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XI. THE DESERT.

TALEB gave. the signal for departure; an Arab took the head of the file, and the journey began.

Although the heat of the sun had greatly abated, it was still very oppressive for us Europeans. We proceeded at a round trot, with our heads down, compelled from time to time to close our eyes, which were scorched by the reflection of the sand. We were leaving behind us the last traces of the petrified forest, and I began to accustom myself to the trot of the dromedary, just as one gets used to the rolling of a vessel. Bechara rode next me singing an Arab song, sad, slow, and monotonous. This song, joined to the dromedary's motion, the heavy atmosphere which weighed down our heads, and the burning dust which impeded my vision, was putting me to sleep like a nurse's lullaby, when suddenly my haghin gave a start which nearly threw me out of the saddle. I opened my eyes, and mechanically looked round to discover the cause of the shock. He had struck against the carcass of a camel half devoured by carnivorous beasts. I then saw that we were advancing along a whitened track which extended to the horizon, and I observed that the line was marked by skeletons and bones.

The fact was sufficiently extraordinary to induce me to ask an explanation. I summoned Bechara, who did not even wait for my question, for my astonishment had not escaped the profound penetration with which these primitive and savage tribes are eminently gifted.

"The dromedary," said he, drawing close to me, "is not an unsteady and braggart animal, like the horse he journeys without halt, food, or drink; nothing on his part reveals disease, fatigue, or exhaustion. The Arab, who can hear at a great distance the roar of a lion, the neigh of a horse, or the cry of a man, cannot hear, however close, anything but the respiration of the haghin, more or less contracted or panting; but never a complaint or groan. When nature is overcome by suffering, when privations have exhausted strength, when life fails in the organs, the dromedary kneels down, extends his neck over the sand, and closes his eyes. The rider then knows that all is over; he dismounts, and without making an effort to raise the animal, for he knows his honesty, and does not suspect him of fraud or laziness, he takes off the saddle, places it on the back of another dromedary, and sets off, leaving the fallen haghin behind. When night comes on, the jackals and hyenas come, attracted by the smell, and leave nothing of the poor animal but the skeleton.

"We are now on the road from Cairo to Mecca:

XI. THE DESERT.

TALEB gave. the signal for departure; an Arab took the head of the file, and the journey began.

Although the heat of the sun had greatly abated, it was still very oppressive for us Europeans. We proceeded at a round trot, with our heads down, compelled from time to time to close our eyes, which were scorched by the reflection of the sand. We were leaving behind us the last traces of the petrified forest, and I began to accustom myself to the trot of the dromedary, just as one gets used to the rolling of a vessel. Bechara rode next me singing an Arab song, sad, slow, and monotonous. This song, joined to the dromedary's motion, the heavy atmosphere which weighed down our heads, and the burning dust which impeded my vision, was putting me to sleep like a nurse's lullaby, when suddenly my haghin gave a start which nearly threw me out of the saddle. I opened my eyes, and mechanically looked round to discover the cause of the shock. He had struck against the carcass of a camel half devoured by carnivorous beasts. I then saw that we were advancing along a whitened track which extended to the horizon, and I observed that the line was marked by skeletons and bones.

The fact was sufficiently extraordinary to induce me to ask an explanation. I summoned Bechara, who did not even wait for my question, for my astonishment had not escaped the profound penetration with which these primitive and savage tribes are eminently gifted.

"The dromedary," said he, drawing close to me, "is not an unsteady and braggart animal, like the horse he journeys without halt, food, or drink; nothing on his part reveals disease, fatigue, or exhaustion. The Arab, who can hear at a great distance the roar of a lion, the neigh of a horse, or the cry of a man, cannot hear, however close, anything but the respiration of the haghin, more or less contracted or panting; but never a complaint or groan. When nature is overcome by suffering, when privations have exhausted strength, when life fails in the organs, the dromedary kneels down, extends his neck over the sand, and closes his eyes. The rider then knows that all is over; he dismounts, and without making an effort to raise the animal, for he knows his honesty, and does not suspect him of fraud or laziness, he takes off the saddle, places it on the back of another dromedary, and sets off, leaving the fallen haghin behind. When night comes on, the jackals and hyenas come, attracted by the smell, and leave nothing of the poor animal but the skeleton.

"We are now on the road from Cairo to Mecca:

the caravan passes and repasses this road twice a year; and these bones, so numerous and so often renewed, which the winds of the Desert never entirely disperse these bones, which you may follow without a guide, and which will lead you to the Oases, the wells and fountains where the Arabs seek for water and shade, and which will eventually lead you to the tomb of the prophet, are the bones of dromedaries that have fallen, never to rise again. Perhaps, on looking closer to these remains, you will recognise among them, from time to time, smaller bones, and of a different structure: these are the bones of worn-out travellers, who have here found a resting-place before they reached the end of their journey; these are the bones of true believers, who, consulting their zeal rather than their strength, have been anxious to obey the precept which commands every Moslem once in his life to perform the holy pilgrimage; and who, having been detained by the pleasures or business of life, have undertaken the journey at too advanced an age. Add to these some stupid Turk, some swollen eunuch, who fell asleep when they ought to have been awake, and broke their necks by a fall: allow a share for the plague, which often decimates half a caravan, and another share for the simoom, which sometimes sweeps away the rest, and you will easily see how these memorials of death are so frequently repeated,

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