CHAPTER X.

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.”

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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 a corresponding flash; hear we could not, as by this time a slight breeze had sprung up, and was blowing from us towards our caravan. Another barrel is now fired, but no reply. We were now rapidly coming to the conclusion that we should have to tie our camels to a mimosa bush, and sleep out without food, and what was still worse, without water, as both our zanzimeers were nearly empty. Still we perseveringly jogged on, and after a time discharged another barrel. In a few minutes’ time we see a slight flash, which appears to be so far off that we cannot make out whether it is in the heavens or on the earth. Not a sound reaches our ears. Our cartridges are also nearly exhausted, and we have all but made up our minds to sleep out, but try the rifle[132] once more. This time both barrels are discharged one after the other. We look out anxiously; not a sound reaches us, but we see a corresponding double flash a long way off, and are convinced that this comes from our camp. We see certain stars over the spot, and for these we steer. When we had jogged on for another hour and a-half, we see a glimmering light like the flicker of a lantern (it really was a huge bonfire)—another half-hour, and we can plainly see lanterns moving about, and to our great relief and that of our friends, we gain the camp at 9 p.m., thoroughly hungry, thirsty, and tired. The temperature this day was 86° in the shade; my ears and nose were quite scorched, and smarting from the heat of the sun.

On arriving in camp I found Jules very ill indeed. On the fourth day he came to me in the evening complaining of a bilious attack. I gave him something for it. In some respects he was better by the evening of the fifth, and on the morning of the 6th bilious vomiting had ceased, but in the evening, judging from the symptoms, I was afraid that formidable complaint, dysentery, was setting in. However, I kept this to myself, at present, not wishing to alarm the camp, and hoping that treatment might prove beneficial. We dined at 10.30, and retired to bed at 12 p.m. When I say we retired to bed I[133] literally mean that, not to a shake-down sort of thing with a rug over me and a portmanteau for a pillow, but a comfortable bed with a comfortable pillow, in a comfortable tent, and cocoa-matting on the ground. There really was an air of comfort about all our surroundings. We had comfortable shut-up and open-out chairs, a comfortable folding-up table, each a nice portable india-rubber bath, and, whenever we encamped by water we each had a bath before breakfast and another before dinner. As for eatables and drinkables, the most fastidious would not turn up their noses at those. We had sufficient champagne and claret to last us during the whole campaign; a freezing machine, so that we could have these iced in the hottest weather. We had gozogenes and any amount of seltzer-water, and when we fell short of that we used Eno’s fruit-salt in the gozogenes. We had Peek Frean and Co’s. biscuits, Cross and Blackwell’s excellent Chutnee pickles and pickalili, tomato sauce, asparagus, green peas, plum puddings, French jams, minced collops, kidneys, tinned soups from Fortnum and Mason’s, Piccadilly, and everything else one could think of to insure comfort in eating, drinking, and sleeping. Some ascetics would say we were of the earth, earthy, but I maintain that if you mean to keep a mens sana in corpore sano one may just as well—and a great[134] deal better—build up the waste tissue from time to time and travel with every comfort, if one can afford it, as do the reverse. I have tried both; whilst campaigning in Turkey, when I have been on the march with the army, I have indulged in the luxury of a small onion and a limited piece of somewhat indifferent bread for breakfast, washed down with a drop of water, the same again for luncheon, and the same again for dinner, “and still I was not happy,” for I could comfortably have disposed of breakfast, luncheon, and dinner at one sitting without the slightest inconvenience. The ground was my bed, the canopy of heaven was my tent, the twinkling stars my lantern, and a stone or water-jug with a coat rolled round it was my pillow. I shall endeavour to avoid the slightest exaggeration in this book, and will go so far as to say that the former mode of travelling is by far the most comfortable, and, in my humble opinion, the most conducive to health.

Again I find myself branching off, and cannot give any guarantee but what I may still do so. All I ask is that my readers will overlook this little failing of mine.

7th day.—We found water here, and of course replenished everything with this valuable fluid. The mimosas were scanty and very stunted here. During[135] the night and all this day a great wind has been blowing, producing a most blinding sand-storm, fortunately at our backs, or we should not have been able to proceed. No one can form any idea of the intense discomfort of a sand-storm, unless he has been in one. I may close up my tent and be roasted inside. I may lock up my portmanteau, which fits pretty closely, and have it in my tent, the lock covered with leather, yet when I go to bed I find the sheets brown with sand, the most secret recesses of my portmanteau and the lock filled with sand, and my writing-case also, which is inside. I open my mouth to speak, and I can masticate sand, if so disposed. I eat—all my food is full of sand. I drink, not water, but water and sand. In fact, sand is everywhere; eyes, nose, mouth, ears, hair, brains, and everything else has a mixture of sand about it. I chance to leave a book, a pair of boots, or anything else outside my tent, they soon become invisible, and are covered inches deep in sand. Here we found great difficulty in pitching our tents, as there was nothing but sand to drive the pegs into, and then we came to rocks. Three or four days ago a lame woman and a man joined our caravan, and two days ago two men, all bound for Kassala, all pilgrims from Mecca. They were allowed to accompany us, and we fed them. To-day we miss[136] the woman, and on inquiry find that she was knocked up en route yesterday, and so her companion left her to die, and probably when we discovered this she had been picked clean by jackals and vultures. Such is the value put upon human life out here.

