Chapter XII: Siwah (2)

“We were, therefore, in the highest spirits, and Suliman and the camels having joined me at the foot of the hill, and he having also climbed up and convinced himself, we went on singing with joy. Two more hours, I thought, and we should be at the spring, and I led the way over the intervening _nefuds_ gaily. The sun was in our faces as we topped the last of them, and saw at last the plain of our hopes before us. Suliman and I looked in each other’s faces blankly. There was nothing at all of what we were expecting—only another long, low, shining plain. The tarfa clumps had resolved themselves into as many bare black stones, and nothing to break the horizon but a single pyramidal hill far away, a full day’s journey off. It was a bitter disappointment. We asked Osman when he arrived with the camels whether he recognized the valley as Síttarah, and he said ‘no.’ We were worse lost than before. Nevertheless, we were convinced that the valley must be still before us, and like an old hound Suliman ran off to the left casting for some sign of it, and presently came, by extraordinary good fortune, on a track, and then a mile or two still farther on, at the very place where the black stones were which we had taken for tarfa clumps, to our exceeding joy, lay the great caravan road—we had not seen it for two days—running with at least a hundred parallel camel paths bearing due westward. This, ‘if not the work of the _ján_,’ we know _must_ be our road. It led straight to the pyramidal hill, and ‘_there_,’ said Suliman, ‘the water will be.’ So now we are camped at sunset, once more praising God for his bounty, and in good heart and hope. Old Beseys and all of them had given themselves up for lost. They had made no complaint, but also had made no effort to find the road, but had ridden silently—Beseys saying his prayers at intervals. Perhaps they were heard in heaven.” [N.B. What is very remarkable in this adventure is that both Suliman and I, he being a master in desert craft, having been deceived by the mirage, were so not to our own hurt but to our advantage, for the apparent vegetation lay precisely where the caravan road was emerging from the sand. The mirage in our case saved us. Not that we were yet in great straits for water, except for the mare, for we still had skins enough for our own drinking, and the weather was cold. But, if we had failed to hit off Síttarah next day, we should have soon been in sorry plight, for Síttarah is the only water between El Wah and Siwah. What makes travelling without guides so dangerous in the western desert is that the oases are mere cup-like hollows in the plains, which one may pass to right or left of without sign of their being near. There are almost no landmarks visible from the plain, and the sands have encroached, obliterating the ancient roads, which are most of them now abandoned. In former days the oases must have been all inhabited, but are not so now. The sand drifts are gradually overwhelming them. To pass by one of these and so miss the water is for a caravan a terrible disaster.]

“_22nd Feb._—Close to our encampment we found the skeletons of two donkeys, which Osman recognizes as connected with a gruesome tale. Last year at El Wah, a witness being wanted in the affairs of a certain khawajeh, probably a Greek, who had died there, the Egyptian authorities, urged on by an officer of the Inglis, sent to Siwah for the man, who was brought to El Wah with his wife and his two boys. These, when the inquiry was over, wanted to return, and, notwithstanding that it was summer, the man set out for Siwah with his family, and his two donkeys carrying jars of water for the road. The donkeys, however, broke down near Síttarah, doubtless here; the water was finished, and the father sent the elder of the two boys forward with a jar to Síttarah to bring them water. On his return the boy found his mother and his brother already dead of thirst, while the father was still alive. But having drunk, he too died, and the boy was left alone to bury them and tell the tale. We found the graves by the roadside near the donkey skeletons. These, Osman says, were the last who travelled here, and it was two years ago.

“As I walked with Osman this morning he told me the story, and also much about Burnou and Wadai. There are there, he assures me, wild _koheyl_. The Arabs catch them at their watering places in pitfalls or traps which catch them by the leg. They keep these horses tied up fast for three days, then put bits into their mouths and ride them. They can go ten days without water. This he told me in almost the same words as those used by Leo Africanus 400 years ago. I asked about their colours, and he said they were bay, white, and dark; they had long manes and tails; some Arabs ate them, calling them _halal_. I asked him about the _lant_ (mentioned by Leo Africanus), and he said, ‘Oh, yes _el ant_,’ and described it as red (bay) above with a white belly and dark markings between the red and the white, like a gazelle—the male alone with horns, big like a cow. I am convinced this is the Eland of natural history. There are also elephants, lions, and giraffes. The elephant is half _halal_ (permitted food), half _haram_ (forbidden food), the fore toes _halal_. He has eaten the flesh. He described the giraffe as a tall camel with two small horns. The Falata, he said, hunt all these—and the gazelle with hawks. They ride _koheyls_ after the ostrich and the _lant_. All this is most interesting. There are also wild asses.

