The southern portion of Adrar affords some interesting relics of the Stone Age. The wells have probably been in existence for many centuries, and at one or two places we found some curious little stone implements, such as arrowheads, miniature axes, etc. There seems to be no doubt that all this country must have been inhabited at one period by a sedentary population, thus further strengthening the theory that the Sahara was not always the barren waste it now is. In the neighbourhood of Es-Souk, some eighty miles north-west of Kidal, there are unmistakable evidences of much later civilization. Ruins of buildings are there found in the sand. This place is supposed to have been one of the northernmost parts of the Sonrhay Empire, as late as the twelfth century. Mahomed told me that he had on a previous occasion found stone implements near one of the wells in Southern Adrar, but he had, of course, not taken much interest in the discovery or pursued it any further.

In the country between the Niger and Southern Adrar one occasionally observed tumuli, with remains of pottery, and I had been told, although I had myself never seen any, that granite and porphyry pestles and grindstones had been found, with similar evidences of vanished villages.

It is easy to conjure up pictures of former nations inhabiting prosperous townships in this portion of the Sahara in olden times, when the conditions were probably so different from what obtain at the present day. How strange it is to think that this vast stretch of country should now be turned into an arid desert. Instead of a nation dying out as it became effete, in this case it was the land which, for some unknown causes, became so unproductive as to be a country in which man could not settle for any length of time, and he was therefore forced to withdraw to more promising lands. When all the “oueds” flowed, as presumably they must at one time have done, the Adrar must have been a well-watered land, as must also the whole region between the Niger and the Ifora country. To all intents and purposes the Sahara is now a dead world, and although many theories have been started, and experiments tried, for reclaiming small portions of it, it can hardly be said that, so far, they have met with much success even in the circumscribed limits in which they have been given the most exhaustive trials. However, something new in science is always being done, and is it not possible that one day this dead world may be made to live again; that by some ingenious process water may be made to flow once more in dried-up “oueds,” and that the country may be refertilized and repopulated?

CHAPTER XXI

The camel’s reserve store — Variations of temperature — The Sahara by moonlight — Halley’s Comet — Wells of Abeibera — Tea in the desert — Difficult bargaining — Enduring donkeys — Saharan game — A dry well — Missing camels — In Ouzel — An indifferent boundary — Unpleasant recollections — A change in the desert — Saharan shrubs — Welfare of the camel.

THE camels I had now were far superior animals to those I had previously hired at Gao. I had particularly stipulated for animals in the best of condition. Our lives might depend on the state of the camels on this long trek across the Sahara to Insalah, a distance of about 950 miles. Besides, this portion of the desert was a much more serious affair than the part traversed between Gao and Kidal; it entailed crossing a very large tract with exceptionally limited resources, even for the camels, and a region, called the Tanezrouft, in which there was no water for a distance of 200 miles. Should our camels fail us in the middle of this great waterless tract we should indeed be in a sorry plight. I therefore was most careful to see that on starting our camels were as fit as could be expected for the time of year. They were fat and had big humps, both of which are unmistakable signs of good condition in a beast. The hump is the reserve of fat in a camel. When he is in his pasturage he first of all begins to put on flesh, and after this he puts on fat in his hump, which until now has been small and flabby. The hump gradually increases in size until it has swollen to the normal dimensions for an animal in the pink of condition. When a camel is on the march, even when he is getting plenty of good grazing daily, he draws to a certain extent on his hump, which diminishes slowly in size as he uses up this reserve. When a camel is without food on the march, as sometimes happens for short periods at a time, the reserve contained in his hump is drawn upon entirely to keep him going, and this gets expended very rapidly. As his hump gets smaller the camel loses condition rapidly, every day his powers of endurance are diminished, until eventually he can no longer march at all and dies.

The first part of our march, lying as it did through the comparatively productive regions of the Adrar, entailed no great hardships on the camels of the caravan. There was good pasturage available every day, and every third day we could be sure of coming to a well, where the camels could drink; but in spite of all this, in a few days it was noticeable that one or two were deteriorating in condition. This was probably due to the heat. The time of year was now at its very hottest. In the vicinity of the tropic of Cancer from the middle of May to the middle of June the temperature is at its highest, and the sun’s rays are more powerful than at any other time of the year.

In consequence of the heat I did a good deal of marching at night. The hours of march were usually from about 3 p.m. to 10 or 11 p.m., and then a halt and sleep till 4 a.m.; after this we used to march till about 10 a.m. Marching hours, however, perforce varied with the state of the country, and the necessity for having the light of a moon or not.

During the midday halts I had given up pitching my tent, for it usually took too long as so few men were available to do it; also it was decidedly hot in a tent, and I found it often cooler under a ledge of rock or mimosa bush when these were at hand. The nights were always pleasant, and sleeping in the open was very agreeable; indeed, it used to get quite cold at 2 or 3 a.m., and I found that my two thick blankets were quite insufficient to keep me warm. The variation in temperature was very great. Between midday and midnight there was frequently a drop of 60 degrees.

