Physics 10th Edition Cutnell Solutions

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Physics 10th Edition Cutnell Solutions Manual

CHAPTER 2 KINEMATICS IN
ONE DIMENSION
ANSWERS TO FOCUS ON CONCEPTS QUESTIONS

1. (b) Displacement, being a vector, conveys information about magnitude and direction.
Distance conveys no information about direction and, hence, is not a vector.

2. (c) Since each runner starts at the same place and ends at the same place, the three
displacement vectors are equal.

3. (c) The average speed is the distance of 16.0 km divided by the elapsed time of 2.0 h. The
average velocity is the displacement of 0 km divided by the elapsed time. The displacement is
0 km, because the jogger begins and ends at the same place.

4. (a) Since the bicycle covers the same number of meters per second everywhere on the track,
its speed is constant.

5. (e) The average velocity is the displacement (2.0 km due north) divided by the elapsed time
(0.50 h), and the direction of the velocity is the same as the direction of the displacement.

6. (c) The average acceleration is the change in velocity (final velocity minus initial velocity)
divided by the elapsed time. The change in velocity has a magnitude of 15.0 km/h. Since the
change in velocity points due east, the direction of the average acceleration is also due east.

7. (d) This is always the situation when an object at rest begins to move.

8. (b) If neither the magnitude nor the direction of the velocity changes, then the velocity is
constant, and the change in velocity is zero. Since the average acceleration is the change in
velocity divided by the elapsed time, the average acceleration is also zero.

9. (a) The runners are always moving after the race starts and, therefore, have a non-zero average
speed. The average velocity is the displacement divided by the elapsed time, and the
displacement is zero, since the race starts and finishes at the same place. The average
acceleration is the change in the velocity divided by the elapsed time, and the velocity
changes, since the contestants start at rest and finish while running.

10. (c) The equations of kinematics can be used only when the acceleration remains constant and
cannot be used when it changes from moment to moment.

11. (a) Velocity, not speed, appears as one of the variables in the equations of kinematics.
Velocity is a vector. The magnitude of the instantaneous velocity is the speed.

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 Chapter 2 Answers to Focus on Concepts Questions 43

12. (b) According to one of the equation of kinematics (v 2

)
= v02 + 2ax, with v0 = 0 m/s , the
displacement is proportional to the square of the velocity.

13. (d) According to one of the equation of kinematics (x = v t + 0

1
2 )
at 2 , with v0 = 0 m/s , the
displacement is proportional to the acceleration.

14. (b) For a single object each equation of kinematics contains four variables, one of which is
the unknown variable.

15. (e) An equation of kinematics ( v = v0 + at ) gives the answer directly, since the initial
velocity, the final velocity, and the time are known.

16. (c) An equation of kinematics ⎡⎣ x = 12 ( v0 + v ) t ⎤⎦ gives the answer directly, since the initial
velocity, the final velocity, and the time are known.

17. (e) An equation of kinematics (v 2

)
= v02 + 2ax gives the answer directly, since the initial
velocity, the final velocity, and the acceleration are known.

18. (d) This statement is false. Near the earth’s surface the acceleration due to gravity has the
approximate magnitude of 9.80 m/s2 and always points downward, toward the center of the
earth.

19. (b) Free-fall is the motion that occurs while the acceleration is solely the acceleration due to
gravity. While the rocket is picking up speed in the upward direction, the acceleration is not
just due to gravity, but is due to the combined effect of gravity and the engines. In fact, the
effect of the engines is greater than the effect of gravity. Only when the engines shut down
does the free-fall motion begin.

20. (c) According to an equation of kinematics (v 2

)
= v02 + 2ax, with v = 0 m/s , the launch
speed v0 is proportional to the square root of the maximum height.

21. (a) An equation of kinematics ( v = v0 + at ) gives the answer directly.

22. (d) The acceleration due to gravity points downward, in the same direction as the initial
velocity of the stone thrown from the top of the cliff. Therefore, this stone picks up speed as
it approaches the nest. In contrast, the acceleration due to gravity points opposite to the initial
velocity of the stone thrown from the ground, so that this stone loses speed as it approaches
the nest. The result is that, on average, the stone thrown from the top of the cliff travels faster
than the stone thrown from the ground and hits the nest first.

