The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sahara, by Angus Buchanan
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Title: Sahara
Author: Angus Buchanan
Release Date: April 11, 2023 [eBook #70525]
Language: English
Produced by: Galo Flordelis
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAHARA ***
+------------------------------+
| ~_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_~ |
| |
| OUT OF THE WORLD NORTH |
| OF NIGERIA: EXPLORATION |
| OF AÏR |
| |
| WILD LIFE IN CANADA |
| |
| THREE YEARS OF WAR IN |
| EAST AFRICA |
| |
|_For details see end of book._|
+------------------------------+
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration: THE EDGE OF THE UNKNOWN]
SAHARA
BY ANGUS BUCHANAN, M.C., F.R.S.G.S.
AUTHOR OF “WILD LIFE IN CANADA,” “THREE
YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA,” “OUT OF THE
WORLD NORTH OF NIGERIA”
WITH NUMEROUS PHOTOGRAPHS, SKETCHES, AND A MAP
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1926
TO
FERI N’GASHI
ONLY A CAMEL,
BUT STEEL-TRUE
AND GREAT OF HEART
[Illustration]
FOREWORD
By The RT. HON. LORD SALVESEN, P.C., K.C.
_Late President of the Royal Scottish Geographical Society_
The 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.
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 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.
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 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.
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 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.
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.
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.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
PREPARATIONS 1
CHAPTER II
THE CARAVAN 9
AN EXPLANATION 29
CHAPTER III
A SHIP OF THE DESERT 31
CHAPTER IV
THE GREAT SOUTH ROAD 45
CHAPTER V
THE TARALUM 69
CHAPTER VI
A CITY OF SHADOWS 98
CHAPTER VII
SALT OF THE EARTH 109
CHAPTER VIII
THE PEOPLE OF THE VEIL 129
CHAPTER IX
THE HAND OF DOOM 155
CHAPTER X
SERVITUDE 188
CHAPTER XI
STRANGE CAMP-FIRES 197
CHAPTER XII
FEATHERS, AND THE PLACES THEY FREQUENT 215
CHAPTER XIII
MAMMALS OF THE SAHARA 285
CHAPTER XIV
THE NORTH STAR 255
CHAPTER XV
CIVILISATION 271
APPENDIX I
SCIENTIFIC NOMENCLATURE OF SAHARAN BIRD LIFE 291
APPENDIX II
SCIENTIFIC NOMENCLATURE OF SAHARAN ANIMAL LIFE 295
INDEX 297
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE EDGE OF THE UNKNOWN _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
IN AGADES 4
NATIVE FOOD FOR THE LONG TRAIL 6
AN ORDINARY NIGHT CAMP 12
THE LONG, EXACTING MARCH 16
NOMAD AND CAMEL-MAN 20
THROUGH TO WATER AND RESTING 28
BRANDED 34
ALL MY COMRADES CARRIED STRANGE BOXES 36
MY NEW MASTER RODE ME ALL THAT DAY— 38
—AND THAT WAS THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT FRIENDSHIP 38
HE STROKED ME OFTEN 42
A NOOK IN THE MOUNTAINLAND OF AÏR 50
SALT-BUSH 52
DISINTEGRATING ROCK 52
A DESERTED STONE-BUILT VILLAGE 54
TYPICAL TASSILI 58
A DEEP RAVINE IN TASSILI 60
A SAHARAN RIVER-BED 62
A CORNER OF THE CAMP AT TABELLO 72
FOOD FOR CAMELS 78
GLIMPSES OF THE TARALUM 80
PART OF THE TARALUM CAMPED 82
AMONG SAND-DUNES 86
THE TOLL OF THE DESERT 86
EFALI 90
A DOORWAY IN FACHI 96
THE “SEVEN PALMS” 96
THE RAMPARTS 98
A TOWN BUILT OF SALT 100
SHADOWS AT EVERY TURN 102
WOMEN OF FACHI 104
THE DEN OF THE FORTY THIEVES 106
THE SALT-PITS OF BILMA 114
SETTING THE SALT 116
MEN OF THE OASIS 118
FROM THE ROOF-TOPS THEY WATCHED 122
THE SALT-PANS OF TIGGUIDA N’TISEM 124
SALT OF TIGGUIDA 126
THE VEIL 132
A TUAREG WOMAN 134
A MAIDEN 138
TUAREG LADS 140
A TUAREG HOME 144
EATING FROM THE ONE DISH 146
A TUAREG VILLAGE 150
THE WELL-HEAD 150
WITH RIFLE AND EQUIPMENT 152
A BRIEF HALT 160
A SCENE IN AÏR 166
SPELLBOUND IN THE GRIP OF LIMITLESS SILENCE 170
WHEN THE DAY DAWNED 176
TOMBS ON THE DESERT 180
A SLAVE WOMAN 185
A TEBU WOMAN 186
A TEBU MAN 186
SEMI-SEDENTARY—AN EGUMMI NATIVE 188
WATER FOR IRRIGATION 190
A DATE GROVE 192
A WOMAN OF THE “DIARABBA” 194
A HALT AT AN OLD WELL 200
A SAHARAN WELL 202
SUNK THROUGH ROCK 206
A CAMP-FIRE 210
THE WAYFARER’S POSSESSIONS 212
A BIRD DISGUISE 220
TWO MALE OSTRICHES 222
CATTLE EGRETS 224
ARAB BUSTARDS 226
CARRION VULTURES 230
A MORNING’S BAG 238
BIG GAME 240
DORCAS GAZELLE 244
AARDVARK 248
A DESERT FOX 252
EVER HEADING NORTH 258
IN-SALAH MARKET 260
SCENE IN OUARGLA 262
BUCHANAN 264
GLOVER, T. A. 266
TOGETHER TO THE END 268
GOOD-BYE TO AFRICA 276
BACK TO CIVILISED CLOTHES 280
ALI AND SAKARI IN ENGLAND 284
* * * * *
MAP _p._ 46
DIAGRAM OF ROCK DECAY _p._ 65
CHAPTER I
PREPARATIONS
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I
PREPARATIONS
It is strange how the maddest of dreams come true in the end;
provided one has faith to hold on to them dearly.
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 SAHARA.
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 they disappeared, leaving behind a taste of temptation that
beckoned alluringly.
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.
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.
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 _individuals_ are men
of deadly earnestness and unquestionable honesty.
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 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.
[Illustration: IN AGADES; WHERE DREAMS OF A SECOND EXPEDITION TO
THE SAHARA FIRST DAWNED]
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Weeks slipped by. No word came from across the Channel. The 8th of
March loomed nearer and nearer, and I grew restless and worried.
At last the time came when the French authorities said, “You may
go.” And then there was gladness and bustle and transformation.
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.
I will describe one amusing incident that relates to shopping:
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.
I had told the taxi-driver I would not be long, but was detained
almost an hour.
[Illustration: NATIVE FOOD FOR THE LONG TRAIL]
My wife became anxious about the taxi-man’s temper, and, after
considerable time had passed, went to pacify him.
“My husband won’t be long now,” she said. “You must excuse
him; he is in there buying food for a year.”
“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.
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.
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.
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).
Yet, no matter how careful, after six months on the way, something is
sure to be badly missed; some 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 _half-closing
day?_ Half a day! For 365 days I have known what it is to do without
things I believed were indispensable.
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.
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.
CHAPTER II
THE CARAVAN
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II
THE CARAVAN
A drowsy, 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.
“Lord!” I think, “it seems but an hour since I wearily sought
repose.”
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.
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.
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.
“Elatu! . . . Mohammed! . . . Gumbo!” I cry. “Wake
up! . . . Hurry! . . . Load the camels!”
As darkness is known to those who live in houses, 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.
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.
In a little a fire flares up, bright and dim by turns, fed by the
straw-leavings of overnight camel fodder.
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.
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 balanced and
unerringly roped when, out on the trail, dawn breaks to reveal the
merit of their workmanship.
[Illustration: AN ORDINARY NIGHT CAMP IN TRAVELLING THE DESERT]
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.
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.
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.
“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 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.
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.
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.
Soon there is scarcely a sound, and the soft-footed caravan moves
ghostlike over a great empty land that is dead.
The long, exacting march has begun, and another day’s effort to
conquer the vastness of Space and Sand.
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 made during the cool hour before dawn and through
the delightful hour succeeding it.
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.
Our minds are on the welfare of the caravan. “How sits the saddle
on Awena this morning?” I asked. “Is the sore worse?”
“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.”
“Owrak has no load to-day, nor Mizobe, and that swollen foot of
Tezarif will give trouble before the sun sets.”
“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[1]—and the way is yet far. We need our
camels now.”
“That is bad news, Elatu,” I replied. “But we will get
through—we always have—and we will again.”
“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.
“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.”
My camel went on, and Elatu halted. He would find Sili in the rear.
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.
I muse in my saddle over the strange gamble of it all, so similar,
in plan, to the gamble of life, 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.
[Illustration: “THE LONG, EXACTING MARCH”]
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.
Ever so slowly it increases till the distant line between earth
and sky begins to form.
In a little time it is discerned that the light is coming from
behind the earth, below the far eastern horizon.
Gradually the stars go out, and the earth becomes mistily unfolded.
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.
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.
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 _lives_ at its best, careless of aught but the hour.
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.
It is the signal for Mohammedan prayer, and I order the caravan to
halt in consideration of the religion of my followers.
All except the sick man, Sili, move out clear of the camels.
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.
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.
There they sit for a little, stooping anon as before.
Again they rise upright.
Again they sit down. And then a gradual repose sets in.
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.
In a little they rise and rejoin the caravan; and the camels move on.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
I scan the caravan as we plod monotonously along.
We have been travelling close on two hundred days, and the ranks
are sadly thinned, though the journey is not yet half completed.
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).
There had been forty-four camels at the start; now there are
but twenty-one. I have long learned to know them by their native
names. Those that are with us still are:
“AWENA” =“Wall-eyed, or piebald-eyed.”
“BANRI” =“The one-eyed one.”
“ALLETAT” =“White Belly.”
“ABEROK” =“The dark grey one.”
“KADEDE” =“The thin one.”
“ADIGNAS” =“The white one.”
“TERFURFUS” =“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).
“KORURIMI” =“The earless one” (because ears damaged).
“TABZOW” =“The white one, but not quite white.”
“EMUSCHA” =“The white-mouthed one.”
“OWRAK” =“The pale fawn male.” (A male designated
because there is no T.)
“TOWRAK” =“The pale fawn female.” (A female designated
because of the T that is prefixed.)
“EZARIF” =“The pale grey male.” (T omitted denotes
sex.)
“TEZARIF” =“The pale grey female.”
“MIZOBE” =“The broken-nosed one.” (So named because
he has a piece out of one nostril where a
rein-ring has been torn away.)
“BUZAK” =“The white-footed one.”
“AJEMELEL” =“The spotted one.”
“KELBADO” =“Big Belly.”
“DOKI” =“The Horse.” (Because a very diminutive
camel, about the size of a horse.)
“BAKO” =so named, in hausa, before it came into my
possession.
“FERI N’GASHI” =“White feather.” My riding camel.
[Illustration: NOMAD AND CAMEL-MAN]
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.
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.
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.
But all wayfarers in the desert become fatalistic, and the many
misfortunes of the trail teach the 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.
As if to bear out my thoughts, trouble rides upon us.
The caravan has halted suddenly. Something is wrong in the rear.
Gumbo calls out that Mizobe is down.
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.
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.
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.
When the caravan is distant there is a single revolver shot—and
we are one less in our band.
Even although it is only an animal that has gone, Death casts a
shadow that disturbs the human mind; and Elatu and I ride forward
to rejoin the caravan with a pang of sadness in our hearts.
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.
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.
Thus is the desert at its worst, and its unspeakable heat.
But, through all, the camels keep ever on, though ever since the
sun’s great heat set in their pace has slowed down—and, now,
they are just crawling onward on their patient unquestioned task.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
And again the men dismount and pray.
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.
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.
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 “SUBKA!” 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.”
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.
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.
We had camped in our tracks; there was no choice of ground—nothing
but endless sand, duneless and featureless.
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 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.
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.
[Illustration: THROUGH TO WATER AND RESTING FOR A DAY
THE CAMELS ARE AT THE WELL IN THE BACKGROUND]
AN EXPLANATION
The 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—_that_ is what I have endeavoured to describe.
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.
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.
In a previous book, _Out of the World_, 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.
CHAPTER III
A SHIP OF THE DESERT
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III
A SHIP OF THE DESERT (AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL)
“I am not riveted nor screwed together, neither am I steel plate
nor seasoned timber: wherefore I am not like ship of the sea in
physical construction.
“But I rock when under way, and am thin ‘keeled’ when gales
blow, so that ungenerous men-people say that I am clumsy and gawky.
“However, we animal creatures think slowly but with wisdom, and
we know that men-people are apt to hurry to opinions that have,
sometimes, little solidity. Therefore, since _appearances do not
matter at all in the land I travel_, I treat their gibes with silent
scorn, for the great desert asks only one thing: Endurance—aye,
endurance to the point of death.
“Wherefore my rivets and screws and tested ‘steel’ lie not
on the surface, but in joints and sinews developed through stern
adventurings that demand that a craft be strong-rigged, and stout
of heart, and fearless of the uttermost seas of the desert.
“And from this you may have gathered that I am only a camel.
“Regarding my early history: I was born on the plains of Talak
among the camps of the Tuaregs. I was soon taken from my mother,
since her milk was wanted for food for the camp. I bellowed wildly
in distress for some days, but to no purpose: I was staked beside
a tent and thenceforth watched and hand-fed by women-people. I
can remember that I was often very hungry, even in those days,
and called lustily whenever it was anywhere near time for me to
be brought my morning or evening milk. I was very young and very
uninstructed then, and was not to know that _hunger_ is that which
is of greatest import in the lives of all camels.
“For a long time I stayed beside the tents of my masters. Then
there came a time when I had grown big enough to be allowed to
graze near camp through the day, but I was never left out overnight,
because of the ill-scented animals I feared.[2]
“While I was still little I was taught to follow the caravans
on short journeys, running alongside my mother without rope or
hindrance of any kind.
“Then came a time when I had to bear a grass-padded saddle and a
small weight on my back. But I was growing big and strong by then,
and, after the first fear had passed, I did not mind the task
greatly, especially as I was allowed to join the other camels more
often and keep close to my nice old mother.
“One day, when I was six years old, there arose much stir in
camp. The men-people commenced to gather in all camels, and I
knew there was something afoot. At first, we camels, putting our
heads together, hoped it was only to be a movement to new grazing
ground. But we soon decided otherwise, during the few days that
followed, as we watched our masters busily working with saddles and
roping bundles, while strangers came in to join them from other
camps. Then, one morning, at dawn, after much noise of loading,
and chatter of farewell, we were all tied in line and set out from
the camp of Talak; leaving behind only the women-people and their
children and a few old men-people.
