Sunday, Dec. 18.—We started at 6.50 this morning, and soon entered a region of high mountains. Here we saw a number of green bushes. Then we came out on a magnificent gravel plain. Mirage. Toward noon we came to a partial oasis, where are a number, about 200, of palms bearing a fruit peculiar to this one locality. Then a gorge. Then another valley with a few palms. Then passing a narrow defile we entered, what for a fitting name I called the “valley of lost souls.” Terrible heat. Slate mountains. On and on. No rest—no lunch till we reach Murrat. It was nearly 4 P.M. when at last we did arrive, and glad enough we were to throw ourselves down and rest the remainder of the day. The camels must have water and rest, too. There are 15 holes dug in the ground. Only three of them contain water that can be used for camels, and that is not fit to drink. Six men live here and keep the wells open. They also keep goats and crows and a half-dead donkey, which the crows already feed upon. After dinner, we had a pleasant chat with our Arab guide and others. For now, with the help of signs, we are getting so that we can talk quite a little Arabic. My Turkish is a great help, as many words are the same. The camels’ backs are so sore that they have to be seared with a hot iron. This is Sabbath eve, and I have had one quiet hour all to myself out on the sand under the stars.
Monday, Dec. 19.—We left the wells of Murrat at about 7 A.M., and came out into a vast plain. We met a party at the wells who were eight days from Aboo-Hamed. We expect to make it in four. We pass a region of immense granite boulders, one of them looking exactly like a large cannon—sight and all. Mirage. We lunch without shelter on the burning sand, in a region called Bergat Allouan. In the afternoon, meet a party of three. We make for a mountain pass, but it is dark before we reach it. But we push on in the darkness. The camels are tired, and have to be whipped to their work. One is quite used up, and his load is taken off and put upon others. At last we camp in a mountain gorge, called Cub El Gorphas. High wind. It is toward 9 o’clock before we stop for the night. We have been at it over 13 hours to-day, and have made about 40 miles.
Tuesday, Dec. 20.—It blew a hurricane all night. At 2.30 A.M. I got up and dressed me for fear the tent would blow away. The high wind prevented our getting ready for the start before 7.30 A.M. Lunched again on the sand under the shelter of our camels, but the wind was so great that our lunch consisted chiefly of sand. The name of the place was called El Aderaweb. Soon after we started we had quite a sand-storm. Passing a rocky gorge and a number of huge boulders, we came to Gebel Afreet, or Spirit Mountain, where in former times strange noises were heard. Make 35 miles, and camp at the foot of two rock mountains called Gournabat.
Wednesday, Dec. 21.—High wind and cold. I wake up the boys with an iron pan for a gong. Meet two droves of camels. Cross an immense plain covered with small stones and sand. Another sand-storm, the wind blowing a gale. Lunch behind our camels at “Faroot.” Pass a peculiar high hill that looks like a camel’s back. Now we are on a boundless plain covered with bits of alabaster. We meet several caravans, and pass various boxes of goods that caravans have been obliged to leave behind. Camped at 7.30 in a part of the desert called Aboo-Enteshat. It is very cold as we get into our cots, and blowing a gale.
Thursday, Dec. 22.—Started at 7.45. Every morning the guide invokes the aid of “Sheik Abdel Kadir,” the patron of the desert. Cold wind—sandy plain. Make a pass between two hills called Gebel Mougram, where we lunch. Mirage. After lunch the guide gave the word and we started off on a fast trot for Aboo-Hamed, leaving the baggage train to come on behind. We trotted all the afternoon over a long flat, seemingly endless. At last we saw the palm trees by the river. On and on we went, then all of a sudden we saw the river to the right of us. How beautiful the real water looked! As we neared the town we fired a salute, and came in in fine style. We arrived at 5 P.M., and the baggage train came in at 8 P.M. I have met a very friendly officer here, who talks Turkish. A mud hut near the river stood ready for us, and we entered into possession at once. But the river! How beautiful to our eyes! We had a good drink and a good wash.
WEST AFRICAN HABITATIONS.
Friday, Dec. 23.—The men insisted that this day must be spent here in rest; that they needed it, and must have it. We said “All right,” and after cleaning up our guns and pistols, we went over to the beautiful island of Mokrat, where we were told that game abounded, to see what we could get for our table. We crossed in a crazy log boat that threatened every moment to go to the bottom. Here, after bagging game enough for a day or two, an accident happened. As I was running through some bushes I suddenly became lame, and thought that a serpent had bitten me; but it afterward proved to be a thorn driven into the ankle clear to the bone. Doctor said it was in the worst possible place, and did not dare to cut for it. But the pain soon became so great that it was unbearable, and the foot could not be touched to the ground. It nauseated me, too, and was altogether proving itself so much more than expected, that he determined to probe for it. Twice he attempted it, working half an hour or so each time and sinking the forceps over half an inch and all he dared, and finally, to ease the pain, he cut the nerve. My chief consolation is that I am not the first man who has had a “thorn in the flesh.”
Saturday, Dec. 24.—We were up early. I was for starting, but the Doctor was afraid of inflammation in my ankle, and all things considered we determined to wait till noon; but the men were drunk, our guide especially, and we were not able to get off till 2 P.M. With a sling I managed my ankle quite comfortably. Soon after leaving Aboo-Hamed we passed a region where the ground was covered with most beautiful stones of many colors, red, green and black. When we had made about 10 or 12 miles we went into camp, as much to let the men get sober as anything. The spot we chose was a lovely one on the bank of the river, sheltered by a grove of palms. Christmas Eve on the Nile! Was there ever a more beautiful one? When the afterglow of a rich sunset had faded from the sky, the moon rose and looked down at us through the palm branches. We had the desert stretching away to the rear, and the winding river with its fringe of palms in front of us. We lay on the floor of our tent thinking of home and telling stories of the happy days of “auld lang syne” till we were warned that it was time to turn in. We are now in the region of crocodiles. We have seen one, and the guide to keep us from the water has told some most fearful stories. He has even tried to make us believe that a crocodile will catch and devour two camels at once. The name of our camping place is Moushra Adehaish.