When marching by moonlight the scene was indescribably beautiful. The white sand of the “oueds” in which we were walking was lit up to look like a white sheet by the brilliant moonbeams; on all sides of us was this dazzling sheen spread over the surface of the ground, while in the distance one might have fancied there were the waters of a lake, so silvery crystal did the sand appear. The rocky hills on the east and west caught the glint of the moon’s rays, standing out sharply defined against the deep blue of the starlit sky. The jagged peaks, which were perhaps succeeded by a rugged ridge, running thus for miles into the far-off horizon, looked for all the world like the towers and crenellated battlements of some ancient fortress. The grandeur of the sight filled me with a sense of awe, and how many times did I not deplore my inability to sketch. I used to enjoy walking on these moonlight nights, gazing at this beautiful scene as we wended our way in silence through the desert—the stillness being unbroken even by the noise of a camel’s footfall on that sandy surface. On such a night the Sahara loses half its terrors. The arid nature of the landscape is concealed under the cloak of night, and softened by the gentle rays of the moon.

Even when I was walking it used to get quite chilly towards midnight, and I longed for the comforting warmth of my coat, which had been stolen some time previously.

It was about 10 p.m. on the 8th of May, the day that I left Kidal, that I first saw Halley’s Comet. For many nights subsequently it was visible in the eastern sky, a beautiful, bright, luminous body with a long tail, like a streak of fire, stretching for some distance behind it. What millions of people in the world must have been watching it about this time, although I doubt if many had the opportunity of seeing it from the Sahara.

On the 12th of May we were at the wells of Abeibera, when two men, with faces concealed in “lithams,” rode up on camels. They had the appearance of having journeyed far, and it is an unusual thing to encounter strangers at a desert well, so that I sent Mahomed to inquire their business and whence they came. The guide came back in a great state of excitement to say these people were traders from the Oasis of Touat in the north, and were now on their way to Kidal. His excitement was chiefly caused by the fact that he knew the leader of the caravan. The latter, who was an Arab, came up to salute me presently. He had lost several camels on the way on account of the excessive heat, but his route had lain considerably to the west of the direction we should take, so he could not give any information on the state of the wells we should pass. He had halted his caravan some distance from Abeibera, and was sending in his camels to water the following day. He was a very weather-beaten desert man, was this trader. I suppose he must have been about forty years of age, although he looked more like fifty, so tanned by exposure and lined was his face. His caravan was laden with dates, and he was going to exchange these for sheep and ostrich feathers. They would probably stay at Kidal till September before returning to the Touat.

The arrival of the Touat party was the signal for much tea-drinking. The Arab in the desert is extremely fond of tea, which he drinks with a great deal of sugar and, of course, without milk. Mahomed generally made his tea in the English fashion, but the usual manner amongst Arabs is to put the tea, which is very strong and green, into a saucepan and stew it. The tea is thus allowed to stew and simmer for about twenty minutes. The result is a very bitter, and to my mind unpleasant, tasting concoction, which has a very upsetting effect on the nerves.

One virtue possessed by these desert people is that they do not drink alcohol, nor do they, as a rule, smoke. They have wonderful powers of endurance, existing on a mere handful of dates as their daily ration, and drinking nothing but water or tea. Moreover, they drink very little water. Frequently an Arab will be quite satisfied after a long hot march to wash his mouth out with a small quantity and drink nothing at all.

While tea-drinking and merriment was going on by my little camp, a party of Ifora Tuaregs arrived with their flocks of sheep to water at the well. Accompanying these men there were also a number of camels, so that the scene at the well was an unusually animated one for the Sahara. I tried in vain to purchase a sheep, or even a little milk, from the Tuaregs, but nothing would induce them to part with either. I showed them one by one my articles of merchandise, but they would not be tempted. First the salt was exposed to view, and they were told they could have a large lump, which was really worth three times the sheep, but they refused to look at it, with a fine display of scorn. I next produced a tempting bait of “guinée,” but this likewise was ineffective, although they did show a mild interest in the stuff. When, however, my last remaining head of tobacco was laid out to view, I thought that at last I had caught my fish, and it only required a little careful playing before it could be landed. Their eyes glistened at the sight of the tobacco, and I heard many whispered exclamations of excitement. In the end I am sorry to say it resulted in disappointment. They went away muttering something to the effect that they would rather keep the sheep than take what was offered in exchange.

Money has no value with the Tuaregs. Any trade is always done by barter, and the chief articles of barter are salt and “guinée,” but, in any case, they are difficult people with whom to drive a bargain, and it is rarely that a European can induce them to part with anything.

