “thou
art fashioned to flourish in sunny nooks where peace doth reign and
foul winds of strife pass by thee, but to-day thou art a thing
uprooted and shalt need be brave and worthy of thy name; for look!
the robbers are close upon us.” Whereupon Rali turned in his saddle
and pointed to the growing dust-cloud.</p>

<p>“Pray, child,” he cried, “that Allah hinder them until we reach
the mountains,” and he urged the<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_179">[179]</span> camels onward, sparing not the jaded
animals in his need.</p>

<p>A race against time ensued—a tense, terrible race, nerve-trying,
beast-killing.</p>

<p>Hours slipped past, bringing nearer the goal of the fugitives,
and promise of nightfall, while the dust-cloud of the remorseless
robbers gained in volume behind them. Gradually, the chase became
so hot that hours gave place to precious minutes, and Kahena called
aloud to Allah and cried in fear to Rali under the extremity of the
wild, mad race to shelter.</p>

<p>But, at last, the harbouring hills were reached, and Allah be
praised, ere the robbers came in full view, the darkness of night
laid merciful cloak before the eyes of desperate men. For the
moment they were safe.</p>

<p>But Rali realised that safety would be short-lived. He now knew
that Yofa had failed before the prowess of the robbers, and was
either captive or killed; and he felt that the net of his own fate
was closely about him.</p>

<p>The words he had once spoken to Yofa came back to him with vivid
clearness, and under his breath he repeated them: “A curse has
fallen upon us. It is willed that the race shall die, until none
remain.”</p>

<p>Casting aside such sad thoughts, he turned gently to Kahena, and
brought her a small portion of water and dates and bade her eat and
rest while he unsaddled the camels and turned them free for
ever.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>Presently he
gently woke Kahena, for the exhausted girl had quickly fallen
asleep, and bade her follow him while he commenced, carefully and
skilfully, to climb upward among the huge awkward boulders and
rocks of the bare slopes of Tamgak.</p>

<p>Thus they laboured through the night, and when day dawned they
were on the mountain summit in a strange land of rocky hills.</p>

<p>And there they hid in a cave among pitfalls of boulders, and
Rali bade the exhausted Kahena sleep while he set all the food and
water that remained to them by her side. Then he started back to
the mountain edge so that he might reach a point of vantage from
whence to spy upon the robbers by the light of day.</p>

<p>Presently he was in a position to look down upon the land
beneath; and he espied the camels of the robbers feeding in the
valley where his tracks in the sand had been lost among the rocks
at the mountain base. By and by, he heard voices half-way up the
mountain-side. Cautiously shifting his position, he made out five
of the robber band, scattered in different directions, searching
keenly for track of him. But the grave old mountain told not her
secrets as the tell-tale sands of the plains, and for some time
Rali watched the robbers search without success, and heard them
exchange curses of bitter disappointment. Whereupon he returned
softly to the cave that sheltered Kahena, and sat hidden in the
black darkness of it with rifle upon his knee, knowing that in time
the baulked desperadoes<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_181">[181]</span> would climb to the summit and persevere in
their search.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw06">
<figure class="iw06" id="i52"><img src='images/i52.jpg' alt=''>
<p>TOMBS ON THE DESERT</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Slowly the day passed, while Kahena slept heavily, and Rali
watched—and no grim figure darkened the entrance of their
hiding-place. Once footsteps had been heard to grate on the hard
rocks outside, as someone searched among the dark recesses of the
disordered maze of fallen boulders. But, after drawing perilously
near, the dreaded sound had slowly receded and died out.</p>

<p>Late in the evening Rali ventured from hiding and found the
mountain summit deserted, while in the valley beneath he saw the
lights of the camp-fires of the robbers. Whereupon, weak though he
now was from want of sleep and the prolonged strain of superhuman
exertions, he set out anxiously to search for water so that he and
Kahena might drink thereof and live.</p>

<p>Long into the night he searched, but in vain he went, with
ever-increasing sinking of heart, from one barren channel to
another, and found not that which he sought among those sun-parched
hills of terrible poverty. In the end he wearily retraced his steps
to the cave that sheltered Kahena.</p>

<p>But the wild wolves of Fate were now close upon him, inevitably
bearing him down as he had foretold, and he returned from his
fruitless search for water to find Kahena in the grip of raging
fever.</p>

<p>Poor child! the terrible strain of the race for freedom had been
too great: and ere the night was advanced she died in the arms of
Rali. While he,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>
unaware of this final catastrophe, in merciful sleep of utter
exhaustion, crouched beside the still maid of his love, from whence
life had for ever flown.</p>

<p>And in the morning he woke not. For two tired spirits had sped
on the perpetual winds which sweep to the uttermost corners of the
land and catch up the fallen fragments of the universe to bear them
hence.</p>

<p class="space-above15">Skeletons among the rocks, a few wasted
fragments of clothing, a riddled water-skin; and the reminiscent
words of a Tuareg companion, when I chanced upon the remains, set
me to piece together the threads of this story.—<span class=
"sc">Author</span>.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_183">[183]</span><a id="c10"></a>CHAPTER X<br>
SERVITUDE</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c10.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>
</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i53"><img src='images/i53.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A HAUSA SLAVE WOMAN OF A TUAREG FAMILY</p>

<p class="small">GRINDING WHEAT BETWEEN STONES</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb">CHAPTER X<br>
<span class="med">SERVITUDE</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">The</span> Tuareg nomads of the
Sahara consider themselves the superiors of all who toil with their
hands, and there is a wide distinction between nobleman and
serf.</p>

<p>The nomads are the overlords of the land. It is they who saw to
it in the past that the oases were kept supplied with labour to
till the soil and reap the harvest, promote bazaars and build
towns, on which they might draw heavily for dates and cereals and
other rare luxuries of their table; exacted as tribute for playing
the part of guardians, or bartered for in more creditable exchange.
The Tuaregs were ever cavaliers and soldiers of fortune, who
scorned manual labour as an indignity. Nevertheless, it was an
economic convenience for their country to grow food where the land
could give of it, and to this end they acquired their workmen.</p>

<p>Slave-raids to Hausaland, slave-caravans, slave-markets in the
heart of the Sahara, were the common custom of the land up till
quite recent times, and were the outcome of the need for labour in
the oases, and in the camps of the overlords.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>The ideal
society of the Tuareg is that which is without government of any
kind, to permit that they may freely execute their turbulent
authority unhindered, and exact homage at the point of the sword.
But the old regime is passing; though the stock of the slave class
remain, either as servants to their old masters or as sedentary
tribes within themselves.</p>

<p>The active practice of slavery has ceased, though the frame of
mind still persists. Boys and girls are still sold out of families,
quietly, but there is no cruelty in the transaction, for the slave
class of a Tuareg family are permitted the complete freedom of the
household so long as they observe the laws of their position. As a
rule, the serf has not a very brilliant mentality, and the lifelong
habit of toil is not easily disturbed. They are accustomed to
serve, and, indeed, so long as they are fed and have a place to
sleep, they appear as content as those in their natural homes in
Hausaland or elsewhere. Many of these serfs who are alive to-day,
were in the first instance bought and sold in the market-place, or
were direct captives of nomadic raids. Under the military regime of
the French they are more or less free to go their way to-day; but
they make no change. They remain in the families as before, assured
of protection and livelihood that might not be theirs if they cast
adrift.</p>

<p>It is on this slave class that all the hard work falls, whether
in the Tuareg camps or in the centres<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_187">[187]</span> of cultivation or commercial enterprise;
and all are accustomed to their nomad overlords.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i54"><img src='images/i54.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="small">A TEBU WOMAN</p>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i55"><img src='images/i55.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="small">A TEBU MAN</p>

<p class="center">SEDENTARY IN OASES OF KOWAR</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>The widely scattered places of sedentary occupation in the
Sahara may take two forms: they may be oases in the midst of sandy
desert, or they may be havens among the mountains.</p>

<p>The desert oasis has its planted belt of date palms and
plentiful supply of water, usually drawn from wells, sometimes from
springs in open ditches. Under the shade of the palms are the
irrigated gardens, where constant labour, at the seasons of
cultivation, is demanded to flood the soil and nurse the plants to
maturity in surroundings that would give no life without artificial
aid.</p>

<p>The gardens are sandy and small: a network of closely crowded
allotments, each fenced with palm staves to hold in check the
driving sand. By means of a regular system of irrigation channels
the soil is fed with water at intervals each day; drawn to the
surface by oxen, or by hand, at the expense of a good deal of
patient labour. The consequent dampness and humidity breed malaria,
which is, perhaps, a further reason for the importation of the
negroid serf, who is, through hereditary environment, familiar with
the destructive malady. Indeed, in this respect, at the time of
rain it is common practice for many semi-nomadic masters to
evacuate the oases altogether and roam far out into the more
healthy desert, tending their flocks while leaving their serfs
alone to look after the cultivation.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>The palms
produce dates, which ripen in the autumn, and the gardens
principally wheat, millet, tomatoes, and onions in sparing
quantities. All the work of cultivation is done by hand.</p>

<p>The dwellings of the desert oases have the character of towns,
not villages. In a sense that designation may appear overdrawn,
insomuch that many oases are no larger than the tiniest of
villages, but against that should be set an environment that is so
appallingly blank that any society of dwellings takes on the
glamour of urban life. The market-places have their bazaars and
their movement of people, the sandy streets are tolerably well laid
out, while the clay-built buildings are compact and complete, and
sometimes ornamental.</p>

<p>But they are few and very widely scattered, and vary greatly in
standard. Some are mere hovels, others towns in the full sense of
the word; and these latter are chiefly in the Algerian Sahara near
to Arab civilisation, though Bilma, Fachi, and like outstanding
ports in the desert should on no account be overlooked.</p>

<p>The sedentary havens among mountains such as Ahaggar and parts
of Aïr are different from the desert oases. They are in character
villages, and the life is entirely rural, as a place is rural that
herds flocks about its doors and lives, for the most part, in
grass-covered hutments.</p>

<p>In Aïr in particular, and in some cases in Ahaggar, these
permanent villages are occupied by Tuaregs who, having fallen on
evil days and lost their<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_189">[189]</span> camels and means of getting about, have
taken to semi-sedentary life with bitterness in their hearts. Those
have their slave-people, who, besides doing all the manual work in
camp, labour at cultivation, as in the oases, when water permits of
cultivation. But such harvest as they gather is meagre indeed, and
insufficient to serve the needs of the community, since there is
little scope for cultivation in the narrow, stony valleys between
the slopes of the mountains; and lack of water adds a further
drawback. On that account, also, only a few date-palms are planted
near such villages.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i56"><img src='images/i56.jpg' alt=''>
<p>SEMI-SEDENTARY</p>

<p class="small">A TUAREG OF THE EGUMMI TRIBE</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>On the whole, there is poor encouragement to toil because of the
adverse conditions, and prolonged spells of idleness have no doubt
developed the spirit of laziness that is prevalent in all these
places.</p>

<p>Tuaregs are the authoritative owners of the villages, and have a
definite residence there; though every now and again a family or
two, with their herds, wander away on the open trail for a time,
giving expression to the restless spirit that hungers for the life
of the untrammelled wilderness.</p>

<p>Whether desert oasis or mountain village, all go to make up a
part of the social fabric of the Sahara, and the nomad camps the
other part. Each depends on the other. The nomads rely on the
sedentary people for markets for the goods transported by their
caravans—foreign, or products of their camps—and for such foods as
are the outcome of cultivation. On the other hand, the sedentary
people look to the nomad to keep up<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_190">[190]</span> communication with the outer world, and
guard them against enemies in time of dispute or war. It would be
difficult for one to subsist without the other, so that there is
logically a certain intimate relation between the nomad and “The
Sons of Toil,” despite the proud bearing of the former, which has
behind it something of the instincts of aloofness that are disposed
to be characteristics of untamed creatures of the wild.</p>

<p>One fact emerges that is of more than ordinary interest in
consideration of the social restlessness in civilised countries
to-day. It is true, in effect, that any <em>solidity</em> of human
existence that obtains in the Sahara, frail though it be, centres
round these permanent places of production. Moreover, I believe
that the whole future of the Sahara lies at their door, and that
the entire land will ultimately survive or go under according to
the efforts they put forth. The need to labour is clearly defined
before the mighty forces of unstifled Nature. There is no
alternative, except starvation and death, which is, after all, a
primary, if primitive, law of Nature, age-old and irrefutable,
though often overlooked. The object-lessons of this need
industriously to struggle for existence are about us in every
country-side, down the lanes or out in the fields, wherever living
thing has dwelling and the ways of Nature are closely observed. So
much is barren in the Sahara that the labour of man stands forth in
all its merit; and, insignificant though the Great Desert is among
the peopled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>
countries of the world, the little society it contains owes
gratitude to the hands of toil that have made life to some extent
possible.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw04">
<figure class="iw04" id="i57"><img src='images/i57.jpg' alt=''>
<p>DRAWING WATER TO IRRIGATE GARDEN CULTIVATION</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>In most cases the sedentary cultivators are of negroid origin,
drawn largely, at one time or another, from the vast populations of
the Western Sudan. Hausa and Beri-Beri blood predominate. In the
Tuareg camps in the south they are known as <i>Belas’</i> or
<i>Buzus’</i>, in Kowar they hold to the race names of
<i>Beri-Beri</i> and <i>Tebu</i>, in Ahaggar they are
<i>Imrads</i>, and thence, northward, <i>Haratin</i>. All have the
general features of the negro, and are dark-skinned.</p>

<p>They toil simply and live simply, and have a happier composure
than the Tuareg, aided by a somewhat dull mentality that does not
possess the activity that leads to fretfulness and brooding. About
their dwellings they appear to see no shame, or drawback, in living
in considerable squalor; and filthy hovels are not uncommon, with
unclean occupants in ragged clothing.</p>

<p>Between seasons of harvest many of the sedentary people know
severe poverty, sometimes famine, and at such times almost anything
is eaten: even the hides of camels or goats are boiled down to a
chewable substance, and the questionable soup consumed.</p>

<p>It is not generally realised that there are large stretches of
the Sahara without fuel for fires.<a id="FNanchor_17"></a><a href=
"#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_192">[192]</span> Many oases suffer great inconvenience from
dearth of the commodity, and fires to cook even a single meal a day
are sometimes not procurable. Pieces of palm-stems often furnish
the chief material, but are poor, dense-smoking fuel. However,
anything that burns will do, and I have often known a dozen women
and children hover about my caravan encampment with baskets to
collect the droppings of the camels.</p>

<p>Like all else in the Sahara, the oases suffer a perpetual
onslaught of sand, which fills their gardens, their streets, and
their homes; often banking up like drifts of snow against the
dwellings, or forming in eddies and pools where the sweep of the
wind circles a bend. Outside some oases sand is banked in huge
dunes, which have to be continually fought against by the
inhabitants, or they would engulf all. The predominance of sand
everywhere does not add to cleanliness.</p>

<p>One of the most pleasant experiences that one can have in the
Sahara is to come suddenly, without any forewarning from the
character of the country, upon a place of human habitation after
long weeks in barren wastes. The joy of the society of mankind is
great, and the chatter of people about their homes contains a
quality of comfort that is akin to home.</p>

<p>The scattered oases in the Sahara are as ports to those who roam
the highways of the ocean. And in that there is one startling
revelation in the fact that, like most big harbours of
civilisation, the chief oases have their underworld of vice and
wickedness.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> And
this is entirely a custom of the Sahara; which, once again, points
strongly to its resemblance to the sea, for I have never known like
habits to prevail anywhere among the populated regions of the
Sudan. Bilma, which is a notable port in the land, might be taken
as an instance, since the reputation of the <i>Oulad Nails</i>, in
the Northern Sahara, is already widely known.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw05">
<figure class="iw05" id="i58"><img src='images/i58.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A DATE GROVE OF AN OASIS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>We find there a powerful and openly recognised guild, with a
chief woman at its head, known by the name <i>Diarabba</i>. It has
been in existence so long as the Beri-Beri and Tebu natives of the
oasis can remember. The cold-eyed, gaudily ornamented women of the
Guild—and most of the women of Bilma belong to it—perform an
extraordinary dance which is only crudely graceful, yet picturesque
because of the peculiarly shaped, coloured plume-like palm-fans,
which each dancer waves in rhythm with the tom-tom music. They
dance in a line before the musicians, moving their feet in accurate
time and swaying to right and to left. The dance waxes faster and
faster, while the men of the caravans look on.</p>

<p>At last one of the musicians drops his drum and runs forward to
seize one of the women, whom he lifts bodily in his arms, and
carries to place on a rug on the sand, the while the others
continue to dance. The “belle” that has been chosen remains still,
crouched upon the ground, while, one by one, men in the crowd who
court her favour go forward and place money or other gifts on her
head.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>One shudders and
turns away; the barbarism of the East is not dead—yet neither is
religion nor quaint superstition. I walked outside the north walls
of the town, seeking the pure open air. A solitary tomb loomed in
my path. I inquired its history and was told:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“There a great Marabout died, and our
fathers say that people passing the dead man’s grave saw green
lights at night, and said: <em>‘There lies a man who is glad even
in death’</em>; and so they built a tomb over him.”</p>

<p class="space-above15">In the belief that the oases and the
sedentary people are the mainspring of the Sahara’s system, it may
be worth while to bear in mind the state of the people, in
picturing any possibility of resuscitating the land, of which we
hear projects from time to time. Prolonged immorality brings
decadence in its wake, and extreme poverty can do likewise. I see
in the oases to-day human life at a very low ebb; human life that
has been allowed to go to rot, because, through the ages, the
Sahara has had no strong <em>friends</em> to reach out a hand and
lift it from “the Slough of Despond.”</p>

<p>If the oases could be rejuvenated it is possible to believe
that, despite the awe-inspiring forces of Nature, great things
might yet be accomplished in reviving the Sahara; for the oases
were ever the keystones of the land.</p>

<p>But that is a vast undertaking to attempt, and<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> almost impossible of
accomplishment. The low ebb is running fast, and the back eddies of
the land are full of wreckage that slide toward oblivion in the
end. Which is a clear illustration that, <em>when the character of
the people of a country weakens, so must that country
suffer</em>.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw05">
<figure class="iw05" id="i59"><img src='images/i59.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A WOMAN OF THE “DIARABBA”</p>
</figure>
</div>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_197">[197]</span><a id="c11"></a>CHAPTER XI<br>
STRANGE CAMP-FIRES</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c11.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_199">[199]</span>CHAPTER XI<br>
<span class="med">STRANGE CAMP-FIRES</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">When</span> mankind pack up their
goods and chattels in dunnage bags and bits of boxes and take to
the open road, the life that ensues is that of the nomad, whether
the wanderings are from place to place within the bounds of
civilisation or beyond recognised frontiers. In either case the
quality of adventure is there to quicken the pulses; for the
instinct to explore is in all of us, whether the field be far-flung
or near at hand. And while it is true that, in minor walks,
light-hearted travel may have little purpose in its conception
beyond that of pleasure, particularly at the onset, there is
nevertheless reason why the smallest of these nomadic propensities
should be thoughtfully considered since there is a very tangible
utility in them, insomuch that travel of any kind is disposed to
enlarge one’s notion of the world as a whole, while, at the same
time, it broadcasts the character of a race; which shall be judged
of repute or disrepute, abroad, according to the conduct of those
who, wittingly or unwittingly, carry the standard far afield.</p>

<p>These are small words, and may convey little or<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> nothing of a mighty subject
that will, one day, surely be our tremendous concern. For the
kingdom of mankind is rapidly enlarging; and the time has come when
it is fast being realised that insular completeness is over-narrow
to withstand the rising flood alone. Wherefore it is no longer
sufficient for any individual or country to look upon the prospect
from comfortable doorstep and cry: “All is well.” Rather should
each of us desire to see beyond, and comprehend the composition of
the comradeship of the world as a whole, and build therefrom the
character that shall fit us to sit by the fireside of any race,
knowing, in the end, that we are welcomed, and have laboured
faithfully to play the part of broad-minded men.</p>

<p>And it is significant that, along the highways of the world, a
vastly important part of the history of Races and Empires has been
written, and not only may wise men build for strength within their
abodes, but also along all paths that lead to them.</p>

<p>Wherefore the Open Road may lead toward a goal, and nomadic
restlessness be more than mere inherent instinct.</p>

<p>However, to return to the subject of travel in the Sahara, we,
as islanders, can clearly comprehend the vastness of the oceans,
and the importance of the routes across them, and thereby
understand the conditions that confront the inhabitants of the
shores and in the “ports” of the Sahara who seek, at times, to find
passage across the grim, silent wastes of the desert. But ocean and
desert<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> to-day
present diverse phases of travel. The one has all that modern
science and civilisation can command to make travel easy, while the
other remains unchanged from the darkest ages, and is wholly
primitive.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i60"><img src='images/i60.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A HALT AT AN OLD WELL</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>It is with the latter that this narrative has to deal in
endeavour to give a few impressions of camp-fires I have known in
out-of-the-way places while moving through the land, living as a
nomad, carrying trivial possessions by the aid of humble beasts of
burden, and camping wherever chance befell when the sun swung into
the western sky—a life where one experiences the rugged edge of
existence and comes to be vastly content with little pleasures,
since these occur but seldom.</p>

<h3>I</h3>

<p>One of the rarest occurrences in the Sahara is rain, and the
nomads tell that they have known seven years and even ten years
pass without any in some localities. Twice, on the trail, I have
witnessed the coming of the greatest boon that the Sahara can know;
on 3rd August 1920, and again on 13th July 1922. They were
memorable occurrences, and one is herein described as an incident
of outdoor life not readily forgotten.</p>

