THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 169 



under this treatment, but there was only one hour I 

 shall never be able to forgive the desert. This was the 

 moment when, at 5 a.m., one crept shivering out of one's 

 warm flea-bag into pitch darkness, placed one's feet 

 gingerly on icy cold sand, fumbled with numb fingers for 

 a candle and matches, and proceeded to drag on cold, 

 stiff garments from each of which fell a shower of sand. 

 Meanwhile, with chattering teeth, one had to call out loud, 

 cheerful greetings and hearty good wishes to rouse our 

 improvident following, although one's mind contained 

 nothing but venomous invective! However, the nights 

 were good. On that particular one, Shakri, being sen- 

 tinel, stationed himself clear-cut against the starlit sky 

 on the top of the highest dune and, in case his presence 

 were not sufficiently obvious, he played mournful little 

 tunes on a wooden flute. 



Next day, January 10, we started at 6.30 a.m., after 

 the usual breakfast of half a plate of rice with a dozen 

 dates and a cup of coffee. It is amazing how one gets 

 accustomed to much work on little food. We walked 

 for eleven and a quarter hours, doing 44 kilometres as 

 the crow flies, with only a handful of dates at midday. 

 Moreover, when we reached camp there was always 

 map -drawing and writing to be done before we thought 

 of supper. 



That day Abdullah and I started off briskly in front 

 of the others, for it was very cold and the sun had not 

 yet risen above the dunes. We were soon stopped by the 

 sight of something white a little to our left. Upon 

 inspection it proved to be a pathetic reminder of the 

 desert cruelty we had escaped just a week ago. Three 

 human skeletons lay in a huddled group, half -covered 

 with sand. "Thirst," said Abdullah grimly. It must 

 have been a fairly recent tragedy, for the men's white 

 clothes were in good condition, and the skin of the hands 



