About two o’clock the lake was as smooth as a sheet of glass, and showed curious confused reflexions of the mountains. We became quite dizzy in the head; the lake had now assumed the same colour as the sky, and we might have been soaring in a space of bright blue ether within a magical spherical planet. Behind us, to the north, the panorama of a mighty crest unrolled itself, with flattish lofty domes covered with eternal snow. The sun was scorching hot, Rehim Ali wiped his brow, the smoke of my cigarette hung motionless in the air, there was not a ripple except those produced by the boat and the oars—it was a pity to spoil the surface. All was quiet and peaceful as a day in late summer which had lingered among the mountains.
“God protect us from the darkness,” said Rehim Ali; “it is dangerous to be on the water after the sun has set.”
“Do not be afraid.”
Now the sounding-line touched the bottom at 95 feet, and next time at 34 feet. A quarter of an hour later we jumped ashore.
I drew a panorama of the northern mountains, while Rehim Ali munched a piece of bread which he had providently brought with him.
It was a quarter to four when we put off again. In two hours it would be dark, but then we should see the camp-fire on the shore. The east end of the lake seemed quite close, but we were easily deceived by the mirage. We rowed for a while east-north-eastwards along the shore. It would be extraordinary if the west wind did not get up on this day. I asked Rehim Ali repeatedly, for he had the western horizon in front of him, if the view was clear in that direction, or if the westerly storm was making its appearance.
“No, there is no storm,” he answered quietly.
“Yes, now it is coming,” he said, after a short interval; “and it will be a bad one.”
I turn round and see in the west, above the pass we had crossed some days before, high, light-yellow vortices of sand and dust, which soon tower up to 30° above the horizon; they rise rapidly, condense into a dark cloud, and hide the view of the western heights. Yes, that is a westerly storm coming on.
| 71. Starting on a Voyage. |