<p>We were camped for a few days on a small, rocky knoll on the
bank of a dry, deep-channelled river-bed. For months past the heat
of the desert had waxed greater and greater, until the weather had
become unbearably stifling and oppressive. There<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> was no relief in the
surroundings; a wasteland of sad colourings, made up of pale sand
and occasional sun-bleached grass tufts. It was the kind of
environment that drives men to madness if the mind is not
occupied.</p>

<p>There was a subdued tenseness abroad; and almost a gesture of
mute appeal, for in truth the whole land was overstrained and
panting for relief—and rains were due, if they were to come this
year.</p>

<p>For an evening or two heat lightning lit the eastern horizon,
and a few distant clouds hung about. . . . And then the great gift
of the gods was delivered.</p>

<p>The big storm descended with astonishing suddenness, one early
afternoon, and in no time the clear blue sky and sun-flooded land
became transformed into a dark inferno of raging elements.</p>

<p>Our first warning of impending events came from a huge, ominous
cloud that rolled over the land from the south-west, like a low
black column of bush-fire smoke. It was the vanguard dust-churnings
of a mighty hurricane, and with something of consternation the
frail encampment prepared to crouch before the onslaught. But we
had barely time to bundle valued possessions under canvas, and run
round tent-ropes to test their security, before a fierce gale,
filled with stinging dust and sand, swooped hungrily upon camp. And
then the battle raged. All hands struggled to keep the tents
intact, orders were bawled that<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_203">[203]</span> went unheard, for they were torn at the
point of utterance and ruthlessly tossed into the vortex of the
storm. Lurid lightning flashed and thunder roared above our heads;
followed by a hissing deluge of torrential rains. Still we battled
with unruly ropes and canvas that buffeted in the gale like
ship-sails fouled in a treacherous wind, while all were drenched to
the skin, and water literally streamed from our thin clothing.
Matches, maps, notes—everything that happened to be in my
pockets—was drowned to clammy pulp.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw04">
<figure class="iw04" id="i61"><img src='images/i61.jpg' alt=''>
<p>AN ANCIENT SAHARAN WELL</p>

<p class="small">NOTE HOW BEAMS ARE CUT WITH FRICTION OF ROPES.
BELOW-GROUND THE SIDES ARE OF MASONRY</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Camp-fires hissed and spluttered, and were quickly quenched; and
in no time the tranquil camp of half an hour ago was no more than a
skeleton of bedraggled possessions and woebegone occupants.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the whole aspect of the country rapidly changed.
Miniature streams began to form and gurgle all about us, and grew
at an alarming pace. A low murmuring arose in the hills behind and
drew nearer and nearer until we witnessed the remarkable sight of a
foam-crested, rolling billow advancing down the hitherto empty
river-bed. Like a sea-wave on a long, sandy beach it rolled on its
way, except that there was no moment when it would break and
subside. Impelled by the weight of water behind, it passed our camp
hurrying southward, leaving a full river in its wake.</p>

<p>Soon the stream was breast-high; and already soaked beyond the
caring, some of the natives, in high glee at the wonderful sight of
flowing water, plunged into the stream for a frolic. In the
mêlée,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> Sakari, one
of my followers, lost his fez and crossed to the opposite bank to
try to recover it. The water was rising so rapidly that when he
came to recross, about fifteen minutes later, the stream was a
tumbling torrent that nothing could live in; and so he had to sit
and shiver on the opposite bank, until the flood subsided some
hours later.</p>

<p>At the time of this incident rivers of water were flowing on
three sides of the knoll. Immediately to the west ran the true
river; on the east, parallel to the river, a waterfall tumbled off
a small plateau, and thereafter swung in a broad, shallow stream
across our south front over the completely swamped-out picketing
ground of our camels. And still the torrential rains kept on.</p>

<p>Then came a time when we grew actively alarmed for the safety of
our camp and baggage, and anxiously stood watching the river rise
till it threatened to overflow even the high, rocky banks. Slowly
the water crept up and up, till part of the bank actually
overflowed, and water flooded into the tent nearest the brink. With
all haste it was dismantled and removed. A rise of a foot, and
everything we possessed would be in the flood and swept away.
Gravely we watched the issue. The head camel-man, Elatu, advised
trying to move everything away at once along a narrow neck on the
north side. It seemed too late for that, and we held on.</p>

<p>And these were the critical moments that saw the tide turn in
our favour. For a tantalising<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_205">[205]</span> period the water appeared, to our anxious
eyes, to pause and hold to the one mark—then slowly it was noticed
to recede, uncertainly, then decidedly, until we breathed
thankfully in relief. A memorable moment was past.</p>

<p>The sky cleared at sundown; and the storm ceased.</p>

<p>Whereupon there was a glorious uplifting of spirits, and sheer
delight in the exhilarating new-found freshness of earth and sky,
and wealth of bountiful rain.</p>

<p>Masters joked as they changed into dry clothing, camp-boys and
camel-men sang their native songs and laughed, while they ran from
place to place to marvel at the quantity of water.</p>

<p>“Great rain for our country,” declared the Tuaregs. “Soon our
lean camels shall have plenty to eat: Allah be praised!”</p>

<p>And to look upon the flooded land and think that only some hours
before we had dug in the river-bed, and dug in vain, in search of
good water; that was almost like a far-off dream.</p>

<p>In the dusk, when enough firewood had been salvaged, camp-fires
were kindled, and we sat around the golden glow of their friendly
warmth to still the shiverings of unaccustomed dampness. And in the
hearts of all there was a rich and unusual exuberance because of
the rare events of the day that had gifted succour for the present
to the Great Lone Land of Thirst.</p>

<h3><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>II</h3>

<p>At another time the scene shifts from the abnormal back to the
normal parched dryness, and I look out upon desert that is clothed
in the character by which it is best known and recognised: <em>an
awe-inspiring, sun-mastered immensity of sand and stone; secret as
eternity</em>, and filled with the stillness and brooding
melancholy of a place of the dead.</p>

<p>The moment happens to be one of uneasiness. There are shadows of
storm aslant the trail, and we hasten the caravan forward. But only
with temporary purpose, knowing full well that nothing can stay the
unleashing of the pent-up furies of the elements that already
whisper and cry in their eagerness to descend in one great
avalanche of whirling madness.</p>

<p>The black columns of a sandstorm are approaching. For our puny
caravan there is no escape. Distant at first, it draws within the
range of minutes and moments; and then, swift as the flight of
keen-winged birds, and swifter than the flames of a forest fire,
the terrifying storm overtakes us.</p>

<p>At once there is faltering and trembling before the shock. Vain
are shouts to urge the camels onward. One or two flop instantly to
the ground, while others struggle to keep their balance. . . . In a
moment more all have broken from the line to crowd in panic with
backs to the seething, stinging sand. We have completely halted—the
camels have mutinied; and no power on earth can induce them to move
while the storm continues.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i62"><img src='images/i62.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A WELL SUNK THROUGH SOLID ROCK</p>

<p class="small">NOTE HOW ROPES HAVE GROOVED THE ROCK FACE</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>We are caught in
the sandstorm with a vengeance. There is no shelter whatever.
Dazed, blinded men, working as in a shroud of dense smoke, grope
for knot-ends and relieve the camels of their loads. These, banked
as barricades, and the camels, are our only protection. But little
they avail, for soon the encampment is literally buried.</p>

<p>We huddle together, blinded, spluttering and choking, not daring
to speak or expose ourselves further to the awful blizzard. It is
trial enough to sit still, for, whatever the covering of
protection, fine dust penetrates to the inmost recesses to sting
eyes and lips, already smarting and swollen, and fill our throats
and nostrils.</p>

<p>Effort is absolutely futile, and we turn dormant as stones that
wait the passing of time under unhappy exposure. Indeed, except for
agitations beneath our coverings when pain becomes unbearable, we
lie as in our graves. And all the while the sand-burdened blizzard
seethed and boiled and rushed ever onward; darkening the day almost
to night, and fogging the landscape so that eye could not see more
than a yard within the haze.</p>

<p>Hour succeeded hour . . . and the day passed. . . . and there
was no camp-fire, no food, and no happiness, for the wrath of Allah
continued through the land.</p>

<h3>III</h3>

<p>Again, with rude storms past, the elements lapse drearily to
their accustomed routine, governed, without heart, by the Power of
the Sun.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>And it is under
those conditions that the traveller in the desert must chiefly
toil, or, failing to toil, sink beneath the weight of undermining,
brain-drugging heat and monotony.</p>

<p>Wherefore a commonplace day finds me toiling the sand in a
God-forgotten recess of the world. I have killed some meat for the
camp, but that hardly interests me. I am aware that I am “off
colour”—almost ill. But I am more disturbed still by the knowledge
that I am weary, and not so strong as I was; and that slowly,
insidiously, the sun is sapping my life-blood.</p>

<p>A Tuareg stranger is with my follower, who carries the gazelle.
I hear the man being told exaggerated stories of my shooting
capabilities:</p>

<p>“He kills whether they stand or run.”</p>

<p>And again:</p>

<p>“If a man walk for two days this white man still fit to reach
him with gun.”</p>

<p>I wanly smile; in no mood for laughter.</p>

<p>Slowly we trudge toward camp. It is about noon, and desperately
hot. But I am thinking neither of the remorseless sting of the sun
nor of the desolation of Africa: <em>I am wondering if I dare break
into one of our last bottles of whisky if I go under again with
fever</em>. It is the priceless medicine of the exhausted and
malaria-stricken, and the meagre store cannot last to the end.</p>

<p>On entering camp, however, my thoughts are turned into other
channels. The camels have just been watered, and recline on the
sand. About half<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> of
them have sores to be doctored, ugly, suppurating saddle wounds and
foot wounds, fly-ridden and ill healing; so bad that every now and
then they claim a victim in death. For an hour I work with scissors
and knife among filth and disinfectant: crude, intimate surgery
that might have turned me sick if it had not been a daily task for
a long time.</p>

<p>The animals were then turned loose to find what scrub they could
about the old well-head. But soon they lay down in the hot sun,
<em>for there was next to nothing to eat</em>.</p>

<p>Elatu, the head camel-man, had gravely told me, while we worked
together over the wounds, his fears and doubts of the land we
travelled, and his fears and doubts of the well-being of our beasts
of burden. We had camped that morning at <em>water</em>, but he
advised that we should not stay through the day, because there was
no fit pasturage for our weary, used-up camels.</p>

<p>Wherefore, after a meal that I barely touched, except to gulp
down cup after cup of tea, we reloaded the tired camels in the
small hours of the afternoon and continued slowly on our way.</p>

<p>Ten hours later we wearily camped, and men scarcely spoke while,
in the deep darkness, they unburdened the camels, and laid
themselves down to rest . . . and then the kindly hand of night was
mercifully laid upon the cares of an impoverished band.</p>

<h3><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>IV</h3>

<p>The caravan is in want of water, and desperately anxious to find
it. Having lately detected a frayed rope and some pellets of wasted
camel-dung, we are fairly certain that an old trail has been picked
up.</p>

<p>Some hours later we become sure of water ahead when we pass a
number of heaps of stones piled by human hands; the Token Stones of
grateful wayfarers who have slaked their thirst in the desert, and
surreptitiously left behind this expression of their thanks. The
Tuaregs say that most of these token heaps are the work of slaves,
who, in the past, in this way endeavoured to mark the places of
water over the route they were borne as captives, in case they
should ever escape. Nevertheless, few nomads of the land to-day,
having drunk their fill, will pass from place of water without
stooping to add further stones to the piles that sit, like symbols
of some weird religion, in their path.</p>

<p>Two camels shoot ahead of the line. Wild, saddle-perfect Tuaregs
ride them to water at a swinging trot. They mean to return, with
goatskins of water, to slake the pressing thirst of the men, long
before we camp.</p>

<p>The noon hours recede, but not the oven heat, and slowly under
that weight, the long span of the afternoon drags on.</p>

<p>Towards dusk the journey ends, and our column moves into a
curious narrow declivity that finishes<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_211">[211]</span> in a quarry-like space. We descend, and are
lost from the landscape above. There is no sign of water or living
soul; but the cliffs and dishevelled rocks of the den are literally
covered with strange drawings and writings. With whisperings of awe
one of the men who had gone in front tells that we are in a secret
place of water that he has recognised. “Not many know of it,” he
assures me. “A few of my people, and robbers from Ahaggar; but not
the robbers from Tibesti. You are the first white man who has seen
it.”</p>

<div class="figcenter iw05">
<figure class="iw05" id="i63"><img src='images/i63.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A CAMP-FIRE</p>

<p class="small">BENEATH THE SHADE OF ROCKS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>“But where is the water?” I exclaim, scanning the rocks and the
sand carpet beneath my feet.</p>

<p>He beckoned me to go with him, and we proceeded until we came to
the closed end, or <i>cul-de-sac</i> of the defile. Picking the way
among giant boulders until the straight cliff base was reached, my
camel-man then halted and pointed with a smile to a dark hole in
the wall at the ground’s edge, no larger than the den of hyena or
jackal. “<i>Ama!</i>” he exclaimed.</p>

<p>I sat down and lit my pipe; the place was unusual and uncanny.
“Water in there, Mohammed? How the devil do you get it out? Go back
and bring Sili with a waterskin, and ask Sakari to give you a
candle: I want to have a look.”</p>

<p>When he got back we wormed our way into the hole. Past the
entrance there was a cavern where a man could stand stooping.
Crossing it, another long tunnel led to a further cave, lower than
the first, and there, in the bowels of the earth,
gleaming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> in the
candle-light, lay a black pool of water, clean, clear, and
deliciously cool.</p>

<p>In that mysterious haven of secrecy we camped beside water in
abundance . . . and thus it came to pass that the camp-fires of the
white man lit the eerie, strangely scrawled cliffs of Inzanenet as
the fires of those on many an escapade had often done before, if
tales of the land be true.</p>

<p>And owls and bats and ghoul-like shadows were companions through
the night, but the white vulture that points the places of water
and human dwelling, marked not the sky by day, since even from him
of the outer world the secret of the cave was hidden.</p>

<h3>V</h3>

<p>Strangers have drifted into camp.</p>

<p>The caravan, at the time, is settled among a sea of wonderful
sand-dunes; <i>Erg</i> land of the Sahara. We have found, in
lake-like basins between the dunes, some good <i>Alwat</i> for the
camels, and are inclined to delay so that the animals may
benefit.</p>

<p>Hitherto no sign of human life had been seen—and now these men,
who have followed in on our tracks.</p>

<p>Their camels are splendid, and elaborately saddled. They
dismount on a dune crest overlooking the camp. There are four of
them. The senior is a small, sharp-eyed man dressed like a
prosperous Arab, while the others are tall, strangely
gross-looking, and less dignified.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i64"><img src='images/i64.jpg' alt=''>
<p>THE WAYFARER’S POSSESSIONS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>Ordinarily their
presence would be accepted without question, but my suspicions are
aroused because they are curiously furtive, and have suddenly
appeared in a wild region where not expected.</p>

<p>Joining us, they profess to be traders, and have a few trivial
things about their persons to offer. Questioned as to where they
have come from, and whence proceeding, their answers are evasive
and contradictory. However, we elicit the information that the name
of the senior man is Myram, and that he is a native of Ghat.</p>

<p>They remained some hours; long enough to appraise all we
possessed, and our strength. In the evening they departed, heading
north.</p>

<p>They were no sooner gone than my camel-men came forward to ask
me to be careful through the night. “Those men were robbers,” they
declared; “there will be others at hand.”</p>

<p>However, a wakeful watchful night passed uneventfully. It may
have been that the camp was too well armed, or too alert; in any
case, we saw no living soul again.<a id="FNanchor_18"></a><a href=
"#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p>

<p>And thereafter we spent some days among the dunes—perhaps the
most beautiful and most mystical environment that one may find in
the Sahara; and always the colours and shadows of morn and eve were
infinite and superb.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>Nevertheless,
the influence of these gigantic scenes of sand sometimes affects
the travel-stained imagination; particularly when there is no
escape from constant sameness over a prolonged period. A good
illustration of how it engrosses and depresses one’s thoughts, even
in sleep, is contained in a dream of Glover’s.</p>

<p class="space-above15">“I dreamt, last night, that you had
received a message from the French saying that your journey had all
been a mistake, and that you could not continue across the Sahara.
The message went on to say that they were very sorry about the
disappointment to you, but if you cared to wait you could continue
north <em>next year</em>. You answered, ‘All right, we will wait,’
and settled to camp among the awful sand. Then I clearly saw both
of us sitting there through an eternity—waiting, always waiting.
<em>And as we sat more and more sand dust covered us!</em>—until I
saw quite six inches piled upon your shoulders and arms.</p>

<p>“And at last I seemed to rise up and scream—<em>‘This is
awful!’ We cannot wait here longer; the dust will rise and rise for
ever!’</em>”</p>

<p class="space-above15">So that in more ways than one, camp-fires
in the <i>Ergs</i> hold mysterious dangers.</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_215">[215]</span><a id="c12"></a>CHAPTER XII<br>
FEATHERS, AND THE PLACES THEY FREQUENT</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c12.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_217">[217]</span>CHAPTER XII<br>
<span class="med">FEATHERS, AND THE PLACES THEY FREQUENT</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">From</span> time to time I am
asked a great many questions regarding the Sahara, and nothing has
pleased me more than to find that an astonishing number of people
are interested in Nature, and want to know something of the wild
life in the country of my travels. Invariably the first questions
put by my interrogators are: <em>“What lives in the Great
Desert?”</em> and <em>“However do creatures exist in such a
land?”</em></p>

<p>Queries of the kind bring home realisation of how firmly is
planted the popular conception that the whole of the Sahara is
desert, and how difficult it becomes, once a belief is firmly
planted, to convey, by a broad sweep of the hand, or pen, the
complete aspect of any land by proxy. In general, it can be said
that awe of the Great Desert is the main feature that has taken
hold in the mind’s-eye of the public up to the present time, while
the manifold changes of locality, that are common to the completed
character of any country, are, as secluded havens, almost entirely
overlooked. The romance of the Sahara has, as it were, swept us off
our balance, and the picture is out of perspective, in<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> the rush of workaday lives
that permit of little time for deep contemplation of subjects other
than those that are of immediate concern.</p>

<p>On the other hand, when work of exploration is undertaken in a
foreign land, it is the traveller’s first purpose to seek into
every nook and corner, far from the beaten track; and, where the
land is richest in vegetation, water, and seclusion, he expects to
find the rarest prizes.</p>

<p>In country like the Sahara the collector is sure of his ground.
The blank ranges of sand hold nothing, or next to nothing; and the
desert is vast. Wherefore he ranges far and seeks for sheltered
places that give of some fertility; aware that, in a land where the
struggle for existence is intense, the creatures of the wild will
have sought out the havens before him.</p>

<p>It may be of interest to describe a few of the places where
birds are found.</p>

<p class="space-above15">The caravan has been travelling for a few
days over absolute desert. I have observed nothing except a single
house-fly, noticeable, in exaggerated relief, simply because of the
utter absence of other life. Ending this tract of desert, there are
pebbly edges with scattered tufts of grass; farther back, a series
of slight hollows with a few bushes; and, farther on still, a clump
of acacias that screen the old uninhabited well that the caravan is
heading for to refill sagging waterskins.</p>

<p>Approaching this welcome change of country, an<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> Arab Bustard takes to flight
and clears right away; alert and very shy.</p>

<p>Along the stony margin the most likely birds are larks, and, as
it is deep desert beyond, I am not surprised to see, matching the
sand in paleness, a single large Curve-billed Desert Lark, and two
or three Buff Saharan Larks.</p>

<p>Farther on, among the low shrubs and grass, I disturb a family
of Brown Bush Babblers: birds about the size of a thrush that fly
very low, and in the formation of a covey of partridges. They emit
a fussy, piping call while in flight, but do not go far before they
pitch into cover again.</p>

<p>In the clump of acacias beside the well I find a pair of Rufous
Warblers and a Yellow Sunbird.</p>

<p>In the evening a few visitors come to the well to drink, having
flown, perhaps, long distances from outlying feeding grounds. There
are only three varieties: the Red-eyed Grey Dove, which I have come
to call “the dove of the sand wastes,” because they are so often
present in drear places, and a few tiny Red Waxbills and Grey Serin
Finches.</p>

<p>When there is not water spilled at the mouth of the well, the
birds have learned, in their need to drink, to descend the dark
funnel to the water-level; and it is not uncommon to find some
unfortunate ones floating on the surface that have fallen in and
been drowned.</p>

<p>In country of this type birds live on the pickings of the sand
or of withered leaf-blade; tiny grass seeds and seeds of plant
blooms, grasshoppers,<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_220">[220]</span> crickets, ants, spiders, flies, and all
minute insects that gather about the hearts of plant life in a hot
climate. Through the day they hide as best they can from the
intense heat, huddled in little places of shade with open, panting
beaks; and in the evenings and mornings feed when the sting of the
sun is less formidable.</p>

<p>A couple of Dorcas gazelle are sighted at sundown, and one is
shot; and before the caravan departs next day, there is a Desert
Raven at the remains of offal not claimed by my followers.</p>

<p>That, with a few variations, is the sum total of bird life seen
over a number of weeks of travel in drear country. Seldom, indeed,
are they plentiful; and, should one chance upon flocks in a very
attractive quarter, they are likely to be of only one or two
species. Hence, collecting in the Sahara is a painstaking business,
entailing long trying journeys of nomadic character, from one place
of promise to another, much fruitless searching, and many
disappointments. But enthusiasm is the life of the collector. So
that rebuffs and blank days seldom evoke despair.</p>

