We were soon short of water, but as t’samma was now abundant, we were not worried on our own account. Unfortunately, however, the camels were recent importations from Arabia, and unused to them, and at the end of a week they were beginning to feel the thirst. As we had seen rain falling south of us, we turned in that direction, and one evening came into dunes where the vegetation was still drenched with heavy rain. Here, to our joy, we at length found an open space with a small pan full of water. The camels grunted and chuckled, and shuffled towards it eagerly, and we promised ourselves a good long drink, and plenty of coffee, and a bath! We got the last, but not the others.
The water, freshly fallen as it was, was salt as brine and of a horribly putrid taste, and quite undrinkable even for the camels.
We were a long way from any other water, and it began to look serious, for they would not touch the t’samma. At length, however, we hit upon a plan which kept them alive and allowed us to search a little longer. Making them “koos” (kneel, which they are taught to do at the word of command), we cut up a big waterproof sheetful of the melons, crushed them into a pulp, and actually ladled it into their mouths; and once having got a taste of it, we found they would eat it when prepared in this manner, though these particular camels would never touch the fruit as it grew.
But, search as we would, “Wolverdanse,” the pan of the “bright green stones,” eluded us. Pans in the vicinity were many, and the peculiarly shaped dune we had seen from the far south was not recognisable from these new aspects.
My good friend the trooper had also to return within a certain period, and so we had at length reluctantly to turn towards Aar Pan, where I was to be dropped to find my way south to rejoin my comrades.
As the camels, as yet unused to their new substitute for water, were still suffering from thirst, we trekked through the night as we neared the big pan, for I was now on ground I knew, and able to steer an accurate course. Crossing the pan in the dark, we found no rain had fallen there, and we off-saddled in the western dunes, anxious for the morning to get on again, for the camels were now in a bad plight, and had still a long day’s journey before them before they could drink. Usually they were hobbled with huge straps and chains before letting them loose to graze, but this night my friend said, “Let ’em loose to-night; they’re too tired to go far.” We slept like logs, and in the morning the camels had gone! We made tracks for the highest dune—no sign of them. Then we separated and made for two other dunes. Still no sign. At last we circled to cut the spoors, and found they led north. After an hour’s running and walking, and with the spoor still making north, we stopped for breath.
I said, “They’re making for Witdraai!”
He said, “Not they. They’re making for Arabia!”
At last, when I had given up all hope of catching them south of the Equator, the spoor turned off at right-angles, and after a few more dunes, turned directly back towards the camping-place of last night, where we found them quietly feeding within a hundred yards of their saddles, just hidden from our sleeping-place by a small dune.
A few hours from Aar Pan my good Samaritan dropped me, and turned towards his camp with the two camels, having done everything in his power to help me, and acting the man and the sportsman in every way.