Rows Of Broken Hills, All Of
Volcanic Origin, Broke The Flat Plain.
Conical tumuli of volcanic
slag here and there rose to the height of several hundred feet,
and in the
Far distance resembled the Pyramids of Lower
Egypt--doubtless they were the models for that ancient and
everlasting architecture; hills of black basalt jutted out from
the barren base of sand, and the molten air quivered on the
overheated surface of the fearful desert. 114 degrees Fahr. in
the shade under the water-skins; 137 degrees in the sun.
Noiselessly the spongy tread of the camels crept along the
sand--the only sound was the rattle of some loosely secured
baggage of their packs. The Arab camel-drivers followed silently
at intervals, and hour by hour we struck deeper into the solitude
of the Nubian desert.
We entered a dead level plain of orange-coloured sand, surrounded
by pyramidical hills: the surface was strewn with objects
resembling cannon shot and grape of all sizes from a 32-pounder
downwards--the spot looked like the old battle-field of some
infernal region; rocks glowing with heat--not a vestige of
vegetation--barren, withering desolation.--The slow rocking step
of the camels was most irksome, and despite the heat, I
dismounted to examine the Satanic bombs and cannon shot. Many of
them were as perfectly round as though cast in a mould, others
were egg-shaped, and all were hollow. With some difficulty I
broke them, and found them to contain a bright red sand:
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