“All this time we were following the caravan road, and at about eleven we sighted bushes—this time real bushes—and I galloped on some three or four miles to the dry edge of the Lake of Síttarah. It lay exactly as Suliman had said, under the pyramidal hill. This eastern end of the lake (which is a salt lake and quite undrinkable) is clearly a paradise of wild beasts. The tracks of the ariel gazelle were like those of a flock of sheep, and of the hares, like those of rabbits at Newbuildings in the snow, round every bush. And there were jackal tracks, and the track of a wolf and of a wild boar quite fresh. I was surprised to find the jackal tracks, as I had never seen them before far from inhabited places. But their being here was later explained by the dates, which they doubtless feed on. Of bushes I found _ghurkhud_ and _aghur_, the latter always a sign of former cultivation, tamarisks on a mound or two, and a single palm bush. I should have liked to encamp here on the chance of seeing an ariel; but it was necessary to find the water first. Osman could not recollect where the spring was, except that it was under palms, and about two miles farther on palms were visible. So I once more cantered on. The first palms stood in a swamp near the lake, just opposite the pyramidal hill, with blue water beyond them for quite a mile. The swamp, too, was a main home of the wild beasts, but as yet I saw no birds. I was driven out of it by the midges and mosquitoes, which assailed me in battalions from the reeds, and I was glad to get back to the desert and wait there for the camels. When they arrived we all dispersed in search of the spring, which Osman could not find, examining palm clump after palm clump. At the western edge of the lake there is no marsh, and the _nefuds_ come down to the water’s edge with only a fringe of reeds and tufts of palms, which we found covered with good fruit. Of these we plucked and ate. The first hopeful sign of water was when with a rush and a scream out of a palm clump flew a blackbird, a real English blackbird. I had never seen one in the desert, or in Egypt, except in my own garden of Sheykh Obeyd. This was a proof there must be good water, and soon after Suliman discovered good water by digging in the sand to his elbow at a place which seemed frequented, and Osman found more under the very last palm of the Oasis westwards. The springs had been choked with sand drift, but were easily dug out.

“Minshawi, meanwhile, had got another supply from the shore of the lake. The lake itself is salt, like all desert lakes, but by digging a few yards away from the edge, drinkable, though brackish, water can be had; and of this Yemama drank her fill. She was very thirsty, as yesterday she had been on half rations. We all felt very happy, and agreed to spend two nights and enjoy the water. There is all here a man with a few she-camels can require to live on, good pasture, good water, and good dates. The lake is covered with flamingos, and I saw a heron and heard wild geese. I think I saw pelicans. I also saw one _chrysippus_ butterfly, but no land bird except the one blackbird. It would be a paradise for a hermit, but for the gnats. These came out in swarms at sunset, and drove me out of camp, and a mile away into the _nefud_, where I spent the night alone with Suliman and our two _nagas_. Of all the hermitages I have yet found this is the best. It is _never_ visited by man. There are no Arabs anywhere within a hundred miles, and it is very beautiful—a winter hermitage, I mean, for in summer it must be a furnace. It is hot even now.

“_23rd Feb._—After a delightful night I walked at sunrise to the top of the highest _nefud_, from which the whole lake can be seen. It is very interesting. Clearly the Oasis has been inhabited, but has been overwhelmed by the _nefuds_ advancing on it from the south and west. The lake may be seven miles long, and is very beautiful. The northern shore is bounded by low cliffs, the ancient limit doubtless of the lake, which is shrinking, and will some day be a mere chaos of _nefud_, as so many others are. It was somewhere in this desert, they say, that Cambyses disappeared with his army. I can well believe it, for we were within a little of such a misfortune two days ago. If the weather had been less clear and cool I could not have seen the valley, and with a sand wind we might easily have perished. Now all seems easy and delightful. In the afternoon I went out for a ride, intending to visit the pyramidal hill, but got into a quicksand, crossing over a half dry arm of the lake, out of which I had some difficulty in dragging my mare. The blackbird I saw again at the same place, and a kestrel. It is so hot to-day that I had the tent pitched for a shade—the first time we have used it, as I sleep under my carpet shelter. The barometer shows the lake to be 120 feet below sea level.

“_24th Feb._—Started at sunrise, believing our difficulties to be now over, but we took a wrong track, which led us south-west instead of farther north, towards some distant palms we had sighted an hour after leaving. This took us to what I believe to be the oasis of Bahreyn—at least such an Oasis is marked on my map. [N.B. A very excellent German map.] This Oasis is very like Síttarah, though with two lakes instead of one—whence its name. Osman pronounced this to be Araj, and said we were now close to Zeytoun and Siwah, which I knew could not be the case, and was sure when we came to the second lake it could only be Bahreyn. The road, too, westwards, we found blocked by a great _sebkha_ (a dry salt marsh), and we were obliged to turn north and travel several hours to recover the right road. Fortunately we fell in soon with the track of a donkey, and two men who had been to the oasis, we think, to gather dates, a track of about ten days old, which we followed. The barometer at Bahreyn showed exactly 0° above the sea. The donkey track led us to a _nukbeh_, where we fell in with a well-marked road bearing north-west by north over a plateau of limestone hillocks, each about ten feet high, like the crested waves of the British Channel in rough weather, with the space between them sand. The road was carefully marked with _rijms_ (cairns), and easy to follow, and I cantered gaily on to find a camping place, where we now snugly are, screened from the north-east wind. It is fortunate we found the donkey track, or we might not have hit off the road. Yemama is now in excellent condition, and ate up her two _melwas_ of corn during the night. The camels were all watered before starting. At Bahreyn to-day I saw a kite and a raven.

“I find Beseys is very unwilling now to go to Jerabub, being afraid, I think, of displeasing the Akhwan. We have agreed to find out at Zeytoun or Siwah whether Abu Seyf is at Jerabub or not, and to pass by without alighting if he should be absent.

