A Day of Agony.
An hour before sunrise the next morning, the slaves were given some cheni to drink, and then started on their journey.
The sun, as it soared up into a cloudless sky, shot forth its rays much warmer than upon the day before, while not a breath of air fanned the sterile plain. The atmosphere was as hot and motionless as the sands under their feet. They were no longer hungry. Thirst, raging, burning thirst, extinguished or deadened every other sensation.
Streams of perspiration poured from their bodies, as they struggled through the yielding sand; yet, with all this moisture streaming from every pore, their throats, tongues, and lips became so parched that any attempt on their part to hold converse only resulted in producing a series of sounds that resembled a death-rattle.
Golah, with his family, rode in the advance, and seemed not to give himself any concern whether he was followed by others or not. His two relatives brought up the rear of the kafila, and any of the slaves exhibiting a disposition to lag behind was admonished to move on with blows administered by a thick stick.
“Tell them I must have water or die,” muttered Harry to the Krooman, in a hoarse whisper. “I am worth money, and if old Golah lets me die for want of a drop of water, he’s a fool.”
The Krooman refused to make the communication, which he declared would only result in bringing ill-treatment upon himself.
Colin appealed to Golah’s son, and by signs gave him to understand that they must have water. The young black, in answer, simply condescended to sneer at him. He was not suffering himself, and could have no sympathy for another.
The hides of the blacks, besmeared with oil, seemed to repel the scorching beams of the sun; and years of continual practice had no doubt inured them to the endurance of hunger and thirst to a surprising degree. To their white fellow-captives they appeared more like huge reptiles than human beings.
The sand along the route on this, the second day, was less compact than before, and the task of leg-lifting produced a weariness such as might have arisen from the hardest work. Added to the agony of their thirst, the white sufferers dwelt frequently on thoughts of death, that great antidote to human miseries; yet so constrained were their actions by force of circumstances, that only by following their leader and owner, Golah, could they hope to find relief.