Hashish
Page 11
The solitude was most impressive. The arid plains stretched up to a distant chain of mountains all bristling with sharp peaks and gigantic needles. On the steep slopes of one of these mountains was an enormous rock shaped like the handle of a dagger. For this reason the sailors who prepared the chart of this region had called it the ‘Dagger of Berenice’. Over all was the sand, levelling everything into a monotonous plain. Only a few summits of volcanic hills which seemed to have slipped down into the plain emerged here and there like islets, and the setting sun stretched out their shadows fantastically over the level sand.
The climate here must have changed too in the last few thousand years. No water was now to be found, and that, of course, means death and abandon in these fiery latitudes. This deserted corner of the world might have served as an indication of what our whole planet will perhaps look like one day, when all the water in it has dried up. This shroud of yellow sand stretching illimitably where whole tribes once lived their busy lives in prosperous cities, this silence untroubled even by the hum of an insect, these barren and skeleton-like mountains against the copper sky without rain or cloud, all these thing so motionless and changeless seemed to be asleep under a magician’s wand. Everything was of the same colour, that ghostly yellow of the Egyptian soil which deepens to golden at the sunset hour, when the sky becomes stained with rose and purple. The blue of the sea, the agitation of the waves, and the dazzling whiteness of the foam which hissed over the sand, made a startling contrast of life in face of all this death. I had seen the volcanic chaos in the south of the Red Sea, and it had made me think of the creation of the world, when the mountains emerging from the generating warmth of the sea had not yet taken form, but this landscape suggested rather a world too old, a world expiring, on which no indication was left that men had once lived there.
The aspect of nature had changed abruptly as soon as we passed the twenty-third line of latitude. The nights were not so hot now, and the air was drier, so that our skins were freed from the constant moisture and eruptions whose itching had made our nights an agony. All this now disappeared as if by magic.
My men had never been so far north, and they were full of astonishment at the lengthening of the days, the lingering twilights, and the fact that the Pole Star climbed ever higher in the sky. As soon as the sun had set and the desert sand had breathed all its heat into the transparent air, a cool breeze came down to the sea and a heavy dew fell over everything. I took advantage of this little land breeze to set sail. I was certainly a little rash to navigate by night in those ill-reputed waters, but the joy of getting on my way, steering straight north with a bellying sail after so many weary days of tacking, this joy that only a sailing-ship can give to a mariner, was too irresistible for me to listen to the voice of prudence. Anyhow, life would be pretty dreary if we always acted reasonably; it does one good to be a little mad at times.
Nothing happened to punish our temerity. Mile after mile the boutre moved forward, silent and swift, over the calm waters of the bay towards the north-west, this north-west so jealously guarded by that everlasting contrary wind, and my heart sang with triumph. At noon we were right out at sea. The weather was still very fine, but the wind had shifted round to the north. I held on my route on the starboard tack, all sails set, full and by, running six knots like a steamer. The crew, having no work to do, lay in the shade of the sails, playing games which ashore would be disdained by children of eight.
At such moments the slightest incident, even if it is only the sighting of an old plank floating on the water, creates a passionate interest. But for the marvellous weather and the idle condition of our minds, we should never have bothered to manoeuvre so as to pick up the object which we saw floating a few cables’ lengths away, and which proved to be an empty packing-case. It was in perfect condition; a single spar had been prised off its lid to take out the contents, and it was full of small fishes, which had been overjoyed to find this providential refuge from their enemies. Poor things, they could not have foreseen that they had simply exchanged one danger for another, and that they would be eaten just the same, only fried. In this life it is always the unexpected that happens. I myself had no idea that by picking up this empty box I had changed my destiny, or rather I did not know that Fate had sent it across my path to save me from a terrible danger into which my rashness was to lead me. The cabin-boy was just about to chop up the case to light his oven fire, and I had given him leave to do so, when the idea struck me that we might use the case to hold our sack of biscuits. So I had it put in the hold alongside the eight cases of hashish, which were very similar in size and appearance. In this way, our biscuits would not be broken to fragments as always happened when they were in a sack, for the men kept walking over it.
