I was now becoming so much alarmed at the Abban's delay and tricks,
that I wrote a letter to Lieutenant Playfair, Assistant Political
Resident at Aden, complaining of what he had done, saying I felt very
uncertain of being able to reach Berbera by the time appointed, and
requesting him to send a letter of remonstrance to the sultan. This I
forwarded by a man called Abdie, _via_ Bunder Gori. Prudence would
have suggested my returning with the letter, for I had now received
intelligence that the Abban was in his home, and after experience
gained by the tragedies on the coast, I could have expected no good
from him. But as long as life and time lasted, I was resolved to go
ahead.

It was very remarkable to see the great length of time animals in this
country can exist, even under hard work, without drinking water. In an
ordinary way, the Somali water camels only twice a-month, donkeys four
times, sheep every fourth day, and ponies only once in two days, and
even object to doing it oftener, when the water is plentiful, lest the
animals should lose their hardihood. I do not think antelopes could
possibly get at water for several months together, as every drop of
water in the country is guarded by the Somali. We were now in "the
land of honey," and the Somali nomads constantly came to me to borrow
my English pickaxe for digging it out of the ground; for the bees of
this country, instead of settling in the boughs of trees, as they do
in England, work holes in the ground like wasps, or take advantage
more generally of chinks or fissures in the rocks to build their combs
and deposit their wax. It was a great treat to get a little of this
sweet nutriment, to counteract the salts which prevail in all the
spring waters of the interior. When out shooting specimens, I often
saw the Somali chasing down the Salt's antelopes on foot.