_11th._--The wind becoming again foul, we put into a little place called Sâkeeah, a port of the island in the S.E. Here is nothing in the shape of a port town, only a small square ruinous hovel of mud and plaster, and a rude hut put up temporarily by a Maltese, who is building a boat. I often think the Maltese are the _Irish_ of the South. Maltese enterprise is prevalent in all parts of the Mediterranean but in their own country. The port, such as it is, is defended by a little round battery, four feet high, with three rusty pieces of cannon. If these could be fired off, the masonry would tumble to pieces. This is the _present_ state of all the fortifications of Mahometan Barbary. It frequently happens that when a vessel of war visits the smaller Barbary ports, and wishes to fire a salute in honour of the governors, it is kindly requested this may not be done, because it is necessary etiquette to return the salute, and, if returned, the masonry of the fortifications may tumble down. The scene was wild and bare; the colours of the landscape light and bright. There were some Moors winnowing barley. An ox was treading out the corn, in Scripture fashion. Crops of barley and other grain are grown all over this fertile isle, under the date-palm and olive trees. Small boats were waiting to carry off the grain to Tunis. As in Ireland, little remains to feed the people. They must feed on dates, or fish, or vegetables and roots. _12th._--Left Sâkeeah with a strong breeze. On looking back on the island it had the appearance of thousands of date-palms, boldly standing out of the sea, the land being so low as not to be discernible a few miles' distance. Jerbah, from this appearance, as from reality, deserves the name of the "Isle of Palms." After crossing the channel, which runs between the island and the continent, whose waters were deep and rough, we got aground in the Shallows, off Zarzees. This place is a round tower (_burge_) on the continent, with a few houses and plantations of olives and dates. Here commences the shoal-water, or _bassa-fondo_, as our semi-Italian boatmen called it, which continues east along the coast for eighty miles, as far as Rais-el-Makhbes. When we got off again, at the flow of the tide, we passed Biban ("two doors"), the frontier place of the Tunisian dominions. Biban is a castle, with some fifty Arab houses, built of palm-wood and leaves in the shape of hay-stacks, and is situate on an islet, on each side of which the sea passes inland and forms a large lagoon. There is at Biban a single European resident, an Italian, who acts as a French agent and spy on the frontiers of Tunis and Tripoli. He is paid about eighteen-pence a day, cheap enough for his high political mission. The French are mighty fond of planting spies all over Barbary; but espionage is their forte. In the evening we arrived at the _Salinæ_[8], "salt pits," on the coast, where we found several small coasters loading with salt for Tripoli.