The brother of the Bey of Tripoli commanded here, a young man, as weak in understanding as he was in health. All the province was in extreme confusion. Two tribes of Arabs, occupying the territory to the west of the town, who in ordinary years, and in time of peace, were the sources of its wealth and plenty, had, by the mismanagement of the Bey, entered into deadly quarrel. The tribe that lived most to the westward, and which was reputed the weakest, had beat the most numerous that was nearest the town, called Welled Abid, and driven them within its walls. The inhabitants of Bengazi had for a year before been labouring under a severe famine, and by this accident about four thousand persons, of all ages and sexes, were forced in upon them, when perfectly destitute of every necessary. Ten or twelve people were found dead every night in the streets, and life was said in many to be supported by food that human nature shudders at the thoughts of. Impatient to fly from these Thyestean feasts, I prevailed upon the Bey to send me out some distance to the southward, among the Arabs where famine had been less felt. I encompassed a great part of the Pentapolis, visited the ruins of Arsinoe, and, though I was much more feebly recommended than usual, I happily received neither insult nor injury. Finding nothing at Arsinoe nor Barca, I continued my journey to Ras Sem, the petrified city, concerning which so many monstrous lies were told by the Tripoline ambassador, Cassem Aga, at the beginning of this century, and all believed in England, though they carried falsehood upon the very face of them[42]. It was not then the age of incredulity, we were fast advancing to the celebrated epoch of the man in the pint-bottle, and from that time to be as absurdly incredulous as we were then the reverse, and with the same degree of reason.