On the morning of the 26th of July I once more found myself on the back of my camel, and from my elevated seat threw a last glance over the pleasant picture of the oasis of Ghát. There is an advanced spur of the plantation about two miles south from the town, called Timéggawé, with a few scattered cottages at its southern end. Having left this behind us, we came to the considerable plantation of Íberké, separated into two groups, one on the west, and the other on the east side, and kept along the border of the western group, which forms dense clusters, while that to the east is rather thin and loosely scattered. The town of Bárakat, lying at the foot of a sandy eminence stretching north and south, became now and then visible on our right, glittering through the thinner parts of the plantation.

Being prepared for a good day’s march, as not only the Tinýlkum were reported to have left Arikím several days ago, but as even the little caravan of Kél-owí, with whom we had made arrangements for protection and company on the road, was a considerable way in advance, we were greatly astonished when ordered to encamp near the scattered palm-trees at the extreme eastern end of the plantation. Utaeti, who had accompanied us all the way from Ghát on foot, chose the camping-ground. Mr. Richardson, who had been behind, was not less astonished when he found us encamped at so early an hour. But our camels, which seemed to have been worked during our stay at Ghát, instead of being allowed to recover their strength by rest and pasture, were in great want of some good feeding, and there was much aghúl (Hedysarum Alhajji) about our encampment. Towards noon we were visited by several Hogár, or rather Azkár, who proved a little troublesome, but not so much so as the townspeople, who caused us a great deal of annoyance, both during the evening and on the following morning, and gave us some idea of what might await us further on.

Being annoyed at our delay here, I accompanied two of Mr. Richardson’s people and the young son of Yusuf Mukni, who wished to go into the town to buy a fowl. We were followed by two men from among the townspeople, who wanted to extort a present from me, and one of whom, by bawling out the characteristic phrase of his creed, made me fear lest he might succeed in exciting all the people against me. The town was distant from our encampment a mile and a quarter; and having once reached its wall, I determined to enter it. The town, or ágherim, forms a tolerably regular quadrangle, on an open piece of ground at the eastern foot of the sandy eminence, and is enclosed by a wall (agadór), built of clay, about five-and-twenty feet high, and provided with quadrangular towers. We entered it by the eastern gate, which, being defended by a tower, has its entrance from the side, and leads first to a small court with a well, from which another arched passage leads into the streets. Here several women, of good figure and decently dressed, were seated tranquilly, as it seemed, enjoying the cool air of the afternoon, for they had no occupation, nor were they selling anything. Although I was dressed in a common blue Sudán shirt, and tolerably sunburnt, my fairer complexion seemed to alarm them, and some of them withdrew into the interior of the houses crying “Lá ilah.” Still I was not molested nor insulted by the people passing by, and I was pleased that several of them courteously answered my salute. They were apparently not of pure Berber blood. It appeared that a good many of the inhabitants had gone to their date-groves to look after the harvest, as the fruit was just about to ripen; hence the place, though in good repair and very clean, had a rather solitary appearance. There is no commerce in this place as in Ghát, the whole wealth of the inhabitants consisting in their plantations. Yet they are said to be better off than the population of Ghát, who are exposed to great and continual extortions from the Tuarek on account of their origin, while the people of Bárakat enjoy certain privileges. The houses were all two or three storeys high, and well built, the clay being nicely polished. A few palm-trees decorate the interior of the town. It is of still more diminutive size than Ghát, containing about two hundred houses; but it is built with great regularity. Having stuck fast awhile in a lane which had no thoroughfare, we at length got safely out of the little town of Bárakat by the south gate. It has, I believe, four gates, like Ghát. On this side of the town, inside of the walls, stands the mosque, a building of considerable size for so small a place, neatly whitewashed, and provided with a lofty minaret.

