My Wife And I Rode About A Quarter Of A Mile At The Head Of The Party As
An Advance Guard, To Warn The Caravan Of Any Difficulty.
The very nature
of the country declared 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 overhung 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 came 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.
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