492 
THROUGH ASIA 
somely, as well as to the missionary Johannes and 
Hashim. The former had already said at Lailik, that 
he did not really mean to go with me through Takla- 
niakan. Now, when he saw the caravan ready to start, 
his courage completely failed him, and for the second 
time he deserted me in the moment when danger had 
really to be faced. I despised the fellow. Notwith- 
standing his pretended piety, he utterly lacked the courage 
which makes a man place all his reliance upon God. 
What a strange contrast to Islam Bai, the Mohammedan, 
the beau-ideal of a good and faithful servant, who through- 
out the days and months that followed never once hesitated 
to follow his master, no matter where I went, even when I 
rushed into dangers which prudence should properly have 
guarded me against ! 
Spring had come. Signs of the change manifested 
themselves more and more every day. The temperature 
rose slowly but steadily ; the minimum remaining perma- 
nently above freezing-point. The sun began to have 
some power. The spring breezes murmured in our ears. 
The fields were being sown with corn, the rice-grounds 
put under water. The air was alive with the flittings and 
buzzings of flies and other insects. It was with this 
beautiful Asiatic spring-time all about us, the season of 
perennial hope, that we set out on our journey to the 
country where all things are gripped in the deathly 
embrace of a thousand years’ torpor, where every sand- 
dune is a grave, a country whose climate is such that, 
compared with it, the sternest winter would be a smiling 
spring. 
On through the narrow lanes of the town, crowded with 
people, strode the long string of camels, with a grave and 
majestic mien, holding their heads high. It was a solemn 
moment. Every spectator was impressed. A dead silence 
reigned throughout the crowd. When my mind goes back 
to that moment, I am involuntarily reminded of a funeral- 
procession. I can hear the dull monotonous clang of the 
caravan-bells still ringing in my ears. And of a truth 
their slow mournful cadences were the virtual passing-bell 
