Part 23

So we may without scruple give the apes the place in the scale of being which unprejudiced investigation points out. We may look upon them as the animals most resembling ourselves, and as our nearest relatives in the zoological sense; anything more than this we must deny. Much that is characteristic of man is to be found in the apes also; but a wide gulf still remains between them and true humanity. Physically and mentally they have many of the characteristics of man, but by no means all.

DESERT JOURNEYS.

On the fringe of the desert, under a thick group of palms, a small tent is pitched. Around it is a motley collection of bales and boxes, built into a sort of barricade. Outside this some Nubian boys are lounging or squatting. They are in holiday garb, so to speak, for their glossy skins have been freshly smeared with grease.

The travellers whom the tent shelters have come so far on a Nile boat, but as the river now describes a huge curve and abounds in rocks and rapids, they have decided to cut across the desert.

It is about noon. The sun stands almost vertically above the tent, in a cloudless deep blue sky, and his scorching rays are but slightly warded off by the loose open foliage of the date-palms. On the plain between the river and the desert the heat is oppressive, and the strata of air above the burning ground are heaving unsteadily, so that every picture is distorted and blurred.

A troop of horsemen, evidently hailing from the desert, appears on the horizon. They pay no heed to the village which lies further inland, but make straight for the tent. The horses are thin, but plainly of no ignoble breed; the riders are dark brown and poorly clad, with long loose burnooses more gray than white. Reaching the cluster of palms they dismount. One of them approaches the tent and enters with the dignity of a king. He is the chief of the camel-drivers (Sheikh el Djemali), to whom we, the travellers, had sent a messenger, asking him to provide us with the necessary guides, drivers, and camels.

“Peace be with you,” he says on entering, and lays his hand on his mouth, his forehead, and his heart.

“Peace be with thee, O Sheikh,” we answer, “the mercy of God and his blessing.”

“Great has been my desire to see you, ye strangers, and to learn your wishes,” he assures us, as he takes his seat on a cushion in the place of honour at our right hand.

“May God, the Almighty, reward thy goodness, O Sheikh, and bless thee,” we answer; and we order our servants to bring him coffee and a freshly lit pipe before serving ourselves.

With half-shut eyes he comforts his mortal body with the coffee and his immortal soul with the pipe; and thick clouds of smoke veil his expressive features. There is almost perfect stillness in the tent, which is pervaded with the fragrance of the exquisite Djebelit tobacco and a thin smoke by no means unpleasant. At last we think that we may venture to begin business without violating any of the rites of hospitality.

“Is it well with thee, O Sheikh?”

“The Giver of all Good be praised, it is well with your servant. And how is it with thee?”

“To the Lord of all be honour and glory, it is well with me. Great was our longing to see thee, O Sheikh.”

“May God in His compassion fulfil your desire and bless you. Are ye in your state of health well content?”

“Glory be to Allah and to His Prophet, on whom is His grace.”

“Amen, be it as thou hast said.”

Fresh pipes revive the immortal soul; renewed, almost interminable courtesies are interchanged; and at last the rigid conditions of etiquette have been fulfilled, and it is permissible to turn to business matters.

“O Sheikh, with the help of the All-merciful, I would travel through this stretch of desert.”

“May Allah give thee good speed.”

“Art thou in possession of camels both to run and to carry burdens?” we ask.

“I am. Is it well with thee, my brother?”

“The Almighty be praised, it is well. How many camels canst thou provide for me?”

Instead of an answer only countless clouds of smoke issue from the Sheikh’s mouth, and it is not until we repeat our question that he lays aside his pipe for some moments and says with dignity, “Sir, the number of the camels of Beni Said is known to Allah alone; no son of Adam has ever counted them.”

“Well, then, send me twenty-five beasts, and among them six trotters. And I have besides need of ten large water-bags.”

The Sheikh smokes afresh without giving answer.

“Wilt thou send the beasts we desire?” we repeat with emphasis.

“I shall do so to serve thee,” he answers, “but their owners require a high price.”