midday
If the Nile was monotonous , the road to Wadi Bou was nothing short of dreary . We crossed a great ridge of bare , gray rock , and followed a rolling valley of sand , scored by dry ravines , and baking in the sun . It was ghastly to look upon . All day long , save at the midday rest by some brackish wells , we rode on and on , the brutes stepping forward with slow , outstretched legs ; though sometimes we walked by the camels ' sides to vary the monotony ; but ever through that dreary upland plain , sand in the centre , rocky mountain at the edge , and not a thing to look at . We were relieved towards evening to stumble against stunted tamarisks , half buried in sand , and to feel we were approaching the edge of the oasis . When at last our arrogant beasts condescended to stop , in their patronising way , we saw by the dim light of the moon a sort of uneven basin or hollow , studded with date-palms , and in the midst of the depression a crumbling walled town , with a whitewashed mosque , two minarets by its side , and a crowd of mud-houses . It was strangely familiar .