A EIDE IN MOKOCCO AND OTHER SKETCHES BY ARTHUR CAMPBELL TORONTO : WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS. Montreal : C. W. COAXES. Halifax : S. F. HUESTIS. 1897. Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by Arthur Campbrll, at the Department of Agriculture. CONTENTS. PAOB A Ride in Morocco 7 A Glimpse of Rome 104 In the Land of the Mandolin - - - 178 A Beggar at Monte Carlo - - - 260 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. I. ■■-:-■ • ■■■■■ ^ :.;■:-■;:,.,: There is an old story, told in some tale, of an English housewife who was forever preaching from the text " Early to bed and early to rise." Unlike most of the unpleasant people who preach, this good woman lived up to her principles. She was in the habit of getting up so early in the morning that by ten o'clock the household duties were done, and she was at her wits' end to know what to do with herself the rest of the day. The Spaniard is not exactly like the woman in the tale ; he spends the time between sunrise and sunset doing nothing by preference. But, in order that the day may be thus profitably employed, he does what little is done in Spain for the preserva- tion and regulation of human life at an unreasonably early hour. Accordingly, the dirty Spanish steamer Mogador, which conveyed me from Cadiz in Spain to Tangier in Morocco, was advertised to sail an hour before sunrise in order that we might be in Africa before noonday. I was awakened at half-past four, and, after dressing and hurriedly despatching some rolls and coffee, driven through the dark streets to the 8 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. water, where I descended a rickety ladder to a dirty tender. The tender was already overcrowded. There was more stuff, more baggage, more people on it than there was room for, everything thrown together in a heap. Forward I observed a number of grimy men slouching around the engine, smoking, the man in charge being apparently asleep, his head resting on the coal bin. Aft there was a heap of bundles and women, presumably the passengers. The man who received me at the foot of the ladder pointed aft ; but it was impossible to tell in the darkness which was bundle and which w^s woman, and I was afraid of sitting down on the wrong thing. So I stood still where I landed, and placing my coat on the gunwale, seated myself on it and lit a pipe. On the wharf stood a number of men in black cloaks with cigarettes in their mouths, and an old hag in a ragged shawl, who had her head tied up in a colored handkerchief. The men walked up and down languidly, hugging their cloaks and speaking occasionally in whispers ; but the voice of the withered old woman echoed through the night. For fully an hour she harangued the heap of bundles and women below her on the tender at the top of her voice, stopping only for a moment at intervals to wipe her mouth with her hand. The women, like the men on the wharf, were smoking, and seemed to pay little attention to the advice tendered them. Finally the old woman struck a light and proceeded to take a whiff herself; and we all settled down to a quiet smoke. A RIDE IN MOROCCO. , W Nobody in Spain over hurries — no wonder they di.strust the American nation — even if a woman picks up a pin she does it in the Spanish manner ; that is to say, she lets it lie. After sitting there for about an hour, thinking of the warm bed I had left behind me and the rolls and coffee that had remained uncon- sunv>d, I began to consider the advisability of going on shore again and getting some more breakfast. Happily it was not cold, though a little chilly, being the middle of January. When we started and ivhy I never knew ; I must have been asleep. Probably the man at the engine woke up by accident, and decided to run us over and be done with it before taking another nap. The sun was rising when the Mogador steamed out of the harbor of Cadiz, and the long line of white houses on the Pasco de las Delicias behind the ram- parts lighted up with the first beams. Then we rounded Fort Catalina, and had a fine view of that part of the city next to the sea. At the top of the precipitous white cliff runs a wall, and behind the wall rise tiers of dazzling white houses, the new cathedral, a pretentious structure of white marble, overtopping the picturesque old buildings around. The city presents a superb appearance from the water, rising with its white cliffs, white houses and white walls, high against the blue sky; the long sandy plain forming the isthmus which connects it with the mainland, increasing by contrast the majestic effect of city and fortresses set on a high hill. The coast of Andalusia is beautiful and picturesque 10 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. — mountains all along the shore, their sides covered with the olive, whose foliage glistened a silver grey in the sunlight. In the little baj's and in the vallies between the hills nestled villages and towns, their white houses gleaming like pearls in the sun. I was the only first-class passenger, and had the deck to myself. The pile of bundles and women lay below me amidships, a pitiful spectacle ; for all the women became seasick at the start, and lay, each on one of the bundles head downwards, bundle and woman altering their position with every lunge of the steamer. At first they wept and lamented, one calling to another ; then, the pitching and rolling becoming more violent, they fell to praying, each on her own account. But this stage, too, had its limit ; before we were half an hour out, their voices had become hushed, an occasional moan alone giving evidence that life was not quite extinct. It was a melancholy sight ; there were five bundles, and on each lay a woman with a face as white as a sheet; they lay with the head hanging over the end of the bundle and the hands grasping it at the side. As the steamer rolled to one side the bundles and their burdens would roll likewise, while a chorus of groans with an occasional shriek filled one with pity for the unfortunate creatures. Then, the Mogador rolling to the other side, the white faces and despairing eyes would involuntarily turn the other way. On one occasion, having struck a particularly rough sea, bundles and women rolled over altogether and got mixed up in so terrible a fashion that another passenger and myself felt A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 11 impelled to fly to the rescue, and succeeded with some difficulty in getting the several women extricated and placed each on her own bundle again. I did not like this other passenger. He was a short, thick -set man with a florid face — a Portuguese. Of Portuguese I did not know a single word ; of English he knew two — Good-day. Neverthelcvss, he succeeded in impressing me with the idea that he had a secret to tell me, the knowledge of which would be of great value ; but, as we could not make each other out, the thing became monotonous. At length, by walking away from him whenever he approached me, I man- aged to convey the impression that I felt we were uncongenial. Much more to my taste were the " Spanish sailors with bearded lips," who were typical specimens of that lazy, good-looking and most polite of races. One of them took me under his special care. I knew only a few words of Spanish, and he could speak no other tongue ; but I make it a rule always to speak the language of the country I happen to be in, whether I know it or not ; and it was surprising how well we got along. We discussed the war in Cuba ; and, when he found that all my sympathies were with the Mother-land and that I prayed night and day for the success of the Spanish arms, he almost embraced me. We were standing talking, looking into each other's eyes like two mesmerists, each giving his whole mind to it in the effort to understand the other, when all at once happening to glance for a moment over the sea, he seized my arm, and pointing away to the south-east, said, " Capo Trafalgar ! " 12 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. Capo Trafalgar ! The war in Cuba was forgotten, and we went back in memory to a more momentous struggle and a more eventful age. The cape juts out sh'^rply into the ocean, a mass of wild black cliffs risi precipitously from the sea, the waves dashing and la, *ng themselves at its foot, rising in clouds of white spiay. It is wild, grand, picturesque, almost awful. Far away on either side one could see the green olive-crowned hills sleeping peacefully in the sunlight ; and in the midst, standing out near to hand, rose these sharp iron-grey rocks with the ocean dash- ing against them in impotent rage — fit picture to associate with the remembrance of the day of battle. The Spaniard watched me narrowly, as if he expected me to make some demonstration ; which expectations were doomed to disappointment. Then, breaking forth into gesticulation and narration, he told me the story of the fight, which I was able to understand without effort, being already familiar with the same. The wind was high