Leaving the town, we took a more southern and circuitous road than that by which we had come, so that I saw a good deal of the plantation. The soil is for the most part impregnated with salt, and the wells have generally brackish water. There was much industry to be seen, and most of the gardens were well kept; but the wells might easily be more numerous, and only a small quantity of corn is cultivated. The great extent to which dukhn, or Guinea corn (“éneli” in Temáshight), or Pennisetum typhoïdeum, is cultivated here, as well as near Ghát, in proportion to wheat or barley, seems to indicate the closer and more intimate connection of this region with Negroland. Some culinary vegetables also were cultivated, and some, but not many, of the gardens were carefully fenced with the leaves of the palm-tree. The grove was animated by numbers of wild pigeons and turtle-doves, bending the branches of the palm-trees with their wanton play; and a good many asses were to be seen. Cattle I did not observe.

But far more interesting were the scenes of human life that met my eyes. Happiness seemed to reign, with every necessary comfort, in this delightful little grove. There was a great number of cottages, or tekábber, built of palm-branches and palm-leaves, most of them of considerable size, and containing several apartments; all of them had flat roofs. They are inhabited by the Imghád, or Merátha. A great many of the men seemed at present to be busy elsewhere; but these lightly built, straggling suburbs were full of children, and almost every woman carried an infant at her back. They were all black, but well formed, and infinitely superior to the mixed race of Fezzán. The men wore in general blue shirts, and a black shawl round the face; the women were only dressed in the túrkedi, or Sudán-cloth, wound round their body, and leaving the upper part, including the breasts, uncovered. They understood generally nothing but Temáshight, and only a few of them spoke the Háusa language. The men were nearly all smoking.

Having returned to our tent from this pleasant ramble, I did not stay long in it, but stealing off as secretly as possible, I walked to the eastern side of the valley, which is here locked up by the steep slope of the Akakús range. The plain on this side, being much interrupted by hills crowned with ethel-trees, does not afford a distant prospect. In this quarter, too, there are a few scattered gardens, with melons and vegetables, but no palm-trees.

In the evening we were greatly annoyed by some Imghád, and between one of them and our fiery and inconsiderate Tunisian shushán a violent dispute arose, which threatened to assume a very serious character. We were on the watch the whole night.

Having waited a long time for Utaeti, we at length started without him, passing on our right a beautiful palm-grove, with as many as ten thousand trees, while our left was bordered by scattered gardens, where the people were busy, in the cool of the morning, irrigating the corn and vegetables, with the assistance of Sudán oxen. They came out to see us pass by, but without expressing any feeling, hostile or otherwise. After a mile and a half the plantation ceased, at the bed of a torrent which contained a pond of rain-water collected from the higher rocky ground, which here terminates. Further on we passed another small channel, overgrown with bushes, and remarkable for nothing but its name, which seems plainly to indicate that this country originally belonged to the Góber or Háusa nation, for it is still called Korámma, a word which in the Háusa language denotes the bed of a torrent. To this watercourse particularly the general designation was most probably assigned, because in its further progress it widens very considerably, and in some degree appears as the head of the green bottom of the Valley of Ghát.

But a more luxuriant valley, from three to four miles broad, begins further on, rich in herbage, and full of ethel-trees, all crowning the tops of small mounds. Here we encamped, near a pond of dirty rain-water, frequented by great flocks of doves and waterfowl, and a well called Ízayen, in order to wait for Utaeti. The well was only about three feet deep, but the water brackish and disagreeable. Our friend came at length, and it was then decided to march during the night, in order to reach the Kél-owí; we therefore left our pleasant camping-ground about half-past nine in the evening, favoured by splendid moonlight. So interesting was the scene that, absorbed in my thoughts, I got considerably in advance of the caravan, and, not observing a small path which turned off on the right, I followed the larger one till I became conscious of my solitary situation, and, dismounting, lay down in order to await my companions. Our caravan, however, had taken the other path, and my fellow-travellers grew rather anxious about me; but my camel, which was evidently aware of the caravan ahead of us, would not give up this direction, which proved to be the right one, and after I had joined the caravan we were obliged to return to my former path.

