We found the roads to, and through, Tagiura in most places inundated by the heavy rains which had fallen before the commencement of our journey; a circumstance which, if it did not expedite our travelling, had certainly the good effect of rendering it more pleasant, by cooling the atmosphere and preventing the sand from flying. This was the more fortunate, as the gardens to the eastward of the town are bounded by a dreary tract of sandy desert, which we were obliged to cross. The approach to it was indicated by numerous hillocks of sand accumulated about the date-trees on the outskirts of the villages, leaving their heads exposed, at various heights above the sand, while some of them scarcely appeared above the summit. Judging from the present appearance of Tagiura, we should imagine that many gardens, situated on its eastern limits, have been completely overwhelmed by these heaps.
Any object which is stationary would arrest the progress of sand borne towards it by the violence of the wind; and the low enclosures of Arab gardens in exposed situations might in a few years disappear altogether.
We are not, however, inclined to attribute quite so much to the overwhelming properties of sand, as many other travellers have done; and we do not think that the danger of being actually buried will appear, on consideration, to be altogether so great, to those who are crossing sandy deserts, as writers of high respectability have asserted. The sand which encounters a body in motion, would pass it, we should imagine, without accumulation; and the quantity which might even be heaped upon sleepers could scarcely be more than they might easily shake off in waking. We shudder at the dreadful accounts which have been recorded of whole caravans, and whole armies, destroyed by these formidable waves of the desert; and when our pity is strongly excited by such relations, we are seldom inclined to analyze them very deeply. But a little reflection would probably convince us that many of these are greatly exaggerated: some, because the writers believed what they related; and some, because they wished their readers to believe what they might not be quite convinced of themselves.
In fact, we think it probable that they who have perished in deserts, from the time of the Psylli and Cambyses to the present, have died, as is usual, before they were buried, either from violence, thirst, or exhaustion[4].
The idea in question has, however, become very general; and we can neither attribute much blame to the reader who believes what is related on respectable authority, or to the writer who simply informs us of what he himself considers to be true. To him whose only view is to excite interest by exaggeration, we may, at least, say it seems to be superfluous: for the hardships and dangers of a journey over the sandy desert may be fully sufficient to satisfy the most adventurous, and to exhaust the most robust, without calling up the airy forms of imaginary horrors, to lengthen out the line of those which really present themselves[5].
But if the desert have terrors peculiar to itself, it has also its peculiar pleasures. There is something imposing, we may say sublime, in the idea of unbounded space which it occasionally presents; and every trifling object which appears above its untenanted surface, assumes an interest which we should not on other occasions attribute to objects of much greater importance.
The little romance which its stillness and solitude encourage, is at the same time grateful to the feelings; and one may here dream delightfully of undisturbed tranquillity and independence, and of freedom from all the cares, the follies, and the vices of the world. Whenever the wind is cool, without being too strong, the purity of the air is at once refreshing and exhilarating; and, if his stock of water be not very low, the traveller feels disposed to be well pleased with every thing[6].
Such was precisely the feeling with which our party entered upon the tract of sandy desert before them. We were glad to escape from the continual din and bustle which had attended our preparations at Tripoly; and the very absence of harassing workmen and tradesmen was alone a source of real satisfaction: the coolness of the sea-breeze was unusually refreshing, at least, we persuaded ourselves that it was so; and the anticipation of an interesting journey was acting very strongly upon our minds.
After quitting the cultivated grounds of Tagiura, the traveller is left to pursue his course (in going eastward) as his experience or his compass may direct—there being no indication whatever of any track in the sands of the wide plain before him. As our principal object, in this part of our journey, was to obtain a correct delineation of the coast, we pursued our route along the margin of the sea; which from Tagiura to Cape Sciarra takes the form of a bay, at the head of which lies Wady Ramleh. It was late in the afternoon of the sixth when we reached the Wady, and came up with the party who had preceded us in advance with the camels and heavy baggage.
Wady Ramleh, or Rummel (as it is sometimes pronounced, which signifies, in Arabic, sandy river, or sandy valley), is a small, but constant stream of pure water, which finds its way across the desert from the mountains to the southward. The bed of the stream is much below the surface of the soil; and judging from its width, and the steep banks which confine it, we should conclude that at the periods when the freshes come down from the mountains, Wady Ramleh may be swelled into a considerable body of water. Here our day’s journey finished, and we pitched our tents near the stream, making them as comfortable as a stormy night would allow of for the friends who had accompanied us from Tripoly[7]. On the following morning the rain fell in torrents; and as the prospect afforded by the weather was not very inviting, we would not allow our companions to stray farther with us from home; but took our leave of them, as we flattered ourselves, with mutual regret, and they retraced their steps towards Tripoly, while we continued our journey to the eastward.