23. 1.13 s
44 KINEMATICS IN ONE DIMENSION

24. (a) The slope of the line in a position versus time graph gives the velocity of the motion. The
slope for part A is positive. For part B the slope is negative. For part C the slope is positive.

25. (b) The slope of the line in a position versus time graph gives the velocity of the motion.
Section A has the smallest slope and section B the largest slope.

26. (c) The slope of the line in a position versus time graph gives the velocity of the motion.
Here the slope is positive at all times, but it decreases as time increases from left to right in
the graph. This means that the positive velocity is decreasing as time increases, which is a
condition of deceleration.
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remains of other graves, and the whole area is kept perfectly clean and
sprinkled with pure white sand from the beach. The short broken sticks
and decayed rags are not thrown away, but carefully taken down and laid
aside.
One is naturally interested to enquire who the Shêkh was in life, and
what qualities are considered as meriting so much posthumous honour,
and conferring the power of intercession with God. Strange to say, no
one knows anything excepting that his name was Sad, the prevailing idea
seeming to be that, since his usefulness and power began after his burial,
there is no reason to be interested in who he was, and what he did, in life.
Even after death but one miracle is vaguely recorded, viz. that a certain
man attempted to steal some pearl shells which had been deposited at the
grave, and so placed under the Shêkh’s charge. The thief was punished
by the loss of his hand, but whether by paralysis, or through the agency
of a shark when he was diving, my informants neither knew nor cared.
“It was something of that sort” was all they would say. And yet I believe
that the dead Shêkhs are more thought of as practical help in time of
trouble than either God or the Prophet.
 Plate XII

Fig. 22. Prayer at the grave of Holy Island

Fig. 23. Note the shaven band over top of head distinctive of
little boys; aristocrat on left wears a shirt and strings of
amulets, the middle one only a loin cloth and one lucky white
stone
 The once lonely tomb of Shêkh Barûd, whose name was in those days
given to the harbour which is now Port Sudan, was mentioned in Chapter
I. The name literally interpreted is “Old Man Flea,” but it has no
contemptuous significance to the pious. It was indeed a title of honour,
for the old man so felt the sanctity of all life that he would not kill the
most degraded of insects. His story is that of a poor pilgrim using all
possible shifts to reach Mecca, and in the end succeeding. There are two
accounts of his return. In the one he was compelled to trust himself to the
sea journey of 180 miles alone in a tiny canoe. The sea spared him and
he reached land where his tomb now stands, dying or dead of thirst. At
any rate he was dead when found, and, being recognised as one who had
perished on the pilgrimage, was buried as a shêkh. It is said that in
memory of the manner of his death, sailors passing the spot pour a little
fresh water into the sea. But, as a matter of fact, the custom is a general
one, and all shêkhs’ tombs are thus honoured. It is a fine example indeed
of a persistent, widespread, and very ancient observance, probably less
bound up with Moslem and old Christian theology than Omar
Khayyam’s well-known lines:

“And not a drop that from our cups we throw

For Earth to drink of but may steal below
To quench the fire of anguish in some eye
There hidden—far beneath and long ago.”
(See note by Aldis Wright in “Golden Treasury Edition.”)

Personally I think my sailors are actuated by some quite vague sacrificial

idea.
The second, and more correct, story places his death at Jedda, while
on the pilgrimage. As those who die in the performance of this sacred
duty earn very special merit, he was honoured by burial in a wooden
coffin. During the ceremonies so violent a storm arose that the mourners
left the coffin on the sea-shore. Next morning it was found that a sudden
rise of the sea had borne away the saint, and later the coffin was found
floated ashore at the entrance to a harbour on the other side of the sea[22].
When found it was recognised as the remains of a holy man, and buried
in a stone tomb on high ground at the harbour entrance; which harbour
was renamed after him, Mersa Shêkh Barûd. The harbour was then
completely desert, and this tomb, the size of a very small room, was the
only stone building, except two small police stations, between Suakin
and Egypt! Once a conspicuous mark for sailors (the Government for
this reason keeping it brightly whitewashed), it is now quite
inconspicuous under the towering electric cranes and coal transporters of
the modern seaport, of which it is the only object more than five years
old.
The sites of the tombs of these Holy Men of a sailor people are
always well and appropriately chosen, generally on high ground at a
harbour entrance. One I know, where the land is too low to give an
impressive site, is built on the outermost point of the shore reef, hardly
dry ground at lowest water level. That of our Holy Island has been
mentioned; that of Shêkh Dabadib is by a well, and is also a conspicuous
mark on a coast otherwise featureless, even for the Red Sea.
Mohammedanism here meets Ancestor Worship and involves the
sanctity of the head of a reigning house. This tomb is none the less
sacred for being new, antiquity and miraculous power are not always
necessary to reverence; The Shêkh buried here is known to men still
living, and his relatives are prominent people hereabouts. The
photograph shews the building, which contains the tomb, with a prayer-
space marked off outside, the Mecca-ward niche of which is decorated
with flags. Here is also an almost perfectly spherical piece of granite, a
natural boulder, black with libations of butter. One of my sailors is seen
addressing this, hoping thereby to complete the prayers already made at
the grave within.
 Plate XIII

