The Geographical Journal (Journal of the Royal Geographical Society): Volume X, No. 6 [‎104r] (60/186)

A JOURNEY TO SIWA IN SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER, 1896.
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Happily for me, the heat doesn’t knock me up, and I can walk in the desert as long
as in England. I heard that the Beduins gave me the name of the walking
Englishman, and once or twice were kind enough to say that I was one of them
selves. Trifles like these are important when dealing with men who have the minds
of children. With them whether you are to live or die depends to often on a trifle
that it is as well to have as many trifles as possible in your favour. I wore their
dress in my trip to Siwa, not with the idea of taking any one in at close quarters,
but of making myself unnoticeable at a distance. I generally walked some way in
front of my men and camels. I did this because the incessant drone of the Arab
songs became intolerable to me, and as I found Abdulla couldn’t possibly get
on without his eternal song, I used, to put a mile between us when the track
was clear.
Once or twice, on reaching the brow of a sandhill, I would find myself in sight
of a string of camels. The first thing the Beduins would do was to load and hold
their flint-locks at the ready. They meant no harm; it is the ordinary etiquette
of the desert, at which no one dreams of taking offence. Then I would have to sit
down to show I meant no mischief, and conversation would be carried on in
shouts. I generally asked them for a bowl of camel’s milk, which they always
gave if they had it. On one occasion I came upon a solitary Beduin watching
his herd of camels grazing. That man had probably not seen a human being for
weeks. He was squatting on the ground. He neither moved nor turned his
head. I asked him for milk, and he pointed to his camels and said, “ Take it.”
As the art of milking camels never formed part of my school curriculum, this
invitation was of little use to me. But I could not rouse that man to more
active hospitality. He probably looked upon my appearance as an impertinent
intrusion.
After a long tramp my Arab garments were in a disreputable condition, and as
we drew near Siwa I saw little prospect of entering the town in any other character
than that of a beggar. Little guessing what honours were in store for me, I put
off my entry till dusk. On foot as usual, and some way in front of my men, I
passed through the mile and half of gardens. The vegetation was magnificent.
Each garden was surrounded by a mud wall, over which the foliage of the palms
drooped most invitingly. But with the uncertainty of my reception before me, I do
not pretend to say my mind was in a state fully to take in the peaceful beauties
of the scene. At that hour not a soul was about, and I was not observed until I
had crossed the bridge that spans the narrow canal running through the outer
square, and was well into the middle of the further half of the square. Then the
men assembled in the booths in front of me suddenly became aware of my presence,
and came forward in a mass; I was soon surrounded. We exchanged greetings.
Of course they soon heard that I was a stranger, though my shawl was so arranged
that they could see nothing of my face but my left eye; but that is, unfortunately,
blue. One man tried to pull my shawl aside—a liberty I resented, and he kept
his distance; but things were becoming unpleasant. Dau hurried up just then, and
told me not to lose a minute, but push through into the inner square by an open
gateway I had not seen. This inner or Government square, as it is called, is
reserved for the deliberations of the aristocracy of Siwa—the thirty-five or forty
landowners. The rabble have no right to enter its precincts without leave, but
the excitement of my arrival destroyed all rules of etiquette, and the noisy and
unfriendly mob followed me in.
I looked round. There were tents in the middle of the square, and some dozen
Egyptian police were strolling about—a comforting sight to me. On my left there
was an out-jutting building, afterwards known to me as Government house. On a
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