They moaned, however,
piteously, for the sudden turns of the path puzzled them; the ascents
were painful, the descents were still more so; the rocks were sharp;
deep holes yawned between the blocks, and occasionally an Acacia caught
the Shugduf, almost overthrowing the hapless bearer by the suddenness
and the tenacity of its clutch. This passage took place during
daylight. But we had many at night, which I shall neither forget nor
describe.
Descending the ridge, we entered another hill-encircled basin of gravel
and clay. In many places basalt in piles and crumbling strata of
hornblende schiste, disposed edgeways, green within, and without
blackened by sun and rain, cropped out of the ground. At half-past ten
we
[p.69] found ourselves in an “Acacia-barren,” one of the things which
pilgrims dread. Here Shugdufs are bodily pulled off the camel’s back and
broken upon the hard ground; the animals drop upon their knees, the
whole line is deranged, and every one, losing temper, attacks his
Moslem brother. The road was flanked on the left by an iron wall of
black basalt. Noon brought us to another ridge, whence we descended
into a second wooded basin surrounded by hills.
Here the air was filled with those pillars of sand so graphically
described by Abyssinian Bruce.