Here we found the small Kél-owí caravan encamped in the midst of a valley well covered with herbage, near the well Karáda. Our new companions were perfect specimens of the mixed Berber and Sudán blood, and, notwithstanding all their faults, most useful as guides. It was two hours after midnight when we arrived, and after a short repose we started again tolerably early the next morning. For the first hour we kept along the valley, when we began to ascend a narrow path winding round the slope of a steep promontory of the plateau. The ruins of a castle at the bottom of the valley formed an object of attraction. The ascent took us almost an hour, when the defile opened to a sort of plateau, with higher ground and cones to the left. After another ascent four miles further on, over a rocky slope about 180 feet high and covered with sand, we encamped at an early hour, as the heat was beginning to be felt, in a valley with sidr-trees and grass, called Erázar-n-Ákeru.

A large basin of water, formed by the rains in a small rocky lateral glen joining the large valley on the west side, afforded a delightful resting-place to the weary traveller. The basin, in which the negro slaves of our Kél-owí swam about with immense delight, was about 200 feet long and 120 feet broad, and very deep, having been hollowed out in the rocks by the violent floods descending occasionally from the heights above. But on a terrace about 200 feet higher up the cliffs I discovered another basin, of not more than about half the diameter of the former, but likewise of great depth. All along the rocky slope between these two basins, cascades are formed during heavy rains, which must render this a delightfully refreshing spot.

We soon emerged from the valley, and entered a district of very irregular character, but affording herbage enough for temporary settlements or encampments of the Imghád, whose asses and goats testified that the country was not quite uninhabited. Some people of our caravan saw the guardians of these animals—negroes, clad in leather aprons. Against the lower part of the cliffs, which rise abruptly on all sides, large masses of sand have accumulated, which, as in the case of the upper valley of the Nile, might induce the observer to believe that all the higher level was covered with sand, which from thence had been driven down; but this is not by any means the case.

I had a long conversation this morning with the Tawáti ʿAbd el Káder, who had come with the pilgrim-caravan as far as Ghát, and, together with another companion, had attached himself to the Kél-owí, in order to go to Ágades. He was a smart fellow, of light complexion and handsome countenance, but had lost one eye in a quarrel. He was armed with a long gun with a good English lock, of which he was very proud. He had, when young, seen the Raïs (Major Laing) at Tawát, and knew something about Europeans, and chiefly Englishmen. Smart and active as this fellow was, he was so ungallant as to oblige his young female slave, who was at once his mistress, cook, and servant, to walk the whole day on foot, while he generally rode. A little after noon we encamped in the corner of a valley rich in sebót, and adorned with some talha-trees, at the foot of cliffs of considerable height, which were to be ascended the following day.

We began our task early in the morning. The path, winding along through loose blocks on a precipitous ascent, proved very difficult. Several loads were thrown off the camels, and the boat several times came into collision with the rocks, which, but for its excellent material, might have damaged it considerably. The whole of the cliffs consisted of red sandstone, which was now and then interrupted by clay slate, of a greenish colour. The ascent took us almost two hours, and from the level of the plateau we obtained a view of the ridge stretching towards Arikím, the passage of which was said to be still more difficult. Having successively ascended and descended a little, we then entered a tolerably regular valley, and followed its windings till about noon, when we once more emerged upon the rugged rocky level, where Amankay, the well-travelled búzu or mulatto of Tasáwa, brought us a draught of deliciously cool water, which he had found in a hollow in the rocks. Here our route meandered in a very remarkable way, so that I could not lay aside my compass for a moment; and the path was sometimes reduced to a narrow crevice between curiously terraced buttresses of rocks.

The ground having at length become more open, we encamped about a quarter past three o’clock, in a small ravine with a little sprinkling of herbage.

Here we had reached an elevation of not less than four thousand feet above the sea, the greatest elevation of the desert to be passed, or rather of that part of Africa over which our travels extended. The rugged and bristling nature of this elevated tract prevented our obtaining any extensive views. This region, if it were not the wildest and most rugged of the whole desert, limiting vegetation to only a few narrow crevices and valleys, would be a very healthy and agreeable abode for man; but it can only support a few nomadic stragglers. This, I am convinced, is the famous mountain Tántanah, the abode of the Azkár mentioned by the early Arabic geographers, although, instead of placing it to the south-west of Fezzán, they generally give it a southerly direction. I am not aware that a general name is now given to this region.

