“Arrived at the cornfields, the scouts take their position on the eminences all round, while the remainder of the tribe collect provision with the utmost expedition, filling their cheek-pouches as full as they can hold, and then tucking the heads of corn under their armpits. Now, unless there be a partition of the collected spoil, how do the scouts feed? for I have watched them several times, and never observed them to quit for a moment their post of duty till it was time for the tribe to return, or till some indication of danger induced them to take flight. They show also the same sagacity in searching for water, discovering at once the places where it is most readily found in the sand, and then digging for it with their hands, just as men would, relieving one another in the work if the quantity of sand to be removed be considerable.”[117] In the afternoon Crawley shot a wild pig. I walked to the river again, being charmed by the lovely scenery, and as I approached saw numbers of crocodiles scuttle into the water. None was of great size. I doubt if any region in the world affords more varied sport than the valley of the Atbara. The climate is perfectly healthy in the dry season. On March 13 we struck our camp in the afternoon and soon met the first European whom we had encountered since we left Gallabat. He was a British officer on the way from Kassala to Gedaref, and he made mention of the slave-raids which had taken place since we left the latter place. It seemed likely that the Arab Battalion would be kept busy in holding the marauders in check. In the course of our march we crossed the Atbara, at a point where it is about four hundred yards in breadth. Water that reached our ankles was trickling among the shingle in places. At sundown we arrived at a camping-ground called Fashur, and halted for the night. Our dinner was “bully beef” and pickles—neither a luxurious nor a prudent meal. We were now suffering from heat eczema, which is most irritating in the cool of the night. The baying of a hyena kept me awake for hours, and a bed in the Soudan is not a pleasant place for one who lies on it with an itching skin and listens to that dismal noise. Our camp at Fashur was very hot and dusty. In the afternoon of the next day we started for a march of twenty-two miles, which would take us half the way from the Atbara to Kassala. We turned our backs to the river and crossed a plain covered by dried grass and mimosa scrub, which is probably a swamp during the rainy season. Our tents were pitched on the open, level ground after an exhausting journey, at the halting-place ordinarily used by those who follow this track. There were no habitations, and we saw none on the road. During the night a detachment of the Arab Battalion passed our encampment, on its way to protect villages against slave-raiders.