A KABABISH CARAVAN. 481 The milk, however, had a taste of the rancid grease, which prevented me from drinking much of it.

We arose shivering in the early dawn, and for the last time put the loads on our fagged and unwilling camels. Soon after starting, I saw ahead, through a gateway of black porphyry rocks, the long, yellow sand-hills of the Libyan Desert, like those which line the western bank of the Nile, from Assouan to Korosko. This was a joyful token that we had reached the end of the savage Batn El-Hadjar. As we were travelling over the rolling upland of yellow sand, enjoying the view of the wild frontier of the Belly of Stone, out of which we had just issued, a large caravan of Kababish Arabs, returning towards Dar-Fur with empty camels, met us. There were upwards of fifty camels and thirty men — half-naked savages, with projecting features, wild eyes, and a wilderness of hair on their heads. The Kababish were easily distinguished by their long plaits, laid close to the head, and smeared with fat. The others, who had enormous masses of wool, standing out in all directions for a foot or more, were probably Howoweet, from the side of Dar-Fur. We asked the distance to Wadi Haifa, and were answered with the universal "hassa" (just now !) whereby these people designate any indefinite period of time.

After three or four hours, I began to look out for Abou-Seer, a lofty cliff to which travellers repair for a bird's-eye view of the Second Cataract — to them the turning point of their Nile journey, to me the termination of my long mid-African rambles, and the commencement of my return to the living world. Our road was a mile or two behind the river, and as Achmet had only visited the mountain from the side of Wadi Haifa, he could not serve as a guide. I turned into the 21.