Yet even now the parched savannah has some refreshment to bestow, as Nature--which in the East Indian forests fills the pitchers of the Nepenthes with a grateful liquid,--here also displays her bounty; for the globular melon-cactus, which flourishes on the driest soil, and not seldom measures a foot in diameter, conceals a juicy pulp under its tough and brickly skin. Guided by an admirable instinct, the wary mule strikes off with his fore-feet the long, sharp thorns of this remarkable plant, the emblem of good-nature under a rough exterior, and then cautiously approaches his lips to sip the refreshing juice. Yet, drinking from these living sources is not unattended with danger, and mules are often met with that have been lamed by the formidable prickles of the cactus. The wild horse and ox of the savannah, not gifted with the same sagacity, roam about a prey to hunger and burning thirst--the latter hoarsely bellowing, the former snuffing up the air with outstreched neck to discover by its moisture the neighbourhood of some pool that may have resisted the general drought.
Besides their interminable extent, the Llanos have several other points of resemblance to the sea. As here the water-spout, raised by contending air-currents, rises to the clouds and sweeps over the floods, thus also the glowing dust of the savannah, set in motion by conflicting winds, ascends in mighty columns and glides over the desert plain. Then woe to the traveller who cannot escape by a timely flight; for, seizing him with irresistible violence the sand spout carries him along in its embrace, and hurls him senseless to the ground.
As if ‘on a painted ocean,’ the becalmed ship rests on the glassy sea. No breath of air ruffles the surface of the waters.
The pennant hangs lazily from the mast; the water-casks are empty; the torments of thirst, aggravated by the heat of a vertical sun, become intolerable. But, suddenly, as if by magic, a beautiful island rises from the floods; waving palm-trees seem to welcome the mariner: he fancies he hears the purling of the brook and the splashing of the waterfall. Yet still the vessel moves not from the spot, and soon the fading phantom that mocked his misery leaves him the victim of increased despair.