8th day.—The sand-storm still rages with unabated violence. We decide not to go on, but encamp here to-day. We are, however, obliged to move our tents to a place that is a little more sheltered, as at present it is absolutely miserable. Jules still very ill. Temperature 86° in the shade. In the day time the fierce heat of the sun rendered the interior of the tents like ovens. Outside the sand reflected the heat. Although producing great personal discomfort, our sufferings were nothing to what poor Jules endured, who is now unmistakably suffering from dysentery badly. Under any circumstances this is a grave complaint to have, but under present circumstances, doubly so; that which he requires is impossible to obtain, namely, absolute rest and a suitable diet. The poor fellow complains to-day of incessant thirst, and everything he gets to eat or drink is impregnated with sand, which it is impossible to avoid.

About 12 meridie, Mr. Phillipps, who was passing across the camp, saw the two pilgrims whom we had[137] allowed to join the caravan, two brothers. One was supporting the head of the other in the blazing sun. The poor fellow’s eyes, nose, ears, and hair, &c. were full of sand. He said his brother was ill. I was at once called to him, and found him in articulo mortis. Very little could be done for him, and in twenty minutes’ time he died. His brother borrowed a spade, dug a shallow grave near the camp and buried him, putting a mound of little white stones on the grave. In my journey across the desert I frequently came across these graves, sometimes two or three together, sometimes 20, 50, or 100. Occasionally skeletons of camels were met with. In the present instance, the poor fellow who died looked very emaciated and weak, probably exhausted by constant marching and a deficient supply of food. But he had accomplished the pilgrimage to Mecca, and I suppose he died a happy man.

9th day.—Poor Jules is so ill to-day that I cannot consent to have him removed. The camp is accordingly split up, Mr. Phillipps and I, with a few camels and attendants, remaining behind. The sand-storm is abating, but the heat is very great and trying to Jules. A gazelle was shot to-day. I cannot say that gazelle is a particularly toothsome morsel under our circumstances. We are obliged to cook it on the same day that it has been killed. The flesh of a desert[138] gazelle is hard, and has very little flavour. Our comrades left us about 10 a.m., and directly they had gone down came the vultures for pickings.

10th day.—Jules still very ill, but in some respects a trifle better. We decide on advancing to-day, if possible, and encamp a little longer when we get to water. Accordingly we strike our tents and help the camel men to load, send them on, then see to our own. We do not get off until 4.30 p.m. Half-an-hour afterwards we come to a dry river course, on each side of which are dhoum palms and other trees. We saw a couple of jackals sneaking off here, but did not get a shot at them. We trusted to one of our Arabs to show us the way. When we had gone on for about an hour, he suddenly stopped in the middle of a great sandy plain, said he was not sure of the way, and as it was getting dark, thought we had better stop until daylight. On hearing this Mr. Phillipps retraced his steps, and was absent about two hours. I now became anxious about him, and every now and then fired off my revolver. Fortunately I happened to have a box of matches with me, and kindled a fire, then Mahoom and I tore up all the stuff that would ignite. Half-an-hour afterwards Mr. Phillipps found us, but he had been unsuccessful in his search for the road. However, we kept up the fire, hoping some of our[139] camel men would see the signals of distress, which fortunately they did after a time; at last one of them found us. In the meantime Jules was lying on the ground exhausted, with a rug thrown over him. Our man led us to where the other camels were. Now we had another bother: one of the camels had thrown his load off; the old fellow who was in charge was lying on the ground, said he had got a pain in his stomach, and we must stop there, as he could not possibly go on. We roused him up, gave him a good shaking, and made him come on. But he soon stopped again, and laid down to sleep, most coolly saying he could not go any further. The fact is that just before we started he had eaten a large quantity of raw meat, had, in fact, thoroughly gorged himself. However, there we left him, and went on another two or three miles. Halted at 10 p.m. and kindled a fire, had a cup of cocoa, a bit of bread, rolled ourselves up in rugs, and lay on the ground. Jules suffered much from this, as the nights were so cold.

