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.