NO WATER LEFT 561 
was to write at all, were penned on the afternoon of 
April 30th, and ran as follows : — 
“ Rested on a high dune, where the camels gave up. 
W e scanned the eastern horizon with a field-glass — nothing 
but mountains of sand in every direction, not a blade of 
vegetation, not a sign of life. Nothing heard of Yollchi, 
either in the evening or during the night. My men main- 
tained, he had gone back to the stores we left behind, 
intending' to keep himself alive on the tinned provisions, 
whilst he fetched help to carry off the rest. Islam be- 
lieved he was dead. There were still a few drops of 
water left for the morning, about a tumblerful in all. 
Half of this was used in moistening the men’s lips. The 
little that remained was to be divided equally between 
us all in the evening. But when evening came we dis- 
covered that Kasim and Mohammed Shah, who led the 
caravan, had stolen every drop! We were all terribly 
weak, men as well as camels. God help us all ! ” 
My account of what happened during the immediately 
succeeding days rests upon pencil notes scribbled on a 
sheet of folded paper. But besides recording the course 
of events, I never under any circumstances omitted to 
note the bearings of the compass, and to count the 
number of paces I took in each direction. When at last 
1 found leisure to rest on the banks of the Khotan- 
daria, it was my first and principal concern, to write out 
my notes with complete fulness of detail, so long as the 
particulars were fresh in my memory. 
1.-36 