“_25th Feb._—To-day we are in a worse plight than ever. We started very early, taking up our path of yesterday, which brought us in a couple of hours to the end of the limestone plain, and to my great delight to the edge of a new and very deep oasis which I knew must be the Araj we were looking for. Araj has no lake, only a little standing water and a tamarisk marsh. But a vast number of palms are scattered over a wide basin with many isolated clumps, very beautiful, in the sand. It was no case here of the _nefud_ having destroyed the villages, as in the other oases, but of abandonment, one cannot say why. There are palms enough left to support many villages. The cliffs here are on the south and west sides, the sand slopes on the north and east. Still on the track of the donkey and the two men we chevied along the edge of the jungle north westwards, the ground covered with the tracks of gazelles, hares, and jackals. Of birds I saw only three, mourning chats, black with white beaks and rumps—nothing else alive. The depth of the oasis puzzled my barometer. It must be about 150 feet below the sea. From the bottom the track led up by some clumps of palms, where I am sure there must be water underground, across deep _nefuds_ to the opposite _nukbe_ marked by some wonderful rocks—one quite square, white as marble, and with curious architectural markings, another like a tall chessman, both 100 feet high at least, their tops level with the plain above, a splendid hermitage where one might find shade and shelter at all hours and in every weather. They are geologically of limestone, with layers of shells, their tops black, like lava. One layer of the chessman, one of those round white flakes, Suliman calls _dirahem_ (money). This place was the wildest, the most romantic, the most supernatural in its natural structure I have ever seen, an abode of all the _jan_.

“I cantered up the sand slope to the top of the pass, elated at having found Araj corresponding so well with my map, and being in front forgot to give orders for water to be looked for, and the girbehs filled. Hence our present trouble. For on gaining the upper plain, instead of the well-marked track we had expected, we found nothing but a windswept plateau of _nefud_ interspersed with mounds of stone, where the donkey track speedily disappeared or was lost, nor could we ever again find it. We were left now to our sole wits and the mercy of God, for the wind was blowing hard from the north-east and was drifting the sand hopelessly. Suliman, now in command, recommended descending towards some hills to the north-west, and this brought us to a new formation of limestone ground, arranged in flat masses with sharp edges, the most abominable imaginable interspersed with sand. Across this we floundered with our camels for several hours, when Suliman, having climbed to the top of a low tell, announced that he had seen a valley with palms, and it was resolved, much against old Osman’s wish, that we should cross the whole valley on the chance of striking a track near the hills. The trend of the valley was westwards, and if it was the beginning of the Siwah valley, Suliman argued, it must have a road passing up it. So Suliman and I went scouting with the tall buttresses of a crag to west-north- west for our object. Now we have almost reached these, but have found no sign of road or life—only a poor wagtail lost in the strong wind. We have camped for the night, feeling ourselves to be out of all reckoning (for this according to the map should have been the Siwah valley, yet it is absolutely without trace of human passage, old or new). We are camped in a hollow near two _seyyal_ trees, ill screened from the wind, and in very miserable plight.

“_26th Feb._—I spent a restless, uncomfortable night, disturbed at finding that of our five water skins three were already empty, and reproaching myself with having let the men pass Araj without replenishing. I felt myself responsible, too, from having taken the direction of our route out of Osman’s hands. Old Beseys and the rest, except my own Bedouins, were clearly of opinion that I was wrong. The wind, too, raged furiously, and kept me waking, and in the darkness I imagined all kinds of disaster, more especially when I found the stars overhead obscured with drifting sand. I said prayers to all my saints and repented of my sins, and so I think did all the party. Once in the night the sky cleared and I got a sight of the Pole Star and made a line on the ground with my camel stick as a guide in the morning, for my pocket compass is out of order and cannot be relied on. There were even moments when I thought gloomily of ordering a retreat to Araj.

“In the morning, however, more courageous counsels prevailed, and we took our due course west towards the _khusm_ (the headland) determined to go straight forward and solve the question of this being the Siwah valley or no. Nor were we long in suspense. We had hardly gone a mile when, riding in front, I came upon a little single path leading to some _seyyal_ trees which had been pollarded by Bedouins, a sign of human neighbourhood, and presently, to my delight, to the old caravan road, reappearing plain and unmistakable. It relieved us from all anxiety, and following it we found ourselves by mid-day at the first bushes of the Siwah oasis.” [N.B. It is well here to note, as a general rule of travelling in the desert without guides that, when looking for a lost camel track or road, there is more chance of finding it at the point of a headland in the wady than elsewhere, for the reason that it is there that the shortest cut would be made in rounding a trend of the hills. This justified Suliman in making for the _khusm_ yesterday.] “Soon afterwards we came to _sebkhas_, where there were tracks of many pasturing camels, and then within sight of the oasis of Zeytoun and the Senussi Zaghwiyeh standing on high ground a mile or more from its palm trees. As it was near sunset we resolved to rest here and have made a pleasant camp under some _ghurkhud_ bushes. _El hamdul Illah_.

