Chapter 2

These night marches were pleasant enough; it was only the hour or two before dawn when the heaviness of sleep troubled us; but just as we began nodding, and felt in danger of falling off our camels, the keen change in the temperature which freshens the desert in the early morning braced us up, and, fully awake, we watched for the coming of Venus. As she sailed across the heavens, she flooded the desert with a warm, soft light, which in its luminosity equaled an English summer moon, and shortly seemingly following her guidance, the great fiery shield of the sun stood up from the horizon, and broad day swept over the plain.

Toward the evening we found ourselves in a bowlder-strewn basin amid rocky, sterile hills, evidently the offshoots and spurs of the Jeb-el-Gharr, which stood out a purple serrated mass on our left, and here we saw for the first time for many a month rain clouds piling up above the rocky heights. Their tops, catching the rosy glow from the declining sun, appeared in their quaint forms like loftier mountains with their snowy summits all aglow. This was, indeed, a grateful sight to us; the camels already pricked up their ears, for the smell of moisture was in the air. We knew that the end of our waterless journey was not far off; for where those clouds were discharging their precious burdens the valley of Ariab lay. But many a weary ridge of black rock and agaba must still be crossed before our goal was reached.

We camped at six that evening till midnight, when we started on our record march. Unfortunately at this time my filter gave out, owing to the perishable nature of the rubber tubing; the remaining water in our girbas was foul and nauseating from the strong flavor of the skins. I resolved to try and hold out without touching the thick, greasy fluid, and wait till the wells of Ariab were reached. As we advanced, the signs of water became more and more apparent; the camel grass was greener down by the roots, and mimosa and sunt trees flourished at every few hundred yards. When morning came, for the first time we heard the chirruping and piping of birds. The camels increased their pace, and all became eager to reach our destination before the extreme heat of the day. But pass after pass was traversed, and valley after valley crossed, and yet the wadi of Ariab, with its cool, deep wells of precious water, was still afar. It was not till past two o'clock in the afternoon that a long, toilsome defile of rugged rock brought us on the edge of a steep descent, and before us lay the winding Khor of Ariab, with its mass of green fresh foliage throwing gentle shadows on the silver sand of its dry watercourse. It seemed an age as we traversed that extended khor before our guide pointed to a large tree on our right, and said "Moja." We dismounted under the shadow of its branches, and found awaiting us the sheikh of the valley, who pressed our hands and greeted us in a most friendly way; but I was almost mad with thirst, and asked for the well. I was taken to a mound a few yards from our retreat, on the sides of which were two or three clay scoop-outs, all dry but one, and this held a few gallons of tepid water, from which camels had been drinking. The man took a gourd, half filled it, and offered it to me to drink. "But the well, the well!" I cried. "Oh! that's a little higher up," said he, and he led me to a wide revetted well about fifty feet deep, at the bottom of which, reflecting the sky, shone the water like a mirror. "That's the water I want," said I. The man shook his head. "You cannot drink of that till your baggage camels arrive; we have no means of reaching it." I almost groaned aloud, and with the agony of the Ancient Mariner could well cry, "Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink." There was no help for it. I made my way back to the shadow of the tree, threw myself on my blanket, and, racked with thirst, tried to wait patiently for the coming of the camel men. Fortunately, the sheikh of the well was inspired with hospitality, and after a while brought us some fresh milk in a metal wash basin, a utensil which he evidently produced in honor of our visit. I took a long draught, and though it was associated with native ablutions, I shall always remember it with the greatest satisfaction. We camped for 24 hours in the sylvan vicinity of Ariab Wells--stretched ourselves in the broad shadows of its mimosa trees, and drank of and bathed in its sweet, cool waters.

This long rest improved our camels wonderfully. By the bye, there was much speculation between two of our party regarding the behavior of these curious animals on arriving at the wells after their long waterless march. A general impression was that for the last few miles the camels would race for the waters, and thwart all endeavors to hold them in. My experience of the strange beast was otherwise, and subsequent events proved that I was right. When the Hamleh, as we christened our caravan, arrived, the camels quietly waited awhile after their burdens were taken from their humps. Then, as if an afterthought had struck them, they slowly approached the scoop-outs and with the most indifferent air would take a mouthful of the liquid, then, stiffening their necks, they would lift their heads and calmly survey the scenery around them, till their drivers would draw their attention to the fact that there was at least another draught of water in the pool. It should be remembered that these animals had just come off a continuous journey of nearly fifteen hours, without a halt, and had been for three whole days without water.