Towards evening, the breeze hauled to the north-west, and began to blow with its habitual violence. Farewell our pleasant idleness; it was once more the struggle with sea and wind, under reduced canvas and with the hatches fastened down. No fear of our amusing ourselves picking up empty cases now. The farther north we got, the more violent became the wind. There was not a cloud in the sky, only a faint mist which never lifted round the horizon. Probably it is this atmospheric condition which gives North Africa its magnificent sunsets, which are always pointed out to tourists as the classic background for the pyramids at Giza. Out here in the open sea, this dimness prevented me from seeing the outline of the mountains and finding out exactly where I was.
For six days I had not been able to identify a single characteristic peak, and the indications on my chart did not at all coincide with what I could see. For instance I read ‘sharp peak’, ‘haycock’, ‘hummock’, and when I looked, expecting to see them, I saw mountains of an entirely different shape. All the same, my observations were exact and my calculations correct. We were undoubtedly in latitude 24° 15’. I began to look out for the lighthouse at Sanghaneb, which stands in the middle of the Red Sea on a reef. But in the evening, as the sun set behind them, a chain of mountains stood out against the red sky with sharp peaks, haycocks, hummocks and all the rest of it, such as I had vainly looked for two days before.
Could I be forty miles farther south than my astronomical point indicated? My self-esteem as a sailor suffered a rude shock, but what bothered me most was the brutal snatching away of my illusions; I felt as if some malevolent hand had pushed us forty miles back in one second. All the same, I could have swom that my calculations were right. But in that case the mountains of Elba must have changed their position, unless I had made a mistake in the date. I verified all my preceding calculations, and found that for a week I had made my corrections with twenty-four hours of difference. I had marked my departure on Friday, 10th July, whereas it had really been the 9th. As the difference in the declining of the sun was about 45°, I had imagined myself to be forty-five miles farther north than I really was. Honour was safe; I had just to swallow my disappointment.
TWENTY
First Contact with the Customs
We had just caught sight of Sanghaneb on its reef, looking like a statue wearing a black and white checked dress. At midnight three days later we sighted the light of The Brothers. We had been tacking for about a fortnight since our visit to the island of Badhour, and though we had husbanded our water very carefully, there now remained only enough for seven days. Prudence demanded that we should renew our supplies without delay. We had to settle this question before going into the Gulf of Suez, where we could not have the slightest contact with the population on either side. I decided to go over to the coast of Arabia, where I could show myself without fear, as there would certainly be a watering place at the foot of the Antar mountains. I ought to have known that at sea one can count on nothing.
Hardly had we started on the port tack when the wind hauled to the north more and more as we gained to the east. We could soon hardly manage to keep our helm north-east; that meant we were really going east when you take into consideration the lee, the current, and all the little side-issues of sail
ing close to the wind. It was most discouraging; you might almost say we were going back to Djibouti. We had to change our tack so that the wind would be favourable to us. But it increased in violence, and at sunset a hurricane was blowing. The sea became very disagreeable, with short, choppy waves, as the wind struck obliquely the heavy permanent swell from the north-west.
It is useless to describe what followed. Everything not made fast was swept from the deck. A heavy sea carried off the oven, which had been left in the fo’csle, and unfortunately our bread was still cooking in it. We should be reduced to a diet of dates and boiled grain for a long time. Cheery prospect. But that was not the greatest disaster. The hoops of a two-hundred-litre water-barrel had just burst, eaten away by rust, and all the contents of the barrel had been lost. We had only twenty-five litres of water left. We had now no choice but to make with all speed for Kosseir, a little Egyptian port opposite The Brothers.