<p>In country of <i>Tassili</i>, which is wilderness of another
type, the best places for birds are where the land is very rugged
and cut up by chasms that run below the surface of the ground.
There is often some shrub, weed-plants, and rough grass tufts in
the gullies, which furnish some food for bird life, but the spot
the collector particularly prizes is where a rare pool of permanent
water lies in a rocky cleft.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i65a"><img src='images/i65a.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>

<div class="figcenter iw09">
<figure class="iw09" id="i65b"><img src='images/i65b.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A BIRD DISGUISE, USED FOR HUNTING GAME</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>Such a place is
Tamengouit, two days north-west of the end of the Aïr Mountains.
The approaches are very rough and full of rugged rifts. The country
is bleak beyond description, and of black rock; with the frowning
hills of Takaraft and Abarakam in the background.</p>

<p>It is difficult to find passage for the camels, over rough
country of this nature, and we descended at a snail’s-pace toward a
sand waste in the distance; while camel-men reconnoitred in front
to find a clear course unblocked by sudden chasm. After
considerable loss of time, owing to set-backs that necessitated
awkward detours, the caravan reached its destination, and
camped.</p>

<p>Water was about a quarter of a mile away at the head of a sandy
inlet. A bird of good omen swung slowly in the air over it: the
White Vulture, that is known to the nomads as <i>Kargi Mulet</i>.
Tuareg folklore teaches that: “If a traveller is in country that he
is not familiar with and sees <i>Kargi Mulet</i> planing slowly to
and fro in the sky, it is sure news that water, or people, or game
will be found beneath where it flies. Wherefore, if anyone is lost,
the sight of this bird is an omen of succour near at hand.”</p>

<p>To find permanent open water is very surprising in such
surroundings, consequently the conditions under which it exists are
of the utmost interest. A few such rock-pools and ancient wells,
for the most part separated about five, six, or seven days’ march,
afford the only means of obtaining water in the uttermost interior
of the Sahara.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>Tamengouit is on
latitude 20°. A chasm, that carries heavy weight of water during
rare storms, leads from the distant hills out to the level sand.
Just above the mouth it narrows to a long, deep gulch with high
walls that completely shut out the sun. It is so narrow that it can
be leapt across overhead. Down in the bottom, all along its length,
lie deep black waters, inaccessible, because of the cliff walls,
except at the mouth and at the top end.</p>

<p>One or two specimens, shot while flying overhead, pitched into
the chasm and could not be gathered. There is no seepage through
the rocks, and the secret of the water’s permanent existence is
surely in the fact that the all-absorbing sun cannot reach it.
Gloomy and cool, the chasm interior is as a thick-walled tank that
no influence of the elements can penetrate.</p>

<p>Remarkable in itself, this rock basin is equally remarkable on
account of bird life. In camp on the first night I heard Sandgrouse
calling at dusk, and in the night; and knew they were flighting out
of the clear sky, from unknown feeding grounds, to slake their
thirst in the still chasm. Their presence was certain assurance of
water known to the wild, and I turned to sleep expectant of a busy
day on the morrow.</p>

<p>And I was not disappointed. Early morning found me at the pool,
where a few Coronated Sandgrouse and Barred Sandgrouse still
remained from the flocks of overnight. Otherwise all was
yet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> quiet, but I
could foresee change whenever the morning feeding time was over,
for there were plenty of feathers and toe-prints at the water’s
edge, to tell that numerous birds were in the habit of drinking
there.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i66"><img src='images/i66.jpg' alt=''>
<p>TWO MALE OSTRICHES</p>

<p class="small">COLLECTED ON THE SOUTHERN SHORES OF THE SAHARA</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>I spent the time searching for Nightjars among the rocky flats
beyond the chasm. Those nocturnal birds are very difficult to find,
because of their perfect protective colouring among the rocks where
they hide during the day, and their habit of remaining still until
almost trodden upon. My search proved fruitless, and I returned to
the water.</p>

<p>About 9 a.m., roughly, four hours after dawn, some groups of
small birds, directing one another by fussy chatterings, arrived at
the pool to drink, obviously very thirsty and excited because my
presence was disturbing and unusual. The greatest number were
Trumpeter Bullfinches, next in quantity, Grey Serin Finches, a few
Striolated Buntings, and one or two little dark Saharan martins
that gracefully flitted up and down the pool feeding on insects,
and dipping to drink occasionally.</p>

<p>Concerning the latter, all Martins, Swifts, and Swallows are
termed “<i>Afurtitta</i>” by the Tuaregs, and in their quaint
folklore they are “Birds of Allah that live always in the sky with
God. It is for all eyes to see that they are so entirely
independent of the earth that they never descend to the ground for
the food of life, and when they would drink they merely swoop to
touch the surface of the water.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>About ten
o’clock a few Blue Rock Pigeons shot swiftly from the sky to whirl
into the chasm and perch on the shady cliff ledges. I knew of their
presence in some regions of Aïr in small scattered numbers, so that
at first I was not altogether surprised. But when these were
followed by flock after flock, until <em>hundreds</em> had arrived,
I was astonished, for I had never before witnessed a like
occurrence; nor have I since. Up till noon pigeons continued to
arrive, swift-winged and desperately eager to drink; whence they
came I knew not, but I judged that the late birds, at least, had
come from a tremendous distance.</p>

<p>Pondering over the strange occurrence, which was a very
extraordinary one in the Sahara, I came to the conclusion that this
water, because of its permanent state, was probably long known to
these fleet-flying birds; and that the news of its existence has
been passed on, as birds have a way of doing, until most of the
pigeons of the region knew of Tamengouit as a place of water that
could be relied on in the darkest periods of drought.</p>

<p>One other species was seen during the morning: a Peregrine
Falcon. His sudden appearance struck terror into the hearts of the
pigeons, who dived to their cliff ledges, to crouch wild-eyed under
the protection of the chasm, while the raider swung wide, waiting
for the victim he would choose to kill. Well they knew him as the
master bird of flight, possessed of speed that none might elude in
a race through the air. But for once he was baulked,
for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> he feared my
presence. Moreover, it was too hot for him to remain overlong at a
distance in the sky. Hence, after a time, he turned definitely east
and sped away to some shady ledge in ravine or mountain to await
the cool of evening.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i67"><img src='images/i67.jpg' alt=''>
<p>CATTLE EGRETS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Tamengouit was but a halt by the wayside, and next day it
recovered its wonted solitude as the caravan trailed slowly
away.</p>

<p>Out in the dreariest desert there is one strange bird that the
traveller may see; not commonly, but only rarely when a camel dies.
On such occasions one may watch the clear blue sky, where it
reaches its uttermost height, and, in time, discern the tiniest
speck, at a tremendous distance, poised there for a seeming
indefinite period. By and by, in like inexplicable manner, other
specks foregather from unseen source beyond the sight of men. And
there they may remain for hours, perhaps coming a little nearer;
but on the morning following one awakes to find huge Griffon
Vultures sitting ghoul-like round the carcase, waiting the time
that it shall be torn asunder while one, perched on the head,
endeavours to start an opening round the soft parts of the eye.</p>

<p>Of different character to such wilderness places of bird life
are the oases of the Sahara, where a few species which I term
sedentary birds are to be found; and migrants, on their way across
Africa.</p>

<p>Date palms, garden cultivation, and open irrigation ditches, are
the chief attractions to bird life in such places; but, since these
are in close proximity<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_226">[226]</span> to dwellings and the disturbance of
mankind, only a few species settle permanently in these localities.
Birds that are fairly sure to be seen in oases are: Desert Ravens,
on the look out to pillage scraps, Black Wheatears, living on the
ants and flies that molest habitations, Yellow Sparrows,
frequenting the palms, and Striolated Buntings that are prone to be
very tame and sparrow-like about the dusty hut-doors.</p>

<p>The unexpected in oases is very often some migrant, if the
season be March-April in the spring, or October-November in the
autumn. At these times birds flight on their long,
instinct-prompted voyage, across Africa, and, should one be out on
the desert, strange calls may be heard overhead at night from
flocks that wing their way through the sky. Some of these migrants
lose their way, or lose their strength, and falter, for crossing
the Great Desert is akin to crossing the sea. I have known Swallows
and Wagtails and Shrikes to come flying in toward my caravan, when
it was the only object in an immensity of space, and seek a
resting-place on the loads of the camels. On one occasion I caught
a Yellow Wagtail by putting out a hand from my seat in the saddle
to seize it as a cricketer clutches a ball. It was in great
distress, and I tipped my water-bottle until the bird could see the
water at the mouth. Immediately it drank hungrily, though clasped
in my hand. I carried it thereafter until an oasis was reached,
when I set it free.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i68"><img src='images/i68.jpg' alt=''>
<p>YOUNG ARAB BUSTARDS</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>In cruel,
ungiving desert the traveller, at times, comes across the pitiful
skeletons of birds that have perished from thirst and want on
ill-fated pilgrimage. And mortal mind pauses in sympathy with the
wild in the appalling poverty of such a lingering death; for all
who know the desert are aware of the grim price that is paid by any
living creature unfortunate enough to become involved in the folds
of a land that expresses neither mercy nor hate, yet slowly kills
with terrifying intent.</p>

<p>On the other hand, distressed migrants sometimes find succour in
landing at oases. And the numbers of wayfarers that drift into such
harbours in this way are astonishing because they are so out of
place in their temporary sandy surroundings. For instance, I have
shot our Common Snipe in the Sahara, and collected Tern, Stilt,
Sandpiper, Shoveller, Pintail, Teal, Heron, and others that have
nothing whatever in common with the country.</p>

<p>It would be irksome to go into all the details that surround the
bird life of the Sahara, but a few further notes on the Tuareg
folklore that relates to certain species may be of interest before
concluding. In each case I give the native name of the Tuaregs.</p>

<p>The Black Wheatear is known to the nomad as <i>Seni Seni</i>.
“It is the bird that brings news of strangers; particularly news of
robbers. If anyone strange is approaching, <i>Seni Seni</i> flies
at once into a prominent position and perches perfectly still,
attentively watching. Whenever the little<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_228">[228]</span> bird becomes satisfied that the figures are
strangers it commences to bob its head rapidly up and down; and so
one may take warning. If they are not strangers assuredly the bird
will hop down to pick about the ground and take no further
notice.”</p>

<p>Another bird, according to their folklore, warns the nomad of
the presence of snakes. This is <i>Tagishit Aschiel</i>, the Lesser
Rufous Warbler, which spends most of its time about the kind of
tangled undergrowth that snakes are given to frequent.</p>

<p>“Whenever <i>Tagishit Aschiel</i> detects a snake he will cry
out vigorously and constantly, so that from our hut doors we may
hear him, and run out and find the vile reptile; which we are glad
to kill, for we fear them about our encampments.”</p>

<p>Yet another bird of warning is: <i>Agishit n’Ugur</i>: the large
Yellow Barbet, which is: “The Jackal Bird; because whenever it sees
a Jackal it gives out a loud rilling call, and makes a great to-do
until the enemy of our flocks is driven away.”</p>

<p><i>Ashara</i>, the Rufous-breasted Starling, is: “The bird of
omen of death, because when it is heard in the evening or at night
making a noise resembling the tearing of robes for a shroud, it is
likely that on the morrow we shall hear that one of our people has
died.”</p>

<p><i>Zunkusharat</i>, the great Curve-billed Desert Lark: “An evil
bird of which all nomads teach their children to beware, because of
its alluring habit of flying only a short distance before
resettling. Unwary boys think they can catch it easily and
are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> thus led away
into the desert without watching where they go; until they are
lost.”</p>

<p><i>Ebakorian-Mallam</i> is a name sometimes applied to the Buff
Saharan Lark, the latter part of the name being Hausa, meaning
scholar or teacher or priest. “For it is a saintly bird that is
always at peace, and robs no one. It is content with the seeds by
the wayside, and disturbs neither cultivation nor place of
dwelling.”</p>

<p><i>Bi-Allah</i>. The tiny Red Senegal Waxbill, is “The bird of
perpetual content. All day it picks about the doorstep and roosts
in the lintel; and all our people know it as emblematic of peace
and unconcern, and so have termed it ‘the tiny priest of God.’”</p>

<p><i>Tedabear Takleet</i>, the Palm Dove, is smaller than the Grey
Dove, and, when both happen to be feeding or drinking together, the
larger dove domineers the smaller. <i>Takleet</i> means slave, and
therefore, in Tuareg folklore, “the Palm Dove is the slave of the
Grey Dove.”</p>

<p><i>Tilel</i>, the Guinea Fowl, has a curious legend concerning
it which has arisen because of the blood-red wattles on the head.
“See, he is marked by the blow where man hit him, because he would
not show people place of water. And ever since that time he has
been a dazed fool bird, so that anyone is able to catch him in the
trees.”</p>

<p>The outcome of prolonged research in the Sahara during 1919 and
1920, and again in 1922 and 1923, was that altogether 134 different
species and subspecies<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_230">[230]</span> of birds were collected for Lord Rothschild
from the Sahara, and seventy-three additional varieties from the
Western Sudan.</p>

<p>The Sahara specimens comprised the following birds<a id=
"FNanchor_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19" class=
"fnanchor">[19]</a>:</p>

<table>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">1.</td>
<td>Guinea Fowl.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">2.</td>
<td>Common Quail (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">3.</td>
<td>Coot (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">4.</td>
<td>Large and small Long-tailed Senegal Sandgrouse.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">5.</td>
<td>Coronated Sandgrouse.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">6.</td>
<td>Lichtenstein’s Barred Sandgrouse.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">7.</td>
<td>Nubian Bustard.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">8.</td>
<td>Arab Bustard.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">9.</td>
<td>Tern (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">10.</td>
<td>Stilt (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">11.</td>
<td>Wood Sandpiper (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">12.</td>
<td>Common Sandpiper (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">13.</td>
<td>Ruff and Reeve (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">14.</td>
<td>Snipe (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">15.</td>
<td>Stone Curlew.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">16.</td>
<td>Green Sandpiper (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">17.</td>
<td>Spurwing Plover.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">18.</td>
<td>Cream-coloured Cursor.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">19.</td>
<td>Palm Dove.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">20.</td>
<td>Red-eyed Grey Dove.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">21.</td>
<td>Turtle Dove.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">22.</td>
<td>Cape Dove.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">23.</td>
<td>Blue Rock Pigeon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">24.</td>
<td>Shoveller (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">25.</td>
<td>Pintail (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">26.</td>
<td>Common Teal (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">27.</td>
<td>Garganey Teal (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">28.</td>
<td>Tree Duck (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">29.</td>
<td>Great Billed Goose (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">30.</td>
<td>Egyptian Goose (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">31.</td>
<td>Night Heron (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">32.</td>
<td>Purple Heron (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">33.</td>
<td>Bittern.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">34.</td>
<td>Black and White Stork.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">35.</td>
<td>Glossy Ibis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">36.</td>
<td>Carrion Vulture.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">37.</td>
<td>White Vulture.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">38.</td>
<td>Griffon Vulture.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">39.</td>
<td>White-breasted Eagle.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">40.</td>
<td>Egyptian Kite.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">41.</td>
<td>Pallid Hen Harrier (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">42.</td>
<td>Singing Hawk.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">43.</td>
<td>Peregrine Falcon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">44.</td>
<td>Kestrel.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">45.</td>
<td>Barn Owl</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">46.</td>
<td>African Long-eared Owl.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">47.</td>
<td>Eagle Owl.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">48.</td>
<td>Scops Owl (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">49.</td>
<td>Long-eared Grey Owl.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">50.</td>
<td>Asben Little Owl (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">51.</td>
<td>Black and White Crested Cuckoo.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">52.</td>
<td>Golden Cuckoo.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">53.</td>
<td>Red-billed Hornbill.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">54.</td>
<td>Greater Saharan Woodpecker.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">55.</td>
<td>Lesser Saharan Woodpecker.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">56.</td>
<td>African Roller.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">57.</td>
<td>African Hoopoe.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_231">[231]</span>58.</td>
<td>European Hoopoe (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">59.</td>
<td>Wood Hoopoe (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">60.</td>
<td>Black-capped Blue Bee Eater.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">61.</td>
<td>Green Bee-Eater.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">62.</td>
<td>Blue Naped Crested Coly.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">63.</td>
<td>Goldcrest Barbet.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">64.</td>
<td>Yellow-breasted Barbet.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">65.</td>
<td>Red-headed Barbet (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">66.</td>
<td>Golden Nightjar (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">67.</td>
<td>European Nightjar (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">68.</td>
<td>Brown Nightjar and Pennant Winged Nightjar.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">69.</td>
<td>White-rumped Swift.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">70.</td>
<td>European Swift (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">71.</td>
<td>Pallid Swift.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">72.</td>
<td>Red-rumped African Swallow.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">73.</td>
<td>European Swallow (N).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">74.</td>
<td>Saharan Rock Martin (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">75.</td>
<td>Redstart (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">76.</td>
<td>Common Wheatear (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">77.</td>
<td>Desert Wheatear.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">78.</td>
<td>Black Wheatear.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">79.</td>
<td>Saharan Rock Chat (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">80.</td>
<td>Whinchat (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">81.</td>
<td>Rock Thrush (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">82.</td>
<td>Black Thicket Babbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">83.</td>
<td>Brown Bush Babbler (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">84.</td>
<td>Rufous Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">85.</td>
<td>Reiser’s Pallid Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">86.</td>
<td>Icterine Warbler (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">87.</td>
<td>Chestnut-breasted Grey Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">88.</td>
<td>Common Whitethroat (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">89.</td>
<td>Orphean Warbler (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">90.</td>
<td>Chiff-chaff (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">91.</td>
<td>Willow Wren (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">92.</td>
<td>Crowned Grass Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">93.</td>
<td>Alexander’s Scrub Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">94.</td>
<td>Short-tailed Buff-breasted Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">95.</td>
<td>Yellow-breasted Sunbird.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">96.</td>
<td>Dark Green Sunbird (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">97.</td>
<td>Sudanese Penduline Tit.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">98.</td>
<td>Puff-backed Flycatcher.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">99.</td>
<td>Spotted Flycatcher (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">100.</td>
<td>Pied Flycatcher (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">101.</td>
<td>Collared Flycatcher (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">102.</td>
<td>Grey Shrike.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">103.</td>
<td>Red-headed Shrike (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">104.</td>
<td>Small Chestnut Striped Shrike.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">105.</td>
<td>Yellow Wagtail (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">106.</td>
<td>White Wagtail (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">107.</td>
<td>Asben Brown Pipit (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">108.</td>
<td>European Tawny Pipit (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">109.</td>
<td>European Tree Pipit (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">110.</td>
<td>Red-throated Pipit (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">111.</td>
<td>Great Curve-billed Desert Lark.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">112.</td>
<td>Mirafra Short-toed Lark.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">113.</td>
<td>Buff Saharan Lark (B one group).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">114.</td>
<td>Crested Lark.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">115.</td>
<td>Bar-tailed Desert Lark.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">116.</td>
<td>Small Thick-billed Lark.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">117.</td>
<td>Eastern Short-toed Lark(M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">118.</td>
<td>Chestnut Black-breasted Lark.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">119.</td>
<td>Grey Black-breasted Lark.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">120.</td>
<td>Striolated Bunting.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">121.</td>
<td>Desert Sparrow.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">122.</td>
<td>Chestnut-backed Yellow Sparrow.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">123.</td>
<td>Grey Serin Finch.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">124.</td>
<td>Trumpeter Bullfinch.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">125.</td>
<td>Pencil-crowned Weaver (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">126.</td>
<td>Lesser Yellow Weaver.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">127.</td>
<td>Greater Yellow Weaver.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">128.</td>
<td>Singing Finch.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_232">[232]</span>129.</td>
<td>Senegal Waxbill.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">130.</td>
<td>Rufous-breasted Starling.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">131.</td>
<td>Wing-spotted Glossy Starling.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">132.</td>
<td>Pied Crow.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">133.</td>
<td>Desert Raven.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">134.</td>
<td>Short-tailed Raven.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i69"><img src='images/i69.jpg' alt=''>
<p>CARRION VULTURES</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>The following are the additional seventy-three species and
subspecies that were found in the Western Sudan on the southern
margins of the Sahara between latitudes 12° and 16°:</p>