Fig. 24. A prophet that had honour in his own country

Fig. 25. A mediaeval tomb, now neglected

The building of even so simple a tomb must have been a great

expense so far from civilisation. Masons were brought from Suakin to
trim the coral blocks, taken living from the sea, of which the walls are
built.
The other photograph on this plate shews one of a series of little
towers which are found here and there near the foot of the mountains, the
finding of which, in the midst of a desert devoid of all buildings, is
almost startlingly unexpected. They also are Moslem graves, but are not
now regarded with reverence. Built long ago in the Middle Ages they are
relics of the old trade route from the ancient kingdom of Axum, to the
now vanished seaport of Aydeb which may some day be discovered in
the ruins of “Old Suakin” or Berenice.
Another way of honouring the saints is by the killing of sheep at their
graves, especially on feast days. The flesh is eaten of course—after being
distributed to all who care to take it.
I suppose as a safeguard against idolatry the posture of prayer at a
tomb is entirely different from those prescribed for prayer to God. There
are no bowings, or kneelings with the forehead touching the ground. The
petitioner stands throughout, holding the palms of his hands as though
they were an open book from which he read, and at the end of his prayer
passing them over his face. The idea symbolised is that during the prayer
his heart is open to receive the blessing, and at the close his action sets
forth his faith that a blessing has been received, and applied to his
person.
Whenever in the desert men encamp for any length of time, a place is
set apart for prayer, and marked off by stones set on edge. It is a
semicircle or half oval, the apex of which is in the direction of Mecca, to
which all the Moslems of the world turn to pray. The space within is kept
clean as holy ground, and no one may step within the stones without first
removing his sandals and washing, with water if by a well or the sea,
otherwise with sand, as though entering a mosque.
The third type of religious exercise is the “zikr” or “remembrance,”
here called the “mûled[23]” or “Birthday,” this name being given because
the main part of the ceremonial is the reading of a long poem, composed
by a shêkh of this country, describing the birth and life of Mohammed.
As in Egypt, religious recitation takes the place of a dinner party or
evening entertainment. The material apparatus required are, first and
foremost, lamps and candles, the more that can be borrowed the better;
secondly, some carpets and sheets of matting to lay in a circle on the
ground for the guests to sit upon. Minor matters are tea (coffee is more
rarely used in our village) and incense.
Imagine the Eastern starlight relieving the soft purple darkness, a
gentle moving air, cool after the heated storm winds of the day. The only
light visible in the whole village is that placed before the reader, a
brilliant little circle shewing up the principal guests in their white robes
and turbans, the holy book and the smoking censer. One by one the
guests appear out of the darkness, the droning chant of the reader taking
no heed of their comings. Some, in new white robes and turbaned heads,
or those to whom age gives dignity independently of wealth, seat
themselves in the light near the reader; others, shaggy haired and wild
faced herdsmen from the hills, in dust coloured calico, remain half seen
on the farther side of the circle. No woman or girl is visible, but they
may gather at a little distance and raise their curious whistling trill, their
joy cry, at intervals. The little boys of the village, of the age at which
church going and sitting still generally were especially abhorrent to
ourselves, are much in evidence, and certainly do not come for the tea, of
which they may not be invited to partake.
The service contains real religious feeling, and besides the birth and
life of Mohammed there is recited a long prayer, the droning of which is
broken by the mournful chanting of responses, of which of course “La
Allah ill’ Allah” is one. Nothing could be more expressive of submission
to the hardness of desert life, or so impress upon the listener
remembrance of his exile from his fellows in the cheerful striving with
life of the younger nations, than these people’s singing, whether it be
done for pleasure or as a religious service. The whole thing is full of
Eastern poetic licence, e.g. blessings are called down upon each detail of
the Prophet’s body separately. At the point where his actual birth is
announced all stand awhile. Only one sentence is really objectionable to
a Christian, where all the older prophets extol Mohammed, Jesus is made
to repeat the words of John, “I am not worthy to unloose his shoe
latchet.”
After about an hour’s reading all rise and join hands in a circle,
chanting “La Allah ill’ Allah,” “There is no god but God,” emphasising
the words with deep bowings, or by stamping the feet in unison; after