11th day.—Up early, feeling stiff, cold, and hungry. Marched until 10 a.m. (four hours), intending to rest during the excessive heat of the day, as my poor invalid was almost too weak to set up. About 3 p.m. Mr. F. L. James appears on the scene, and tells us that the camp is only about four miles[140] off, at a place called Waudy. We get there about 6.30 p.m., and find the camp pitched near a well surrounded by dhoum palms. Temperature to-day, 88° in the shade. This being Christmas Day, we had some excellent plum puddings, made by Crosse and Blackwell, iced champagne, and other luxuries for dinner.

12th day.—Jules was very ill indeed to-day, thoroughly prostrated by his complaint, which had increased in intensity—it was quite out of the question for him to attempt to move. We held a council, and decided that as there were a few huts and goats, and a well, that it would be advisable to let Jules rest here awhile, for now we could get a little milk for him twice a day. Accordingly on the 13th day the camp was split up. Messrs. A. and W. James, Colvin, and Aylmer went on to Kassala, whilst Jules, Messrs. Phillipps, F. L. James, and I remained behind. Here we rested for five days, and what with treatment, diet, and rest Jules improved daily.

On the 16th day we rigged up an augarip (a kind of litter), with an awning of matting and palm leaves to keep off the sun, and on the 17th day this was slung across a camel. Jules got into it, and off we started at 7.30 a.m., marching until 7.30 p.m. Much too long a journey for Jules, who was again[141] thoroughly knocked up and exhausted. I suggested now that such marches were too long, and that our best plan was for me to start off early with Jules, say 6 a.m., and march until 10, then rest until 4 and go on until 7 or 8 p.m. This was agreed to.

18th day. January 1st, 1883.—I visited Jules at 6 a.m.; found him no worse. We started at 8, halt at 12, rest until 2, and go on until we catch up the caravan, at 8.30 p.m. Jules complained bitterly of these long journeys, which were so exhausting to an invalid. Medicine was now out of the question, as the rolling motion of the camel made him very sick. At the mid-day halt we found some empty huts in the desert. These we explored, and found rather interesting. In several of them I found a hole in the floor, the use of which is rather singular. The good wife of the house uses this. She gets certain fragrant barks and frankincense, burns them in the hole, then stands over them, having her dress drawn round her, to fumigate herself and make herself acceptable to her husband. In England, of course, this is not at all necessary. We passed through a fine palm-grove to-day by a khor, and shot three gazelles.

19th day.—March again about 12 hours. Jules worse. Again I pointed out the bad effect of these long marches on the invalid.

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20th day.—Ten hours’ march to-day; halt near a deep well and a large palm-grove. Here I shot a fine golden-crested eagle. Jules frightfully done up, and rapidly going the wrong way.

21st day.—On the march at 9 a.m. We marched the greater part of this day across an awful desert, where no living thing except ourselves could be seen. No shelter was attainable for the mid-day lunch. Temperature 92° in what shade we could manufacture. During several hours of the day I saw that optical illusion which so often mocks the thirsty traveller, called the mirage—mirage, called by the Arabs, Bahr esh Sheitan, “The Devil’s Sea.” By a strange refraction of the atmosphere, plains of arid sands seem to be rippling lakes of water as far as the eye can reach, lapping the base of stupendous mountains of rocks, and bathing the roots of the stunted mimosa bushes. This day marched nearly 14 hours. Jules takes scarcely anything, is rapidly sinking, and again complains of these long marches.

22nd day.—Another 12 hours’ march. See mirage again for hours. Encamp at Fillick. Here there is a military station and a telegraph office.

23rd day.—Mirage again. Shot two gazelles, four bustards, and five guinea-fowl. Appear to be getting into a better country. Jules much weaker, pulse scarcely perceptible. Ten hours’ march to-day.

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24th day.—Eleven hours’ march to-day, and, I am thankful to say, the last day’s march across the desert. Temperature 93° in the shade. Since 11 a.m. we have travelled through much better country, and after our late experience it was quite refreshing to see a luxuriant vegetation once more, such as dhoum palms, colocynth, tamarisks, nebbucks, heglecks—not stunted mimosa bushes now, but different kinds of mimosa trees and various trees and shrubs. The place I am speaking of was quite like a gentleman’s park. Here also were ariels, gazelles, bustards, parroquets, eagles, vultures, and jackals. About seven, and pitch-dark, we, for the first time, heard the roar of a lion not far off. Our sensations were of a creepy character, and would, perhaps, have been more so had we known what we did when we got to Kassala—that he had lately dined, at separate times, on four human beings.