and there was a rough sea on, but not a cloud in the sky. The air was delightful I felt devoutly thankful for the fine weather, for a visit to the cabin in search of food was sufficient to convince me that, in the event of foul weather, the trip would have been miserable enough. It was stuffy and dirty as might have been expected ; and the moment I put my nose inside the door, the whole world seemed to become garlic. I drew back at first ; the smell of garlic is familiar enough if you have been in Spain ; but in this cabin it was concentrated and intensified. However the sea-breezes had sharpened A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 13 my appetite, and I was determined to have some more rnlls and coffee ; so I persevered and made a second attempt which was more successful. The coffee was excellent, and so were the rolls ; while I was waiting for them I inspected the staterooms, so that when they came I was able to step back into the air of the saloon, and found it a pleasing change. Those state- rooms — the pen of a Zola alone could do justice to them and the varieties of life that they contained. At last the coast of Spain was left behind ; and the shores of Africa, with the Atlas mountains piled up in masses against the sky, came into view. It was rough enough crossing the entrance to the strait of Gibraltar, and the women on the bundles thought their hour had come ; however about mid -day we anchored off Tangier. As we had to wait some time for boats to come to fetch us ashore, I had leisure to look around. The first view of Tangier, seen from the sea, is enchanting. The white houses, all distinctly Eastern in style, rise tier above tier from the water's edge to the citadel which crowns the summit of a high hill. The citadel is dilapidated, like everything else in Morocco, including the people ; seen from afar, its crumbling walls with their little square windows half broken away and the suggestion of old-time battles in its battered towers, it is romantically beautiful. Some of the houses and hotels are built on cliffs ov^erlooking the sea, and portions of the city lose themselves in little vallies and ravines behind. The sounds and smells of the narrow streets were indistinguishable ; and I sat 14 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. contentedly on deck, looking over the blue water and enjoying the view. Behind the city and far away as eye could see on either side, rose the mountains, a blaze of wonderful colors. At the base they were green — a vivid green that would have put Erin herself to shame ; then, farther up a greyish-green mingled with a greyish-purple tint, which was lost in turn in a dark sombre purple-brown around which the last remnants of the white clouds were slowly dissolving in the hot rays of the sun. At their feet rolled the blue water with its wave-crests of white spray glit- tering in the sunlight ; above them smiled the bluest of blue skies. We had to wait some time to be conveyed ashore ; but when once the boats put off to fetch us, it was apparent that we would all be taken and none left behind; for there were more boats than there were passengers. Each boat was propelled by two swarthy Moors with red fezes on their heads ; and long before they reached the Mogador they were seen to be engaged in a violent altercation. When they were at last alongside, I began to be doubtful whether, after all, any of us would land. They pushed and shoved one another about, fell upon one another, knocked each other out of the way, and splashed w^^ter about to such an extent that soon not a dry spot was left in any boat to sit upon — supposing that, by happy accident, we should succeed in getting into one. The torrent of Arabic, the yells, the screaming, the gesticu- lations and contortions of the boatmen were inde- scribable. A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 16 I stood ready to be transferred at an auspicious moment, my gladstone in one hand and my coat in the other, enjoying the fun. There were five boats, all manned by Moors. In one of them, however, I dis- cerned a man who was not a Moor, a solemn-looking individual clad in a long coat of sober grey with a cap on his head, evidently a Spaniard. He had large Spanish eyes, a long moustache and an expression of intense gravity. He looked neither at the Mogador nor at the boatmen, but sat gazing placidly at what- ever came into view as his boat was whirled around. His expression was that of an Adventist waiting for the millennium — calm expectancy, combined with a total absence of hurried preparation. I immediately made up my mind to get into his boat. It was no easy task, and the people on board cautioned me in Spanish against being premature. The Portuguese gentleman was particularly officious, and I told him in good hoi est English to mind his own business. He understood the remark if he was not capable of translating it word for word. As for the women, when the steamer stopped they had all come back to life again, and while we were waiting sat on their bundles, combing their hair. At the sight of the boats and the boatmen, however, they turned pale again. It looked indeed as if it would be " out of the frying-pan into the tire." Whether the others landed or not I do not know. The Mogador sailed for Malaga the next day ; and possibly some of the passengers never left her. I know I was the first to venture. " I am not a 16 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. Spaniard." I said; "and therefore, having come to Morocco, I am determined to be in Morocco." Luggage in hand I descended a step or two ; and then, being hastened in my descent by one of the Moors catching hold of my leg and pulling it, went the rest of the way headfirst — not, indeed, into the arms of the man who had so kindly assisted me down — his boat was pushed out of the way as I tumbled over ; I fell in a heap into another. It was rather watery, but I had no time to sit still and think about it. I looked hurriedly around, saw the melancholy Spaniard near me, and threw him my hat and stick. He caught them and made a dash for me; and I went over again headforemost into his boat. A yell arose from the two boats which I had made use of in passing, and I received a splash of water in the face. But I was safe with the Spaniard, who said in French — " Wait ! " So I sat down beside him and waited. I found he was a courier, and, after a few words of conversation, thinking I might as well engage him as any other, told him I should be glad of his services. In Morocco one cannot get along without a guide, and the offer he made was reasonable. We came to an understanding and I felt that I had him. Not at all — he had me. This man was Moreno. He was of Spanish blood, born in Morocco, and frequently acted as guide he told me when British officers came over from Gibraltar to ride through the country. His English, what there was of it, was excellent. When at a loss for an English word he used a French one. But his know- A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 17 ledge of both languages was limited, and he was frequently obliged to resort to Spanish. In Arabic he was eloquent and long-winded — sometimes, I fear, profane ; but the Arabic was reserved for mules and Moors. I am at a loss to describe the relation in which he stood to me. He certainly acted the part of courier and servan , bargaining and buying for me as well as looking after my mule and escorting me from place to place — and he was an excellent guide. But I could not call him a servant : his was the tone of command, the decisive voice, the dignity of ownership. I fol- lowed and obeyed. He stood in the place of a father, treating me as if I were a very small child whose whims and notions were of no account, and who required constant care. If I resisted, I was reasoned with gently and told a story — how some other foolish person had wished to do as I wished, and what awful consequences had resulted. I 'jubmitted for it was of no use to argue ; when he said it was bedtime I went to bed, and when he came in in the morning and said " Get up," I rose. When the mule was brought I got upon its back and there I had to stay until bidden to dismount. He regulated the time for meals and pro- vided the food. From the time that I got into the boat beside him until I left Morocco, I was no more responsible for what was done than if I had been a hoihy in arms. But he was honest and clean, respect- ful and attentive, though very firm. One element of a perfect character he lacked ; of what Carlyle calls " the saving grace of a sense of humor " Moreno had 18 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. not an atom. To him a spade was a spade, a mule a mule ; never once in the many ridiculous situations in which we found ourselves during the next few days did the gravity of his countenance relax. We landed, going up something that in Morocco serves as a substitute for a ladder, and found our- selves on a crazy pier. Here we were surrounded. A crowd of Moors, some