I recall now one of these strange scenes in that
distant region, under the cloudless sky, beneath the Southern Cross. A
few feet distant from my canvas chateau was my aged Arab cook,
manipulating his coals, his tongs, and preparing the hissing mutton, the
savory pigeons and potatoes. The cook is the most popular man on such an
expedition, and is neither to be coaxed nor driven. The baggage-camels
were disposed upon the ground, a few yards distant, eating their grain
and uttering those loud, yelping, beseeching sounds--a compound of an
elephant's trumpet and a lion's roar--which were taken up, repeated by
the chorus, and re-echoed by the hills. These patient animals, denuded
of their loads and water, the latter having been corded in mats, became
quiet only with sleep. Add to these scenes and uproar the deafening
volubility of twenty Arabs and Nubians, each shouting within the true
barbaric key, the seven-eighths nudity of the blacks, the elaborate and
flashing wear of the upper servants, and the small asperities of this my
menial world--all of these with a refreshing breeze, a clear atmosphere,
the air laden with ozone and electric life, the sky inviting the
serenest contemplation, with the great moon thrice magnified as it rose,
and I recall an evening when I was supremely content.
Piloted by the carcasses of decayed camels, we took up our route in the
morning, led by our guide, and soon emerged on the sublimest scenery of
the desert.
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