The granite rocks seemed to rise out of a great lake. The illusion was so perfect that I used it as a test of my black “boy’s” shrewdness. I called him, and said, “Look at the water!” His answer was, “It is not the water. It is the water-thief, your excellency.”
In this desolate land, with a burning sky over it, there are no trees. It is all of a piece, and the different parts of it give no sense of varied locality. The stations are not named but numbered, and here the water is stored in zinc tanks. Command of the tanks means command of the country—an important fact in connection with possible émeutes of native troops.
At Abou Hamed we reached the Nile again, and saw vegetation. Warm baths are provided in the station. We jumped out of the train in our pyjamas and rushed into luxury.
The railway follows the river to Helfiah, on the opposite side of the river to Khartoum. Here I first beheld our camels, the steadily stubborn source of infinite vexation. All that is hard and heart-breaking in the character of the desert is incarnate in the camel. At Helfiah we engaged Soudanese “boys,” settled matters with officials, and finished our preparations for shooting big game.
I went to the Soudan Club at Khartoum, and strolled about the town in the spirit of an inquiring tourist. It is carefully administered, and is laid out in three sections. The best houses are being built by the riverbank. Plans of these must be submitted for approval. They are mostly of red brick, and well constructed. Smaller houses, the “second class,” have their sites behind the big residences. The “third-class” district is still further back. The object of this caste system applied to builders’ enterprise is to secure that there shall be a fine promenade along the river front, and no mean streets near to it. The British and Egyptian flags are hoisted side by side over the quarters of the army of occupation. The Gordon College—the other tribute to the man’s work—is a big, square, red-brick building. It seems to insist on its resemblance to barracks. No dahabeahs are seen on the Nile here; the boats are feluccas. Having made these notes of a tripper I returned to Helfiah. This was on December 5.
We dined in our camp, and slept in our tents for the first time, and I ceased to be a tourist, and became a member of an expedition. My companions and I showed the servants how to pitch the tents and peg them, and we apportioned loads to the camels. The camel is—not metaphorically—foul-mouthed. We put some of the boys up to try the paces of the animals, trusting chiefly to one who had served in the Camel Corps under Kitchener. I watched the exhibition of ungainly shuffling with the face of one who judges, but I thought of the hours during which I should be shaken under the glaring sun.
Next morning we were up at sunrise. We had not yet lost touch of the British breakfast-table, for we ate sausages and poached eggs. Then the camels were loaded and the tents were struck, and at mid-day we started—three Englishmen, six native servants, forty camels, and ten camel-men. Our route lay along the north bank of the Blue Nile, over a beaten track in a wilderness of loose sand. A few scattered thorny mimosa bushes are the only vegetation. I timed the camels and found they travelled about 3¼ miles an hour. At two o’clock the temperature was 104° F. in the shade, but all the surroundings were new to me, and I enjoyed the journey in spite of the monotony of the country. It is all bare desert, and one never loses sight of the mirage. At one point I watched a flock of goats, which looked exactly as if they were knee deep in water. We reached Soba, fourteen miles up the river, at sundown. Here there is a pleasant and clean little rest-house built of straw. We had kept ahead of our baggage-train, which arrived an hour later. People in England who speak of tea as refreshing do not know the full meaning of that word. The cups were filled for men who had fasted since breakfast at 7.30, except for a welcome drink of river water on arrival, and were served with biscuits and sardines. After this, the happiness of a wash, and an eight o’clock dinner. A meal of curry and rice and tinned roast beef is not a severe hardship, and the only contretemps on our first day in the desert was the discovery that we must put ourselves on short rations of candles. A mistake had been made about the quantity ordered, and we were ill supplied. But there was a clear moon. We turned in to sleep in the open, and the sandflies found us and were glad; for we were fresh blood, and they were small enough to crawl through the meshes of the mosquito curtains.
THE START AHEAD OF THE CARAVAN.
See [p. 4.]