OUR FIRST CAMP—TORRENTS OF RAIN—JULES BARDET—CAMEL-DRIVERS BEHAVE BADLY—SULEIMAN IN TROUBLE—CAMEL-DRIVERS GET UPSET—THE DESERT—TWO OF US LOSE OUR WAY—JULES SUFFERS FROM DYSENTERY—SAND-STORM—A PILGRIM DIES ON THE ROAD, ANOTHER IN THE CAMP—JULES’ ILLNESS—CAMP SPLIT UP—LOSE OUR WAY—ENCAMP SEVERAL DAYS IN THE DESERT—ARAB HUTS—THE MIRAGE—A LION.

After this digression and short dissertation on the camel, I will return to the subject of our journey. We now formed a tolerably numerous company, ourselves seven, three European servants, Suleiman, Mahoom, Cheriff, and Ali, the cook, with an assistant, four or five native servants, and nearly thirty camel-drivers. George, one of our servants, and I had some trouble in getting our makloufas properly adjusted on our camels; consequently, we were[120] behind the others in starting. I also made a call on Mr. Bewlay, who pressed me to remain to luncheon. As I knew that this was to be a short march of about three hours, I did so. I then bade adieu to Mr. Bewlay (one of the nicest and most gentlemanly fellows to be met with), and commenced my journey, thinking I should soon overtake my comrades, but in this I was greatly mistaken. I had reached the middle of the town, amongst the bazaars, when the eccentric conduct of my camel was quite alarming, exciting grave apprehensions respecting the safety of my limbs, I being quite a novice in the art of camel-riding. Down he flopped without the least preliminary warning, whilst I held on to the makloufa as if I had been in a hurricane. I plied my coorbatch on his tough hide; the only effect it produced was to make him open his mouth (to such a width that it could easily have accommodated a human head) and groan away with most stentorian voice. At last an Arab succeeded in getting him on his legs, and away he went at such a jolting pace that I experienced the greatest difficulty in keeping my seat. Down he flopped again in the same unceremonious manner as before just in front of a projecting part of the Police Station.

“Well,” I mentally ejaculated, “this is, indeed,[121] too much. I will not be placed in such jeopardy as this any longer.”

I lost no time in dismounting; Sheik Moussa was sent for, and at once promised to find me a tractable beast. George remained with me. We had no sooner unburdened the camel, and got under the projecting roof of the Police Station, than down came the rain in torrents; then I felt thankful that my camel had proved so awkward and disobedient. Two hours and a half elapsed ere a respectable camel was brought. By that time the rain had ceased, and George and I resumed our journey in comfort.

When we arrived at camp at 6 p.m., we found the tents pitched and everyone changing their clothes, except Jules; they had all been drenched to the skin. This was a favourable opportunity for me to deliver a lecture on sanitary precautions. I therefore did so, warning all Europeans to remember that we were not now in England, but in the tropics, where the days were excessively hot and the nights not only cool, but often very cold at this time of the year; always to change wet clothing as soon as we got to camp; never to expose themselves to the burning rays of a tropical sun without helmets; and last, but not by any means least, to be extremely careful as to the quality of water they drank, and[122] always to see that the zanzimeers were well washed out before they were replenished. Well, I know that in England, whilst practising my profession, I have met with extremely clever people who not only know their own business, but that of everyone else, and are most ready with their unasked-for advice. They are quite encyclopedias of knowledge, or, at least, they would have one think so. They apparently listen, with folded arms and the head a little bit on one side, in the most attentive manner, literally drinking in all the doctor is telling them when he forbids this and orders that, and yet will use their own judgment or sense—presuming, of course, that they have any—and the moment his back is turned they exclaim—

“Pooh! what an old fidget that doctor is. I know that when poor Mrs. Smith was ill her doctor didn’t do ought like that, but let her have a glass of stout for dinner, and ordered her a glass of hot whisky and water at bed-time, poor thing, and that was what kep her up.”