<table>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">135.</td>
<td>Ostrich.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">136.</td>
<td>Rock Partridge.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">137.</td>
<td>Francolin (two species).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">138.</td>
<td>Barred Sandgrouse.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">139.</td>
<td>Pigmy Golden Quail.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">140.</td>
<td>Senegal Bustard.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">141.</td>
<td>Wattled Plover.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">142.</td>
<td>Cream-coloured Cursor.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">143.</td>
<td>Blue-spotted Ground Dove.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">144.</td>
<td>Greater Grey Dove.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">145.</td>
<td>Dark-eyed Grey Dove.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">146.</td>
<td>Blue-spotted Pigeon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">147.</td>
<td>Green Pigeon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">148.</td>
<td>Cattle Egret.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">149.</td>
<td>Large Grey Heron.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">150.</td>
<td>Sacred Ibis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">151.</td>
<td>Snake Eagle.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">152.</td>
<td>Swallow-tailed Hawk.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">153.</td>
<td>Red-winged Hawk.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">154.</td>
<td>Sparrow Hawk.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">155.</td>
<td>Banded Gymmogene.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">156.</td>
<td>Red-headed Falcon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">157.</td>
<td>Pigmy Falcon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">158.</td>
<td>Lanner Falcon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">159.</td>
<td>Senegal Little-eared Owl.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">160.</td>
<td>Little Owl</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">161.</td>
<td>Lark-heeled Cuckoo.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">162.</td>
<td>Great Spotted Cuckoo.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">163.</td>
<td>Black-billed Hornbill.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">164.</td>
<td>Large Grey Plantain Eater.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">165.</td>
<td>Small Green Parrot.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">166.</td>
<td>Spotted-capped Woodpecker.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">167.</td>
<td>Square-tailed African Roller.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">168.</td>
<td>Little Short-tailed Roller.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">169.</td>
<td>Grey Kingfisher (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">170.</td>
<td>Black and Scarlet Barbet.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">171.</td>
<td>Greater Wood Hoopoe.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">172.</td>
<td>Long-tailed Nightjar.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">173.</td>
<td>Palm Swift.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">174.</td>
<td>African Swallow.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">175.</td>
<td>Red-browed Swallow.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">176.</td>
<td>Black and White Wheatear (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">177.</td>
<td>Sudanese Rock-Chat (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">178.</td>
<td>Brown Bush Babbler (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">179.</td>
<td>Common Reed Warbler (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">180.</td>
<td>Bonelli’s Warbler (M).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">181.</td>
<td>Long-tailed Scrub Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">182.</td>
<td>Little Scrub Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">183.</td>
<td>Golden-thighed Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">184.</td>
<td>Striped Grass Warbler.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">185.</td>
<td>Senegal Sunbird.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">186.</td>
<td>White Eye.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">187.</td>
<td>Paradise Flycatcher.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">188.</td>
<td>Red-winged Bush Shrike.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">189.</td>
<td>Crimson Shrike.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">190.</td>
<td>Black and White Crested Shrike (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">191.</td>
<td>Long-tailed Shrike.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">192.</td>
<td>Painted Yellow-breasted Bunting.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_233">[233]</span>193.</td>
<td>Greater Bush Sparrow.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">194.</td>
<td>Lesser Bush Sparrow (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">195.</td>
<td>Yellow Serin Finch.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">196.</td>
<td>Large Black Weaver.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">197.</td>
<td>Whydah Finch.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">198.</td>
<td>Little Black Weaver.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">199.</td>
<td>Red Bishop.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">200.</td>
<td>Banded Amadevat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">201.</td>
<td>Melba Finch.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">202.</td>
<td>Grey Scarlet-marked Waxbill.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">203.</td>
<td>Bengalee Waxbill.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">204.</td>
<td>Long-tailed Glossy Starling.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">205.</td>
<td>Purple Starling.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">206.</td>
<td>Tick Bird.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">207.</td>
<td>Little Long-tailed Crow.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_235">[235]</span><a id="c13"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br>
MAMMALS OF THE SAHARA</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c13.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_237">[237]</span>CHAPTER XIII<br>
<span class="med">MAMMALS OF THE SAHARA</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">Lacking</span> the wings of the
feathered world, the animal life of the Sahara has not the same
highly convenient means of passing from place to place, when the
necessity arises to evacuate exhausted feeding ground and find more
favourable country. Therefore, if hard pressed, they move
carefully, and only at certain seasons, and are apt to cling
closely to favoured regions, where such are found.</p>

<p>Any real migratory instinct is, with a few exceptions, not
pronounced in the animals of the Sahara, and by far the greater
number remain closely confined within their natural types of
country, even though these are impoverished and struggle for an
existence is keen.</p>

<p>If, on a map of the western portion of Africa, we glance along a
line from south to north, starting from Kano in Northern Nigeria,
which is about latitude 12°, it is possible to get a rapid idea
from the creatures of the country of the change from tropical
regions to Saharan regions.</p>

<p>At Kano may be found that loathsome reptile, the Crocodile, and,
in the same latitude, Lion; west of Katsina, Elephants, and
scattered groups of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>
Giraffe right to the shores of the Sahara in the bush country of
Damergou.</p>

<p>The northern boundary of Damergou, which runs along the outer
edge of the bush belt, may be taken to be about latitude 16°; and
it is there, at the junction between bush and desert, that one
finds the line of decided change. Curiously enough, as if to incite
one to remember, before entering the desert, the good things that
go with a bush-land, it is close to, and on, that very line that
four of the most handsome Gazelle and Antelope of Africa are to be
found at their best: the White Oryx, Addax, Red-fronted Gazelle,
and Damas Gazelle.</p>

<p>All through the dry season—long, weary months among sun-withered
vegetation—these animals frequent the margins of bush and desert;
but when the rains of the Sudan set in they move out from the
sheltered, fly-infested scrub on to the open plains, to enjoy a
far-reaching freedom and the fresh winds of the boundless spaces.
The Red-fronted Gazelle and Damas Gazelle are content with
wandering at no great range beyond their permanent locality, but
the White Oryx and Addax, which have strong nomadic instincts and
ever move restlessly from place to place, wander right away north
when driven from the bush. I have seen them in latitude 18°, and
the footprints of Addax in the sand as far north as latitude 22°,
while Tuaregs of Ahaggar report the same animal to be west of the
mountains on latitude 25°. This is not altogether surprising in
respect to the Addax, as a<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_239">[239]</span> few are found south of Tunis and Algeria,
but it may not always be realised that the main stock of the
species originates in the bush-belt that pertains along latitude
16°, which forms the shores of the Sahara in the Western Sudan and,
doubtless, it is the same line, away eastward, that is the chief
habitat of the Addax in Kordofan in the Egyptian Sudan.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i70"><img src='images/i70.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A MORNING’S BAG</p>

<p class="small">DORCAS GAZELLE AND GUINEA-FOWL</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>Once clear of the bush, the species of big game that live in the
Sahara throughout the year are very limited. Dorcas Gazelle is the
principal animal, and may be found throughout the interior in small
numbers; sometimes approachable, if the country is broken;
sometimes excessively wild in the open wastes. Its protective
sand-colour is remarkable, and, standing still, it is often passed
over in scanning a landscape, though perhaps broadside on, in full
view, and at no great distance. On occasions of the kind I have
suddenly realised that I stood face to face with one of these
beautiful creatures, and have ejaculated under my breath: “Good
heavens, I must have been asleep not to have seen you before!”</p>

<p>In addition to the above, one or two Damas Gazelle were seen in
Aïr and in Ahaggar, feeding on the vegetation of sandy wadis, and a
few rare Wart Hog in the former mountains. But there end the
ungulate animals of the Sahara, excepting the king of them all, the
Arui, or Barbary Sheep, which I will return to later.</p>

<p>Of the lesser animals the chief of interest are:<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> Jackals, Lynx, Wild Cats,
Hyenas, Foxes, Fennecs, Ratel, Ground Squirrels, Gerbils, Spiny
Mice, Jerboas, Porcupines, Gundis, Dassies, and Hares.</p>

<p>Like the bird life, but even more so, these animals are nowhere
plentiful, and the species collected were obtained over a prolonged
period, and through traversing a tremendous extent of country.
Sixty-four different species and subspecies were collected
altogether, representing examples of almost every animal that lives
on the shores of the Sahara and in its interior, and these have
proved of the greatest scientific value to the authorities of the
British Museum in linking up the mammalogy across a vast tract of
Africa. The mammals of my first expedition were collected for Lord
Rothschild, who generously presented a set of all species obtained
to the British Museum, and I was glad to add the results of the
second expedition to our national museum to make the whole as
complete as possible.</p>

<p>The collections contained no fewer than fifteen new species and
eleven new subspecies, which Messrs. Oldfield Thomas and M. A. C.
Hinton, of the British Museum, have declared to be one of the most
remarkable collections of novelties ever secured in the history of
mammalogy.</p>

<p>I feel that, to give some impressions of the animal life of the
land, they should be dealt with under one or two aspects. The first
place of interest is the southern shore of the Sahara, particularly
at the time of rains—August-September, or thereabouts.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw04">
<figure class="iw04" id="i71"><img src='images/i71.jpg' alt=''>
<p>BIG GAME FROM THE SHORES OF THE SAHARA</p>

<p class="small">FINE HEADS OF WHITE ORYX AND ADDAX</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>To any caravan
out on the trail rains are a tremendous discomfort, and with
camels, in wet weather the drawbacks are increased. Yet it often
falls to the lot of the traveller to journey through the worst of
weather, and on my second expedition it happened to be my wish to
reach the neighbourhood of the bush edge at the season in question
because of the movement of game.</p>

<p>In accomplishing this my caravan experienced outdoor conditions
at their worst. Everyone knows the intensity of tropical storms in
their wild, spasmodic outbursts. When the weather broke the caravan
was beset with periods of low-flung thunder and lightning,
hurricane winds, and torrential rains that swooped across the land
with alarming rapidity and malignant fierceness. Enforced camps had
to be hurriedly pitched to protect valued specimens and perishable
baggage, while the work of skinning, which was always my concern,
was impossible, even under canvas, owing to the fierceness of wind
and driving rain.</p>

<p>Each day, at one time or another while <i>en route</i>—sometimes
at an extremely awkward hour, when only a short distance had been
travelled from the last camp—great black clouds would race up from
the skyline, to be watched anxiously until the first deep rumblings
of thunder gave warning to hasten to take cover. Whereat the camels
had to be halted at once on any piece of raised ground near at hand
that gave promise of not being under water when the torrent should
fall. It was always<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>
a mad race against the elements. So soon as the brutes were on
their knees camel-men hurriedly released the loads from the
saddles, then piled them in a heap, and covered all with a large
ship’s tarpaulin carried for the purpose. At the same time a tent
would be hurriedly pitched.</p>

<p>Sometimes we were ready for the onslaught of the storm just in
the nick of time, or got drenched to the skin battling to hold down
the last few tent-ropes and drive home secure pegs as the first
wave of the gale hurled in upon us. Then, packed into the small
space of the tent, masters and men crouched, sheltering from the
storm, and waited impotently its passing. No meal could be
cooked—not even a comforting cup of tea. If it happened to be
evening, or night, camp-beds and blankets had perforce to remain
unpacked among the baggage. Sometimes the operator and I slept on
the ground, under cover of the tent, in the clothes we stood in,
and went to bed foodless. On other occasions we risked the rain and
sought such rest as could be found in wet bedding, soaked either by
actual rain or the heavy dew that always followed.</p>

<p>This did not end discomfort. Mosquitoes and sand-flies followed
these storms, and were terrible pests. I have never known them more
persistent and venomous, and everyone suffered from poisonous
scars, as if we had been attacked by swarms of bees. So bad were
they that some of the natives slept on platforms in the branches of
thorn-trees, gaining some little relief from their
tormentors<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> in these
elevated but body-racking “crows’ nests.”</p>

<p>But my camels suffered most of all. The poor brutes appeared to
get no rest whatever, even round the smoke of huge log fires that
were built, when it was possible, to keep away the pests. All night
they could be heard tossing and rolling in the sand to throw off
their tormentors: vain efforts that brought barely a moment’s
relief, for the air hummed with armies of the terrible insects.</p>

<p>These were our troubles in camp. When it was fine enough to
travel we found a fairyland of damp, fragrant sand from which fresh
green shoots were already springing, while insects hummed and birds
twittered with all the gladness of a wonderful dawn. The magic
touch of abundant rain was upon the land, though swift would be its
passing.</p>

<p>It was the season for wild life to be abroad. Game, and tracks
of game, were abundant. Damas Gazelle were seen in picturesque
herds, their white sides and rumps showing in the bush like silver
on a cloth of green, while the more sedately coloured Red-fronted
Gazelle and Dorcas Gazelle, in small parties or pairs, were passed
at almost every turning on the trail.</p>

<p>Ostriches, great birds that never seem to rest, were sometimes
sighted far off, passing on their journey of the day, picking a
morsel here and there, but never ceasing in their onward march.</p>

<p>Giraffe was seen only once, but on a number of occasions their
fresh tracks were crossed. These<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_244">[244]</span> were left unfollowed, as a specimen of the
species was not wanted.</p>

<p>After those brief days of torrential rain-bursts all tracks in
the tell-tale sand told that the game were moving out northward as
the growth of fresh vegetation advanced. My caravan followed the
same course. On the outer bush-edge those beautiful antelope, the
White Oryx, were encountered, and small bands of cattle-like Addax:
animals that appear almost equally white at a distance, until the
black forehead and dark-marked limbs of the latter can be
discerned. Both are adorned with magnificent heads of horns, three
feet to three feet six inches in length, or thereabouts.</p>

<p>These animals are given to restless roaming across open plains
of sand, feeding chiefly on scant grass-tufts, where there is
little cover, except an odd acacia, solitary or in a straggling
group, and the sentinel-like <i>Jiga</i>, which is the choice tree
of the solitudes, and the favoured shade of game.</p>

<p>It is under such scattered, dwarf-sized trees that Oryx and
Addax are in the habit of resting when the sun is at its height;
and it was then that I had a chance to get within rifle-shot, by
manœuvring to utilise any slight dip in the land, and by crawling
or sprawling long distances flatwise on my “tummy.” By reason of
the extreme openness of the country it was stalking of a high
order, and hence nerve-exciting and engrossing. Specimens for the
museum were wanted, and, although I lost most of the skin from my
knees owing to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>
cutting nature of the hot, sharp sand, I had one or two glorious
hunts that ended successfully, and made ample compensation.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i72"><img src='images/i72.jpg' alt=''>
<p>DORCAS GAZELLE</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>White Oryx are killed locally on occasion, by the few Tuaregs
and Beri-Beri who roam the region. They ride them down on horseback
in the following manner.</p>

<p>When an animal is sighted, and chosen as the quarry, the long
race starts, but eventually the Oryx shows the horse a clean pair
of heels. The persistent hunter then follows the tracks in the sand
until the quarry is again sighted, and a second race ensues. At the
end of this struggle of speed the Oryx may break down and become so
hopelessly broken-winded that it is easily approached and
destroyed. Sometimes a third race is necessary, and, on rare
occasions, a fourth. Escape is only possible if the stamina of the
horse is over sorely tried, and the hunter has pity enough to cease
asking more of his mount.</p>

<p>Jackals and Striped Hyenas were plentiful in the neighbourhood
of the game and a few were seen, and tracks of their night
prowlings constantly. I have a note regarding the remarkable
strength of the Hyena. One day, having skinned a large male
ostrich, I had the discarded carcass (not eaten by the natives
because its throat had not been cut, as their Mohammedan religion
demands) drawn about forty yards away from the camp. At dusk a
single Hyena came to the carcass and, to the astonishment of all,
commenced to pull it farther<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_246">[246]</span> away so that it might enjoy the feast out
of danger of its enemies. It had taken no less than four strong men
to drag the same carcass, by aid of ropes, from camp to the
position it occupied—a task this single Hyena was capable of. I
have scaled dead ostrich, and know that this particular bird
weighed in the neighbourhood of 300 lbs.</p>

<p>In the interior of the Sahara there is nothing to compare with
the game to be found on its southern margin. The desert is
practically barren excepting in rare wadis that have sufficient
vegetation to attract a few Dorcas Gazelle, and perhaps a Desert
Fox or Wild Cat, or the like, that feed chiefly on the rodents
about the tussock bottoms.</p>

<p>But the mountain regions are havens to a certain amount of
animal life, and it is there that one finds the Arui, or Barbary
Sheep. In Aïr they are sufficiently rare—because of the altitudes
they frequent and the wildness of the mountains, not because of
their numbers—to make the quest for them highly interesting. In
Ahaggar they are very scarce.</p>

<p>Wild and keen-sensed in sight and hearing, and in difficult
country, these mountain sheep are fine animals to hunt, from the
point of view of the sportsman. They live in magnificently wild
fastnesses, and are truly superb creatures; particularly when
caught at eve or dawn poised on the precarious pinnacles of the
world, sniffing the wind and inquiring the dangers of the crags
beneath them.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>But they are
never seen unless diligently searched for, and, on account of the
wild nature of their haunts, hunting them is strenuous in the
extreme. They hide in the cool depths of caves and cairns through
the day and venture out toward dusk to feed all through the night.
At dawn they again seek shelter. Coolness and darkness appear
necessary to their existence; heat and sunlight they avoid.</p>

<p>When I had come to comprehend their habits I more or less
adapted my life to theirs in hunting them. I sought the hills,
toward dusk, with rifle and blanket, to pick my way steadily up
into the mountain-tops, sometimes sighting sheep on the way; then
sleeping in some sheltered nook on the summit, till the quest was
renewed at the first hint of dawn.</p>

<p>The wild ruggedness of the country is unbelievable until one is
actually in amongst the endless range of valleys and slopes that
are thick with the disordered rocks and gigantic boulders that make
up the crags and corries and cairns which meet one on every side.
The hunter requires to be nimble as a cat to leap and step quietly
in such surroundings, and <em>noiselessness is essential</em> if
the keen-sensed Arui is to be successfully approached. Wherefore
one must go barefooted or with soft-soled shoes, and in consequence
feet and shins suffer many bruises and jars on the hard, cruel
rocks, particularly in travelling when it is very dark. I had no
serious accident in those wild hills; only a few<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> minor ones. I once lost the
nail of a big toe through a stone giving way and turning over to
pin my foot beneath it. On another occasion, through my attention
being distracted by movement below, I stepped into space, and had
an ugly fall, which was not lightened by my efforts to save my
precious rifle. But miraculously no bones were broken, though
knees, arms, hands, and face bled so freely that anyone might have
thought I was a proper ambulance case.</p>

<p>I was particularly anxious to secure good examples of the Arui
of Aïr, which had not been collected by anyone before (which, as a
new subspecies, has since been named <i>Ammotragus lervia
angusi</i> (Rothsch.) in my honour). Hence I spent many nights in
the lone mountains and laid my head to rest in some wild, eerie
spots, unknown to the eyes of men. It was a wonderful experience to
be all night high up in the great mountains, and to watch the final
lights of eve, and dawn. Indeed, I came to know these hills in
another complexion. From afar I had always thought them frowning
and black, while now I discovered them soft smoke blue in the
mornings, and shades of mauve when touched with the late evening
sun.</p>

<p>Dawn is the most favourable hour for hunting. It is then that
the Arui ascend the steep and bouldered mountain slopes from wild
corries where they have been browsing overnight, on a scattering of
hardy shrubs and wiry grass, to seek dark resting-place for the day
among great cairns near<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_249">[249]</span> the summits where the air remains cool and
shade complete. And that is the time when the hunter has a chance
to intercept them on the way to their lairs.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw06">
<figure class="iw06" id="i73"><img src='images/i73.jpg' alt=''>
<p>AN AARDVARK OR ANT-BEAR</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>As a rule, I found them difficult animals to secure, but was
greatly aided in hunting them latterly, by coming to realise a
curious trait of theirs, which was, that <em>if a sheep was sighted
looking intently from a prominence in a certain direction it would,
when it moved, surely travel in that direction</em>. Wherefore, by
making a detour, it was possible sometimes to intercept the quarry
without stalking it directly.</p>

<p>I have seen fairly young mountain sheep in January, and believe
they are dropped about the season when rains may occur, viz.
August-September.</p>

<p>The Arui were found in Aïr at any altitude between 2,000 and
5,000 feet; but in the hottest season of the year, which reaches
its climax about July, they are prone to abandon the lower
altitudes and live altogether in the high summits, where it is
coolest.</p>

<p>If rain falls at the season it is due they roam widely and come
low down to browse on the short-lived green feeding that soon
springs up. At such times they find pools in almost every ravine,
and they are animals that are very fond of water.</p>

<p>Of the specimens collected all were not weighed. However, 164
lbs. was a good male, and 112 lbs. a fair female. The best horns
measured just over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>
26 inches. The Tuaregs call the Arui <i>Afitall</i> in Aïr, and
<i>Oudel</i> in Ahaggar.</p>

<p>The final aspect I will refer to, regarding the animal life of
the land, is of an ordinary day in the course of travel.</p>

<p>We are camped in the outlying hills of Aïr. It is a region where
there is no winter even in the depth of the year, but in December
and January the nights are bitterly cold.</p>

<p>The caravan sets out at dawn on the journey of the day, and the
smouldering logs of a night-fire are left behind with regret.</p>

<p>We start over a land of sand and rocks, with high-reaching
mountain slopes some miles in the forefront.</p>

<p>It is too early for birds to be showing. Like ourselves, they
are feeling the uncommon cold, and shelter among the bushes on the
banks of the river-beds until the sun grows warm and the land
returns to its accustomed stifling heat.</p>

<p>It is the hour for game to be abroad. In the broken-up valley
land a few beautiful little Dorcas Gazelle, of the colour of the
sand, are seen busy breakfasting on slim, delicate grasses that
they search for in open places. They are the most numerous game in
Aïr; unlike the Mountain Sheep, which in comparison are rare, owing
to their shyness and the nature of their almost inaccessible
haunts. These two animals are the meat-giving game to the few
natives of the land. There is one other—the large and handsome
white-flanked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span> Damas
Gazelle, an exceedingly timid animal that is seldom seen in an
ordinary day’s travel.</p>

<p>If I had set out expecting to see much I should have been
disappointed, for hours pass and nothing of unusual consequence is
encountered. But I know Aïr as a lone, deserted land where one has
to be content with little.</p>

<p>I read the trail as the camels move along, particularly when
sheets of sand are spread before me. No one has passed ahead; no
print of camel foot or donkey hoof marks the surface anywhere. The
neat little cloven-hoof prints of Gazelle are fairly numerous and
the feet of Field-mice have drawn countless little daisies on the
sand where they have fed through the night about tussocks of
grass.</p>

<p>Other footprints tell where a Short-Eared Hare has loped across
the ground, and I see where a hungry Jackal has picked up the trail
and hurried in pursuit. At a cluster of bush I find the up-turnings
of a Porcupine that has been burrowing and tearing at a
shrub-bottom to feed on its favourite food—the roots of the
pale-limbed, big-leaved bush which the Tuaregs call
<i>Tirza</i>.</p>