In this part of Adrar, where wells are not more than two days’ march apart, the Iforas possess donkeys. These donkeys are most wonderfully enduring little beasts. They are trained to go two or even three days without drinking, and exist on what herbs or grass they find by the way as they march.

My caravan from Gao had a donkey attached to it, which never ceased to fill me with admiration. Its Tuareg master had laden it with a water-skin, which must have weighed about 60 lbs., and in addition to this it used to carry him for the greater part of the march. It only got a drink when we arrived at a well, while it used to snatch at mouthfuls of food if anything came in its way on the march. This little creature was not more than three feet high, so it was an amusing sight to watch the long-legged Tuareg seated on its back, with his legs nearly touching the ground as it walked. It used to take tiny, quick steps, always keeping pace with the big, slow strides of the camels.

Having found a fellow-countryman, Mahomed was most anxious to stop the night at Abeibera, but I was firm, and insisted on continuing our journey at the usual hour that afternoon. It was the following day that I saw the last herd of oryx. Between the wells of Abeibera and Bourassa there was a fair amount of Saharan game. Loder’s gazelle was the most plentiful, but here, also, I got two addax besides an oryx. The country was now getting much wilder in aspect. The rocky ridges on our flanks were higher, “oueds” were less sandy and more strewn with boulders, while, at Bourassa itself, the hills on the east must have been at least 500 feet above the plain. My calculations made the height of Bourassa 2330 feet, so that the hills here were about 2800 feet high.

At Bourassa we took two days’ water in the water-skins, as the next well, called Taoundert, was only some forty miles away. The country was growing wilder every day, and pasturage for the camels was less and less plentiful. On the 16th, having arrived at Taoundert, we found the well quite dry. There was not even a cupful of water to be got out of it, and we had another two days’ march to the succeeding well, In Ouzel. There was very little water now left in the water-skins, so I determined to push on as rapidly as possible and reach In Ouzel with the greatest despatch the camels were capable of. But disasters seldom come singly, and the lack of water was not going to be the only trial the next two days. Halting only an hour for rest at Taoundert, I pushed on that night. It was imperative to reach In Ouzel as soon as possible, there was very little water left in one of the water-skins and nothing at all in the others; besides, this water-skin was losing the precious liquid drop by drop as we marched, owing to the usual leakage from these articles.

The camels, on the march, were always tied in single file, one animal’s tail being attached by a string to the next one’s lower jaw. The order of route was, in front the guide and myself, in the centre my servant Musa, and in rear the camel-driver. It was necessary to have someone in rear, for sometimes a camel would break his string and wander away from the rest of the caravan. We had been marching about six hours when I happened to drop back for a short time. I noticed, to my dismay, that two camels, those carrying my food supplies and luncheon-basket, were missing. The camel-driver, a very sleepy Arab boy of the name of El Bashir, had mounted one of the animals in the middle of the caravan and was calmly sleeping on his beast. There was no sign of the camels, and it was impossible to say when they had strayed.

I could not afford to lose those camels, for they carried all my provisions; at the same time it would have been madness to delay the whole caravan when water was so scarce and time so precious. The remaining water was divided into two portions, and half was given to El Bashir. I threatened him with all sorts of penalties should he dare to return without the lost camels, and sent him off to look for them, while we proceeded on our way to In Ouzel. Next day our water was finished, and at midday I made a frugal repast off the reserve ration I kept always in my haversack. The meal consisted of a handful of dates and a little “couscous.” I shall not easily forget the experiences of the next twenty-four hours. We were all without water, and my “boy” and I were without food. Mahomed offered me some of his dates, but I was prouder than my servant Musa, and declared I was not hungry. The heat seemed more overpowering, and the desert seemed more deathly still than ever, during that time.

Our throats got parched and our tongues began to swell from the heat and thirst. How we longed for the sun to set, and the cool of the evening to relieve us a little from some of our torture! But that night there was no time to rest, we must march on in spite of our fatigue. This was a time when rest for ourselves or camels was not to be thought of, so we trudged wearily on. When the following day we arrived at In Ouzel we were all thoroughly exhausted, and the craving for water was something pitiable. Even that hardy desert wanderer, Mahomed, rushed to the well as soon as it came in sight, hastily lowering a small leather vessel at the end of a rope and drawing it up full of water. I must own that I was relieved beyond expression to see the water, for I had had a horrible fear that, perhaps, this well too would be dry. I had not let my thoughts dwell too much on this possible eventuality, for the consequences would have been too serious to contemplate. Another fear that had crossed my mind was that Mahomed might lose the way. Fortunately, all came right in the end, and even the lost camels turned up that evening. Somehow I did not seem to feel my hunger so much after we got to the well of In Ouzel and I had satisfied my thirst, but when the camels did arrive I soon realized how hungry I really was. After this experience I determined not to trust El Bashir to do rearguard on the march, and in future I always put Musa there when I was not in rear myself.