“_27th Feb._—In half an hour from leaving camp we came to the Zaghwiyeh, and Yemama started at the sight of strange human beings, the first she had seen since leaving El Wah, who came out to receive us. These were servants and slaves of the monastery, and we were shown by them the well where we watered mare and camels—a small well just outside the buildings. These were not different from an ordinary small village, a score of low square houses with a mosque attached. The servants may have been half-a-dozen or more, an unhandsome set of men, especially those of the Siwah type, which is one of the ugliest in the world, yellow skinned, brown haired, snub nosed, hare-lipped and light eyed (such one imagines the Huns to have been). In marked contrast to them was the ‘brother,’ who came out presently to entertain us, an Arab of the Western type, not unlike my friend Abdallah Mijower, with a singularly pleasant smile. One could imagine him having great influence with the people. He had a look of goodness which could not be mistaken. His name, he told us, was Sidi Hamid of the Mujábara tribe of Aujla. He has with him only one fellow brother, a Siwan, inferior to him in every way. He gave us all the news of the brotherhood, how that, after Sidi Sherif’s death, Sidi Abu Seyf had also died, leaving Sidi el Médani head of the community at Jerabúb. He said we should have no difficulty in our journey to Benghazi. It was four easy days to Jerabúb, and from thence we could go straight to Bir Menús in nine days, with one water on the sixth day. He would like to go with us himself. He was very kind to me, and though he did not eat with us, it being Ramadan, he gave me some good _gazali_ dates and some pomegranates, and milk and dates to the servants, who were not fasting. Then he called his fellow brother Mohammed, and they recited a _fatha_ for our safe journey, all standing together outside the monastery, and we went much pleased on our way.

“Old Beseys tells me it is their practice to entertain all comers for two nights with milk and dates—otherwise to occupy themselves only with prayer and the superintending of the palm cultivation. (Cardinal Lavigerie’s White Fathers imitated in this their way of life.) One might do worse in the world than be a Senussi brother. Every difficulty seems now to be in the way of solution. Beseys is confident of accomplishing our journey by Jerabúb to Benghazi.

“Thus we travelled till four o’clock, when we reached the first isolated garden outside Siwah, where Beseys found a friend, who invited us to stay with him, and we should have done well to accept, and presently we encamped for the night just outside the Eastern town, of the two of which Siwah is composed, half a mile away south of it in the sand among some groups of palms.

“_28th Feb._—A day of disaster. Last night after dark, Mohammed Saïd, Omdeh of the Eastern town, came out to see us; a fat, well-dressed, dark-faced man whom Suliman pronounced to be ‘a splendid prince.’ We had bought a lamb (for Sheykh Obeyd), and Suliman cooked it for us, and Mohammed Saïd ate of it largely with a friend and he had just got up to say good-night and go, having promised us a guide and all we wanted for next day, when we saw lights coming, and a number of persons, horse and foot, and the word passed that it was the _hákim_ (government representative), a _maown_ (police officer), the chief man being away at Skanderia. He was polite and amiable, a slender man with no palate to his mouth, speaking almost in a whisper, and with him a number of Siwans who, as I understand now, were Sheykhs of the Western town. These all sat down, and I, too, was obliged to stay out their visit while coffee was being made. Old Beseys, as his way is, made most of the conversation, and he began very imprudently to tell them we intended going to Benghazi. The sheykhs, upon this, became curious and inquisitive. Old Beseys strung tales of my being from Nejd, and I was obliged to join in to the extent of saying that I was from beyond Sham (Damascus), between Sham and Bagdad, and my name Sakr. They were curious to know my business, but I answered vaguely, also as to our road. I did not for a moment suppose there was anything hostile in their intention, and they drank their coffee and said good night amiably enough, the only disagreeable incident being that during the night a thief came to my tent and stole away my carpet shelter, which I had used to seat my visitors upon outside. It had been carelessly put back at the door of the tent, and the night was one for thieves, being without a moon. I was awoke out of my sleep by Suliman’s shout, who had seen the thief stealing away between the palms, but too late to stop him with his prize. I was put out at this and all the more resolved to move away early—Mohammed Saïd had suggested it—to another place ‘near his castle.’ This castle was barely half a mile away (to the west), a country house built upon a rock, and we accordingly moved camp by daylight and pitched the tent a hundred yards from the house on open ground.

“I had just settled that the servants were to go to town to buy what we wanted when Suliman came to my tent to tell me of an armed party approaching from the town towards us, and that we ought to get our guns ready. I loaded my gun, and then looked through my glass, and saw in fact a little army, some 200 men, on horse and on foot (and with camels), advancing from the Western town, which, though evidently armed, I could not believe had any intention hostile to ourselves. The servants were for flight with the camels, and old Beseys and Salem and the younger Arabs disappeared. Only Suliman and the good old slave Osman stayed with me, and, seeing it was absurd to think of defence, I told them to put up their weapons, and sat down again in my tent waiting the event. Presently the Siwans arrived, and I heard them call out ‘Salaam aleykum,’ and ‘amán,’ and supposed it to be all right. But half a minute after I found myself surrounded by a number of men, mostly Soudanis, who were pulling the tent over my ears. On seeing me sitting there, they rushed forward and caught hold of me by the wrists and pulled me to my feet. I expostulated with them, and they became more violent, and though I made no defence except in words one of them struck me a blow on the side of the neck and others began to try and pull my clothes off me, others pointed guns and pistols at me, and there was a vast hubbub and confusion, one dragging me one way and another another. I received several blows on the head and one from some weapon on the cheek. All I could make out of their cries (for there was an immense uproar and they were shouting the most part in a language—Berberi—I did not understand), was something about Sidi-el-Mahdi.

