At this moment the sand-storm, which had been rising, blew out his lantern. The caravan had caught up with us, and every one realized that we had lost our way. Men and camels were huddled together, with the gale and hurtling sand beating upon them. The wind made it impossible to hear one’s own voice, to say nothing of any other man’s.
Mohammed’s confidence had completely deserted him, and I could see its effect on the men’s faces. They were all traveled men of the desert, and they know what it meant to lose one’s way in a serira, where there are no landmarks.
“We must camp until the sky clears,” is the chorus.
But I know how fatal such a policy would be. They would spend four or five hours brooding over their fate and growing more and more despondent and hopeless. There is no need for a halt, as my compass is a reliable one, and I have checked it many times with the directions pointed out by Mohammed.
“This wind comes from the north,” I asserted quietly but with assurance during a lull in the storm, “as it has for the past few days. If it came from the south it would be hot. There is the Jadi, and this is our route.”
I pointed to where Polaris must be, unless the compass was all wrong, and then swung around and indicated the way that we should go.
“Allah bless you,” replied Mohammed, pulling himself together. “What you say is true.”
Senussi Bu Hassan, who was our guide to Kufra, came close to me and in a loud voice confirmed the statement.
“Wallahi, you speak truth,” he said firmly. “I had thought of it but could not speak as I had no proof, since the Jadi hides himself behind the clouds.”
That was enough for us. We lighted the lantern with difficulty, and with Mohammed and Bu Hassan beside me I led the way.