The village is called Dirèk, also Aderèk. Three natives were on board our vessel: their felt morions were covered over and over with sea-shells (_Cypræa moneta_), and the inside so entwined with their hair, that they could not take them off without cutting off the hair itself; therefore we could not persuade any of them to sell us their caps. At last one man asked a large shellful of glass beads for it. Another fellow was brought to Selim Capitan, but he would not resign his morion for any price, and said that he purchased it for eight cows, and that it came from the very distant country of Kekèss. Hence it follows that there is a connection here with the sea. Eleven o’clock; a little to N.E. by N. A quarter after eleven o’clock, with a short bend to N.W. by W., and N. by E. In the angle of this second sharp bend, on the left a small pastoral village; then N.E. The reddish-colour of the ashes seems to arise from the natural admixture of the clayey soil, as I convinced myself to-day, when the men were piling together the dung of the herds. Half-past eleven o’clock. From N.E. to N.W.: then a Nile arm shews itself in the bend to E., and flows southerly. The smell of fire from the black and scorched shores is very unpleasant, on which, however, there are still green spots and tracts. The disrupt and higher old shore stretches to the right, in a straight line to N.N.E., whilst the present shore goes westerly. A quarter before twelve. In the bend from W.N.W. to N.E. by N.: on the left shore a pastoral village, with sleeping-places, or inclined reed-walls, turned towards W., and open at the top; small basket-huts and regular tokuls join, having roofs indented, or rather in the form of steps. I cannot yet get the negro Joï out of my mind, with his melancholy melodies and Swiss home-sickness, which lasted for hours. The sudden, wild outbreak of the passionate feelings of man in a state of nature—the shouting of names, and the continual repetition of them dying away with the voice—never, never have I heard a more affecting _decrescendo_! Then again his rude speech and cries; and then the songs, which I took for pastoral songs, and which in part have the _very same melody_, with their softly humming and tremulous key-note as the camel-songs of the Bisharis, heard throughout the night in the desert, only that the former expressed the higher notes more passionately, where his voice often broke, but always returned again to the key-note. The calling individual names, by which his heart turned even to his enemies the Elliàbs, bringing to mind his misfortune in the dark cloudy night—every thing is still present before me. I offered him glass beads; staccato and hoarse notes alone were his answer. The Swiss style of singing is known in the interior of Africa, as I previously ascertained from hearing the young soldiers.