Morocco | Page 6

flowers. Trees and shrubs fight for light and
air, the fittest survive and thrive, sheltering little birds from the
keen-eyed, quivering hawks above them. The road makes me think of
what the French Mediterranean littoral must have been before it was
dotted over with countless vulgar villas, covered with trees and shrubs
that are not indigenous to the soil, and tortured into trim gardens that
might have strayed from a prosperous suburb of London or Paris. Save
a few charcoal burners, or stray women bent almost double beneath the

load of wood they have gathered for some village on the hills, we see
nobody. These evening rides are made into a country as deserted as the
plateau that holds the camp, for the mountain houses of wealthy
residents are half a dozen miles nearer Tangier.[3]
On other evenings the road chosen lies in the direction of the Caves of
Hercules, where the samphire grows neglected, and wild ferns thrive in
unexpected places. I remember once scaring noisy seabirds from what
seemed to be a corpse, and how angrily the gorged, reluctant creatures
rose from what proved to be the body of a stranded porpoise, that
tainted the air for fifty yards around. On another evening a storm broke
suddenly. Somewhere in the centre rose a sand column that seemed to
tell, in its brief moment of existence, the secret of the origin of the
djinoon that roam at will through Eastern legendary lore.
It is always necessary to keep a careful eye upon the sun during these
excursions past the caves. The light fails with the rapidity associated
with all the African countries, tropical and semi-tropical alike. A
sudden sinking, as though the sun had fallen over the edge of the world,
a brief after-glow, a change from gold to violet, and violet to grey, a
chill in the air, and the night has fallen. Then there is a hurried scamper
across sand, over rocks and past boulders, before the path that stretches
in a faint fading line becomes wholly obliterated. In such a place as this
one might wander for hours within a quarter of a mile of camp, and
then only find the road by lucky accident, particularly if the senses have
been blunted by very long residence in the heart of European
civilisation.
[Illustration: A GUIDE, TANGIER]
I think that dinner brings the most enjoyable hour of the day. Work is
over, the sights of sea and shore have been enjoyed, we have taken
exercise in plenty. Salam and his helpers having dined, the kitchen tent
becomes the scene of an animated conversation that one hears without
understanding. Two or three old headmen, finding their way in the dark
like cats, have come down from Mediunah to chat with Salam and the
town Moor. The social instinct pervades Morocco. On the plains of
R'hamna, where fandaks are unknown and even the n'zalas[4] are few

and far between; in the fertile lands of Dukala, Shiadma, and Haha; in
M'touga, on whose broad plains the finest Arab horses are reared and
thrive,--I have found this instinct predominant. As soon as the evening
meal is over, the headmen of the nearest village come to the edge of the
tent, remove their slippers, praise God, and ask for news of the world
without. It may be that they are going to rob the strangers in the price
of food for mules and horses, or even over the tent supplies. It may be
that they would cut the throats of all foreign wayfarers quite cheerfully,
if the job could be accomplished without fear of reprisals. It is certain
that they despise them for Unbelievers, _i.e._ Christians or Jews,
condemned to the pit; but in spite of all considerations they must have
news of the outer world.
When the moon comes out and the Great Bear constellation is shining
above our heads as though its sole duty in heaven were to light the
camp, there is a strong temptation to ramble. I am always sure that I
can find the track, or that Salam will be within hail should it be lost.
How quickly the tents pass out of sight. The path to the hills lies by
way of little pools where the frogs have a croaking chorus that
Aristophanes might have envied. On the approach of strange footsteps
they hurry off the flat rocks by the pool, and one hears a musical plash
as they reach water. Very soon the silence is resumed, and presently
becomes so oppressive that it is a relief to turn again and see our
modest lights twinkling as though in welcome.
It is hopeless to wait for wild boar now. One or two pariah dogs,
hailing from nowhere, have been attracted to the camp, Salam has
given them the