ribs standing out like a skeleton’s, a hat would almost hang on their hip-joints—­a sorry spectacle!  All day we searched in vain, the animals benefiting at least by the green herbage.  Ours was a dismal camp now at nights.  What little water we could spare to the horses was but as a drop in the ocean.  All night long they shuffled about the camp, poking their noses into every pack, overturning dishes and buckets, and, finding nothing, stood with sinking heads as if in despair.  Our water-casks had to be guarded, for in their extremity the horses could smell the water, and even went so far as to pull out the wooden bung, with their teeth!  Warden, the small pony, was a special offender in this respect.  It is quite startling to wake suddenly in the night and find a gaunt, ghost-like horse standing over one, slowly shaking his head from side to side, mournfully clanging his bell as if tolling for his own death.  Then at other times one heard the three bells sounding further and further off.  This meant a hasty putting on of boots and wakening a mate to stir up the fire and make it blaze; then, following the sound through the darkness, one came up with the deserters, shuffling along in single file, with heads to the ground, turning neither to right or left, just travelling straight away in any direction as fast as their hobbles allowed.  Heaven knows how far they might go in a night unless stopped in time and dragged back to camp.  Indeed blankets do not mean sleep, with dry horses in the camp!

On the 10th The Monk, our best horse, fell, and was dead in a minute—­run down like a clock.  The other two followed slowly behind.  Presently. a salt-lake [This I named Lake Breaden], enclosed by sandhills, barred our way—­a cheerful sight indeed!  Hung up in its treacherous bogs, with nearly empty tanks, dying horses and tired camels, what chance had we?  Speculation of this kind must not be indulged in; time enough to cry out when the troubles come.  Providence was with us as guide, and across the lake we dodged from sand-spit to sand-spit until we had beaten it, and not one animal was bogged.

The night of the 10th our supply was down to three gallons.  None could be spared for the horses now, none could be spared for beef-boiling, only a little for bread, and a drop each to drink.  Every rock-hole we had seen—­but one—­was dry.  Alexander Spring would be dry.  We should have to make for the Empress Spring, fifty miles beyond.  Every thing pointed to the probability of this sequence of events, therefore the greatest care must be exercised.  The horses would die within a few miles, but the camels were still staunch in spite of the weakening effect of the sand-ridges, so there was no need for anxiety.  Yet we could not help feeling anxious; one’s nerves get shaky from constant wear and tear, from want of food and rest.  We had been in infinitely worse positions than this; in fact, with health and strength and fresh camels no thought of danger would have been entertained, but it is a very different matter after months of constant strain on body and mind.  Faith—­that is the great thing, to possess—­faith that all is for the best, and that all will “pan out” right in the end.