foot of the mountains, behind which lies the Moorad settlement. Pushing ahead, we passed through a narrow defile cut in a slate formation. The deposits were very rich and abundant; the stratification being regular, and the slate itself of a beautiful pea green. We now rode to westward some five miles, and at nine o'clock in the evening we passed the stone huts of Moorad and bivouacked close by the natron wells, having made more than half our distance (123 miles) in forty-one riding hours.

The Sheik was a very dignified and kindly old man, and had served at Moorad, by government appointment, for twenty-three years. He wore a grayish beard, and resembled the elder Tyng, of St. George's church in New York. He brought us camel's milk to drink, and then led us to the wells. They were simply surface excavations, with the brackish water filling the reservoirs, which, when exhausted by the camels, were refilled by the natural flow. The village consisted of four stone huts, six feet high and about twenty feet long, and here the Sheik lived with his family. Old Abdl-"son of the only one "our cook, was seriously injured by some indiscretion on the part of a camel, who

kicked him on the nose, and his place was supplied ad interim by Ibrahim, one of the domestics, who was always ill after reaching a town where they sold aracki. I tried to play the philanthropist on that evening, by condoling with a wretched looking prisoner, who has been sent up to the Soudan by the Governor of Sioot. It appears that the convict had been a professional proselyte, and that he had changed so often from a Mussulman to a Copt, and vice versa, that the authorities, regarding him as a bad exemplar of loyalty, concluded to let him drive his trade with the missionaries of Ethiopia. He was so weak in mind and body, that his story was a random tale, so I gave him a pittance, when he struggled to kiss my feet and went away. The Soudan is also the prison of political offenders.

The sixth day out, we left the plateau of Moorad and defiled through the gorge looking toward AbooHamed. The morning was terribly sultry and oppressive, and drew out the exclamation "I would not return by this route for $5,000 a mile!" We had all, by this time, become quite accustomed to our saddles, though not to the sun. A photographer would have carried away the pictures of four skinned Americans, unsightly even among the desert savages.

We had, however, learned several useful lessons first, not to use grease on the skin in the face of further exposure, and second, not to travel by day when we could just as well perform the march by night. Do not overload your camels; do not cramp your personal baggage and imagine that you can afford to throw away all the comforts; and do not travel, as we did, without at least a flask full of brandy to freshen you after twelve hours in the saddle. I have heard many travelers describe how certain things are indispensable for this trip; but, the truth is, every thing is required which one needs in making an ordinary journey. You must not be too primitive on the one hand, nor too luxurious on the other.

We had no use for our guns whatever, until after reaching Aboo-Hamed. All the birds were confined to vultures and crows, and the beasts to unseen hyenas and jackals. As we journeyed on, we invited the guide to summon the "Afreet" from his dungeon in the mountain, where, as legend says, he is wont to make hideous rattles on the drum by night, to intimidate passers. The Arabs believe in him and his puissance. It is probable that some Abab dah Cagliostro was imposing on the native credulity. We left him alone in his glory.

CHAPTER VIII.

ENTERING THE SOUDAN.

ON the morning of the 21st we passed over a sandy plain, and observed the incipient vegetation arising from a slight rain-fall. The sands were green, as far as the eye could reach, with grass two inches high. This may be taken as an evidence that the soil only needs irrigation, to become fruitful and profitable.

While halting, during the heat of the day, under a large tree, to wait for cooler hours, a group of dromedary riders appeared, dismounted, and the chief announced himself as Achmed Husein, son of the Governor of Berber, and a Sheik of the Ababdahs. He had brought us watermelons from Aboo-Hamed, and talked to us of his tribe and people. It appears that the ex-Empress Eugénie treated him with great distinction at Assouan, during her visit up the Nile. He exhibited a double-barreled pistol presented to him by her ex-Majesty. It was a powerful, though awkward weapon, made by "Samson, London."

"What do you know of Baker?" I asked.

"He is up the White River."

"How far from Khartoum ?"

"Thirty days."

"Can I go up there with facility?"

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Formerly the Governor General would permit no one to go; but he will allow you to go now."

In asking other questions, I found the same melancholy indifference to the sources of the Nile which existed among all the natives. Achmed Husein; his brother, Mahomet Husein Calipha, Sheik of all the Ababdahs, and Governor of Berber; officials representing the most powerful aggregated influence in that region, had never even heard of Speke and Grant, and, as to knowing about their discoveries, they had no more knowledge than the North American Indian.

After leaving our good friend Achmed, we met Kassali, a Greek merchant, who came with his caravans from Khartoum, bearing his menial and personal slaves, male and female. He had been in every land, and spoke all living languages. He said that he had been to Gondokoro in 1853, had been stricken with the fever while there, but otherwise had experienced good health. He was saffron yellow, about sixty years of age, and his