That morning all was tumult in the camp; every one endeavouring to provide for the safety of his beasts, and then precipitately retiring under the protection of his tent. We had scarcely time to secure our beautiful Nedgde mares before the storm began. Furious gusts of wind were succeeded by clouds of red and burning sands, whirling round with fierce impetuosity, and overthrowing or burying under their drifted mountains whatever they encountered. If any part of the body is by accident exposed to its touch, the flesh swells as if a hot iron had been passed over it. The water intended to refresh us with its coolness was boiling, and the temperature of the tent exceeded that of a Turkish bath. The tempest lasted ten hours in its greatest fury, and then gradually sunk for the following six: another hour, and we must all have been suffocated. When at length we ventured to issue from our tents, a dreadful spectacle awaited us: five children, two women, and a man were extended dead on the still burning sand; and several Bedouins had their faces blackened and entirely calcined, as if by the action of an ardent furnace. When any one is struck on the head by the simoom, the blood flows in torrents from his mouth and nostrils, his face swells and turns black, and he soon dies of suffocation. We thanked the Lord that we had not ourselves been surprised by this terrible scourge in the midst of the desert, but had been preserved from so frightful a death. When the weather permitted us to leave the camp of Henadi, twelve hours’ march brought us back to our tribe. I embraced Sheik Ibrahim with true filial love, and several days elapsed in the mutual recital of our adventures. When I had perfectly recovered my fatigues, M. Lascaris said to me: “My dear son, we have no longer any business here. Thanks be to God, all is accomplished! and my enterprise has succeeded beyond my most sanguine hopes: we must now return to give an account of our mission.”