Whilst we were encamped, two hours before sun-set, we were suddenly alarmed by the cries of banditti and Shânbah, and all were called upon to arm. At the same time people were sent off to bring up the camels which were grazing and straying at a distance. I was amusing myself with cooking the supper, and started up, not knowing what to make of it; I couldn't however help laughing at the queer predicament in which the supper looked, and thought I had been making it for the Shânbah. Running forward to see the cause of the alarm, I saw in the south, dimly at a distance, a small caravan approaching us. There were three or four camels, and several persons on foot. I then thought I must look about for a weapon of some sort. A man gave me a huge horse-pistol, and with this I sallied forth to take part in the common defence. Seeing an Arab far in advance, and alone, I went after him, who turned out to be one of the Souafah, whose acquaintance I had already made. This Arab certainly showed considerable bravery, and took up a reconnoitring position on a rising ground, looking with a steady and determined eye upon the approaching caravan. He turned to me and said bluffly, "It must be a Touarick ghafalah." Meanwhile, about forty people all armed, assembled pêle-mêle on the opposite side of the route, on a hill behind, uttering wild cries, and throwing up their matchlocks into the air. The cries now ceased, and was succeeded by a most anxious silence, all waiting a closer observation. At length, the experienced eye of our people discovered what was considered a troop of bandits on foot, to be a caravan of slaves. And immediately a number of the people ran off violently to meet the slave-caravan, which was escorted by our own Touaricks, the slaves being the property of our people. Our surprise was the greater when we found Haj-el-Besheer, and his companion the Touarick, returning with the caravan, which had brought letters for all the people. So the bandits turned out to be our friends and neighbours; and so burst this bubble of alarm. I observed two persons with long staffs lagging behind, and imagined them old men labouring along the route. What was my astonishment to find, as they approached, these old men gradually transformed into poor little children—child-slaves—crawling over the ground, scarcely able to move. Oh, what a curse is slavery! how full of hard-heartedness and cruelty! As soon as the poor slaves arrived, they set to work and made a fire. Some of them were laden with wood when they came up. The fire was their only protection from the cold, the raw bitter cold of the night, for they were nearly naked. I require as much as three ordinary great coats, besides the usual clothing of the day, to keep me warm in the night; these poor things, the chilly children of the tropics, have only a rag to cover them, and a bit of fire to warm them. I shall never forget the sparkling eyes of delight of one of the poor little boys, as he sat down and looked into the crackling glaring fire of desert scrub. In the evening I noticed the amount of the food which was given as the one daily meal to these famished creatures, ten in number. Said usually eats more than the whole of it for his supper. The food was barley-meal mixed with water. The slaves were children and youths, all males. They had been already fourteen days en route from Ghat, and would be eight more before they could reach Ghadames. By that time, like the last slaves which arrived whilst I was there, they would be simply "living skeletons." The misery is, these slaves are conducted not by their masters, but slave-drivers, at so much per head, and consequently the conductors feed the slaves on as little as possible, to make the most of their bargain with the owners. The slave-caravan, however, brought us good news.
The Shânbah, after ravaging the Touarick districts, had fled their own country, and taken refuge in the Algerian territory—so escaping the vengeance of the Touaricks. We have, therefore, no enemy en route, thank God, except ourselves, and our own quarrels, which occur but seldom. The annual winter Soudan caravan had not yet arrived in Ghat, but was expected every day. It is worth mentioning here, as a remarkable trait of good faith amongst the Moors and Arabs, that they do not often seal their letters, but fold them up as we do notes of trifling import. All the letters brought to-day were unsealed, and did not require Grahamizing. Haj-el-Besheer told me it was haram ("prohibited,") for strangers to read these unsealed letters. My readers will see that we are again obliged to go to the barbarians of The Desert to learn the ordinary practices of good faith and morality. How exceedingly rejoiced would be the "Haute Police" of civilized Europe to have all letters sent un-sealed through the Post Office! What a pity these Mahometan barbarians are so trusting and simple-minded! What a pity our boasted religion does not teach us Christians the honesty of barbarians! We wrote letters to Ghadames and Tripoli over the fire-light. Afterwards my friend Haj-el-Besheer commenced a sing-song repetition of a Marabout legend, which he continued all the evening, speaking to no one; even whilst he was eating he continued his rigmarole story to himself, the people taking no notice of him. I was greatly amused at this odd singing to one's self.
2nd.—A very fine morning, and, as I anticipated, it turned out very hot. Yet whilst the sun scorched my face on one side, the cold wind from the east blanched my cheek on the other. No living creature seen but a few insects. Our people fell in with the skeleton of a Touarick ass, and amused themselves with setting it up upon its legs, as if in the pillory. I rallied them afterwards as they were in a good humour, on their terror of banditti yesterday. They replied, "It was the number of people on foot which alarmed us, banditti generally go on foot with a few camels to carry provisions and water." We started at sun-rise and encamped an hour before sun-set, to have light enough to collect firewood, and forage for the camels. The ground of our course to-day was broken into broad and long valleys. In the wady where we encamp is herbage for camels. I notice as a thing most extraordinary, after seven days from Ghadames, two small trees! the common Desert acacia. Another phenomenon, I see two or three pretty blue flowers! as I picked one up, I could not help exclaiming, Elhamdullah, ("Praise to God!") for Arabic was growing second-born to my tongue, and I began to think in it. An Arab said to me, "Yâkob, if we had a reed and were to make a melodious sound, those flowers, the colour of heaven, would open and shut their mouths (petals)." This fiction is extremely poetical. Felt unwell this morning from eating or munching too many dates; better this evening. All our people well, and no accidents.