in fez some in turban, some overdressed and others scarcely decently clad, but all dirty and all clamorous, closed in around us and laid hold of me by the arm or leg as it pleased them best. All wanted money, or to perform some service for which payment could be demanded. Moreno, taking my baggage, beat his way through the screaming mob, answering invective with invective. I followed close behind, shaking off my tormentors as one does the flies on a hot summer's day, when for one brushed off on one side a dozen settle on the other. We advanced, however, by degrees, and soon reached solid ground. Tangier has been in possession of England, Spain and Portugal ; each nation in turn gave it gladly away to another with whom she was on bad terms and to whom she wished to do a friendly ill. But no traces of European civilization are visible in the streets or in the habits of the people. There is still a European population of over four hundred souls ; but the effects of Eastern despotism are apparent in every nook and cranny. We passed through narrow streets, so narrow that all sunlight was excluded, so ill-paved that it was dangerous to walk without taking care at every step A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 19 and difficult to walk at all, through a motley crowd of men, women and children, many of whom clung to one as one passed, and dodging mules and donkeys at every corner. The streets were as filthy as one could wish, the din indescribable ; but the novelty of the scene more than atoned for the shock to nose and ear. Such color, such types of men, such aspects of Eastern life, were worth coming far to see. At last we reached a hotel. Entering it from the street was like passing from one civilization into another; for the hotels of Tangier, in the midst of the squalor and wretchedness of a degraded and degenerate Mohammedan population, are European in their commodiousness and comfort, and in their luxury almost Parisian. I was among the first to visit Morocco after the quarantine had been removed, and consequently found myself the only guest in a large and well-furnished hotel. My heart sank, not from fear of cholera microbes, but lest, having the whole house to myself, I might be expected to pay for the use of it. The proprietor spoke English almost as well as his native Spanish; but as he would bargain only with Moreno for me as if I were a piece of baggage, a three-cornered battle took place. I named my terms and eventually they were agreed to ; though I found, several days later, that we had come to an agreement without a consensus ad idem on one important point — I having stipulated to pay mine host so many Spanish pesetas, and he having bargained for as many English shillings ; which, as money goes in Morocco, meant a difference of seven 2 20 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. shillings in the pound. However I had a bit of paper written by Moreno, with the sum entered thereon in pesetas, so I carried the day. I am bound to say that I paid no more than my due for the excellent food and kind treatment I received. When the bargaining was over Moreno left me to enjoy my luncheon, warning me not to go out until he came back. At luncheon I expected to be alone ; but when I sat down I found myself one of two, the other guest being the captain of a French merchant- ship. He had either been drawing his pay or there had been some other cause for celebration, for he had celebrated to the utmost, and was as drunk as a lord. Like the Moslems around us and in defiance of French taste, he wore his hat at dinner. This compliance with the customs of the country, however, appeared to extend no further than the one particular act ; abstinence from strong drink, a precept strictly observed by the devout Mohammedan, was no part of his creed. Though luncheon was not yet served, he sat with bottle and glass before him, enjoying himself greatly. As each bumper was swallowed he would give his hat a tilt back, until at last it rested on his coat- collar behind, falling to the floor at the next glass. The waiter, a supple young Moor in fez with a bare leg, kindly picked it up and returned it to its owner, who placed it back on his head drawn well down over the eyes. The captain glared angrily at the Moor, and asked when dinner would be ready. The Moor, spreading A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 21 his hands out like a fan, answered in English, " At once." " Speak a civilized language and not Arabic," said the angry captain in French ; whereupon the Moor, who knew a little English and a little French, replied in the latter language. " Do you speak English ? " I inquired of the captain. The captain did not, but expressed his pleasure at finding me to be of that nationality. He congratulated me on not being a German or a Spaniard. Then we had a long conversation, in which the map of Europe was re- arranged according to the captain's idea of what it should be; and many troublesome questions over which the Powers are fighting to this day, were solved in a few minutes. Had his advice been taken and a war of extermination carried on aofainst all Turks, Arabs, Moors and Egyptians, there would have been no Armenian massacres, no more trouble with Abdul Hamid, and no Cretan embroglio. He had just glutted himself with the life-blood of the last adherent of Islam when luncheon was served. A noisy meal it was, and we both enjoyed it. The captain drank to my good health and to the over- throw of Islam, many times. I thought the food excellent, but he found it otherwise, declared that the fricassee was made of mouse-tails, and sent his soup- plate flying across the table as if it had been a curling stone. It was caught falling off the other side of the table by the supple Moor, whose patience and endurance seemed inexhaustible. The wine was of the best — delicious red Spanish wine — and no one could have found fault with it ; but the jolly captaip, 22 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. declared that what it possessed in (juality it lacked in quantity, and ordered a fresh supply. Whether he finished it when it came I do not know; when I left him he was doing his best. Taking my pipe, I went out and sat on the steps at the side of the street — if a narrow, ill-paved lane with a high white wall on either side pierced by an occasional latticed window, may be so called. Dirty men in dirty clothing, some wearing the fez and others the white turban, crouched in the mud, sleep- ing, smoking or quarrelling. Dirty women, with their heads concealed in a white burnoose showing only one eye, glided back and forth noiselessly. Dirty children played around in the doorways and the gutters; and at intervals a succession of yells her- alded the approach of dirty donkeys laden with hampers coming as hard as blows could drive them, each driven by a bare-legged man with a big stick, who screamed at the top of his voice as he approached. Whenever one appeared there was a great hustling and scampering and much complaint. Here and there a ray of vivid sunshine fell across the street, throw- ing the rest into a deeper shadow and adding a glorious color to the whole scene. Only one person took any notice of me, and that was a bright-looking boy who stood opposite, leaning against the wall. He wore a red fez, a dirty white bed-gown and yellow slippers. This individual smiled on me graciously for some time, and then, getting an answering smile, said : " Good morning, sir ; the English are nice people." A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 23 His English was excellent and I laughed, where- upon he repeated the remark. I was about to go over to continue the conversation, when some one took hold of the white garment and flourished a stick. Boy, stick and assailant disappeared around the comer. I thought of following, but the appearance ot* Moreno on the scene prevented me. He was mounted on a mule and leading another by the bridle. They drew up at the foot of the steps, all three looking very solemn, and I went down to meet them. At the same moment all the street gathered around us and began to clamor. Half a dozen men and boys fought for the privilege of holding my mule, a beast whom it required some skill to move, but who would stand still forever of his own accord. Moreno kept beating them off while I mounted, and then we turned up the street, brand- ishing sticks. We had them after us as thick as mosquitos, but got clear of them eventually with- out paying anything. We passed up the crooked street, and rode in and out through others of the same character. Now that I was mounted, it was delightful ; no more need to pick one's steps, uneven paving-stones and gutters running zig-zag from side to side forming no obstacle. I beat my way among the women and the donkeys, and flourished my stick at the beggars with a feeling of security. A strange city Tangier. Here I saw a notice in French, announcing that within must be posted letters for Europe; here one in English, 24 