After the trying times of the last two days both the camels and we were greatly in need of a rest, and so it was decided to halt for three or four days at In Ouzel. This was all the more necessary as the next stage of our journey would take us through the Tanezrouft, and to attempt to cross this inhospitable region with inferior camels would be madness.

We had now passed the rather indefinite boundary between the portion of Sahara under the jurisdiction of French West Africa and that part of the great desert which came under the sphere of the Governor of Algeria. The boundary lay between Bourassa and Taoundert, running approximately along the 21st parallel. The country in which we now were was no longer the land of the Ifora Tuaregs. It was uninhabited except for short periods in the year, when suitable grazing might be found for a small number of camels. At such periods a heterogeneous collection of desert nomads used to make it their temporary head-quarters. These might consist of a small caravan of Arabs and a few Tuaregs of the Hoggar tribe. The latter belong to a mountainous desert country lying to the north-east of In Ouzel.

When I arrived at In Ouzel there were some half-dozen of these people still there, although the time of year was not any longer favourable, and they were already preparing to leave. As nearly all the pasturage had been eaten up, there was not much left for our sorely tried camels, and in any case a couple of them appeared too exhausted for further marching until they had had a long rest. Mahomed said he thought the short halt we proposed to make would be sufficient to get the remainder of the caravan in marching trim, and we arranged with the nomads just departing for the hire of two suitable baggage camels to replace our jaded beasts. The new camels were indeed a great acquisition, for they had been in their pasturage for the past three months, were now in good condition, and boasting of fine big humps.

My recollections of In Ouzel are the reverse of pleasant. I pitched my tent on an open space not far from the well, and close to a dead mimosa, from which I vainly hoped to get a little shade during the day. Musa rigged himself up a kitchen with the help of some articles of baggage with one of my tarpaulins thrown over them, while all the remainder of my kit was stacked in view of the tent, as robbers have always to be feared in the desert. Things appeared fairly ship-shape, and I was looking forward to the rest at In Ouzel, but the day after my arrival I had an attack of fever which laid me on a bed of sickness. It was at this moment that my troubles began. From that day until our departure we had a series of terrible sandstorms.

My tent was blown down right at the commencement, and the force of the wind was so terrific that attempts to pitch it again were hopelessly futile. Clouds of sand enveloped my bedclothes and myself. The suffocating heat of the desert air was intense, while the sand choked anyone who dared to open his mouth for an instant. My temperature went up rapidly and refused to come down. When Musa tried to give me a glass of cold tea or water it immediately became filled with sand. I used to hide my head under the bedclothes in desperate efforts to keep the sand-laden air from buffeting my face. In all my existence I do not think I have ever experienced such a miserable time as I did at In Ouzel. Eating, drinking, and sleeping were impossible, and all the time the fever racked my limbs and made my head throb till I thought I should go mad. I had long since discarded my mosquito curtain, so I had not even that to ward off some of the penetrating clouds of sand, although in the gales that were blowing I hardly suppose it would have been much use, even supposing it had not been torn to pieces immediately. Mahomed was most solicitous, but there was nothing he could do for me. It was not till the evening before our departure that the fever left me, and I was glad to get out of my bed of sand, feeling very weak and shaky.

The nomads encamped here seemed to me to lead a remarkably wretched existence. Both Arabs and Tuaregs lived in tiny hovels made of mimosa branches with grass roofs. The doorway was so low that the occupant had positively to crawl in on hands and knees. The structures were so frailly put together that they were continually being blown down by the sandstorms, but possibly the low height of the hut made it a little less susceptible to the wind than it would otherwise have been. Some of them boasted of an additional covering of a few ragged goatskins. Inside, the state of dirt and squalor was repulsive. I suppose that these desert people naturally wash little on account of the scarcity of water in the Sahara; certainly cleanliness is not one of their chief attributes.

At In Ouzel they owned a few wretched-looking sheep and goats, but the marvel was that even these could eke out an existence on the poor nourishment available. For them there was nothing but an occasional small tuft of coarse, dried-up grass. It was rather a pathetic sight to watch them grazing on it.

In the early morning they were led out by the shepherd across the undulating sandy surface of the desert, in search of food, and when one animal, more fortunate than the rest, espied one of these tufts he would start gobbling it up as quickly as he could. It was seldom, though, that he was allowed to have his meal to himself, for a number of his fellows would scamper off to dispute possession with him.

Another sight, which would be humorous if it were not so pathetic, is to see these animals in the middle of the day trying to get a little shade from the blazing heat of the sun. The strongest of the flock will take up a position behind the trunk of a mimosa shrub, whereupon the remainder of the party attempt to benefit by crowding close up to him, one behind the other, until there is a long tail of these animals, huddled close behind each other, trying to get some satisfaction out of the shelter obtainable from the shadow of the sheep in front.

