File:The gateway to the Sahara; observations and experiences in Tripoli (1909) (14761891856).jpg

Identifier: gatewaytosaharao00furl (find matches)
Title: The gateway to the Sahara; observations and experiences in Tripoli
Year: 1909 (1900s)
Authors: Furlong, Charles Wellington, 1874-
Subjects: Tripoli (Libya) -- Description and travel
Publisher: New York : C. Scribner's sons
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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yknew I had no money, for in the presence ofMuraiche I had deposited it at Tripoli, and Mu-raiche himself carried only the necessary fundsfor the journey. But modern weapons are a pro-hibited import, save for the Turkish army, andare worth their weight in silver to the Arabs. Why such a risk for such small stakes ? Well,why will the Desert thief risk his life for a bara-can, or an Arab scavenger dig up the corpse ofa plague victim for the miserable piece of sack-cloth that girds his loins ? The next morning by half-past three the fon-duk was astir and we breakfasted. While thehorses were being saddled and the donkeyloaded, I seconded a proposal by Muraiche tolook about Kussabat. It was evident that bothhe and the guard who had accompanied us weredisposed to inveigle me into dark and out-of-the-way streets and I soon retraced my footsteps tothe fonduk, paid the keeper for the stablingof my animals, and left Kussabat through itsother gate. Descending to a plateau we soon passed the(260)
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A NIGHTS RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS outskirts of some extensive olive groves. Here the guard left us and we entered the mountains again, often following through gorges which shut out every breath of air and where the heat was stifling. Sometimes we camped in these gorges at night, and the bark of the jackal or the idiotic laugh of a hyena would echo and reverberate from the rocky walls. The day was one of the hottest, for it was now African midsummer and the sun beat down relentlessly on our suffering horses. Beside me on the dapple-gray stallion rode old Muraiche. His hooked nose resembled more than ever a vultures beak, and his crafty eyes looked out from a bronzed and wrinkled physiognomy. Ahead Mohammed and Ali trudged wearily, ankle-deep in the hot sand over a sun-baked plateau. Noon came and I saw to it that the animals were at once unsaddled and fed; then we ate, and the men prepared to stretch out for their hard-earned siesta. But this was not to be. I meant that by the end of tha

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