Mysteries of the Libyan Desert

by W. J. Harding King

During our absence in the desert, a new mamur arrived in Dakhla Oasis and came round to call on me. He was rather a smart-looking fellow, dressed in a suit considerably too tight for him, of that peculiar shade of ginger so much affected by the Europeanised Egyptians. He had the noisy boisterous manner common to his class, but he spoke excellent English and was evidently prepared to make himself pleasant.

Before he left, he informed me that the postman had just come in, and that news had arrived by the mail of the revolution in Turkey. This revolution had long been simmering, with the usual result that the scum—in the form of Tala’at and the Germanised Enver—had come up to the top. The Sultan had been deposed, and it was considered likely that he would be replaced by some sort of republic. The whole Moslem community was in a very excited state in consequence.

A day or two later the Coptic doctor dropped in. He told me that he had just seen Sheykh Ahmed, from the zawia at Qasr Dakhl—whose guest I had been at his ezba—who had told him that if the revolution in Turkey succeeded and the Sultan really were deposed, the Senussi Mahdi would reappear and invade Egypt. The Mahdi, it may be mentioned, is the great Moslem prophet, who according to Mohammedan prophecies, is to arise shortly before the end of the world, to convert the whole of mankind to the faith of Islam.

This, if it were true, was important news. The position was one fraught with considerable possibilities. In order to understand the situation some explanation may perhaps be useful to those unacquainted with Mohammedan politics.

Egypt at that time was a part of the Turkish Empire—our position in the country being, at any rate in theory, merely that of an occupation, with the support of a small military force. The Sultan of Turkey was consequently, nominally, still the ruler of the country.

But in addition to being Sultan of Turkey, Abdul Hamid was also the Khalif of Islam—an office that made him a sort of Emperor-Pope of the whole of the Mohammedans. His claim to be the holder of this title was in reality of a somewhat flimsy character; but whatever his rights to it may have been according to the strict letter of the Moslem law, he was almost universally regarded by the members of the Sunni Mohammedans as their Khalif, that is to say, as the direct successor, as the head of Islam, of the Prophet Mohammed himself, in the same way that the Pope is regarded as the direct successor to St. Peter.

A revolution always loosens the hold that the central Government has over the outlying parts of a country, and in a widespread and uncivilised empire like that subject to the Sultan of Turkey, where centuries of misgovernment have produced a spirit—it might almost be said a habit—of revolt, serious trouble was bound to follow, if the Sultan should be deposed and his place be taken by a republic. Not only would Egypt and Tripoli be deprived of the ruler to whom they owed their allegiance, but the whole native population of North Africa, with the exception of an almost negligible minority, would be left without a spiritual head. This would have been clearly a situation that opened endless possibilities to such an enterprising sect as the Senussia, whose widespread influence through North Africa is shown by the numerous zawias they have planted in all the countries along the south of the Mediterranean and far into the interior of the continent.

Egypt, as the richest of these countries, was likely to offer the most promising prize. The fellahin of Egypt, when left to themselves, are far too much taken up in cultivating their land to trouble themselves about politics, and though of a religious turn of mind, are not fanatical. But, as recent events have shown, they are capable of being stirred up by agitators to a dangerous extent.

I several times heard the Senussi question discussed in Egypt. Opinions on its seriousness varied greatly. Some loudly and positively asserted that the threat of a Senussi invasion was only a bugbear, and, like every bugbear, more like its first syllable than its second. But there were others who relapsed into silence or changed the subject whenever it was mentioned. It was, however, certain that with the small force we at that time possessed in the country, an attempt to invade Egypt by the Senussi accompanied, as it was almost certain it would have been, by a rising engineered by them among the natives of the Nile Valley, would have caused a considerable amount of trouble.

The appearance of a Mahdi—if he is not scotched in time—may set a whole country in a ferment. Not infrequently some local religious celebrity will proclaim himself the Mahdi and gain perhaps a few followers; but his career is usually shortlived. Occasionally, however, one arrives on the scene, who presents a serious problem—such, for instance, as the well-known Mahdi of the Sudan, and the lesser known, but more formidable, Mahdi of the Senussi sect.