At In Ouzel the character of the desert had changed considerably. Here was more the popular conception of the Sahara, and rather what I had myself imagined it always to be.

A soft white sand covered the landscape on every side. At each step one sank into it for a depth of about a foot. The ground was undulating, and occasionally sand-dunes, rising to a height of as much as a hundred feet, were to be seen. Beyond the sparse grass no vegetation of any sort existed within sight of In Ouzel, but, in some of the more sheltered “oueds,” lying to the east of the well, was a tall shrub, with leaves somewhat resembling the Scotch fir. This was the plant on which the camels fed. It is called “ethel” in Arabic, and is fairly common in the Northern Sahara. I had not previously seen this desert shrub, but this, I fancy, was due to the desert soil I had hitherto encountered not being suited to its growth. The “ethel” appears to require a soft, sandy soil; at any rate, I never found it growing except in this particular kind of ground. “Ethel” shares with other Saharan flora the peculiarity of possessing thorns, or rather, in this case, spikes. It is a curious fact that every herb, plant, or tree in the desert seems to have some kind of a thorn growing upon it. The spikes on the “ethel” are perhaps less strong and hard than in the case of most other Saharan vegetation. It is rather strange how the camel eats these thorny morsels without apparently suffering any inconvenience therefrom. By a peculiar motion he seems to compress the thorns between the roof of his mouth and his tongue and tear them off. The “cram-cram” grass, of which the camel is excessively fond, and which is far more nourishing than the “Ethel,” was no longer to be seen. On quitting the Adrar we had left it behind. It does not appear to exist north of that country at all.

In the Sahara there are two kinds of plants, generally speaking—plants which do not die if they get no rain during the year, and plants which only spring up annually if there has been rain. The former species is rather interesting on account of the following peculiarities. After rain it sprouts forth new branches or sprigs, and usually remains fairly green for three years, after which it will dry up, but not die, and will still afford nourishment for camels for several years, gradually fading away, and finally dying if it does not get any rain for a period of seven years. These periods—three and seven years—are necessarily not exact in every case, but this is said to be the average. This fact, of course, accounts for pasturage being found in parts of the Sahara where it has been known not to rain for a considerable time.

The latter species, viz. the plants which only spring up annually if it rains, are known to the Arabs by the general name of “acheb.” It is said that to give life to one of these plants a heavy shower of rain at least is necessary, and that the soil must have been saturated for a depth of about four inches. The characteristic of the “acheb” is that the seed never seems to die. It merely rests in the ground, waiting for the requisite fall of rain to spring up. The locality may not have any rain for ten years, yet the seed will germinate when the rain does eventually come. “Acheb” of all kinds is eagerly devoured by camels, and most kinds of it are very nourishing.

There is a totally different sort of flora in the Sahara above and below the 20th or 21st parallel, and the difference is rather striking to the traveller, for the change of landscape and climate to which this must be due is so gradual and so slight as to be hardly noticeable.

Much of the Saharan vegetation, although so dry and unrefreshing in appearance, contains a certain amount of liquid. It is this which enables the fauna of the desert to exist without drinking.

The question of the different herbs of the desert leads one to consider the subject of how and when camels should be allowed to graze. I found I had a lot to learn about this, and it is a most important item in the education of the desert traveller. Since one’s mobility, and frequently one’s life, must depend on the state of the camels in the caravan, the subject is obviously worth studying. Of course, in some cases forced marches are absolutely necessary, as when crossing a waterless tract of desert with little water on the camels. But in most cases the welfare of the camel must be studied as carefully as possible. Now, it has been noticed that the camel will eat better at certain times of the day than he will at others. Between the hours of 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. camels do not graze. They generally lie down and rest at this time. Further, they do not graze between about 2 a.m. and sunrise. They will, practically, graze all the rest of the twenty-four hours. Experience has also shown that they graze better on moonlight nights than when it is dark. With these data as a guide, one can regulate the time of marching so as to allow the camels to graze at suitable hours. The authorities say that the animals should be allowed four hours’ pasturage at the very least during the twenty-four.

Another point to be remembered is that camels ruminate, or chew their food, for some time after grazing. Time should be allowed for this. When not grazing, and particularly at night, camels can often be observed chewing. They will go on scrunching their massive jaws for hours together, while squatting on their hunkers round the camp after dark.

Camels are strange beasts, passing the comprehension of man in many ways. I often used to watch them in their pasturage, and think what antediluvian creatures they appeared to be. The camel seems to belong to a prehistoric age, and should be classed with the giraffe, elephant, and hippopotamus, to my mind. He is a sad sort of animal, seeming never to take any enjoyment in life. Even when in perfect liberty, grazing, he does not look happy. He only then seems to be a little less discontented than usual. But with all his peculiarities and vices a camel is a necessity in desert travel, and I suppose we should be grateful to him for enabling us to cross these inhospitable tracts. Without the camel the Sahara would be even less known than at present.

