NO WATER LEFT 555 
to go. But the air was cool ; and that and the gale made 
us forget the cravings of thirst. 
That day I was unable of course to go on in advance ; 
my footsteps would have been obliterated almost instantly. 
All we could do was to stick close together, men and 
animals in a clump. If you once get separated from your 
companions in such a storm as that, it is utterly impossible 
to make yourself heard by shouting, or even by rifle-shots. 
The deafening roar of the hurricane overpowers every 
other sound. If you do get separated from them, you are 
bound to wander astray, and so become irretrievably lost. 
All that I could see was the camel immediately in front of 
me. Everything else was swallowed up in the thick im- 
penetrable haze. Nor can you hear anything except the 
peculiar whining and moaning, made by the millions upon 
millions of grains of sand as they whiz without cessation 
past your ears. Perhaps it was this eerie sound which 
worked upon the imagination of Marco Polo, and led him, 
when speaking of the Great Desert, to write thus : — •“ Even 
in the daytime one hears those spirits talk. And some- 
times you shall hear the sound of a variety of musical 
instruments, and still more commonly the sound of drums. 
H ence in making this journey ’tis customary for travellers 
to keep close together. All the animals too have bells at 
their necks, so that they cannot easily get astray. And at 
sleeping time a signal is put up to show the direction of 
the next march.” * 
We had a hard and trying march. Through the greater 
part of the middle of the day it was as dark as pitch ; 
at other times we were environed by a dim, murky light, 
half yellow, half grey. Several times when the sand- 
blast met us full in the teeth, we were nearly suflbcated. 
In fact, when the more violent gusts struck us, we 
crouched down with our faces on the ground, or pressed 
them against the sheltered side of a camel. Even the 
camels turned their backs to the wind, and stretched out 
their necks flat along the ground. 
* From H. Yule’s, The Book of Ser Marco Polo the Venetian. London. 
1874-5, vol. i. p. 203. 
