The Very Nature
Of The Country Showed That It Must Be Full Of Ravines, And Yet I Could
Not Help Hoping Against Hope That We Might Have A Clear Mile Of Road
Without A Break.
The evening had passed, and the light faded.
What had
been difficult and tedious during the day now became most serious; we
could not see the branches of hooked thorns that over-hung the broken
path. I rode in advance, my face and arms bleeding with countless
scratches, while at each rip of a thorn I gave a warning shout - "Thorn!"
for those behind, and a cry of "Hole!" for any deep rut that lay in the
path. It was fortunately moonlight; but the jungle was so thick that the
narrow track was barely perceptible; thus both camels and donkeys ran
against the trunks of trees, smashing the luggage and breaking all that
could be broken. Nevertheless the case was urgent; march we must at all
hazards.
My heart sank whenever we cane to a deep ravine or hor; the warning cry
of "halt" told those in the rear that once more the camels must be
unloaded and the same fatiguing operation must be repeated. For hours we
marched; the moon was sinking; the path, already dark, grew darker; the
animals, overloaded even for a good road, were tired out, and the men
were disheartened, thirsty, and disgusted. Everything was tired out. I
had been working like a slave to assist and to cheer the men; I was also
fatigued.
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