[Illustration: BRANDED]
“Although as yet inexperienced in great distances, like all my
kind, I required no master to instruct me in sense of direction;
and I soon knew that we were heading south, which is the direction
of least dread in the teachings of camel lore.
“But I soon lost interest in everything about me under the
weight of terrible fatigue; for, day after day, we had to travel
perpetually over hot sand and beneath wearying, fiery sun, kept
sternly to the trail by our travel-wise hard-riding masters. We
had little rest, and not much time to eat. All grew fretful, and
plaintive lowings pleaded with the men-people for consideration,
but they knew their task better than we, and kept on unflinchingly,
though no less tired than ourselves.
“We camped fifty nights on that journey, and I will never forget
it. For the first time I learned what desert travel really meant.
“At last, after travelling out of the desert and through country
with many trees, the like of which I had never seen at Talak, we
reached a strange town, and the men-people camped. There our loads
were undone and we were all turned free to eat our fill and rest
to our heart’s content. Men-people called the town Katsina.
“Eventually I came to stay there for many moons, for, before
my master went back to the Plains of Talak, in the course of his
tradings he made a bargain whereby I was exchanged for six lengths
of cotton clothing that he desired for the people of his tribe. And
thus I came to pass into the herds of the Emir of Katsina, one of
the greatest men in the land.
“For two years, thereafter, I had an easy life, being asked to
make but few journeys to Kano, Zaria, and Sokoto, in country that
was not of the poverty of my old home. Wherefore I had nearly always
food to eat, and accordingly grew big and strong.
“But at the season when water fell from the clouds, in that
country, I was not happy. It was cold and wet to sleep at nights,
and flies tormented me that were not of the desert, so that at
such times I longed for my old wind-swept home at Talak. That is
the season when I, and all my comrades, pine to go north into the
desert, like the addax and oryx of the bush-scattered plains.
“While I remained at Katsina the men-people who guarded me
called me Zaki.[3] And on festival days I was bedecked with
a bright-coloured saddle and head-rein, and made to run, with
others, as fast as ever my legs could go. When I was in front,
when we finished running, my master was very pleased; so I learned
to be in front very often, for I was given nice things to eat
afterwards—grains that the men-people grow that are passing sweet
to taste.
[Illustration: “ALL MY COMRADES CARRIED STRANGE BOXES”]
“But there came a time when this life of ease and pleasure was
all abruptly changed. Like most drastic changes, it was utterly
unexpected. I and my comrades were browsing peacefully in the bush,
as usual, one morning, when men-people of the Emir appeared suddenly
among us with ropes, and a certain gravity of expression. After
considerable consultation, while doubtless appraising our condition,
they began to pick out those of us that were the strongest; with
the ultimate result that some twenty of us, including myself,
were banded together and driven off into the town.
“By eventide we were marshalled in a caravan camp of strangers,
and the Emir’s men-people awaited the pleasure of the chief of
the gathering. When he came forward I saw that he was not like the
people of Talak or Katsina, but _white_ as the sand or the midday
sun. This stranger looked us over one by one, lifting feet, feeling
joints, and prying into mouths, the while he asked questions of
our guardians in their own tongue, but in an unusual voice. When
he came to me he seemed highly pleased, and asked more questions
than of the others. I thought, with out-bubbling pride of youth,
that this was because I was of the uncommon white colour, that all
chiefs prefer to any other, and clean limbed, and coming now to the
years of my prime. But one of my comrades was also white-haired,
and there again the stranger paused longer and asked more questions,
so that I decided that my vanity had been premature.
“The upshot of the examination was that three camels were discarded
and sent away with the Emir’s men-people, while all of us that
stayed behind were taken over by the white stranger.
“Next day we were roped and trussed and hurt for a few moments by
a stinging fire,[4] from which there was no escape; and thereby knew
that we had irrevocably changed masters, for only at such times, when
it is necessary to denote ownership, are we treated in this manner.
“This marked the beginning of my experience as a true traveller of
the desert. My new master’s caravan left Katsina almost at once,
and headed north—and I was to come to learn that we were ever to
hold in that direction; even to the region of Talak, and leagues
upon leagues beyond. It was, in fact, only the commencement of many,
many moons of mighty travel of duration that few camels experience
in a lifetime and but seldom survive.
“I was given a load to carry during the first few days; a strange
box-load, that frightened me to begin with. But the men-people of
my new master, who were the same as the people of Talak, knew their
work and watched me, and soon they made my burden fit comfortably,
so that I learned to travel without fear. Nearly all my comrades
carried similar box-loads, which was a curious thing in our eyes,
because they were so different from the bales of the men-people of
our land.
[Illustration: “MY NEW MASTER RODE ALL THAT DAY—]
[Illustration: —AND THAT WAS THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT
FRIENDSHIP”]
“At that time my master was riding a brown camel, the one that had
brought him to Katsina. But I had noticed that he watched me while
we plodded along the trail, and, therefore, I was not altogether
surprised when, before starting one morning, I was taken before him
without any load. Perhaps the men-people of the Emir had told him
I could run very fast and had been ridden; for, in a little, his
riding-saddle was placed on my back, made to fit me, and strapped
securely. I made no move in protest, for past experience had taught
me that it is far better to be ridden by a master than to carry a
load that is nearly twice the weight. While I was still seated on
the ground he came and spoke to me in his strange voice, while,
for the first time, I felt his hand caress my neck and knew, even
in that momentary touch, that he was not cruel.
“My new master rode me all that day—and that was the beginning
of a great friendship. He would go nowhere without me afterwards,
and I cannot count the days I carried him over the unfrequented
seas of the desert, either with the caravan, or on long hunting
trips that he sometimes made alone.
“At first my master did not ride so easily as the camel-men
of our land, being more stiff and ungiving of poise; but, as he
became familiar with my gait, that alien insensibility passed and
we travelled as one.
“I found I had one fault that annoyed my master. Through being
badly frightened, when young, by an evil-smelling animal that
pounced at me, I could not refrain from being startled whenever
I saw any black object close to me on the sand. At such times I
would suddenly plunge madly and retreat, while my master said quick
words and bore hard on the rein. Then he would persevere until
he had forced me to go nearer and nearer to the object I dreaded;
until I could see that it was only a tree-stump or a rock and could
not harm me. Nevertheless, it took me many months to overcome this
impulse of fright, though, always, my master persevered to show me
there was no actual danger.
“It was chiefly on account of this trait that I was given the
name by which my master called me: _Feri n’Gashi_, which, I
believe, meant ‘White Feather’ in native tongue, and this,
in his language, was a term applied to anyone showing signs of
cowardice. But the name also referred to my white coat of hair. My
master often spoke in a curious tongue that was foreign to me, but,
as time went on, I came to understand that he gradually lost all
thought of associating my name with any insinuation of fear.
“Moon followed moon in the wilderness, and time, and close
association, brought thorough understanding. And I came to love my
master, as I am sure he loved me. He was often kind in the hardest
hours of stress, when I was grievously hungry and leg-weary,
and apt to lose heart altogether in the interior of the terrible
desert. He would dismount for an hour or more, sometimes, and
search in the surroundings for a few handfuls of vegetation which
he would bring to me to eat, while I kept on along with the others
of the caravan. And at nights, if he could manage it, he brought
me tit-bits that I saw the others did not get.
“And so it came about that I always watched my master wherever
he happened to be; and that was in many places, for he was ever
restless, and never idle. When we were turned loose at an encampment,
to find what grazing we could pick up, I would raise my head whenever
I saw him afar off, returning on foot from hunting for meat, or the
curious things that he gathered—all of which had different and
alarming scents to my inquiring nostrils—and when he reached the
encampment I would leave my comrades and go to see him, for he would
surely pat me kindly, while, sometimes, when there was sufficient
water, he allowed me to drink from the basin he had washed in;
and that was sweet in the desert, although the portion was ever
so little.
“As the long, long journey progressed, through distance of time too
great to count, many of my comrades weakened and fell out, and some
died; and there came a time when only a few were left. Like all my
comrades, I had vastly changed by then, being lean, and tired out
by constant strain of travel, lack of sufficient food, and worry
through fear of the unknown country we traversed. And, at nights,
in my anxiety, I sometimes sought my master when he slept, and,
after sniffing him to be assured of his presence, would lie down
to rest near at hand, gaining thereby confidence and some comfort.
“It was during this period of ever-increasing strain that my
master met with a distressing accident. To carry the loads of my
dead or exhausted comrades, some fresh camels were collected from
men-people of a rocky land of name I did not comprehend. They were
animals of a wild region, and had been long free on the ranges,
so that they greatly feared the hand of men-people. When they
first felt the weight of my master’s boxes on their backs they
plunged wildly in all directions, and everything was scattered
to the ground. Yet patiently the men-people worked with them,
coaxing and replacing the fallen loads; until, finally, we were
all led into line ready to start. But just at that moment there
was further disaster and a wild stampede, and my master, holding
hard to the head of the maddest brute of all, was suddenly kicked
to the ground as the animal plunged free. And there he lay, while
others rushed blindly over him in their consternation, trampling
him underfoot, until a quick-witted camel-man rushed in and dragged
him clear; which, mayhap, saved his life. Then it was seen that he
was bleeding profusely, and could no longer walk.
[Illustration: “HE STROKED ME OFTEN WHILE THE LOADS WERE BEING
TAKEN AWAY”]
“For some days afterwards he lay and could not move, and I wondered
what would become of my master.
“When next I saw him he had long sticks below his arms and walked
strangely and slowly. On recommencing travel he could no longer
ride in the saddle, because of a helpless leg, and was placed,
with soft clothing, on the top of the boxes carried by one of my
old comrades. For the first time since the start I was without my
master. But he did not give me a load to carry, nor let another
take his place, and I was allowed to walk behind him with the
empty saddle.
“So soon as he could manage, he came to ride me again, and I was
glad. I knew he was not strong then, for I could feel a strangeness
in his seat, and was therefore gentle on the trail, so that I might
not jar or hurt him.
“But he jumped from the saddle no more, not even to hunt, as
had been his constant custom up till then. Yet, so far as lay in
his power, he was restless as always, and still tried to search
in strange nooks and corners, when they chanced by the trail. He
accomplished his purpose, to some extent, by riding me where he
wanted to go, and making his noise-piece go off when he sighted that
which he sought. I know I was clumsy on such occasions, and that my
master was not altogether happy in this makeshift way of hunting,
but he made the best of it.
“It was about two months after this time that the desert ended,
and the remnants of my master’s caravan crawled into a strange town
where the people were foreign to me, as was the scent in the air. I
was alone, except for my master, for none of my comrades of Katsina
were left; and I had a heavy heart. I could see my master was happy,
yet strangely sad. He stroked me often while the loads were being
taken away and stacked in a pile, and I felt he would have liked
to break down the barriers of dumbness and articulated words in my
own language. And I understood, and rubbed my soft nose against him.
“After a time the men-people gathered us all together and led us
away down the street of the strange town. We had gone but half-way
when my master’s servant came running after us, and I was taken
back to him.
“He stood beside me and stroked me ever so gently, and I knew,
then, that his heart was heavy as mine. And then I was led away
down the strange, unfriendly street again.
“I was terribly tired: I knew, somehow, that I would never see
my master again—and that is all I remembered.”
Feri n’Gashi died, without the slightest sign of illness or
pain, about one hour after our parting, marking one of the saddest
experiences in my life and the passing of one of the noblest animals
that ever lived.
CHAPTER IV
THE GREAT SOUTH ROAD
[Illustration]
[Map]
CHAPTER IV
THE GREAT SOUTH ROAD
Twice, 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.
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.
And, after all, it is only the _Real_ that matters; particularly to
the frontiersman who lives close 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.
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 _Distance_ is prone to be unesteemed, and unthought of as a
cause for anxiety? Consequently, under such circumstances, all _fear
of distance_, and _the significance of overpowering immensity_,
do not enter into calculation. But it so happens that that is a
tremendously important 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.
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.
Wherefore I am confident that it is in all such intriguing influences
that we find the very essence of the desert’s desolation and
magnitude of space.
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.
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; _back through the friendly
mountains_. 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.
Furthermore, it may be well to remember that the Sahara is a land of
great antiquity, that takes 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.
[Illustration: A NOOK IN THE MOUNTAINLAND OF AÏR]
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.
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.
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 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.
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.[5] If that was the case intimate problems that
I have had to contend with would be logically explained.
My primary work in the Sahara was that of a field naturalist, and
the following extracts from Dr. Hartert’s paper in _Novitates
Zoologicæ_, May 1921, regarding my first journey, have bearing on
one of the problems that I wish to deal with:
“The best zoogeographical boundary, apart from the oceans,
has hitherto been the Sahara, a wide belt of poorly inhabited
and unexplored country. 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.
“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.
“Zoologically Aïr remained absolutely unknown until Buchanan’s
expedition. We knew already, from Barth’s _Travels_, 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, _Les Touaregs du Sud-Est, l’Aïr_, 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.
“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 between the Atlas and
Tidikelt, and the Hoggar Mountains.
“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.”
[Illustration: SALT-BUSH IN THE HEART OF THE SAHARA KILLED OUT BY
CHOKING SANDS]
[Illustration: DISINTEGRATING ROCK IN A REGION OF TASSILI]
Again, in a further paper in _Novitates Zoologicæ_, March 1924,
dealing with my second expedition, Dr. Hartert adds:
“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.”
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 latitude 15°, they enter desert where all tropical influence
ceases.
[Illustration: A DESERTED STONE-BUILT VILLAGE OF AÏR]
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?
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.
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.
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 every change in
the land—which I read to be _decay_.
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.
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 _do not exist_
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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 _solid rock_
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 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.
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
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.
[Illustration: TYPICAL TASSILI]
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.
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:
(1) “_Tenere_” (Tamascheq[6]) =Absolute sandy desert.
“_Arummila_” (Arabic)
(2) “_Adjadi_” or “_Igidi_” =Regions of permanent sand-dunes,
(Tamascheq) sometimes barren, sometimes with
scattered vegetation.
“_Erg_” (Arabic)
(3) “_Tanezrouft_” =Regions where the sand is hard
(Tamascheq) and interspersed with plains of
pebbles. Sometimes great gravel
“_Reg_” (Arabic) plains as barren as sand desert
and hence often called _Black
Desert_ by the Tuaregs.
(4) “_Tassili_” (Tamascheq) =Regions of chiefly horizontal,
rough, rocky, much crevassed
“_Elkideà_” (Arabic) 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.
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:
Latitude 15° 1,525 feet (north of Tanout)
1,800 feet (Tanout).
