I started from Tunis by the French Railway early on the 23d of April, accompanied by a native guard, and having in my possession an order from the Tunisian Prime Minister enjoining the officials in the interior to “receive me as a friend,” and render me every assistance in their power. On my arrival at the Beja, about eighty miles west of Tunis, I found everything and everybody in the greatest state of confusion. Although this little town is the centre of an essentially horse-breeding district, it seemed to be now impossible to hire or purchase the beasts of burden necessary to enable us to proceed to Sy Ali Bey’s encampment, although the Hlifa or vice-governor did all he could to help me. The tribesmen of the vicinity had already withdrawn to the mountains, and the townspeople would not part with their animals at any price. Arabs were seen in all directions busied in fixing new flints to the locks of their guns and sharpening rusty swords and even pieces of hoop-iron inserted in the ends of cleft sticks. I was evidently eyed with suspicion, although the Hlifa told everybody I was “Sidna’s (the Bey’s) friend,” but he would not permit me to walk about the streets unless accompanied by several guards. As luck would have it, some carts were driven into the town, and the authorities promptly “requisitioned” the horses for our journey, the owners being very handsomely paid for the accommodation. I started from Beja at dawn, and having a long ride before us we pressed on at full speed. Fortunately our steeds proved equal to the occasion. Our road lay across the mountain districts leading to the range inhabited by the different sections of the Khamír tribes, and the crops were already quite high in the cultivated ground. At the commencement of our journey we did not meet a single living being, but as soon as we got fairly into the mountains, solitary foot passengers and groups of Arabs were to be seen every now and then. They were all armed after their old- world fashion, and looked at us unpleasantly enough. My guide begged me not to enter into conversation with any of them, and ordered them unceremoniously out of the road, when they occasionally stopped and stared at us. Once or twice some of the Arabs asked in a surly tone if I was a Frenchman and what I was doing there, but they seemed to be reassured when I answered them in their own language that I was an Englishman. They then invariably said (and this occurred repeatedly), “If you are an Englishman, you are our friend. Why does not your people come to our assistance?”