“When the doctor very impressively says, “Now, Mrs. Thompson, your friend is very ill—I wish you to be careful to give her so-and-so and avoid so-and-so,” Mrs. Thompson says, “Yes, doctor—I quite understand;” and Mrs. T., being a very garrulous, and also a very knowing personage, will begin a[123] long rigmarole about her first husband’s case some 20 years before, and how beautifully she nursed him through an illness of “seven week,” as she calls it, and brought him round, she, of course, not having had her clothes off for four weeks, nor a wink of sleep for ten nights, till she was a perfect “shada,” but still able to articulate, poor thing. Unless the poor doctor now bolts off, she will then confidentially commence a history of three or four other cases in which she was, of course, eminently successful. These very clever people, so wise in their own conceit, are really very dangerous people, and I always look after them well. Of course, Mrs. Thompson may think the medicine “strong enough for a horse,” as she expresses herself, and will administer it if she thinks it suits the case, and exercise her very discriminating faculties in the way of diet, and matters of that kind; but at the end of a week Mrs. Thompson—who has, of course, seen many similar cases—expresses to her neighbours and confidants (who look upon her utterances as oracular) her dissatisfaction with that ere doctor, and is determined on his next visit to favour him with what she is pleased to call a bit of her mind. She does as promised—

“Well now, doctor, what do you think is the matter with poor Mrs. Smith? She don’t seem to[124] get on at all. I remember when poor Mrs. Rodgers, my second husband’s first wife’s cousin, was laid up with—”

But, reader, you may imagine the rest; I can very well. I have used the preceding imaginary conversation “to point a moral and adorn my tale.”

In our camp I had a very headstrong Mr. “Cleverity,” if I may say so, to deal with. Jules, before we started, was working away, sorting the baggage, &c., in his shirt sleeves after passing through the rain, getting thirsty, and drinking bad claret and beer, such as he could obtain in the place. Indeed, his absorbing powers were remarkable—he resembled a huge dry sponge, which, when dipped into a basinful of water, absorbs it all. I ascertained, from one who knew him well, that this absorbing tendency was not altogether induced by the heat of the climate, but that it was his normal condition which he always suffered from in England, where he lived a life of comparative ease and indulgence. I only knew Jules absorb water when he could not get anything stronger. I had warned him at Souakin not to get wet, as the evenings were so cold, and now, on arriving at camp, here he was again wet to the skin, helping to pitch tents and put things ship-shape; but, with a thirst unquenchable, he was continually drinking water[125] which was the colour of pea-soup, but not quite so thick.

“Now, Jules,” said I, “remember what I told you at Souakin. You are going the right way to get dysentery.”

He replied—

“Oh, I am all right, doctor. I am not an old woman, or a piece of barley-sugar. I shall take no harm.”

The sequel will show how disastrous was his disregard of my repeated warnings, and very much grieved I was for two reasons: one was the loss of a really good-hearted fellow, who had proved a faithful and affectionate servant to his master, who thought very much of him, for many years; the other was, that although I used every effort to save him, and many a time was unable to sleep on account of the anxiety the case caused me, so much so that I frequently visited his tent in the night, yet all was of no avail. Added to this, I was excessively and incessantly annoyed by the fussy interference of two amateur doctors in camp, who, as educated men, ought to have known better than to worry me seven or eight times a day with useless suggestions of a shadowy character as to the treatment of a complaint of which they knew absolutely nothing. They were great examples of an old adage, “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

[126]

In the evening of our first day’s camping out, just after dinner (we dined at 7 p.m.), down came the rain again, causing us all to scamper off to our respective tents; spades were out, and trenches dug round, and there we remained until morning. At 6 a.m. we were up, and saw no more rain for several months; indeed, not until I reached Venice in the following May.

It was about 10 a.m. next day ere our caravan started. The sun blazed out with a scorching heat, causing us to feel as if we were in a Turkish bath from the evaporation which took place, and our solid leather portmanteaus, which were thoroughly saturated the day before, to curl up like match-boxes. Before we started on our second day’s march across the desert our camel men were told they were to go on until 6 p.m., and Suleiman was commissioned to see this order carried out. We often went on in front of them in the morning, on the look out for a shot at a desert gazelle; but it was singularly noticeable that about 1.30 p.m. we were all somewhere in the neighbourhood of Cheriff, our butler, who was in the charge of the canteen on a camel. Unless we made a forced march, we usually breakfasted about 7 a.m., luncheon at 1.30, dined at 7, and retired to rest at 9 or 9.30 p.m. After luncheon we frequently lay down on our rugs, smoking cigarettes and reading some book, long[127] after the caravan had passed us. This day we did so, but judge of our astonishment when, at four o’clock, we came upon some of our camels browsing; others had not been unburdened, and nearly all the camel-drivers were in a circle, with uplifted spears.

We soon ascertained the cause of this; there was poor Suleiman, our head boss, the centre of attraction for these Hadendowab Arabs, with their uplifted spears, who were angrily jabbering away. To the question, “What’s the meaning of this, Suleiman? they were to have gone on until six o’clock,” he replied, “Yes, I know, gentlemen, that I tell them they no stop till I say, and I catch hold of one mans to stop him take the load off the camel, and now they say they spear me if I don’t leave them alone.”