<p>In a shallow, dried-up river-bed the camels are guided clear of
a regular warren of holes scooped out in the night by a Ratel in
search of dormant frogs buried in the sand a foot or two beneath
the surface.</p>

<p>Nearing camping time the caravan reaches a terrace margin and
descends a rocky slope, where the camels have difficulty in picking
their way.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span> A
strange, wild valley lies in the unexpected level below, and a dry
river-bed in a deep ravine. It is a drear valley-side, and the
caravan passes on into the ravine below. In a cliff I find a deep,
dark cave, and strike a match to enter it. It proves to be an old
den of Hyenas; their footprints are on the dusty sand and the floor
is littered with the bones of camels and other animals. The roof of
the cave is festooned with the honeycombs of wasps, but the hives
are forsaken.</p>

<p>By this time the journey of the day has drawn to a close, and we
camp to rest and eat, and refresh both man and beast, while my
skinning-table and knives are set ready for the work of the evening
on specimens that, mayhap, shall add to the knowledge of the
world.</p>

<p>Altogether, forty-two different species and subspecies of
animals were collected from the Sahara and twenty-two additional
varieties from the Western Sudan, on its southern shores.</p>

<p>In the Sahara the following mammals were collected<a id=
"FNanchor_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20" class=
"fnanchor">[20]</a>:</p>

<table>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">1.</td>
<td>Arui, or Barbary Sheep (B)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">2.</td>
<td>Damas Gazelle (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">3.</td>
<td>Dorcas Gazelle.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">4.</td>
<td>White Oryx.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">5.</td>
<td>Addax.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">6.</td>
<td>Wart Hog.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">7.</td>
<td>Baboon.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">8.</td>
<td>Small Mouse-eared Bat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">9.</td>
<td>Small White and Brown Bat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">10.</td>
<td>Small Long-tailed Bat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">11.</td>
<td>Desert Hedgehog.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">12.</td>
<td>Hausa Wild Cat (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">13.</td>
<td>Desert Wild Cat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">14.</td>
<td>Genet.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">15.</td>
<td>Caracal, or Lynx (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">16.</td>
<td>Rufous Mongoose (B)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">17.</td>
<td>Striped Hyena.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">18.</td>
<td>Jackal.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_253">[253]</span>19.</td>
<td>Buff Desert Fox (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">20.</td>
<td>Grey Rock Fox (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">21.</td>
<td>Fennec.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">22.</td>
<td>Ratel (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">23.</td>
<td>Saharan Ground Squirrel (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">24.</td>
<td>Dormouse (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">25.</td>
<td>Long-tailed Naked-soled Gerbil.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">26.</td>
<td>Hairy-soled Gerbil.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">27.</td>
<td>Dark Naked-soled Gerbil.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">28.</td>
<td>Lesser Naked-soled Gerbil.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">29.</td>
<td>Dwarf Gerbil (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">30.</td>
<td>Large Fawn Gerbil (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">31.</td>
<td>Large Dark Gerbil.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">32.</td>
<td>Large Rufous-headed Gerbil.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">33.</td>
<td>Multimanimate Rat (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">34.</td>
<td>Reddish Spiny Rock Mouse (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">35.</td>
<td>Dark Spiny Mouse.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">36.</td>
<td>Brindled Field Rat (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">37.</td>
<td>Jerboa (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">38.</td>
<td>Porcupine (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">39.</td>
<td>Gundi (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">40.</td>
<td>Short-eared Hare (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">41.</td>
<td>Rock Dassy (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">42.</td>
<td>Aardvark, or Ant Bear.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>Twenty-two additional mammals found in the Western Sudan, on the
southern margin of the Sahara, between latitudes 12° and 16°:</p>

<table>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">43.</td>
<td>Korrigum, or Tiang.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">44.</td>
<td>Red-fronted Gazelle.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">45.</td>
<td>Small Leaf-nosed Bat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">46.</td>
<td>Epauletted Bat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">47.</td>
<td>Long-eared Slit-faced Bat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">48.</td>
<td>Saharan Hedgehog.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">49.</td>
<td>Mann’s Shrew.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">50.</td>
<td>Large White-tailed Mongoose.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">51.</td>
<td>Jackal.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">52.</td>
<td>Pallid Fox.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">53.</td>
<td>Rothschild’s Skunk (near) (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">54.</td>
<td>Large Striped Skunk (near).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">55.</td>
<td>Ground Squirrel.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">56.</td>
<td>Naked-soled Gerbil (B).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">57.</td>
<td>Nigerian Hairy-soled Gerbil (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">58.</td>
<td>Fat-tailed Mouse.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">59.</td>
<td>Gambian Giant Rat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">60.</td>
<td>Buchanan’s Giant Rat (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">61.</td>
<td>Dwarf Mouse.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">62.</td>
<td>Striped Bush Mouse (A).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">63.</td>
<td>Brindled Field Rat.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">64.</td>
<td>West African Porcupine.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i74"><img src='images/i74.jpg' alt=''>
<p>A DESERT FOX</p>
</figure>
</div>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_255">[255]</span><a id="c14"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br>
THE NORTH STAR</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c14.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_257">[257]</span>CHAPTER XIV<br>
<span class="med">THE NORTH STAR</span></p>

<p class="nind"><em>To succeed in crossing the Sahara</em> was the
one great purpose of the expedition that stood out before all
others from the day of starting until the end.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>It is known to the Tuaregs by the name <i>Elkelzif</i>, 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.</p>

<p>Always, through long weary nights, the North<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>During those latter stages it is not too much to say that Glover
(the cinema operator) and I were<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_259">[259]</span> 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 <em>real food</em> again. That which appealed vastly to both
of us was the prospect of <em>pure white bread and butter</em>—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 <i>couscous</i>.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw01">
<figure class="iw01" id="i75"><img src='images/i75.jpg' alt=''>
<p>“EVER HEADING INTO THE NORTH”</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p class="space-above15">At last only two days and a night of
serious travel lay ahead to Ouargla; thence four days to the
rail-head at Touggourt.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>
and that an important oasis is almost within a stone’s-throw, which
contains the Headquarters of the Territoire des Oases.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>When the storm died down in the evening we travelled again for
some hours.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw04">
<figure class="iw04" id="i76"><img src='images/i76.jpg' alt=''>
<p>NORTH AFRICA</p>

<p class="small">IN-SALAH MARKET</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <em>Feri n’Gashi was
dead</em>.<a id="FNanchor_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21" class=
"fnanchor">[21]</a> 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.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw05">
<figure class="iw05" id="i77"><img src='images/i77.jpg' alt=''>
<p>NORTH AFRICA</p>

<p class="small">SCENE IN OUARGLA</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>In Ali’s view it
was: “The will of Allah.”</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> necessity of
their doing a stroke of work or undergoing a moment’s physical
fatigue.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span> 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.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i78"><img src='images/i78.jpg' alt=''>
<p>BUCHANAN</p>

<p class="small">AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY</p>
</figure>
</div>

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

<p>And when I lay down to sleep at night, <em>in a bed incredibly
soft</em>, my thoughts were overflowing with gratitude that I had
lived for this day.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p class="space-above15">And, relating to this final period, my
wife writes:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.’</p>

<p>“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.)</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“On June 7th I received a most exciting cable from my husband at
Algiers, telling me of his safe<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_267">[267]</span> 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.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw11">
<figure class="iw11" id="i79"><img src='images/i79.jpg' alt=''>
<p>T. A. GLOVER</p>

<p class="small">CINEMATOGRAPHER WITH THE EXPEDITION</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>“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:</p>

<p class="center spaced2">“‘SCOTTISH EXPLORER CROSSES THE
SAHARA’</p>

<p class="nind">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.</p>

<p>“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 <em>The Times</em> 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.</p>

<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span> 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.’</p>

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

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_269">[269]</span> the impression that if they missed him for
a single minute they would be lost for ever.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw03">
<figure class="iw03" id="i80"><img src='images/i80.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="relative"><span class="pad20left">SAKARI</span>
<span class="float pad20left">BUCHANAN</span>
<span class="float pad5left">FERI N’GASHI</span>
<span class="float-right pad15right">ALI</span>
</p>

<p>TOGETHER TO THE END</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<hr class="chap space-above">

<div class="chpage">
<h2 class="chap"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_271">[271]</span><a id="c15"></a>CHAPTER XV<br>
CIVILISATION</h2>

<div class="figcenter chapter iwch">
<figure class="iwch"><img src='images/c15.jpg' alt=''>
</figure>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<p class="center spaced2 space-below15 pb"><span class="pagenum"
id="Page_273">[273]</span>CHAPTER XV<br>
<span class="med">CIVILISATION</span></p>

<p class="nind"><span class="sc">What</span> tremendous import lies
behind the single word that heads this final chapter! Indeed, it
may be the key-word to the whole future of the universe, for
civilisation, or rather, over-civilisation, is swaying the world
from all reasonable balance, while we drift with the tide, or
struggle unheard: and no plan evolves to set back the engulfing
flood.</p>

<p>I have a dictionary before me which clearly states that to
civilise is:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“To reclaim from barbarism; to instruct in
arts and refinements.”</p>

<p class="space-above15">If civilisation succeeded to that end
alone it would be a happy world indeed. But has not the so-called
civilisation of to-day decidedly turned toward other intents
altogether, where greed and selfishness largely play an absorbing
part?</p>

<p>This may be said not only of our own land, but of the whole of
the civilised world, which feels the weight of industrial
despondency, and I dwell on these thoughts without rancour toward
my fellows, for no one can foretell the purpose of evolution.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>Fortunate are
those who can accept the circumstances of life with grave
thoughtfulness rather than consternation; and that is a rich
teaching, learned, so far as I am concerned, in the world’s
wilderness, where life is sweet and realities naked. To those whose
lot it is to look on, how empty seems the frantic blame of
parliament that succeeds parliament in the government of countries,
and how like the howlings of wolves who have lost the trail to more
successful competitors who have gone ahead. For parliaments, when
all is said and done, strive to make the best of the material in
their hands; and that material is largely concerned with complex
humanity, which no human power shall ever completely content.</p>

<p>Wherefore it is the clamourings of the wolves that is, as an
empty noise, to be condemned as wholly unworthy of any peace-loving
community that would prosper. It is they who are out to prey, and,
dissatisfied, unscrupulous, hungry for spoil, they care neither for
honour nor what they wreck to gain their gluttonous ends.</p>

<p>But if my wanderings far afield have taught me anything, it is
that we each of us have in our own keeping a very precious
possession that either brightens or slurs our environment. I refer
to individual character, which is, after all, since units make the
mass, the source that shall always decide the nature and ideals of
society. Hence, be circumstances what they may, the individual
character has it in its power to be a significant force
in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span> the universe;
<em>so long as it is strong, and of sterling worthiness</em>.</p>

<p>Wherefore, may it not be that the restlessness and
dissatisfaction of modern life is in a minority of characters that
are weak and lacking in manliness, and from that source are
forthcoming the extremists whose insane attacks on all things as
they exist destroy the confidence and tranquillity upon which all
true progress flourishes?</p>

<p>There is no denying that there is a mean spirit abroad at the
present time, a bad patch of inferior material, as it were; but I
cannot believe it is anything more serious than that. And therein
lies my faith that the simple meaning of civilisation shall one day
be recovered, so that men may turn to their dictionaries again, and
comprehend when they read that to civilise is:</p>

<p class="space-above15">“To reclaim from barbarism; to instruct in
arts and refinements.”</p>

<p class="space-above15">My chief concern, however, in approaching
this subject is to enter on some strange outside impressions of our
country, come by in a curious way, in the hope that they may help
to show that dissatisfaction with one’s lot is not always
justified, and that it is usually possible to find others in
circumstances worse than one’s own.</p>

<p>I thought I knew what was meant by poverty before I went to the
Sahara (for my life had not been an easy one), but the Great Desert
and its people taught me otherwise. Wherefore, when the<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span> sudden transition came and I
left behind that land of primitive people and ancient customs to
regain the heart of civilisation, it was an experience that keyed
up the senses to acute receptiveness and tremendous appreciation.
Everything was a luxury; everything accepted with thankfulness, and
one quarter of the most humble of the comforts that came my way
would have filled me with equal content.</p>

<p>So may it be when the mind of man has learned humbleness from a
background of desert that holds <em>nothing</em>.</p>

<p>But, if the sudden change of environment was full of incident in
my case, it can be readily conceived that Ali’s and Sakari’s first
view of civilisation was even more exciting, and filled them with
astonishment and wonder.</p>

<p>The lifelong background, to them, was primitive Africa. Previous
to joining the caravan they had both lived for many years in Kano,
the great Hausa trade centre of Northern Nigeria, and one of the
most remarkable native cities in the world. An environment of
humble, low, mud-walled huts and narrow sandy lanes had always been
theirs, and heat and flies and a dense population, with meagre
sufficiency of food, their intimate atmosphere. To them luxury was
unknown, and, not knowing it, they were happy. Indeed, Kano is a
town of laughter, and its people healthy and content amid a
humbleness and simplicity that is as yet unspoiled, and natural to
them.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw10">
<figure class="iw10" id="i81"><img src='images/i81.jpg' alt=''>
<p>GOOD-BYE TO AFRICA</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>The language
familiar to Ali and Sakari is Hausa; though Arabic is the native
tongue of the former. However, for the purpose in view, Hausa will
not serve, and therefore, in endeavouring to give some of their
impressions of this country as closely as possible, I will, in the
main, have recourse to their <em>Pidgin English</em>. To give some
idea of this curious and amusing African patois, I will, before
proceeding to the main subject, cite some expressions that were
familiar during the late expedition:</p>

<p>“Wait small,” i.e. Wait a little.</p>

<p>“He live small,” i.e. The meal is not quite ready.</p>

<p>“Time no reach,” i.e. It is not yet the time appointed.</p>

<p>“Excuse me small,” i.e. Please give room to let me pass.</p>

<p>“He no live,” i.e. When someone cannot be found when wanted.</p>

<p>“This day I be <em>black</em> all over,” i.e. In a bad temper.
(No reference to colour.)</p>

<p>“Them French be palava people,” i.e. Talkative people.</p>

<p>“Jeasers,” i.e. Scissors.</p>

<p>Sakari, when asked if he has cleaned my gun:</p>

<p>“I done dust him, sir!</p>
”

<p>Sakari, telling he has looked for a lost knife:</p>

<p>“Them knife: I find him all, I no look him.”</p>

<p>Sakari, when asked if he has found a lost button:</p>

<p>“You make I find him for them place this morning; I find him, I
no see him.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>Sakari, having
brought a local native to me who can mend a broken frying-pan:</p>

<p>“Look this man! Him say he fit go make them fry pan well.”</p>

<p>Sakari, describing that two men are brothers:</p>

<p>“The mother what born him be mother for that man, too. Them all
belong one mother.”</p>

<p>Sakari, referring to one of the camel-men who is exhausted:</p>

<p>“All him strong gone.”</p>

<p>Sakari, referring to the state of my wardrobe when everything is
in rags:</p>

<p>“All them clothes broke.”</p>

<p>Sakari, when asked if he has properly killed a lizard before
skinning it, chuckled and replied:</p>

<p>“No, sir! Him hard for die.”</p>

<p>“Where is the butter, Sakari?”</p>

<p>“He go die,” i.e. It is finished.</p>

<p>Native, asking for a shilling with the head of Queen Victoria on
it:</p>

<p>“I want them money with woman that live for inside.”</p>

<p>Native, having difficulty to cook in a high wind:</p>

<p>“This breeze no fit let them fire stand up.”</p>

<p>Native, detecting that something is burning:</p>

<p>“Some cloth go burn? I hear him smell.”</p>

<p>All through the expedition the natives had to crush their own
grain into meal—always the woman’s task at home. One day I said to
Sakari:</p>

<p>“Now you savvy how to beat them meal plenty fine you will be
able to save your wife much work.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>He replied:</p>

<p>“Oh no, sir! When I go catch Kano again I lose him sense plenty
quick. I no be fool go tell my wife that.”</p>

<p>With two unsophisticated worthies like Ali and Sakari, fresh
from the wilderness, I had to be prepared for anything when we
landed in England. To say that they were excited and astonished
would be putting it mildly indeed. They were amazed. In Hausa, when
addressing me, or in <em>pidgin English</em>, when speaking to
others, they expressed bewilderment of all they saw, and were as
delighted as children on an eventful holiday. Everything was novel
to them. Everything required explanation.</p>

<p>On the way up to town we had the first inkling of amusing
incidents in store. The event was unexpected. The train suddenly
rushed into a tunnel and simultaneously my natives, who surely
thought the end had come, were stricken dumb with fear. When the
train regained the daylight Sakari was sitting drawn up in a corner
with big, frightened eyes, and he gasped:</p>

<p>“O master! I think this train no go take the right road.”</p>

<p>On reaching London, quarters were found for Ali and Sakari in
Gower Street. They were disappointed and almost alarmed when they
learned that they could no longer <em>camp</em> beside me, and
uneasy at the thought of being separated. Ali’s greatest concern
was that he could no longer follow my footprints:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>“This no be
<em>Tenere</em> [desert], Master! If you are lost, how I be fit go
see your foot on these rocks?” (paved streets).</p>

<p>However, I assured them I would come and see them each day, and
with that they had to be content.</p>

<p>During the forenoon of the next day I saw them again. Both
complained of stiff necks.</p>

<p>“What’s the matter?” I queried.</p>

<p>They grinned broadly, and replied:</p>

<p>“Yesterday we go walk and walk, and all time we go look for top
them high house; O Master, they be plenty fine past house of Kano.
<em>Them house tall plenty, plenty; but to-day neck be sick</em>.
Only way man fit go look for up proper be for him lie down on road
[street] same same as when sleep for camp.”</p>

<p>The endless streets lined with innumerable houses were further
source of wonderment. On one occasion, after walking for an hour or
so through a maze of closely built thoroughfares, they came out
into Regent’s Park to exclaim:</p>

<p>“Ah! now we go look <em>the desert of London</em>; this ground
no have house for him.”</p>

<p>In the streets they expressed surprise that everyone ate indoors
and that no one was seen sitting down to food by the side of the
open thoroughfare, as was common enough in their own country.</p>

<p>The huge population of the metropolis also came in for much
comment, and they speedily realised that there were more people in
London than in the whole of Kano emirate.</p>

<div class="figcenter iw06">
<figure class="iw06" id="i82"><img src='images/i82.jpg' alt=''>
<p class="relative"><span class="pad20left">GLOVER</span><span class=
"float-right pad20right">BUCHANAN</span>
</p>

<p>BACK TO CIVILISED CLOTHES</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>One day, Ali
informed me that:</p>

<p>“There be plenty plenty people for this town who all be
different, and who sit and say nothing.”</p>

<p>This I could not comprehend, until slowly it dawned on me that
he was referring to <em>the monuments of London—“The people who sit
and say nothing.”</em></p>

<p>While on the subject of monuments, the first silver currency in
Nigeria had the head of Queen Victoria on the one side, and hence
the shilling became widely known among the Hausa natives as
<i>Silli mai mammie</i> (the shilling that has the mother). One
day, when passing Buckingham Palace, Ali and Sakari came in view of
the monument of Queen Victoria. At once they recognised the head,
and excitedly pointed and exclaimed:</p>

<p>“Look there! It is the lady of the shilling.”</p>

<p>I doubt if anyone could have guessed what would be the three
very first things to strike deeply upon the imaginations of Ali and
Sakari when they first entered London.</p>

<p>They were: <em>Policemen in uniform, wax models, and babies in
perambulators</em>.</p>

<p>The police were:</p>

<p>“Magic men, who, when they go put up hand, they fit go stop all
the people.”</p>

<p>Wax models:</p>

<p>“English magic. This people savvy how to make woman same same
for live.”</p>

<p>Babies in perambulators were remarkable because<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span> of the novelty of seeing
infants carefully wheeled “in small motor-car” with a nurse in
attendance, for in their own country their youngsters are carried
on the backs of the womenfolk, or more or less left to take their
chance of life by the hut doors.</p>

<p>Of all they saw, then and thereafter, Ali and Sakari frankly
concluded, times without number:</p>

<p>“Ki! White men go catch plenty plenty sense! All savvy work
plenty fine. They be kings of work—all!” “All the people go catch
money for this country. It plenty sweet past our country.”</p>

<p>And these were impressions they eventually carried back to
spread far afield. And in this way, all unbeknown, the character of
a nation may sometimes go forth broadcast before the world.</p>

<p>From London, Ali and Sakari accompanied me to my home in
Scotland. They were made comfortable in an adjoining outhouse, and
allotted a suitable place to make a camp-fire outdoors, where they
delighted to sit and cook their meals in natural fashion.</p>

<p>Here, again, their pleasure in everything new afforded constant
amusement.</p>

<p>Scotland does not lack for water. The river Tay, flowing near
the house, was a feast indeed for eyes that well knew the drawbacks
of an arid land, and the dreadful thirst of the desert. And the two
natives were content to sit for hours, lost in contemplation of the
swiftly flowing perpetual water<span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_283">[283]</span> that would represent unbounded prosperity
if only it could be transported to their own land.</p>

<p>But this worship of water had its drawbacks when Ali made the
gleeful discovery that all he had to do to get water in the house
was to turn on a tap. Thereafter we caught him, repeatedly,
standing wrapt before the scullery sink with taps full on watching
to see:</p>

<p>“If them water be fit ever go run dry.”</p>

<p>When it rained thoughts always veered to the Sahara, and more
than once Ali remarked:</p>

<p>“Allah send plenty rain for this country, and so He go forget
the desert all the time.</p>

