CHAPTER IV.
MARAH, ELIM, AND THE CAMP BY THE RED SEA.
It needs no blast of a trumpet to waken the traveller on the desert. Even the heaviest sleeper must open his eyes when the sun, rising over the level waste, as over the sea, strikes on the white tents. But we had another morning summons to tell us when it was day. In the provisioning of our camp, our dragoman had laid in a large supply of poultry. A spacious hencoop, which crowned like a tower the hump of one of our camels, carried a flock of chickens and pigeons, which were let out at night to pick up the meal that was thrown to them on the sand, and made a pretty home picture as they cackled about, after which, with true domestic instinct, they went to roost on the top of the coop, giving to our camp a little of the appearance of a farmyard. With these more quiet fowls were a couple of roosters that did all the crowing for us that was necessary, and never forgot to waken us early in the morning. We were sure of having "the cock's shrill clarion," if we had not "the echoing horn," to "rouse us from our lowly beds." Nor was it a bad thing to be roused, as the morning is the time to march. A wise traveller will always start early, even if he has to take several hours of rest at noon. On the desert, if nowhere else, "the morning and the evening" are "the day."
Soon after sunrise all hands were astir. The breaking up of camp is always an animated scene, and few sights are prettier than the striking of the tents. But when it
