At 2 A.M. Hamid, who was acting as sentry, woke me to say that the messenger had arrived and was ready to take my letter to El Fasher. Two letters were all written and ready under my pillow, one to Saville Pasha and the other to the officer in command at Kuttum, the outpost on the way to El Fasher, asking him to make sure that my letter to El Fasher reached its destination. I was glad the messenger had come so early. The sooner we got new supplies the happier we should all be. I promised him a few extra dollars if he would deliver the letter to El Fasher in four days. I bade him a very warm God-speed and watched him ride off in the moonlight on a quite strong if ragged-looking horse.
CHAPTER XXI
JOURNEY’S END
SLEEP came slowly to me that first night at Furawia. I was excited as I had not been since saying good-by to Lieutenant Bather at Sollum and beginning the journey. Now I was in touch again with the outside world and the journey was really over, even though it would still be a month or more before I should exchange my caravan for other methods of travel. The “lost” oases of Arkenu and Ouenat were no longer lost, and, if my observations proved to be as accurate as I hoped they were, a good map could now be made of this strip of the Libyan Desert from Jalo to Furawia.
We spent three full days at Furawia getting used to the damp climate we had come into and trying to get enough to eat to keep us from feeling miserable. Dark clouds hovered over our heads much of the time, and every day it rained. My men gorged themselves with mutton, but the lack of sugar for the tea and other provisions rather took the edge off their enjoyment of these feasts.
On June 6 we started south in the afternoon and climbed slowly out of the valley. We passed many flocks of sheep and cattle going home, followed by slim girls and boys clad in nothing but a loin-cloth or strings of beads.
It was quite different from the desert we had come through. We were following a beaten track and passing frequently small villages of straw huts, women carrying hatab, and other signs of habitation.
Near one of the villages I told the caravan to go ahead and pointed out to them where we would camp. I followed with my horse. There were a few points of interest geographically, and I had to take some observations. As I was nearing the camp I heard voices curiously upraised, a mixture between men wailing and singing. My first thought was that some of the men of the caravan had got into trouble with the natives. I spurred on my horse and as I was approaching the camp my mind was relieved, for I heard the tom-tom of the drum and women’s voices singing. It was just after sunset, and in the dusk I could not distinguish clearly the crowd that was moving toward me, but soon one of my men came rushing up to tell me they had had the most cordial reception from the men and women of the village, who insisted on coming out to receive “the sheikh of the caravan.” He had hardly broken this news to me when a bevy of young girls, some singing, others dancing, surrounded my horse, who responded as befitted a Bedouin horse and started prancing. The women raised lu-lias, and I was urged by my Bedouins to empty gunpowder. The crowd made way for my horse, and I walked him a short distance off, turned around, came rushing back, and pulled him up dead. By that time I had got out my rifle, and as my horse stopped dead I fired my shot, in Bedouin fashion, at the feet of the first row of beautiful damsels. They were half frightened and half delighted. Then six of them surrounded the horse, circling round me, and gave me the shabaal; that is to say, with a sudden twist of the head they whirled their tresses toward me as a woman of southern Europe might throw a rose. In response, I put my finger on each girl’s forehead and, holding my rifle high in the air, twirled it round her head, crying “Abshir bil kheir!” (“Rejoice in the bounty of God!”). We then formed ourselves into a procession and proceeded to the camp. The moment they saw me coming surrounded by all those girls the Bedouins fired in the air in honor of the occasion. The Bedouin is very chivalrous, and such is his idea of honoring the ladies. Afterward I distributed scent to all the girls, who went away very happy, and it was a most cheerful evening in the camp.
The next day we reached Um Buru, thirty-eight kilometers from Furawia. We camped near the well, and the next morning I was awakened early by sounds of cattle and sheep coming to water. An hour later a busy market was being held alongside our camp. We had unwittingly pitched our tents close by the big tree that marked the center of the market-place. Only women took part in the market, bringing butter, leather, mats, maize, cotton, and salt, which they bartered with each other without the use of money. Meanwhile the men lay about at their ease and did nothing. As I watched such a scene as this and others not unlike in the villages of the Sudan, I found myself wondering whether the black women were not after all better off as slaves in a Bedouin household. Here they do all the work that is done, caring for cattle and sheep, doing the housework, and preparing meals and making the favorite beverage merissa for their men, carrying on the business of the market—everything. As slaves they would have only certain circumscribed duties and some opportunity for leisure. As I turned this over in my mind, however, I seemed to catch something in the sound of their talk and their laughter that slaves do not have. Perhaps there is something in the feeling of liberty after all, even when it is accompanied by drudgery.