Mysteries of the Libyan Desert

by W. J. Harding King

I asked whether he had ever heard of a man, when in difficulties, cutting open his camel to drink the water from his stomach, according to the little tales of my childhood’s days. This caused Abd er Rahman considerable amusement. He pointed out that if a caravan were in great straits from thirst, there would not be any water in the stomachs of the camels. But he said he had heard of several cases where a man, reduced to the last extremity, had killed his camel, cut him open and got at the half-digested food in his interior and had wrung the gastric juices out of it and drank them. This fluid, he said, was so indescribably nasty, as to be hardly drinkable, but, though it made a man feel still more thirsty, it enabled him to last about another day without water.

While sitting over the fire with Abd er Rahman I heard a faint sound from the west that sounded like a stone being kicked in the distance. Abd er Rahman, who was, I believe, slightly deaf, was unable to hear anything. I put my ear to the ground and listened for some time, and at last heard the sound again, but apparently from a greater distance than before.

Leaving Abd er Rahman in charge of the camels and taking my rifle, I went off to see if anything was to be seen. The moon was too faint and low at the time for any tracks to be visible. The whole desert was bathed in a faint and ghostly light that made it impossible to see any distance; so after watching for some time, and hearing no further sounds, I returned and lay down for the night about a hundred yards from Abd er Rahman and his camels.

It is curious how easily, in the absolute calm of a desert night, the slightest sound is audible, and how quickly one wakes at the faintest unusual noise. About midnight I started up. The distant sound of a trotting camel approaching the camp was clearly audible, and the camel was being ridden very fast. By that time the moon was high in the heavens, making the surrounding desert visible for a considerable distance, and presently I saw a solitary rider come round the shoulder of the ridge near which we were camped, sending his camel along at a furious pace.

Instantly I heard Abd er Rahman’s sharp, threatening challenge and saw him slinging his carbine forward in readiness for an attack. The answer came back in a hoarse exhausted voice and was apparently satisfactory, for the camel man rode into the camp, his camel fell down on his knees, and the man got—or rather fell—off on to the ground.

I sang out to Abd er Rahman to ask who it was. He called back that it was Abdulla and, after bending for a few moments over his prostrate form, came running across to where I lay. Abdulla and his hagin were, he said, extremely exhausted; but he had told him that there was no danger and that we could do nothing before daylight and had begun a long statement about Qway having turned back, in the middle of which he had fallen asleep. I went over to the camp to look at him. His long attenuated form was stretched out along the ground, almost where he had dismounted, plunged in the deepest of slumbers; so, as I saw no object in disturbing him, and wanted him to be as fresh as possible on the morrow, I went back to my bed and followed his example, leaving Abd er Rahman to keep watch, till he woke me to take my turn at keeping guard later in the night.

Abdulla, on the following morning, looked hollow-eyed, and, if possible, thinner about the face than ever; but beyond having obviously had a severe fright, he seemed to be little worse for his ride; the Sudanese have wonderful recuperative powers. His hagin, however, was terribly tucked up, and he had evidently had to ride him extremely hard; but he was a fine beast, and otherwise did not seem to have suffered much from his exertions, for he was making a most hearty breakfast.

Abdulla’s nerves, however, seemed to have been very badly shaken. He spoke in a wild incoherent way, very different from his usual slow, rather drawling, speech. He rambled so much in his account of what had happened, and introduced so many abusive epithets directed at Qway, that at times it was rather difficult to follow him, and Abd er Rahman had to help me out occasionally by explaining his meaning.

Qway, in the depot, had dawdled so over his preparations for leaving the camp that Abdulla, with his eye probably on the bakhshish I had promised him, had become impatient at the delay. At the last moment, just before he was ready to start, Qway calmly sat down, lighted a fire and began to make tea. Abdulla expostulated at this delay, but Qway assured him that there was no immediate hurry, told him that as soon as he had finished his tea and filled his gurba, he would start, and suggested that he had better go on before him and that he would follow and catch him up.

After he had gone some distance, Abdulla looked back and saw Qway hauling the tanks about, which struck him at the time as a rather unnecessary performance; but as Qway explained, when he overtook him, that he had only been rearranging the depot and placing the sacks of barley so as more effectually to shade the tanks, his suspicions had been lulled. Just before they separated, Qway had told him that he intended to get out as far as he could, so as to earn a very big bakhshish, and he hoped to go three and a half days more before he turned back. He advised Abdulla to do the same.