„ 18° 1,000 feet (desert west of Aïr)
1,600 feet (desert east of Aïr)
1,220 feet (Bilma Oasis. Longitude 13°)
„ 20° 1,500 feet (Gara Tindi)
1,350 feet (In-Azaoua)
„ 22° 3,100 feet (Zazir) }
3,700 feet (Tenacurt) }Land rising to the Ahaggar
4,200 feet (Tamanrasset)}Mountains.
„ 30° 350 feet (Hassi Inifel) Land that falls gradually
600 feet (Messedli) away to a low basin in the
El Erg region between the
Ahaggar and Atlas Mountains.
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.
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
their slopes are a feast to the eyes of traveller weary of scanning
limitless plains of sand.
[Illustration: A DEEP RAVINE IN THE TASSILI OF AHAGGAR
WITH POTHOLES OF WATER IN THE BOWELS OF THE ROCK]
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.
“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 a bleak cliff face and the ruins of rocks at the foot.”[7]
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 _“lakes”_ 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.
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.
The highest point I reached in Ahaggar was 6,000 feet (near Tazeruk),
and in Aïr 6,050 feet (Baguezan).
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 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 _Ehaggaran_ Tuaregs had at that
time trekked 500 to 600 miles, to outlying wadis west of Aïr,
to keep their flocks and camels alive on _Alwat_, a plant common
to some regions, in sandy wadis and among _Ergs_.)
[Illustration: A SANDY RIVER-BED, IN THE MOUNTAINS, SHORTLY AFTER
RAIN HAS SWEPT DOWN IT
NOTE HOW PASSAGE OF CURRENT HAS RIPPLED THE SAND]
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 _Zakummeran_ and _Imrad_ tribes,
and not by the haughty nomadic Tuaregs.
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.
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 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.
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 _coolness_
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.)
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.
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 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.
[Diagram]
The accompanying diagram is an illustration of rock disintegration
in the Sahara.
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 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 _had_ dried out and dead, though natives declare that
it never dies except when there are more than four rainless years.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
And what of Agades, which is still alive? Its dwellings are half
in ruins. It supports about 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.
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.
CHAPTER V
THE TARALUM
[Illustration]
CHAPTER V
THE TARALUM
The Bilma Salt Caravan, the great _Taralum_ 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.
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.
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.
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.
Beyond the harbour, befitting a port, away to the east, lies open,
stony “Reg” and, thence, the vast, empty desert.
It was into this harbour that, with the purpose of joining the
_Taralum_, my caravan rode, on a 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.
We had ridden in upon a camp of astounding proportions and unique
picturesqueness. Before us stood _thousands of camels_, not a
hundred or two, which would have been amazing enough, but, literally,
_thousands_; and the spectacle was one never to be forgotten.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE CAMP AT TABELLO]
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.
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 _Buzus_ (slaves), who are
men of many mixtures of breed and are appointed the most menial
work in camp and on the road.
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.
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 _the pick of the camels
of the country_, 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.
We had camped on the fringe of the crowd, and thenceforth became a
unit of it. Salutations acclaimed us on all sides. The _Taralum_
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 trees and plants is
truly astonishing when one remembers that their lips and noses are
soft as velvet and sensitive in the extreme.
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: _tashrar_, _tamat_,
and _tigar_—thorny, squat-branched, lean and small-leafed; yet
all splendid camel food. Among them, particularly where bushes grow
together, is _aborer_, a densely branched tree with long green thorns
and sappy wood. A choice tree to the camel is _agar_, 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 _abisgee_, 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.
Underfoot, on the sand, in scanty patches, grow tussocks of coarse
grass and prickly plants; among them _tasmir_, _taruma_, _thelult_,
_tatite_, _afazo_, and _alwat_.[8] These plants were essential to
the life of 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.
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 _en route_: and those bales, which
every animal will carry at the start, are the camel-food that must
serve throughout the journey on the desert.
The departure for Bilma was delayed. On the day appointed to start
news reached camp that a lot of _Kel-Ferouan_ 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.
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
_Taralum_ £105,000.
Owing to this value, which, besides being monetary, represents
the cream of the transport stock of the whole region, whose loss
would be irreparable, precautions to protect the caravan are taken,
each year, by the French Administration of the Territoire du Niger.
Wherefore a force of _Meharists_ had been sent from the south to
join the _Taralum_ 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.
The date of departure of the _Taralum_ 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 _Ganni Wazuwirin_ (the
October-November moon). On this occasion, because of the delay
already referred to, the great caravan started two days late.
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.
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.
The great cavalcade is saddled and ready to 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.
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.
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.
We were off. The great journey had begun.
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 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.
[Illustration: FOOD FOR CAMELS ON A DESERT JOURNEY
EACH BALE WEIGHS ABOUT 80 LBS.]
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 _reg_ of stone and rocks; rough on the camels’ feet,
and uneven in contour.
Nevertheless, the _Taralum_ travelled painstakingly for fourteen
hours, and, after dark, reached the end of the rough _reg_ 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.
Like everyone else, I was tired, yet the sounds and scenes of that
first camping of the _Taralum_ were so astonishing that I almost
forgot my fatigue.
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 _thousands_, and then try to imagine something of the astonishing
uproar that resounded through the encampment of the _Taralum_.
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.
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.
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.
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:
“Wait till this time to-morrow. They won’t be so particular
when real hunger seizes them.”
[Illustrations: GLIMPSES OF THE _TARALUM_]
The voyage of the _Taralum_, on the days that followed, was,
in essentials, one long test of _patience_, _perseverance_, and
_endurance_, in travelling a desert of terrifying desolation.
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.
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.
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.
Beyond all else, the desert is the Kingdom of 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.
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.
The _Taralum_ travelled 38 to 40 miles per day: 14 to 18 hours of
patient, steady plodding. There 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.
[Illustration: PART OF THE _TARALUM_ CAMPED AT FACHI OASIS]
In the open desert the _Taralum_ 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.
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 that the whole caravan travelled about as a double line,
and was therefore _six to seven miles in length_.
But those are cold figures and, though it is hoped that they may
convey some conception of the magnitude of the _Taralum_, 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.
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,[9] not negroid black. But,
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,[10] 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 on his _right_
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.
The nights on the desert with the _Taralum_ 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.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: AMONG SAND-DUNES]
[Illustration: THE TOLL OF THE DESERT]
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.
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.
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 _en
route_. 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.
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.
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.
Thus the long days, and short nights, passed, as the _Taralum_
held on its steady course across the seas of desert.
Each individual throughout the caravan who had not made the journey
to Bilma before was known as _Rago_ (sheep); while, once the journey
has been made, a man attains the distinction of the title, _Sofo
Aroki_ (Old Traveller).
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 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.
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.
The men of the _Taralum_ 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.
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.
In due course the strange, diminutive, sand-blown 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 _Taralum_
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.
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 _Taralum_ that they began to
give out before the end, even under the most rigid economy.
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.
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.
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
almost every company, and the total loss in the _Taralum_ 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.
[Illustration: EFALI]
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.
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.
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.
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.
On the 21st of November we recamped at Tabello, and after a day’s
rest speedily dispersed our diverse ways.
My last recollection is of Efali. I chanced to come upon him in camp
enjoying a well-earned rest, and the luxury of _shade_, beneath a
tree. He was through at last, with the strain of carrying the life
of the _Taralum_ 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.
CHAPTER VI
A CITY OF SHADOWS
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VI
A CITY OF SHADOWS
(_Fachi Oasis_)
In 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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
It is obvious that to stand thus alone and live, self-reliant and
self-dependent, Fachi must be strong—_strong with an uncanny
genius_. And that that is so is soon revealed.
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
that have not been repaired, but the inner and principal wall is
all that a powerful defence should be: high and grim and unscalable.
[Illustration: A DOORWAY IN FACHI]
[Illustration: THE “SEVEN PALMS” OF FACHI]
My feelings, when I first entered Fachi through its frowning walls,
were of bewilderment and astonishment.
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.
But the strangest novelty, in those first moments, lay in the
discovery that, on all sides, the walls were constructed with _salt_,
blackened with dust and age, yet, surely, _salt_, set as hard as
the finest 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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
[Illustration: THE RAMPARTS OF FACHI]
Nearly empty of people, the lanes are full of shadows and a sense of
a thousand mysteries. Everywhere there are _shadows_: 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, _The City of Shadows_.
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.
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.
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 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.
But the issue that is vital to Fachi’s scheme of defence is in
the fact that, from within, at a moment’s notice, _the whole town
can be barred and buttressed and placed under lock and key_.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: PART OF FACHI, WHICH IS BUILT ENTIRELY OF SALT]
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, _outside_, were the nearest
spaces to the open air; moreover the unsightly squalor seldom waxed
fetid there owing to the baking sun and extreme 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.
I came out from investigating a honeycomb of dwellings with a back
that ached with stooping through hatchway doors.
I moved on. There was one more sight to see.
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.
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.
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.
We pass on inside—and I stand amazed. Before me is _the den
of the Forty Thieves_, or a scene equivalent; but real, and not
imaginary. The fort, with high, naked walls towering around it,
looks like a 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.
[Illustration: SHADOWS, ALWAYS SHADOWS, MEET ONE AT EVERY TURN]
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.
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.
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—_its strength of defence_. 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 of them, are eloquent of their purpose; like all else
in the war-prepared fastness.
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.
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.
Native history—imparted to me by the _Malam_, 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 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!
“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.”
[Illustrations: WOMEN OF FACHI AND THEIR CURIOUS HEAD-DRESS]
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.
So that, in the _Malam’s_ words:
“Fachi is built as it stands to-day, because a great Arab came
from the north and taught our people sense.”
He could not name the great benefactor, nor could I find anyone
who knew. But that he came from Tripoli all affirmed.
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.
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 sand; the whole environment so
unprepossessing that one cannot escape its terrible poverty.
And inside the town a population that has barely food to keep body
and soul together.
I caught myself thinking:
“What queer, ungodly places some people live in!”
I had just muttered:
“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.”
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.
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.
The hard-featured natives of the town are Beri-Beri. They are
strangely animal-like, in general, perhaps because of their terrible
environment, and their life is an underworld of vice.
[Illustration: “THE DEN OF THE FORTY THIEVES”]
I ceased pondering, and called the guide from his look-out.
I asked him one question before we began the descent from the tower:
“How many men have you killed?”
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:
“Five men I have killed.”
At the outset I called Fachi _A City of Shadows_, 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.
CHAPTER VII
SALT OF THE EARTH
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VII
SALT OF THE EARTH
Throughout 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.
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 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.
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.
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.
Like gold in other lands, the famed deposits of 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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 FORT DROMARD, 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.
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:
“He fought conspicuously at Agadem (south of Bilma) on 7th
January 1908.”
And finally:
“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.”
[Illustration: AT WORK IN THE SALT-PITS OF BILMA]
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.
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.
The following quaint traditions and history of Kowar were collected
at Bilma:
“The first people of Kowar were _Sos_ (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 _tall as twenty elbows_.
“In due course the Sultan of the Beri-Beri came to Bilma and asked
the Sultan of the _Sos_ 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 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.
“The _Sos_ were at that time settled in the oasis in the valley
of Bilma, _the rainfall of which was coming from Jado, and going
to Fachi and Termitt_.”[11]
After this legendary time it is said that:
“In 800 A.D. 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.
“In this way the foundation was laid of Jado, Seggudim, Dirku,
and Bilma.
“Furthermore _all oases[12] between Bilma and Chad_ 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.
“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 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.
[Illustration: A FINISHED SALT-BLOCK; THE MOULDSETTING THE SALT
IN MOULDS]
“In this way Achinuma, Arrighi, Tiggumama, Gassar, and Chimmidur
were founded.
“In time the Tebu grew in strength and gained supremacy over the
Beri-Beri, who became subject to them.
“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.”
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.
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, 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.
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.
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.
[Illustrations: MEN OF THE SALT OASIS]
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.
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.
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.
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[13] that is put
in as a chemical that settles and separates the sandy sediment and
other foreign matter from the desired crystals. 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.
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,[14] 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.
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 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.
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.
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
_black desert_ 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 the population are in the habit of trekking south to
take refuge in In-Gall.
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, _Salt!_ which constitutes the main occupation
at present, though early geographers believed the settlement was
concerned with copper.
Tigguida n’Tisem is very remarkable for two reasons: the rare race
of people who occupy it, and its extremely picturesque salt-pans.
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 _Azawaren_, and so completely separate are they in race that
their language is unintelligible to the true natives of the region.
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,[15] then at Tigguida n’Tisem,
in the Sahara, the language of that once great Empire of the Niger
still survives.
[Illustration: “FROM THE ROOF-TOPS THEY WATCHED OUR CARAVAN”]
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.
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.
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.
When I arrived the inhabitants climbed to the hut roofs to scrutinise
my caravan’s approach across the low flats, excited and watchful,
until 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.
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.
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 _the work
of the people_.
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. 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.
[Illustration: THE SALT-PANS OF TIGGUIDA N’TISEM]
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.
The method of obtaining the salt is as follows:
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 _rock_, 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.
And thus the people of Tigguida labour constantly 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.
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
_pink_ 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.
Thus is _salt_ obtained from two remarkable places in the Sahara.
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.
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.
At Tigguida n’Tisem all the water in the town is very salt. Hence
_fresh water_ 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.
[Illustration: SETTING OUT THE SALT OF TIGUIDDA TO HARDEN INTO CAKES]
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.
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.
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 _salt_.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE PEOPLE OF THE VEIL
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VIII
THE PEOPLE OF THE VEIL
The 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 _Kel-Tagilmus_, 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.
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 A.D. 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 recurrent forces of a dominant characteristic of the race.
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.”
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 inclinations, no matter in what
circumstance or environment they are encountered.
[Illustration: THE VEIL]
Here is a pen-picture of a far-famed raider of the interior:
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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 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!’
“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.
“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.
“No man knows the road he travels.”
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:
“It occurred about thirty years ago. We had no rifles; only swords
and spears. There were a hundred men in our band, all mounted on
camels. Some camels carried two men.
[Illustration: A TUAREG WOMAN OF AHAGGAR]
“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.
“After crossing a wilderness of desert we came upon a small lot
of camels, which we seized without fighting.
“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.
“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 _flint-lock_ 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.
“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.
“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.
“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 ammunition was in his saddle-bag, and we soon discovered he
could shoot no more.
“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.”
Later I met one who knew some of the Arabs who were killed in that
raid, which confirmed R———’s story.
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.
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.
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.
But there is one modern change: the rifle is 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:
“It is wise to kiss the hand that you cannot cut off.”
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—_and, in my opinion,
it is always a force that is overpowering, in numbers or arms,
that strikes at quarry comparatively easy of conquest_, especially
when caught off their guard, which is strategy they are skilled in.
During my travels in the Sahara I happened to 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 _Ehaggaran_ Tuaregs. It transpired that
the robbers had picked up and followed our tracks from the well of
In-Azaoua, where we had taken water.
Timia[16] 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.
