Alumnus Tells of Raids, Escapes, and Revelry in the Sahara Desert

In a recent trip in Northern Africa, made in the company of two Arab guides, F. Van Wyck Mason '24 had a number of thrilling encounters with the bands of marauders that infest the region. The following article is reprinted from the current issue of the Alumni Bulletin, and tells of one such encounter.

Picture to yourself a street no wider than seven feet on an average, with high, white walls rising up in an uncompromising manner, and put into that street enough Arabs, mules, donkeys, children, and files to fill a street fourteen feet wide on the average. That would give you a good working idea of what the main artery of Biskra was like. It requires a combination of broken-field running and line plunging that would perplex even the redoubtable George Owen.

When I arrived at last before the local gendarmerie I paused to look at the thermometer. I looked and sighed. Decidedly, it was going to be another of those days; it had all the ear marks, for it was only 9 A. M. and the mercury had already passed the 84 degree mark, Centigrade, which translated into Fahrenheit means 125 degree, which, in turn; means a Turkish bath sort of existence. For, without undue effort, the temperature will rise to 130 degrees and 135 degrees around noon time, and that is registered in the shade. Those familiar with North Africa will doubtless have noticed how Tittle shade there is to be found per square mile.

As I bent over to examine the exact reading, a donkey butted me on the pistol pocket so adroitly that I caromed off the wall and into a large Senegalese.

"Tu desire ?" he asked, grinning broadly.

At the end of half an hour I engaged him, provided that a few of the many references he offered proved to be bona fide and that his jail record showed no more than the average number of commitments.

"Hamand", the Guide

A picturesque figure was my new henchman; clad in a spotted and ragged old army tunle that carried the ribbons for the Croix de Guerre and several campaigns, he marched through the crowd without turning to the right or left. Exsergeant Harida baba Fassaltoui must have been very nearly six feet, six inches fall, with tremendously powerful shoulders and arms, which, contrasted with his thin and week-looking legs, made him look top-heavy. Most Arabs seem to have weak legs and very small feet, probably because of the fact that their ancestors invariably rode if they had distance to travel, even if it would be only a short walk for a European. When Hamids, or "Ham and," as I later called him, was too young to object very strenuously his parents cut a series of little "V" a on his forehead, one above the other in the manner of an inverted, or English, chevron, and then rubbed mud and same into the wounds so that they would stand out prettily. "Nothing is too good for our boy," they probably said, as they dragged him around to the local tattoo expert, to have the Hand of Fatime, (for luck), tattooed on one cheek, and an extremely orthodox crescent on the other. Religion is not easily changed in North Africa.

Long, long before we reached the camel compound we smelt not All that Mr. Kipling said regarding the festive "Oont" is quite true, but he didn't say half enough; he was writing for publication. Any animal that crunches the tough, green, desert, cactus, which bears hard, white spines two inches long, and enjoys it, doesn't deserve to be classed as an animal.

We spent the rest of the morning haggling for three Meharis, or riding common or garden baggage camels. Then, with one Eddas Ben Eddas, another guide whom I had picked, we set out to visit a number of picturesque oases in the desert.

Bandits Roam Desert

On the third day out we ran into a rather odd experience, which may be worth recounting. We were riding in our accustomed three-abreast formation with "Ham and--" and the baggage camels in the middle, Eddas on the left, and I on the right, when quite suddenly the sky paled a trifle and a curious singing noise, like the hum of bees, made itself heard in the distance. I was about to inquire the reason when Eddas clutched my arm convulsively and pointed to the rear. Turning as rapidly as I could, I was just in time to see a mounted figure disappear behind a ridge a mile away. At the same moment 'Ham and--" gave a grunt and indicated a group of three camel men to the right and almost abreast of us, but at a distance of a mile or more. They were evidently attempting to head us off, for their Meharis were trotting swiftly.

In the next few moments we counted some thirteen or fourteen riders, all of whom seemed to have chosen us as a common goal. We urged our camels to a trot and then to a gallop, while the wind continued to rise and the air to fill with dust. Nearer came the riders, gaining rapidly, so that it seemed that half an hour would bring them upon us. Ten minutes more and we ran into a dried river course, filled with smooth, rounded stones, the most treacherous footing imaginable. Over this our camels slipped and floundered desperately, while Hamida rasped furious curses in mixed French and Arabic and lashed the faltering baggage camels. Finally, one of these missed his footing and went sprawling among the boulders, his long legs waving madly to and fro. We couldn't stop, for our would-be visitors were now only a few hundred yards behind, but, looking back a moment later, I saw the poor brute get to its feet and lumber along after us.