The Brothers were two flat islets, two madreporic tables in the middle of the sea. On one of them was a lighthouse. I thought for a moment of going and asking water from the lighthouse-keeper, but it would have been quite impossible to put in at the islet in such weather, for the sea was smashing and raging against it in an immense welter of foam. If it had been calm I might also have asked water from a steamer, but that, too, was out of the question. There was nothing for it but to put in at Kosseir. It was an Egyptian port, so there was bound to be a customs house and excisemen who would search my boat, since I was penetrating into Egyptian waters. This idea filled me with misgivings, and I nearly gave up my dangerous project; perhaps it would be better to go off before the wind, and seek a watering-place, no matter where, on the coast of Arabia. But the idea of losing all those miles for which we had fought so hard against the wind was too painful. No, any risk rather than that. Needless to say, I was trying to marshal any arguments I could find to justify the crazy rashness of what I had decided to do.
If I came successfully through the visit of the customs at Kosseir, it would be a feather in my cap, and would be of the greatest help to me in affronting the dangers of possible encounters in this accursed Gulf of Suez, one hundred and eighty miles long. Besides, if I got to Suez with my papers not visaed since my departure from Djibouti, as if I were a liner from the Far East, my little twelve-ton boutre would be looked upon with the greatest suspicion. Today it would seem much more natural, since Alain Gerbault has set the fashion for long trips in sailing-boats, but at that time I risked drawing on myself a lot of most undesirable attention. I thought for a moment of putting in at some solitary point and hiding my cases before entering the harbour of Kosseir, but there is no shelter on the African coast at this part, and even if the weather had allowed me to carry out this project, someone would probably have seen me and wondered what on earth I was doing, and once suspicions were aroused, it would have been all up with me. Once more I had to walk straight into the danger and bluff for all I was worth. So I put myself into the skin of a man with nothing to fear, and boldly entered the port.
It was a very small harbour, with just room for a few coasters. The village, or town if you like, consisted of an agglomeration of tumbledown dwellings, but on the quay was a large, yellow-painted building with a wide-open door. Near it was a sentry-box containing a guard wearing a tarboosh, and two old cast-iron carronades stood facing the sea, on a neat little gravelled esplanade, fenced off with chains. How well I knew this classic arrangement. Here was housed the official element of the port. My heart sank; I longed madly to turn and flee while there was yet time. Heaven alone knew what dangerous variety of civil servant was concealed behind these yellow walls.
Two large, half-dismasted boutres rocked indolently in front of the quay. The arrival of my sailing-ship, with her rigging different from that of the barks in this region and flying that practically unknown flag, the French tricolour, set the whole town in a commotion. In two minutes the quay was thronged with tarboosh-crowned gentlemen, neat and shining as English policemen. They rushed hither and thither, very agitated, then got into a boat and made for us. Among them was the Health Officer. He was a young Egyptian, who lolled in the stern of the boat with an important air. He addressed me in English, the only language a civil servant of distinction would deign to speak.
I asked humbly if he would mind speaking French or even Arabic, with an apologetic smile to excuse my temerity. He looked at me with some surprise, and abandoned the starched correctness of his attitude as if it were not compatible with the vulgar languages referred to. Yes, he spoke French. Two men came on board and conscientiously sprinkled the deck with some foul-smelling disinfectant. Until a few years ago this ridiculous rite was imposed on all the liners passing through the canal. It had the advantage of being very expensive. But much I cared for the evil smell of their preparation, or its exorbitant cost, or all the petty annoyances invented by the Health Service to hinder ships. I was ready to take everything smiling, and even be grateful so long as they left my cases alone. As the doctor left he announced, as an agreeable surprise, that the police and the customs people would be coming on board. Devil take it, I hadn’t thought that this little port would be quite so full of officials.
