The aspect of the prairie was much changed since the preceding evening.
The black, burnt earth, was covered in places with heaps of smoking ashes; here and there charred trees, still standing, displayed their saddening skeletons; the fire still roared at a distance, and clouds of coppery smoke obscured the horizon.
The horses advanced with precaution over this uneven ground, where they constantly stumbled over the bones of animals that had fallen victims to the terrible embraces of the flames.
A melancholy sadness, much increased by the sight of the prospect unfolded before them, had taken possession of the travellers; they journeyed on, close to each other, without speaking, buried in their own reflections.
The road the caravan was pursuing wound along a narrow ravine, the dried bed of some torrent, deeply enclosed between two hills.
The ground trodden by the horses was composed of round pebbles, which slipped from under their hoofs, and augmented the difficulties of the march, which was rendered still more toilsome by the burning rays of the sun, that fell directly down upon the travellers, leaving no chance of escaping them, for the country over which they were travelling had completely assumed the appearance of one of those vast deserts which are met with in the interior of Africa.
The day passed away thus, and excepting the fatigue which oppressed them, the monotony of the journey was not broken by any incident.
In the evening they encamped in a plain absolutely bare, but in the horizon they could perceive an appearance of verdure, which afforded them great consolation;—they were about, at last, to enter a zone spared by the conflagration.
The next morning, two hours before sunrise, the Babbler gave orders to prepare for departure.
The day proved more fatiguing than the last; the travellers were literally worn out when they encamped.