Familiarity has not had time to breed
contempt.
_11th._--There is excitement in the town. What news? The new acting
Governor, my old acquaintance of Ghadamez, Rais Mustapha, is in sight,
hull above the horizon. We all go out to meet him, and soon see his
_cortege_ breaking between the groves. This is the gayest and most
spirited scene I have witnessed since leaving Tripoli. Mustapha brings
his staff and 200 Arab cavaliers with him, to relieve the Fezzan
irregulars. They make a gallant-looking body of men as they come swiftly
on. All the authorities of the town, with whatever cavalry is already
collected here, pour out of the gates to pay their compliments; and then
come crowds of the lower classes of citizens, with their rude bagpipes,
which scream discordantly. The horsemen galloped hither and thither in
the plain whilst the interview between the great men took place, and
effectually drowned all the polite things that were said by their
trampling and hurrahing. We rode up likewise to welcome the new great
man. Mustapha looked well, was excellently mounted, and dressed almost
like an European officer. He smiled graciously on seeing his old friend
of Ghadamez, and shook me by the hand; he also recognised the Germans,
having seen them at Zaweeah, near Tripoli. Satisfied with this little
interview, we drew aside, and the procession moved towards the gate.
There was instantly a rush of the Arab horsemen, every one trying to get
in front; and as the entry was narrow an obstruction soon took place.
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