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. offering tobacco for sale ; and then others in Spanish, informing you that you could buy a hat inside and get your hair cut for so much. The Spanish were the most numerous ; but all looked odd and out of place amid the turbans, the squalor and the beggars. Strangest of all are the hotels for tourists which have a thoroughly European aspect, and look as if they had been caught up in France or England by a whirlwind and dropped by accident where they stood. We went up hills and down hills, the mules picking their steps carefully over the jagged stones that lie in heaps everywhere. " No one walks in Morocco," said Moreno ; and it was unnecessary to ask why — no one could. We met mules and donkeys, and a few horses and cu.nels. The horses are small and graceful crea- tures with short necks like the beautiful horses of Andalusia ; but they are not as valuable as the mules which are large and strong, as well as more sure- footed. The animal you meet oftenest, however, is the donkey ; and the poor donkey, half- starved, ill- treated and dirty, seems more in keeping with the place and people than the high-bred Arab. The crowds of people whom we encountered everywhere seemed to be doing nothing in particular. They slept or smoked, or sat quietly on the ground waiting for something to turn up. We were always something ; when we approached they begged. Married men wear a white turban, bachelors a fez ; so it is unneces- sary to ask a chance acquaintance whether he is married or single ; if he wore the turban one might A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 26 ask " How many ? " only tho question would be thought improper. Children were everywhere, the dirtiest, raggedeot one ever saw. And the smells ! — but they pass description. " Where are we going, Moreno ? " I inquired, as Tve turned from one narrow lane into another, always, it seemed to me, getting into a dirtier place than ever. " Where are you taking me ? " " To prison," was the answer. " Good heavens ! " I said, " what have I done ? " Moreno looked at me doubtfully, as much as to say, *' Is he really as stupid as that ? " and I put on a very serious expression, and asked " How long shall I be obliged to stay there ? " " One half hour — as you please." " Shall I be handcuffed ? " Moreno sighed, and then said, " It is a visit ; it is not a prisoner." He had no conception of a joke, then or ever. We rode on in silence. Now it so happened that I had been reading a book of travels in which the writer described his visit to this place; and the diflSculty of getting there had been, according to his account, very great. He had begun by calling on the American consul, and the consul had accompanied him to the palace. There an audience was obtained of the Cadi, to whom he inti- mated his desire. The answer had been a shake of the head and the pronunciation in Arabic of the word " impossible." Then had followed a long pala- ver and some shaking of the Stars and Stripes in the Cadi's face. Finally, as a mark of especial favqr, 26 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. the traveller, escorted by a retinue of servants and officials, had gone to visit the dungeon. I saw nothing of cadis or palaces, officials or consuls around, only beggars and dirt. We stopped once at an entrance gate ; but the only person of importance we found on guard was an old man who sat in the mud, leaning against the wall, humming. He had long skinny brown legs, and enough muslin on his head to have made a pair of bloomers, which would have been an improvement. The old man held out a hand, but did not stop humming. Moreno said he was " holy," though to an unprejudiced eye he seemed imbecile. Him we " tipped " as we rode through. Inside was a courtyard so disreputable that I was obliged to hold my nose as we entered. All the noises that distract the ear and odors that distress the nose seemed to be distilled and presented together. It was veritably a slum, a most unclean spot. The pavement was &o bad that the mules were obliged to pick their steps inch by inch. The dirt that covered it was indescribable, and the human creatures who gathered around us, shouting and bickering, seemed to have been made out of it. There were many of them, and all were clamorous ; the maimed, the halt and the blind, all crying together for backsheesh. Not one of them seemed to be whole ; some had lost an eye, others a leg. If anybody had both eyes and both legs left, the eyes were in a shocking state of disease or the legs useless. All, without exception, looked to be villains of the deepest dye. .Our saddles, bridles and legs were laid hold of, and A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 27 a great cry for backsheesh went up to heaven. But a warning voice came from Moreno, " You will pay no money to these people," and I clung to my beast and resisted. Moreno dismounted. His mule was seized, but he beat off his assailants and came to me. Then I dismounted, Moreno keeping off the natives with a stick. We left the mules, merely tying them together, and entered a narrow covered passage, Moreno leading, I following behind. The crowd hung on to me, crying for backsheesh in a manner to which I had become accustomed, though I had been in Morocco but a few hours. It was a very narrow passage, scarcely four feet wide, and the dirty pavement as elsewhere was very uneven. We had not gone far when a formidable obstacle to further progress presented itself. Seated on a stone square across the passage was the figure of a gigantic Moor, black as a Nubian and armed to the teeth with a long Moorish gun and daggers. He was fast asleep, but the noise we made coming in was enough to wake the dead. Pulling himself together with a start, his weapons clashing as he moved, he thrust a magnificent arm across the passage-way to bar our entrance, and in a voice of thunder ordered us back. I stood still; the aspect of affairs was not very reassuring. " A nice place this, Moreno," I said ; '' that big fellow with his knives, in front of us, and a pack of unclean maniacs hooting behind ! " But Moreno preserved a business-like composure. " This is the place for the money to go," he whispered ; 28 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. and, pulling a handful of copper coins out of his pocket, he counted them leiaurely and emptied them into the sentinel's lap. The effect was magical and instantaneous. The brawny arm relaxed, dropping as if paralyzed ; the colossal head sunk weakly on the mighty breast ; the clangor of weapons ceased. In less time than it takes to write the sentence this Boanerges was again in a state of somnolence. We went in. After so much trouble in getting there, it would have required a great deal to satisfy one's expecta- tions. The interior of the prison, however, was somewhat disappointing. The crowd inside resem- bled very much the crowd outside ; their faces were not a whit more villanous, nor was their condition more disreputable. Movement was, indeed, more difficult, for each of the prisoners had iron rings on his ankles, the rings being connected by means of a chain. They walked about, however, with consider- able agility, considering the impediment, and gathered together, clamoring for backsheesh, just as the free citizens had done outside. It was a little better than outside, for inside you have them only in front of you. An opening in the wall about four feet high and oval in shape is the medium of communication with the outer world. It is raised about two feet from the floor, and I asked for no permission to step over ; the ground on the other side was like that of a pig-sty. A ragged individual who carried a gun stood guard over the wretched creatures, ready to prevent A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 29 disturbances ; and he did the honors. Moreno held an animated conversation with him ; and different crimi- nals were brought up for my inspection. All crimes were represented ; I made acquaintance with robbers, cut-throats, murderers and other choice specimens of the genus villain. They excited no loathing ; rather it seemed to me hard that thev should be confined thus, and so many of their fellows running loose a few yards away. They were all occupied ; for, as no food is allowed them by the Government, they must do something for a living or starve to death. Every- body had something to cell, and if I did not wish to buy I was invited to bestow charity. I made a small purchase of a murderer to encourage him ; he manu- factured saddle-bags and was a benevolent-looking young man — besides which I wanted a saddle-bag. Moreno gave the guard a few copper coins, but I had nothing to bestow on the prisoners except advice ; and even that they did not get, for the disobliging courier refused to translate. It was kindly meant, for it referred to the cleaning up of their quarters ; and, if followed, would have greatly improved their health and comfort. Then, having met the most distinguished of the