Caught in Sand Storm

Just then the storm broke in full fury, filling the air with sand and dust so that we all but choked, even with scafrs bound around our faces. We halted long enough to pass a rope from one to the other of us so that we should not become separated; then for a while we proceeded in this fashion, but eventually the all grew so thick that we could not see a camel's length before us, and were forced to make the panting Meharis kneel. What a storm that was! The wind scoured our faces, hands, and any other exposca parts, with a merciless rain of flying sand, filling the pockets of our clothes, my pockets rather, and the deme with minute particles. So fine was that dust that I afterwards removed a generous supply from beneath my watch crystal, which is generally dust proof.

When the storm did abate a trifle we mounted hastily and resumed our hijra in the most approved Arabian manner. We were also glad to note that the water supply was on the remaining Oont.

Quite suddenly the wind dropped and all was serene again; so we ducked quickly into the nearest hollow, began to remove the wrappings from the action our guns, and broke out a few packets of ammunition. After this we hobbled our mounts and settled down to wait, in what Mulvaney calls "Invidjus apprehenshun." Nothing happened. We waited some more. Still no sign of our friends. Then "Eddie" called me over to his side of the depression and showed me a distant object, which my field glasses revealed as our strayed pet. We lost no time in retrieving him.

Surprised by Patrol

As may be imagined, our day had been a bit lively, so we pitched camp early in a little hollow and attempted to shake a bit of dust from our effects. We were quite ready for peace and quiet in large doses, but one of our camels commenced to gargle in a particularly painful manner. To me is was nothing but an unpleasant noise, but the way that "Ham and" and Eddie dove for that pile of rifles was a caution! It was now dark and the cook fire was burning brightly; so Eddie stopped just long enough to kick dirt on the flames before running to his prearranged post. There we lay, one on each side of the hollow, with our pets singing like nightingales suffering from acute indigestion. Presently we heard a camel gurgle in response. It was not one of ours! By this time I was thinking furiously of certain quaint amusements indulged in by un-Frenchifled indigenes, in which the stranger within the gates is the principal actor. Suddenly there came a blast on a whistle and on all sides appeared camel men in white burnooses, all very pretty and business-like but what mainly caught my attention was the fact that the leader was wearing a kepl!

"Arretez-lal" I bawlea at the top of my lungs; "Quietes vous?"

A started "Mon Dieu!" was an answer. Then, "We are the border patrol!"

"Dismount and advance one of your number," I suggested; for plenty of natives speak perfect French and it was also much too dark to see the man's face.

Fortunately, it was the border patrol, for a fact, looking for the band of earns citizens who had harried us that morning.

The situation spoke for itself, so we made camp together and had some fresh gazelle meat which one of the Lieutenant's men had shot that morning. After dinner a native drum was produced coffee was brewed and the Arabs organized a barbershop quartee and sang like forty eat fights. As for the Europeans, I broke out a bottle of Mr. Hennessey's famous product, of the third magnitude, and we proceeded to wax very friendly. Presently, the Lieutenant felt constrained to sing of the charms peculiar to a certain lady from Armentieres, wherenon I retaliated with a spirited, I say advisedly, rendering of "Sweet Adeline." Then in semiunison we sang "Madelon" and other songs, while shrinking camels tried to uproot picket pins and the natives applauded deliriously. Oh, it was a splendid party and a good time was had by all!

One lovely evening we pulled into Nelta, and beheld that wonderful trick of nature which the French call la grande corbeille. It is a little gem of an oasis, set deep down in a ring of enormous sand dunes, with masses of feathery date palms swaying above the cool waters of the spring. With a sigh of relief, we plunged down the slopes into the cool, jasmine-scented air to make our last camp.

Our last camp! I suddenly realized that we had come to the end of the journey and what that meant. A certain sentimental melancholy seized he, as I reflected that I should probably never see again Hamida's genial grin, or again witness Edda's barbaric feats of skill with gun and dagger; but, as the brazen sky cooled and paled. I offered a silent prayer that once more our paths should cross.