Although the heat was greater than usual, the thermometer indicating as much as 110°, we started with great alacrity in the afternoon, as we were now approaching the seats of Tebu power and civilization in the heart of the desert, where nature has provided this little fertile spot, in order to facilitate intercourse between distant nations. However, several sandy ridges opposed themselves to our progress before we reached the real beginning of the valley, at the western foot of a large and broad-topped rocky mound; but the sand was not so deep as I had been led by the description of other people to expect. Here the scenery became highly interesting, the verdant ground—where small patches of the grass called “ghedeb” and vegetables were sown, surrounded by slight fences of palm-bushes—being overtopped by handsome groups of palm-trees; and cheered as I felt by this spectacle, after the dreary march which we had made, I could not grudge my people a few shots of powder. But while our friends the Dáza salt-traders encamped at the very thickest grove, where the dilapidated town of Bilma is situated, we ourselves entered a dreary salt-pan, and encamped about a mile further on, near a miserable little village called Kalála, without the ornament or shade of a single tree. Moreover, the ground was so hard, that it was only with the greatest difficulty that we were able to pitch the tent; and having no wood wherewith to cook a supper, a small hospitable gift from our friend Kólo, consisting first in a dish of fresh dates, and afterwards in a mess of cooked pudding, proved very acceptable. The miserable hamlet, besides a few hovels, scarcely to be distinguished from the ground, contained only the ruins of a mosque, which had been turned into a magazine for salt.