My escort consisted of one non-commissioned officer and six soldiers, all natives, belonging to the Senegalese Tirailleurs. I had one riding-camel for myself and four baggage camels, one of the latter being lightly laden, and carrying my servant for a portion of the day’s march. The remaining camels, numbering eighteen, were carrying Government stores for Kidal. I waited behind to allow the string of camels to file off in front of me before mounting my own animal, and following in their wake.
I intended to march till sunset that evening, and then halt for a few hours’ rest until the moon got up. As soon as the moon rose I would start again, and march till eight or nine the following morning. I was anxious to march as little as possible during the day because of the intense heat. Besides, most of the tirailleurs were on foot, and night marching would be less fatiguing for them. The predominant question of water also had to be thought of, as a man wants to drink less if halted in the heat than if he is marching at that time.
The southern portion of the Sahara about Gao is desert in the sense of being a deserted land, that is to say a land without any fixed inhabitants. There are comparatively few parts of the Sahara which are absolutely deserted by mankind, for almost the whole of this lonely region has a population of nomads. These nomads, it is true, are very few in numbers, and rarely stay in one spot for any length of time. Their movements are dictated by two things. Firstly, the state of the pasturage in the locality where they are is an all-important factor. Nomads of the desert must of necessity be mounted on camels, chiefly, if not entirely, for they are the only animals adapted to an existence which entails long periods without water. But camels, like other animals, must feed fairly regularly, although they can live some time without drinking, hence the necessity for these nomads to have pasturage for their beasts. The nomad then remains in a certain locality in the desert for as long as there is food for his camels; he then moves on to a fresh spot with suitable feeding for his camels. To a large extent the proximity and quality of the water in the nearest wells are of minor importance to the question of a good pasturage. The desert nomad has perforce to be a hardy creature or he would very soon die of starvation or thirst. His wants in the way of food are small and easily satisfied, while he trains himself to exist, like his camel, on little water. To a large extent he suits his life and movements to the welfare of his beast.
Now, although the southern portion of the Central Sahara is a deserted country, the greater part of the section inhabited by the Kountah Arabs and the Ouilli-miden Tuaregs, viz. from the latitude of Bourem to the latitude of Zinder, is comparatively fertile in a certain kind of vegetation. This vegetation is of a peculiar kind, but includes the mimosa shrub and cram-cram grass, besides other things the camel likes to feed on. There is comparatively little space with no vegetation of some kind growing upon it. Water is scarce everywhere, and is only found in wells, but it is rare that one has to march more than sixty miles without passing a well.
For the first nine days my route lay through the country of the Kountahs. We seldom met any people, however. Occasionally, at a well, one would come across a few men drawing water, which they would load up on camels, or sometimes on donkeys, and thus transport it to their encampment, which was probably some miles distant, and generally far away from the possible tracks of a passing caravan. I suppose the mere fact of a man electing to pass his life in the Sahara is a sufficient indication that, for some reason or other, he wishes to shun other mortals as much as possible. His motive may be a criminal one, or merely the desire for a hermit existence; whichever it is, in the case of these people, there is no doubt that they have a decided reluctance to coming into contact with strangers, unless for purposes of loot!
The route I had taken was not the shortest one to Kidal. My quickest way would have been through Kerchouel, a well almost due north of Gao, and to the east of my direction, but the guide said that this line of wells via Kerchouel was in a bad state. According to him several of the wells were dry, or had so little water as to be insufficient for even our small caravan. I afterwards discovered that the man was lying, and, for private reasons, did not wish to go by Kerchouel, for the wells there were no drier than were those on our route. It so happened that this particular year had been a drier one than usual, and all the wells were in a lower condition than usual for the time of year.
In this portion of the Sahara there is a periodical rainfall, which, of course, accounts for the vegetation being less poor than elsewhere. The rainfall consists of some three or four tornadoes, averaging possibly one or two inches in the year. These tornadoes come between the months of July and September, and it is due to them that the wells fill up. Sometimes a well, or line of wells in an “oued,” fill up when there is apparently no rain that year, but this is to be attributed to the fact that rain has fallen in some far-off locality—possibly at a distance of a hundred miles—and, by some curious subterranean system, there is a connection between the spot where the rain has fallen and the particular “oued” in which the wells are situated. The whole question of where the water originates which fills up certain wells in the Sahara is a complicated and interesting one. Until all the desert has been thoroughly surveyed it will be difficult to do more than guess at the solution of some of these problems.
One article of baggage which I had brought, and which I thought would be of the greatest value in the Sahara, was my tent. When halting during the middle of the day the heat was intense. Shade was scarce, for the mimosas, the nearest approach to trees, were at the best stunted shrubs, affording little shade. My tent, however, consisting as it did of a single fly, seemed to retain the heat to a great extent, although, of course, it afforded some welcome shade. I found the hours from 11 a.m. till 3 p.m. most trying. It was so hot that it was difficult to work, yet it was much too hot to sleep. I always welcomed the hour for the evening departure. Marching was certainly cooler than halting, and often it was less tiring.
A Tuareg Herd, In Ouzel