By the Way 147 



camp. Looking after grazing camels in this 

 country is, moreover, no sinecure. Then off again 

 with the caravan in the evening. His sleep, if 

 ever he does sleep, is taken in instalments. As 

 a long string of laden camels passes you at night, 

 tied nose to tail, you see a human figure sprawled 

 across a load or a camel's bare back, head and 

 arms and legs dangling anyhow, adhering by 

 suction like a limpet, by capillary attraction, or 

 some such mysterious method. It is one of the 

 sarwans taking his turn of slumber. The camel 

 bells, particularly the deep boom, boom of the 

 big bell on the rearmost camel, tell the caravan 

 leader that all is well. 



There is something weird and rather thrilling 

 about the passage of laden camels at night, especi- 

 ally if you are lying under the stars. From a 

 very long way off comes a murmur of bells, 

 rising and falling on the breath of night. Your 

 thoughts fly back to Sussex downs and the music 

 of sheep-bells ; but this is fuller -toned. Very, 

 very slowly the volume of the carillon grows, 

 the stream becomes a river, and you can distin- 

 guish in arpeggio the ripple of the small, the 

 sonorous boom of the great bells. Then, as the 

 air throbs with sound, the stars on the horizon 

 are obscured, and a succession of tall, dim forms 

 stalk by in ghost-like procession. You catch for 