But this highest part of the tableland rather forms a narrow “col” or crest, from which, on the following morning, after a winding march of a little more than three miles, we began to descend by a most picturesque passage into a deeper region. At first we saw nothing but high cones towering over a hollow in the ground; but as we advanced along a lateral wady of the valley which we had entered, the scenery assumed a grander aspect, exhibiting features of such variety as we had not expected to find in this desert country. While our camels began slowly to descend, one by one, the difficult passage, I sat down and made the accompanying sketch of it, which will convey a better idea of this abrupt cessation of the high sandstone level, with the sloping strata of marl where it is succeeded by another formation, that of granite, than any verbal description would do.

The descent took us two hours, when we reached the bottom of a narrow ravine about sixty feet broad, which at first was strewn with large blocks carried down by occasional floods, but a little further on had a floor of fine sand and gravel. Here the valley is joined by a branch wady, or another ravine, coming from the north. Near the junction it is tolerably wide; but a few hundred yards further on it narrows between steep precipitous cliffs, looking almost like walls erected by the hand of man, and more than a thousand feet high, and forms there a pond of rain-water. While I was sketching this remarkable place, I lost the opportunity of climbing up the wild ravine. The locality was so interesting that I reluctantly took leave of it, fully intending to return the following day, with the camels, when they were to be watered; but, unfortunately, the alarming news which reached us at our camping-ground prevented my doing so. I will only observe that this valley, which is generally called Égeri, is identical with the celebrated valley Amaïs or Maïs, the name of which became known in Europe many years ago.

A little beyond the junction of the branch ravine the valley widens to about one hundred and fifty feet, and becomes overgrown with herbage, and ornamented with a few talha-trees, and after being joined by another ravine, exhibits also colocynths, and low but widespreading ethel-bushes, and, what was more interesting to us, the ʿashur (or, as the Háusa people call it, “tunfáfia,” the Kanori “krunka,” the Tuarek “tursha”), the celebrated, widespread, and most important Asclepias gigantea, which had here truly gigantic proportions, reaching to the height of twenty feet; and being just then in flower, with its white and violet colours it contributed much to the interest of the scene. Besides, there was the jadaríyeh, well known to us from the Hammáda, and the shiʿa or Artemisia odoratissima, and a blue crucifera identical, I think, with the damankádda, of which I shall have to speak repeatedly. Having gone on a little more than three miles from the watering-place, we encamped; and the whole expedition found ample room under the widespreading branches of a single ethel-tree, the largest we had yet seen. Here the valley was about half a mile broad, and altogether had a very pleasant character.

I was greatly mortified on reflecting that the uncertainty of our relations in the country, and the precarious protection we enjoyed, would not allow me to visit Jánet, the most favoured spot in this mountainous region; but a great danger was suddenly announced to us, which threatened even to drive us from that attractive spot. An expedition had been prepared against us by the mighty chieftain Sídi Jáfel ínek (son of) Sakertáf, to whom a great number of the Imghád settled thereabouts are subject as bondmen or serfs.

Upon the circumstances of this announcement and its consequences I shall not dwell, but will only observe that this transaction made us better acquainted with the character of each of our new friends. There were three principal men in the Kél-owí caravan with which we had associated our fortunes—Ánnur (or properly Eʾ Núr), Dídi, and Fárreji. Ánnur was a relative of the powerful Kél-owí chief of the same name, and, in order to distinguish him from the latter, was generally called Ánnur karamí, or the little Ánnur. He was of agreeable, prepossessing countenance, and of pleasing manners, but without much energy, and anything but warlike. Dídi and Fárreji were both liberated slaves, but of very different appearance and character. The former was slim, with marked features, indicating a good deal of cunning; the latter was a tolerably large man, with broad, coarse features, which well expressed his character, the distinguishing trait of which was undisguised malice. When a new demand was to be put forth Fárreji took the lead, and, with an impudent air, plainly state the case; Dídi kept back, assisting his companion underhand; and Ánnur was anxious to give to the whole a better appearance and to soothe our indignation.

