CHAPTER XV 



THE END OF THE JOURNEY 



WE camped that night at Bu Salama, the next 

 hatia on the way to Jaghabub. The wood was 

 too green to make really good fires, though 

 Mohammed and Hassanein laboured manfully in the 

 sand. The rest of us were too tired to care what hap- 

 pened, provided we could lie down and not move for 

 hours and hours. The grey camel evidently shared our 

 feelings, for he had fallen in barraking. Amar, hopping 

 round him distressfully without making the shghtest 

 attempt to help the rider, called repeatedly on the name 

 of Sidi el Mahdi. It is amazing the complete faith every 

 Senussi has in the spiritual and mental power of the 

 Sayeds. Whenever the young nagas ran away old Sulei- 

 man used to stand perfectly still and repeat urgently, 

 "Influence of Sidi Idris! Influence of Sidi Idris!" 

 While once, while sleeping perilously in a more than 

 usually odd position, I nearly fell as my camel stumbled 

 down a dune, Yusuf muttered the name of every Sayed 

 living and dead to ensure my safety. 



I have never travelled in any country so united in 

 devotion to its ruler as Libya. Presumably Sidi Idris is 

 somewhat less powerful than Allah in the eyes of the 

 Senussi, but he is nearer at hand! Their confidence in 

 his capabiHties is so unbounded that it must occasionally 

 embarrass the Sayed himself. From curing a camel a 

 thousand miles away to stopping a sandstorm, from 

 conquering the world to producing a well where there 



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