It is of interest that Timia was attacked when _the pick of its
able-bodied men were away_ south to Hausaland with their caravans,
while Tigguida n’Tisem is _entirely a town of religious people
who know nothing of fighting_, and made no defence whatever when
the robbers attacked.
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.
The most renowned robber chiefs in the Sahara during my travels
were Chibikee, Fawna (the fugitive Chief of the _Kel-Wai_), Amud,
and Alifa; and 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.
[Illustration: A TUAREG MAIDEN OF AÏR; ALMOST WHITE]
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.
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 hand, the Tuareg of the
_Ergs_, 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.
Again, take the Tuaregs of the north; of Ahaggar, Ashgur, and the
Fezzan, who are all much the same in character. The _Ehaggaran_,
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.
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.
Regarding their distribution, one may chance across Tuaregs known
by such tribal names as _Ekaskazan_, _Efararen_, _Ehaggaran_,
_Kel-Rada_, _Kel-Geras_, _Kel-Tedili_, _Kel-Wai_, and many others;
but those are simply names that imply the locality they belong
to. For instance, _Kel-Ferouan_ means “The people of Iferouan.”
[Illustration: TUAREG LADS WHO SHOW TRACES OF NEGROID IMPURITY]
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.
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.
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 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:
“Shame enters the family that tills the soil.”
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 _slave_,
while he is powerless to refute the term, owing to the prejudice
of alien surroundings.
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.
Their encampments are usually widely scattered: half a dozen huts
where the head of the family is 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.
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.
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.
Grazing for their camels, and herds of goats, and short-haired,
lop-eared sheep, never lasts long in 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.
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, 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.
[Illustration: A TUAREG HOME]
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”—_the Tuareg lives “close to
the sand,”_ and knows no escape from it.
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, known in the Sudan as: _Eskar
Kaka_, “The winds that dry the harvest.”
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.
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.
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 _belle_
among the men.
[Illustration: EATING FROM THE ONE DISH WITH CURIOUS WOODEN SPOONS]
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 _Tenadee_ (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.
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.
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 _Afasa_, and the flowers and leaves of the tree they call
_Agar_. 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.
But wheat, guinea corn and _Gero_, 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.
_Gero_ 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—_Erid_ 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.
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 for some of my
precious pipe store, to be mightily pleased with even the smallest
of portions.
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.
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 “_The white man gave a woman some needles, and paid 10
francs for a goat_.”
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 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.
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.
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, 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.
[Illustration: A TUAREG VILLAGE]
[Illustration: THE WELL-HEAD
PASTORAL SCENES]
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.
I conclude with an extract from my diary:
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“We move under the shade of an acacia, and sit on the loose sand
and chat. My camel-men do most of the talking, and I am aware that
they progress toward friendship.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“Approaching the well, I see that flocks are being watered;
gathered in from fenceless wastes 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.
[Illustration: A TUAREG WITH RIFLE AND EQUIPMENT
BESIDE AN ABANDONED WHEAT URN IN NORTHERN AÏR]
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.”
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.
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 _Rhamadan_, when no one may eat before sunset;
while on the first sight of the new moon of June it ends in the
Feast of _Bairam_. 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.
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.
CHAPTER IX
THE HAND OF DOOM
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IX
THE HAND OF DOOM
I
Rali was hard hit. The inscrutable reserve which was wont to give
strength to his proud features had broken down.
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.
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.
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, 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.
For the moment Rali was bewildered and dazed by the blow that had
fallen upon him.
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!
For such is the law of the wilderness.
II
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.
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 on the sand were
swept out by a stroke or two of the hand, and the men arose.
“We have met on the tenth day of the moon which is called
_Togaso_,” said Rali. “If Allah is kind we shall reach the
country of our enemies on the fourteenth day of the moon which is
called _Assum_.”
For months Rali had waited with that patience and will that
are gifted to his race. Now it was _his turn_ 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.
It was evening. The sun, which had blazed down on the hot sand all
day with the heat of a 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.
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.
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.
“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 _Germuda_.”
[Illustration: A BRIEF HALT]
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
One night they passed close under the great, 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.
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.
Near its source they turned again northward.
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.
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.
“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.”
“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 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.
“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.”
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:
“They, the once dearly loved hills of our forefathers, more
fortunate than we, are immovable to the influence of sunshine or
storm. We may 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.”
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.
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! _That_
the faint tracks at their feet alone could ultimately answer.
III
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.
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.
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.
Among a group of congested hutments Kahena, her cotton shawl
drawn closely about her features, was hidden in a dark chamber,
free from bonds, 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.
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.
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.
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.
With weary gait the camels of the travellers drew near to camp, their
riders, dust-covered and careless, drooping forward over the high
cross-heads of their saddles as if they dozed in excess of fatigue.
[Illustration: A SCENE IN AÏR]
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.
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.
In time Rali limped feebly forward and addressed himself to Bezzou
in his own dialect:
“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 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.”
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:
“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!”
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:
“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 fain purchase another,
if camels thou hast for sale.”
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.”
“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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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:
“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.”
And Bezzou answered, with greed in his eyes: “It is well,
friend. Come, and thou shalt be welcomed.”
Wherefore, in due time, when the shades of night had fallen, Rali
limped to the door of the encampment of Bezzou, and was admitted.
The chief and two old councillors awaited him. 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.
[Illustration: SPELLBOUND IN THE GRIP OF LIMITLESS SILENCE]
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.
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.
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. 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.
“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.”
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.”
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
IV
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.
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.
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!”
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, 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?”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“Rali!” she cried softly, “last night I heard your voice;
to-day I knew you would come.”
Without time for words of affection, Rali exclaimed:
“Quick, child! retire, seek some clothes of Bezzou’s women and
change thy garb with all 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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
Before remounting Rali searched diligently in a sandy gully, then
commenced to excavate; and 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.
[Illustration: WHEN DAY DAWNED THEY WERE IN A STRANGE LAND OF ROUGH,
ROCKY HILLS]
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?”
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.
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.
Another uneventful day passed, and then, terribly exhausted, in
particular Kahena, at risk of being overtaken, they lay down at
night to sleep, while the hungry camels were hobbled and turned
away to snatch what pickings they could find in plant-starved,
ungenerous surroundings.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
“Pray, child,” he cried, “that Allah hinder them until we
reach the mountains,” and he urged the camels onward, sparing
not the jaded animals in his need.
A race against time ensued—a tense, terrible race, nerve-trying,
beast-killing.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
Thus they laboured through the night, and when day dawned they were
on the mountain summit in a strange land of rocky hills.
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.
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 would climb to the summit and persevere in their search.
[Illustration: TOMBS ON THE DESERT]
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.
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.
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.
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.
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, 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.
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.
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.—AUTHOR.
CHAPTER X
SERVITUDE
[Illustration]
[Illustration: A HAUSA SLAVE WOMAN OF A TUAREG FAMILY
GRINDING WHEAT BETWEEN STONES]
CHAPTER X
SERVITUDE
The 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
It is on this slave class that all the hard work falls, whether
in the Tuareg camps or in the centres of cultivation or commercial
enterprise; and all are accustomed to their nomad overlords.
[Illustration: A TEBU WOMAN]
[Illustration: A TEBU MAN
SEDENTARY IN OASES OF KOWAR]
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: SEMI-SEDENTARY
A TUAREG OF THE EGUMMI TRIBE]
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.
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.
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 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.
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 _solidity_ 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 countries of the world,
the little society it contains owes gratitude to the hands of toil
that have made life to some extent possible.
[Illustration: DRAWING WATER TO IRRIGATE GARDEN CULTIVATION]
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 _Belas’_ or _Buzus’_,
in Kowar they hold to the race names of _Beri-Beri_ and _Tebu_,
in Ahaggar they are _Imrads_, and thence, northward, _Haratin_. All
have the general features of the negro, and are dark-skinned.
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.
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.
It is not generally realised that there are large stretches of
the Sahara without fuel for fires.[17] 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.
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.
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.
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. 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 _Oulad Nails_, in the Northern Sahara,
is already widely known.
[Illustration: A DATE GROVE OF AN OASIS]
We find there a powerful and openly recognised guild, with a chief
woman at its head, known by the name _Diarabba_. 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.
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.
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:
“There a great Marabout died, and our fathers say that people
passing the dead man’s grave saw green lights at night, and said:
_‘There lies a man who is glad even in death’_; and so they
built a tomb over him.”
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 _friends_
to reach out a hand and lift it from “the Slough of Despond.”
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.
But that is a vast undertaking to attempt, and 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, _when the character of
the people of a country weakens, so must that country suffer_.
[Illustration: A WOMAN OF THE “DIARABBA”]
CHAPTER XI
STRANGE CAMP-FIRES
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XI
STRANGE CAMP-FIRES
When 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.
These are small words, and may convey little or 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.
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.
Wherefore the Open Road may lead toward a goal, and nomadic
restlessness be more than mere inherent instinct.
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 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.
[Illustration: A HALT AT AN OLD WELL]
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.
I
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: AN ANCIENT SAHARAN WELL
NOTE HOW BEAMS ARE CUT WITH FRICTION OF ROPES. BELOW-GROUND THE
SIDES ARE OF MASONRY]
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.
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.
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, 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.
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.
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.
And these were the critical moments that saw the tide turn in our
favour. For a tantalising 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.
The sky cleared at sundown; and the storm ceased.
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.
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.
“Great rain for our country,” declared the Tuaregs. “Soon
our lean camels shall have plenty to eat: Allah be praised!”
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.
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.
II
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: _an
awe-inspiring, sun-mastered immensity of sand and stone; secret as
eternity_, and filled with the stillness and brooding melancholy
of a place of the dead.
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.
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.
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.
[Illustration: A WELL SUNK THROUGH SOLID ROCK
NOTE HOW ROPES HAVE GROOVED THE ROCK FACE]
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.
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.
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.
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.
III
Again, with rude storms past, the elements lapse drearily to their
accustomed routine, governed, without heart, by the Power of the Sun.
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.
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.
A Tuareg stranger is with my follower, who carries the gazelle. I
hear the man being told exaggerated stories of my shooting
capabilities:
“He kills whether they stand or run.”
And again:
“If a man walk for two days this white man still fit to reach
him with gun.”
I wanly smile; in no mood for laughter.
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: _I am wondering if I dare
break into one of our last bottles of whisky if I go under again
with fever_. It is the priceless medicine of the exhausted and
malaria-stricken, and the meagre store cannot last to the end.
On entering camp, however, my thoughts are turned into other
channels. The camels have just been watered, and recline on the
sand. About half 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.
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,
_for there was next to nothing to eat_.
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 _water_, but he advised
that we should not stay through the day, because there was no fit
pasturage for our weary, used-up camels.
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.
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.
IV
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.
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.
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.
The noon hours recede, but not the oven heat, and slowly under that
weight, the long span of the afternoon drags on.
Towards dusk the journey ends, and our column moves into a curious
narrow declivity that finishes 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.”
[Illustration: A CAMP-FIRE
BENEATH THE SHADE OF ROCKS]
“But where is the water?” I exclaim, scanning the rocks and
the sand carpet beneath my feet.
He beckoned me to go with him, and we proceeded until we came to
the closed end, or _cul-de-sac_ 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. “_Ama!_” he exclaimed.
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.”
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 in the candle-light,
lay a black pool of water, clean, clear, and deliciously cool.
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.
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.
V
Strangers have drifted into camp.
The caravan, at the time, is settled among a sea of wonderful
sand-dunes; _Erg_ land of the Sahara. We have found, in lake-like
basins between the dunes, some good _Alwat_ for the camels, and
are inclined to delay so that the animals may benefit.
Hitherto no sign of human life had been seen—and now these men,
who have followed in on our tracks.
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.
[Illustration: THE WAYFARER’S POSSESSIONS]
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.
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.
They remained some hours; long enough to appraise all we possessed,
and our strength. In the evening they departed, heading north.
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.”
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.[18]
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.
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.
“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 _next year_. 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. _And as we sat more and more
sand dust covered us!_—until I saw quite six inches piled upon
your shoulders and arms.
“And at last I seemed to rise up and scream—_‘This is
awful!’ We cannot wait here longer; the dust will rise and rise
for ever!’_”
So that in more ways than one, camp-fires in the _Ergs_ hold
mysterious dangers.
CHAPTER XII
FEATHERS, AND THE PLACES THEY FREQUENT
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XII
FEATHERS, AND THE PLACES THEY FREQUENT
From 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:
_“What lives in the Great Desert?”_ and _“However do creatures
exist in such a land?”_
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 the rush of workaday lives that
permit of little time for deep contemplation of subjects other than
those that are of immediate concern.
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.
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.
It may be of interest to describe a few of the places where birds
are found.
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.
Approaching this welcome change of country, an Arab Bustard takes
to flight and clears right away; alert and very shy.
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.
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.
In the clump of acacias beside the well I find a pair of Rufous
Warblers and a Yellow Sunbird.
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.
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.
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, 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.
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.
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.
In country of _Tassili_, 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.
[Illustrations: A BIRD DISGUISE, USED FOR HUNTING GAME]
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.
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.
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 _Kargi Mulet_. Tuareg
folklore teaches that: “If a traveller is in country that he is
not familiar with and sees _Kargi Mulet_ 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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: TWO MALE OSTRICHES
COLLECTED ON THE SOUTHERN SHORES OF THE SAHARA]
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.
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.
Concerning the latter, all Martins, Swifts, and Swallows are termed
“_Afurtitta_” 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.”
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 _hundreds_
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.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: CATTLE EGRETS]
Tamengouit was but a halt by the wayside, and next day it recovered
its wonted solitude as the caravan trailed slowly away.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
[Illustration: YOUNG ARAB BUSTARDS]
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.
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.
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.
The Black Wheatear is known to the nomad as _Seni Seni_. “It
is the bird that brings news of strangers; particularly news of
robbers. If anyone strange is approaching, _Seni Seni_ flies at once
into a prominent position and perches perfectly still, attentively
watching. Whenever the little 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.”
Another bird, according to their folklore, warns the nomad of the
presence of snakes. This is _Tagishit Aschiel_, the Lesser Rufous
Warbler, which spends most of its time about the kind of tangled
undergrowth that snakes are given to frequent.
“Whenever _Tagishit Aschiel_ 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.”
Yet another bird of warning is: _Agishit n’Ugur_: 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.”
_Ashara_, 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.”
_Zunkusharat_, 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 thus
led away into the desert without watching where they go; until they
are lost.”
_Ebakorian-Mallam_ 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.”
_Bi-Allah_. 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.’”
_Tedabear Takleet_, 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. _Takleet_ means slave, and therefore, in
Tuareg folklore, “the Palm Dove is the slave of the Grey Dove.”
_Tilel_, 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.”
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 of birds were collected for Lord Rothschild
from the Sahara, and seventy-three additional varieties from the
Western Sudan.