some repetitions the time quickens, and the sentence is shortened to “La
Allah”; even these words are finally abbreviated to a grunt as the
bowings and stampings degenerate into mere furious exertion. Another
sentence repeated in the same way is “Hû hay kayâm,” “He is the Life,
the Almighty,” with an emphasis on the pronoun, Hû, that excludes all
sharers in His attributes. In the same way this sentence is shortened
down to “Hu” alone, delivered with a deep gasp, so that at a little
distance the sound of worship may be mistaken for the barking of dogs.
At intervals one of the more excitable men enters and dances round
inside the ring, urging the congregation to still greater rapidity and
energy of sound and movement. When the men are tired they resume
their seats, tea is handed round again, and more incense thrown on the
charcoal, which is kept burning for the purpose. The reader resumes his
recitation awhile until the spirit moves the congregation to rise, bow and
repeat the formula “HE is the Life, the Almighty,” as before.
The borderline between religion and superstition is of course very
indefinite, and the belief in evil spirits and witchcraft is as strong as that
in the intercession of dead saints. It is of no use to point out that such
ideas are inconsistent with that of the Unity and Omnipotence of God,
and only force can give weight to the consideration that loud drumming
close to the head of a sick person, while certain to do harm, is unlikely to
drive away the evil spirit which is the cause of the disease, or that a man
suffering from heart disease is more likely to kill himself than drive out
the evil spirit, by the violent exertions of a Mûled dance.
The wearing of amulets is, perhaps, the superstition most akin to
religion, and one at least that has had its origin in intelligent respect for
written wisdom. Every man wears them in numbers, and children have a
few, mingled with other lucky objects, however insufficient their
clothing. In the commonest form the paper is enclosed in a neat little
leather case, a little over an inch square by half an inch deep, which may
be slung round the neck with the prayer beads, by a string of twisted
leather, or attached to a cord, of the same material, which passes round
the arm just above the elbow. In some cases a man may wear up to
twenty of these packets, partly as ornaments, partly as defence against
each and all of the ills of life.
The contents are various, since, trusting to the ignorance of the
purchaser, the charm-writer may put down the first thing that comes into
his head, perhaps even lewd poetry, or the name of God written in
various fantastic ways. Some charm-writers are quite illiterate, and their
works are mere childish scribblings. A friend enquired of one of the
better Shêkhs whether he had any faith himself in what he wrote, the
reply being merely, “The Arabs like them so I write them.” I suppose the
corollary, “and I like the money they pay for them,” may be taken for
granted.
I was talking of amulets to one of my sailors. “The paper in this,” he
said, indicating a dingy silver case hung by a bit of string round his neck,
“was worth four pounds.” (This is two months’ pay.) “When I was in
Suakin I went to a shêkh there as I was ill. He was a great Fakir, a great
Shêkh, and his tomb is now in the middle of the bazaar. He told me he
had a very good paper by him, and if I wore it for twelve days, I should,
if it pleased God, become well. The price of this paper was four pounds,
but I said, ‘I have only ten shillings.’ ‘Never mind,’ said he, ‘give me the
rest if my words come true.’ And after twelve days I got better. He was
no liar.” I was anxious to know whether the balance of the four pounds
had been actually paid over or not, but my diplomatic questions were
met by an impenetrable reserve, and the conversation was deflected into
theology. “The Fakir does not say ‘you must get better’ after so many
days, but only ‘if it is God’s will’.”
The common way of dissolving the ink of the writing in water and
drinking it as medicine, is practised here. Sometimes the fakir may
instruct the patient to burn a piece of it each day on a censer, enclosing
the smoke in his clothes and so fumigating himself with it. My clerk
called on a sailor who was ill, or thought he was. The cause of illness
was presumed to be the issue against him of a bad writing by some
malicious person unknown, so the obvious cure was to get a counterblast
written by someone friendly to the bewitched sufferer. Do not imagine
the romance of oriental wizardry, or of mediaeval alchemists with
patriarchal beards! Superstition is, in reality, most dingily matter-of-fact.
The good fairy who wrote the counterblast is a fat, waddling, little man,
with tiny screwed-up eyes in a face expressing only good-natured
commonplaceness, as completely as his figure expresses laziness and
love of food. He is in fact as much like a grocer as an eastern magician,
but he is a good little man too, and has undertaken the work of village
