Morocco

CHAPTER XII. To the Gate of the Picture City 217

To the Gate of the Picture City 217

List of Illustrations

1. In Djedida Frontispiece FACING PAGE 2. A Shepherd, Cape Spartel 2 3. The Courtyard of the Lighthouse, Cape Spartel 4 4. A Street, Tangier 6 5. In Tangier 8 6. A Street in Tangier 10 7. A Guide, Tangier 12 8. The Road to the Kasbah, Tangier 14 9. Head of a Boy from Mediunah 16 10. The Goatherd from Mediunah 18 11. Old Buildings, Tangier 20 12. Moorish House, Cape Spartel 22 13. A Patriarch 24 14. Pilgrims on a Steamer 26 15. The Hour of Sale 28 16. Evening, Magazan 30 17. Sunset off the Coast 32 18. A Veranda at Magazan 34 19. A Blacksmith's Shop 36 20. A Saint's Tomb 40 21. Near a Well in the Country 42 22. Near a Well in the Town 44 23. Moorish Woman and Child 46 24. Evening on the Plains 48 25. Travellers by Night 52 26. The R'Kass 56 27. A Traveller on the Plains 58 28. The Mid-day Halt 60 29. On Guard 64 30. A Village at Dukala 68 31. The Approach to Marrakesh 72 32. Date Palms near Marrakesh 76 33. On the Road to Marrakesh 80 34. A Minstrel 84 35. One of the City Gates 86 36. A Blind Beggar 90 37. A Wandering Minstrel 94 38. The Roofs of Marrakesh 100 39. A Gateway, Marrakesh 104 40. A Courtyard, Marrakesh 108 41. A Well in Marrakesh 112 42. A Bazaar, Marrakesh 114 43. A Brickfield, Marrakesh 116 44. A Mosque, Marrakesh 120 45. A Water Seller, Marrakesh 124 46. On the Road to the Sok el Abeed 126 47. The Slave Market 128 48. Dilals in the Slave Market 132 49. On the House-top, Marrakesh 138 50. A House Interior, Marrakesh 142 51. A Glimpse of the Atlas Mountains 146 52. A Marrakshi 150 53. Street in Marrakesh 154 54. An Arab Steed 158 55. A Young Marrakshi 162 56. Fruit Market, Marrakesh 164 57. In the Fandak 166 58. The Jama'a Effina 170 59. Evening in Camp 178 60. Preparing Supper 182 61. A Goatherd 186 62. Coming from the Mosque, Hanchen 190 63. Evening at Hanchen 198 64. On the Road to Argan Forest 202 65. The Snake Charmer 204 66. In Camp 206 67. A Countryman 208 68. Moonlight 212 69. A Moorish Girl 216 70. A Narrow Street in Mogador 218 71. Night Scene, Mogador 220 72. House Tops, Mogador 222 73. Selling Grain in Mogador 224 74. Selling Oranges 226

The Illustrations in this volume have been engraved in England by the Hentschel Colourtype Process.

BY CAPE SPARTEL

CHAPTER I. By Cape Spartel

BY CAPE SPARTEL

Over the meadows that blossom and wither Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song, Only the sun and the rain come hither All year long.

The Deserted Garden.

Before us the Atlantic rolls to the verge of the "tideless, dolorous inland sea." In the little bay lying between Morocco's solitary lighthouse and the famous Caves of Spartel, the waters shine in colours that recall in turn the emerald, the sapphire, and the opal. There is just enough breeze to raise a fine spray as the baby waves reach the rocks, and to fill the sails of one or two tiny vessels speeding toward the coast of Spain. There is just enough sun to warm the water in the pools to a point that makes bathing the most desirable mid-day pastime, and over land and sea a solemn sense of peace is brooding. From where the tents are set no other human habitation is in sight. A great spur of rock, with the green and scarlet of cactus sprawling over it at will, shuts off lighthouse and telegraph station, while the towering hills above hide the village of Mediunah, whence our supplies are brought each day at dawn and sun-setting.

