ON A WATERLESS WAY 129 



our little cluster of tents was as silent as the calm sands 

 around us. 



On December 27 we rose at 6 a.m. and got away by 

 8, for we had decided that the best way of doing the 

 necessary 50-odd kilometres a day was an unbroken march 

 of eleven or twelve hours, with a solid meal before start- 

 ing and another in the evening. As the last groaning 

 camel rose to his feet Yusuf pointed out a group of low 

 hillocks to the ^ast. "Those are the Hameimat on the 

 road to Zieghen," he said. 



Our plump ally was in a reflective mood that day. 

 In spite of considerable heat, he wore the woolly lined 

 mackintosh closely buttoned and belted, with a white cloth 

 wound over his cheeks. "What is Allah's greatest gift 

 to man?" he propounded to me suddenly. I felt this 

 was a test of my faith in Islam, so I promptly replied, 

 "The Koran." He looked at me scornfully. "The 

 camel! If there were no camels here, there would be 

 no dates, no food, nothing!" He paused and added 

 solemnly, "If there were no camels here, there would 

 be no men!" 



It is curious how the desert brings out character. 

 Hassanein became so vague that he never finished a 

 sentence or an action. I developed a fatalism wholly at 

 variance with my usual ideas. Yusuf showed signs of 

 pride and dignity beneath his plump laziness. Abdullah 

 became reserved and impressive as the dunes that guard 

 the holy oasis, but Mohammed showed the finest qualities. 

 All the Arabs were courageous with an enduring quiet! 

 heroism that we were to appreciate so a few days later, 

 but Mohammed was infinitely kind and his pride was) 

 a fine, clean thing, bred of silence and religion. He 

 made a vow never to ride, and kept it through infinite, 

 pain. He smiled when certain death was but a few hours) 

 away. He forgave without words a carelessness that' 