schoolmaster, and teaches the boys the correct bowings and postures of
prayer, without any remuneration.
Customs, possibly peculiar to this people, and not held by the Arabs
of the other side of the sea, for instance, are connected with milking. A
woman may not milk a sheep or goat, only men may perform this duty.
Further, a man having milked an animal may not drink until some other
man, no matter whom, has first taken three sips. So strong is this idea
that the phrase “He milks and drinks” is a term of abuse. One would
think the origin of the custom to be the unwritten laws of hospitality, but
if so, the present generation have no knowledge of any such derivation.
“It is just the custom” is all they can say.
 I remember meeting a little boy and his sister, who for this purpose
had carried milk two miles or more, to the only house besides their
father’s then on the peninsula of Rawaya. What the thirsty father would
have done if they had returned after finding no male at home I do not
know. By chance one was ashore, the others having gone fishing.
Belief in the evil eye is universal here, as in the world at large, and the
common sign which is supposed to afford protection against it, the figure
of a hand with fingers outspread, is trusted in here also. This belief in the
evil eye has prevented my obtaining more than one portrait of a woman,
even the photograph of a woman’s hand and rings, etc. (opp. page 24)
being obtained with much difficulty. The lady stood within a little
window, placed low down in the side of her house, so as to be quite
satisfied that her head could not be “seen” by the camera’s wicked glass
eye. The reason given was that photography was an offence against their
modesty, but I am sure the evil eye superstition had more to do with their
reluctance.
The common idea that a pearl is due to the hardening of dew, to
obtain which the oyster comes to the surface of the sea at night, was
suggested to me by an Arab dealer, but a purely native idea is that
abundance of rain in the winter will result in the appearance of many
young oysters next summer. Because to themselves every drop of the
scanty rainfall is precious beyond everything, they sympathetically
imagine it must be of value to the oysters. However, this point, like the
former on the formation of pearls, needs no great study of oyster habits
to refute. As practically all oysters live under at least six feet of sea
water, and are anchored firmly to the bottom, neither dew nor showers of
rain can reach them, much less have any effect whatever upon them.
Also the breeding season is summer, not winter.
The porpoise[24] is known as “Abu Salâma” or “Father of Safety,” its
useful habit, in days of long ago, being supposed to be the conveyance to
shore of shipwrecked sailors. But one day, according to tradition, a
porpoise rescued a negro, who, as soon as he reached shore, most
ungratefully put a knife into poor Abu Salâma. Since that day
shipwrecked mariners have had to shift for themselves. (Note how the
blame is put on to the subject race. Prof. D’Arcy Thomson[25] gives a
similar superstition regarding another kind of dolphin at Rio de Janeiro,
where it is said to bring home the bodies of drowned sailors, and to
defend swimmers against another genus which is dangerous to man.)
 No one will destroy a cat or drown young kittens. This is not merely
misplaced compassion or respect for life in general, as they bury[26]
superfluous puppies without any qualm. Perhaps it is a relic of the
ancient Egyptians’ reverence for these animals. I tried to point out the
inhumanity of allowing cats to multiply unchecked, and found that the
avoidance of causing suffering to the cat had little, if anything, to do
with the matter. “If they die of starvation it does not matter, but we must
not kill them.” The consequence is that every town and village swarms
with miserable half-starved cats.
I was once staying in a house where the balcony, on which we dined,
overhung the sea at a height of perhaps 30 feet. A miserable cat, which
had adopted the house as her residence, came and made herself a
nuisance by the usual feline methods. One of the guests rose, caught, and
threw her over the balcony into the sea. It seemed rather callous, but
obviously such an animal’s destruction lessens the amount of misery in
the world. I could hardly believe my eyes two days later, when that same
cat walked on to the verandah. It appears that the process, which I had
thought necessarily fatal, was repeated on this cat at recurring intervals,
the dose being only sufficiently powerful to take effect for two or three
days, after which she was as actively disagreeable as ever, and it had to
be repeated.
Talking of cats there are not less than seven names for this one beast
in Arabic! I wish I had taken down the complete list as my informant
gave it, but one of the two I know is a good instance of onomatopœia, or
instinctive naming from sounds associated with the object. The Arabic