The whole affair having been arranged, and the stipulation being made that in case the direct road should become impracticable our Kél-owí were to lead us by a more eastern one, where we should not meet with any one, we started in good spirits on the morning of the 1st of August, and soon emerged from the valley by a southern branch, while the surrounding cliffs gradually became much lower and flatter. Here we observed that granite had superseded the sandstone, appearing first in low, bristled ridges, crossing the bottom of the valley in parallel lines running from west-north-west to east-south-east, and gradually accompanying the whole district, while the sand, which before formed the general substance of the lower ground, was succeeded by gravel. Our path now wound through irregular defiles and small plains, enclosed by low ridges of granite blocks, generally bare, but in some places adorned with talha-trees of fine fresh foliage. The whole country assumed quite a different aspect.

Our day’s journey was pleasantly varied by our meeting with the van of a large caravan belonging to the wealthy Fezzáni merchant Khweldi, which had separated in Aïr on account of the high prices of provisions there. They carried with them from forty to fifty slaves, most of them females, the greater part tolerably well made. Each of our Kél-owí produced from his provision-bags a measure of dates, and threw them into a cloth, which the leader of the caravan, a man of grave and honest countenance, had spread on the ground. A little before noon, we encamped in a sort of wide but shallow valley called Ejénjer, where, owing to the junction of several smaller branch vales collecting the moisture of a large district, a little sprinkling of herbage was produced, and a necessary halting-place formed for the caravans coming from the north, before they enter upon the naked desert, which stretches out towards the south-west for several days’ journey. The camels were left grazing the whole night, in order to pick up as large a provision as possible from the scanty pasture.

August 2.—We entered upon the first regular day’s march since we left Ghát. After a stretch of nine miles, an interesting peak called Mount Tiska, rising to an elevation of about six hundred feet, and surrounded by some smaller cones, formed the conspicuous limit of the rocky ridges. The country became entirely flat and level, but with a gradual ascent, the whole ground being formed of coarse gravel; and there was nothing to interrupt the monotonous plain but a steep ridge, called Mariaw, at the distance of about five miles to the east.

The nature of this desert region is well understood by the nomadic Tuarek or Imóshagh, who regard the Mariaw as the landmark of the open, uninterrupted desert plain, the “ténere;” and a remarkable song of theirs, which often raised the enthusiasm of our companions, begins thus: “Mariaw da ténere nís” (We have reached Mariaw and the desert plain). The aspect of this uninterrupted plain seemed to inspire our companions, and with renewed energy we pursued our dreary path till after sunset, when we encamped upon this bare gravelly plain, entirely destitute of herbage, and without the smallest fragment of wood for fuel; and I was glad to get a cup of tea with my cold supper of zummíta. Even in these hot regions the European requires some warm food or beverage.

The next morning, all the people being eager to get away from this dreary spot, every small party started as it got ready, without waiting for the rest, in order to reach as soon as possible the region of the sand-hills, which we saw before us at the distance of a little more than five miles, and which promised to the famished camels at least a slight repast. Herbage was scattered in bunches all about the sides of the sand-hills, and a number of butter- and dragon-flies greatly relieved the dreary scene. After a while the sand-hills ranged themselves more on both sides, while our road led over harder sandy soil, till the highest range crossed our path, and we began to ascend it, winding along its lower parts. Granite, lying a few feet under the surface, in several spots chequered the sand, tinged with a pretty blue.

