from 'The Famous Adventures of Richard Halliburton'

...We had no time to be conscious of the fact that we were four hundred miles away from the nearest spring of water, four hundred miles from the nearest human being.

Despite our long delay, with luck we might still hope to reach Gao before nightfall. But luck, this time, deserted the Flying Carpet.

The hot desert wind, which had been dead against us all day, seemed to double the force of its resistance as we left the tank behind. We were forcing our engine well above cruising speed, but the flatness below seemed to be standing still. We began to watch the desert with growing apprehension, fearful lest the sand spouts would spring forth any moment and recommence their diabolical dance.

By five o'clock we were struggling for every mile.

By seven o'clock there was still nothing but limitless Sahara in sight. The sun had gone down in flames, and a pale moon told us night was at hand.

We must land again while there was yet enough light, and resign ourselves to spending the night wherever the Flying Carpet stopped rolling.

Again on the ground, as a precautionary measure we anchored the airplane with sacks which we filled with gravel. For supper we allowed ourselves a small ration of water, and a can of beef. Then as darkness deepened, and the desert moon rose higher in the sky, we uncovered our portable phonograph brought all the way from California, and had a musicale in the middle of this still, dead world.

The full moon gave us ample light, pouring its glow over the vast rotunda that was our concert hall. Schubert himself would have been moved and subdued by the melody of his 'Serenade' spreading over the moonlit Sahara. The gentle, plaintive notes of the 'Song of India' ceased to be wearisomely familiar. They became soaring, pure harmony, true and beautiful. We felt we'd never heard this old, old song before. We played the 'Hymn to the Sun' from 'Coq d'Or'. The audacity of this clear clarion chant sent chills and fevers through our blood. Its cascade of icy notes pierced the night with sweetness and reached the stars and bade them listen to the miracle of music rising from the heart of the wilderness.


***
In the above passage from the autobigraphical 'The Famous Adventures of Richard Halliburton', the year is 1931, and Halliburton and his fellow pilot/mechanic Moye Stephens are flying across the Sahara Desert in Halliburton's plane, 'Flying Carpet', on their way to Timbuctoo. The work was first published in 1932 by The Bobbs-Merrill Company. I have the 1940 edition on loan from a public library in Austin. As with many books I have perused or checked out in the past three years, no matter what city or which bookstore, there are signs of unauthorized, at times offensive, editing in this copy, so I can't assume the authenticity of every word. But it is a beefy work, and there is plenty of narrative that enriches and expands the mind of the reader.