gutt is obviously the same as cat, and may be the same word by actual
derivation, but the Red Sea word is “Biss,” which, the Arab not being
able to pronounce the letter P, is the same as “Puss.” It is hard to believe
that this should actually pass through Egypt to finally be used in England
as a merely “pet” name. It must have arisen independently in the two
countries.
Once travelling on the desert east coast of Zanzibar island and
sleeping in the open, I awakened in the night to find an eclipse of the
moon in progress (1901 was the year). I expected my boat boys to be
alarmed at the phenomenon, especially as they were some of the original
inhabitants of the island, not mingled with Arab blood. But they took it
very calmly, saying something to the effect that “The English know all
about that!” In my Red Sea village in 1909, it was quite different. On
going out in the morning my clerk asked me whether I had been
disturbed by the natives’ efforts to save the moon’s life, or, as he put it,
Had I heard the eclipse? It appears that directly the shadow touched the
moon everyone was aroused and a beating of tin cans commenced, with
loud prayers that God would not allow the moon to be destroyed.
One of the origins of superstition is false reasoning from observed
fact. When a native has a wound or open sore he is careful to keep his
nose plugged with rag, or to sniff continually at aromatic substances, as
he believes the smell of a wound will cause fever and mortification. The
observation that if a wound smells, the patient is likely to be in a bad
way, is sound enough, but the inference that the smell, or any smell, e.g.
women’s scents, causes the fever is superstition. I am informed that this
idea is very widespread. I fear my applications of iodoform, than which
nothing can have a more persistent smell, will convince the natives that
we share their belief in the efficacy of “drowning,” rather than
preventing, the odour of decay.
Somewhat similar was the native treatment of a man who fell from
the roof of a house we were building. He was lying senseless when I
arrived, his nostrils carefully plugged with onion! Probably the smell of
onion, like that of ammonia, may be useful in fainting, but far more
important is free access of air, and that they treated as a matter of no
account at all.
The great remedy for everything is the application of a red-hot nail.
Hence many of the scars which otherwise might be taken for the results
of fighting.
One of my men, being in great pain from stricture, I gave the
maximum dose of opium for his relief. On returning to see the effect he
answered, “Yes, I have had no pain since they burned me.” My little
tabloids were despised as too trifling a remedy for such serious ill;
burning had been considered a more sensible treatment, and the relief
afforded by a full dose of opium attributed to it. “Perhaps it was the
English medicine that relieved your pain?” I suggested. “The English
medicine is good, but I have had no pain since they burned me,” he
repeated. Great is Faith! How many cures may have resulted from the
faith excited by a red-hot nail, without the aid of opium! At the same
time English medicines are highly valued, especially those which have a
prompt and visible effect, and there is no fear of their being too nasty. I
gave a baby girl, about a year old, a dose of castor oil. She smiled and
licked her lips; perhaps it was no more unpleasant than native butter.
 One of our camels fell lame. My clerk thought it had stepped on a
thorn, but the native opinion was that it had smelled the dung of a
hyaena.
A bundle of the knuckle bones of a sheep are hung up in the tent with
the object of assisting the healthy growth of the baby, and dog’s teeth are
tied round its neck to insure the regular succession of its own.
The cure for a headache is a string bound tightly round the head, and
amulets are generally included.
My junior clerk having been stung by a scorpion, was induced by the
severe pain, in the absence of other help, to trust to native ministrations.
His head (which has abundant curly hair) they did with butter anoint,
even with the malodorous “samin,” and gave him copiously of the same
to drink. The root of a certain tree was bound round his wrist and an
amulet round his elbow. I do not know which of these four remedies
effected the cure; a good drink of “samin” would certainly have an effect
in the right direction.
The Exhibit at Shepherd’s Bush of “charms” and magical objects,
recently in use in England, indicates a mental level no whit higher than
that of my brown people. And yet with what contempt would these
English wearers of amulets and dried mole’s feet have regarded the
“heathen niggers.” And can we say much more for the large numbers of
half-educated people who do not like to spill the salt, and generally bow
to the new moon, because “there might be something in it,” who refuse
to believe what is strange to them, no matter what the evidence, though
believing many things on no true evidence at all?

