Morocco | Page 8

or two a party of travellers settles on this plateau, says the
headman of Mediunah. From him I hear of a fellow writer from
England who was camped here six years ago.[5] Travellers stay
sometimes for three or four days, sometimes for as many weeks, and he
has been told by men who have come many miles from distant markets,
that the Nazarenes are to be found here and there throughout the
Moroccan highlands towards the close of the season of the winter rains.
Clearly their own land is not a very desirable abiding place, or they
have sinned against the law, or their Sultan has confiscated their
worldly goods, remarks the headman. My suggestion that other causes
than these may have been at work, yields no more than an assertion that
all things are possible, if Allah wills them. It is his polite method of

expressing reluctance to believe everything he is told.
From time to time, when we are taking our meals in the open air, I see
the shepherd boys staring at us from a respectful distance. To them we
must seem no better than savages. In the first place, we sit on chairs
and not on the ground. We cut our bread, which, as every True Believer
knows, is a wicked act and defies Providence, since bread is from Allah
and may be broken with the hand but never touched with a knife. Then
we do not know how to eat with our fingers, but use knives and forks
and spoons that, after mere washing, are common property. We do not
have water poured out over our fingers before the meal begins,--the
preliminary wash in the tent is invisible and does not count,--and we do
not say "Bismillah" before we start eating. We are just heathens, they
must say to themselves. Our daily bathing seems to puzzle them greatly.
I do not notice that little Larbi or his brother Kasem ever tempt the sea
to wash or drown them. Yet they look healthy enough, and are full of
dignity. You may offer them fruit or sweetmeats or anything tempting
that may be on the table, and they will refuse it. I fancy they regard the
invitation to partake of Nazarene's food as a piece of impertinence, only
excusable because Nazarenes are mad.
The days slip away from the plateau below Mediunah. March has
yielded place to April. To-morrow the pack-mules will be here at
sunrise. In the afternoon, when the cool hours approach, camp will be
struck, and we shall ride down the avenue of cork trees for the last time
on the way to "Tanjah of the Nazarenes," whence, at the week end, the
boat will carry us to some Atlantic port, there to begin a longer journey.
[Illustration: THE GOATHERD FROM MEDIUNA]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] "Moreover, we have decked the lower heaven with lamps, and have
made them for pelting the devils."--Al Koran; Sura, "The Kingdom."
[2] "The Far West", the native name for Morocco.
[3] One of the most charming of these houses is "Aidonia," belonging

to Mr. Ion Perdicaris. He was seized there by the brigand Rais Uli in
May last.
[4] Shelters provided by the Government for travellers.
[5] A.J. Dawson, whose novels dealing with Morocco are full of rare
charm and distinction.

FROM TANGIER TO DJEDIDA

[Illustration: OLD BUILDINGS, TANGIER]
CHAPTER II
FROM TANGIER TO DJEDIDA
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath
perced to the roote
* * * * *
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.
_The Canterbury Tales._
We have rounded the north-west corner of Africa, exchanged farewell
signals with our friend on Lloyd's station,--who must now return to his
Spanish and Arabic or live a silent life,--and I have taken a last look
through field-glasses at the plateau that held our little camp. Since then
we have raced the light for a glimpse of El Araish, where the Gardens
of the Hesperides were set by people of old time. The sun was too swift
in its decline; one caught little more than an outline of the white city,
with the minarets of its mosques that seemed to pierce the sky, and
flags flying in the breeze on the flat roofs of its Consuls' houses. The
river Lekkus showed up whitely on the eastern side, a rising wind

having whipped its waters into foam, and driven the light coasting
vessels out to sea. So much I saw from the good ship _Zweena's_ upper
deck, and then evening fell, as though to hide from me the secret of the
gardens where the Golden Apples grew.
Alas, that modern knowledge should have destroyed all faith in old
legend! The fabled fruits of the Hesperides turn to oranges in the hands
of our wise men, the