“Mohammed is a good guide by daylight,” he said, “but he is old, and at night he does not see much. Besides, he has not been to this country for several years. We should have camped at the first well this evening, but we have missed it. But God knows best.” I told him to say nothing of this to the men, lest they should grow more panicky and blame Mohammed.
I prepared my sleeping-bag and sat down to think. This was the most discouraging moment of the journey. The men had lost confidence and had suffered much from the heat; the camels were dead beat, largely from the same cause; the guide was not sure of the way; and the water was scarce and bad. Any one of these circumstances would have been enough to make one anxious, but all together made a devastating assault upon one’s nerve.
As I reviewed the difficulties and dangers of the trip thus far, there flashed through my mind the thought that neither the mad Arami nor his brother Malkenni, who went to find him, had been seen again. I found myself wondering whether Fate intended to rob me of what I had been able to achieve. If Fate is malicious, this was an opportune moment to strike. If I had missed Arkenu and Ouenat, it would not have been so hard. But now that I had made my modest achievement, I felt I should like to get back home with it. But—God knows best. I wondered if it would be a sleepless night. But the magic of the desert again came into play, and I was surprised to find my eyelids growing heavier. The sleep that came was sweet.
Tuesday, May 15. We were up at four. Still uncertain where we were, Herri, Mohammed, and I went forward to make a reconnaissance, when suddenly the red hills of Erdi leaped into view. I satisfied myself by a good look through my binocular that we were not mistaken, and an hour later we started toward them. Before we started there was a discussion as to whether we should camp on the hills above the valley in which the well lies or go down into it. The descent would be hard on the camels, but nevertheless we decided to make it and camp on the floor of the wadi. In case of an attack by marauders we should at least have possession of the water-supply.
We had been steadily climbing through rough defiles between cliffs of red rock, and suddenly we came out on the top of a high cliff with the pleasant wadi of Erdi lying stretched out below us. It is a narrow valley, about ten kilometers long by not more than one hundred meters wide, surrounded by sheer cliffs of red rock. Trees and green grass, after the monotonous serira and the bare, unfriendly rocks that we have been traversing since Ouenat, suggest all the traditional connotations of the phrase “an oasis in the desert.” As we approached the well, Mohammed and Herri went forward again to reconnoiter the ground. The blacks are always cautious when they come to a well. They do not approach it directly but send a man or two ahead to make sure that if any one is already there he is not a stranger or at least not an enemy. So the two guides will not only mark out the path we are to follow but will discover if we need be on our guard when approaching a well.
We picked our way laboriously down the rough path into the valley and pitched camp at its northern end. The well lies at the extreme south, and there is no way of getting to it safely from above—without great risk to the camels—except where we came down.
A huge meal of rice and freshly baked bread, combined with our pleasant surroundings, made us all as cheerful as a wedding party. My anxious thoughts of the previous night seemed now like an absurd nightmare, and yet there was plenty of truth in them. There is often in the desert only a hair’s-breadth between safety and comfort and disaster.
After three glasses of stimulating tea, over which we all lingered luxuriously, the men went off to the well to water the camels and to bring back water for the camp. When they returned, a shave, a bath, and clean clothes restored all my self-respect and confidence, and life seemed very good again.
At five in the afternoon I climbed the wall of the valley with the theodolite and took observations. Zerwali went with Senussi Bu Hassan and Arami on a hunt for waddan, the mountain sheep, but they came back unsuccessful. I asked Arami if it were the fault of the sportsmen. “Wallahi [by God], no, they shoot straight, but God was merciful to the waddan.”
Night fell on a camp of rested camels and cheerful, singing men. I felt I should have none but pleasant dreams to-night.