<p>“Suppose Sahara fit look this rain all the people catch plenty
food.”</p>

<p>During the first morning at home I took the two natives on to
the golf-course. For a little time they walked, feeling the closely
knit turf under their feet, then they dropped to their knees and
ran their hands over the grass, looking about them with
delight.</p>

<p>“Ki! All be grass, master! All the ground find him plenty good.
The eye sees not sand anywhere; not even between the blades.”</p>

<p>“Here be plenty plenty food for <i>Rakumi</i>” (camels).</p>

<p>“In the desert this be all sand for sure, and no grass. So, so,
all time Allah give plenty good things for this country.”</p>

<p>On another occasion I took them out to look on while ferreting
rabbits. I had also my retriever with me. When the first rabbit was
shot,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span> however,
there was no need to send the dog to fetch it, for there was a wild
scramble on the part of both the boys, who reached the “bunny”
together, and straightway proceeded to cut its throat in true
Mohammedan fashion. A second rabbit was treated in the same way,
and then the two worthies were quite ready to set off home.</p>

<p>Half an hour later, while the rabbits were still warm, I found
my followers beside their camp-fires in the yard with their prizes
skinned and pierced on sticks, roasting before the blaze. This was
their idea of <em>a real feast of fresh meat</em>, and the first
they had had an opportunity of enjoying to the full since they had
landed in the country.</p>

<p>But they were never difficult to please with food, and their
usual dish, eaten twice a day, about 11 a.m. and again in the
evening, consisted usually of butcher meat mixed with rice,
potatoes, cloves, nutmeg, and plenty of olive oil. This strangely
seasoned mixture was of their own choosing and was:</p>

<p>“Sweet past food for Kano.”</p>

<p>My wife tried to induce them to eat with knives and forks, but
they were much more at home with their fingers.</p>

<p>Sheep are the choice animals for ceremonial sacrifice in their
own land. Hence they cast longing eyes on the black-faced variety
that pastured on the hills near my home, and kept asking me to kill
one for them for <i>Sadaka</i> (almsgiving); and so that they might
take the skin to Nigeria:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>“To show all the
people for Kano the plenty fine hair [wool] that live for
<i>Rago</i> [sheep] in England.”</p>

<div class="figcenter iw05">
<figure class="iw05" id="i83"><img src='images/i83.jpg' alt=''>
<p>ALI AND SAKARI IN ENGLAND</p>
</figure>
</div>

<p>In their newly found domestic life, one of the greatest delights
to Ali and Sakari was <em>to possess a whole bar of Sunlight
soap</em>, and they were seized with a passion for washing
themselves and their clothes whenever they obtained such
luxury.</p>

<p>Thus, in endless ways, they slowly absorbed the atmosphere of
their novel surroundings with artless, unsullied minds and constant
good-humour. They saw things as they existed with innocent
penetration and directness; and ever they came back to such remarks
as:</p>

<p>“White man go catch plenty plenty sense; everybody catch plenty
clothes; everybody catch plenty to eat. This no be desert; this
country sweet past all country.”</p>

<p>But they came to be greatly exercised because:</p>

<p>“When we go give this big news of England to people for Kano we
will have so much to tell that plenty people no fit go believe
us.”</p>

<p>Wherefore, to prove that, at least, they had been in this
country, they made an extraordinary request. This was <em>to remove
two perfectly good teeth from their heads and have gold ones
inserted</em>, so that:</p>

<p>“When we go for Kano and people no fit believe we go look this
country, we say, ‘Ah! ah! you be fool man. Look them Gold Teeth!’
And so they will be convinced; for our people no savvy them sense
for put gold for head.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>Their request,
which was a persistent one, was finally granted, and Ali and Sakari
became the proud possessors of “gold for head.”</p>

<p>Ali had, then, only one great ambition left: to some day make
the pilgrimage to Mecca, which is the dream of so many true
Mohammedans:</p>

<p>“And then I be BIG past all men that live for Kano.”</p>

<p>Sakari, on the other hand, planned the disposal of the money he
had earned:</p>

<p>“When I go Kano I buy another wife, <em>fine past the one that
live now</em>.</p>

<p>“After that I go buy house from Emir.”</p>

<p>Asked how much a house would cost, he replied:</p>

<p>“They be different, sir! Some get £15; some get £10; some get £6
to £7. If buy him so, all the time he be my own.”</p>

<p>Then he added:</p>

<p>“But I no look for front [forward] too much, Master! for it will
be like the <i>Tenere</i> [desert] when you are gone.”</p>

<p>They were faithful, able men, and when the parting came it was
one of deep regret, filled with distressing artless emotion on the
part of Ali and Sakari; which revealed the wonderful fidelity of
these two fine henchmen of the Open Road, who had stuck with the
expedition through thick and thin.</p>

<p>And it may be a fitting finish to give Ali’s description of the
desert that we had left behind.</p>

<p>“Gentle people, I salute you! I give you news<span class=
"pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> of the desert. It is a land of
sand and wind and want. If you would visit it? tighten your belt
plenty, as a giant. There is no lying down in comfort, for there is
no medicine for the Sun by day, nor for the Great Winds by night.
There is never plenty food, and if water is not found, then one
dies—that is the desert!</p>

<p>“All my people ’fraid of that Sahara country, and plenty plenty
people say we no fit go, because robber people, no food, no water,
no sticks for fire, and all that.</p>

<p>“Only strong man fit go walka that country, and some strong men
begin to die after we go start.</p>

<p>“Plenty people tell master he go die, but master only say: ‘All
right, he go all same.’</p>

<p>“After I go look them desert, I think I no go live to see
England. But Allah is kind! and I have looked on this country,
which be plenty plenty fine—and I go my way in content.”</p>

<p class="large center space-above pb"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_289">[289]</span>APPENDICES</p>

<hr class="chap">

<h2><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span><a id=
"app1"></a>APPENDIX I</h2>

<p class="center space-above15">SCIENTIFIC NOMENCLATURE OF SAHARAN
BIRD LIFE</p>

<p class="center">All numerals coincide with those before each
common name in Chapter XII.</p>

<table>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">1.</td>
<td>Numida galeata galeata.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">2.</td>
<td>Coturnix coturnix coturnix.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">3.</td>
<td>Fulica atra atra.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">4.</td>
<td>Pterocles senegalensis senegalensis, and Pterocles
senegallus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">5.</td>
<td>Pterocles coronatus coronatus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">6.</td>
<td>Pterocles lichtensteinii targius.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">7.</td>
<td>Lissotis nuba.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">8.</td>
<td>Eupodotis arabs.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">9.</td>
<td>Hydrochelidon leucoptera.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">10.</td>
<td>Himantopus himantopus himantopus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">11.</td>
<td>Tringa glareola.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">12.</td>
<td>Tringa hypoleucos.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">13.</td>
<td>Philomachus pugnax.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">14.</td>
<td>Capella gallinago gallinago.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">15.</td>
<td>Burhinus capensis maculosus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">16.</td>
<td>Tringa ochropus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">17.</td>
<td>Hoplopterus spinosus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">18.</td>
<td>Cursorius cursor cursor.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">19.</td>
<td>Streptopelia senegalensis senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">20.</td>
<td>Streptopelia roseogrisea roseogrisea.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">21.</td>
<td>Streptopelia turtur hoggara.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">22.</td>
<td>Œna capensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">23.</td>
<td>Columba livia targia.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">24.</td>
<td>Spatula clypeata.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">25.</td>
<td>Anas acuta acuta.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">26.</td>
<td>Anas crecca crecca.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">27.</td>
<td>Anas querquedula.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">28.</td>
<td>Dendrocygna viduata.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">29.</td>
<td>Sarkidiornis melanotus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">30.</td>
<td>Alopochen ægyptiacus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">31.</td>
<td>Nycticorax nycticorax nycticorax.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">32.</td>
<td>Ardea purpurea purpurea.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">33.</td>
<td>Butorides striatus atricapillus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">34.</td>
<td>Abdimia abdimii.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">35.</td>
<td>Plegadis falcinellus falcinellus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">36.</td>
<td>Necrosyrtes monachus monachus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">37.</td>
<td>Neophron percnopterus percnopterus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">38.</td>
<td>Gyps rüppellii rüppellii</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">39.</td>
<td>Aquila rapax belisarius.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">40.</td>
<td>Milvus migrans parasitus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">41.</td>
<td>Circus macrourus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">42.</td>
<td>Melierax musicus neumanni.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_292">[292]</span>43.</td>
<td>Falco peregrinus pelegrinoides.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">44.</td>
<td>Falco tinnunculus tinnunculus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">45.</td>
<td>Tyto alba affinis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">46.</td>
<td>Bubo africanus cinerascens.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">47.</td>
<td>Bubo bubo desertorum.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">48.</td>
<td>Otus scops scops.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">49.</td>
<td>Otus leucotis leucotis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">50.</td>
<td>Athene noctua solitudinis, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">51.</td>
<td>Clamator jacobinus pica.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">52.</td>
<td>Chrysococcyx caprius chrysochlorus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">53.</td>
<td>Lophoceros erythrorhynchus erythrorhynchus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">54.</td>
<td>Mesopicos goertæ goertæ.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">55.</td>
<td>Dendropicos minutus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">56.</td>
<td>Coracias abyssinus minor.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">57.</td>
<td>Upupa epops somalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">58.</td>
<td>Upupa epops epops.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">59.</td>
<td>Scoptelus aterrimus cryptostictus, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">60.</td>
<td>Merops albicollis albicollis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">61.</td>
<td>Merops orientalis viridissimus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">62.</td>
<td>Colius macrourus syntactus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">63.</td>
<td>Pogoniulus chrysoconus schubotzi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">64.</td>
<td>Trachyphonus margaritatus margaritatus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">65.</td>
<td>Lybius vieilloti buchanani, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">66.</td>
<td>Caprimulgus eximius simplicior, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">67.</td>
<td>Caprimulgus europæus europæus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">68.</td>
<td>Caprimulgus inornatus, and Macrodipteryx longipennis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">69.</td>
<td>Apus affinis galilejensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">70.</td>
<td>Apus apus apus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">71.</td>
<td>Apus pallidus pallidus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">72.</td>
<td>Hirundo gordoni.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">73.</td>
<td>Hirundo rustica rustica.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">74.</td>
<td>Riparia obsoleta buchanani, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">75.</td>
<td>Phœnicurus phœnicurus phœnicurus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">76.</td>
<td>Œnanthe œnanthe œnanthe.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">77.</td>
<td>Œnanthe deserti deserti.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">78.</td>
<td>Œnanthe leucopyga œgra.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">79.</td>
<td>Cercomela melanura airensis, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">80.</td>
<td>Saxicola rubetra rubetra.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">81.</td>
<td>Monticola saxatilis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">82.</td>
<td>Cercotrichas podobe.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">83.</td>
<td>Turdoides fulvus buchanani, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">84.</td>
<td>Agrobates galactotes galactotes, and Agrobates galactotes
minor.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">85.</td>
<td>Hypolais pallida reiseri.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">86.</td>
<td>Hypolais icterina.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">87.</td>
<td>Sylvia cantillans cantillans.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">88.</td>
<td>Sylvia communis communis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">89.</td>
<td>Sylvia hortensis hortensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">90.</td>
<td>Phylloscopus collybita collybita.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">91.</td>
<td>Phylloscopus trochilus trochilus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">92.</td>
<td>Spiloptila clamans.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">93.</td>
<td>Eremomela flaviventris alexanderi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">94.</td>
<td>Sylvietta micrura brachyura.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">95.</td>
<td>Hedydipna platura platura.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">96.</td>
<td>Nectarinia pulchella ægra, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">97.</td>
<td>Remiz punctifrons.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_293">[293]</span>98.</td>
<td>Batis senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">99.</td>
<td>Muscicapa striata striata.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">100.</td>
<td>Muscicapa hypoleuca hypoleuca.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">101.</td>
<td>Muscicapa albicollis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">102.</td>
<td>Lanius excubitor leucopygos.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">103.</td>
<td>Lanius senator senator.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">104.</td>
<td>Nilaus afer afer.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">105.</td>
<td>Motacilla flava cinereocapilla,</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td>Motacilla flava flava, and</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td>Motacilla flava thumbergi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">106.</td>
<td>Motacilla alba alba.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">107.</td>
<td>Anthus sordidus asbenaicus, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">108.</td>
<td>Anthus campestris campestris.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">109.</td>
<td>Anthus trivialis trivialis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">110.</td>
<td>Anthus cervinus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">111.</td>
<td>Alæmon alaudipes alaudipes.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">112.</td>
<td>Mirafra cheniana chadensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">113.</td>
<td>Ammomanes deserti mya, and Ammomanes deserti geyri, subsp.
n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">114.</td>
<td>Galerida cristata alexanderi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">115.</td>
<td>Ammomanes phœnicurus arenicolor.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">116.</td>
<td>Calendula dunni.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">117.</td>
<td>Calandrella brachydacty hermonensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">118.</td>
<td>Eremopterix leucotis melanocephala.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">119.</td>
<td>Eremopterix frontalis frontalis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">120.</td>
<td>Emberiza striolata sahari.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">121.</td>
<td>Passer simplex saharæ.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">122.</td>
<td>Passer luteus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">123.</td>
<td>Serinus leucopygius riggenbachi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">124.</td>
<td>Erythrospiza githaginea zedlitzi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">125.</td>
<td>Sporopipes frontalis pallidior, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">126.</td>
<td>Ploceus vitellinus vitellinus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">127.</td>
<td>Ploceus luteolus luteolus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">128.</td>
<td>Aidemosyne cantans cantans.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">129.</td>
<td>Estrilda senegala brunneiceps.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">130.</td>
<td>Spreo pulcher pulcher.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">131.</td>
<td>Lamprocolius chalybeus hartlaubi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">132.</td>
<td>Corvus albus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">133.</td>
<td>Corvus corax ruficollis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">134.</td>
<td>Corvus rhipiduras.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc section">ADDITIONAL BIRD LIFE FROM THE
WESTERN SUDAN</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">135.</td>
<td>Struthio camelus camelus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">136.</td>
<td>Ptilopachus petrosus brehmi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">137.</td>
<td>Francolinus clappertoni clappertoni, and</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
</td>
<td>Francolinus bicalcaratus bicalcaratus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">138.</td>
<td>Pterocles quadricinctus quadricinctus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">139.</td>
<td>Ortyxelos meiffreni.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">140.</td>
<td>Otis senegalensis senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">141.</td>
<td>Sarciophorus tectus tectus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">142.</td>
<td>Cursorius cursor cursor.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">143.</td>
<td>Turtur abyssinicus delicatulus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">144.</td>
<td>Streptopelia decipiens shelleyi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">145.</td>
<td>Streptopelia vinacea vinacea.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">146.</td>
<td>Columba guinea guinea.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">147.</td>
<td>Treron waalia.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">148.</td>
<td>Bulbulcus ibis ibis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">149.</td>
<td>Ardea melanocephala.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_294">[294]</span>150.</td>
<td>Threskiornis æthiopicus æthiopicus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">151.</td>
<td>Circaëtus gallicus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">152.</td>
<td>Chelictinia riocourii.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">153.</td>
<td>Butastur rufipennis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">154.</td>
<td>Melierax gabar niger.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">155.</td>
<td>Gymnogenys typica.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">156.</td>
<td>Falco chicquera ruficollis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">157.</td>
<td>Accipiter badius sphenurus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">158.</td>
<td>Falco biarmicus abyssinicus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">159.</td>
<td>Otus senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">160.</td>
<td>Glaucidium perlatum.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">161.</td>
<td>Centropus senegalensis senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">162.</td>
<td>Clamator glandarius.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">163.</td>
<td>Lophoceros nasutus nasutus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">164.</td>
<td>Chizærhis africana.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">165.</td>
<td>Poicephalus senegalus versteri.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">166.</td>
<td>Campethera punctuligera punctuligera.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">167.</td>
<td>Coracias nævia nævia.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">168.</td>
<td>Eurystomus afer afer.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">169.</td>
<td>Halcyon chelicuti eremogiton, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">170.</td>
<td>Lybius dubius.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">171.</td>
<td>Irrisor erythrorhynchus guineensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">172.</td>
<td>Scotornis climacurus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">173.</td>
<td>Tachornis parvus parvus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">174.</td>
<td>Hirundo daurica domicella.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">175.</td>
<td>Hirundo albigularis æthiopica.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">176.</td>
<td>Œnanthe hispanica melanoleuca.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">177.</td>
<td>Myrmecocichla æthiops buchanani, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">178.</td>
<td>Turdoides plebejus anomalus, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">179.</td>
<td>Acrocephalus scirpaceus scirpaceus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">180.</td>
<td>Phylloscopus bonelli bonelli</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">181.</td>
<td>Prinia mistacea mistacea.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">182.</td>
<td>Eremomela pusilla.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">183.</td>
<td>Camaroptera brevicaudata chrysocnemis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">184.</td>
<td>Cisticola cisticola aridula.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">185.</td>
<td>Cinnyris senegalensis senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">186.</td>
<td>Zosterops senegalensis senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">187.</td>
<td>Tchitrea viridis ferreti.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">188.</td>
<td>Harpolestes senegalus senegalus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">189.</td>
<td>Laniarius barbarus barbarus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">190.</td>
<td>Prionops plumatus haussarum, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">191.</td>
<td>Corvinella corvina corvina.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">192.</td>
<td>Emberiza flaviventris flavigaster.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">193.</td>
<td>Gymnoris pyrgita pallida.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">194.</td>
<td>Petronia dentata buchanani, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">195.</td>
<td>Serinus mozambicus hartlaubi.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">196.</td>
<td>Textor albirostris albirostris.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">197.</td>
<td>Steganura aucupum aucupum.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">198.</td>
<td>Hypochera chalybeata neumanni</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">199.</td>
<td>Pyromelana franciscana franciscana.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">200.</td>
<td>Amadina fasciata fasciata.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">201.</td>
<td>Pytelia melba citerior.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">202.</td>
<td>Estrilda cinerea.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">203.</td>
<td>Uræginthus bengalus bengalus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">204.</td>
<td>Lamprotornis caudatus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">205.</td>
<td>Cinnyricinclus leucogaster leucogaster.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">206.</td>
<td>Buphagus africanus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">207.</td>
<td>Cryptorhina afra.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<h2><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span><a id=
"app2"></a>APPENDIX II</h2>

<p class="center space-above15">SCIENTIFIC NOMENCLATURE OF SAHARAN
ANIMAL LIFE</p>

<p class="center">All numerals coincide with those before each
common name in Chapter XIII.</p>

<table>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">1.</td>
<td>Ammotragus lervia angusi, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">2.</td>
<td>Gazella dama damergouensis, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">3.</td>
<td>Gazella dorcas dorcas.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">4.</td>
<td>Oryx algazel algazel</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">5.</td>
<td>Addax nasomaculatus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">6.</td>
<td>Phacochœrus æthiopicus africanus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">7.</td>
<td>Papio nigeriæ.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">8.</td>
<td>Pipistrellus kuhli</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">9.</td>
<td>Scoteinus schlieffeni.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">10.</td>
<td>Rhinopoma cystops.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">11.</td>
<td>Paraechinus deserti.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">12.</td>
<td>Felis haussa, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">13.</td>
<td>Felis margarita. (Rediscovered after 65 years.)</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">14.</td>
<td>Genetta dongolana.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">15.</td>
<td>Caracal caracal pœcilotis, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">16.</td>
<td>Herpestes phœnicurus Saharæ, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">17.</td>
<td>Hyæna hyæna.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">18.</td>
<td>Canis riparius.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">19.</td>
<td>Vulpes pallida harterti, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">20.</td>
<td>Vulpes rüppelli cæsia, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">21.</td>
<td>Fennecus zerda.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">22.</td>
<td>Mellivora buchanani, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">23.</td>
<td>Euxerus erythropus agadius, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">24.</td>
<td>Claviglis olga, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">25.</td>
<td>Gerbillus pyramidum.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">26.</td>
<td>Gerbillus gerbillus (group).</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">27.</td>
<td>Dipodillus campestris.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">28.</td>
<td>Dipodillus garamantis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">29.</td>
<td>Desmodilliscus buchanani, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">30.</td>
<td>Meriones schousbœi tuareg, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">31.</td>
<td>Meriones libycus caudatus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">32.</td>
<td>Psammomys algiricus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">33.</td>
<td>Mastomys, sp.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">34.</td>
<td>Acomys airensis, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">35.</td>
<td>Acomys johannis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">36.</td>
<td>Arvicanthis testicularis solatus, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">37.</td>
<td>Jaculus jaculus airensis, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">38.</td>
<td>Hystrix ærula, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">39.</td>
<td>Massoutiera rothschildi, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">40.</td>
<td>Lepus canopus, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">41.</td>
<td>Procavia buchanani, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">42.</td>
<td>Orycteropus ater.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td colspan="2" class="tdc section"><span class="pagenum" id=
"Page_296">[296]</span>ADDITIONAL ANIMAL LIFE FROM THE WESTERN
SUDAN</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">43.</td>
<td>Damaliscus korrigum.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">44.</td>
<td>Gazella rufifrons hasleri</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">45.</td>
<td>Hipposideros caffer tephrus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">46.</td>
<td>Epomophorus anurus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">47.</td>
<td>Nycteris thebaica.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">48.</td>
<td>Atelerix spiculus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">49.</td>
<td>Crocidura manni.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">50.</td>
<td>Ichneumia albicauda.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">51.</td>
<td>Canis anthus.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">52.</td>
<td>Vulpes pallida edwardsi</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">53.</td>
<td>Pœcilictis rothschildi, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">54.</td>
<td>Ictonyx senegalensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">55.</td>
<td>Euxerus erythropus chadensis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">56.</td>
<td>Taterillus gracilis angelus, subsp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">57.</td>
<td>Gerbillus nigeriæ, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">58.</td>
<td>Steatomys cuppedius, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">59.</td>
<td>Cricetomys gambiannus oliviæ.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">60.</td>
<td>Cricetomys buchanani, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">61.</td>
<td>Leggada haussa, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">62.</td>
<td>Lemniscomys olga, sp. n.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">63.</td>
<td>Arvicanthis testicularis.</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td class="tdr">64.</td>
<td>Hystrix senegalica.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<h2><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span><a id=
"ind"></a>INDEX</h2>

