On a first march something is always found wanting. On this occasion
many of the cameleers were unprovided with ropes: boxes, portmanteau-bags,
were strewed all over the road, and night was far advanced before
the last camel reached Moncullou. A halt was in consequence absolutely
necessary, so that the actual start was only made on the afternoon
of the 16th.
From Moncullou our route lay N.W. across the desert of Chab, a
dreary wilderness of sand, intersected by two winter torrents,
generally dry: but by digging in their sandy beds it is possible
at all seasons to obtain some muddy water. The rapidity with which
these torrents fill up is most astonishing.
During the summer of 1865, we had made a trip to Af-Abed, in the
Hababs' country. On our return, whilst crossing the desert, we
experienced a very severe storm. We had just reached our encamping-ground
on the Southern bank of one of these water-courses, and half the
camels had already crossed the dry bed of the river, when, on a
sudden, a tremendous roar was heard, shortly afterwards followed
by a fearful rush of water. In the former empty bed of the torrent
now dashed a mighty stream, tearing down trees and rocks, so that
no human being could possibly cross. Our luggage and servants were
still on the opposite bank, and although we were only a stone's
throw from the party so suddenly cut off from us, we had to spend
the night on the bare ground, with no other covering than our
clothing.
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