232 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



hours before dawn, as it was a very long way. How- 

 ever, we duly rose at 9 o'clock by night Arabic (3 a.m.), 

 and shortly afterwards a muffled thudding on the door 

 warned us that our escort had arrived. We hurried 

 out, clutching all available blankets, for it was extremely 

 cold. The moon had set, so at first I thought two 

 immense towers had sprung up in the night outside the 

 house. A second glance revealed them as very tall 

 hejin. They were barraked with difficulty and I 

 mounted the most uncomfortable saddle I have ever 

 met. It must have had the advantage from the camel's 

 point of view of being exceedingly light, for it consisted 

 merely of two bars about ten inches apart, across which 

 was doubled a carpet, with an upright spoke in front 

 and behind, but it had every possible disadvantage for 

 the aching bones of the rider. Little did I guess that 

 I was destined, with a few short pauses, to spend no 

 less than seventeen hours upon that seat of torture. 

 The commandant, Saleh Effendi, with his gold and 

 green cloak thrown across his thickest jerd, and 

 Hassanein mounted donkeys, which looked microscopic 

 from my towering height. Two soldiers perched them- 

 selves, one behind the other, on the second hejin, and 

 down into the wadi we swung, picking our way slowly 

 till we came to the massed palms, when the party settled 

 down to ride. 



The silvery stone of the marsh was a frozen grey 

 in the starlight and the houses of Jof but a blur on 

 the low ridge. The leaf hedges were rustling fingers 

 stretched out to bar our way, and the great beams of 

 the "shadouks" (wells) ghostly gibbets in the shadow 

 of the palms. 



Outside one of Jof's blind walls we barraked, when, 

 after prolonged knocking, a sleepy slave announced that 

 Sheikh Suleiman was not yet ready. Arab life is very 



