we might the more speedily pass through it. They breasted it bravely, though their thick-drawn breath showed the pain they suffered; but they seemed to be as well aware as ourselves of the necessity of exertion. It was with difficulty, however, that we could even keep our seats, as, with our hats pressed over our eyes, our ponchos drawn tight around us, and our bodies bent down over their necks, we encouraged them to proceed with bit and rein. We were making all the time, in reality, but little real progress, as I soon discovered; their utmost exertion being required to lift their legs out of the sand, which was rapidly collecting round us.
On a sudden, a dark mass swept towards us. I know not how it was,—I believe I must have turned to my right,—I kept calling to my father as before; but oh, what horror—what agony seized my soul when he did not answer! and as I endeavoured to pierce the thick mass of sand which surrounded me, I could nowhere see him. I could not tell which way to turn. I felt lost and bewildered, and I believed that my last moment had arrived—a dreadful death was to be my lot. I did not regard myself; it was for my noble father I felt. “O that I could have died with him!” I thought. My brave horse, however, still exerted himself to save his own life and mine, when I had ceased to care what became of me, by continuing to lift his feet above the overwhelming sand-drifts. My only wish was to find my father; but so completely was I bewildered that I knew not whether to turn to the right hand or to the left. His horse might have sunk down, I thought, and then in a few moments he would for ever have been covered up from mortal sight; or, overcome with fatigue and the suffocating atmosphere, he might have fallen, and been unable to regain his steed. Or happily he might have passed through the sand-drift in safety, and have been all the time suffering with anxiety for my sake. But this hope was very transient; the predominant feeling was that my father was lost, and that I was about to share his fate. I was thus giving way to despair, when I was aware of a considerable decrease in the density of the sand-laden atmosphere; the last breath of the fierce whirlwind passed by; the sun shone forth bright and clear, and I stood alone amid a sea of glittering sand. Oh, with what an aching anxious heart I looked around, to see if the one object I sought was visible on that dreary white expanse! Before me, there was nothing; a few mounds and rocks alone were to be seen between me and the horizon; but as I turned round just as the column of sand swept on, not thirty paces behind me, with joy such as I cannot describe, I saw my father stooping down and endeavouring to extricate his horse from the sand, which had partially covered him. I hurried towards him, and leaping to the ground, threw myself into his arms. For the moment all sensations of fatigue or thirst were forgotten in the joy of recovering him.
Knowing that my horse was strong, he had felt less anxiety on my account than I had on his. With some exertion we cleared away the sand, and once more got his horse upon his feet, though the poor animal appeared scarcely able to move, much less to bear a man of my father’s weight. We had still one flask of water untouched. We drank a little, and with a portion of the remainder washed the mouths and nostrils of our horses, and poured a few drops down their throats, still keeping a little for any further emergency. This very much revived them; and once more mounting, we endeavoured to find our way across the desert.
Since the sand-drift first overtook us, scarcely as much time had elapsed as it has occupied to read the account I have given; but so dreadful were the sensations I experienced, and so intense my anxiety, that to me it appeared an age. The heat soon became almost as great as before the storm, and the atmosphere as oppressive, warning us that, though thus far preserved, we were still placed in a position of great peril. It was now that I felt the benefit of the firm reliance in the goodness of Providence, which my father had ever inculcated, and which at this juncture supported him.
“Courage, my dear boy,” he exclaimed. “God has thus far preserved us. He will still find the means of rescuing us.”
As he spoke, the dark wall of sand, which had been receding from us, after whirling in various directions, seemed to settle down in a line of undulating mounds in the distance; and on every side the horizon once more became entirely clear.
We naturally first tried to discover any traces of the Spanish cavalry; and after straining my eyes for some time, I perceived a few dark objects which seemed to be moving on towards the point which, from the position of the sun, we judged to be the north. Some other objects beyond them afforded us a fair hope of being able to find our way out of this dreadful desert. I could not doubt that what I saw were the tops of some tall trees, though at such a distance that their base was not visible; indeed my father, who agreed with me that they were trees, was of opinion that they grew on ground somewhat elevated above the sandy plain.
Towards them, therefore, we steered our course, as the Spaniards were also probably doing. Our horses, we fancied, must have seen them likewise, or their instinct told them that water was to be found in the neighbourhood. We looked round in vain for Ithulpo and the Indians. Not a sign of them could we perceive, and it would have been madness to have attempted to search for them. Indeed, had we found them, we could have rendered them no assistance. I was in hopes, indeed, that Ithulpo, whose horse was strong, and who I suspected knew the country better than he pretended to the Spaniards, would have found some means of escaping, and of aiding his countrymen. We had, in truth, still too much to do in attempting to preserve our own lives, to allow us to think much of others. It would be assuming to be above humanity, did I not confess this.
The sun was already sinking low; and should we be unable to reach the trees before dark, and be compelled to rest on the plain or wander about it all night, we could scarcely hope to survive. The ground we passed over was as smooth as if the receding tide had just left it. Not the sign of a footstep of man or beast was to be seen, though here and there a slight rise showed that some harder substance had offered an impediment to the drifting sand. After toiling onwards for half an hour at a very slow pace, we came upon a horse’s head just rising from the sand. He had died probably in attempting to extricate himself. Several heaps showed that others—human beings, too probably—also lay beneath.
They, at all events, were beyond all help. The horse I recognised, from the head-trappings, as belonging to the officer commanding the party. We were passing on, when we observed, a little on the right, a man extended on his back. A movement of his arm showed me that he was not dead, and that probably he was endeavouring to call our attention to himself.