Religion and superstition having occupied so much of our attention, I

seem to lack a sense of proportion in devoting but a short space to the
more real matter of morality. Brevity is, however, excused by the fact
that all description of men’s ways of life is necessarily an exposition of
their moral state.
These northern tribes, isolated in the deserts, possess the primitive,
yet most advanced, virtue of strict honesty. During the winter, when rain
has fallen upon certain favoured spots and most of the population has
migrated to them, one frequently comes across small trees bearing
bundles of matting, boards, and sticks, the materials of a tent-house. The
owner has left the country for the time the grazing will last, and, not
wishing to take all his house with him, merely puts the materials out of
the reach of the goats, secure in finding them untouched, not even
borrowed, on his return two or three months later; this too in a country
where even a bit of old sacking is a thing of value.
 CHAPTER IV
THE DAILY LIFE OF THE PEOPLE

A first sight, the country seems to be one from which no human

being could extract the barest subsistence. The usual explanation, that the
natives live by stealing, did not help me to an understanding, as that is no
more an economic possibility than the story of the two old women who
lived by taking in each other’s washing. The fact is, the Sudan sheep,
goats and camels, have a marvellous tenacity of life, and on their
sufferings the native exists. I once had acquaintance with a British
donkey to whom corn was given on a piece of stiff brown paper, to
prevent waste. When the corn was done, the donkey proceeded to eat the
brown paper before going to his desert of thistles. What luxury a diet of
brown paper and thistles would be to a Sudan goat! After nibbling dry
sticks all day in the desert, they come and eat resinous shavings from my
workshops, or pick up single grains of corn from the sand where our
camels have been fed, shewing that a day’s feeding leaves them ravenous
beyond all the British donkey’s idea of hunger.
My particular village is richer than most places on the coast in
possessing a few square miles of scattered acacias which bear a few little
leaves when all else fails. There are some salt woody plants too (Arabic,
hamid = sour) and some low trees (“Asal” or “adlîb”) which are a vivid
green all the year round, the latter of which, however, all animals, except
camels, refuse.
The goats spend much of their day on their hind-legs, supporting
themselves with their fore-legs on the lower branches of the acacias
while reaching as high as their necks will stretch to nibble the little
leaves from among the inch-long and needle-sharp thorns. I have even
seen goats standing with all four feet on boughs several feet above the
ground. This is a fairly uncomfortable way of living, indeed I should
think the most diligent browsing, and the most callous disregard of the
contact of lips and tongue with thorns, would scarcely keep a healthy
goat’s stomach full. But it is better than the alternative, the hurried
pacing with short stops just long enough to eat the single blades of dry
grass, which is the only food should the locusts come down and clear
every leaf off the acacias. I speak glibly of single blades of dry grass, but
I am far too optimistic in my terms. A scrap of woody salt herb, or a bit
of grass-stick, something like slender bamboo, is all that is visible to the
human eye. For some months they graze on hope, air and dust, and are
given a very minute ration of “dûra” corn on their return home in the
afternoon. (This dûra, Sorghum vulgare, is called darri seed at home, and
is used only for fowls I believe.) Why is the camel the only type of
endurance? Surely the goat is his equal? As for drinking, goats are not
watered oftener than camels, and in both cases water too salt and filthy
for human beings is good enough for them.
Plate XIV
 Figs. 26 and 27. Water carriers. Three to five full skins are slung over a wooden
saddle, the odd one balanced on the top