The Sahara specimens comprised the following birds[19]:
1. Guinea Fowl.
2. Common Quail (M).
3. Coot (M).
4. Large and small Long-tailed Senegal Sandgrouse.
5. Coronated Sandgrouse.
6. Lichtenstein’s Barred Sandgrouse.
7. Nubian Bustard.
8. Arab Bustard.
9. Tern (M).
10. Stilt (M).
11. Wood Sandpiper (M).
12. Common Sandpiper (M).
13. Ruff and Reeve (M).
14. Snipe (M).
15. Stone Curlew.
16. Green Sandpiper (M).
17. Spurwing Plover.
18. Cream-coloured Cursor.
19. Palm Dove.
20. Red-eyed Grey Dove.
21. Turtle Dove.
22. Cape Dove.
23. Blue Rock Pigeon.
24. Shoveller (M).
25. Pintail (M).
26. Common Teal (M).
27. Garganey Teal (M).
28. Tree Duck (M).
29. Great Billed Goose (M).
30. Egyptian Goose (M).
31. Night Heron (M).
32. Purple Heron (M).
33. Bittern.
34. Black and White Stork.
35. Glossy Ibis.
36. Carrion Vulture.
37. White Vulture.
38. Griffon Vulture.
39. White-breasted Eagle.
40. Egyptian Kite.
41. Pallid Hen Harrier (M).
42. Singing Hawk.
43. Peregrine Falcon.
44. Kestrel.
45. Barn Owl
46. African Long-eared Owl.
47. Eagle Owl.
48. Scops Owl (M).
49. Long-eared Grey Owl.
50. Asben Little Owl (B).
51. Black and White Crested Cuckoo.
52. Golden Cuckoo.
53. Red-billed Hornbill.
54. Greater Saharan Woodpecker.
55. Lesser Saharan Woodpecker.
56. African Roller.
57. African Hoopoe.
58. European Hoopoe (M).
59. Wood Hoopoe (B).
60. Black-capped Blue Bee Eater.
61. Green Bee-Eater.
62. Blue Naped Crested Coly.
63. Goldcrest Barbet.
64. Yellow-breasted Barbet.
65. Red-headed Barbet (B).
66. Golden Nightjar (B).
67. European Nightjar (M).
68. Brown Nightjar and Pennant Winged Nightjar.
69. White-rumped Swift.
70. European Swift (M).
71. Pallid Swift.
72. Red-rumped African Swallow.
73. European Swallow (N).
74. Saharan Rock Martin (B).
75. Redstart (M).
76. Common Wheatear (M).
77. Desert Wheatear.
78. Black Wheatear.
79. Saharan Rock Chat (B).
80. Whinchat (M).
81. Rock Thrush (M).
82. Black Thicket Babbler.
83. Brown Bush Babbler (B).
84. Rufous Warbler.
85. Reiser’s Pallid Warbler.
86. Icterine Warbler (M).
87. Chestnut-breasted Grey Warbler.
88. Common Whitethroat (M).
89. Orphean Warbler (M).
90. Chiff-chaff (M).
91. Willow Wren (M).
92. Crowned Grass Warbler.
93. Alexander’s Scrub Warbler.
94. Short-tailed Buff-breasted Warbler.
95. Yellow-breasted Sunbird.
96. Dark Green Sunbird (B).
97. Sudanese Penduline Tit.
98. Puff-backed Flycatcher.
99. Spotted Flycatcher (M).
100. Pied Flycatcher (M).
101. Collared Flycatcher (M).
102. Grey Shrike.
103. Red-headed Shrike (M).
104. Small Chestnut Striped Shrike.
105. Yellow Wagtail (M).
106. White Wagtail (M).
107. Asben Brown Pipit (B).
108. European Tawny Pipit (M).
109. European Tree Pipit (M).
110. Red-throated Pipit (M).
111. Great Curve-billed Desert Lark.
112. Mirafra Short-toed Lark.
113. Buff Saharan Lark (B one group).
114. Crested Lark.
115. Bar-tailed Desert Lark.
116. Small Thick-billed Lark.
117. Eastern Short-toed Lark(M).
118. Chestnut Black-breasted Lark.
119. Grey Black-breasted Lark.
120. Striolated Bunting.
121. Desert Sparrow.
122. Chestnut-backed Yellow Sparrow.
123. Grey Serin Finch.
124. Trumpeter Bullfinch.
125. Pencil-crowned Weaver (B).
126. Lesser Yellow Weaver.
127. Greater Yellow Weaver.
128. Singing Finch.
129. Senegal Waxbill.
130. Rufous-breasted Starling.
131. Wing-spotted Glossy Starling.
132. Pied Crow.
133. Desert Raven.
134. Short-tailed Raven.
[Illustration: CARRION VULTURES]
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°:
135. Ostrich.
136. Rock Partridge.
137. Francolin (two species).
138. Barred Sandgrouse.
139. Pigmy Golden Quail.
140. Senegal Bustard.
141. Wattled Plover.
142. Cream-coloured Cursor.
143. Blue-spotted Ground Dove.
144. Greater Grey Dove.
145. Dark-eyed Grey Dove.
146. Blue-spotted Pigeon.
147. Green Pigeon.
148. Cattle Egret.
149. Large Grey Heron.
150. Sacred Ibis.
151. Snake Eagle.
152. Swallow-tailed Hawk.
153. Red-winged Hawk.
154. Sparrow Hawk.
155. Banded Gymmogene.
156. Red-headed Falcon.
157. Pigmy Falcon.
158. Lanner Falcon.
159. Senegal Little-eared Owl.
160. Little Owl
161. Lark-heeled Cuckoo.
162. Great Spotted Cuckoo.
163. Black-billed Hornbill.
164. Large Grey Plantain Eater.
165. Small Green Parrot.
166. Spotted-capped Woodpecker.
167. Square-tailed African Roller.
168. Little Short-tailed Roller.
169. Grey Kingfisher (B).
170. Black and Scarlet Barbet.
171. Greater Wood Hoopoe.
172. Long-tailed Nightjar.
173. Palm Swift.
174. African Swallow.
175. Red-browed Swallow.
176. Black and White Wheatear (M).
177. Sudanese Rock-Chat (B).
178. Brown Bush Babbler (B).
179. Common Reed Warbler (M).
180. Bonelli’s Warbler (M).
181. Long-tailed Scrub Warbler.
182. Little Scrub Warbler.
183. Golden-thighed Warbler.
184. Striped Grass Warbler.
185. Senegal Sunbird.
186. White Eye.
187. Paradise Flycatcher.
188. Red-winged Bush Shrike.
189. Crimson Shrike.
190. Black and White Crested Shrike (B).
191. Long-tailed Shrike.
192. Painted Yellow-breasted Bunting.
193. Greater Bush Sparrow.
194. Lesser Bush Sparrow (B).
195. Yellow Serin Finch.
196. Large Black Weaver.
197. Whydah Finch.
198. Little Black Weaver.
199. Red Bishop.
200. Banded Amadevat.
201. Melba Finch.
202. Grey Scarlet-marked Waxbill.
203. Bengalee Waxbill.
204. Long-tailed Glossy Starling.
205. Purple Starling.
206. Tick Bird.
207. Little Long-tailed Crow.
CHAPTER XIII
MAMMALS OF THE SAHARA
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIII
MAMMALS OF THE SAHARA
Lacking 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.
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.
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.
At Kano may be found that loathsome reptile, the Crocodile, and, in
the same latitude, Lion; west of Katsina, Elephants, and scattered
groups of Giraffe right to the shores of the Sahara in the bush
country of Damergou.
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.
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 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.
[Illustration: A MORNING’S BAG
DORCAS GAZELLE AND GUINEA-FOWL]
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!”
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.
Of the lesser animals the chief of interest are: Jackals, Lynx,
Wild Cats, Hyenas, Foxes, Fennecs, Ratel, Ground Squirrels, Gerbils,
Spiny Mice, Jerboas, Porcupines, Gundis, Dassies, and Hares.
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.
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.
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.
[Illustration: BIG GAME FROM THE SHORES OF THE SAHARA
FINE HEADS OF WHITE ORYX AND ADDAX]
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.
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.
Each day, at one time or another while _en route_—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 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.
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.
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
in these elevated but body-racking “crows’ nests.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
Giraffe was seen only once, but on a number of occasions their fresh
tracks were crossed. These were left unfollowed, as a specimen of
the species was not wanted.
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.
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 _Jiga_, which is the choice tree of the solitudes,
and the favoured shade of game.
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
cutting nature of the hot, sharp sand, I had one or two glorious
hunts that ended successfully, and made ample compensation.
[Illustration: DORCAS GAZELLE]
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 _noiselessness is essential_ 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 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.
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 _Ammotragus lervia angusi_
(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.
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 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.
[Illustration: AN AARDVARK OR ANT-BEAR]
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 _if a sheep was sighted looking intently
from a prominence in a certain direction it would, when it moved,
surely travel in that direction_. Wherefore, by making a detour,
it was possible sometimes to intercept the quarry without stalking
it directly.
I have seen fairly young mountain sheep in January, and
believe they are dropped about the season when rains may occur,
viz. August-September.
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.
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.
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 26 inches. The Tuaregs call the Arui _Afitall_
in Aïr, and _Oudel_ in Ahaggar.
The final aspect I will refer to, regarding the animal life of the
land, is of an ordinary day in the course of travel.
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.
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.
We start over a land of sand and rocks, with high-reaching mountain
slopes some miles in the forefront.
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.
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
Damas Gazelle, an exceedingly timid animal that is seldom seen in
an ordinary day’s travel.
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.
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.
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 _Tirza_.
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.
Nearing camping time the caravan reaches a terrace margin and
descends a rocky slope, where the camels have difficulty in picking
their way. 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.
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.
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.
In the Sahara the following mammals were collected[20]:
1. Arui, or Barbary Sheep (B)
2. Damas Gazelle (B).
3. Dorcas Gazelle.
4. White Oryx.
5. Addax.
6. Wart Hog.
7. Baboon.
8. Small Mouse-eared Bat.
9. Small White and Brown Bat.
10. Small Long-tailed Bat.
11. Desert Hedgehog.
12. Hausa Wild Cat (A).
13. Desert Wild Cat.
14. Genet.
15. Caracal, or Lynx (B).
16. Rufous Mongoose (B)
17. Striped Hyena.
18. Jackal.
19. Buff Desert Fox (B).
20. Grey Rock Fox (B).
21. Fennec.
22. Ratel (A).
23. Saharan Ground Squirrel (B).
24. Dormouse (A).
25. Long-tailed Naked-soled Gerbil.
26. Hairy-soled Gerbil.
27. Dark Naked-soled Gerbil.
28. Lesser Naked-soled Gerbil.
29. Dwarf Gerbil (A).
30. Large Fawn Gerbil (B).
31. Large Dark Gerbil.
32. Large Rufous-headed Gerbil.
33. Multimanimate Rat (A).
34. Reddish Spiny Rock Mouse (A).
35. Dark Spiny Mouse.
36. Brindled Field Rat (B).
37. Jerboa (B).
38. Porcupine (A).
39. Gundi (A).
40. Short-eared Hare (A).
41. Rock Dassy (A).
42. Aardvark, or Ant Bear.
Twenty-two additional mammals found in the Western Sudan, on the
southern margin of the Sahara, between latitudes 12° and 16°:
43. Korrigum, or Tiang.
44. Red-fronted Gazelle.
45. Small Leaf-nosed Bat.
46. Epauletted Bat.
47. Long-eared Slit-faced Bat.
48. Saharan Hedgehog.
49. Mann’s Shrew.
50. Large White-tailed Mongoose.
51. Jackal.
52. Pallid Fox.
53. Rothschild’s Skunk (near) (A).
54. Large Striped Skunk (near).
55. Ground Squirrel.
56. Naked-soled Gerbil (B).
57. Nigerian Hairy-soled Gerbil (A).
58. Fat-tailed Mouse.
59. Gambian Giant Rat.
60. Buchanan’s Giant Rat (A).
61. Dwarf Mouse.
62. Striped Bush Mouse (A).
63. Brindled Field Rat.
64. West African Porcupine.
[Illustration: A DESERT FOX]
CHAPTER XIV
THE NORTH STAR
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIV
THE NORTH STAR
_To succeed in crossing the Sahara_ was the one great purpose of
the expedition that stood out before all others from the day of
starting until the end.
Consequently anxious thoughts were ever pointed to the north
throughout the whole period of travel, and in due time it followed
that the North Star became my most significant and constant friend.
It is known to the Tuaregs by the name _Elkelzif_, and on many
occasions I have, with something of pride, told my camel-men, or
explained to strangers of the trail, “Under that star lies my
house”; and so it seemed in its distant, steadfast position. It
became, in fact, the definite symbol of home, the elusive “light”
of a distant land that I must ever endeavour to reach, and when
it showed in the sky it was welcomed almost with affection, and
always as a friend. And these feelings may be understood when it
is remembered that my caravan travelled or lay beneath its guiding
light for over four hundred nights, which is a long time anywhere;
mayhap, oppressively long in the monotony of great solitudes.
Always, through long weary nights, the North Star twinkled in its
steadfast place, with the pointers of “The Plough,” out-stationed
like signposts, seeming to direct the traveller to take notice
and take heart from the countenance of their sovereign light, that
clearly gleamed over the broad highway hung from the roof of heaven.
And, always facing that friendly star, the farther my camels
travelled toward it the nearer I came to the goal; until at long
last great hope arose that my caravan would get through.
It was then May of the second year. The caravan had reached the
Algerian Sahara and was riding hard for rail-head.
But how altered from the start was my little band and its
possessions! It had been composed of thirty-six camels and fifteen
natives at the commencement, in the spring of the previous year;
now all the camels had gone, except Feri n’Gashi, the camel I
rode. Awena, the last of the others, had fallen out on the 16th. Of
the original natives only two remained: Ali, an Arab of Ghat, and
Sakari, a Hausa of Kano. Lack of stamina, sickness, and failure in
courage had claimed the rest at various stages of the journey. Only
two died as the result of the undertaking.
When to me came hope of reaching the goal Sakari’s impression
at the same moment was that he had come so far that he would never
see home again.
During those latter stages it is not too much to say that
Glover (the cinema operator) and I were bubbling over with happy
anticipations. The most discussed subject, next to the thoughts of
those who waited our coming, was our conjectures of the enjoyment
we should have in eating _real food_ again. That which appealed
vastly to both of us was the prospect of _pure white bread and
butter_—no doubt because we had lived so long in a state of
constant sandy grittiness, and had almost forgotten the taste and
the delicious purity of a fresh oven-loaf. Also, during this month,
we had nothing left to eat other than rice and _couscous_.