lot, we took our leave, passing out beside the still slumbering sentry. On getting back into the open air we found ourselves surrounded by the same crowd of disreputables who had impeded our progress on entering. Half a dozen of them were holding my mule, a beast that was willing to stand still till Doomsday of its own accord. The demand for backsheesh was renewed with redoubled vigor, 30 A RIDE IN MOkOCCO. and Moreno drove away the mob while I mounted. Then I looked around, selected the most villainous- looking of the lot, and bestowed on him a small copper coin of the value of about a farthing. What impression it made and what thanks I got I do not know ; flourishing our sticks we made our way out of the courtyard ; and then, urging the mules to a trot, we left the voice of their supplication farther and farther behind until it died away in the distance. " Well, Moreno," I said, drawing rein at the summit of a steep hill, " I have been in prison, now I should like to go to the palace. Can I see the Cadi ? " Moreno did not know. " You may see him, sir, you may not see him. If he rest himself, you see him; if he do not rest himself, you do not see him. We will go." So we went to see if he was resting himself. The approach to the palace was scarcely more imposing than the approach to the prison had been. We rode through narrow streets, full of noisy people, to reach it. When we reached it, we entered a large court- yard surrounded with white stone buildings. The hot sun of Africa streamed down on the white pave- ment, and was reflected in dazzling rays from the white walls. On the farther side, some twenty or thirty ragged men, each with a gun in his lap, sat cross-legged in a row, resting in the black shadow of the wall behind them. At one end of the court was a covered arcade, to which a flight of many steps led up. Under one of the arches sat, all alone in solitary state, a fat figure robed in blue and yellow with a A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 31 white turban on his head. " That," said Moreno, pointing to the fat figure, " is the Cadi of Tangier — he rest himself." We advanced over the white stones of the courtyard as far as Moreno thought it prudent to venture, then drew up and gazed at His Excellency — the four of us, Moreno and I and the two mules — regarding him with becoming reverence. He sat as motionless as a statue, a bundle of blue and yellow drapery, a white turban, two fat brown cheeks and a round nose com- fortably set on the bundle and half hidden by the white folds of the turban. " He rest himself, the Cadi — it is the time of day," said Moreno. "He does not see us," I complained, feeling that all the interest was on one side. " He does not see a Christian," was the reply. " If you come from government, he must see ; if you do not, he cannot see an infidel. He say we are dogs — no more." " Dog of a Christian " — even so. The Cadi, though he saw, yet, as a true believer, could not notice. The admiring gaze of a child of the west was to that fat figure of no more account than the stare of the mule upon which he rode. Not so much ; for the mule, if it had a religion, was a Mussulman, having the expres- sion of those who believe in fate and not in reason- ing. " And those men over there in the shadow," I said to Moreno, pointing to the ragged men with guns who sat cross-legged with their backs against the wall, "who are they?" 32 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. "Those men — they are his soldiers— they are to guard him." His body-guard — hence the guns. " Well why don't they run up to us and ask for money as everybody else does in Tangier ? " " When the Cadi is here they cannot see a Christian," said Moreno gravely. " If the Cadi go they come for money ; if the Cadi here, they do not see." "Arc they paid well ? " I asked, looking at their rags. "They are not paid, these men. Sometimes he pay them — not often. They beg — they work. The Sultan has no money, except to get wives; they are four hundred." I looked compassionately at the body-guard, who were, one and all, unconscious of our existence, like their master ; and then back again at the Cadi. The sun was hot, and the white walls dazzling; I put up my hand to shade my eyes. All was so very still ; had they been so many statues, they could not have been more oblivious of our existence. In this little scene one could see the pride, self-sufficiency and vain- glory of the eastern world as in a nutshell. It was very striking. I half wished the Cadi would go in, to watch the soldiers spring to their feet and importune us ; but His Excellency probably considered it infra dig to move in the presence of such as we ; he sat on without winking an eye. In a few minutes more Moreno placed his hand on my arm, and whispered that we must not stay too long; so I took a last look at them, and then, turning round, struck the mule on the flank to spur him on, and we rode out again. A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 83 Moreno drew up before an open door, behind which a flight of stone stairs led up to the floor above. From upstairs proceeded a chorus of yells of a differ- ent nature to those to which I had become accustomed. I noticed the difference, and suggested that we go in and investigate. " I take you in," said Moreno ; " this is school." We left our mules and climbed up the stone stair- way. At the top was an open door. We sat down on the floor at the threshold and looked through. It was a small place, not more than fifteen feet square. But little room was needed. An elderly gentleman with an impressive turban and white beard, sat on the floor with his back to the wall. Around him, sitting with their backs to him, squatted a number of little yellow boys, reciting the Koran. They were packed together as close as it was possible to pack them ; each wore a fez, and their tiny shoes were lying all together in a comer. The children looked prematurely old, their faces were so serious and so yellow. They lose the look in after life, for their faces turn brown ; the Moors are a handsome race. Of course they took no notice of us, we were unbelievers ; and they had learnt their first lesson in life, that an unbeliever is a dog and need not be noticed unless you can get money out of him. Not two feet from me sat a very small child, whose face was as yellow as a buttercup. His little toes were peeping out from under his clothes, and I would have muck liked to tickle him ; for, though we sat so near, he was utterly unconscious of our presence. While 34 A RIDE IN MOROCCO, I was looking at him and wondering what would happen if I tickled those toes, his face puckered up and he began to recite. These children go to school to learn the Koran ; and when they have learnt enough of it off by heart their education is finished. Moreno pointed out the old man who taught, and explained the process of teach- ing. The old gentleman was quite patriarchal ; but I decided that, even in oae's school-days, it was better to have been born in the wild West. It was a very melancholy type of school. The child recited with great vehemence ; and I felt that if I had to listen to his piping voice much longer I would be obliged to turn the school for a moment into a similitude of one in the West, and spank him. The scorn of the true believer, expressed by so very young a boy in so marked a manner, was too irri- tating to be borne with patience. Lest this should happen I rose and we descended the stairs. Then we rode through the market-place. A num- ber of camels and donkeys stood together in groups in the middle of the square, leisurely eating their hay. Around them, in a circle, sat their owners, men and women from the country, all sitting on the ground with their produce displayed on mats in front of them. There were heaps of golden oranges and mandarins, all kinds of fruit and vegetables, grain and poultry. Gathered about each was a throng of buyers, bargaining with much argument and gesticu- lation in true Eastern style. Passing through the market, we rode on into the country. A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 35 The streets of Tangier are so bad as to be dangerous, but the roads outside the city are, if possible, worse. On each side of the road is a wall protecting the gar- dens and vineyards ; and half of the wall is usually standing and the other half scattered over the high- way in the shape of heaps of stones. A ditch, some- times a deep one, runs zig-zag along the road, keeping as near the middle as possible ; and often, on account of the holes and the stones, one comes to a standstill and is obliged to jump the ditch to the other side, only to return again to escape a new obstacle. We rode along, sometimes on one side of the ditch and sometimes on the other; and not infrequently the ditch divided into two, forming a little island, on which we stood deciding which way to jump. But if the roads were bad, I was more than repaid for the trouble of riding over them. We ascended a long hill, and the