Djerba, which in ancient times was connected with the mainland by a causeway, lies within cannon-shot of the Tunisian coast. It can be reached in a few hours from Gabés by a coasting-steamer, small and none too clean; but we chose the longer and more interesting land route, through Medenine and Zarzis, once an important seaport of the Romans, to the tip of the peninsula, whence there is a ferry service across the narrow strait, here barely four miles wide, to El Kantara. The French resident-general at Tunis had notified the _controleur civil_ at Houmt-Souk, the island capital, of our intended visit, and had obtained the promise of a launch to take us across the strait to El Kantara and a motor-car to take us across the island. But when we arrived at the place of embarkation, marked only by a police post and a small stone pier, no sign of a launch was to be seen. After several hours spent in fruitless attempts to reach Houmt-Souk by telephone, we arranged to be ferried across to El Kantara by an Arab boatman, a swarthy, black-browed ruffian who, if appearances count for anything, must have been descended from the pirates who once terrorized this coast. Judging from the price demanded, I had assumed that we were chartering the whole boat, a broad-bowed, clumsy craft with an enormous lateen-sail, but, once we had paid our passage-money, the skipper insisted on taking aboard not only a varied assortment of lousy native passengers but donkeys, goats, sheep, chickens, even a camel, as well, crowding them in until the boat looked—and smelled—like Noah’s famous vessel. But eventually the tawny lateen-sail was hoisted with much shouting and we got under way, a leaning boat on the tranquil turquoise waters, with a palm-fringed strip of shore to lead us on. As a matter of fact, we could almost have walked across, for the water of the strait is very shallow, and the stones of the great Roman causeway which once connected the island with the mainland were plainly visible, a foot or so beneath the surface.