We left our camping ground as the sun began to dip behind the hills shutting in the khor. Our way now lay in a more northeasterly direction, and the sun threw the hills and valleys we were approaching into a marvelous medley of glorious color, and more than one of us regretted that we had not brought our color boxes with us. Sometimes we seemed to catch a glimpse of the heather-clad Highlands of Scotland. Then a twist in the khor we were traversing suggested the rugged passes of Afghanistan. Gazelle and ariel stole among the foot hills or stood gazing at us as near as a stone's throw. One of our party, Mr. Gwynne, commenced stalking a gazelle, but, darkness setting in, the beast got away. For the rest of the journey to Suakim, however, he had good sport, and saved us many a time from going hungry with his shooting for the pot.

About 34 miles from Ariab we came to one of the most interesting spots of the whole journey--the extensive Valley of Khokreb, wherein lay the deserted dervish dem, or stronghold. Here some followers of Osman Digna used to levy toll on all caravans and persons moving toward Suakim, or taking routes south. The dem consisted of a number of well built tokuls, or straw huts, standing in their compounds, with stabling for horses and pounds for cattle. The whole was surrounded with a staked wall, in front of which was a zariba of prickly mimosa bush, to stop a sudden onrush of an enemy. The place was intact, but there was not a living soul within it, or in the vast valley in which it stood, that we could see. In fact, our whole journey up to the present seemed to be through a country that might have been ravished by some plague or bore some fatal curse. As the light of the moon prevailed, we came upon an extensive plain shelving upward toward steep hills. Specks of bright light stood out against the distant background, and we presently found that the moonlight was glinting on spear heads, and soon a line of camels crept toward us, and marching as escort was a small guard of Hadendowahs, with spear and shield.

We found the convoy to be a detachment of a caravan of 160 camel loads of stores sent from Suakim to Berber by that enterprising Greek, Angelo, of the former town. They had been on the road already eight days, having to move cautiously owing to rumors of dervish activity, but had arrived so far safely. We bivouacked for several hours in the Wadi of Salalat, which was quite parklike with its fine growth of sunt trees.

When we had crossed the frontier between Bisheren and Hadendowah country we were in comparative safety regarding any molestation by the natives, for we were escorted by the son of the sheikh of one of the subtribes of the latter country. At all events, I must have been a sore temptation for any evil disposed Fuzzy Wuzzy; for, owing to my camel being badly galled by an ill-fitting saddle, I would find myself for many hours entirely alone picking my way by the light of the moon, the poor brute I was riding not being able to keep pace with the rest. All the following day our route lay over stony plains of a bolder type than any we had yet seen, and when in the heart of the Hadendowah Hills we came suddenly upon a scene in its weirdness the most extraordinary and most appallingly grand I had ever seen. A huge wilderness lay before us like the dry bed of a vast ocean, whose waters by some subterranean convulsion had been sucked into the bowels of the earth, leaving in its whirling eddies the debris of submarine mountains heaped up in rugged confusion or scattered over its sandy bottom. Porphyry and black granite bowlders, in every conceivable form and size, lay strewn over the plain. Sometimes so fantastic did their shapes become that the least imaginative of our party could picture the gigantic ruins of some mighty citadel, with its ramparts, bastions and towering castle. For many hours we were traversing this weird and desolate valley, and when the sun cast long shadows across our track as he sank to rest, his ruddy light falling upon the dark bowlders, polished with the sand storms of thousands of years, stray pieces of red granite would catch his rosy glint, and sparkle like giant rubies in a setting of black pearls.

We found more life in ten miles of the Hadendowah country than during the whole of the first part of our journey. Flocks of sheep, goats and oxen passed us coming to the wells, or going to some pasturage up in the hills, but few natives came near us, and there were no signs of habitation anywhere. The wells we now passed were mere water holes similar to those met with up country in Australia. The flocks of the natives would hurry down at eventide and drink up all the water that had percolated through the sand during the day, befouling the pools in every conceivable way. Natives seem to revel in water contaminated by all kind of horrors. They wash the sore backs of their camels, bathe their sheep and drink from the same pool. At one large hole round which a number of natives were filling their girbas we halted, and procured some of the liquid, which was muddy and tepid, but wholesomer. A native caravan had camped near by and the Hadendowah escort of spearmen crowded round us.

The Fuzzy Wuzzy is a much more pleasant object when seen through a binocular than when he is close to you. His frizzy locks are generally clotted with rancid butter, his slender garment is not over clean. He is a very plucky individual, as we know, thrifty, and lives upon next to nothing, but many live upon him. Several graybeards came up to salute their sheikh, who was traveling with us, and this they did by pressing his hand many times, and bowing low, but they glanced at us with no amiable eyes, and suddenly turned away. There was no absolute discourtesy; they simply did not want to be introduced. Probably they remembered the incident at Tamai, where many of their friends were pierced with British bullets. So they slung their shields, trailed their spears and turned away.

