Scientific American Supplement, No. 1157, March 5, 1898 | Page 7

greatest satisfaction. We camped for 24 hours in the sylvan vicinity of
Ariab Wells--stretched ourselves in the broad shadows of its mimosa
trees, and drank of and bathed in its sweet, cool waters.
This long rest improved our camels wonderfully. By the bye, there was
much speculation between two of our party regarding the behavior of
these curious animals on arriving at the wells after their long waterless
march. A general impression was that for the last few miles the camels
would race for the waters, and thwart all endeavors to hold them in. My
experience of the strange beast was otherwise, and subsequent events
proved that I was right. When the Hamleh, as we christened our
caravan, arrived, the camels quietly waited awhile after their burdens
were taken from their humps. Then, as if an afterthought had struck
them, they slowly approached the scoop-outs and with the most
indifferent air would take a mouthful of the liquid, then, stiffening their
necks, they would lift their heads and calmly survey the scenery around
them, till their drivers would draw their attention to the fact that there
was at least another draught of water in the pool. It should be
remembered that these animals had just come off a continuous journey
of nearly fifteen hours, without a halt, and had been for three whole
days without water.

We left our camping ground as the sun began to dip behind the hills
shutting in the khor. Our way now lay in a more northeasterly direction,
and the sun threw the hills and valleys we were approaching into a
marvelous medley of glorious color, and more than one of us regretted
that we had not brought our color boxes with us. Sometimes we seemed
to catch a glimpse of the heather-clad Highlands of Scotland. Then a
twist in the khor we were traversing suggested the rugged passes of
Afghanistan. Gazelle and ariel stole among the foot hills or stood
gazing at us as near as a stone's throw. One of our party, Mr. Gwynne,
commenced stalking a gazelle, but, darkness setting in, the beast got
away. For the rest of the journey to Suakim, however, he had good
sport, and saved us many a time from going hungry with his shooting
for the pot.
About 34 miles from Ariab we came to one of the most interesting
spots of the whole journey--the extensive Valley of Khokreb, wherein
lay the deserted dervish dem, or stronghold. Here some followers of
Osman Digna used to levy toll on all caravans and persons moving
toward Suakim, or taking routes south. The dem consisted of a number
of well built tokuls, or straw huts, standing in their compounds, with
stabling for horses and pounds for cattle. The whole was surrounded
with a staked wall, in front of which was a zariba of prickly mimosa
bush, to stop a sudden onrush of an enemy. The place was intact, but
there was not a living soul within it, or in the vast valley in which it
stood, that we could see. In fact, our whole journey up to the present
seemed to be through a country that might have been ravished by some
plague or bore some fatal curse. As the light of the moon prevailed, we
came upon an extensive plain shelving upward toward steep hills.
Specks of bright light stood out against the distant background, and we
presently found that the moonlight was glinting on spear heads, and
soon a line of camels crept toward us, and marching as escort was a
small guard of Hadendowahs, with spear and shield.
We found the convoy to be a detachment of a caravan of 160 camel
loads of stores sent from Suakim to Berber by that enterprising Greek,
Angelo, of the former town. They had been on the road already eight
days, having to move cautiously owing to rumors of dervish activity,

but had arrived so far safely. We bivouacked for several hours in the
Wadi of Salalat, which was quite parklike with its fine growth of sunt
trees.
When we had crossed the frontier between Bisheren and Hadendowah
country we were in comparative safety regarding any molestation by
the natives, for we were escorted by the son of the sheikh of one of the
subtribes of the latter country. At all events, I must have been a sore
temptation for any evil disposed Fuzzy Wuzzy; for, owing to my camel
being badly galled by an ill-fitting saddle, I would find myself for
many hours entirely alone picking my way by the light of the moon, the
poor brute I was riding not being able to keep pace with the rest. All the
following day our route lay over stony plains of a bolder type than any
we had yet seen, and