Adventure stories; Americans -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Balloon ascensions -- Fiction; Sawyer, Tom (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
“Spiders in a desert, you shad? Spiders walking in a procession? You
don’t ever reflect, Huck Finn, and I reckon you really haven’t got
anything to reflect _with_. Don’t you know we’re as much as a mile up
in the air, and that that string of crawlers is two or three miles
away? Spiders, good land! Spiders as big as a cow? Perhaps you’d like
to go down and milk one of ’em. But they’re camels, just the same. It’s
a caravan, that’s what it is, and it’s a mile long.”
“Well, then, let’s go down and look at it. I don’t believe in it, and
ain’t going to till I see it and know it.”
“All right,” he says, and give the command:
“Lower away.”
As we come slanting down into the hot weather, we could see that it was
camels, sure enough, plodding along, an everlasting string of them,
with bales strapped to them, and several hundred men in long white
robes, and a thing like a shawl bound over their heads and hanging down
with tassels and fringes; and some of the men had long guns and some
hadn’t, and some was riding and some was walking. And the weather—well,
it was just roasting. And how slow they did creep along! We swooped
down now, all of a sudden, and stopped about a hundred yards over their
heads.
[Illustration: “We swooped down, now, all of a sudden”]
The men all set up a yell, and some of them fell flat on their
stomachs, some begun to fire their guns at us, and the rest broke and
scampered every which way, and so did the camels.
We see that we was making trouble, so we went up again about a mile, to
the cool weather, and watched them from there. It took them an hour to
get together and form the procession again; then they started along,
but we could see by the glasses that they wasn’t paying much attention
to anything but us. We poked along, looking down at them with the
glasses, and by and by we see a big sand mound, and something like
people the other side of it, and there was something like a man laying
on top of the mound that raised his head up every now and then, and
seemed to be watching the caravan or us, we didn’t know which. As the
caravan got nearer, he sneaked down on the other side and rushed to the
other men and horses—for that is what they was—and we see them mount in
a hurry; and next, here they come, like a house afire, some with lances
and some with long guns, and all of them yelling the best they could.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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