My camel had much improved by gentle treatment and I was able to ride on ahead. Just as I neared the narrow neck of the Tamai Pass, two men and a boy climbed down toward us from a small guard house, on a lofty rock to our left. My camel man and I instinctively came to a halt, for the manner of the comers, who were fully armed, was impressive. They confronted us and immediately began questioning my camel man, after much altercation, during which I quietly leaned over my saddle and unbuttoned my revolver case, for they looked truculent and somewhat offensive. My camel man mysteriously felt about his waist belt, and eventually handed something to the foremost native, whereat he and his companions turned and began to reclimb the hill. As we went on our way, I inquired the reason of the men barring our path. "Oh," my man said, "it is simply a question of snuff." "Snuff," I exclaimed, in astonishment. "Yes; that was all they wanted--a little tobacco powder to chew." Here was a possible adventure that seemed as if it were going to end in smoke, and snuff was its finale.

After all the Suakim-Berber road, that was looked upon as full of dramatic incident--for even our military friends in Berber, when they bid us goodby, said, "It was a very sporting thing to do. Great Scott! They only wished they had the luck to come along"--was a highway without even a highwayman upon it, and apparently for the moment as pleasantly safe, minus the hostelries en route, as the road from London to York. Prom the top of Tamai Pass, 2,870 feet--though of the same name, not to be confounded with the famous battle which took place further south--we began to make a rapid descent, and the last sixty miles of our journey were spent in traversing some of the most lovely mountain scenery I think I have ever visited. Sometimes one might be passing over a Yorkshire moorland, with its purple backing of hills, for the sky was lowering and threatened rain. Then the scene would as quickly change to a Swiss valley, when, on rounding the base of a spur, one would strike a weird, volcanic-torn country whose mountains piled up in utter confusion like the waves of the stormy Atlantic; and further on we would come out upon a plain once more scattered with gigantic bowlders of porphyry and trap, out of which the monoliths of ancient Thebes might have been fashioned.

On the morning of the tenth day out from Berber, we sighted the fort and signal tower of the Egyptian post at Tambuk, on a lofty rugged rock, standing out in the middle of an immense khor. This was practically the beginning of the end of our long journey, and here we rested a few hours, once more drinking our fill of pure sparkling water from its revetted wells.

About half an hour in a northeasterly direction, after a continual descent from the Egyptian fort, we noticed, at intervals between the hills in front of us, a straight band of blue which sparkled in the sunlight. At this sight I could not refrain from giving a cheer--it was the Red Sea that glistened with the sun--for it meant so much to us. Across its shining bosom was our path to civilization and its attendant comforts, which we had been denied for many a month. Night found us steadily descending to ward the seaboard, as we neared Otao, in the vicinity of which we were to bivouac for the night. My camel nearly stumbled over an old rusty rail thrown across my path, and further on I could trace in the moonlight the dark trail of a crazy permanent way, with its rails all askew.

We were passing the old rail head of the Suakim-Berber Railway, that was started in 1885. I wondered, as I followed fifteen miles of this rusty line, a gradual slope of 1,800 feet toward the sea, whether the road I had only just traversed had ever been surveyed for a railway, and whether anybody had the slightest notion of the difficulties to be contended with in carrying out the scheme. Of course, modern engineering, with such men as Sir Benjamin Baker at the fore, can overcome any difficulty if money be no object, but who can possibly see any return for the enormous outlay an undertaking of this kind would entail?

To start with, there is one up grade of 2,870 feet within forty miles from Suakim, and the khors, through which the railway must wind, are sometimes raging torrents. To obviate this, if the line be built of trestles (timber elevations), as with the Canadian Pacific Railway, there is no wood in the country but for domestic purposes. Material, for every detail, must be imported. A smaller matter, but also somewhat important--though water apparently can be found in the khors for the digging, it is a question whether a sufficient quantity can be got at all times for the requirements of a railway. The natives themselves are often very badly off for water, as in the case of the Obak wells.

Wells run dry at odd times in this country, and can never be depended upon. Of course, water can be condensed at Suakim and stored. Further, a rival line is already in progress, which will connect Wady Halfa with Berber early this year. European goods coming by that line from Alexandria would be free of the Suez Canal dues, and certainly the directors of that line would treat freights favorably if Suakim should ever be connected with Berber by rail. As for the interior trade of the country, nearly all the population have either died from recent famine or have been killed off in the Mahdi's cause. There is no commercial center or even market to tap from one end of the road to the other.

