ON A WATERLESS WAY 137 



It is amazing how desperation affects one. That 

 morning Hassanein could not put his foot on the ground, 

 but when he reahsed that his end was imminent he 

 walked for eight hours without feeling pain. Mohammed 

 also forgot his ills and I found myself wondering how 

 soon I should awake from this realistic nightmare. When 

 our southern course produced nothing but fanciful blue 

 lakes and pools — for a burning sun now added to our woes 

 — we took council and, ignoring Abdullah, decided to 

 march east-south-east till water and camels gave out. 

 There were several chances of salvation on this new bear- 

 ing, we thought, for we might hit the most easterly end 

 of Taiserbo if it were anywhere near its mapped position, 

 or we might find ourselves in the recognisable country 

 south of Zieghen or among the dunes near Buseima. We 

 supposed these places to be too far away to reach with 

 the camels, but if we could get anywhere near we could 

 send a messenger for help and lie down to await his 

 return. We knew there was a little water in the tins of 

 vegetables, and hoped that if we kept very still this would 

 keep us all alive for an extra day. 



It was a terrible afternoon of mirage. I do not know 

 whether weariness had affected our eyes, but on every 

 side we saw hills, dunes, brushwood, and always they 

 were the same dark patches of gravel. "It is a simple 

 route to Taiserbo," had said the kaimakaan at Jalo, 

 "but one mistake means destruction!" Had we really 

 made the one mistake ? Curiously enough, I felt no anger 

 against Abdullah, even when he suddenly acknowledged 

 he had not been to Taiserbo for twenty years. In fact, 

 an odd fatahsm had absorbed us all. The Beduins began 

 discussing other disasters on these terrible southern 

 routes. 



One man had died within fifteen yards of the water he 

 had failed to find in time. Another, whose water had gone 