A little after mid-day we emerged from the sand-hills, and entered a plain from two to three miles wide, bounded on both sides by sand-hills, and were here gratified with the view of shifting lakes which the mirage set before our eyes. Then followed another narrow range of sand-hills, succeeded by a barren open plain, and then another very considerable bank of sand, leaning on a granite ridge. After a steep ascent of forty-five minutes, we reached the highest crest, and obtained an extensive prospect over the country before us—a desert plain, interspersed by smaller sand-hills and naked ledges of rock, and speckled with ethel-bushes half overwhelmed by sand, at the foot of a higher range of sand-hills. For sand-hills are the landmark of Afalésselez, and the verse of the desert song celebrating Mariaw as the landmark of the open gravelly desert plain is succeeded by another, celebrating the arrival at Afalésselez and its sand-hills: “In-Afalésselez da jéde nís.” Having long looked down from this barbacan of sand, to see whether all was safe near that important place whence we were to take our supply for the next stretch of dry desert land, we descended along the south-western slope, and there encamped.

After a march of little more than four miles the next morning, we reached the well Falésselez, or Afalésselez. This camping-ground had not a bit of shade, for the few ethel-bushes, all of them starting forth from mounds of not less than forty feet elevation, were very low, and almost covered with sand. Besides, the gravelly ground was covered with camels’ dung and impurities of a more disagreeable nature, and there was not a bit of herbage in the neighbourhood, so that the camels, after having been watered, had to be driven to a distance of more than eight miles, where they remained during the night and the following day till noon, and whence they brought back a supply of herbage for the next night.

But, notwithstanding its extraordinary dreariness, this place is of the greatest importance for the caravan trade, on account of the well, which affords a good supply of very tolerable water. At first it was very dirty and discoloured, but it gradually became clearer and had but little after-taste. The well was five fathoms deep, and not more than a foot and a half wide at the top, while lower down it widened considerably. It is formed of the wood of the ethel-tree. The temperature of the water, giving very nearly the mean temperature of the atmosphere in this region, was 77°.

After the camels had gone, our encampment became very lonely and desolate, and nothing was heard but the sound of ghussub-pounding. The Kél-owí had encamped at some distance, on the slope of the sand-hills. It was a very sultry day, the hottest day in this first part of our journey, the thermometer, in the very best shade which we were able to obtain, showing 111·2° heat, which, combined with the dreary monotony of the place, was quite exhausting. There was not a breath of air in the morning; nevertheless it was just here that we remarked the first signs of our approaching the tropical regions, for in the afternoon the sky became so thickly overcast with clouds that we entertained the hope of being refreshed by a few drops of rain. In the night a heavy gale blew from the east.

Next day came Utaeti. On his fine méheri, enveloped as he was in his blue Sudán-cloth, he made a good figure. The reply which he made, when Mr. Richardson asked him how his father had received the present of the sword which H.B.M.’s Government had sent him, was characteristic: the sword, he said, was a small present, and his father had expected to receive a considerable sum of money into the bargain. He informed us also that, by our not coming to Arikím, we had greatly disappointed the Tuarek settled thereabouts.

Tuesday, August 6.—The sand-hills which we ascended after starting were not very high, but after a while we had to make another ascent. Sometimes small ridges of quartzose sandstone, setting right across our path, at others ethel-bushes, gave a little variety to the waste, and at the distance of about eight miles from the well singularly shaped conical mounts began to rise. The eastern road, which is a little more circuitous, is but a few hours’ distance from this; it leads through a valley at the foot of a high conical mount, with temporary ponds of rain-water, and herbage called Shambakésa, which about noon we passed at some distance on our left. In the afternoon we came in sight of a continuous range of heights ahead of us. The whole region exhibited an interesting intermixture of granite and sandstone formation, white and red sandstone protruding in several places, and the ground being strewn with fragments of granite and gneiss. Passing at one time over gravel, at another over rocky ground strewn with pebbles, we encamped at length in a sort of shallow valley called Taghárebén, on the north side of a very remarkable mass of curiously shaped sandstone blocks, heaped together in the most singular manner, and rising altogether to a height of about one hundred and fifty feet. On inspecting it more closely, I found that it consisted of four distinct buttresses, between which large masses of loose sand had collected, the sandstone being of a beautiful white colour, and in a state of the utmost disintegration.

