Abd er Rahman began dropping ponderous hints about Qway, the Senussi, “arrangements” and “intrigue”; but, as usual, declined to be more definite. Qway, when I told him of the difficulty of procuring grain, was sympathetic, but piously resigned. It was the will of Allah. Certainly the ’omda of Belat had none left—he knew this as a fact. It would be quite impossible, he said, to carry out my fifteen days’ journey with such a small quantity of grain and he thought the only thing for me to do was to abandon the idea of it altogether.
I told him I had no intention of giving the journey up in any circumstances. The only other plan he could think of was to buy the grain from the Senussi at Qasr Dakhl. They had plenty—excellent barley. I mentioned this to Dahab, who was extremely scornful, declaring that they would not sell me any, or if they did, that it would be poisoned, for he said it was well known that the Mawhubs thoroughly understood medicine.
The new mamur arrived in due course. The previous one, ’Omar Wahaby, had endeavoured to ayb me by not calling till I threatened him. The new one went one better—he sent for me—and had to be badly snubbed in consequence.
The natives of Egypt attach great importance to this kind of thing, and I was glad to see that my treatment of the mamur caused a great improvement in the attitude of the inhabitants of Mut towards me, which had been anything but friendly before.
The mamur himself must have been considerably impressed. He called and enquired about my men, and asked if I had any complaints to make against them. I told him Qway was working very badly and had got very lazy; so he said he thought, before I started, that he had better speak to them privately. I knew I should hear from my men what happened, so thinking it might have a good effect upon Qway, I sent them round in the afternoon to the merkaz.
They returned looking very serious—Abd er Rahman in particular seemed almost awed. I asked him what the mamur had said. He told me he had taken down all their names and addresses, and then had told them they must work their best for me, because, though he did not quite know exactly who I was, I was clearly a very important person indeed—all of which shows how very easily a fellah is impressed by a little side!—il faut se faire valoir in dealing with a native.
The mamur afterwards gave me his opinion of my men. His views on Dahab were worth repeating. He told me he had questioned him and come to the conclusion that he was honest, very honest—“In fact,” he said, “he is almost stupid!”
The barley boycott began to assume rather alarming proportions. The men could hear of no grain anywhere in the oasis, except at Belat, Tenida and the Mawhubs, and it really looked as though I should have to abandon my journey.
I could, of course, have tried to get some grain from Kharga, but it would have taken over a week to fetch. It was doubtful, too, whether I could have got as much as I wanted without going to the Nile Valley for it, and that would have wasted a fortnight at least. I was at my wits’ end to know what to do.
The Deus ex machina arrived in the form of the police officer—a rather unusual shape for it to take in the oases. He came round one afternoon to call. I was getting very bored with his conversation, when he aroused my interest by saying he was sending some men to get barley for the Government from the Senussi at Qasr Dakhl. From the way in which he was always talking about money and abusing the “avaricious” ’omdas, I felt pretty sure that he lost no chance of turning an honest piastre; so finding that the price he was going to pay was only seventy piastres the ardeb, I told him that I was paying hundred and twenty, and that, if he bought an extra four ardebs, I would take them off him at that price—and I omitted to make any suggestion as to what should be done with the balance of the purchase money.