CHAPTER XXII

The dreaded Tanezrouft — Camel saddles — The wells of Timissao — A valuable plant — A night march — An improvised shelter — Sandstorms — Enemies to sleep — Gloomy scenery — The water supply — An exhausting struggle — The wells of Ahnet — Instinct of the guides — Protecting the water-skins.

WHILE at In Ouzel I had to make a careful overhaul of my equipment. The portion of desert now close in front of me was the much-dreaded Tanezrouft, and a journey across it at any time of the year was not a thing to be lightly undertaken, but more especially was this the case during the hottest season.

The Tanezrouft extends between the 23rd and 26th parallels in the Central Sahara, forming a tract of desert in which there is no water, to all intents and purposes no grazing and, what is still more inconvenient in many ways, not even any firewood. The consequence is that all these necessaries must be carried for a distance of about 200 miles. The width of this waterless region varies in different parts, but at the point where I was going to cross it I must expect to take about seven days to accomplish the journey. This is a tract which must be crossed as rapidly as possible in order to reach the wells on the north side, for a camel in hot weather cannot exist more than about eight days without water; moreover, the water-skins are calculated to leak to the extent of one-tenth per diem, from which it is evident that a full water-skin would have lost the whole of its contents by the tenth day, even if none of the water in it had been drunk. It follows that any delay over and above seven days, in the passage of this dreary bit of desert, would be extremely perilous for the safety of the caravan.

From the above considerations it is obvious that it was imperative to be most careful that all details connected with the equipment and organization of the little caravan should be put into first-rate working order. It was unfortunate that I had been ill at this rather critical time, but I had in person seen to as much as possible, and had left everything else in the competent hands of Mahomed.

Broken saddles required to be repaired and thoroughly overhauled, girths had to be mended and renewed, water-skins must be carefully tested to see they did not leak more than the normal amount, while camels’ wounds had to be dressed. Besides, the whole of my kit really needed overhauling, but owing to the sandstorms constantly blowing, it was impossible to do this. Our greatest difficulty was with the saddles, for many of these had the wooden framework broken, and this required to be firmly lashed in order to make the saddle serviceable.

There are two or three different patterns of pack-saddle used in this part of the Sahara. The French-made one is much solider than the native article, but in some respects is less adapted for use with camels, and likely to give them a sore back if not carefully attended to. The French saddle, called the Gao pattern, consists of a wooden triangular frame, made of two horizontal bars on each side, which are connected by two transverse pieces at the sides, the apex of the triangle being formed by a further horizontal bar. This saddle fits on to the camel’s back on the top of two well-stuffed panels which are filled with cotton-wool. On the framework are fixed two iron hooks on each side, so that baggage can be slung on each side of the frame. In most cases the two panels are sewn together, a hole being cut in the middle to allow of the camel’s hump protruding. I found that the chief drawback to these saddles was that the panels were often not long enough; consequently, if a load was used which projected lower than the panel on the animal’s side, he was certain to get chafed by the constant friction of the article against his skin. I saw some nasty wounds which had been thus inflicted, and these were always difficult to heal.

The native type of saddle, called the “arrej” in Arabic, is a far simpler affair, made on the same principle but with two light pieces of bamboo fitting over each side of the camel, and connected by two diagonal bamboos. This saddle also is kept from pressing on the animal’s back by means of a cushion of date-palm fibre, while no girth whatever is used.

Owing to there being no girth, a very nice adjustment of loads is required to preserve the balance. I have seen some curious sights with this saddle, too, when a camel has been coming down hill. If he trots disaster is almost inevitable, for he jogs his saddle out of place, and equilibrium between the loads is lost, so that they fall to the ground, saddle and all.

Riding-saddles, called “rahla” in Arabic, are of two kinds—the Arabic and the Tuareg saddle. These simply consist of a round piece of wood for the seat, covered with leather, and a peak in front as well as one behind. In the case of the Tuareg “rahla,” which is by far the most comfortable, the peaks are higher and the seat wider in circumference. The shape of the peak in the Tuareg saddle is rather strange; it is in the form of a cross. The best of riding-saddles are hard and uncomfortable if the length of march is above the average. I used to fold a blanket over mine to soften somewhat the discomfort caused by the hard wood. I never saw a saddle of European manufacture, but have no doubt that something far more comfortable could easily be made.

At In Ouzel Mahomed got rid of the useless El Bashir, and in his place an Arab friend of his, called Othman, was engaged. The change was vastly for the better, and I now found things worked much more smoothly. It appeared that Othman and Mahomed had been partners in business some time previously, so it was a great stroke of luck to find him there. It was really essential to have at least two men with the camels, for if one animal strays while grazing there is someone left to look after the remainder. As it was, my servant Musa assisted a great deal in collecting the camels from their pasturage when we were about to start on a march.

