After quitting this place of rocks the desert resumed its former appearance. The interminable stretches of hard sand seemed to extend into infinity. As a rule it was flat as a billiard table, but here and there could be seen a small sandy mound or undulation which probably served as a landmark to the guide. Our daily marches averaged forty-eight kilometres, about thirty miles. As the camel is a slow marcher when laden, and sandstorms greatly interrupted progress, the distance covered was considerable. Besides, the animals were now weary and had some difficulty in maintaining even their usual pace. I was obliged to discard some of my baggage, chiefly ammunition, heads, and “couscous,” in order to lighten the loads. The water supply was lightening itself with alarming rapidity, and required a watchful eye. Musa was the chief, and indeed the only, offender. The negro is used to drinking a great deal of water, being ignorant of the virtue of self-control in this matter. I several times caught him taking surreptitious draughts at the water-skins, and had to check him severely. The heat, and thirst engendered by it, were certainly intense, so that I could not help secretly sympathizing with him, although it was necessary to be harsh. The daily ration of water was doled out twice a day—at the midday halt, and again in the evening—and at no other time was anyone allowed to touch the water supply.
Each day passed in the same fatiguing, wearisome manner. Long, exhausting night marches, a halt in the midst of heat and discomfort, followed by further marching in the afternoon, until, by the evening halt we were dead beat. And all the time, at short intervals, we had those horrible sandstorms. At night, while marching, it is true, we were exempt from the trials of a sandstorm, but by that time we were so tired that we marched sullenly on more like machines than men. The trials of those days in the Tanezrouft are not easily to be forgotten. Sometimes I used to wonder if there would be any end to it. The place in my imagination conjured up ideas of what the infernal regions must be like. A continual struggling forward with endless difficulties to contend against. To all intents and purposes no rest, a thirst that could never be quenched, and an utter distaste for the monotonous diet of dates and “couscous” well mixed with sand!
I often now wonder how one got through those weary days. When we halted in the daytime, as I could not sleep I used to attempt to write and work up my notes, but the discomfort was so great that the work I got through did not amount to much. Towards the end the water we had to drink was so disgusting, owing to the time it had lain in the water-skin, that the only way I could drink mine was in the form of tea. Fortunately I was well provided with tea all through my Sahara trek, and I used my ration of fuel in order to boil water for tea.
My Arab Guide, Mahomed-Ben-Kaid-Kaddour
This man, to whose skill and endurance I am indebted for safely crossing some eight hundred miles of the Sahara wastes, was a typical, hardy desert wanderer. With a cupful of water and a handful of dates as his daily ration he would bear the scorching heat and suffocating sandstorms without showing any signs of fatigue.
On the sixth day we crossed a series of parallel ridges of sand-hills. The sand here was, of course, quite soft, and the camels’ feet used to sink several inches deep into it. These sand-hills appeared to stretch as far as the eye could reach to the west, and possibly have some connection with the hills of moving sand known as Amool Gragim, which lie to the north of the desert salt-mines of Taudeny.
On the evening of the 1st of June, just before sunset, we arrived at the wells of Ahnet, having, to everyone’s joy, at last emerged from the desolate wastes of the Tanezrouft. Here there was fair pasturage for the camels, and everyone was in need of a rest, so I halted for a day and a half.
Some of our animals were in a bad condition. The march had been more than usually trying owing to the heat, and to the fact that caravans so rarely travel at this time of year in consequence. A feeling of satisfaction came over me at the thought that the worst was now over, for the strain of the last few days had been almost intolerable.
One of the most marvellous things about desert travel in the Sahara is the extraordinary instinct for finding the way possessed by the guides, and already referred to.