They greeted me, saying, "We are sent by your friend Ahmed Wad Abdalla, and are of the Gihemab tribe. We will take you down to the river. He himself will cross the stream with you. On the other side, the camels are waiting ready to take you across the desert. Take leave of your guides. Their task is done."
I shook my old friends by the hand, and thanked them with words which came from the heart for their devotion. "Farewell, and may we meet again in better times of peace."
We saddled two camels and left the third to my former guides. I mounted, and one of the new-comers got up behind me.
"What is your name?" I asked him.
"They call me Mohammed, sir, and my companion's name is Ishaak."
"Do you go with me across the desert?"
"No, there are others told off for that. Let the camel walk slowly; and it will be better to cover your face in spite of the darkness. Orders came from Berber three days ago to have all the roads closely watched; and the ferries have been put under observation. Still, in our country, you have nothing to fear."
After proceeding for about two hours in an east northeast direction, we approached the river. We could hear the groaning of the water-wheel, the cries and laughter of the slaves and their women at work. As we came up to a small clump of bushes, Mohammed, who was riding behind me, sprang down and said, "Make the camel kneel down, slowly—gently, that he may not grunt, and so attract attention."
They knelt down without a sound.
Bidding me remain there till they returned with Ahmed, they disappeared into the darkness. I waited about an hour, and then saw four men approaching. The tallest of them came up and embraced me. Pressing me to his breast, he said in a low voice,—