We were escorted by sixty Arab troops on foot, like those who escorted us from Tripoli to The Mountains. The Pasha mostly chooses them from districts through which we pass, and in this way secures a guard well acquainted with the route. But how odd, before the Turks, in the good old days of The Bashaws, these very Arabs were the banditti of the route. A Ghadames merchant said to me one day, "Yâkob[17], see these fellows; formerly all were villanous _Sbandout_ (banditti)." The captain of this escort, Sheikh Omer, who will conduct us to Ghadames, was charged by the Commandant of The Mountains, that his men should not be allowed to take water, or anything else by force, "bel kouwee," as the merchants said. The Sheikh was a civil fellow, and found it his interest to cultivate my acquaintance. Every morning I invited him to take coffee and tea in my tent, and he never forgot to come. In acknowledgment, he sent me some liquid butter, which was not excessively bad. The food of the Arabs, and the poorer sort of the merchants, for this journey was, as written by my Mohammed, ‮‮سُوِيقَ زُمِيته‬‬ ("Souweekah-Zameetah," that is, two names); but commonly called Zameetah, which is nothing more than barley or wheat burnt or malted, then ground, and afterwards made into paste. On this is sometimes poured a little oil or fat; but many cannot afford this luxury, and must content themselves with a little water to make up the meal into paste. I may safely affirm, there was not a bit of meat eaten, or a drop of tea or coffee drunk, in the whole caravan of merchants, with 200 camels, including, with the Arabs, some 150 persons, during the last four days, except what was eaten and drunk in my tent. I myself had only a little bit of fowl. The Sheikh _Shabanee_ (Makouran) as the Arabs call him, was the most civil to me. His portion of the camels is about forty, and he seems a most respectable old gentleman. He has two sons with him. He gave me last night a guzzle of cool water, a large brass pan full, of the size of a warming-pan, which I drank off in an instant, and found it more like nectar, than our earthy animalculæ water; it was so deliciously cool and sweet. Valuable, indeed, becomes a thing of commonest use, from its scarcity. The old Sheikh has a donkey with him to carry his drinking-water. The skins keep the water cool even in the hottest part of the day, whilst some which I had in bottles became quite hot. I shall here relate an ingenious stratagem, which I recommend to all African travellers. On leaving The Mountains we had three skins of water, one for each. But first, one of the skins cracked, and we lost a good deal of water, before it could be mended. Then Mohammed, the chief thief, was accustomed to drink large draughts when neither myself nor Said was present. This we learnt from the rest of the caravan. Said, himself, poor fellow, as soon as Mohammed had turned his back, was either to beg me to give him extra water, or help himself.