view from the top was superb. On one side rose the city, looking like spotless marble in the glorious sunlight, its white houses with their flat roofs rising tier above tier, catching a faint yellow- ish tinge from the mellowing rays of the setting sun ; while the crumbling citadel and the many towers cast mysterious black shadows here and there, en- hancing the beauty of the scene. Between us and the city were patches of vivid green fields and gardens, glistening like jewels ; even the road, seen winding in and out down in the valley, looked alluring. The rains were but just over. They commence toward the end of October and continue for about nine weeks; consequently the season of 36 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. verdure was at its height. The rain had just fallen, the greenness was universal, the hot sun had as yet wrought no blight on the vegetation. But the view of the city was eclipsed by that on the farther side. Away to the east and west and south rose the mountains, piled up in purple masses against a sky lovely as that of Naples, their soft purplish rolcr blending in the shadowy parts into a deep purple blue, sometimes streaked with grey or lightened with floods of golden sunlight. Isolated dwellings stood out here and there, on hillside or in valley, like tiny cornelians set in amethyst and emerald ; and down in the valley to the southward I saw a long line of camels and horses, Arabs mounted and on foot, with white turbans and flowing cloaks, slowly making their way toward the mountains. It was enchanting. "Moreno, this is a fine country for the painter. They are gloriously beautiful, those mountains ! " Moreno looked around with a dull and unsympa- thetic eye. " You can go in three days, and no more," said he. " I am the man who will take you." I had told him I wished to cross the mountains; and he had assured me that he was not only a good guide, but the only reliable one in the country. There had been no tourists in Morocco for many months on account of the cholera; but two men had arrived this very day in Tangier — Englishmen from the gar- rison at Gibraltar — and Moreno was full of concern lest they should come to grief, having engaged a soldier and a guide in whom he had no confidence. A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 37 " I should like to go to Fez," I said, " but it will cost too much ; you and your soldier and the mules, among you, would break me." " Mahomet is a good soldier and I am a good man," said Moreno ; " you are safe. We do not break a man in Morocco, only the Rifs. Vous comprenez ?"• He frequently ended a sentence in this way, adding " vous comprenez," as if French had been my mother- tongue and we were speaking English for practice. When he swore, he swore in Spanish or Arabic — Spanish if he swore at me, Arabic if at the mules. I felt flattered at the distinction. The Rif country is in a state of chronic rebellion against the Sultan. If you travel in Morocco, you must have a soldier with you; his presence ensures your safety. In the Rif country, however, they kill you, soldier and all. " I am not afraid of the Rifs," I said boldly, not having any intention of making a detour into that part of the Moorish dominions where those amiable people abound. " With you and Mahomet, I should think one would be safe anywhere." " A man who goes into the Rif country is cut with a knife," said Moreno ; " I do not go." " Pernaps I shall go alone." Moreno swore — in Spanish. *' Two men go to-mor- row to Tetuan, the first since the cholera," he said, referring again to the Englishmen, as foreigners always do, thinking that because one of your nation- ality is doing a thing you must wish to do it also — " and they have no guide, only Gilali who is a fool and knows nothing. They come from Gibraltar, these men." 38 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. " Well it will be best for me to go to Tetuan, too. Are you sure there are no Rifs ? " " You ride with me and Mahomet," replied Moreno gravely. " Robbers ? — one, two or three, they are nothing. After night you are not out — you will go to Tetuan ? " " Novi^ verrons. Vous cortiprenez ? " Much more was said. I endeavor to transcribe Moreno's remarks correctly; but it is impossible to give them exactly as they were uttered. He spoke English in the fashion of a child who recites by rote, and French and Spanish words frequently got in by mistake, of which he was quite unconscious. He waxed eloquent, dilating on the beauties of the country to be traversed, the comforts of travelling in Morocco on mule-back, the incompetency of all guides (except Moreno) and the inexpensive nature of the trip. I put off coming to terms until the evening, telling him I had decided not to decide. " But all the same, I must cross those glorious mountains ! " I said, turning again, and looking at the panorama which lay spread out before me to the westward. " No, those are the wrong mountains," said Moreno gravely. "It is eight days to go by that way. Tetuan is over those mountains," pointing eastward with a fat finger ; " it is one, two, three days and no more." Moreno's literalness was painful. I resolved not to indulge in any more raptures while he was listening. His next suggestion was that I should go back to the hotel for dinner ; and accordingly we started. A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 39 When we got Imck into the city we came to a level plain fairly well paved, and started our mules to a gallop. I had been ao hot that my hat had become heav}^ and I was wearing it on the back of my head. Turning the corner the wind took it. I never had so much trouble getting a hat. To begin with Mor- eno was angry, and swore as he went to fetch it. Then he had to fight with the whole street for the possession of it. I rode around laughing, as he beat one dirty Moor after another for the pains they took to get it back to me without the intermediary of a courier. But Moreno was obdurate and dealt blow after blow with his stick, until at last it was dropped at his feet and he was able to bring it to me. " I am very sorry, Moreno," I said, " but you did look so funny beating those beggars." " In Morocco we do not laugh at that," said Moreno. " I will never laugh again, Moreno." "In Morocco we keep our hat on our head," he said roughly, and kindly put mine on for me, jam- ming it down tight over my eyes. We rode on, the street following, clamoring for money because they had picked up my hat. At dinner I had the charming company of the French captain again ; but he was reduced to a state of semi- stupefaction, and contented himself with one bottle of wine. His hat was drawn down close over his eyes, and his voice was heard only in feeble mutterings. After dinner I sauntered to the door, and lighting a pipe, sat down to watch the street life.- To my great amusement my young friend, the boy 40 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. who held such a favorable opinion of the English, still stood opposite, and when he caught my eye, saluted me with the same words, " Good morning, sir," very distinctly pronounced. " Good evening, boy," I answered, nodding ; " you must make a distinction between morning and even- ing. What do you think of the English now ? " " The English are nice people," said the boy. " So they are, boy ; and perhaps as grasping as the Moors, only wc don't show it in the same way." There was a short silence, and then the boy said, *' You are going to Tetuan, sir ? " News evidently travels fast in Morocco, notwith- standing the absence of railways and telegraph wires. Heavens, suppose they were preparing for me in Tetuan already ! Instinctively I clutched my purse. The boy seemed to divine my thoughts, for he wagged his head and said solemnly, " Don't pay more than three pesetas apiece for your mules." The sum was what Moreno had suggested, so I decided to let that item stand and fight others. While I was thinking about it I felt a hand touch me ; the boy was at my side, his palm extended. He held it right under my nose. I looked at him in- quiringly, and he said, " The English are nice people — coffee." I took out a coin submissively and placed it in the open palm. There were a few words, " Good morning, sir, the English are nice people," and then a pair of heels were visible, disappearing up the street. I saw him no more until I returned from Tetuan. A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 41 When Moreno arrived he took me out with him to a place which could only be described as a cafe chan- tant — without the woman in white satin gown and paste diamonds who usually figures on the stage in such places. It was a long, low room, divided half way across by a row of wooden pillars. The entrance door was in one corner. At one end of the room there was a divan on which we sat down, Moreno and I ; everyone else, performers and habitues, sat on the floor, cross-legged. The musicians, five in number, sat in a circle. What their instruments were, what sort of music it