[Illustration: “EVER HEADING INTO THE NORTH”]
Shortage of food, that had been a grave problem in the past, no
longer worried us, however, and gaily we laughed over the joyous
thought that all those trials would soon be over. We recalled how,
four months ago, the last of luxuries was down to a half-bottle of
whisky and two bars of soap.
And so we plodded steadily over the last lap with big hearts,
forcing the pace toward home over the still unchanging sand, despite
an overpowering desire to sleep in the saddle which now beset us
fitfully, partly because vitality was exhausted and partly because
of the low altitude, which was now almost down to sea-level.
At last only two days and a night of serious travel lay ahead to
Ouargla; thence four days to the rail-head at Touggourt.
South of Ouargla the desert lies in all its bleakness. There is
yet no hint of change, though we know we are creeping swiftly in
upon civilisation, and that an important oasis is almost within a
stone’s-throw, which contains the Headquarters of the Territoire
des Oases.
On May 29th the caravan travelled seven hours before being
interrupted by a sandstorm, which forced us to camp while the sand
drove over us in seething clouds. Even to the end it would seem
that the sands must fight my little band.
When the storm died down in the evening we travelled again for
some hours.
On the following day the caravan journeyed till noon, and camped,
while heavy wind again made conditions uncomfortable. We reloaded
at dusk, and by the light of a lovely moon travelled in close to
Ouargla: a ride full of remembrance for me, for thoughts were active,
and dwelt on the long trail behind with some regrets and sadness,
and on the short trail in front with gladness; and the night was
fittingly still on the heels of the turmoil of a stormy day. But
lonely thoughts were almost past, and the society of mankind at hand.
In the morning we journeyed into Ouargla, coming suddenly out of
the desert within sight of the low, crouching oasis. It was not an
auspicious arrival. From the distance there was a subdued stillness
about the place. Great heat radiated from the sun, and the oasis
seemed asleep beneath its influence. The houses discerned appeared
deserted. Then a solitary figure in white crossed a glaring space
of sand and passed out of sight; and all was still again.
[Illustration: NORTH AFRICA
IN-SALAH MARKET]
While we were marvelling over this curious lack of movement, a small
knot of people at last detached themselves from beneath the shade
of a group of date-palms, and in time we made out that they were
riding horses and coming towards us. It proved to be the Officer
in Command at Ouargla and some Arab officials. We were offered a
very warm welcome, and I learned that my host was Captain Belvalette.
We were duly ushered to the fort and allotted real houses to camp
in: a foretaste of the change before us. But that the change would
not always be acceptable, at first, I realised when night came,
and I tossed and turned within the stuffy space of four walls. My
wish was then for the untrammelled star-lit sky.
During that day, and the next, we enjoyed the hospitality of Captain
Belvalette and his wife, who left no stone unturned to make us
thoroughly welcome and comfortable. We left those kind folks on
June 2nd with gratitude and regret, and travelled constantly until
we reached Touggourt in the forenoon of the 5th, which was the
last day we mounted camels. And the record of the distance that my
caravan had travelled from rail-head to rail-head was 3,556 miles;
not including all the side-hunting that necessarily falls to the
lot of the naturalist in the field.
Baggage was off-loaded for the last time, before a group of curious
strangers that soon collected, recognising that we had come from
afar. When they had ascertained that we had travelled all the way
from the West Coast of Africa they gaped at us as if we were unreal.
About midday I parted from my camel, Feri n’Gashi, to whom I was
tremendously attached, for he had faithfully carried me throughout
the journey. He seemed to understand that the end had come, and it
was a strange, sad-eyed farewell between master and dumb friend,
with strong desire to remain together in my thoughts, and, I think,
in his. I know I had a lump in my throat, and as for him—well,
he could not tell me that which he wished to say.
He looked well, considering all he had gone through, and I sent
him away to enjoy a well-earned rest, having arranged with Captain
Belvalette that he should return to Ouargla and be cared for so long
as he lived. I had no inkling of the rapid sequel. The rest he was
to have was of another order, for in the afternoon Ali came running
to me in consternation to tell that _Feri n’Gashi was dead_.[21] I
could not believe it, and was deeply moved when I came to understand
that it was only too true; Ali was almost as much concerned, for he
was a good native, with a very active and sensitive mind. He held
my camel in high esteem because of its splendid service throughout
the journey, and he had watched and comprehended the intimacy that
had grown up between master and camel.
[Illustration: NORTH AFRICA
SCENE IN OUARGLA]
In Ali’s view it was: “The will of Allah.”
“You see, Master, he has died while sitting as usual on the
ground. He has passed in complete peace. He has neither struggled
nor turned over, as is the way of camels; his head has simply
fallen forward. . . . Is it not Kismet? He has always been ridden
by the big white master, and it is not fit that black man go ride
him after that—so he go die.”
Feri n’Gashi’s death cast a heavy cloud over our thoughts for
the remainder of the day. Nevertheless, we had much to occupy us
in other directions, for we proposed catching the train which left
for the coast that night. All our strange assortment of outdoor
baggage had to be relieved of their camel trappings and made to
look as respectable as possible, then labelled and conveyed down
the dusty track to the station. It was dark before the task was done.
Glover and I then enjoyed a square meal at the wood-framed “Hôtel
Oases,” and laid in some supplies for the journey; particularly
French cigarettes and drinks.
At 9 p.m. the train departed from Touggourt for Algiers, bearing
the stock of weather-worn possessions of an expedition, and four
tattered, but tolerably healthy-looking wanderers—Glover, myself,
and the two natives, Ali and Sakari. The two latter were vastly
intrigued with their new mode of travel, particularly with the idea
of their sitting still while they flew over the country without the
necessity of their doing a stroke of work or undergoing a moment’s
physical fatigue.
During the journey one thing made us all as delighted and happy as
children—the wonderful green landscape after leaving Biskra. We
never tired of feasting our eyes on the uncommon beauty of the
countryside, so green with cultivation, and even decked with
flowers. To our sand-tired vision it was a marvellous sight, and
we knew then, undoubtedly, that we had left the desert behind.
On June 7th we reached Algiers, and were met by the British
Vice-Consul, Mr. Gallienne, who gave us a real welcome. He was a man
of wonderful foresight, for we had just exchanged greetings when he
put his hand in his pocket and produced some English tobacco, saying:
“I thought you might be in need of this.” We were so much in
need of it that we almost embraced the poor man in our joy. Tobacco
had been our most difficult “want” to cope with for many months.
One thing tickled Gallienne’s imagination. I caught him looking at
me; whereupon he explained: “You know, I had pictured you _lean,
and about seven feet tall, and with a broad Scot’s accent_. You
are certainly _lean_, but I’ll need to take quite a foot off that
stature; as for your accent, it’s no’ verra hieland.”
He was indeed a real good soul, for, when we got into quarters,
he set out on all sorts of strange errands, and seemed to enjoy the
fun of dress rehearsal in preparing two tattered ragamuffins for the
exacting stage of civilisation. Collars, ties, shirts, underclothing,
hats: all are difficult articles to choose for other men at any
time, but more than difficult when the persons they are intended
for have forgotten the sizes of everything they used to wear.
[Illustration: BUCHANAN
AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY]
Those were crowded hours of wonderful joy, such as only men may
experience who come in at last from the long trail.
And when I lay down to sleep at night, _in a bed incredibly soft_,
my thoughts were overflowing with gratitude that I had lived for
this day.
And then I remembered my little friend in the sky, and rising, drew
aside the window-blind to find the North Star in its steadfast
place gleaming down on picturesque Algiers, and gleaming too,
I knew, above a certain Highland village, now no longer remote,
. . . and in my mind nestled the thought that the most beautiful
place on earth, even to those who wander, is Home.
And, relating to this final period, my wife writes:
“Over thirteen months had passed since my husband had sailed,
and the homecoming seemed near; and a very beautiful thought to
dream about. The months that had passed had been anxious ones, but
always full of hope. However, now I was growing troubled. Letters
had always been irregular, but for three whole months I had received
no mail or news of any kind. Although my husband had warned me this
might happen when he was in the interior, I felt uneasy.
“On April 11th I had a strange presentiment. I was sitting by the
fire, sewing, in the evening, when something impelled me to look
up at my husband’s photograph which hangs over the fireplace. He
seemed to cry ‘Olga!’ three times distinctly, and I felt sure
he was ill, and calling me. I went to bed that night very sad and
miserable. Sleep was impossible, and always his vision appeared
before me. When morning came I put on a brave face and tried to
forget the uneasy feelings I had had all night. Just as I started
my breakfast I received a cable from Fort Tamanrasset, via Algiers,
which threw some light on my strange presentiment. It stated that my
husband was badly injured, and would have to abandon further travel.
“Never, never shall I forget that day; everything seemed black
and all my hopes shattered. I had been brave for long, but now
my heart seemed to fail me, and I was foolish enough to think the
worst would happen and he would never return.
“My wee daughter Sheila was my great consoler. With her wee arms
tightly round my neck, she would always whisper: ‘It’s all right,
Mummie. Daddy will come home to us soon, soon.’
“However, in spite of these fears I afterwards received another
message which was much more assuring, for it told that my husband
was proceeding, and even continuing to hunt. (Which I learned from
his servant, afterwards, he did on crutches and by shooting from
his camel.)
“Time seemed to fly on then; and the Consul-General of Algiers,
Sir Basil Cave, very kindly advised me when he got news that my
husband was safely through to the north.
“On June 7th I received a most exciting cable from my husband at
Algiers, telling me of his safe arrival, and that he would land
on the following Monday at Dover. It is quite impossible for me
to express just what my feelings were when I read the glorious
news. All the weary months of waiting were swept aside with the
joy of homecoming.
[Illustration: T. A. GLOVER
CINEMATOGRAPHER WITH THE EXPEDITION]
“The following night I went south to London, hardly knowing how
to wait for Monday to come. On Perth station I was very proud and
happy when I saw on the placards:
“‘SCOTTISH EXPLORER CROSSES THE SAHARA’
The porters and inspectors were full of excitement, for most of
them knew my husband, and more than one eagerly helped me with my
luggage and packed me off happy to meet the man they had sent on
his journey sixteen months before.
“June 11th arrived at last, a glorious hot June day. I travelled
from Charing Cross to Dover, and, while going down in the train,
I read a paragraph in _The Times_ which made me wonder if I was a
day too soon. It stated that my husband had arrived in Paris and
was due in London the following Tuesday evening. This was Monday,
and I kept wondering, all the way down, if I was to be disappointed
when the Channel steamer came in.
“Arriving at Dover, in company with Mrs. Glover, the cinema
operator’s wife, we discovered it was impossible to get on the
quay without a permit, which, in my excitement, I had omitted to
obtain in London. I was told I must see the Marine Superintendent
and get a pass from him. Entering a small office, I stood and waited
anxiously. Presently a big, burly, seafaring man entered from an
inner room. Scrutinising me with stern eyes he gruffly demanded my
business. In a very nervous and anxious manner I explained I had
come to meet my husband. That information seemed to produce not the
slightest effect, and I had a dreadful feeling that my request would
be refused point-blank. Realising this, I made another attempt,
and told how my husband had been away sixteen months, and that I
did so wish to meet the incoming boat. I was answered by silence,
while I could feel those eyes trying to read me through. At last,
turning sharply, he said ‘Humph! We have lots of people like you
here’; and then, to a man at his elbow, ‘Write out a pass.’
“At 5 p.m. the boat came slowly in alongside the quay.
“What a moment! I shall never forget it! There seemed hundreds of
faces on board, but only one that counted for me. Leaning over the
rail, with eyes keenly searching among the waiting crowd, stood my
husband, burnt almost black with the scorching sun of the Sahara. It
was a wonderful moment, and meeting, full of suppressed emotion,
each feeling that at last the great trek was done, and now we could
look to home and comforts that had for so long been impossible.
“After the first joy of our meeting was over, I was amazed
and somewhat bewildered to see two natives in their strange and
picturesque native dress following as close to my husband as space
would allow. They beamed broadly when they saw me and realised I
was their master’s wife, and at once proceeded to salaam to me
with deep bows to the ground. They followed my husband all through
the Customs, so closely that they gave one the impression that if
they missed him for a single minute they would be lost for ever.
[Illustration: SAKARI; BUCHANAN; FERI N’GASHI; ALI
TOGETHER TO THE END]
“I asked one if he felt cold. He replied: ‘Yes, Miss—plenty
cold.’ (Which may tell of the heat of the Sahara, for it was
a lovely June day.) He then explained that: ‘Master be plenty
strong, and in Sahara go walk, walk, walk all the time; and after
that plenty work—he never go for sleep.’ These thoughts seemed
to be uppermost in his mind.
“At this point the Marine Superintendent came up to me and, with an
ingratiating smile, remarked that I was all right now. Then he told
me that he had read in the morning’s paper of my husband’s trip,
and that it had been well worth while to watch our happy meeting,
and to realise what the pass meant to me. He then shook my husband
warmly by the hand, and we all stood chatting together.
“Afterwards we proceeded to London and, following a brief stay,
which seemed to be full of interviews with the Press, and in every
way a whirl of excitement, we came at last home to Scotland and
the restfulness of a Highland village.
“Our wee girl Sheila ran to the gate to meet us, and the faithful
old Labrador, Niger, who was overjoyed at sight of his long-lost
master. . . . And all the long, weary months of waiting were
forgotten, and the lovely thought stood out that the object of
the expedition had been achieved, and we were once again to be
together.”
CHAPTER XV
CIVILISATION
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XV
CIVILISATION
What 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.
I have a dictionary before me which clearly states that to
civilise is:
“To reclaim from barbarism; to instruct in arts and refinements.”
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?
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.
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.
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.
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 the universe; _so long as
it is strong, and of sterling worthiness_.
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?
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:
“To reclaim from barbarism; to instruct in arts and refinements.”
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.
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 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.
So may it be when the mind of man has learned humbleness from a
background of desert that holds _nothing_.
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.
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.
[Illustration: GOOD-BYE TO AFRICA]
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 _Pidgin English_. 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:
“Wait small,” i.e. Wait a little.
“He live small,” i.e. The meal is not quite ready.
“Time no reach,” i.e. It is not yet the time appointed.
“Excuse me small,” i.e. Please give room to let me pass.
“He no live,” i.e. When someone cannot be found when wanted.
“This day I be _black_ all over,” i.e. In a bad temper. (No
reference to colour.)
“Them French be palava people,” i.e. Talkative people.
“Jeasers,” i.e. Scissors.
Sakari, when asked if he has cleaned my gun:
“I done dust him, sir!”
Sakari, telling he has looked for a lost knife:
“Them knife: I find him all, I no look him.”
Sakari, when asked if he has found a lost button:
“You make I find him for them place this morning; I find him,
I no see him.”
Sakari, having brought a local native to me who can mend a broken
frying-pan:
“Look this man! Him say he fit go make them fry pan well.”
