A telegram came from the Minister of the Interior to-day directing the Mudir to let me go but added that it was entirely on my own responsibility, and that the party must be well armed. Why such a fuss should be made I can’t understand, as there is about as much danger as in one’s own garden at home.
The old camel sheikh is quite a character, and seems very particular that our waterskins, &c., are in good order. We are to start at sunrise to-morrow. I killed seventeen pigeons to-day; there was a strong wind, so they flew like lightning. I was not in good form at first, but retrieved my character by accounting for eight birds in the last ten shots. We lunched under an enormous fig tree[3] just at the edge of the desert. The figs grew out of the trunk, and the leaves were oval. The fruit was hardly ripe, I tasted it and should say it would be very good when ripe. There was a heavy shower of rain early this morning. They tell me the average rainfall in these parts is two hours per annum. We might spare them a little from England.
MY CAMEL AND DRIVER.
MIDDAY HALT IN DESERT.
BETWEEN NILE AND RED SEA.
Bir Arras,
January 8th, 1891.
Started this morning. Our caravan consists of twelve camels, three riding camels for myself, Froggatt (soldier servant), and Faragh the interpreter; four for all our baggage; the remainder carry waterskins and their own beans and cut straw for fodder. Besides these there are three baby camels who are following their mammas. Altogether we make up a goodly caravan.