was, I cannot say. To the western ear it was one long, loud succession of frightful discords. They sang to the music, and the singing was in keeping with the accompaniment. Moreno interpreted some verses for me, and the subjects were the same as those to which we are accustomed in the western world — Beauty's eyes and the stars of Heaven inspiring the sentiment. It seemed to me that the melodies of Paolo Tosti were more in accordance with the feelings they are intended to express than those of the Arabian song-writers. Perhaps, as the eyes of the African beauty are invari- ably half hidden by an unsightly burnoose, the African composer deems it consistent to veil his finer feelings in a discordant jingle. Other guests came and went, men and boys. Turbans and fez were, of course, never doffed, but the shoes were left at the door. In compliment to the nation I kept my hat on my head ; but forbore going so far as to slip off^ my riding boots. As soon as we 42 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. were seated a man shuffled up to Moreno and asked him what we would take. Moreno wanted coffee and I tea, at which Moreno shook his head. " If it doesn't agree with me I shall know better the next time," said I with some inward misgivings, as I ordered the tea to be brought. Moreno was my guardian, and I obeyed him in all matters of impor- tance ; but I thought it hard not to be allowed a cup of tea, and was determined to have my own way. The drinks were brought. Moreno's coffee looked very good ; it was strong and black with a delicious aroma. The tea — well, in Morocco they make it weak, and fill the glass (it is drunk in glasses) with green mint, full up to the top ; it is sweetened overmuch with brown sugar besides. A more disgusting mess cannot be imagined. Moreno sipped his coffee. I put my glass to my lips and sniffed. I detest the odor of mint. I have never tasted Moorish tea ; but that once I smelt it. The smell made me quite ill. I put it down on my knee and looked at it pensively. Meanwhile the aroma of Moreno's coffee was tantalizing. " You do not like it ? " said Moreno in the tone of " I told you so." " I don't know," I answered vaguely. And then, turning to him, I said in a friendly way, " Moreno, will you swop drinks ? " *' ' Swop ' drinks," said Moreno, " what are they ? " " Do you like tea ? " " I can drink it," said Moreno with dignity ; " you can not. I will change." A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 43 We " swopped." He drank the tea and I the coffee with the feelings of a child who has found "papa knows best." Then we paid for our entertainment and went out. When we returned to the hotel Moreno and I sat down to calculate the cost of an excursion into the mountains. To travel in Morocco one must have a permit from the Cadi of Tangier. You are also required to be accompanied by a soldier; if you go without and are robbed or murdered you can make no complaint ; it is your own fault. Moreno under- took to get a permit that night ; and as for soldiers, there was Mahomet, than whom a more trustworthy person was not to be found in Morocco or out of it. The name was suggestive, and I agreed to Mahomet. Then I was bidden to go to bed, as we must be up at half-past five and away. I remonstrated to no effect ; we must start early in order to be in Tetuan before the gates closed. To pass the night outside of a walled town was dangerous on account of robbers and murderers. I thought of the pleasing people whom I had met in the prison, and agreed to an early start. " But I shall never wake at five," I said. " You will wake when I come," said Moreno ; " and then you will get up. Now you will go to bed." The door closed behind him, and I laid myself down to rest with a new and rather pleasurable sensation — that of being, for the first time since infancy, no longer responsible for my actions. 44 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. II. The hotel was built on the top of a cliff which overlooked the sea ; and I was kept awake the greater part of the night by the roaring of the wind and the dashing of waves against the rocks. At last, how- ever, I fell asleep, and was enjoying a sweet morning nap when I became conscious that Moreno, booted and spurred, stood beside me, candle in hand, announcing in a business-like tone of voice that it was five o'clock. Instead of leaping out of bed as he evidently expected, I yawned and said there was time enough, which made him look serious. He said that if we did not start at once we might not reach Tetuan before night- fall, and hinted darkly of robbers and bandits — so I rose. Pointing to some coffee and a half of a loaf of bread which he had brought with him, he went out to see to the packing of our provisions. I was choking myself with lumps of bread and putting on a necktie at the same time, when he reappeared and announced that the mules were restive — which I can well believe. Nothing on earth can move a mule if you are in a great hurry ; but if you wish to take your time the mule bums to be galloping on. " This tie is so troublesome, Moreno," I said ; " it requires time and patience." " In Morocco you do not want a tie," said Moreno ; " it is only Moors you see." " Nevertheless I could not exist without a tie," I explained ; " it is self-respect, I suppose." Moreno did not understand ; but he helped me on A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 45 with the tie, and a terrible mess he made of it. I scalded my throat with hot coffee, he put on my coat for me, and down we went. It was dark, damp and cool in the alley outside. A young Moor was there with a lantern ; and the fitful light filled the quaint little street with weird shadows. Under that archway, behind yonder latticed window, in the shadow of the doorway, one could imagine all kinds of grim and romantic forms. In the dim light I saw three mules, and on one of them sat the pictur- esque figure of Mahomet. Few people with suggestive names fail to disappoint, when at last you see them for the first time before the name has become indivi- dualized for you. Mahomet was one of the few ; his name became him. He was a tall and well-built Arab, slender, and graceful in his movements. His features were regular and his smile prepossessing. A faint moustache and the suggestion of a beard gave him a benevolent look; and the face was an index to the mind within. He was well dressed, wearing a great many clothes, Arab-like ; a loose white cloak that hung over his shoulders and all around his body, showing here and there under the outer one of dark reddish color which he wore over all. His turban, falling behind over his neck and kept in place by a loose string, was spotlessly white. Crosswise in front of him on the pommel of his saddle lay a long Moorish gun covered with the brass-work in which the nation delights ; and a formidable-looking knife hung at his side. Altogether he inspired me with great confidence and respect at the outset; and the feeling deepened 46 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. on closer acquaintance. Moreno despised him; but Moreno's opinion did not alter mine, though I was obliged to treat Moreno as if he were infallible. The mules did not impress me so favorably. To begin with, I was obliged to ride in a Moorish saddle with Moorish stirrups, not having thought of provid- ing myself with a European one. Their saddles are broad, flat and ill-made, badly stuffed, lumpy, and generally greatly the worse for wear. Moors have apparently no bones, muscles or nerves to hurt. The stirrups are square. As mules stumble at times on jagged rocks or in pitfalls, a heavy square stirrup has its advantage ; your foot, once in it, stays there. The mule may roll over, stumble, pirouette, or leap the wrong way ; you are on his back at the end, even if every bone be dislocated. But the habits of the mule, and a square, flat, ill-stuffed saddle make a journey of the kind somewhat fatiguing. Tourists coming from Gibraltar frequently bring their own saddles and ride horses, which is a more comfortable method of making the excursion into the mountains ; although the horse is not so surefooted as the mule on the hills. As for me, I was " doing in Rome as the Romans do," and had to take the consequences. The young Moor held the lantern for us to see to mount, and we got off, Mahomet leading, then I, and last Moreno, the mules, no longer so eager to be going, encouraged by volleys of Arabic in the front and rear. We picked our way down the steep, narrow street, turning corners, passing under archways and crossing A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 47 ditches, getting gradually down the hill, until we struck a street leading to the shore. Unlike the other cities and towns of Morocco, Tangier has neither walls nor gates ; you pass gradually out of the city into the country. When we reached the shore, we found ourselves on the outskirts of the town, the houses rising on one side and the bare hills and fields on the other. The