I had been obliged to leave the town on the 17th of March, in consequence of the brothers of the Sheikh having deemed such a step essential for the security of the town, and advantageous to their own personal interest. Since that time my departure had been earnestly discussed almost daily, but nevertheless, amidst infinite delays and procrastinations, the 19th of April had arrived before we at length set out from our encampment, situated at the head of the remarkable and highly indented creek of Bóse-bángo. Notwithstanding the importance of the day, my excellent friend the Sheikh El Bakáy could not even then overcome his habitual custom of taking matters easy. He slept till a late hour in the morning, while his pupils were disputing with the owners of the camels which had been hired for the journey, and who would not stir. At length my friend got up, and our sluggish caravan left the encampment. There were, besides our own camels, a good many asses belonging to the Gwanín, and laden with cotton strips. It was past eleven o’clock, and the sun had already become very troublesome, when we left the camp. The chief was so extremely fond of his wife and children, that it was an affair of some importance to take leave of them. I myself had become sincerely attached to his little boys, especially the youngest one, Zén el ʿAbidín, who, I am led to hope, will remember his friend ʿAbd el Kerím. But, notwithstanding my discontent at my protector’s want of energy, I could not be angry with him; and when he asked me whether he had now deceived me, or kept his word, I could not but praise his conduct, although I told him that I must first see the end of it. He smiled, and turning to his companion the old Haiballah (Habíb Allah), who had come from Ázawád to spend some time in his company, asked him whether I was not too mistrustful; but the event unluckily proved that I was not.