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I travelled
over salsolaceous plains, crossed sand-ridges, was turned from my
westward course by salt-water lakes; and at last, on October 19th, at
about 80 miles to the east of my former track, I found myself on the
brink of the Stony Desert. Coming suddenly on it I almost lost my
breath. If anything, it looked more forbidding than before. Herbless and
treeless, it filled more than half of the horizon. Not an object was
visible on which to steer, yet we held on our course by compass like a
ship at sea.
"Poor Browne was in excruciating pain from scurvy. Every day I expected
to find him unable to stir. My men were ill from exposure, scanty food,
and muddy water; my horses leg-weary and reduced to skeletons. I alone
stood unscathed, but I could not bear to leave my companion in that
heartless desert.
"Finding myself baffled to the north and to the west, seeing no hope of
rain, realizing that my retreat was too probably already cut off, I
reluctantly turned back to the depot, 443 miles distant, and only
through the help of Providence did we at length reach it.


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