846 
tant Troglodyte towns, of about 3,000 
inhabitants. Its caves seem larger and 
deeper than any others that I visited. 
The Sheik of Ghoumrassen had just 
finished an addition to his dwelling. He 
had hired men to excavate an inner cave 
13 meters long by 4 meters broad and 
about 3 meters high. It took seven men 
not quite one month to cut it out of the 
solid rock. These caves have several 
good points. Rats and mice and insects 
cannot get in, and there is no danger 
from scorpions or vipers, and they are 
delightfully cool on a hot day and warm 
on cold nights. 
My adventures with my two devoted 
friends, Mohammed Ben Cadi and Bra- 
bisch Ben Caliph, would fill a book. 
They escorted me to every known and 
unknown Troglodyte town, village, or 
cave—Beni-Barka, Guetofa, and Gedini, 
and a score or more of places hidden 
away in some mountain wilderness. 
Thanks to them and the Cadi du Djebel- 
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 
El-Abiodh, whose thoughtful kindness I 
can never repay. 
In closing, let me say that the majority 
of French officers stationed in the out- 
of-the-way places of northern Africa are 
a splendid set of men, whom it has been 
a pleasure and privilege to meet—men in 
the highest sense of the word, doing their 
duty and putting heart and soul into their 
work. It is owing to these almost un- 
known men that Tunisia has made such 
great progress during the past 30 years. 
These men of war turn to agriculture 
and teach the Arabs how to improve 
their olive trees; how to graft new life 
into old trees; how to breed better cattle 
and horses; to raise more barley on their 
dry soil; make plans for piping water 
and digging wells; turn doctor and heal 
their diseased and suffering families. In 
short, bring order and system out of 
chaos, establish schools, law and order, 
and make peace reign where 30 years 
ago was rapine, fire, and sword. 
THE WORLD’S GREATEST WATERFALL: THE 
KAIETEUR FALL, IN BRITISH GUIANA | 
By LEonarp KENNEDY 
Veni EN DIONE wwien a lett: 
M New York as one of two pas- 
sengers on the steamship Surt- 
name, of the Royal Dutch West India 
Mail Line, was to spend a short vacation 
out of the way of things. My ticket read 
to “Georgetown, British Guiana,’ and 
that was almost all I knew about it. 
The day previous I had met a gentleman 
from Georgetown, who had advised me 
to make that city my destination. “It is 
interesting,” he said, “and there is a 
waterfall back in the bush worth seeing. 
Discovered 40 years ago, it has been 
visited very seldom. I think I am the 
only man in America who has seen it, 
yet it is five times as high as Niagara 
and ranks in magnificence with anything 
in the world.” 
So I landed in Georgetown indefinitely 
expectant. As a traveler with some ex- 
perience in hidden Europe, I planned to 
loftily present an omnipotent dollar to 
the “concierge” and allow him to make 
the arrangements for me to start inland 
the next day. I was disappointed, some- 
what agreeably, to find that the type was 
unknown. There were no pleasure- 
seeking tourists and so no concierge. I 
fell back on a letter of introduction to a 
hustling young American named Crane. 
“T'll put you through,’ he told me, 
“though I have no idea how.” 
Together we found a man who had 
made the trip. He was a rarity, even in 
Georgetown. “Sproston’s,” he informed 
us, would get me as far as Potaro Land- 
ing, and after that Indians were best. 
Sproston’s, I learned, was the transpor- 
tation company of the province and an 
institution of tremendous importance 
