Hajji Mohammad, a respectable old slave-dealer in the suite of the Abogaz, had during this interim obligingly undertaken to solve certain puzzling geographical questions proposed, and with a staff was methodically tracing on the sand, for the edification of his European audience, the position of the Hawash in its upper course. An insane old Hassoba, long resident at Farri, whose head laboured under the effect of sundry wounds received in youth, had unfortunately become violently excited by too copious libations in honour of the safe arrival of his clansmen. To the annoyance of every one, he had been bawling incessantly for many hours, and he presently staggered up to ascertain if he could throw light upon the subject under discussion. "What do you know about the Hawash?" he exclaimed, in a violent passion, as the name of the lone river fell upon his ear--"Pray where did you learn about the Hawash, or the Ittoo, or the Aroosi?"--and suiting the action to the word, his cudgel rattled heavily over the crown of the unoffending pilgrim to the shrine of the Prophet. Nettled at this unprovoked assault, the venerable man retorted with interest--blows pattered thick and fast, a crowd collected, creeses were drawn, and the friends of the respective parties felt themselves bound to interfere. The belligerent Hajji was held to prevent his committing murder; and the Adel geographer, as he walked reluctantly away, under a shower of stones, turning frequently to breathe defiance to the object of his ire, repeated with a sneer, "Here is the Hawash indeed: what the devil does that old donkey know about the Hawash?"