A desert drama : $b being the tragedy of the "Korosko" — John Shaqi
A desert drama : $b being the tragedy of the "Korosko"Doyle, Arthur Conan
General
A desert drama : $b being the tragedy of the "Korosko"
Doyle, Arthur Conan
East and West -- Fiction; Egypt -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Hostages -- Fiction
A minute or two of climbing brought them out upon the semicircular
platform which crowns the rock. Below them on the far side was a
perpendicular black cliff, a hundred and fifty feet high, with the
swirling, foam-streaked river roaring past its base. The swish of the
water and the low roar as it surged over the mid-stream boulders boomed
through the hot, stagnant air. Far up and far down they could see the
course of the river, a quarter of a mile in breadth, and running very
deep and strong, with sleek black eddies and occasional spoutings of
foam. On the other side was a frightful wilderness of black, scattered
rocks, which were the _débris_ carried down by the river at high flood.
In no direction were there any signs of human beings or their dwellings.
“On the far side,” said the dragoman, waving his donkey-whip towards the
east, “is the military line which conducts Wady Haifa to Sarras. Sarras
lies to the south, under that black hill. Those two blue mountains which
you see very far away are in Dongola, more than a hundred miles from
Sarras. The railway there is forty miles long, and has been much annoyed
by the Dervishes, who are very glad to turn the rails into spears. The
telegraph wires are also much appreciated thereby. Now, if you will
kindly turn round, I will explain, also, what we see upon the other
side.”
It was a view which, when once seen, must always haunt the mind. Such an
expanse of savage and unrelieved desert might be part of some cold and
burned-out planet rather than of this fertile and bountiful earth. Away
and away it stretched to die into a soft, violet haze in the extremest
distance. In the foreground the sand was of a bright golden yellow,
which was quite dazzling in the sunshine. Here and there in a scattered
cordon stood the six trusty negro soldiers leaning motionless upon their
rifles, and each throwing a shadow which looked as solid as himself. But
beyond this golden plain lay a low line of those black slag-heaps,
with yellow sand-valleys winding between them. These in their turn were
topped by higher and more fantastic hills, and these by others, peeping
over each other's shoulders until they blended with that distant violet
haze. None of these hills were of any height,--a few hundred feet at the
most,--but their savage, saw-toothed crests and their steep scarps of
sun-baked stone gave them a fierce character of their own.
“The Libyan desert,” said the dragoman, with a proud wave of his hand.
“The greatest desert in the world. Suppose you travel right west from
here, and turn neither to the north nor to the south, the first houses
you would come to would be in America. That make you homesick, Miss
Adams, I believe?”
But the American old maid had her attention drawn away by the conduct
of Sadie, who had caught her arm by one hand and was pointing over the
desert with the other.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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