Abou Hammed, on the southern bend of the welcome Nile.

During the cool months, from November until February, the desert
journey is not disagreeable; but the vast area of glowing sand
exposed to the scorching sun of summer, in addition to the
withering breath of the simoom, renders the forced march of 230
miles in seven days, at two and a half miles per hour, the most
fatiguing journey that can be endured.

Farewell to the Nile! We turned our backs upon the life-giving
river, and our caravan commenced the silent desert march.

A few hours from Korosko the misery of the scene surpassed
description. Glowing like a furnace, the vast extent of yellow
sand stretched to the horizon. 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