Wilfrid is extremely tired. The rest seems to have done him no good. He complains of his head and of pains all over. I hope fatigue and the heat are sufficient to account for his feeling ill. I dread a return of the attack he had at Shustar. I wish we had not left the town. This is a forlorn spot to be ill in, and though at Shustar we should be no better off, as far as concerns getting out of the country, there would be a few more comforts, and a chance of sending for help to Bussora. If he gets worse we shall be in an almost hopeless position. Every place seems frightfully far off the moment there is a difficulty about moving; to get back to Shustar would be almost as impracticable as to go on to Ram Hormuz. Seven hours’ travelling seems now an impassable gulf. I have arranged a sort of mosquito net for Wilfrid against the flies, but it only keeps them out for a time, and then a few manage to get inside it, and it has all to be rearranged. But now it is nearly sundown, and the flies will go to sleep at dark; and if the night is cool he may get some sleep.
Everybody here is fortunately kind. Hassan Khan, the chief, is away at Shustar, but his brother Kambar Aga received us well. He has good manners, speaks Arabic pretty fairly, and has been telling me about his tribe, a section of the Bawiyeh of Ajjem, as distinguished from the Bawiyeh of the Ottoman dominions. The people and their chief seem to be very poor. Kambar professes himself ready to accompany us to-morrow to another camp not far off, and on our line of march, that of Hajji Salman, an Arabic-speaking tribe; this is fortunate, as our escort has deserted. They probably never meant to come further than this, but however that may be, they have in fact abandoned us and gone home to Shustar. In the middle of the day, while we were sitting under the canora tree, they demanded money, and Hajji Mohammed foolishly, without asking us, gave them as much as they ought to have had for the whole journey to Ram Hormuz, and as a consequence, having secured their pay, and with no further motive for taking trouble they departed. Their company is no loss, they were disagreeable and tiresome, but they were of value as a mark of government protection, and in that respect it is unfortunate that they have left us.
Escort or no escort I care not, if only Wilfrid would get better, and he seems no better.
Saturday evening, April 12.—Wilfrid alarmingly ill all night. He got rapidly worse, and then seemed unconscious of all around; it seemed hopeless, but now he has rallied, and I think the worst is over. Still I have made up my mind not to look beyond the necessity of the moment, and indeed these twenty-four hours blot out past and future. I don’t know why I write a journal. He cannot sit up yet, though he says he shall be able to travel to-night. I don’t know what to think, but the wish to move is something gained; a short time ago he could hardly speak, and if he really has turned the corner, a few hours may make a great difference. He now says that by travelling at night only, he shall be able to go on.
Ghada, our new Arab, has behaved very well. I hardly know what I should have done without him to keep the fire up all night, and help to make medicines and beef-tea. In the evening and night I tried everything I could think of out of our small stock of medicines, and in vain. The sun rose and blazed fiercely, and the flies swarmed as before. But in the afternoon the illness took another turn, and now, at any rate, the danger seems to be past.
To please Wilfrid, though I doubt his being able to travel, I have packed up everything and got the tents down, and each separate load put ready; for to carry out the plan of night-travelling, we must load after dark, that is, by the light of a very small moon, when it rises about one o’clock. We are then to be off, Wilfrid to ride his delúl, and we are to get as far as we can; I have got cold tea and beef-tea in bottles, to be accessible at any moment. He has remained lying down on his rugs and pillow, the only things not yet packed, which, when the time comes, will be put on his delúl.
Kambar Aga and his tribe are good people. Nothing could be kinder than they have been. Hassan Khan has sent a third brother from Shustar, Aga Ibrahim, who is to accompany us with six of his men to Hajji Salman’s camp.
April 13.—Wilfrid was able to travel for four hours, and though much exhausted seems really none the worse. We reached the Salamat camp about six this morning. We hope to set out presently—about sunset.
The moon rose last night towards one o’clock, but owing to the slowness of everybody the loading took more than an hour. They all wanted to wait till the moon should be high in the sky before starting. We first struck across the plain of pasture and scrub to get back to the track, and then pursued our way along it eastwards. At half-past five we saw some tents to the south, but these our guides said were the wrong ones. An hour later met two zellems, who told us the contrary, but too late for us to return; and they added that they came from a camp of Salamat Arabs an hour or so further east. It was already hot, but we pushed on, the road good and level, splendid pasture, hills to the left, an interminable plain in front and to the right, extending to the Karkeria and beyond it. Some tents were pointed out to us, said to be on the opposite bank of the river. We reached the Salamat camp, Sheykh Abeyeh, at eight o’clock.
A few fairly good-looking but very small mares are to be seen. The camp has been evidently on the spot for weeks, and is accordingly unsavoury, more like a village than a camp.