I was more than thankful to leave In Ouzel. My experiences of the place had been so disagreeable that I hated the sight of it. As soon as we once more got on the march my spirits rose again and things assumed a brighter hue.

It was the 22nd of May when we left In Ouzel. Game now was very scarce, and for about the next ten days I saw nothing more than two or three Loder’s gazelle in the distance.

We had a march of about ninety miles to the wells of Timissao, which were on the southern limits of the Tanezrouft; but as we approached this dreaded region the desert became more and more forbidding in its aspect. We were now descending rapidly from the elevated plateau of Adrar to the plain of the Tanezrouft. On the east was a rocky mass of hills called the Jibal el Tirik, and at the foot of these there was a small well, but it was nearly dry when we reached it. There is hardly any grazing-land in this part, so that it never boasts of even a nomad population. It is absolutely deserted. From the Tirik hills we passed along a sandy valley between two parallel ranges of rocky hills for a distance of about forty miles. The sand here was not like that at In Ouzel, but resembled the sand in the south of Adrar. It was as hard and as level as a running-track. Walking on it was very easy, and I used to march six or seven hours without feeling the slightest fatigue. In this valley the colouring at sunset was beautiful. As the sun went down and its crimson rays faded into a more subdued colour, the rocky hills were bathed in a lovely deep purple light, creating an effect many an artist would give a great deal to have an opportunity of depicting on canvas.

The last eight miles of the march to Timissao lay across the range of hills which had formed our right flank coming up the valley. This again was a new kind of desert scenery. Here there was not a vestige of sand to be seen. Nothing but bare rocks and huge boulders strewed the way. Marching was difficult for men and beasts, and at times there seemed every prospect of losing some of the animals down the precipitous sides of a rocky gully. Camels, unless specially trained to it, are by no means surefooted on rough ground; frequently one would clumsily place his foot on a loose boulder and only recover himself with difficulty. After a long and excessively hot march we eventually arrived at the well of Timissao. The well lay in a sandy “oued,” which suddenly emerged to view as we clambered to the top of the rocky ridge above it.

A few shrubs of “ethel” were scattered along the sides of the “oued,” and as we arrived a young Loder’s gazelle peered at us with inquisitive eyes, astonished at this unwonted intrusion of his desert haunts.

The well of Timissao, the last we were to see for a week, had the best water I had tasted since leaving Kidal. It was beautifully clear and fresh, so unlike the wells of Adrar in this respect. A big ledge of rock projected from the cliff hard by, under which I ensconced myself for the day. But after breakfast there was plenty to be done. We had to water all the camels, and must ensure their drinking their fill before commencing the fatiguing march across the Tanezrouft.

In the sand was made a long, narrow drinking-trough, lined with stones, so as to facilitate the drinking operations. By this means we could water some half-dozen camels at a time.

Mahomed and Othman were stripped to the waist, busily engaged in filling up the trough, as the thirsty beasts emptied it, with buckets full of water, drawn up in the “delou” from the well. It was a curious sight to watch the animals’ sides swelling to huge dimensions as they drank. I would notice a camel, apparently thin and wasting away, with his ribs all showing, come up to the trough, and after his drink he would look positively sleek and fat. When camels do drink they are greedy drinkers.

An animal consumes from eight to ten gallons at a time. But to allow him to drink all he is capable of, it is necessary to let him return two, if not three times to the trough. After drinking three or four gallons he will withdraw, and should be allowed to return in a couple of hours or so for a further ration of water, and so on till he is satisfied. For this reason it is advisable to commence the watering in the morning, in order to finish in one day. Further, camels are naturally thirstier, and drink better, when the sun is hot, than they will do at night. Watering was not thoroughly finished till 3 p.m., and Mahomed was anxious to get the caravan under way that same afternoon, so as to delay the passage of the Tanezrouft as little as possible. Accordingly the camels were loaded up with the baggage as soon as they left the water-side. A very different appearance did they present now they had satisfied their thirst to the utmost. I have no doubt they realized they were now going to be called on to undertake a tougher job than usual, and so must be well provided with their reserve of water for the occasion.

On quitting the well of Timissao we at once entered on the Tanezrouft. Quickly leaving the rocky hills behind us, we emerged on to a bleak, arid waste, consisting apparently of a vast plain of hard sand, with, on the east, a faint line of hills in the far distance. These hills marked the southern part of the Hoggar country, a land in which the nomads are Tuaregs, of whom I heard and saw more later on. Our way lay almost due north, across this seemingly endless, inhospitable plain of sand. We were now carrying water, food, and wood for the needs of the whole caravan, both for men and beasts. The wood we had collected with some difficulty on the march that morning early, and it chiefly consisted of dried-up mimosa twigs, but this was supplemented by a dried-up plant which is found in the Sahara, called “harta” in Arabic, or “aresou” in Tuareg. The latter fuel is a most useful article, being quite invaluable in many parts of the Sahara, where trees and shrubs are not found. It is a plant to which the camels are very partial when in flower, but when dried up it resembles a bunch of withered twigs.

