CHAPTER XLV. 
THE CAMP OF DEATH 
AY 1st. The night was cold ; the thermometer 
IVJ. fell to 35°9 P'ahr. (2°2 C.), the lowest reading we 
had during the twenty-six days we were crossing the 
desert. But the atmosphere was pure, and the stars 
glittered with incomparable brilliancy. The morning 
dawned calm and gloriously bright — not a speck of cloud 
in the sky, not a breath of wind on the tops of the dunes. 
No sooner had the sun risen than it began to be warm. 
The I St of May! The day which in the northern 
land of my birth marks the beginning of spring. What 
a crowd of happy recollections, of joy, of pleasure, of 
cheerful gaiety, and above all what pleasant memories 
of the social cup and its pearly contents are there not 
associated with tho.se poetic words — the ist of May? 
I tried to persuade myself, that even in the barren deserts 
of the Far East the same day would also be a day of 
rejoicing. On the ist of May a year ago I arrived at 
Kashgar, where I found both rest and comfort after the 
severe inflammation which attacked my eyes ; and I hoped 
that this ist of May would again mark a turning-point 
in our destinies — and it did I 
Early in the morning Yollchi, whom we all looked 
upon as dead, once more put in an appearance in camp. 
He had recovered, and was so bold as to prophesy, that 
we should certainly discover water before the day was 
over. The other men refused to speak to him, but sat 
silent and downcast, drinking the last few drops that 
remained of the camels’ rancid oil, which they had warmed, 
to some fragments of stale bread. All the previous day 