<ul class="index">
<li class="ifrst">A</li>

<li class="indx">Abandoned villages, <a href="#Page_57" class=
"pginternal">57</a>, <a href="#Page_67" class=
"pginternal">67</a></li>

<li class="indx">Accumulating sand, <a href="#Page_65" class=
"pginternal">65</a></li>

<li class="indx">Agades, <a href="#Page_67" class=
"pginternal">67</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ahaggar Mountains, <a href="#Page_60" class=
"pginternal">60</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ahaggar, Tuaregs of, <a href="#Page_140" class=
"pginternal">140</a></li>

<li class="indx">Aïr Mountains, <a href="#Page_60" class=
"pginternal">60</a></li>

<li class="indx">Algiers, <a href="#Page_264" class=
"pginternal">264</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ali in London, <a href="#Page_281" class=
"pginternal">281</a></li>

<li class="indx">Alifa, <a href="#Page_138" class=
"pginternal">138</a></li>

<li class="indx">Alleys, a maze of, <a href="#Page_99" class=
"pginternal">99</a></li>

<li class="indx">Altitudes, <a href="#Page_60" class=
"pginternal">60</a></li>

<li class="indx">Amud, <a href="#Page_138" class=
"pginternal">138</a></li>

<li class="indx">Amusing native stories, <a href="#Page_279" class=
"pginternal">279</a></li>

<li class="indx">An accident, <a href="#Page_42" class=
"pginternal">42</a></li>

<li class="indx">An explanation, <a href="#Page_29" class=
"pginternal">29</a></li>

<li class="indx">Animals of the Sahara, <a href="#Page_237" class=
"pginternal">237</a></li>

<li class="indx">Anxieties of travel, <a href="#Page_16" class=
"pginternal">16</a></li>

<li class="indx">Area of Sahara, <a href="#Page_48" class=
"pginternal">48</a></li>

<li class="indx">Areas, pre-Saharan, <a href="#Page_52" class=
"pginternal">52</a></li>

<li class="indx">Arui, <a href="#Page_246" class=
"pginternal">246</a></li>

<li class="indx">Awe-inspiring immensity, <a href="#Page_51" class=
"pginternal">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">Awful heat, <a href="#Page_24" class=
"pginternal">24</a>, <a href="#Page_81" class=
"pginternal">81</a></li>

<li class="indx">Azawaren natives, <a href="#Page_122" class=
"pginternal">122</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">B</li>

<li class="indx">Bad men hide, where, <a href="#Page_107" class=
"pginternal">107</a></li>

<li class="indx">Band, a hardened, <a href="#Page_22" class=
"pginternal">22</a></li>

<li class="indx">Barbary sheep, <a href="#Page_246" class=
"pginternal">246</a></li>

<li class="indx">Barbarism, to reclaim from, <a href="#Page_273"
class="pginternal">273</a></li>

<li class="indx">Barren country, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bartering salt, <a href="#Page_127" class=
"pginternal">127</a></li>

<li class="indx">Begging, <a href="#Page_149" class=
"pginternal">149</a></li>

<li class="indx">Berbers, Tuareg relation to, <a href="#Page_131"
class="pginternal">131</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bezzou dies, <a href="#Page_175" class=
"pginternal">175</a></li>

<li class="indx">Big game, <a href="#Page_238" class=
"pginternal">238</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bilma, journey to, <a href="#Page_77" class=
"pginternal">77</a>, <a href="#Page_82" class=
"pginternal">82</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bilma oasis, <a href="#Page_113" class=
"pginternal">113</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bird folklore, <a href="#Page_221" class=
"pginternal">221</a>, <a href="#Page_227" class=
"pginternal">227</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bird life boundaries, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a></li>

<li class="indx">Birds of the Sahara, <a href="#Page_217" class=
"pginternal">217</a>, <a href="#Page_230" class=
"pginternal">230</a></li>

<li class="indx">Biskra and the Sahara, <a href="#Page_50" class=
"pginternal">50</a></li>

<li class="indx">Brigandage, influence of, <a href="#Page_139"
class="pginternal">139</a></li>

<li class="indx">Broken loads, <a href="#Page_78" class=
"pginternal">78</a></li>

<li class="indx">Buying equipment, <a href="#Page_6" class=
"pginternal">6</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">C</li>

<li class="indx">Camel, a riding, <a href="#Page_39" class=
"pginternal">39</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel bought, <a href="#Page_37" class=
"pginternal">37</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel dies, <a href="#Page_23" class=
"pginternal">23</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel, early life of, <a href="#Page_34" class=
"pginternal">34</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel-food, <a href="#Page_74" class=
"pginternal">74</a>, <a href="#Page_76" class=
"pginternal">76</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel friendship, <a href="#Page_41" class=
"pginternal">41</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel-men, <a href="#Page_11" class=
"pginternal">11</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel names, <a href="#Page_21" class=
"pginternal">21</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels, a massed camp of, <a href="#Page_80"
class="pginternal">80</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels, hungry, <a href="#Page_87" class=
"pginternal">87</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels, loading, <a href="#Page_12" class=
"pginternal">12</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels—men—food—water, <a href="#Page_15" class=
"pginternal">15</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels, number of, <a href="#Page_20" class=
"pginternal">20</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels pay heavy price, <a href="#Page_22" class=
"pginternal">22</a>, <a href="#Page_258" class=
"pginternal">258</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels, sick, <a href="#Page_15" class=
"pginternal">15</a>, <a href="#Page_25" class="pginternal">25</a>,
<a href="#Page_209" class="pginternal">209</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camels, thousands of, <a href="#Page_72" class=
"pginternal">72</a>, <a href="#Page_77" class="pginternal">77</a>,
<a href="#Page_83" class="pginternal">83</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camp and rest, <a href="#Page_27" class=
"pginternal">27</a>, <a href="#Page_87" class=
"pginternal">87</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camp-fires, <a href="#Page_199" class=
"pginternal">199</a></li>

<li class="indx">Caravan routes, old, <a href="#Page_66" class=
"pginternal">66</a></li>

<li class="indx">Change, geographic, <a href="#Page_52" class=
"pginternal">52</a></li>

<li class="indx">Character of northern natives, <a href="#Page_140"
class="pginternal">140</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cheerful spirits, <a href="#Page_17" class=
"pginternal">17</a></li>

<li class="indx">Chibikee, <a href="#Page_138" class=
"pginternal">138</a></li>

<li class="indx">Civilisation, influence of, <a href="#Page_140"
class="pginternal">140</a></li>

<li class="indx">Clouds, <a href="#Page_64" class=
"pginternal">64</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cold, <a href="#Page_88" class=
"pginternal">88</a></li>

<li class="indx">Collections, first Saharan, <a href="#Page_53"
class="pginternal">53</a>, <a href="#Page_218" class=
"pginternal">218</a>, <a href="#Page_230" class=
"pginternal">230</a>, <a href="#Page_253" class=
"pginternal">253</a></li>

<li class="indx">Contest for existence, <a href="#Page_16" class=
"pginternal">16</a></li>

<li class="indx">Country pitiless, <a href="#Page_22" class=
"pginternal">22</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cracked feet, <a href="#Page_90" class=
"pginternal">90</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cultivation in oases, <a href="#Page_187" class=
"pginternal">187</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cunning defence, <a href="#Page_101" class=
"pginternal">101</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">D</li>

<li class="indx">Dancers, a guild of, <a href="#Page_193" class=
"pginternal">193</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dangers of the trail, <a href="#Page_137" class=
"pginternal">137</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dawn, <a href="#Page_17" class=
"pginternal">17</a></li>

<li class="indx">Day closes, <a href="#Page_26" class=
"pginternal">26</a></li>

<li class="indx">Death of Feri N’Gashi, <a href="#Page_44" class=
"pginternal">44</a>, <a href="#Page_262" class=
"pginternal">262</a></li>

<li class="indx">Decadence, <a href="#Page_195" class=
"pginternal">195</a></li>

<li class="indx">Decay of Sahara, <a href="#Page_55" class=
"pginternal">55</a>, <a href="#Page_64" class="pginternal">64</a>,
<a href="#Page_67" class="pginternal">67</a></li>

<li class="indx">Decline of natives, <a href="#Page_57" class=
"pginternal">57</a>, <a href="#Page_162" class=
"pginternal">162</a></li>

<li class="indx">Defence, cunning, <a href="#Page_101" class=
"pginternal">101</a></li>

<li class="indx">Den of forty thieves, <a href="#Page_103" class=
"pginternal">103</a></li>

<li class="indx">Departure, port of, <a href="#Page_8" class=
"pginternal">8</a></li>

<li class="indx">Depressed spirits, <a href="#Page_163" class=
"pginternal">163</a>, <a href="#Page_209" class=
"pginternal">209</a></li>

<li class="indx">Desert, dread of the, <a href="#Page_50" class=
"pginternal">50</a>, <a href="#Page_287" class=
"pginternal">287</a></li>

<li class="indx">Desert equipment, <a href="#Page_72" class=
"pginternal">72</a></li>

<li class="indx">Desert oases, <a href="#Page_187" class=
"pginternal">187</a></li>

<li class="indx">Desert of terrifying desolation, <a href=
"#Page_81" class="pginternal">81</a></li>

<li class="indx">Desert, the toll of the, <a href="#Page_23" class=
"pginternal">23</a></li>

<li class="indx">Desert, true, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">Detail, importance of, <a href="#Page_7" class=
"pginternal">7</a></li>

<li class="indx">Diarabba, the, <a href="#Page_193" class=
"pginternal">193</a></li>

<li class="indx">Disappearing wild life, <a href="#Page_56" class=
"pginternal">56</a></li>

<li class="indx">Discovery of new species, <a href="#Page_240"
class="pginternal">240</a></li>

<li class="indx">Distance travelled, <a href="#Page_29" class=
"pginternal">29</a>, <a href="#Page_261" class=
"pginternal">261</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dividing line, the, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dream, a strange, <a href="#Page_214" class=
"pginternal">214</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dreams materialise, <a href="#Page_5" class=
"pginternal">5</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dress of Tuaregs, <a href="#Page_85" class=
"pginternal">85</a>, <a href="#Page_146" class=
"pginternal">146</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dromard, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_114" class=
"pginternal">114</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dunes, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">E</li>

<li class="indx">Eastern sadness, <a href="#Page_23" class=
"pginternal">23</a></li>

<li class="indx">Efali, <a href="#Page_88" class=
"pginternal">88</a>, <a href="#Page_92" class=
"pginternal">92</a></li>

<li class="indx">Encroaching sand, <a href="#Page_51" class=
"pginternal">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">Endless sea of sand, <a href="#Page_17" class=
"pginternal">17</a></li>

<li class="indx">Enemies, among, <a href="#Page_167" class=
"pginternal">167</a></li>

<li class="indx">Enemies, feudal, <a href="#Page_141" class=
"pginternal">141</a></li>

<li class="indx">Environment of a desert camp, <a href="#Page_153"
class="pginternal">153</a></li>

<li class="indx">Equipment, buying, <a href="#Page_6" class=
"pginternal">6</a></li>

<li class="indx">Equipment for the desert, <a href="#Page_72"
class="pginternal">72</a></li>

<li class="indx">Equipment, saddle, <a href="#Page_13" class=
"pginternal">13</a></li>

<li class="indx">Exhaustion, <a href="#Page_89" class=
"pginternal">89</a>, <a href="#Page_208" class=
"pginternal">208</a>, <a href="#Page_258" class=
"pginternal">258</a></li>

<li class="indx">Expedition’s natives, <a href="#Page_20" class=
"pginternal">20</a>, <a href="#Page_258" class=
"pginternal">258</a></li>

<li class="indx">Explored, new ground, <a href="#Page_29" class=
"pginternal">29</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">F</li>

<li class="indx">Fachi fort, <a href="#Page_102" class=
"pginternal">102</a></li>

<li class="indx">Fachi oasis, <a href="#Page_82" class=
"pginternal">82</a>, <a href="#Page_95" class=
"pginternal">95</a></li>

<li class="indx">Fatigue, <a href="#Page_26" class=
"pginternal">26</a>, <a href="#Page_208" class=
"pginternal">208</a></li>

<li class="indx">Fawna, <a href="#Page_138" class=
"pginternal">138</a></li>

<li class="indx">Feri N’Gashi, <a href="#Page_21" class=
"pginternal">21</a>, <a href="#Page_33" class="pginternal">33</a>,
<a href="#Page_40" class="pginternal">40</a>, <a href="#Page_262"
class="pginternal">262</a></li>

<li class="indx">Feudal enemies, <a href="#Page_141" class=
"pginternal">141</a></li>

<li class="indx">Flies, <a href="#Page_146" class=
"pginternal">146</a></li>

<li class="indx">Flood, <a href="#Page_204" class=
"pginternal">204</a></li>

<li class="indx">Food and manners, <a href="#Page_147" class=
"pginternal">147</a></li>

<li class="indx">Food, camels’, <a href="#Page_74" class=
"pginternal">74</a>, <a href="#Page_76" class=
"pginternal">76</a></li>

<li class="indx">Food desired, <a href="#Page_259" class=
"pginternal">259</a></li>

<li class="indx">Footsore, <a href="#Page_90" class=
"pginternal">90</a></li>

<li class="indx">Fuel, scarcity of, <a href="#Page_191" class=
"pginternal">191</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">G</li>

<li class="indx">Game on the move, <a href="#Page_243" class=
"pginternal">243</a></li>

<li class="indx">Gazelle and antelope, <a href="#Page_239" class=
"pginternal">239</a></li>

<li class="indx">Geographic change, <a href="#Page_52" class=
"pginternal">52</a></li>

<li class="indx">Giants, a legend of, <a href="#Page_115" class=
"pginternal">115</a></li>

<li class="indx">Giraffe, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a>, <a href="#Page_56" class=
"pginternal">56</a></li>

<li class="indx">Glover, T. A., <a href="#Page_8" class=
"pginternal">8</a>, <a href="#Page_258" class=
"pginternal">258</a></li>

<li class="indx">Grave journey begun, a, <a href="#Page_161" class=
"pginternal">161</a></li>

<li class="indx">Gravel plains, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">Great trek starts, a, <a href="#Page_79" class=
"pginternal">79</a></li>

<li class="indx">Grim fortifications, <a href="#Page_97" class=
"pginternal">97</a></li>

<li class="indx">Guide, Bilma, <a href="#Page_88" class=
"pginternal">88</a>, <a href="#Page_92" class=
"pginternal">92</a></li>

<li class="indx">Guild of Dancers, <a href="#Page_193" class=
"pginternal">193</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">H</li>

<li class="indx">Hamid of Timmersu, <a href="#Page_84" class=
"pginternal">84</a></li>

<li class="indx">Heat in the Sahara, <a href="#Page_20" class=
"pginternal">20</a>, <a href="#Page_24" class="pginternal">24</a>,
<a href="#Page_81" class="pginternal">81</a></li>

<li class="indx">Highway for raiders, <a href="#Page_95" class=
"pginternal">95</a></li>

<li class="indx">History, legendary, <a href="#Page_115" class=
"pginternal">115</a></li>

<li class="indx">History of Bilma, <a href="#Page_117" class=
"pginternal">117</a></li>

<li class="indx">Home, <a href="#Page_265" class=
"pginternal">265</a></li>

<li class="indx">Homes in the wilderness, <a href="#Page_143"
class="pginternal">143</a></li>

<li class="indx">Hungry camels, <a href="#Page_87" class=
"pginternal">87</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">I</li>

<li class="indx">Immensity, awe-inspiring, <a href="#Page_51"
class="pginternal">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">Importance of detail, <a href="#Page_7" class=
"pginternal">7</a></li>

<li class="indx">Important influences, <a href="#Page_51" class=
"pginternal">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">Influence of brigandage, <a href="#Page_139"
class="pginternal">139</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">J</li>

<li class="indx">Journey begun, a grave, <a href="#Page_161" class=
"pginternal">161</a></li>

<li class="indx">Journey to Bilma, <a href="#Page_77" class=
"pginternal">77</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">K</li>

<li class="indx">Kahena, <a href="#Page_158" class=
"pginternal">158</a>, <a href="#Page_171" class=
"pginternal">171</a></li>

<li class="indx">Katsina, <a href="#Page_36" class=
"pginternal">36</a></li>

<li class="indx">Kowar depression, <a href="#Page_95" class=
"pginternal">95</a>, <a href="#Page_115" class=
"pginternal">115</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">L</li>

<li class="indx">Landing, port of, <a href="#Page_8" class=
"pginternal">8</a></li>

<li class="indx">Land of antiquity, <a href="#Page_50" class=
"pginternal">50</a></li>

<li class="indx">Legendary history, <a href="#Page_115" class=
"pginternal">115</a></li>

<li class="indx">Legend surrounding skeletons, <a href="#Page_182"
class="pginternal">182</a></li>

<li class="indx">Life of a camel, <a href="#Page_33" class=
"pginternal">33</a></li>

<li class="indx">Lion, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a>, <a href="#Page_56" class=
"pginternal">56</a></li>

<li class="indx">Loading camels in dark, <a href="#Page_12" class=
"pginternal">12</a></li>

<li class="indx">Loads broken, <a href="#Page_78" class=
"pginternal">78</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">M</li>

<li class="indx">Malaria, <a href="#Page_147" class=
"pginternal">147</a>, <a href="#Page_187" class=
"pginternal">187</a></li>

<li class="indx">Manners, <a href="#Page_147" class=
"pginternal">147</a></li>

<li class="indx">Map, <a href="#Page_46" class=
"pginternal">46</a></li>

<li class="indx">March begun, <a href="#Page_14" class=
"pginternal">14</a></li>

<li class="indx">Massacre, a, <a href="#Page_117" class=
"pginternal">117</a></li>

<li class="indx">Masters of the sword, <a href="#Page_133" class=
"pginternal">133</a></li>

<li class="indx">Men and beasts suffer, <a href="#Page_89" class=
"pginternal">89</a></li>

<li class="indx">Men sick, <a href="#Page_16" class=
"pginternal">16</a>, <a href="#Page_258" class=
"pginternal">258</a></li>

<li class="indx">Memorable nights, <a href="#Page_86" class=
"pginternal">86</a></li>

<li class="indx">Migrants, bird, <a href="#Page_226" class=
"pginternal">226</a></li>

<li class="indx">Milk a staple food, <a href="#Page_147" class=
"pginternal">147</a></li>

<li class="indx">Mohammedan prayer, <a href="#Page_18" class=
"pginternal">18</a></li>

<li class="indx">Mountains, remarkable, <a href="#Page_60" class=
"pginternal">60</a></li>

<li class="indx">Museum’s support, <a href="#Page_5" class=
"pginternal">5</a></li>

<li class="indx">Museum, Tring, <a href="#Page_58" class=
"pginternal">58</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">N</li>

<li class="indx">Names of camels, <a href="#Page_21" class=
"pginternal">21</a></li>

<li class="indx">Natives, <a href="#Page_63" class=
"pginternal">63</a>, <a href="#Page_67" class="pginternal">67</a>,
<a href="#Page_84" class="pginternal">84</a>, <a href="#Page_122"
class="pginternal">122</a></li>

<li class="indx">Natives, decline of, <a href="#Page_57" class=
"pginternal">57</a>, <a href="#Page_162" class=
"pginternal">162</a></li>

<li class="indx">Natives with expedition, <a href="#Page_20" class=
"pginternal">20</a></li>

<li class="indx">Natron, <a href="#Page_119" class=
"pginternal">119</a></li>

<li class="indx">Nature of the Sahara, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">New ground explored, <a href="#Page_29" class=
"pginternal">29</a></li>

<li class="indx">New species discovered, <a href="#Page_240" class=
"pginternal">240</a></li>

<li class="indx">Night, <a href="#Page_26" class=
"pginternal">26</a></li>

<li class="indx">Night camp, a, <a href="#Page_87" class=
"pginternal">87</a></li>

<li class="indx">Nomad possessions, <a href="#Page_145" class=
"pginternal">145</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">O</li>

<li class="indx">Oases, desert, <a href="#Page_187" class=
"pginternal">187</a></li>

<li class="indx">Oasis fortified, <a href="#Page_96" class=
"pginternal">96</a></li>

<li class="indx">Oasis of Bilma, <a href="#Page_82" class=
"pginternal">82</a>, <a href="#Page_113" class=
"pginternal">113</a></li>

<li class="indx">Oasis of Fachi, <a href="#Page_82" class=
"pginternal">82</a>, <a href="#Page_95" class=
"pginternal">95</a></li>

<li class="indx">Old traveller, <a href="#Page_88" class=
"pginternal">88</a></li>

<li class="indx">Oppressed by raids, <a href="#Page_118" class=
"pginternal">118</a></li>

<li class="indx">Origin of Tuaregs, <a href="#Page_150" class=
"pginternal">150</a></li>

<li class="indx">Oryx, white, <a href="#Page_245" class=
"pginternal">245</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ostrich, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a>, <a href="#Page_56" class=
"pginternal">56</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ouargla, <a href="#Page_259" class=
"pginternal">259</a></li>