“There were half-a-dozen sheykhs on horseback, with an old white-bearded man brandishing a drawn sword, others with blunderbusses and every kind of impossible weapon. I recognized in them several of those who had drunk coffee with us the night before. My captors hustled me towards the town, tearing me nearly in pieces in their desire to get my pistol from my belt, which at last they tore away. The sheykhs on horseback were evidently in direction of the whole affair. I had lost sight of Suliman and the slave Osman, but I heard afterwards that they, too, were considerably knocked about. I received a rather nasty blow on the nape of the neck and another with some weapon on my cheek bone, but neither very serious, and, not being really hurt, I managed to keep my temper. The sheykhs made no effort to protect me in any way; but, when they had got my pistol, my assailants left me more or less alone, as there was a general rush to pillage the baggage. Fortunately the leather bags with spring locks were a puzzle to them, and they could not tear them open. But I had no leisure to attend to this, and my captors marched me off towards the town, every now and then having a drag at my cloak or my _hezam_ (girdle); ‘el dirahem, el dirahem!’ (‘the drachmas, the money!’) they shouted; ‘you have a thousand? you have two thousand?’

“At last a man, with a better face than most, came up to me, and I made myself his _dahil_ (according to the Arab formula, ‘_ana dahilak_,’ by seizing his cloak, an act of surrender), and he took me to join a second body which had been waiting behind the first, and some of these threw their cloaks over my head to protect me from further blows. It was a rabble rout as ever was seen, and they marched me to the town, where the women were all shrilling their triumph (_ulu-lu-lu-lu_) from every housetop. I did not know in the least what it was about or what they intended, but they seemed all very angry, and at times I thought they meant to kill me. But, strangely enough, I was not at all frightened, and felt interested in it all almost as a spectator.” [The truth is it was a very lovely morning, the air sparkling and clear, and the whole thing, with its almost mediæval and quite barbaric costuming and staging, was more like a pageant than a reality, so that it seemed difficult to realize that it was quite in earnest; nor had I time to think much or consider what it meant.]

“Arrived inside the town, I was marched to an open space where there were two erections not unlike gallows, and for a moment I thought that I was perhaps to be hanged. All I could imagine in explanation of the affair was that some revolution had broken out in which I was accidentally involved. But we did not stop at the gallows, and presently I was bidden inside a house and up a stair which led to a nice open room with _mastabahs_ (seats) and a pleasant outlook to the north. This proved to be the _mejliss_ (council chamber) of the Sheykhs of the Gharbieh (western town), and there we sat down. I took the best place, and called for water, which was brought; and a great talk began among the Sheykhs, who were now by way of protecting me. Having drunk and recovered my breath, I asked them the reason of all their wrath, and of the attack made on me, but could get no intelligible answer except that the Maown was coming. I explained that I was a person well known at Cairo and a friend of Effendina’s (the Khedive’s). But they said they knew nothing of Effendina—they had a government of their own, and that I should go to the diwan (government house). Soon after the Maown arrived. He had made me the kindly offer of his services last night, and I now whispered to him that I was an Englishman. This made him still more courteous, and I think, poor man, he did all he could to set things right, with considerable tact, too. And, as things went on better, I whispered the same intelligence also to one of the sheykhs who sat next me, and with the same good effect. There was now a great hurry to restore the plunder, and most of the things taken were by degrees brought in, the chief losses being two of my three guns, and my good Persian sword (the sword Mohammed Ibn Aruk of Tadmor had given me), also my little store of gold—£29 had been abstracted from my small red bag, which must have been done by the sheykhs themselves, for the silver had been left, and certainly the common plunderers would have left nothing. And so, little by little, matters cleared. The Maown brought water, and himself washed my cheeks from the blood, and a _katib_ (scribe) having arrived, I dictated a statement of the case, though I don’t think it was signed by any one.

“After this, my servants one by one appeared all with tales of the losses, and Suliman and Osman of their bruises—and we were escorted by the Maown to the diwan, which is the general Government House of Siwah. Here we now are, in not uncomfortable quarters upstairs, with several mud-built rooms and a nice roof top. The camels are below in a great yard; and after all the trouble nothing serious has really happened. Only it is clear our onward journey is stopped. Our money and our arms are gone, and there is a general demoralization among the servants. Salem is thoroughly frightened and has given warning, and the others all declare for an immediate return by Alexandria. So here my expedition ends. The timid Beseys, it turns out, ran away to his friend Mohammed Saïd at the first news of the approaching army, and came late, on the Maown’s summons, to the _mejliss_, where the Sheykhs set upon him, excusing themselves for the attack by laying it on Beseys’ assurance to them that I was this that and the other; and, indeed, I think it has been mainly his fault. It was quite unnecessary for him to talk about my going to Benghazi to anybody but Mohammed Saïd; and I am not sure he had not talked also about the road to Jerabúb. Still we must be thankful for small mercies, and it has all been in the way of the adventure I was seeking. None of us is hurt, and for the small losses I shall make the Egyptian Government responsible. They should either give up holding Siwah or keep order here. As it is, the Maown, poor man, is powerless. He told me his sorrows to-night. He has been twelve years here, on £7 a month, and has but six men under him for the preservation of the peace, four of whom are disabled by fever, and he himself suffers from it. His second in command is dying of consumption, and spits blood continually. His superior, the Mamur, at £25 a month, has just been recalled, and I think he cannot read or write. His _bashkatib_, chief secretary, is down with fever, and the second, too, is sick.

