CHAPTER I✦

In October, 1902, I was acting as Medical Inspector of the native quarter of Alexandria. Cholera had kept the staff busy, and we had brought the number of cases down to about fifteen in the last days of the month. I had passed the disinfecting gangs in review one morning before sending them to their allotted quarters of the town, and had just resumed my work in the hospital, when I heard a voice sing out to me—without preliminary—“Hayes, would you like to go to Abyssinia?”

It was the Chief Inspector of the Sanitary Department who asked the question. By the evening I had made up my mind, and told him that I should be glad to take the chance. However, I heard nothing more of the matter till the middle of November. Then I received a telegram directing me to make my preparations in Cairo. And I had no time to waste; for I learned that the expedition to which I was attached would start in seven days. The “jumping-off place” would be close to Khartoum.

Twenty years earlier the journey thither would have had a lingering fascination of romance. Ten years earlier it would probably have brought the traveller by painful paths to the Land of No Return. To-day it lies within the range of the prudent tourist who prefers safe adventures between regular meals. He is much indebted to Lord Kitchener.

In Cairo I joined my companions Mr. Dupuis and Mr. Crawley. They had had arrangements for the expedition in hand for many months; indeed, it had been planned for the previous year, but the illness of Sir William Garstin at Khartoum delayed it. On November 27 we reached Assouan. Like hundreds of my fellow-countrymen, I photographed the great dam, and the temple of Philæ. Our next stage was by post-boat to Wady Halfa, where we arrived on December 1. In the evening of that day we took train on the Soudan Government Railway. The following morning I had a new experience; for I had never before seen the mirage from the window of a railway carriage.

The granite rocks seemed to rise out of a great lake. The illusion was so perfect that I used it as a test of my black “boy’s” shrewdness. I called him, and said, “Look at the water!” His answer was, “It is not the water. It is the water-thief, your excellency.”

In this desolate land, with a burning sky over it, there are no trees. It is all of a piece, and the different parts of it give no sense of varied locality. The stations are not named but numbered, and here the water is stored in zinc tanks. Command of the tanks means command of the country—an important fact in connection with possible émeutes of native troops.

At Abou Hamed we reached the Nile again, and saw vegetation. Warm baths are provided in the station. We jumped out of the train in our pyjamas and rushed into luxury.

The railway follows the river to Helfiah, on the opposite side of the river to Khartoum. Here I first beheld our camels, the steadily stubborn source of infinite vexation. All that is hard and heart-breaking in the character of the desert is incarnate in the camel. At Helfiah we engaged Soudanese “boys,” settled matters with officials, and finished our preparations for shooting big game.

I went to the Soudan Club at Khartoum, and strolled about the town in the spirit of an inquiring tourist. It is carefully administered, and is laid out in three sections. The best houses are being built by the riverbank. Plans of these must be submitted for approval. They are mostly of red brick, and well constructed. Smaller houses, the “second class,” have their sites behind the big residences. The “third-class” district is still further back. The object of this caste system applied to builders’ enterprise is to secure that there shall be a fine promenade along the river front, and no mean streets near to it. The British and Egyptian flags are hoisted side by side over the quarters of the army of occupation. The Gordon College—the other tribute to the man’s work—is a big, square, red-brick building. It seems to insist on its resemblance to barracks. No dahabeahs are seen on the Nile here; the boats are feluccas. Having made these notes of a tripper I returned to Helfiah. This was on December 5.

We dined in our camp, and slept in our tents for the first time, and I ceased to be a tourist, and became a member of an expedition. My companions and I showed the servants how to pitch the tents and peg them, and we apportioned loads to the camels. The camel is—not metaphorically—foul-mouthed. We put some of the boys up to try the paces of the animals, trusting chiefly to one who had served in the Camel Corps under Kitchener. I watched the exhibition of ungainly shuffling with the face of one who judges, but I thought of the hours during which I should be shaken under the glaring sun.

Next morning we were up at sunrise. We had not yet lost touch of the British breakfast-table, for we ate sausages and poached eggs. Then the camels were loaded and the tents were struck, and at mid-day we started—three Englishmen, six native servants, forty camels, and ten camel-men. Our route lay along the north bank of the Blue Nile, over a beaten track in a wilderness of loose sand. A few scattered thorny mimosa bushes are the only vegetation. I timed the camels and found they travelled about 3¼ miles an hour. At two o’clock the temperature was 104° F. in the shade, but all the surroundings were new to me, and I enjoyed the journey in spite of the monotony of the country. It is all bare desert, and one never loses sight of the mirage. At one point I watched a flock of goats, which looked exactly as if they were knee deep in water. We reached Soba, fourteen miles up the river, at sundown. Here there is a pleasant and clean little rest-house built of straw. We had kept ahead of our baggage-train, which arrived an hour later. People in England who speak of tea as refreshing do not know the full meaning of that word. The cups were filled for men who had fasted since breakfast at 7.30, except for a welcome drink of river water on arrival, and were served with biscuits and sardines. After this, the happiness of a wash, and an eight o’clock dinner. A meal of curry and rice and tinned roast beef is not a severe hardship, and the only contretemps on our first day in the desert was the discovery that we must put ourselves on short rations of candles. A mistake had been made about the quantity ordered, and we were ill supplied. But there was a clear moon. We turned in to sleep in the open, and the sandflies found us and were glad; for we were fresh blood, and they were small enough to crawl through the meshes of the mosquito curtains.

The first signs of dawn brought us out of bed next morning. We were in good luck; for the servants had kept a fire alight all night, and hot water was ready for us. There was beatitude in a warm bath after the plague of sandflies. We started at daybreak; there was no change in the track or the country. Heat, a high wind and dust spoiled the journey in the morning. We halted to lunch under the largest mimosa bush we could find, which gave as much shade as a telegraph pole.

Crawley opened his big artist’s umbrella, which should have been a successful aid to comfort, but it tried conclusions with the wind and was worsted. We started again at two o’clock, and arrived in the evening at our camping-ground opposite the pleasant village of Sheik-el-Obeid. Our guns played the part of poulterer for us and varied our diet. In the morning Dupuis had shot a brace of sand-grouse, and in the khor[1] below our camp I had the luck to bag a teal. The temperature fell rapidly after sundown, and the night was very cold. The mosquitoes were numbed and did not stir, but the camels did, and I found them as effective in promoting a vigil. All night long they were browsing on the mimosa scrub; they relish the thorns, which are about two inches long. I heard them pull the branches, and then, when one was released, it recoiled into place with a swish. There was a continuous noise of this movement, and it vaguely reminded me of breaking water.

The camels were hobbled, and stumbled from bush to bush. I constantly expected that one would stumble upon my bed. They loomed up, shadowy and grotesque, in the light of the bearers’ fires, and I had a kind of nightmare of them without sleep.

On the 8th we were up before sunrise. Probably the camels, after supping all night, were tired. I say “probably”; for the camel is an aberrant type, and one can only guess its sensations. They were unwilling to barak[2] to receive their loads, and were grunting, snarling, and growling. When one of these beasts seems likely to become unmanageable, the camel-man “bridles” it by passing his index finger through the orifice between its nostrils. In breaking in young ones, a stout thorn, shaped as a peg, is used in the same position.

We started at 7.30, and walked ahead of the baggage train with our guns. At nine o’clock, when the sun had gained power, we took to the saddle. The country through which we passed is cultivated during the rainy season; it is scored with ravines, hollowed out by the rush of water in the wet months, and is uncomfortable ground for travellers.