Just to be prepared for the worst, I left the lateen yard at the top of the mast, with the sail tied round it with wisps of straw. If the customs became too inquisitive, I would take French leave of them. If I carried off one of the excisemen with me, so much the worse for him; I would drop him at the first port of call. I was sure of being able to escape in this manner; these functionaries would be too surprised to offer any resistance, so accustomed are they to the patient submission shown by ships to their maddening and ridiculous tyrannies. Only, if I were obliged to do this, all my plans would be frustrated, for I could no longer dream of going to Egypt.
At last a large launch arrived, with a beautiful green flag on which in large white letters was the beloved word CUSTOMS. It was full of native customs employees, accompanied by an officer in full uniform, very spick-and-span. As soon as they came alongside he addressed me in French, which he spoke very correctly. The doctor must have told him, and I must say he did not seem particularly anxious to play at being an Englishman. I helped him on board.
‘Have you any cargo?’ he asked.
‘No, I am in ballast; I have only provisions for my crew.’
I felt that it was on the tip of his tongue to ask a very natural question, ‘What are you doing here?’ So without giving him time to utter it, I explained that I was pearl fishing. This occupation has a dash of romance about it; people are apt to think at once of the Arabian Nights, and then, too, I had a crew of men of a race unknown in Egypt, which added to the picturesqueness. He looked at me with interest. Here was a pleasant change from the dull routine of his duties as customs officer. His natives, however, had not come under this romantic spell, and most prosaically they began to go systematically over the ship with the joyous activity of fox-terriers looking for rats. They opened the crew’s sea-chests, sounded the empty water-barrels, unfolded the spare sails, and so on.
‘Would you like me to have everything that is in the hold brought up on deck?’ I asked in my most dulcet tones. ‘That would make it easier for your men to make a thorough examination.’
‘No, no, it is not at all necessary,’ replied the officer, impatient to get back to my stories of pearl fishing. ‘Just open these packing-cases. What do you have in them?’
‘Ship’s biscuit. But you can see for yourself; there is one that was opened this morning.’
And I showed him the case Providence had sent me.
‘But if you like,’ I added, 11 open all the rest; it’s quite simple. I have also,’ I continued without waiting for an answer, ‘a fairly valuable lot of pearls. Have I any formalities to go through for them?’
‘Ah, you have pearls?’
Yes. I’ll show you them. But perhaps we had better wait until your men have finished their inspection; I should prefer to be alone with you. These men are ver
y “gleg i’ the uptak” ’.
‘Certainly, you are quite right. Anyhow, they have finished. There is no point in opening the other cases, seeing that this one is open. Let’s look at your pearls.’
He sent his men ashore, and when we were alone I showed him a small lot of pearls I had luckily thought of bringing with me. He had never seen pearls gathered in a heap like that in their red rag which set them off so well. Naturally, he asked the inevitable questions amateurs always ask:
‘What are they worth?’
I named a figure. He took one up and rolled it lovingly in the palm of his hand.
‘And what is this one worth?’
I looked at him with a smile, then, after a short silence:
‘Let us say it is worth the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I shall be honoured if you will accept it as a souvenir of my visit to Kosseir.’
He protested half-heartedly, but his face shone with delight.
‘You got these pearls in Egyptian waters, I suppose?’
‘H’m… yes,’ I answered at random.
‘That’s all right, then; you’ve no duty to pay on them. At least I don’t think so, for the question has never come up before. Just as well to say nothing about them at Suez. You can easily keep them in your pocket.’
He then invited me to go ashore with him and visit the commander of police. We were now as thick as thieves. I took two Somali sailors with me as escort, just to fix the eyes of my hosts on something picturesque and new to them, and keep them from thinking too much. The Chief of Customs, for that was who my amiable friend turned out to be, was a fat young man, very Egyptian, indeed Oriental, who let the Arab peep through as soon as we had exchanged half a dozen sentences in that tongue. He was surprised to hear my men call me Abd-el-Haï, and stupefied when I said carelessly that I was a Mohammedan. This put him quite at his ease, and it was agreed that I should dine with him that evening.