Sakari, describing that two men are brothers:
“The mother what born him be mother for that man, too. Them all
belong one mother.”
Sakari, referring to one of the camel-men who is exhausted:
“All him strong gone.”
Sakari, referring to the state of my wardrobe when everything is
in rags:
“All them clothes broke.”
Sakari, when asked if he has properly killed a lizard before skinning
it, chuckled and replied:
“No, sir! Him hard for die.”
“Where is the butter, Sakari?”
“He go die,” i.e. It is finished.
Native, asking for a shilling with the head of Queen Victoria on it:
“I want them money with woman that live for inside.”
Native, having difficulty to cook in a high wind:
“This breeze no fit let them fire stand up.”
Native, detecting that something is burning:
“Some cloth go burn? I hear him smell.”
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:
“Now you savvy how to beat them meal plenty fine you will be able
to save your wife much work.”
He replied:
“Oh no, sir! When I go catch Kano again I lose him sense plenty
quick. I no be fool go tell my wife that.”
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 _pidgin English_, 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.
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:
“O master! I think this train no go take the right road.”
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 _camp_ beside me, and uneasy at
the thought of being separated. Ali’s greatest concern was that
he could no longer follow my footprints:
“This no be _Tenere_ [desert], Master! If you are lost, how I be
fit go see your foot on these rocks?” (paved streets).
However, I assured them I would come and see them each day, and
with that they had to be content.
During the forenoon of the next day I saw them again. Both complained
of stiff necks.
“What’s the matter?” I queried.
They grinned broadly, and replied:
“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. _Them house tall plenty, plenty; but to-day neck be
sick_. Only way man fit go look for up proper be for him lie down
on road [street] same same as when sleep for camp.”
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:
“Ah! now we go look _the desert of London_; this ground no have
house for him.”
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.
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.
[Illustration: GLOVER; BUCHANAN
BACK TO CIVILISED CLOTHES]
One day, Ali informed me that:
“There be plenty plenty people for this town who all be different,
and who sit and say nothing.”
This I could not comprehend, until slowly it dawned on me that he
was referring to _the monuments of London—“The people who sit
and say nothing.”_
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
_Silli mai mammie_ (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:
“Look there! It is the lady of the shilling.”
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.
They were: _Policemen in uniform, wax models, and babies in
perambulators_.
The police were:
“Magic men, who, when they go put up hand, they fit go stop all
the people.”
Wax models:
“English magic. This people savvy how to make woman same same
for live.”
Babies in perambulators were remarkable because 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.
Of all they saw, then and thereafter, Ali and Sakari frankly
concluded, times without number:
“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.”
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.
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.
Here, again, their pleasure in everything new afforded constant
amusement.
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 that would represent unbounded
prosperity if only it could be transported to their own land.
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:
“If them water be fit ever go run dry.”
When it rained thoughts always veered to the Sahara, and more than
once Ali remarked:
“Allah send plenty rain for this country, and so He go forget
the desert all the time.
“Suppose Sahara fit look this rain all the people catch plenty
food.”
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.
“Ki! All be grass, master! All the ground find him plenty good. The
eye sees not sand anywhere; not even between the blades.”
“Here be plenty plenty food for _Rakumi_” (camels).
“In the desert this be all sand for sure, and no grass. So, so,
all time Allah give plenty good things for this country.”
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, 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.
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 _a real feast of fresh meat_, and the first they had
had an opportunity of enjoying to the full since they had landed
in the country.
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:
“Sweet past food for Kano.”
My wife tried to induce them to eat with knives and forks, but they
were much more at home with their fingers.
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 _Sadaka_ (almsgiving); and so that they might take
the skin to Nigeria:
“To show all the people for Kano the plenty fine hair [wool]
that live for _Rago_ [sheep] in England.”
[Illustration: ALI AND SAKARI IN ENGLAND]
In their newly found domestic life, one of the greatest delights
to Ali and Sakari was _to possess a whole bar of Sunlight soap_,
and they were seized with a passion for washing themselves and
their clothes whenever they obtained such luxury.
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:
“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.”
But they came to be greatly exercised because:
“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.”
Wherefore, to prove that, at least, they had been in this country,
they made an extraordinary request. This was _to remove two perfectly
good teeth from their heads and have gold ones inserted_, so that:
“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.”
Their request, which was a persistent one, was finally granted, and
Ali and Sakari became the proud possessors of “gold for head.”
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:
“And then I be BIG past all men that live for Kano.”
Sakari, on the other hand, planned the disposal of the money he
had earned:
“When I go Kano I buy another wife, _fine past the one that
live now_.
“After that I go buy house from Emir.”
Asked how much a house would cost, he replied:
“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.”
Then he added:
“But I no look for front [forward] too much, Master! for it will
be like the _Tenere_ [desert] when you are gone.”
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.
And it may be a fitting finish to give Ali’s description of the
desert that we had left behind.
“Gentle people, I salute you! I give you news 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!
“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.
“Only strong man fit go walka that country, and some strong men
begin to die after we go start.
“Plenty people tell master he go die, but master only say: ‘All
right, he go all same.’
“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.”
APPENDICES
APPENDIX I
SCIENTIFIC NOMENCLATURE OF SAHARAN BIRD LIFE
All numerals coincide with those before each common name in
Chapter XII.
1. Numida galeata galeata.
2. Coturnix coturnix coturnix.
3. Fulica atra atra.
4. Pterocles senegalensis senegalensis, and
Pterocles senegallus.
5. Pterocles coronatus coronatus.
6. Pterocles lichtensteinii targius.
7. Lissotis nuba.
8. Eupodotis arabs.
9. Hydrochelidon leucoptera.
10. Himantopus himantopus himantopus.
11. Tringa glareola.
12. Tringa hypoleucos.
13. Philomachus pugnax.
14. Capella gallinago gallinago.
15. Burhinus capensis maculosus.
16. Tringa ochropus.
17. Hoplopterus spinosus.
18. Cursorius cursor cursor.
19. Streptopelia senegalensis senegalensis.
20. Streptopelia roseogrisea roseogrisea.
21. Streptopelia turtur hoggara.
22. Œna capensis.
23. Columba livia targia.
24. Spatula clypeata.
25. Anas acuta acuta.
26. Anas crecca crecca.
27. Anas querquedula.
28. Dendrocygna viduata.
29. Sarkidiornis melanotus.
30. Alopochen ægyptiacus.
31. Nycticorax nycticorax nycticorax.
32. Ardea purpurea purpurea.
33. Butorides striatus atricapillus.
34. Abdimia abdimii.
35. Plegadis falcinellus falcinellus.
36. Necrosyrtes monachus monachus.
37. Neophron percnopterus percnopterus.
38. Gyps rüppellii rüppellii
39. Aquila rapax belisarius.
40. Milvus migrans parasitus.
41. Circus macrourus.
42. Melierax musicus neumanni.
43. Falco peregrinus pelegrinoides.
44. Falco tinnunculus tinnunculus.
45. Tyto alba affinis.
46. Bubo africanus cinerascens.
47. Bubo bubo desertorum.
48. Otus scops scops.
49. Otus leucotis leucotis.
50. Athene noctua solitudinis, subsp. n.
51. Clamator jacobinus pica.
52. Chrysococcyx caprius chrysochlorus.
53. Lophoceros erythrorhynchus erythrorhynchus.
54. Mesopicos goertæ goertæ.
55. Dendropicos minutus.
56. Coracias abyssinus minor.
57. Upupa epops somalensis.
58. Upupa epops epops.
59. Scoptelus aterrimus cryptostictus, subsp. n.
60. Merops albicollis albicollis.
61. Merops orientalis viridissimus.
62. Colius macrourus syntactus.
63. Pogoniulus chrysoconus schubotzi.
64. Trachyphonus margaritatus margaritatus.
65. Lybius vieilloti buchanani, subsp. n.
66. Caprimulgus eximius simplicior, subsp. n.
67. Caprimulgus europæus europæus.
68. Caprimulgus inornatus, and Macrodipteryx
longipennis.
69. Apus affinis galilejensis.
70. Apus apus apus.
71. Apus pallidus pallidus.
72. Hirundo gordoni.
73. Hirundo rustica rustica.
74. Riparia obsoleta buchanani, subsp. n.
75. Phœnicurus phœnicurus phœnicurus.
76. Œnanthe œnanthe œnanthe.
77. Œnanthe deserti deserti.
78. Œnanthe leucopyga œgra.
79. Cercomela melanura airensis, subsp. n.
80. Saxicola rubetra rubetra.
81. Monticola saxatilis.
82. Cercotrichas podobe.
83. Turdoides fulvus buchanani, subsp. n.
84. Agrobates galactotes galactotes, and Agrobates
galactotes minor.
85. Hypolais pallida reiseri.
86. Hypolais icterina.
87. Sylvia cantillans cantillans.
88. Sylvia communis communis.
89. Sylvia hortensis hortensis.
90. Phylloscopus collybita collybita.
91. Phylloscopus trochilus trochilus.
92. Spiloptila clamans.
93. Eremomela flaviventris alexanderi.
94. Sylvietta micrura brachyura.
95. Hedydipna platura platura.
96. Nectarinia pulchella ægra, subsp. n.
97. Remiz punctifrons.
98. Batis senegalensis.
99. Muscicapa striata striata.
100. Muscicapa hypoleuca hypoleuca.
101. Muscicapa albicollis.
102. Lanius excubitor leucopygos.
103. Lanius senator senator.
104. Nilaus afer afer.
105. Motacilla flava cinereocapilla,
Motacilla flava flava, and
Motacilla flava thumbergi.
106. Motacilla alba alba.
107. Anthus sordidus asbenaicus, subsp. n.
108. Anthus campestris campestris.
109. Anthus trivialis trivialis.
110. Anthus cervinus.
111. Alæmon alaudipes alaudipes.
112. Mirafra cheniana chadensis.
113. Ammomanes deserti mya, and Ammomanes deserti
geyri, subsp. n.
114. Galerida cristata alexanderi.
115. Ammomanes phœnicurus arenicolor.
116. Calendula dunni.
117. Calandrella brachydacty hermonensis.
118. Eremopterix leucotis melanocephala.
119. Eremopterix frontalis frontalis.
120. Emberiza striolata sahari.
121. Passer simplex saharæ.
122. Passer luteus.
123. Serinus leucopygius riggenbachi.
124. Erythrospiza githaginea zedlitzi.
125. Sporopipes frontalis pallidior, subsp. n.
126. Ploceus vitellinus vitellinus.
127. Ploceus luteolus luteolus.
128. Aidemosyne cantans cantans.
129. Estrilda senegala brunneiceps.
130. Spreo pulcher pulcher.
131. Lamprocolius chalybeus hartlaubi.
132. Corvus albus.
133. Corvus corax ruficollis.
134. Corvus rhipiduras.
ADDITIONAL BIRD LIFE FROM THE WESTERN SUDAN
135. Struthio camelus camelus.
136. Ptilopachus petrosus brehmi.
137. Francolinus clappertoni clappertoni, and
Francolinus bicalcaratus bicalcaratus.
138. Pterocles quadricinctus quadricinctus.
139. Ortyxelos meiffreni.
140. Otis senegalensis senegalensis.
141. Sarciophorus tectus tectus.
142. Cursorius cursor cursor.
143. Turtur abyssinicus delicatulus.
144. Streptopelia decipiens shelleyi.
145. Streptopelia vinacea vinacea.
146. Columba guinea guinea.
147. Treron waalia.
148. Bulbulcus ibis ibis.
149. Ardea melanocephala.
150. Threskiornis æthiopicus æthiopicus.
151. Circaëtus gallicus.
152. Chelictinia riocourii.
153. Butastur rufipennis.
154. Melierax gabar niger.
155. Gymnogenys typica.
156. Falco chicquera ruficollis.
157. Accipiter badius sphenurus.
158. Falco biarmicus abyssinicus.
159. Otus senegalensis.
160. Glaucidium perlatum.
161. Centropus senegalensis senegalensis.
162. Clamator glandarius.
163. Lophoceros nasutus nasutus.
164. Chizærhis africana.
165. Poicephalus senegalus versteri.
166. Campethera punctuligera punctuligera.
167. Coracias nævia nævia.
168. Eurystomus afer afer.
169. Halcyon chelicuti eremogiton, subsp. n.
170. Lybius dubius.
171. Irrisor erythrorhynchus guineensis.
172. Scotornis climacurus.
173. Tachornis parvus parvus.
174. Hirundo daurica domicella.
175. Hirundo albigularis æthiopica.
176. Œnanthe hispanica melanoleuca.
177. Myrmecocichla æthiops buchanani, subsp. n.
178. Turdoides plebejus anomalus, subsp. n.
179. Acrocephalus scirpaceus scirpaceus.
180. Phylloscopus bonelli bonelli
181. Prinia mistacea mistacea.
182. Eremomela pusilla.
183. Camaroptera brevicaudata chrysocnemis.
184. Cisticola cisticola aridula.
185. Cinnyris senegalensis senegalensis.
186. Zosterops senegalensis senegalensis.
187. Tchitrea viridis ferreti.
188. Harpolestes senegalus senegalus.
189. Laniarius barbarus barbarus.
190. Prionops plumatus haussarum, subsp. n.
191. Corvinella corvina corvina.
192. Emberiza flaviventris flavigaster.
193. Gymnoris pyrgita pallida.
194. Petronia dentata buchanani, subsp. n.
195. Serinus mozambicus hartlaubi.
196. Textor albirostris albirostris.
197. Steganura aucupum aucupum.
198. Hypochera chalybeata neumanni
199. Pyromelana franciscana franciscana.
200. Amadina fasciata fasciata.
201. Pytelia melba citerior.
202. Estrilda cinerea.
203. Uræginthus bengalus bengalus.
204. Lamprotornis caudatus.
205. Cinnyricinclus leucogaster leucogaster.
206. Buphagus africanus.
207. Cryptorhina afra.
APPENDIX II
SCIENTIFIC NOMENCLATURE OF SAHARAN ANIMAL LIFE
All numerals coincide with those before each common name in
Chapter XIII.