About 7 p.m. we halted for the evening meal. There was to be little sleep for anyone the next seven days. The halt to-night only lasted till the moon rose, and then we were off once more. That night we marched from about 9 p.m. till dawn, without a halt. For the first time for months I saw a cloudy sky. The night was very dark, as the moon became obscured behind the clouds soon after she rose. It was a marvel to me how Mahomed found the way. Even had the route been a clearly defined track it would have been none too easy on such a night. But these desert guides seem to be gifted with almost supernatural powers of vision, and I never saw him hesitate once. I walked, as I found it was the only way to keep awake. When I felt a little tired I mounted my camel, but soon became drowsy and began to nod; then I felt myself falling off the animal’s back, and just woke in time to avoid a disaster. It was a long way from the camel’s back to the ground. A fall would have possibly involved a broken leg, so I decided to choose the lesser of the two evils and dismount again.

I was not sorry when the day began to dawn. At any rate, it was now light and possible to see one’s surroundings. We now halted for ten minutes, while the devout Mohammedans said their prayers. It was a picturesque sight to watch these men turn their faces to the pink flush in the eastern sky and kneel piously on the desert sand while they uttered the morning prayer, bowing themselves every now and again to the ground in obeisance to their God. After this short halt we marched on till the sun grew too hot, about 11 a.m. From 11 till 2 p.m. we again halted, although it can hardly be said that we rested. The heat was suffocating. There was no shade anywhere. The only possible hope of getting a little shelter from the direct rays of the sun was to rig up a tente d’abri of some description. I had long ago given up using my own tent for this purpose; and in the Tanezrouft, where one was fatigued after a long march under trying conditions, it was still less practicable to pitch it.

I improvised a tiny shelter with a waterproof sheet, to the ends of which were attached four strings. Making use of a couple of short bamboos, or sometimes of my rifles in the daytime, when there seemed no chance of danger, to support this sheet, I succeeded in contriving a small place in which I could sit down. The height was sufficient to permit of my keeping my sun-helmet on my head while in the sitting position, and the length was enough to allow me to stretch my legs to their full extent and yet be thoroughly protected from the sun. The four ends were tied by their strings to articles of baggage.

My “house” was certainly better than nothing, but it can hardly be said that it was comfortable. My position was cramped and tiring, while the heat inside was very oppressive. A further inconvenience, and the worst of all, was that, when a sandstorm arose, I was exposed to it from two sides. It was impossible to make the covering air-tight enough to keep out the clouds of sand. I tried to close all openings with my available blankets, but the result was very poor, and in the end I had to resign myself to the inevitable and get “sanded” patiently!

The sandstorms were very frequent in the Tanezrouft, and much worse than I had hitherto experienced. The days succeeded one another without great variation in the monotony, for except for the degree of violence in the sandstorms, one day was almost exactly the counterpart of another.

These sandstorms were really the most horrible feature of that dreaded waterless desert. The storm would begin with little warning. All of a sudden in the distance there would appear a dense greyish yellow cloud, whirling rapidly towards us from the distant horizon. This was preceded by an intensely hot wind, resembling somewhat the hot-air blast from a furnace when the doors are opened. This hot wind carried with it countless scattered particles of sand, the scouts, as it were, of the storm which was following, and sent on to find out what human beings or animals were there to become the object of its attack. This preliminary wind, with its accompanying sand, was a mere bagatelle. The real trial was to follow. Close on its heels came the sandstorm—a whirling, densely packed bank of sand, hurrying forward at a headlong pace, blinding and overpowering everything with which it came in contact.

Before one of these terrible storms it is impossible to stand up without the danger of being overcome. The only plan is to fall on the ground and cover up your face, lying there until the storm is past. The camels instinctively do the same. They know, even quicker than a man, when a sandstorm is coming, and prostrate themselves before it arrives. These sandstorms are awful things, to which even the most experienced and philosophical of Arabs never get used. Instead of cooling the air, they seem to make it hotter. The heat when a sandstorm is about is remarkably oppressive. Just before and after a storm of this description the sun is seen through a haze, reminding the spectator of the appearance it has in London on a foggy day. Of course, while the storm is raging no sun is to be seen. Indeed, the air is so thick with sand that it is impossible to see more than a few yards. Moreover, the person who raises his head when a really bad storm is raging is foolhardy in the extreme.