As they rapidly scud with the wings of the whirlwind over the plain—huge, yellow shafts with lofty heads horizontally bent backwards in the form of clouds, it requires but little stretch of fancy to enter into the Bedouin’s superstition, and, like the imaginative sons of the desert, suppose them to be the genii of the waste which cannot be caught, a notion arising from the fitful movements of the wind-eddy that raises them. As they advance, the pious Moslem stretches out his finger, exclaiming, ‘Avaunt, O thou ill-omened one!’
Every moment the dread columns change their station, their appearance, their form. Onward they move, with terrible rapidity; the sun tints them with the brilliancy of fire; the storm, whirling in and around them, cuts them into several branches, reunites them, now weakens and now again strengthens them; and when, the whirlwind having spent its force, they suddenly collapse, and relieve the traveller from the fear of immediate danger, he yet must not exult too soon, for generally these sandspouts are followed by the dreaded simoom.
The temperature of the air becomes intolerably oppressive; it is sultry and enervating as before a thunder-storm. The hitherto crystal transparency of the sky is veiled with a hazy dimness, it is the sand of the desert whirling at a distance in the atmosphere, but as yet no wind is felt. The camels, however, are conscious of its approach. They become restless and anxious, and appear overcome by fatigue.
And now a light hot wind arises from the south, or south-west, blowing in intermittent gusts like the laborious breathing of a feverish patient.
Gradually the convulsions of the storm grow more violent and frequent; and although the sun is unable to pierce the thick dust-clouds, and the shadow of the traveller is scarcely visible on the ground, yet so suffocating is the heat that it seems to him as if the fiercest rays of the sun were scorching his brain.
The fiery purple of the atmosphere gradually changes to a leaden blackness; the wind becomes constant; the camels, snorting and groaning, stretch out their necks flat upon the ground, and turn their backs to the raging sand-storm. The Arabs pile up the water-bags, so as to screen them from the wind and diminish the surface exposed to the dry air, and wrapping themselves up as closely as possible in their cloaks, seek protection behind chests or bales of merchandise.
At night darkness is complete, no light or fire burns in the tents, which are hardly able to resist the gusts of the simoom. A deep silence reigns throughout the whole caravan, yet no one sleeps; the bark of the jackal or the howl of the hyæna alone sounds dismally from time to time through the loud roaring of the storm.
A prolonged simoom causes more fatigue to man and beast than all the other hardships of a desert journey, and brings new and as yet unknown sufferings to the traveller. Under the desiccating influence of the dry air, his lips spring open and begin to bleed, his parched tongue vainly longs for a refreshing draught; and, together with a raging thirst, an insupportable itching and burning invade the whole body; for the skin bursts in a hundred places, and the fine irritating dust penetrates into every wound.
Sometimes a raving madness, the symptoms of a fatal inflammation, is the result of these complicated tortures; in other cases the blood circulating with feverish haste through the veins, produces congestion of the brain; and, senseless and motionless, the wretch sinks down upon the ground, never to rise again. And the lot of him who still retains the full consciousness of his misery is not more enviable, for death by thirst awaits him, with slower but more dreadful pangs. His camel drops, his water-bag is nearly empty. He tries to walk; in a short time the glowing sand produces gangrenous sores in his feet, and every step is accompanied by the most excruciating pain. His companions are all too busy with themselves to pay the least attention to the unfortunate sufferer; they have but one thought—self; one aim—that of reaching the next well. Abandoned to his fate, the deserted traveller stands alone, waterless, helpless in the dreadful waste. He tears his beard, he curses his destiny; for him there is no hope.
And now, when earth and heaven begin to reel around him, the ‘Sea of the Devil’ spreads out its delusive phantoms before his weakened vision. He sees all his heart can wish for; palm groves waving over a broad expanse of lake; winding rivers covered with barges, their streamers gaily floating in the breeze; fairy gardens surrounded by rippling waters. The glorious prospect stimulates him to one last exertion; could he but reach that blessed shore the joys of paradise were his, but his paralysed limbs mock the vain effort which exhausts the last remnant of his strength.