between the Warsingali and the Dulbahantas, the latter sent a large foraging party over the frontier. The Warsingali stationed a strong force at the head of the watercourse to prevent its being turned, and exposed their flocks and herds on the eastern bank to tantalise the hungry enemy. The Dulbahantas, unable to cross the chasm, and unwilling, like all Somali heroes even in their wrath, to come to blows with the foe, retired in huge disgust. After marching five miles, the caravan halted, the Abban declaring that he and the Sultan's younger son must go forward to feel the way; in other words, to visit his home. His pretext was a good one. In countries where postal arrangements do not exist, intelligence flies quicker than on the wings of paper. Many evil rumours had preceded Lieutenant Speke, and the inland tribe professed, it was reported, to despise a people who can only threaten the coast. The Dulbahantas had been quarrelling amongst themselves for the last thirteen years, and were now determined to settle the dispute by a battle. Formerly they were all under one head; but one Ali Harram, an Akil or minor chief, determined to make his son, Mohammed Ali, Gerad or Prince of the clans inhabiting the northern provinces. After five years' intrigue the son was proclaimed, and carried on the wars caused by his father, declaring an intention to fight to the last. He has, however, been successfully opposed by Mahmud Ali, the rightful chief of the Dulbahanta family; the southern clans of Haud and beyond the Nogal being more numerous and more powerful than the northern divisions. No merchant, Arab or other, thinks of penetrating into this country, principally on account of the expense. Lieutenant Speke is of opinion that his cloth and rice would easily have stopped the war for a time: the Dulbahantas threatened and blustered, but allowed themselves easily to be pacified.
