Not a second too soon had they succeeded in making good their entry into this subaqueous asylum. Scarce had their chins come in contact with the water, when the voices of men—accompanied by the baying of dogs, the snorting of maherries, and the neighing of horses—were heard within the gorge, from which they had just issued; and in a few minutes after a straggling crowd, composed of these various creatures, came rushing out of the ravine. Of men, afoot and on horseback, twenty or more were seen pouring forth; all, apparently, in hot haste, as if eager to be in at the death of some object pursued,—that could not possibly escape capture.

Once outside the jaws of the gully, the irregular cavalcade advanced scatteringly over the plain. Only for a short distance, however; for, as if by a common understanding rather than in obedience to any command, all came to a halt.

A silence followed this halt,—apparently proceeding from astonishment. It was general,—it might be said universal,—for even the animals appeared to partake of it! At all events, some seconds transpired during which the only sound heard was the sighing of the sea, and the only motion to be observed was the sinking and swelling of the waves.

The SaÄran rovers on foot,—as well as those that were mounted,—their horses, dogs, and camels, as they stood upon that smooth plain, seemed to have been suddenly transformed into stone, and set like so many sphinxes in the sand.

In truth it was surprise that had so transfixed them,—the men, at least; and their well-trained animals were only acting in obedience to a habit taught them by their masters, who, in the pursuit of their predatory life, can cause these creatures to be both silent and still, whenever the occasion requires it.

For their surprise,—which this exhibition of it proved to be extreme,—the Sons of the Desert had sufficient reason. They had seen the three midshipmen on the crest of the sand-ridge; had even noted the peculiar garb that bedecked their bodies,—all this beyond doubt. Notwithstanding the haste with which they had entered on the pursuit, they had not continued it either in a reckless or improvident manner. Skilled in the ways of the wilderness,—cautious as cats,—they had continued the chase; those in the lead from time to time assuring themselves that the game was still before them. This they had done by glancing occasionally to the ground, where shoe-tracks in the soft sand—three sets of them—leading to and fro, were sufficient evidence that the three mids must have gone back to the embouchure of the ravine, and thither emerged upon the open sea-beach.

Where were they now?

Looking up the smooth strand as far as the eye could reach, and down it to a like distance, there was no place where a crab could have screened itself; and these SaÄran wreckers, well acquainted with the coast, knew that in neither direction was there any other ravine or gully into which the fugitives could have retreated.

No wonder, then, that the pursuers wondered, even to speechlessness.

Their silence was of short duration, though it was succeeded only by cries expressing their great surprise, among which might have been distinguished their usual invocations to Allah and the Prophet. It was evident that a superstitious feeling had arisen in their minds, not without its usual accompaniment of fear; and although they no longer kept their places, the movement now observable among them was that they gathered closer together, and appeared to enter upon a grave consultation.

This was terminated by some of them once more proceeding to the embouchure of the ravine, and betaking themselves to a fresh scrutiny of the tracks made by the shoes of the midshipmen; while the rest sat silently upon their horses and maherries awaiting the result.

The footmarks of the three mids were still easily traceable—even on the ground already trampled by the Arabs, their horses, and maherries. The "cloots" of a camel would not have been more conspicuous in the mud of an English road, than were the shoe-prints of the three young seamen in the sands of the SaÄra. The Arab trackers had no difficulty in making them out; and in a few minutes had traced them from the mouth of the gorge, almost in a direct line to the sea. There, however, there was a breadth of wet sea-beach—where the springy sand instantly obliterated any foot-mark that might be made upon it—and there the tracts ended.

But why should they have extended farther? No one could have gone beyond that point, without either walking straight into the water, or keeping along the strip of sea beach, upwards or downwards.

The fugitives could not have escaped in either way—unless they had taken to the water, and committed suicide by drowning themselves! Up the coast, or down it, they would have been seen to a certainty.

Their pursuers, clustering around the place where the tracks terminated, were no wiser than ever. Some of them were ready to believe that drowning had been the fate of the castaways upon their coast, and so stated it to their companions. But they spoke only conjectures, and in tones that told them, like the rest, to be under the influence of some superstitious fear. Despite their confidence in the protection of their boasted Prophet, they felt a natural dread of that wilderness of waters, less known to them than the wilderness of sand.

Ere long they withdrew from its presence, and betook themselves back to their encampment, under a half belief that the three individuals seen and pursued had either drowned themselves in the great deep, or by some mysterious means known to these strange men of the sea, had escaped across its far-reaching waters!