Two fishermen, clinging to the steep side of the rock, cast their lines into the water. They are from the hills, and as far removed from our twentieth century as their prototypes who were fishing in the sparkling blue not so very far away when, the world being young, Theocritus passed and gave them immortality. In the valley to the right, the atmosphere of the Sicilian Idylls is preserved by two half-clad goatherds who have brought their flock to pasture from hillside Mediunah, in whose pens they are kept safe from thieves at night. As though he were a reincarnation of Daphnis or Menalcas, one of the brown-skinned boys leans over a little promontory and plays a tuneless ghaitah, while his companion, a younger lad, gives his eyes to the flock and his ears to the music. The last rains of this favoured land's brief winter have passed; beyond the plateau the sun has called flowers to life in every nook and cranny. Soon the light will grow too strong and blinding, the flowers will fade beneath it, the shepherds will seek the shade, but in these glad March days there is no suggestion of the intolerable heat to come.

On the plot of level ground that Nature herself has set in position for a camp, the tents are pitched. Two hold the impedimenta of travel; in the third Salam and his assistant work in leisurely fashion, as befits the time and place. Tangier lies no more than twelve miles away, over a road that must be deemed uncommonly good for Morocco, but I have chosen to live in camp for a week or two in this remote place, in preparation for a journey to the southern country. At first the tents were the cynosure of native eyes. Mediunah came down from its fastness among the hilltops to investigate discreetly from secure corners, prepared for flight so soon as occasion demanded it, if not before. Happily Salam's keen glance pierced the cover of the advance-guard and reassured one and all. Confidence established, the village agreed after much solemn debate to supply eggs, chickens, milk, and vegetables at prices doubtless in excess of those prevailing in the country markets, but quite low enough for Europeans.

This little corner of the world, close to the meeting of the Atlantic and Mediterranean waters, epitomises in its own quiet fashion the story of the land's decay. Now it is a place of wild bees and wilder birds, of flowers and bushes that live fragrant untended lives, seen by few and appreciated by none. It is a spot so far removed from human care that I have seen, a few yards from the tents, fresh tracks made by the wild boar as he has rooted o' nights; and once, as I sat looking out over the water when the rest of the camp was asleep, a dark shadow passed, not fifty yards distant, going head to wind up the hill, and I knew it for "tusker" wending his way to the village gardens, where the maize was green.

Yet the district has not always been solitary. Where now the tents are pitched, there was an orange grove in the days when Mulai Abd er Rahman ruled at Fez and Marrakesh, and then Mediunah boasted quite a thriving connection with the coasts of Portugal and Spain. The little bay wherein one is accustomed to swim or plash about at noonday, then sheltered furtive sailing-boats from the sleepy eyes of Moorish authority, and a profitable smuggling connection was maintained with the Spanish villages between Algeciras and Tarifa Point. Beyond the rocky caverns, where patient countrymen still quarry for millstones, a bare coast-line leads to the spot where legend places the Gardens of the Hesperides; indeed, the millstone quarries are said to be the original Caves of Hercules, and the golden fruit the hero won flourished, we are assured, not far away. Small wonder then that the place has an indefinable quality of enchantment that even the twentieth century cannot quite efface.

Life in camp is exquisitely simple. We rise with the sun. If in the raw morning hours a donkey brays, the men are very much perturbed, for they know that the poor beast has seen a djin. They will remain ill-at-ease until, somewhere in the heights where Mediunah is preparing for another day, a cock crows. This is a satisfactory omen, atoning for the donkey's performance. A cock only crows when he sees an angel, and, if there are angels abroad, the ill intentions of the djinoon will be upset. When I was travelling in the country some few years ago, it chanced one night that the heavens were full of shooting stars. My camp attendants ceased work at once. Satan and all his host were assailing Paradise, they said, and we were spectators of heaven's artillery making counter-attack upon the djinoon. The wandering meteors passed, the fixed stars shone out with such a splendour as we may not hope to see in these western islands, and the followers of the great Camel Driver gave thanks and praise to His Master Allah, who had conquered the powers of darkness once again.

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