Morocco | Page 8

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 death-dealing dragon becomes Wad Lekkus itself, so ready even to-day to snarl and roar at the bidding of the wind that comes up out of the south-west, and the dusky maidens of surpassing loveliness are no more than simple Berber girls, who, whilst doubtless dusky, and possibly maidenly as ever, have not inherited much of the storied beauty of their forbears. In spite of this modern perversion of the old tale I find that the oranges of the dining-table have a quite rare charm for me to-night,--such an attraction as they have had hitherto only when I have picked them in the gardens of Andalusia, or in