Feb. 6.—A gratifying scene took place this morning, in the departure of nearly thirty freed slaves, natives of Kanem, who here left us for their homes, three days’ journey to the eastward. I had been applied to, the night before, to intercede with Boo Khaloom for this indulgence; for as he had heard that the sheikh was at war with some of the chiefs of Kanem, he had determined on first taking them to Bornou, for fear of their being plundered on the road of the little they had saved in slavery. These poor creatures had, however, found one or two of their countrymen at the market of Lari, who assured them of their safety on the road between that place and their homes. The good man complied with evident reluctance on their own account, and they took leave, kissing his hand, with tears and blessings. They had most of them been in the service of the bashaw, some for a term of years, and were returning to die at home at last. One poor deaf and dumb woman, whom the rapacity of Mukni, the former sultan of Fezzan, who spared neither age, sex, nor infirmity, had induced him to march to Tripoli, had shed torrents of tears ever since she had been made acquainted, by signs, that she was to go to Bornou. She had left two children behind her; and the third, which was in her arms when she was taken by the Arabs, had been torn from her breast after the first ten days of her journey across the desert, in order that she might keep up with the camels. Her expressive motions in describing the manner in which the child was forced from her, and thrown on the sand, where it was left to perish, while whips were applied to her, lame and worn out as she was, to quicken her tottering steps, were highly eloquent and interesting. They had all been my friends for more than five months, and to some I had rendered little services by carrying their bag of zumeeta, or salt. They were not ungrateful, and our parting had something in it affecting, which, considering negroes in the degraded light they do, seemed greatly to astonish the Arabs.