3rd.—Rose at sun-rise and pursued our weary way over broken ground, now broad valleys, now low hills. Whilst exclaiming that the sandy desert was all "a report," "a talk," "a fabrication of travellers who wished to increase and vary the catalogue of Saharan hardships," at noon we came upon a range of sand-hills. These increased on every side, and at length we cut right across a group of them. Having left the plateau the mirage has also disappeared, apparently the only species of desert where it can be fairly developed. With the sand has appeared a new kind of stone, of a light-blue slate colour, some of it of as firm a consistence as granite. Its colour also sometimes varies to a beautiful light green. The Desert itself only increases and varies in hideousness. And yet in some places where sand is sprinkled over the hardened earth, a little coarse herbage springs up. Encamped at night. Cold all day. Felt unwell. To-day and yesterday course mostly south.
4th.—Sand-hills increase in number, and find ourselves in the heart of a region of sand. At noon descended the deepest wady we have yet encountered. On the big blocks of rock below Arabic and Touarghee letters were carved. The barbarians, as their civilized brethren, seek in this way also a bastard immortality for their names. Down in the valley we passed some human bones; the skull was perfect. Who shall write the history of these bones? Are they those of one who was murdered, or who dropped from exhaustion in The Desert? These bones scattered at the camel's feet made the march of to-day still more melancholy. No herbage for camels or wood for fire. Gave our nagah barley and dates. It frequently happens, there is no wood en route (I mean underwood or scrub), or at the place where we are obliged to stop. This obliges us to carry it from places where it abounds, as also a little herbage for the camels. Pitched our camp amidst the sandy waste late at night. Our route varied between S.W., S., and S.E., but around some huge groups of sand-hills we were obliged to make a painful circuit. Warmer to-day, and a little wind, always from the east. No living creature met with! No sound or voice heard! Felt better to-day.
5th.—Rose with the sun, as it enflamed the sand-hills, and made them like burnished heaps of metal. Marched three hours amidst the sand-hills. Very difficult route for the camels, which frequently upset their loads in mounting or descending the groups of hills. The Arabs smooth the abrupt ascents, forming an inclined plane of sand, and then, in the descents, pull back the camels, swinging with all their might on the tails of the animals. No herbage—no stone—no earthy ground—all, everything one wide waste of sand, shining under the fervid sun as bright as the light, dazzling and blinding the eyes. But Milton's poetic eye, turning, or in "a fine frenzy rolling" to the ends of the earth, subjecting all the images and wonders of nature, of all climates and countries, to the supporting of his majestic verse, glanced also at these sands of the Lybian Desert—
"Unnumbered as the sands Of Barca or Cyrene's torrid soil."
El-Aïshi, describing the sandy Sahara, says, "There is neither tree, nor bush, nor herb. The eye sees only clouds of sand, raised by continual winds, which by their violence efface the marks of the caravan as fast as men and animals imprint them with their feet. The aspect of this immensity of sand reminds me of the words, 'Bless our Lord Mahomet as much as the sand is extended,' and I understood now their full import."
But here in the centre of this wilderness of sand we had an abundant proof of the goodness of a good God. Whilst mourning over this horrible scene of monotonous desolation, and wondering why such regions were created in vain, we came upon The Wells of Mislah, where we encamped for the day. These are not properly wells, for the sand being removed in various places, about four or five feet below the surface, the water runs out. Indeed, we were obliged to make our own wells. Each party of the ghafalah dug a well for itself. Ghafalahs are divided into so many parties, varying in size from five men and twenty camels, to ten men and forty camels. Three or four wells were dug out in this way. Some of the places had been scooped out before. Water may be found through all the valley of Mislah. A few dwarfish palms are in the valley, but which don't bear fruit. The camels, finding nothing else to eat, attacked voraciously their branches. It is surprising the sand is not more scattered over the wells and trees, for on the south-west is a lofty sand-hill, deserving the name of a mountain, almost overhanging the pits. Here is a sufficient proof, at once, that The Desert has no sandy waves like the Desert Ocean of waters, as poets and credulous or exaggerating writers have been pleased to inform us. Were this the case, the wells of Mislah would have been long ago heaped up and over with pile upon pile of sand-hills, and caravans would have abandoned for ever this line of route. For we can hardly suppose that one sand-storm would cover the pits of Mislah with a mountain pile of sand, and the next sand-storm uncover them and lay them bare to the amazed Saharan traveller. On the contrary, the pits of Mislah and the stunted palms have every appearance of having remained as they now are for centuries. The hills are huge groups, some single ones, glaring in sun above the rest, and others pyramidical. The sand at times is also very firm to the camel's tread. Shall I say a terra firma in loose shifting sands? But for the water of Mislah it is extremely brackish, nay salt. I had observed between the sand-hills small valleys, or bottoms, covered with, a whitish substance which I now find salt. Both men and camels are alike condemned to drink this water. I try it with boiling and tea and find it worse, and cannot drink it, so I'm obliged to beg of our people the remaining sweet water of Nather, left in the skins. Our people confess themselves, in summer when this water gets hot they can scarcely drink it, being veritable brine. An European travelling this route should always provide himself with water enough at the well of Nather to last him from six to eight days. My skin-bags have got out of order, and I did not make inquiries of the people about this well. At one well a traveller should always make inquiry about the water of the next well. This is indispensable if an European tourist would have water fit to drink. The Mislah water is full of saline particles, and is purging every body. The valley of Mislah, over which we are encamped, is not more than twenty minutes' walking in length, and half this in breadth. In many parts the sand is encrusted with a beautiful white salt. One of the Arabs of Souf said to me, "See, Yâkob, this is our country, all Souf is like this." So it appears an oasis may exist in a region of shifting (?) sands. Are these the shifting sands which bury whole caravans beneath their sandy billows, when lashed up by the Desert tempest[63]?
