THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 57 



we put into one sack the smallest quantity of food for 

 four people for five days — that is, a tin of meat or sardines 

 per person per day, with coffee and dates. When this 

 was done we were horrified at the little that remained. 

 The blacks wanted to bake great flat loaves of unleavened 

 bread morning and evening and we had so very little 

 flour. I began to realise that if the caravan did not 

 arrive we should die of exhaustion on the way to Aujela. 

 Let us once lose the way, let a storm delay us, let the 

 retinue prove unreliable and insist on eating more than 

 the day's meagre ration and we should be lost! Yet 

 we were determined on one thing only — not to go back. 

 "In any case we have the peace and quiet of the 

 desert," I thought, as I went to sleep and woke a few 

 hours later to pandemonium indescribable. I've heard 

 the roar of an uncaged lion in Rhodesia, but never before 

 had I heard such mad bellows of rage as made the night 

 hideous. "The camels have gone mad," I gasped, as 

 I flung myself out of the tent. Thunder of sound broke 

 from a heaving black mass only a few yards from our 

 canvas walls. Shouts came from Yusuf and Mohammed, 

 who seemed to be aimlessly dancing round the wildly 

 excited beasts. Then the mass crashed roaring to its feet 

 and two camels dashed madly past me, missing the tent 

 by a foot. I found Hassanein only half awake at my 

 elbow. "What are they doing?" he said blankly. 

 "In the spring the camels' fancj^ lightly turns to 

 thoughts of love!" "But it isn't the spring!" he 

 objected drowsily. "Never mind. God! They're 

 coming back!" We retreated hastily from the tent. 

 In Syria I had seen a maddened beast go right through 

 a tent in such a mood, and the vision of the crushed 

 poles and canvas, intricately mixed up with shattered 

 baggage and an absolutely flattened camp bed, flashed 

 across me. I took up a strategic position in the open 



