their tales that were never true were no longer new. And then one day
the monotony of the desert came down upon them.

There is a fascination in the Sahara, a day there is delightful, a
week is pleasant, a fortnight is a matter of opinion, but it was
running into months. The men were perfectly polite but the boatswain
wanted to know when Shard thought of moving on. It was an unreasonable
question to ask of the captain of any ship in a dead calm in a desert,
but Shard said he would set a course and let him know in a day or two.
And a day or two went by over the monotony of the Sahara, who for
monotony is unequalled by all the parts of the earth. Great marshes
cannot equal it, nor plains of grass nor the sea, the Sahara alone
lies unaltered by the seasons, she has no altering surface, no flowers
to fade or grow, year in year out she is changeless for hundreds and
hundreds of miles. And the boatswain came again and took off his cap
and asked Captain Shard to be so kind as to tell them about his new
course. Shard said he meant to stay until they had eaten three more of
the oxen as they could only take three of them in the hold, there were
only six left now. But what if there was no wind, the boatswain said.
And at that moment the faintest breeze from the North ruffled the
boatswain's forelock as he stood with his cap in his hand.

"Don't talk about the wind to _me_," said Captain Shard: and Bill was
a little frightened for Shard's mother had been a gipsy.

But it was only a breeze astray, a trick of the Sahara. And another
week went by and they ate two more oxen.

They obeyed Captain Shard ostentatiously now but they wore ominous
looks. Bill came again and Shard answered him in Romany.