In the winter and spring, if it rain, things are better; a little thin grass
appears, single blades which last only a week or two, and the grey-brown
tufts of sticks, which are the remains of last year’s grass hummocks, put
forth scanty leaves and long wiry stems, a little less dry than those they
spring from. The sour “hamid” becomes brilliant and luxuriant, and the
acacias more leafy than usual. The beds of the torrents, which contain
water only for a short time immediately after rain, become in some
places almost full of grass, though at the best there is always much more
sand and gravel than vegetation to be seen, except in the most favoured
spots.
A large number of annuals of the clover tribe appear in some places,
for instance in the valleys of the raised coral ground of Rawaya
peninsula; in consequence, after it has rained, there is a small exodus
from our village, and boats are employed to convey families, tents and
animals across the bay, to stay there so long as the water supply will last.
It is astonishing that the acacias and “hamid” can struggle through the
climatic conditions and the incessant persecution of the animals. Think
of their young trees wholly at the mercy of the famishing goats, who
every year eat even the hamid nearly to bare sticks. The women again
beat the trees to obtain the leaves which are out of reach of the animals,
and collect particularly the flowers and green seed pods in this way.
Somehow the acacia still struggles on, producing leaves and flowers
even after a rainless winter. The hamid seems to be able to live on dew,
for it puts forth new shoots and becomes green in the spring
independently of rain.
Very few natives are so tied down to any village as to be dependent on
a local rainfall. If rain is seen to fall for an hour or so in any direction for
several days in succession, they have only to make a bundle of their tent
and cooking-pot and be off to the favoured spot. Even beyond the limits
of their tribal districts the whole desert is home; there are no fixtures in it
other than the wells. Inland there are no permanent villages; indeed, in
the north country, it is rare to see more than two or three tents together.
Even in the fixed villages of the coast and the considerable suburbs of
Suakin about Shâta, the majority of the habitations are tents, and most of
their owners are there only for part of the year to buy corn until the rain
comes again[27].
Every year my men have leave to go, one or two at a time, to visit
their relatives. A hundred miles’ journey to search for persons whose
whereabouts he knows extremely vaguely, and who are continually
moving, is nothing to the native, even though he may do all, or nearly all,
afoot. Only once has a man come back to report that he had tramped all
his three weeks’ leave away without coming across those he sought. Not
family affection only prompts these visits, though I believe that feeling is
strong in most cases. They desire to drink milk, as they put it, rightly
believing that a diet of rice and dûra needs the addition of milk for a
month or two in the year if health is to be preserved. This is especially
the case with the men in my employ who are often either those who
possess few animals or who have made over their flocks to relatives.
This desert is a great camel-breeding area. For travel or military
purposes the camel bred in Egypt and fed on juicy clover is obviously
useless, so, every spring, representatives of the Coast Guards and
Slavery Repression Department come down from Egypt to buy. As a
good camel is worth £12 to £18 the man who has a couple to sell is sure
of enough money for himself and his family to live on for a year. The
milk of the females is a source of food.
An article made in considerable quantities in the country is butter, so
called, or samin to give it its native name. It is a whitish liquid with a
powerful cheesy smell, repulsive to the European. The native regards it
as one of the necessities of life; I have known sailors leaving for a
week’s voyage to turn up next day with “we forgot our samin” as their
excuse for returning. This is, to their minds, as good a reason as if they
had forgotten the rice, the water, and the matches as well[28].
The nomads’ tents are illustrated opposite the next page. Externally
they are made of palm-leaf matting[29], in colour as well as in shape
suggesting haycocks. The sheets of this material are stretched over long,
bent sticks and fastened together with wooden skewers. The doorway of
the tent is on the less steeply-sloping side and though only two or three
feet high is partly curtained with a piece of sacking or other cloth. They
are invariably built with their backs to the north, that is, against the
prevailing wind. This is the case even in the summer, when to be out of
the wind is torture to the European. If the wind changes to the south, the
door is closed up and the wall propped up a little on the north side. In all,
except the poorest, the house is divided into two parts, even though the
whole space is generally only about 10 feet square. The larger division is
formed by the erection of a kind of second tent of goat’s hair cloth within
that of matting. This is entirely closed in by a curtain from the low space
by the doorway where the cooking is done, and where visitors sit on their
heels.
The inner compartment is really a sort of four-poster family bed, the
bed and bedding consisting of some boards arranged as a flooring a few
inches above the ground, on which is spread a mat made of the split