country around is very detiolate. There are detached houses heru and there, and orange-gardens ; but the houses and garden-walls are in a ruinous condition, the roads detestable, and the hills bare. Consequently the country outside the town is rather dreary ; though the state of dilapidation into which everything has fallen in Morocco adds a certain weird beauty to the scene. The background of mountains renders every view sublime ; but there are few trees and no flowers along the roadside, and the evidences of Asiatic despotism are visible at every step. We reached the sea, and for some time the road we followed lay along the shore. We rode on the wet sand amid the sea-weed, the waves rolling in at our feet, the breath of the ocean fanning our cheeks and bracing us for the long climb over the mountains. Nothing was ever lovelier than that ride along the beach over the hard sand in the hour before the dawn of day. We were travelling due east ; and, though it was not as yet the hour of sunrise, looking out over the Mediterranean, one could see a greyish glimmer on the far horizon.' The water was of the deepest, deepest blue, almost black, a silver fringe of foam 48 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. showing itself along the curved line of the shore where the waves broke on the sand. The sky overhead was full of deep night, and yet with suggestions of the dawn, paling stars and streaks of purple in the east- ward telling the approach of day. Low down in the east it glowed deep purple, like the purple after sunset, against which stood out the picturesque figure of Mahomet, with his long cloak and white turban flut- tering in the wind that blew from the sea. To the right rose the mountains, veiled in the white mists of morning, the summits of the hills invisible, but the base showing a dark tint of green almost black, in vivid contrast to the clouds that hung above. As we rode on and on, the light on the water be- came more and more distinct, the color in the sky was reflected below, and the dark purple in the east grew ruddier and ruddier, until a golden tinge began to spread itself over the horizon, and the first streaks of sunlight shot upward from the sea. I could have ridden for hours along that shore, but our route lay elsewhere. Turning sharply to the right, we began to follow a winding path that led up among the wild hills. Then began a climb. Tangier lay behind us ; and as we turned and doubled the side of the hill, a glance back showed the city rising terrace above terrace, the white houses gleaming in the first light of the morning. There are no carriage roads in Morocco, nothing but mule-paths. There are, however, mule-paths and mule-paths. Sometimes you can see a path ; and if it is on the level, or a long smooth hillside, you can A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 49 indulge in a gallop with impunity, knowing whither you are going. But this is an exception ; as a rule you see nothing but boulders in front of you and pit-falls on every side. There is nothing to be done but sit warily and let the mule find his way. During the war with Spain the Spaniards penetrated to Tetuan, and left as a memorial of their conquest a bridge over one of the rivers not far from Tangier. This bridge, or a half of it, still stands, broken off in the middle. The mule picks his way over the broken stones of the fallen half, and then jumps up on the remaining portion, and trots gaily to the river bank. I asked Moreno why the Sultan did not repair this bridge, but was told that " he has no money, only for his wives — in Morocco we do not repair." I noticed with pleasure that there was only the one bridge. Fording a stream has its disadvantages; but it is preferable to crossing a bridge that is broken in two in the middle, with one-half standing and the other lying scattered in heaps of stones. Mahomet in his dark reddish-brown cloak led the way, looking, save for the long Moorish gun, like a veritable picture of Ishmael. He went along at a jog-trot, Arab-fashion, mule and man moving to- gether and no rise in the saddle. This is all very well for cavalry — a horse and a civilized saddle make a great difference. I tried it in the Moorish saddle — but a short experience was enough. I have never been seasick ; but I felt the last stage of seasickness that morning. Death would have been a happy relief. 60 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. The Englishmen we saw ahead of us, two gentle- men with guide and soldier, riding on the mule-path half a mile beyond, around the mountain. I was pleased to think they were going my way, for the people whom we met were all Berbers and Arabs, riding on camels or mules ; and the thought of seeing an English face and hearing the English tongue at the end of the journey was cheering. I whipped up my mule, and we began the ascent. It was fatiguing work, though the novelty more than atoned for the fatigue. All day long it was nothing but one mountain after another, with short stretches of valley in between, vallies green as emerald, covered with long, rank grass. There were no trees; but low palmettos grew everywhere, and some strange African plants of which I did not know the name. Moreno never knew it either, except in Arabic. In the vallies we could trot, which varied the slow monotony of going stone over stone, up and down ; but the vallies were usually narrow, and the trot short. A stream was always forded and then the mules would begin their slow ascent, climbing up on a huge boulder, looking about, and then plunging down in a hurry, just where one least expected them to go. " Do not tie up your mule," Moreno would call out to me ; " he is not a horse. Untie him and he will find himself." This meant " give him a loose rein and he will find his way"; at first I did not understand it, and he was obliged to show me what he meant. I had lost all sense of personal responsibility for my actions, as A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 61 far as Moreno was concerned ; and now it appeared that I was to be governed by the mule. I dislike riding a beast without knowing its name ; " Moreno, what do you call the mule ? " " Je ne comprends pas." "What is his name?" " He has no name — he is a mule." So I named him after a dear friend left behind in Canada, whom the animal's characteristics brought into pathetic remembrance ; he answered to the name in more ways than one. Progress, even with the mules untied and finding themselves, was slow, the path was so steep, a path for the most part over the rocks. Often I could not tell which was path and which was not, the mule and I usually differing on the subject. Four times my stirrup broke ; and each time Moreno tied it up with a bit of string, saying it would never break again. At last I got exasperated, and changed mules with Moreno. His saddle, however, was much worn and lumpy ; he had given me the best ; I was glad to get back to my own beast. " The man who owns the mule wants money," said Moreno. " He ought to be ashamed of himself." " He is not. He does not care. It ' is all one — he wants money, that man ; he does not care." "He wants a good thrashing," I said with some indignation ; " if I had him here he would get it." " No," said Moreno gravely, shaking his head, " he is a big man ; you are not." " I would do something with him, if I had him," I 52 A RIDE IN MOROCCO. Raid savagely ; and, brandiHhing my stick in the air, I castigated the imaginary mule-owner with great severity. Even that was better than nothing. The sun shone bright, now up above the mountains ; and no words can describe the beauty of the green vallies, fading and merged in a lighter tint farther up, which in its turn gave place to the rich purplish brown of the rocky heights above. The deep blues, almost indigo, the rich purple and the golden brown of those mountain peaks were wonderful. And they were wild, wild and rugged, no clustering foliage, no trees to relieve the sides of the bills ; yet such glori- ous masses of rich color I never saw elsewhere. And the people were as wild as the country — great dark, rough-looking men, with strong limbs and morose ex- pression, all dressed in loose garments of the same c lor, a dirty yellowish white. The Moorish villages, mostly perched high up on the hills, are simply col- lections of huts, built of stones and mud and thatched with straw. Only in the neighborhood of cities does one see the white stone house, set in an orange garden and surrounded with a high white wall, so common in pictures of the land. We were not aliowed to dismount, that is I was not ; Mahomet did, several times, to say his prayers. It did not cause any delay, for he was not one of those who expect to be heard for their much speak- ing; a leap from the saddle, a spreading of his shoulder-cloth on the ground, and a moment's kneeling with his face turned toward Mecca, was enough. He would be up again in the saddle, lei- A RIDE IN MOROCCO. 53 Kurely riding on uh before, in le8H time than one couI