60 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



thermometer had soared up at midday, but the nights were 

 always chilly, and we were extremely grateful for our 

 rainproof sleeping-sacks, sprinkled with insect powder, 

 which, by the way, had no effect whatever on the fleas. 

 The third morning in Jedabia I had spent a happy half- 

 hour chasing agile insects round my bedding. Hassanein 

 entered with breakfast at my most heated moment, when 

 I thought I had cornered the largest. A sweet smile 

 spread over his face. "There are dozens and dozens in 

 my room," he said; "but it doesn't matter. At last I 

 have found a use for my target pistol. Don't ever laugh 

 at me again for useless baggage!" I thought of this as 

 I heard a bed upset on the other side of the partition, 

 but this time it was only a delicious little field mouse 

 scurrying wildly round in search of her hole, which was 

 probably somewhere under our ground-sheet. 



A little later I heard the Koran intoned verse by 

 verse and to its monotonous murmur I fell asleep 

 wondering at the desert spell which had changed the 

 Oxford "Blue" into a typical Beduin, devout as the 

 fanatic whose prayers rose five times a day to Allah, 

 aloof as the nomad whose wistful eyes are ever on a 

 desert horizon, impenetrable as the jerd which muffled 

 him from head to foot. 



December 7 provided us with a "gibli," a strong 

 south wind laden with sand, which nearly tore up our 

 tent pegs and covered everything with a thick yellow 

 coating. It was a most unpleasant day. Hair, eyes and 

 skin were full of sand. Everything we ate was flavoured 

 with it. The dust sheet was three inches deep in it. It 

 oozed from the pillows and from every article of clothing. 

 It penetrated every box and bag. The noise of flapping 

 canvas and cracking pegs was a continual strain, and in 

 the middle of it arrived a messenger from Jedabia, 

 bearing a letter from Benghazi which our opponents 



