350 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 



them closely on the sand, and shut their eyes. Their drivers unload 

 them as rapidly as possible, build the baggage into a barricade, and 

 heap all the water-bags closely together, so as to present the least 

 possible surface to the wind, and cover them with any available 

 mats. This accomplished, they wrap themselves as closely as may 

 be in their robes, moisten the part which surrounds the head, and 

 take refuge behind the baggage. All this is done with the utmost 

 despatch, for the sand-storm never leaves one long to wait. 



Following one another in more rapid succession, the blasts soon 

 become continuous, and the storm rages. The wind roars and 

 rumbles, pipes and howls in the firmament; the sand rushes and 

 rages along the ground; there is creaking and crackling and crash- 

 ing among the baggage as the planks of the boxes burst. The 

 prevailing sultriness increases till the limit of endurance seems all 

 but reached; all moisture leaves the sweat-covered body; the 

 mucous membranes begin to crack and bleed; the parched tongue 

 lies like a piece of lead in the mouth; the pulse quickens, the heart 

 throbs convulsively; the skin begins to peel, and into the lacerations 

 the raging storm bears fine sand, producing new tortures. The 

 sons of the desert pray and groan, the stranger murmurs and 

 complains. 



The severest raging of the sand-storm does not usually last long, 

 it may be only for an hour, or for two or three, just like the analogous 

 thunder-storm in the north. As it assuages the dust sinks, the air 

 clears, perhaps a counter-breeze sets in from the north; the caravan 

 rearranges itself and goes on its way. But if the Simoom last for 

 half a day or for a whole day, then it may fare with the traveller 

 as it did with an acquaintance of mine, the French traveller Thibaut, 

 as he journeyed through the Northern Bahiuda desert. He found 

 the last well dry, and with almost exhausted water-bags he was 

 forced to push on towards the Nile, four days' journey off. On him 

 and his panic-stricken caravan, which had left every dispensable 

 piece of baggage at the dry well, the deadly storm broke loose. 

 The unfortunate company encamped, hoped for the end of the storm, 

 but waited in vain, mourning, desponding, desperate. One of 

 Thibaut's servants sprang up maddened, howled down the storm, 



