The day had worn on rather wearily to her, and now that night was setting in she felt cold and tired. She was wrapped up in a large shawl, and made a pillow of her mother's lap. Indeed, we were all tired. And as night closed in, and all became dark around us, we began to feel that there was weariness in crossing the desert, notwithstanding the deep interest connected with it.
On, on we went. The sky had become thickly studded with stars; the moon had risen, and her beams shed a clearer light and cast deeper shadows than they do in our colder country. All was quiet round us. Not a sound, except the crushing of the sand beneath our wheels and an occasional crack of the whip, urging our horses and mules on their way. There was no chirping of grasshoppers, no croaking of frogs, no beating of tomtoms, such as we had been used to hear at night in our Indian homes. All was so still that we might have fancied ourselves the only living creatures in all the wild waste of sand.
We stopped at one of the little lonely buildings to change horses and mules. The stoppage roused us from the half-asleep state we were in, and we got out of the van to look at the glorious star-gemmed sky. There was an unusual stir in the little building, and the moonlight showed a large dusky mass nearing us. Nearer and nearer it came; and as it passed, we saw that it was a long string of camels.
The war with Persia was going on at this time; and this was a treasure party, carrying money to pay the army. The camels were laden with chests of treasure, silver and gold. On they came, with their long, sailing step. "Ships of the desert," the Arabs call them. The name is well chosen, for their motion over the sea of sand is very like that of some stately vessel over the desert of waters.
The caravan was escorted by a party of Arab horsemen. The officer in command of the party stopped behind for a few moments at the building at which we were halting, to give some orders. The string of camels and their escort were again becoming dusky in the subdued light when he flashed past us on his Arab horse, his drawn sabre glittering in the moonlight, which sparkled for a moment on its jewelled hilt, and on the gems in his turban. Then he too was lost in darkness.
The stately procession moved noiselessly on; the picturesque rider flying by like some fleet graceful bird. No tramp of feet, no ring of horses' hoofs. The deep sand hushed every sound. It was like a beautiful dream; seen for a moment, then vanishing into the land of shadows for ever.
We were fortunate to fall in with this treasure party; still more fortunate to see it by moonlight. Travellers generally pass through the desert by this beaten track without anything to break its monotony.
In a few minutes we were again on our way; those of us who could were dozing, perhaps dreaming of camels and horsemen, and only just conscious of the stoppages we made.