After a weary day’s march, the camping-ground, adorned as it was with some fine talha-trees, and surrounded with small ridges and detached masses of rock, on which now depended the beauty of the scene, cheered our minds, and fitted us for another long day’s work. Soon after we started the ground became rugged and stony, and full of ridges of sandstone, bristling with small points and peaks. In this wild and rugged ground our people amused themselves and us with hunting down a lizard, which tried to escape from the hands of its pursuers in the crevices of the rocky buttresses. Then followed broad, shallow valleys, at times overgrown with a little herbage, but generally very barren; winding along them we turned round a larger cluster of heights which seemed to obstruct our route. Bare and desolate as the country appears, it is covered, as well as the whole centre of the desert, with large herds of wild oxen (Antilope bubalis), which rove about at large, and, according as they are more or less hunted, linger in favoured districts or change their haunts. Our men tried to catch them, but were unsuccessful, the animal, clumsy and sluggish as it appears, climbing the rocks with much more ease than men unaccustomed to this sort of sport, and, owing to the ruggedness of the ground, being soon lost sight of.

At five o’clock in the afternoon the heights on our left rose to a greater elevation, as much as a thousand feet, bristling with cones, and formed more picturesque masses. Resting on the spurs of the mountain range was a peculiar knot of cliffs, ridges of rocks, and isolated perpendicular pillars, through which our road led with a gradual ascent till we reached the highest ground, and then descended into a shallow valley furnished with a tolerable supply of herbage and a few talha-trees, some of which, with their young leaves, soon attracted the attention of the famished camels. The poor animals were left grazing all night, which recruited their strength a little. These long stretches were fatiguing both for man and beast, and they were the more trying for the traveller as, instead of approaching by them in long strides the wished-for regions to the south, there was scarcely any advance at all in that direction, the whole route leading to the west.

Thursday, August 8.—After a mile and a half’s march the country became more open and free, and those ridges of granite rock which had been characteristic of the region just passed over ceased; but ahead of us considerable mountain masses were seen, the whole mountainous district, in which the long range called Isétteti is conspicuous, being named Ánahef. After a march of about ten miles, a path branched off from our road towards the west, leading to a more favoured place, called Tádent, where the moisture collected by the mountain masses around seems to produce a richer vegetation, so that it is the constant residence of some Azkár families; it is distant from this place about sixteen miles. Here some advanced heights approach the path, and more talha-trees appear; and further on the bottom of the fiumara was richly overgrown with bú rékkebah (Avena Forskalii), grass very much liked by the camels, and which we had not observed before on our route. The country ahead of us formed a sort of defile, into which I thought we should soon enter, when suddenly, behind the spur of a ridge projecting into the plain on our left, we changed our direction, and entering a wide valley enclosed by two picturesque ranges of rock, we there encamped.

The valley is called Nghákeli, and is remarkable as well on account of its picturesque appearance as because it indicates the approach to a more favoured region. Besides being richly overgrown with luxuriant herbage of different species, as sebót, bú rékkebah, shiʿa, and adorned with fine talha-trees, it exhibited the first specimens of the Balanites Ægyptiaca (or “hajilíj” as it is called by the Arabs, “áddwa” by the Háusa people), the rope-like roots of which, loosened by the torrent which at times sweeps along the valley, grew to an immense length over the ground. I walked up the valley to a distance of two miles. Compared with the arid country we had been travelling over latterly, it made upon me just the same impression which the finest spots of Italy would produce on a traveller visiting them from the north of Europe. The Kél-owí had chosen the most shady talha-tree for a few hours’ repose, and I sat down a moment in their company. They gave me a treat of their palatable fura, or ghussub-water, the favourite (and in a great many cases the only) dish of the Absenáwa.

In the evening Mr. Richardson bought from some sportsmen a quantity of the meat of the wadán, or (as the Tuarek call it) aúdád (Ovis tragelaphos), an animal very common in the mountainous districts of the desert, and very often found in company with the wild ox. As for myself, I kept my tent, filling up from my memorandum-book my last day’s journal, and then, full of the expectation that we were now about to enter more pleasant regions, lay down on my hard couch.