EL FASHER
The capital of Darfur Province
Mr. Dupuis came forward on his horse to meet me, and we shook hands warmly. The greetings were repeated by the English and Egyptian officers of his staff, and we went on to his house, a part of which he generously made over to me and the men of my caravan. The weary camels were promptly taken in hand by Bimbashi Andas, who gave them food, water, and the medical treatment for their wounds they so much needed.
The officer in charge of the wireless station kindly got me the exact Greenwich time from Paris by radio. I was pleased to discover that my chronometer had lost only twenty-three minutes and twenty-three seconds in eight months.
For ten days I was the guest of Mr. Dupuis and was lavishly entertained by the officers and officials of the garrison, both English and my own compatriots, and the notables of the town. Hospitality was showered upon me, and every kind of assistance that could possibly be needed was eagerly rendered. This was civilization again. I enjoyed once more the luxuries of life, especially vegetables and fruits. It is only when one has gone through the austere régime of the desert that one looks upon these things as luxuries and not necessities. There was in particular a brand of prunes, the pride of Major Smith, and of peculiar lusciousness. He called them “If Winter Comes,” and I have never tasted their like anywhere.
At last the day came when I must take leave of my companions of the trek from Kufra. When Bukara and his brother and Hamid and Senussi Bu Jaber came to my room to say good-by, it was a moment full of real emotion and crowded with memories. These rugged men of the desert burst into tears, and I found my own eyes wet. We had been through thick and thin together and came out fast friends. I could never wish for better companions on a journey into desolate regions, more able, more manly, or more loyal.
We read the “Fat-ha,” the sound of the familiar sacred phrases punctuated by Bukara’s sobbing. I exchanged a final handclasp with each of them, and we parted, to meet one day, I hope, in that desert that I love as much as they.
One more camel-trek before me eastward to El Obeid. There I took train for Khartum and thence home to Cairo, where I arrived on August 1, 1923.
I had been away from home seven months and twenty-three days, having trekked twenty-two hundred miles across the desert by caravan.
I had determined finally the position of the Zieghen Wells and of Kufra on the map of Africa, in the placing of which there had been hitherto errors of one hundred and of forty-five kilometers respectively.