The next morning we came in view of Suakim, the city of white coral, with her surf-beaten opalesque reefs stretching as far as the eye could follow. It seemed strange to me to be peacefully moving toward her outlying forts, for when I was last in her vicinity one could not go twenty yards outside the town without being shot at or running the gauntlet of a few spears. But here I was, slowly approaching its walls, accompanied by some of the very men who in those days would have cut my throat without the slightest hesitation. Suakim had changed much for the better; her streets were cleaner, and mostly free from Oriental smells. But these sanitary changes always take place when British officers are to the fore.

Surgeon Capt. Fleming is the medical officer responsible for the health of the town, and he has been instrumental in carrying out great reforms, especially in doing away with the tokuls and hovels, in which the Arabs herded together, and removing them to a special quarter outside the town.

The principal feature about Suakim to-day is its remarkable water supply. In 1884 our troops had to depend on condensed sea water, supplied from an old steamer anchored in the harbor, and the town folk drew an uncertain supply from the few wells outside the town. But now Suakim never wants for water, and that of the best. She even boasts of a fountain in the little square opposite the governor's house. Engineer Mason is responsible for this state of efficiency, to which Suakim owes much of her present immunity from disease. During the last twelve years immense condensing works have been erected on Quarantine Station; but, better still, about two years ago Mr. Mason discovered an apparently inexhaustible supply near Gemaiza, about three miles from the town. There is a theory--which this water finding has made a possible fact--that as coral does not grow in fresh water, the channel which allows steamers to approach close up to the town, through her miles of coral reefs, is caused by a fresh water current running from the shore.

However, on this theory Mason set to work and found a splendid supply at Fort Charter; an excavation in the khor there, about 200 feet long and 40 deep, is now an immense cistern of sweet water, the result of which the machines condensing 150 tons of water a day are now only required to produce one-half the quantity, saving the Egyptian government a considerable outlay.

The natives look upon Mason as a magician, the man who turns the salt ocean into sweet water. But metal refuse, scraps of iron, old boiler plates, under his magic touch, are also turned into the most useful things. For instance, the steam hammer used in the government workshop is rigged on steel columns from the debris of an engine room of a wrecked vessel. The hammer is the crank of a disused shaft of a cotton machine, the anvil is from an old "monkey," that drove the piles for the Suakim landing stage in 1884; the two cylinders are from an effete ice machine, and the steam and exhaust pipes come from a useless locomotive of the old railway. A lathe, a beautiful piece of workmanship, is fashioned out of one of the guns found at Tamai. And the building which covers these useful implements was erected by this clever engineer in the Sirdar's service, who had utilized the rails of the old Suakim-Berber line as girders for its roof, and, in my humble opinion, this is probably the very best purpose for which they can be used.

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TAPIRS IN THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDEN AT BRESLAU.

A fine pair of shabrack (Tapirus indicus) and another pair of American tapirs (Tapirus americanus) constitute the chief attraction of the house devoted to pachyderms in the Zoological Garden at Breslau, and interest in this section of the garden has recently been greatly enhanced by the appearance of a healthy young shabrack. This is only the second time that a shabrack tapir has been born in captivity in Europe, and as the other one, which was born in the Zoological Garden at Hamburg, did not live many days, but few knew of its existence; consequently, little or nothing is known of the care and development of the young of this species, although they are so numerous in their native lands. Farther India, Southwestern China and the neighboring large islands, where they also do well in captivity. The tapir was not known until the beginning of this century, and even now it is a great rarity in the European animal market, and as the greatest care is required to keep it alive for any length of time in captivity, it is seldom seen in zoological gardens; therefore, the fact that the shabrack tapirs in the Breslau garden have not only lived, but their number has increased, is so much more remarkable.

Our engraving shows that the five days old tapir resembles its mother in form, although its marking is quite different. Its spots and stripes are very similar to those of the young of the American tapir, several of which have been born in captivity in Europe. They shade from yellow to brown on black or very dark brown ground, and the spots on the legs take a whitish tone. This little one's fur is longer on the body than on the head and extremities, and is soft and thick, but has not the peculiar glossiness of the full grown animal. Its iris is a beautiful blue violet, while that of the old one is dark violet, and its little hoofs are reddish brown, while those of the mother are horn gray. When standing, the new comer measures about two feet in length and one foot two inches in height, having gained about one inch in height in five days. Its fine condition is doubtless due partly to the great care given it and partly to the healthy constitution of the mother, and it is the pet of its keepers and of the public.--Illustrirte Zeitung.

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THE INFLUENCE OF SCENERY UPON THE CHARACTER OF MAN.