During that day, and the next, we enjoyed the hospitality of Captain Belvalette and his wife, who left no stone unturned to make us thoroughly welcome and comfortable. We left those kind folks on June 2nd with gratitude and regret, and travelled constantly until we reached Touggourt in the forenoon of the 5th, which was the last day we mounted camels. And the record of the distance that my caravan had travelled from rail-head to rail-head was 3,556 miles; not including all the side-hunting that necessarily falls to the lot of the naturalist in the field.
Baggage was off-loaded for the last time, before a group of curious strangers that soon collected, recognising that we had come from afar. When they had ascertained that we had travelled all the way from the West Coast of Africa they gaped at us as if we were unreal.
About midday I parted from my camel, Feri n’Gashi, to whom I was tremendously attached, for he had faithfully carried me throughout the journey. He seemed to understand that the end had come, and it was a strange, sad-eyed farewell between master and dumb friend, with strong desire to remain together in my thoughts, and, I think, in his. I know I had a lump in my throat, and as for him—well, he could not tell me that which he wished to say.
He looked well, considering all he had gone through, and I sent him away to enjoy a well-earned rest, having arranged with Captain Belvalette that he should return to Ouargla and be cared for so long as he lived. I had no inkling of the rapid sequel. The rest he was to have was of another order, for in the afternoon Ali came running to me in consternation to tell that Feri n’Gashi was dead.[21] I could not believe it, and was deeply moved when I came to understand that it was only too true; Ali was almost as much concerned, for he was a good native, with a very active and sensitive mind. He held my camel in high esteem because of its splendid service throughout the journey, and he had watched and comprehended the intimacy that had grown up between master and camel.
NORTH AFRICA
SCENE IN OUARGLA
In Ali’s view it was: “The will of Allah.”
“You see, Master, he has died while sitting as usual on the ground. He has passed in complete peace. He has neither struggled nor turned over, as is the way of camels; his head has simply fallen forward. . . . Is it not Kismet? He has always been ridden by the big white master, and it is not fit that black man go ride him after that—so he go die.”
Feri n’Gashi’s death cast a heavy cloud over our thoughts for the remainder of the day. Nevertheless, we had much to occupy us in other directions, for we proposed catching the train which left for the coast that night. All our strange assortment of outdoor baggage had to be relieved of their camel trappings and made to look as respectable as possible, then labelled and conveyed down the dusty track to the station. It was dark before the task was done.