This day we looked to the side facing the Tidewater, a
difficult job, for it was eaten into by the upper glens of many rivers.
The weather grew hot and oppressive, and over the lowlands of Virginia
there brooded a sullen thundercloud. It oppressed my spirits, and I
found myself less able to keep up with Shalah. The constant sight of
the lowlands filled me with anxiety for what might be happening in
those sullen blue flats. Gone was the glad forgetfulness of yesterday.
The Promised Land might smile as it pleased, but we were still on the
flanks of Pisgah with the Midianites all about us.
My recollection of that day is one of heavy fatigue and a pressing
hopelessness. Shalah behaved oddly, for he was as restive as a
frightened stag. No covert was unsuspected by him, and if I ventured to
raise my head on any exposed ground a long brown arm pulled me down. He
would make no answer to my questions except a grunt. All this gave me
the notion that the hills were full of the enemy, and I grew as restive
as the Indian. The crackle of a branch startled me, and the movement of
a scared beast brought my heart to my throat.
Then from a high place he saw something which sent us both crawling
into the thicket. We made a circuit of several miles round the head of
a long ravine, and came to a steep bank of red screes.
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