HADENDOWAH ARAB CAMEL-MEN.

He pointed out the ringleaders of what looked like mutiny against authority, and as soon as he had done so, in true old English fashion, a few well-directed blows put about five Arabs in the prone position; all pulled out revolvers, and made them pile their spears, which were at once secured, tied in a bundle, and given in charge to the English servants. They were then made to re-load all the camels, and, at great inconvenience to ourselves, we re-start at 6.30, and march until nearly ten, just to let them see that they could not do as they liked, and that we were[128] masters and not they. This assertion of authority had a most beneficial effect on the native mind. It was past eleven that night ere we dined, and I retired to rest at half-past twelve, with a feeling of general bruising and dislocated vertebr? easily accounted for, as I was unaccustomed to the peculiar motion of a camel, which has a knack of shaking up one’s liver in a most effectual manner. Referring to my diary, I find that on our third day’s march, Dec. 17th, the temperature was 82° F. in the shade at 1.30 p.m. I generally took the temperature when we halted for luncheon, which would usually be about one or half-past. We could do with the dry heat very well as we were mounted, but now, in consequence of the late heavy rains, we felt it very relaxing, and just like a Russian vapour-bath. The Red Sea was still visible to the east of us; to the west, a large tract of desert, backed up by impassable rocky mountains. We now saw desert gazelles for the first time, and one of the party brought one down, thus providing dinner for the evening. We marched from 9 a.m. until 6 p.m., came to water then, and pitched our tents near to it. We generally had very good water, but here it had a brackish taste; still, with the aid of four bottles of champagne, we managed to slake our thirst tolerably well. So far the mimosa and kittar bushes were abundant, particularly during[129] the first two days, but on the fourth day we saw very few indeed, and marched through absolute desert, saw nothing but the burning sands, and huge rocks of volcanic origin. We filled our barrels, zanzimeers and girbas with water before we started, and again marched from ten till six; temp. 81° in the shade. A girba is the skin of a gazelle dressed. It is dressed in the following way by the Arabs:—They get the chopped red bark of the mimosa tree, and put in the skin with water, it is allowed to remain there for three or four days and then it is converted into leather. This day we encamped at a place called Settareb. On the fifth day we again made the usual march, and shot two gazelles. We started off at nine—and left the caravan to follow. About 11 a.m. one of our servants caught us up with the information that some of the camels had been lost. Messrs. A. and W. James returned to see about them, and found that it was a dodge of the camel-drivers, who thought they would try to sneak back to Souakin. The camels were easily found; the two camel-drivers were tied together, marched into camp, duly admonished and punished. At 5 p.m. we come to water, turn out all the brackish water, fill our barrels, &c., and march until 6 p.m.; temp. 82° in shade. Dine at 7.30, bed at 10 p.m., but before going to bed we had all the camel-drivers[130] up, some of whom appeared inclined to be mutinous. We gave them a sound lecturing, and let them distinctly understand that we would not stand this kind of thing any more, and that the next offence would be punished with the coorbatch. Our camping ground is called Wadi Osier. The next day, our sixth in the desert, Mr. F. L. James and I had a somewhat unpleasant experience. After luncheon, as usual, we all rested awhile, allowing the caravan to go on. Mr. F. L. J. and I, who were absorbed with our books, remained long after our comrades had proceeded on their journey. When at last we did start, we were surprised to find how late it was getting. Knowing that there is little or no twilight in these parts, we hurried on, hoping to catch the caravan ere darkness overtook us, but could not do so. Darkness comes on—a most profound darkness, too—and we lose the track; we dismount and light matches to see if we can find it again. We don’t, however, succeed in doing so. Nothing now remains but to remount our camels and trust to them and Providence. On we go, at the rate of four miles an hour. The silence of the tomb and the darkness of Erebus surround us; not a glimmer of light could be seen in any direction, not the sound of a wild animal, of a bird, or even the rustling of a leaf, or the sigh of the softest zephyr. When we had[131] gone on thus for about an hour, neither seeing a light, nor hearing a sound, we began to get uneasy, not knowing if we were going in the right direction, but knowing full well that it might prove to be a serious matter if we strayed off into the limitless waste of the desert. Every now and again I fired a shot from my revolver, but I might as well have used a pop-gun. Now the stars begin to make their appearance; by them we see that we are, as we think, pursuing some track. We now dismount, and finding that revolvers are useless, Mr. James gets his rifle and lets off one barrel. We wait, and anxiously look for............