1. Ammotragus lervia angusi, subsp. n.
2. Gazella dama damergouensis, subsp. n.
3. Gazella dorcas dorcas.
4. Oryx algazel algazel
5. Addax nasomaculatus.
6. Phacochœrus æthiopicus africanus.
7. Papio nigeriæ.
8. Pipistrellus kuhli
9. Scoteinus schlieffeni.
10. Rhinopoma cystops.
11. Paraechinus deserti.
12. Felis haussa, sp. n.
13. Felis margarita. (Rediscovered after 65 years.)
14. Genetta dongolana.
15. Caracal caracal pœcilotis, subsp. n.
16. Herpestes phœnicurus Saharæ, subsp. n.
17. Hyæna hyæna.
18. Canis riparius.
19. Vulpes pallida harterti, subsp. n.
20. Vulpes rüppelli cæsia, subsp. n.
21. Fennecus zerda.
22. Mellivora buchanani, sp. n.
23. Euxerus erythropus agadius, subsp. n.
24. Claviglis olga, sp. n.
25. Gerbillus pyramidum.
26. Gerbillus gerbillus (group).
27. Dipodillus campestris.
28. Dipodillus garamantis.
29. Desmodilliscus buchanani, sp. n.
30. Meriones schousbœi tuareg, subsp. n.
31. Meriones libycus caudatus.
32. Psammomys algiricus.
33. Mastomys, sp.
34. Acomys airensis, sp. n.
35. Acomys johannis.
36. Arvicanthis testicularis solatus, subsp. n.
37. Jaculus jaculus airensis, subsp. n.
38. Hystrix ærula, sp. n.
39. Massoutiera rothschildi, sp. n.
40. Lepus canopus, sp. n.
41. Procavia buchanani, sp. n.
42. Orycteropus ater.
ADDITIONAL ANIMAL LIFE FROM THE WESTERN SUDAN
43. Damaliscus korrigum.
44. Gazella rufifrons hasleri
45. Hipposideros caffer tephrus.
46. Epomophorus anurus.
47. Nycteris thebaica.
48. Atelerix spiculus.
49. Crocidura manni.
50. Ichneumia albicauda.
51. Canis anthus.
52. Vulpes pallida edwardsi
53. Pœcilictis rothschildi, sp. n.
54. Ictonyx senegalensis.
55. Euxerus erythropus chadensis.
56. Taterillus gracilis angelus, subsp. n.
57. Gerbillus nigeriæ, sp. n.
58. Steatomys cuppedius, sp. n.
59. Cricetomys gambiannus oliviæ.
60. Cricetomys buchanani, sp. n.
61. Leggada haussa, sp. n.
62. Lemniscomys olga, sp. n.
63. Arvicanthis testicularis.
64. Hystrix senegalica.
INDEX
A
Abandoned villages, 57, 67
Accumulating sand, 65
Agades, 67
Ahaggar Mountains, 60
Ahaggar, Tuaregs of, 140
Aïr Mountains, 60
Algiers, 264
Ali in London, 281
Alifa, 138
Alleys, a maze of, 99
Altitudes, 60
Amud, 138
Amusing native stories, 279
An accident, 42
An explanation, 29
Animals of the Sahara, 237
Anxieties of travel, 16
Area of Sahara, 48
Areas, pre-Saharan, 52
Arui, 246
Awe-inspiring immensity, 51
Awful heat, 24, 81
Azawaren natives, 122
B
Bad men hide, where, 107
Band, a hardened, 22
Barbary sheep, 246
Barbarism, to reclaim from, 273
Barren country, 59
Bartering salt, 127
Begging, 149
Berbers, Tuareg relation to, 131
Bezzou dies, 175
Big game, 238
Bilma, journey to, 77, 82
Bilma oasis, 113
Bird folklore, 221, 227
Bird life boundaries, 53
Birds of the Sahara, 217, 230
Biskra and the Sahara, 50
Brigandage, influence of, 139
Broken loads, 78
Buying equipment, 6
C
Camel, a riding, 39
Camel bought, 37
Camel dies, 23
Camel, early life of, 34
Camel-food, 74, 76
Camel friendship, 41
Camel-men, 11
Camel names, 21
Camels, a massed camp of, 80
Camels, hungry, 87
Camels, loading, 12
Camels—men—food—water, 15
Camels, number of, 20
Camels pay heavy price, 22, 258
Camels, sick, 15, 25, 209
Camels, thousands of, 72, 77, 83
Camp and rest, 27, 87
Camp-fires, 199
Caravan routes, old, 66
Change, geographic, 52
Character of northern natives, 140
Cheerful spirits, 17
Chibikee, 138
Civilisation, influence of, 140
Clouds, 64
Cold, 88
Collections, first Saharan, 53, 218, 230, 253
Contest for existence, 16
Country pitiless, 22
Cracked feet, 90
Cultivation in oases, 187
Cunning defence, 101
D
Dancers, a guild of, 193
Dangers of the trail, 137
Dawn, 17
Day closes, 26
Death of Feri N’Gashi, 44, 262
Decadence, 195
Decay of Sahara, 55, 64, 67
Decline of natives, 57, 162
Defence, cunning, 101
Den of forty thieves, 103
Departure, port of, 8
Depressed spirits, 163, 209
Desert, dread of the, 50, 287
Desert equipment, 72
Desert oases, 187
Desert of terrifying desolation, 81
Desert, the toll of the, 23
Desert, true, 59
Detail, importance of, 7
Diarabba, the, 193
Disappearing wild life, 56
Discovery of new species, 240
Distance travelled, 29, 261
Dividing line, the, 53
Dream, a strange, 214
Dreams materialise, 5
Dress of Tuaregs, 85, 146
Dromard, Lieutenant, 114
Dunes, 59
E
Eastern sadness, 23
Efali, 88, 92
Encroaching sand, 51
Endless sea of sand, 17
Enemies, among, 167
Enemies, feudal, 141
Environment of a desert camp, 153
Equipment, buying, 6
Equipment for the desert, 72
Equipment, saddle, 13
Exhaustion, 89, 208, 258
Expedition’s natives, 20, 258
Explored, new ground, 29
F
Fachi fort, 102
Fachi oasis, 82, 95
Fatigue, 26, 208
Fawna, 138
Feri N’Gashi, 21, 33, 40, 262
Feudal enemies, 141
Flies, 146
Flood, 204
Food and manners, 147
Food, camels’, 74, 76
Food desired, 259
Footsore, 90
Fuel, scarcity of, 191
G
Game on the move, 243
Gazelle and antelope, 239
Geographic change, 52
Giants, a legend of, 115
Giraffe, 53, 56
Glover, T. A., 8, 258
Grave journey begun, a, 161
Gravel plains, 59
Great trek starts, a, 79
Grim fortifications, 97
Guide, Bilma, 88, 92
Guild of Dancers, 193
H
Hamid of Timmersu, 84
Heat in the Sahara, 20, 24, 81
Highway for raiders, 95
History, legendary, 115
History of Bilma, 117
Home, 265
Homes in the wilderness, 143
Hungry camels, 87
I
Immensity, awe-inspiring, 51
Importance of detail, 7
Important influences, 51
Influence of brigandage, 139
J
Journey begun, a grave, 161
Journey to Bilma, 77
K
Kahena, 158, 171
Katsina, 36
Kowar depression, 95, 115
L
Landing, port of, 8
Land of antiquity, 50
Legendary history, 115
Legend surrounding skeletons, 182
Life of a camel, 33
Lion, 53, 56
Loading camels in dark, 12
Loads broken, 78
M
Malaria, 147, 187
Manners, 147
Map, 46
March begun, 14
Massacre, a, 117
Masters of the sword, 133
Men and beasts suffer, 89
Men sick, 16, 258
Memorable nights, 86
Migrants, bird, 226
Milk a staple food, 147
Mohammedan prayer, 18
Mountains, remarkable, 60
Museum’s support, 5
Museum, Tring, 58
N
Names of camels, 21
Natives, 63, 67, 84, 122
Natives, decline of, 57, 162
Natives with expedition, 20
Natron, 119
Nature of the Sahara, 59
New ground explored, 29
New species discovered, 240
Night, 26
Night camp, a, 87
Nomad possessions, 145
O
Oases, desert, 187
Oasis fortified, 96
Oasis of Bilma, 82, 113
Oasis of Fachi, 82, 95
Old traveller, 88
Oppressed by raids, 118
Origin of Tuaregs, 150
Oryx, white, 245
Ostrich, 53, 56
Ouargla, 259
Outlawry, 134, 138, 157
P
Pasturage, 63
Physical nature of Sahara, 59
Pidgin-English, 277
Pigeons, flocks of, 224
Pioneer, a, 4
Pitiless country, 22
Pitiless sun, 24, 81, 208
Plains of gravel, 59
Plan, bewildering, 99
Population declining, 57
Population, interior Sahara, 67
Port of departure, 8
Port of destination, 264
Prayer, Mohammedan, 18
Pre-Saharan areas, 51
Prolific salt-pits, 119
Prolonged strain, 91
R
Race, a strange, 123
Raid, a, 157
Raider, a, 133
Raiders, 96, 118, 123, 134, 138, 213
Rain, 147, 201, 241
Rainfall, 63
Rail-head in Algeria, 261
Rali, 157
Religion, 18, 51, 150, 154, 194
Rest and camp, 27
Revival unlikely, 65
Rhamadan, 154
Riding saddle, 13
Rifles replacing swords, 137
Rising of 1916, 136
Robbers’ camp, the, 165
Rock disintegration, 65
Rock drawings, 211
Rodd, Francis, 8
Rogue, a, 106
Routes, old caravan, 66
Ruse, a, 173
S
Saddling up takes time, 13
Sadness, eastern, 23, 153
Sahara from Biskra, 50
Sahara map, 46
Saharan collections, first, 53
Saharan areas, pre-, 52
Sahara, physical nature of, 59
Sahara’s decay, 55, 57, 64, 195
Sahara’s life, key to, 194
Sahara’s population, 67
Sahara, vastness of, 48
Sakari in London, 281
Salt as currency, 111, 127
Salt, method of working, 120, 125
Sand, discomfort of 145, 192
Sand-dunes, 59
Sand encroaching, 51, 65, 192
Sandstorm, 206
Sea of Sand, 17
Sedentary people, 185
Seeking Kahena, 171
Siege jars, 103
Slave caravans, 66
Slaves, Tuareg, 142, 185
Social fabric of Sahara, 189
Speed of camel travel, 82
Spirits, depressed, 163, 209
Stars, 86, 257
Start, time of, 6
Storms, 202, 206, 241
Strain, prolonged, 91
Strange natives, 122
Strategy, 169
Sun-glare, 89
Sun, pitiless, 24, 81, 208
Sun, the rising, 18
T
Taralum, the, 71
Tassili, 59, 220
Terrifying desolation, 81
Thousands of camels, 72, 77, 83
Tigguida n’Tisem, 121
Time of start, 6
Tobacco, craving for, 148, 264
Toilers, the, 191
Toll of the desert, 23
Touggourt, 261
Tracking, skilful, 159
Tragic decay, 67
Travel, formation of, 83
Travel, reason for, 199
Trek starts, a great, 79
Tribal names, 141
Tribes, 63, 67, 115, 122, 131, 140, 191
Tring Museum, 53
Tropical boundary, 53, 54
Tuareg dress, 85, 146
Tuareg encampments, 143, 145
Tuareg features, 151
Tuaregs, 63, 67, 84, 131, 140
Tuaregs idle, 164
Tuareg slaves, 142, 185
Tuareg villages, 189
Tuareg women, 146
V
Vastness of Sahara, 48
Veil, the people of the, 131
Villages abandoned, 57, 67
Villages, Tuareg, 189
Vultures, 225
W
War-wise people, 131
Water, 63, 144, 205, 210, 223
Well, an old, 57
White Feather, 21, 40
Wilderness homes, 143
Wild life, 217, 237
Wild life disappearing, 56
Wind, 81, 145
Wizard, the, 105
Women, Tuareg, 146
Y
Yofa, 158, 177
Z
Zoological boundary, 5
Zoological purpose, 53
Zoological collections, 217
ERRATA
p. 41, line 2 up: for “to great count” read “too great to count.”
p. 72, line 11: for “thes pectacle” read “the spectacle.”
p. 178, line 7 up: for “spas” read “pass.”
p. 286, line 18 up: for “[forward to much,]” read “[forward] too
much.”
THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK,
Captain ANGUS BUCHANAN, M.C., F.R.S.G.S.
has written three other books in which those
who have enjoyed ‘Sahara’ will be interested.
EXPLORATION OF AÏR
--OUT OF THE WORLD NORTH
OF NIGERIA--
With Numerous Photographs by
the Author and a Map. --16s.-- net.
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public far larger than the purely scientific one anxious to learn of
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African continent.’—_Nature._
‘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.’—_The Outlook._
‘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.’—_New Statesman._
‘Captain Angus Buchanan, M.C., describes the country of the Tuaregs
with charm and clarity, and illustrates the book with his own
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‘The book before us contains a great deal of information, put forward
with remarkable clearness. . . . The descriptions of the appearance
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said, a valuable contribution to geography, ethnology, and natural
history.’—_The Shooting Times._
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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.’—_The Near East._
* * * * *
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, LONDON, W.I
--By Captain Angus Buchanan, M.C., F.R.S.G.S.--
--WILD LIFE IN CANADA--
Numerous Photographs by the Author.
SECOND IMPRESSION. --15s.-- net.
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is written not merely with scientific accuracy, but with a broad
outlook that must interest alike the naturalist and the ordinary
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--THREE YEARS OF WAR IN
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* * * * *
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, LONDON, W.I
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Month.]
[Footnote 2: Hyenas.]
[Footnote 3: Hausa for “lion.”]
[Footnote 4: Branded.]
[Footnote 5: It is possible, even probable, that, to some extent,
better conditions of vegetation and rain prevailed, at one time,
throughout the whole Sahara.]
[Footnote 6: Tamascheq: The Tuareg Language.]
[Footnote 7: _Out of the World North of Nigeria_, p. 167.]
[Footnote 8: All the above plants are named in Tamascheq—the Tuareg
language.]
[Footnote 9: They are a recognised white race, akin to some of the
oldest European stocks.]
[Footnote 10: When at leisure the Tuareg wears his gown to the
ankles.]
[Footnote 11: 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.]
[Footnote 12: Another observation of particular interest. Wells, at
places, are all that remain along that line of territory at the
present time.]
[Footnote 13: The natron is found at Arrighi, about ten hours’
journey north of Bilma.]
[Footnote 14: Usually each camel carries away four cones; the maximum
load is six cones.]
[Footnote 15: I have, so far, failed to elucidate their origin to my
entire satisfaction.]
[Footnote 16: Raid described in _Out of the World North of Nigeria_.]
[Footnote 17: There are times when fuel is one of the most important
items that a caravan must carry.]
[Footnote 18: 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.]
[Footnote 19: For scientific names of all species see Appendix I.
M. signifies migrant. B. signifies new subspecies.]
[Footnote 20: For scientific names of all species see Appendix II.
(A) signifies New Species. (B) signifies New Subspecies.]
[Footnote 21: This death is referred to in Chapter III.]
Transcriber's note:
pg 293 Changed: Musicapa albicollis to: Muscicapa
pg 294 Changed: Falco biarmicus abssinicus to: abyssinicus
The changes suggested in the Errata have been made
Errata moved from pg 3 to: after Index
Other spelling inconsistencies have been left unchanged
Italicized, bold and underlined text indicated with '_' and '--' and
'~', respectively
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