“_1st March._—Things look pleasanter this morning. It is arranged that we are to leave to-morrow with a messenger the Maown is sending to Alexandria with the news of our adventure. We shall take the northern road by Akabah and the sea coast. Last night was a noisy one, of chaunting and processions, as Ramadan is ending. [N.B. The diwan overlooked the great square of the mosque, which was crowded all night with a multitude of devotees, and a wild concourse of Oulad Ali Bedouins who had come in to Siwah from the north and west to buy dates and attend the coming festival. The Oulad Ali are all more or less adherents of the Senussia, and what may truly be called ‘fanaticism,’ was rampant among them. It was a curious and impressive sight, and cannot have been very different from the condition of things at Omdurman and el Obeyd in the time of the Mahdi. At midnight and again at the hour of the morning prayer a gong was sounded, apparently by the blows repeated singly of an iron hammer, with the effect of a series of sharp reports like those of a rifle, sharp and penetrating, followed by the call to prayer splendidly chaunted by the _mueddhin_, and then a general chaunting maintained for an hour or more, wild and menacing as anything to be heard in the world.] The best explanation of the attack made on me is Ramadan. The Siwans are mad with it. Beseys tells me the Akhwan took part in yesterday’s affair. It is quite likely. Others say it is on account of our having gone on arrival to Mohammed Saïd, who is at the head of the opposite faction, that of the Eastern town. But I think plunder had not a little to do with it, and the recklessness which Ramadan brings. Certainly the whole of the Gharbieh town was concerned in the attack. I regret it as upsetting my plans for the Jebel Akhdar, but it cannot be helped. It may serve as a useful instruction as to this western Islam of which I had hoped something. If the condition of Siwah is all the fruit the Senussia has to show, the tree can be but little worth.

“_2nd March._—The day has passed in going to and fro on the part of the Maown to arrange matters for our start to-morrow. They have imposed two _khabirs_ (guides) on us, one from each village, for whom I am to pay £4 each. This will leave me with only fifteen reals and a piastre, all counted. The Sheykh of the Gharbieh, who is chief guarantor in the transaction, is the same who led the attack on us yesterday. There is little doubt that the prime movers in the affair were the Akhwan. Some say that Mohammed, the Siwahi brother who recited the prayer with us at Zeytoun, followed us on his white donkey, and that he was the cause of the night visit paid us, and the questions asked of us as to our projected journey. The Sheykh of the Western town led the _ghazu_, but the men who first attacked me were, I am sure, slaves of the Akhwan. I remember among their cries when they struck me with the gun, ‘_ya kelb, la te fut and Sidi el Mahdi_.’ Indeed it was all done in the name of Sidi el Mahdi. Now old Beseys says he recognized one of the Akhwan as leader in the attack.

“Of the Sheykhs there were three prominent leaders, Othman Habbun, the old man with the naked sword (this I believe to have been Hassuna), and the young dark man with the prominent eyes, who afterwards sat next me at the _mejliss_, Mohammed Kuli. All these three were on horseback. I am certain, too, that the gold stolen from the red bag was taken, not in the general plunder, but afterwards—this because the bag, though not locked, was shut with a spring, and if the plunderers had got it open they would not have left the silver or the pistol, both of which were inside. I suspect it was Othman took it. Beseys says that the arms are in his hands and in those of the Akhwan. The name of the man who first protected me is Abu Bekr Mohammed Daoud, and another was Mohammed Mansur, Hassan Mansur’s brother, on whom they now lay all the blame. Mohammed Kuli was among the advanced riders. I consider Abdallah Homeydeh among the most responsible of the second division. The three commanders of the advanced party are then—Othman Habbun, the worst, Hassuna, and Mohammed Kuli. It was Mohammed Kuli, I think, who pointed the pistol at my head. They lay all the blame on Hassuna now, who they say is _asi_ (in rebellion) against the Government, and has possession of my sword and guns.

“Othman has been to see me and has brought back the money, or rather its equivalent of ten sovereigns and twenty-five _bintos_. The Sheykhs of the Gharbieh have all been with me, talking, and are now polite enough and anxious their quarrel with me should be settled; and I have used a little _siasa_ with them, acquiescing in their view of Hassuna’s sole guilt. They have asked me to get him removed by the Government as a mischief maker. It was Abdallah Homeydeh who made the remark in the _mejliss_ ‘We know nothing of Effendina. We have a government of our own.’” [N.B. I am sorry not to have noted more in my journal of these Sheykhs’ conversation, for much of it was interesting as connected with the affairs of the Senussia. I found Othman Habbun by far the most able man among them, a strong, capable rogue. The rest were very poor creatures, some of them of the most degraded physical type I have ever come across, and apparently without those sentiments of honour most Arabs pretend to even if they are without them. The Siwahi are, however, no real Arabs, but men of very mixed origin with much negro blood, and apparently some northern blood too, for there were individuals with yellow faces, pale eyes, and tow-coloured hair. They are probably descended from the criminals formerly sent here in Roman and later times, for Siwah was a convict settlement.]

