This place might appropriately be called one of the outposts of civilization in the Northern Sahara. After crossing over 1300 miles of desert one sees for the first time a collection of flat-roofed houses, a market-place full of bargaining, gesticulating Arabs, and that most evident sign of civilization the electric telegraph. Ouargla exists by reason of her date trade. Here is grown the finest date of commerce, viz. the dessert date as we know it in England.
There is rather a pathetic story attached to this spring. About two months earlier, an Arab and his wife were journeying from the north towards Insalah. They had missed their way and exhausted their water supply. First, all their camels died by the road, one by one overcome with thirst. The man and his wife struggled on, hoping to find the spring of El Guettera, and well aware that it could not be far off. The woman next succumbed, but the man kept on, dragging himself wearily along, buoyed with the hope that he must be close to water. The distance, however, was greater than he had thought, and he too died. His body was discovered a few days later by a passing caravan. He had actually arrived within half a mile of the spring, and if he had only known this, poor fellow, he would probably have had strength to reach it!
All this time I had been practising doing valet and cook to myself with indifferent success. I knew sufficient about cooking, of course, to be able to make simple dishes for myself, having frequently done this before, as must anyone who wishes to travel. But when I arrived at the halting-place, generally after a long, hot march, I felt anything but inclined to begin to cook my own repast. Moreover, the difficulties caused by periodic gusts of sand, from which we were not exempt here, made the effort of cooking most fatiguing. At night, too, I used often to feel very disinclined to make my own bed, and again to pack it up when we started once more. Indeed, latterly, I used infinitely to prefer to sleep on one blanket on the sand to getting out my bed and pitching it, with its paraphernalia of bedding. The two Arabs were far too busy with their camels and too ignorant of cooking in any form to be of the slightest assistance. The same argument applied to the soldier “Méhariste.” All these people live practically on a handful of raw dates, and any form of food different from this is unknown to them. How I envied them their simple tastes sometimes!
The range of El Guettera forms the south-western border of the plateau of Tademayt. This rocky plateau runs in a north-and-south direction, and at its foot lies the region of the oases, viz. Insalah, Touat, Beni Abbes, and the eastern extremity of Colomb Béchar. Its elevation above the sea is about 1600 feet. On climbing up to the top of this plateau we had to follow a precipitous track, on each side of which was a deep chasm. In the chasms could be seen the bones of camels, which had evidently, at different times, lost their footing and perished. Fortunately for us we reached the summit in safety, but many times a camel’s foot slipped, and his fate hung in the balance. As we progressed across the plateau the surface became more sandy and level. Pasturage, too, was more plentiful, and that night, the 18th of June, we camped in a fine wide “oued,” called by the name of Musa Benaïsch, and the camels fairly revelled in the pasturage here, for it was the first good feed they had had since leaving Insalah, and in any case they infinitely preferred the “acheb” here to the diet of dates to which they had so long been accustomed.
Near this spot we came upon an encampment of Chaamba Arabs. They had a large number of camels and sheep. This was the first time that I had seen any sheep since leaving Adrar. Of course, they refused to part with any, so our hopes of fresh meat were soon dashed to the ground. There had been no signs of game hitherto, as indeed was only natural, for there was nothing for them to eat, but now that “oueds” were becoming more plentiful we noticed tracks of Loder’s gazelle from time to time.
On the 29th of June we quitted the Tademayt plateau and descended on to a wide plain of gravelly soil. This plain was flanked on the east and west by the two great sandy deserts known as the Eastern and Western “Great Erg” respectively. The character of the country in the “Great Erg” is unique in the Sahara. The word “erg” in Arabic means sand-hill. And these two vast deserts consist of wide expanses of dunes of soft sand. They stretch almost uninterruptedly from Morocco on the west to Tripoli on the east. Marching in this dreary region is most difficult for man and beast. At every step the feet sink deep into the sand. Moreover the sand drifts on account of the usual prevalent north-east wind, frequently changing the appearance of the sand-hills to such an extent that guides lose their landmarks and miss the way.
But although these “erg” appear so barren there is a fair amount of Saharan vegetation, and pasturage for camels is not difficult to obtain. The sand is a dazzling yellowish white, but in some instances one sees several ridges of reddish sand, showing out very distinctly in contrast to the ordinary colour. From here to the next well it was a two days’ march. We had already had several examples of our guide’s incompetence. He often appeared to be at fault. But it was not till now that he actually lost the way. He would, I am convinced, have never found it had it not been for the “Méhariste.” This man was a typical nomad of the Sahara, and, although having only once previously travelled by this route, he managed to lead us out of our difficulties to Hassy Inifel. “Hassy” is the word for “well,” so that nearly every well has the word “hassy” prefixed to its name in the Central Sahara.
At Inifel there is a stone block-house, built by the French some years ago, when this was a military post. In it there were two comfortable rooms, where we could rest from the heat of the day. We were now about half-way to Ouargla, and so the sight of Inifel cheered us up, making us feel that we had left another milepost behind.
From Inifel the way lay north-east, following close to a big “oued”—the Oued Mya. This dried-up waterway runs for about 200 miles north-north-east to Ouargla, and must have been an important river in its day.
Between Inifel and the next well, called Zmeila, there was a long march of three days, which took us over ninety-five miles of stony ground, lying several miles to the west of the “oued.” In this country the camels had rather a rough time, for there was practically no pasturage for them, and our guide, with his usual ignorance, or want of foresight, had not arranged to carry any food for them. To add to his delinquencies, the stupid rascal again lost the way. At the time we were marching at night. He had pointed to his “sokrar” the direction in which he said the well lay, while he made an excuse for dropping in rear of the caravan. I thought he was an unusually long time in regaining his place, and so turned back to see what he was doing. I found him peacefully sleeping on a baggage camel, and, had I not been so angry, I could not have helped laughing at the humorous spectacle that met my eyes. He was in a crouching position, half lying on his stomach, with his legs firmly clasped round the camel’s hump. How on earth he could manage to sleep in this extraordinary posture was more than I could understand. His appearance suggested a sack of potatoes thrown over the animal’s back! I applied my riding-whip pretty freely to a certain portion of his anatomy, and he awoke with a start, nearly losing the balance he had so marvellously preserved hitherto.