A RACE AGAINST DEATH 
-'35 
too dismal ; ' ALot of Wet’ was singularly inappropriate 
to present circumstances ; and after ‘ We drew his Club 
Money this Morning,’ I stopped. I could not help noticing 
some graves, surrounded by the usual piles of wood, and, 
further on, bones lying bleaching in the sun, and wondered 
if mine would lie in the same manner later on. When the 
sun set we camped. I noticed the men spat a good deal, 
and my headman’s eyes glared and his hand shook. At 
night I dared not eat, as I had nothing to drink. And so 
passed the fifth day we had been on the march. 
Next morning I was awakened by the men loading up 
the camels at 1 o’clock. None of the men spoke. I said to 
my headman, ‘Well, shall we reach water?’ He pointed 
to the sky, and answered, ‘Allah knows.’ On and on we 
marched in the darkness. I kept imagining the dreadful 
scenes ahead of us. The men falling down maddened by 
thirst — perhaps mutiny and murder ! My thoughts made 
me begin to swallow, for already I fancied I wanted water, 
although I knew if it was an overclouded day I should in 
all probability last till nearly sunset. 
At last up came the big red globe which was to kill us 
with its heat. I saw we were going to have a piping hot 
day. I now spat a little blood. I felt, I suppose, as a 
condemned man feels the day before his execution, hoping 
for a reprieve. The sun’s rays shot down upon our heads 
with blinding, withering heat. Crash ! crash ! Two more 
camels down. Sometimes we could get them up by kick- 
ing them, but not often. As each succumbed, its burden 
was added to that already carried by another. Still we 
raced on. 
Curiously enough, I remember that those among my men 
who had been the most talkative were the very first to 
show signs of extreme distress. The silent, morose fellows 
who had spared their throats and scarcely uttered a word 
seemed to bear their sufferings best. 
In another hour my pony, which was foaming at the 
mouth, fell, and I was obliged to walk. The men them- 