“3.30.—I have had a last talk with Huseyn Effendi, the Maown, and have learned several things from him. Othman Habbun is no other, he tells me, than the Wakil of the Akhwan at Siwah. This explains the whole affair, and it is on him and the Akhwan that the whole responsibility of the attack rests. He is now anxious not to compromise the Senussia with the Government, and represents Hassuna as the dangerous man, making him scapegoat in his place. Hassuna is Sidi el Mahdi’s strongest adherent in Siwah, and if the Government attempts to arrest him, he will doubtless fly and take refuge with the Sidi, as he did once before in the Khedive Tewfik’s time. I am tired of waiting here, but the delay has been fruitful in the knowledge I have acquired. It is an experience not, I think, bought too dear.

“_3rd March._—Got away at last from Siwah, accompanied by the Maown on his white donkey and our four chief adversaries on horseback, Othman Habbun (Wakil Sidi el Mahdi), Mohammed Mansur (Hassuna’s brother), Mohammed Kuli, and Abdallah Homeydeh. They were riding wretched underbred mares of which they professed themselves proud. But Othman cast envious eyes on Yemama, who was fresh with her rest and full of spirits.

“I have promised the Maown to try and get him named Mamur. He says that with twenty-five men and a small cannon he could manage the town—and I think he could if Othman were removed. He is the only dangerous one of the lot, as he is intelligent, unscrupulous, and bold. The Senussia in these oasis towns is a mere madness and ought to be suppressed. It is, all the same, picturesque and interesting. I have slept the last two nights on the housetop, and the midnight call to prayer is the most impressive thing I ever heard. The town guards call their watchword, which is answered all over the town. Then the drum is struck, in sound like the sharp crack of a rifle, 1—2, 3—1—2, 3—1—2, 3. Then, after an interval, the _mueddhin_ chaunts. Till midnight the whole town is silent—dead silent—there are no dogs at Siwah except those brought in by the Bedouins. But afterwards there are intervals of watch calling and prayers till daybreak.

“The four Sheykhs got off their horses at the outskirts of the oasis gardens and were wishing us good-bye, when Mohammed Saïd appeared in the distance. ‘I think he is not of your friends,’ I said. ‘We are all friends here,’ they answered, laughing. ‘Fi aman Illah,’ said Othman. ‘Salaam aleykum,’ I answered, and he, ‘Aleykum es salaam.’ Mohammed Saïd then rode up. He talked of riding farther with us, but I would not allow it. He proved useless to us at the pinch, and he only compromises us now. The little Maown I parted from with real regret. He has been very kind and very clever. I am to deliver a letter he has written to the Mudirieh (Damanhur, of which Siwah is an annex), and to send him my pistol and a donkey’s bridle by one of our guides when these return. Mohammed Saïd handed me a list of those who had been concerned in the attack on me, and then he too departed. When all were gone and we were once more in the open desert we all breathed more freely, and have pushed quickly on and are stopping now at the last _hattieh_ (palm clump) of the oasis, some twenty-five miles from Siwah.

“_4th March._—A long march from 5.50 a.m. to 5.20 p.m. over hard _hamad_ (gravel plain) at best pace—say thirty-five miles—and camped at the first sheltered place on descending towards Garah. A hot march, as the wind was behind us, followed by a bitter cold night.

“The two guides are Kheydr, an old man, tall and big-nosed, a Senusite—he was one of those who rode against us on the 28th at what I call the battle of Jupiter Ammon, for the ruins were within half a mile of the fight. The other, a great strong blackguard of the opposite faction. They are both amiable now, and made me a present of Siwah bread and date cake, very good, in a pretty basket. The old man I like. He said to-day, ‘I have been inquiring about you from your servants, and I find we made a great mistake about you. It will ruin Siwah.’

“_5th March._—There are three factions at Siwah: 1. The Senussia, comprising 950 out of the 1000 male inhabitants. 2. The followers of one Abd es Salaam of Tuggurt, and 3. The followers of Mohammed Dhaffir el Médani of Constantinople. Of this last Mohammed Saïd is a member, and so is our guide Khalaf. Mohammed Dhaffir it was that made the mischief at Yildiz against Sidi el Mahdi, and caused the Sultan to cut his subsidy. It is therefore pretty plain that our arriving with letters to Mohammed Saïd was a first cause of suspicion. They seem to have jumped at once to the conclusion that I was a spy, from Mohammed Dhaffir or another, with plans against their chief.” [N.B. This Mohammed Dhaffir el Médani is doubtless the same Sheykh Zaffir who corresponded with Arabi on behalf of the Sultan in 1882. See my “Secret History.”]