<li class="indx">Outlawry, <a href="#Page_134" class=
"pginternal">134</a>, <a href="#Page_138" class=
"pginternal">138</a>, <a href="#Page_157" class=
"pginternal">157</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">P</li>

<li class="indx">Pasturage, <a href="#Page_63" class=
"pginternal">63</a></li>

<li class="indx">Physical nature of Sahara, <a href="#Page_59"
class="pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pidgin-English, <a href="#Page_277" class=
"pginternal">277</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pigeons, flocks of, <a href="#Page_224" class=
"pginternal">224</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pioneer, a, <a href="#Page_4" class=
"pginternal">4</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pitiless country, <a href="#Page_22" class=
"pginternal">22</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pitiless sun, <a href="#Page_24" class=
"pginternal">24</a>, <a href="#Page_81" class="pginternal">81</a>,
<a href="#Page_208" class="pginternal">208</a></li>

<li class="indx">Plains of gravel, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">Plan, bewildering, <a href="#Page_99" class=
"pginternal">99</a></li>

<li class="indx">Population declining, <a href="#Page_57" class=
"pginternal">57</a></li>

<li class="indx">Population, interior Sahara, <a href="#Page_67"
class="pginternal">67</a></li>

<li class="indx">Port of departure, <a href="#Page_8" class=
"pginternal">8</a></li>

<li class="indx">Port of destination, <a href="#Page_264" class=
"pginternal">264</a></li>

<li class="indx">Prayer, Mohammedan, <a href="#Page_18" class=
"pginternal">18</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pre-Saharan areas, <a href="#Page_51" class=
"pginternal">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">Prolific salt-pits, <a href="#Page_119" class=
"pginternal">119</a></li>

<li class="indx">Prolonged strain, <a href="#Page_91" class=
"pginternal">91</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">R</li>

<li class="indx">Race, a strange, <a href="#Page_123" class=
"pginternal">123</a></li>

<li class="indx">Raid, a, <a href="#Page_157" class=
"pginternal">157</a></li>

<li class="indx">Raider, a, <a href="#Page_133" class=
"pginternal">133</a></li>

<li class="indx">Raiders, <a href="#Page_96" class=
"pginternal">96</a>, <a href="#Page_118" class=
"pginternal">118</a>, <a href="#Page_123" class=
"pginternal">123</a>, <a href="#Page_134" class=
"pginternal">134</a>, <a href="#Page_138" class=
"pginternal">138</a>, <a href="#Page_213" class=
"pginternal">213</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rain, <a href="#Page_147" class=
"pginternal">147</a>, <a href="#Page_201" class=
"pginternal">201</a>, <a href="#Page_241" class=
"pginternal">241</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rainfall, <a href="#Page_63" class=
"pginternal">63</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rail-head in Algeria, <a href="#Page_261" class=
"pginternal">261</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rali, <a href="#Page_157" class=
"pginternal">157</a></li>

<li class="indx">Religion, <a href="#Page_18" class=
"pginternal">18</a>, <a href="#Page_51" class="pginternal">51</a>,
<a href="#Page_150" class="pginternal">150</a>, <a href="#Page_154"
class="pginternal">154</a>, <a href="#Page_194" class=
"pginternal">194</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rest and camp, <a href="#Page_27" class=
"pginternal">27</a></li>

<li class="indx">Revival unlikely, <a href="#Page_65" class=
"pginternal">65</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rhamadan, <a href="#Page_154" class=
"pginternal">154</a></li>

<li class="indx">Riding saddle, <a href="#Page_13" class=
"pginternal">13</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rifles replacing swords, <a href="#Page_137"
class="pginternal">137</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rising of 1916, <a href="#Page_136" class=
"pginternal">136</a></li>

<li class="indx">Robbers’ camp, the, <a href="#Page_165" class=
"pginternal">165</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rock disintegration, <a href="#Page_65" class=
"pginternal">65</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rock drawings, <a href="#Page_211" class=
"pginternal">211</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rodd, Francis, <a href="#Page_8" class=
"pginternal">8</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rogue, a, <a href="#Page_106" class=
"pginternal">106</a></li>

<li class="indx">Routes, old caravan, <a href="#Page_66" class=
"pginternal">66</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ruse, a, <a href="#Page_173" class=
"pginternal">173</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">S</li>

<li class="indx">Saddling up takes time, <a href="#Page_13" class=
"pginternal">13</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sadness, eastern, <a href="#Page_23" class=
"pginternal">23</a>, <a href="#Page_153" class=
"pginternal">153</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sahara from Biskra, <a href="#Page_50" class=
"pginternal">50</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sahara map, <a href="#Page_46" class=
"pginternal">46</a></li>

<li class="indx">Saharan collections, first, <a href="#Page_53"
class="pginternal">53</a></li>

<li class="indx">Saharan areas, pre-, <a href="#Page_52" class=
"pginternal">52</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sahara, physical nature of, <a href="#Page_59"
class="pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sahara’s decay, <a href="#Page_55" class=
"pginternal">55</a>, <a href="#Page_57" class="pginternal">57</a>,
<a href="#Page_64" class="pginternal">64</a>, <a href="#Page_195"
class="pginternal">195</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sahara’s life, key to, <a href="#Page_194" class=
"pginternal">194</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sahara’s population, <a href="#Page_67" class=
"pginternal">67</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sahara, vastness of, <a href="#Page_48" class=
"pginternal">48</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sakari in London, <a href="#Page_281" class=
"pginternal">281</a></li>

<li class="indx">Salt as currency, <a href="#Page_111" class=
"pginternal">111</a>, <a href="#Page_127" class=
"pginternal">127</a></li>

<li class="indx">Salt, method of working, <a href="#Page_120"
class="pginternal">120</a>, <a href="#Page_125" class=
"pginternal">125</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sand, discomfort of <a href="#Page_145" class=
"pginternal">145</a>, <a href="#Page_192" class=
"pginternal">192</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sand-dunes, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sand encroaching, <a href="#Page_51" class=
"pginternal">51</a>, <a href="#Page_65" class="pginternal">65</a>,
<a href="#Page_192" class="pginternal">192</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sandstorm, <a href="#Page_206" class=
"pginternal">206</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sea of Sand, <a href="#Page_17" class=
"pginternal">17</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sedentary people, <a href="#Page_185" class=
"pginternal">185</a></li>

<li class="indx">Seeking Kahena, <a href="#Page_171" class=
"pginternal">171</a></li>

<li class="indx">Siege jars, <a href="#Page_103" class=
"pginternal">103</a></li>

<li class="indx">Slave caravans, <a href="#Page_66" class=
"pginternal">66</a></li>

<li class="indx">Slaves, Tuareg, <a href="#Page_142" class=
"pginternal">142</a>, <a href="#Page_185" class=
"pginternal">185</a></li>

<li class="indx">Social fabric of Sahara, <a href="#Page_189"
class="pginternal">189</a></li>

<li class="indx">Speed of camel travel, <a href="#Page_82" class=
"pginternal">82</a></li>

<li class="indx">Spirits, depressed, <a href="#Page_163" class=
"pginternal">163</a>, <a href="#Page_209" class=
"pginternal">209</a></li>

<li class="indx">Stars, <a href="#Page_86" class=
"pginternal">86</a>, <a href="#Page_257" class=
"pginternal">257</a></li>

<li class="indx">Start, time of, <a href="#Page_6" class=
"pginternal">6</a></li>

<li class="indx">Storms, <a href="#Page_202" class=
"pginternal">202</a>, <a href="#Page_206" class=
"pginternal">206</a>, <a href="#Page_241" class=
"pginternal">241</a></li>

<li class="indx">Strain, prolonged, <a href="#Page_91" class=
"pginternal">91</a></li>

<li class="indx">Strange natives, <a href="#Page_122" class=
"pginternal">122</a></li>

<li class="indx">Strategy, <a href="#Page_169" class=
"pginternal">169</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sun-glare, <a href="#Page_89" class=
"pginternal">89</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sun, pitiless, <a href="#Page_24" class=
"pginternal">24</a>, <a href="#Page_81" class="pginternal">81</a>,
<a href="#Page_208" class="pginternal">208</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sun, the rising, <a href="#Page_18" class=
"pginternal">18</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">T</li>

<li class="indx">Taralum, the, <a href="#Page_71" class=
"pginternal">71</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tassili, <a href="#Page_59" class=
"pginternal">59</a>, <a href="#Page_220" class=
"pginternal">220</a></li>

<li class="indx">Terrifying desolation, <a href="#Page_81" class=
"pginternal">81</a></li>

<li class="indx">Thousands of camels, <a href="#Page_72" class=
"pginternal">72</a>, <a href="#Page_77" class="pginternal">77</a>,
<a href="#Page_83" class="pginternal">83</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tigguida n’Tisem, <a href="#Page_121" class=
"pginternal">121</a></li>

<li class="indx">Time of start, <a href="#Page_6" class=
"pginternal">6</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tobacco, craving for, <a href="#Page_148" class=
"pginternal">148</a>, <a href="#Page_264" class=
"pginternal">264</a></li>

<li class="indx">Toilers, the, <a href="#Page_191" class=
"pginternal">191</a></li>

<li class="indx">Toll of the desert, <a href="#Page_23" class=
"pginternal">23</a></li>

<li class="indx">Touggourt, <a href="#Page_261" class=
"pginternal">261</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tracking, skilful, <a href="#Page_159" class=
"pginternal">159</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tragic decay, <a href="#Page_67" class=
"pginternal">67</a></li>

<li class="indx">Travel, formation of, <a href="#Page_83" class=
"pginternal">83</a></li>

<li class="indx">Travel, reason for, <a href="#Page_199" class=
"pginternal">199</a></li>

<li class="indx">Trek starts, a great, <a href="#Page_79" class=
"pginternal">79</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tribal names, <a href="#Page_141" class=
"pginternal">141</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tribes, <a href="#Page_63" class=
"pginternal">63</a>, <a href="#Page_67" class="pginternal">67</a>,
<a href="#Page_115" class="pginternal">115</a>, <a href="#Page_122"
class="pginternal">122</a>, <a href="#Page_131" class=
"pginternal">131</a>, <a href="#Page_140" class=
"pginternal">140</a>, <a href="#Page_191" class=
"pginternal">191</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tring Museum, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tropical boundary, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54" class=
"pginternal">54</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuareg dress, <a href="#Page_85" class=
"pginternal">85</a>, <a href="#Page_146" class=
"pginternal">146</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuareg encampments, <a href="#Page_143" class=
"pginternal">143</a>, <a href="#Page_145" class=
"pginternal">145</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuareg features, <a href="#Page_151" class=
"pginternal">151</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuaregs, <a href="#Page_63" class=
"pginternal">63</a>, <a href="#Page_67" class="pginternal">67</a>,
<a href="#Page_84" class="pginternal">84</a>, <a href="#Page_131"
class="pginternal">131</a>, <a href="#Page_140" class=
"pginternal">140</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuaregs idle, <a href="#Page_164" class=
"pginternal">164</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuareg slaves, <a href="#Page_142" class=
"pginternal">142</a>, <a href="#Page_185" class=
"pginternal">185</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuareg villages, <a href="#Page_189" class=
"pginternal">189</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tuareg women, <a href="#Page_146" class=
"pginternal">146</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">V</li>

<li class="indx">Vastness of Sahara, <a href="#Page_48" class=
"pginternal">48</a></li>

<li class="indx">Veil, the people of the, <a href="#Page_131"
class="pginternal">131</a></li>

<li class="indx">Villages abandoned, <a href="#Page_57" class=
"pginternal">57</a>, <a href="#Page_67" class=
"pginternal">67</a></li>

<li class="indx">Villages, Tuareg, <a href="#Page_189" class=
"pginternal">189</a></li>

<li class="indx">Vultures, <a href="#Page_225" class=
"pginternal">225</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">W</li>

<li class="indx">War-wise people, <a href="#Page_131" class=
"pginternal">131</a></li>

<li class="indx">Water, <a href="#Page_63" class=
"pginternal">63</a>, <a href="#Page_144" class=
"pginternal">144</a>, <a href="#Page_205" class=
"pginternal">205</a>, <a href="#Page_210" class=
"pginternal">210</a>, <a href="#Page_223" class=
"pginternal">223</a></li>

<li class="indx">Well, an old, <a href="#Page_57" class=
"pginternal">57</a></li>

<li class="indx">White Feather, <a href="#Page_21" class=
"pginternal">21</a>, <a href="#Page_40" class=
"pginternal">40</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wilderness homes, <a href="#Page_143" class=
"pginternal">143</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wild life, <a href="#Page_217" class=
"pginternal">217</a>, <a href="#Page_237" class=
"pginternal">237</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wild life disappearing, <a href="#Page_56" class=
"pginternal">56</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wind, <a href="#Page_81" class=
"pginternal">81</a>, <a href="#Page_145" class=
"pginternal">145</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wizard, the, <a href="#Page_105" class=
"pginternal">105</a></li>

<li class="indx">Women, Tuareg, <a href="#Page_146" class=
"pginternal">146</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">Y</li>

<li class="indx">Yofa, <a href="#Page_158" class=
"pginternal">158</a>, <a href="#Page_177" class=
"pginternal">177</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">Z</li>

<li class="indx">Zoological boundary, <a href="#Page_5" class=
"pginternal">5</a></li>

<li class="indx">Zoological purpose, <a href="#Page_53" class=
"pginternal">53</a></li>

<li class="indx">Zoological collections, <a href="#Page_217" class=
"pginternal">217</a></li>
</ul>

<div class="container">
<div class="block width30">
<h2 class="less"><a id="errata"></a>ERRATA</h2>

<p class="small">p. <a href="#Page_41" class="pginternal">41</a>,
line 2 up: for “to great count” read “too great to count.”</p>

<p class="small">p. <a href="#Page_72" class="pginternal">72</a>,
line 11: for “thes pectacle” read “the spectacle.”</p>

<p class="small">p. <a href="#Page_178" class="pginternal">178</a>,
line 7 up: for “spas” read “pass.”</p>

<p class="small">p. <a href="#Page_286" class="pginternal">286</a>,
line 18 up: for “[forward to much,]” read “[forward] too much.”</p>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<div class="ad_page">
<p class="center sc">The Author of this Book,</p>

<p class="center large">Captain ANGUS BUCHANAN, M.C.,
F.R.S.G.S.</p>

<p class="narrow1 nind left med">has written three other books in
which those who have enjoyed ‘Sahara’ will be interested.</p>

<p class="center space-above15">EXPLORATION OF AÏR</p>

<p class="center xxxlarge bold">OUT OF THE WORLD NORTH<br>
OF NIGERIA</p>

<p class="narrow2 nind left med">With Numerous Photographs by<br>
the Author and a Map. <span class="float-right"><b>16s.</b>
net.</span></p>

<p class="justify space-above1">‘This graphic record of his travel
and adventures will interest a public far larger than the purely
scientific one anxious to learn of new discoveries.’—<em>The
Times.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘Mr. Buchanan’s style is vivid and his narrative
racy; he touches but lightly on the hardships he had to endure in
this arid section of the African continent.’—<em>Nature.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘Captain Buchanan is one of those travellers who
can write, and he has produced a capital book about his
experiences, illustrated by a number of good photographs.’—<em>The
Outlook.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘This is one of the best traveller’s books which
has been published lately. It derives its interest both from the
places through which Captain Buchanan travelled, and from the way
in which he describes them. He has the gift of a perfectly
individual and natural style, which allows him to draw vivid
pictures of men, animals, and scenery.’—<em>New Statesman.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘Captain Angus Buchanan, M.C., describes the
country of the Tuaregs with charm and clarity, and illustrates the
book with his own photographs.’—<em>The Graphic.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘The book before us contains a great deal of
information, put forward with remarkable clearness. . . . The
descriptions of the appearance and habits of these various animals
is always vividly put. . . . The whole narrative is “alive,” in
addition to being, as has been said, a valuable contribution to
geography, ethnology, and natural history.’—<em>The Shooting
Times.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘We recommend this book to all who are
interested in stories of travel. It is a straightforward account of
a difficult and solitary undertaking perseveringly carried out—and
it is not only because Captain Buchanan tells us that he and his
camels travelled for over 1,400 miles, that we are left with a
vivid sense of the vast distances and boundless empty spaces of the
Sahara.’—<em>The Near East.</em></p>

<hr>

<p class="center">JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, LONDON, W.I</p>
</div>

<hr class="chap">

<div class="ad_page less">
<p class="center bold large">By Captain Angus Buchanan, M.C.,
F.R.S.G.S.</p>

<p class="center xxxlarge bold">WILD LIFE IN CANADA</p>

<p class="narrow0 left">Numerous Photographs by the Author.<br>
<span class="sc">Second Impression.</span> <span class=
"float-right"><b>15s.</b> net.</span></p>

<p class="justify space-above15">‘Captain Buchanan’s book has the
rare charm of an exquisite simplicity, coupled with a fresh, almost
boyish delight in his questing successes. . . . May “Caribou
Antler” soon return to his beloved North, and give us yet another
delightful book.’</p>

<p class="right"><em>The Sunday Times.</em>
</p>

<p class="justify">‘The record of his study of birds, beasts and
fishes of the Far North is written not merely with scientific
accuracy, but with a broad outlook that must interest alike the
naturalist and the ordinary layman. . . . The book affords
fascinating reading for young and old.’—<em>The Daily
Telegraph.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘It is the treasure of the mind and the eye of a
man of knowledge and sensibility, exploring beyond the white man’s
frontier of Saskatchewan. . . . Commend it we can, and do,
heartily.’</p>

<p class="right"><em>The Morning Post.</em>
</p>

<p class="center xxxlarge bold space-above15">THREE YEARS OF WAR
IN<br>
EAST AFRICA</p>

<p class="center sc bold">With a Foreword by LORD CRANWORTH</p>

<p class="narrow0 left">Numerous Photographs by the Author.<br>
<span class="sc">Second Impression.</span> <span class=
"float-right"><b>12s.</b> net.</span></p>

<p class="justify space-above15">‘A book which is singularly
attractive and “African” all over. . . . His narrative is
essentially the story of three years’ soldiering in Central Africa
by a lover of the wild, a traveller in many lands, a naturalist and
sportsman.’—<em>The Times.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘Captain Buchanan’s valuable book. . . . It is
of great human interest as a record of the admirable work done by
the author’s battalion.’—<em>The Spectator.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘Wonderfully interesting—the author gives
thrilling accounts of the fighting, but the story is more that of a
man possessing the spirit of adventure, an explorer of the wild, a
lover of nature, and a sportsman.’—<em>Naval and Military
Record.</em></p>

<p class="justify">‘This well-written book is intensely inspiring
as a study in British pluck.’—<em>The Graphic.</em></p>

<hr>

<p class="center">JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, LONDON, W.I</p>
</div>

<div class="footnotes">
<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class=
"label">[1]</span></a>Month.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class=
"label">[2]</span></a>Hyenas.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class=
"label">[3]</span></a>Hausa for “lion.”</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class=
"label">[4]</span></a>Branded.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class=
"label">[5]</span></a>It is possible, even probable, that, to some
extent, better conditions of vegetation and rain prevailed, at one
time, throughout the whole Sahara.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class=
"label">[6]</span></a>Tamascheq: The Tuareg Language.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7"><span class=
"label">[7]</span></a><i>Out of the World North of Nigeria</i>, p.
167.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8"><span class=
"label">[8]</span></a>All the above plants are named in
Tamascheq—the Tuareg language.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9"><span class=
"label">[9]</span></a>They are a recognised white race, akin to
some of the oldest European stocks.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10"><span class=
"label">[10]</span></a>When at leisure the Tuareg wears his gown to
the ankles.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11"><span class=
"label">[11]</span></a>An extremely interesting geographical
observation, for no watercourse exists along that line to-day;
which suggests further evidence of physical change and decay in the
Sahara.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12"><span class=
"label">[12]</span></a>Another observation of particular interest.
Wells, at places, are all that remain along that line of territory
at the present time.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13"><span class=
"label">[13]</span></a>The natron is found at Arrighi, about ten
hours’ journey north of Bilma.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14"><span class=
"label">[14]</span></a>Usually each camel carries away four cones;
the maximum load is six cones.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15"><span class=
"label">[15]</span></a>I have, so far, failed to elucidate their
origin to my entire satisfaction.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16"><span class=
"label">[16]</span></a>Raid described in <em>Out of the World North
of Nigeria</em>.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17"><span class=
"label">[17]</span></a>There are times when fuel is one of the most
important items that a caravan must carry.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18"><span class=
"label">[18]</span></a>Some time later there was a raid some
distance away, and my Tuaregs swore that our brief visitors were
concerned in it; but by that time we were too far off for me to
make sure that there was a definite reason for connecting the two
occurrences.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19"><span class=
"label">[19]</span></a>For scientific names of all species see
Appendix I. M. signifies migrant. B. signifies new subspecies.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20"><span class=
"label">[20]</span></a>For scientific names of all species see
Appendix II. (A) signifies New Species. (B) signifies New
Subspecies.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21"><span class=
"label">[21]</span></a>This death is referred to in Chapter
III.</p>
</div>
</div>

<div class="transnote">
<h2>Transcriber's note:</h2>

<ul>
<li>pg <a href="#Page_293" class="pginternal">293</a> Changed:
Musicapa albicollis to: Muscicapa</li>

<li>pg <a href="#Page_294" class="pginternal">294</a> Changed:
Falco biarmicus abssinicus to: abyssinicus</li>

<li>The changes suggested in the <a href="#errata">Errata</a> have
been made</li>

<li><a href="#errata">Errata</a> moved from pg 3 to: after
Index</li>

<li>Other spelling inconsistencies have been left unchanged</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70525 ***</div>
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