“This morning we descended to Garah, a pretty little oasis, with a quaint village perched on a mushroom rock, inhabited by negroes. There are two springs and a well, the western spring called Ain Makhluf, the eastern Ain Faris. Makhluf has a deep hole in the middle of the spring like that at Wells. We found the inhabitants of Garah _en fête_, for to- day is the Id (festival) and their Sheykh, an old negro, came out to greet us and ask us to alight, but I would not stop, and we have come on to the far end of the oasis, and are camped under some wild palms. Some fifteen miles to-day. According to the barometer we are here 250 feet below the sea level. It was 400 above yesterday on the high plateau.

“In all this time of trial I have been reading Doughty—certainly the best prose written in the last two centuries. He is of excellent counsel for such straits as we have been in; and I think it was in great measure due to his influence that I took the passive line I did the day of the attack. Any other would have cost me my life.

“_6th March._—Thirteen hours’ march without a halt, perhaps forty miles. Our course was north-east by east, to the _khusm_ of Abdel Nebbi. Thence there are two roads which part company to join again at Lebbakh. We chose the northern way. We are camped at the first palms of a new oasis.

“_7th March._—All day till three skirting a great _sebkha_ with cliff to our left, and camped at a spring. Found a dead pratincole and saw two falcons. Barometer shows 165 below sea level. The name of our camp, Gatara. Water pretty good, an open spring with a run of water from under palms. Chats with white heads and tails, as at Siwah. A yellow wagtail with black head. Twenty-five miles.

“_8th March._—Rounded the point of Gatara and on to El Haj, six hours. El Haj, an open spring in a sandy ravine, water salt. At 2.50 crossed a bay of the _sebkha_, and camped at a _hattieh_—perhaps twenty-eight miles. Saw a gazelle on the _sebkha_, and flushed a quail. We are camped 1½ miles east of the pyramidal peak of El Tartur. Good _guttáf_ pasture for the camels.

“_9th March._—Took water from an open pit under Abu Tartur. It might be easily passed unnoticed, being marked only by some burnt palms. A great bird of prey, brown, grey, and black (?), and some pippits. All day coasting the _sebkha_, with lines of hill still in front. Eleven hours’ march, thirty miles. We have now travelled, according to my calculation, 198 miles from Siwah in seven days.

“_10th March._—To Lebbakh well, eleven hours, say thirty miles, good _nossi_ and _sgaa_ pasture. The well is about three-quarters of a mile south of the headland, the last of the range eastwards. It is marked by a low _tel_. I am tired, and Yemama is tired. The _sebkha_ ends here.

“Later. I was premature about the well. After three hours’ absence Kheydr and Eid have returned, having failed to find it. So we are without water. I have given what remained in my _girbeh_ to the general stock. Yemama had a _jerdel_, and there is now absolutely no drop in camp, except one quart bottle I keep always in reserve. Kheydr promises water to-morrow at noon at Maghara, ‘sweet as the Nile.’ We are now, I calculate, 160 miles from the Nile valley.

“_11th March._—A long forced march of thirty miles. I did not ride Yemama, as she is suffering from thirst, and is looking thin and tucked up. They found the well this morning, but it was salt, and the mare would not drink. To-day we passed through herds of wandering camels. There is pasture, _erta_, _nossi_, _adr_. At half-past two crossed a party of Oulad Ali, who told us we were going wrong, and took us to Maghara water—most fortunate. Maghara is a small oasis three miles south-west of the first _step_ of the hill.

“_12th March._—The Bedouin who showed us the water, Abu Bekr, lives in the neighbourhood. Every ten days he visits Maghara, and fetches ten _girbehs_ of water on donkeys for his household, a bright, good Bedouin, who was really unwilling to take the present I offered him. I said, ‘For the water.’ He answered, ‘It was not worth it.’ (If we had not chanced to meet him it would have fared ill with us.) From this point I took command, as Kheydr had no clear idea of the direction. Abu Bekr had told us, ‘go towards that star,’ pointing to one rising in the east. I made my course a point north of west, and made a nine hours’ march, perhaps twenty-three miles, letting the camels feed, and am camped in a good wady, with _erta_ and _eshub_. Yemama eats the _erta_, and several kinds of _eshub_, besides the _nossi_. We have our six _girbehs_ full, to last us till the Nile or the Wady Natron.

“_13th March._—Another nine hours’ march due east. I insisted upon this, as they wanted, all of them but Suliman, to go south-east, which I knew must be wrong. So across country we went, taking careful bearings at every height to keep our line true. It was all open ground. Some camel herders we passed told us the Wady (Natron) was in front of us, thus confirming my judgment. At 2.45 we camped in a bit of pasture, whence we disturbed gazelles. These are now once more of the smaller Eastern kind. (They are larger in the west). Came on a vulture on a dead camel. Saw cranes passing northwards overhead. Three days more should see us now at home. Twenty-seven miles’ march.

“_14th March._—Held doggedly on my course due east, passing much petrified wood. There is a general discontent at my persisting in my own direction over hill and dale, all good going on gravel. At noon we crossed a well-marked caravan road, bearing north-east, but I held on by compass, and presently we got glimpses of a yellow wady about three miles off I knew must be Natron, and at four found ourselves within two miles of the westernmost convent straight in front of us (a good bit of navigation). Here we are camped. Some thirty miles to-day.