The Nineteenth Century , No 182, Apr 1892 [‎67v] (139/244)

624
THE NINETEENTH
April
one of the usual roads in Morocco, merely a broad track of mud, or,
where not mud, a track of deep heavy earth, going up and down
across the open country; now over a hill, now along a ravine, now
across a stream, now over a plain: no trees anywhere to be seen, but
here and there on the hillside, a brown village, with its blue-green
hedge of prickly pears and aloes, its dogs that barked loudly as we
passed, and strange-looking figures sitting and lying about, draped m
dirty white garments or in brown hooded cloaks. Every now and
then we meet a few loaded mules, or some solemn-looking camels,
always with the inevitable bare-legged Arab in his brown hooded cloak
or dull white draperies. The young green corn was springing up all
over the country, and quantities of magnificent purple iris, striped
with orange, gave a delightful bit of colour.
But the horses wearily pulled their feet out of the heavy ground,
and both riders and horses were slowly picking their way, striving to
choose those parts of the track where sticking fast seemed less
probable. Scarcely ever was there the chance of a trot, and the sun
beat down hot and glaring over the treeless country. All this
pointed to luncheon, and at a nice green spot we joyfully dis
mounted ; the mule with the luncheon was called up, and we
established ourselves for a delightful rest of an hour. When we
started again, the character of the country began to change, and
became more varied. We passed occasionally through straggling cork
woods, and came on large lakes, along the shores of which we cantered
gaily, till we came in sight of the sea; no longer the Mediterranean
with the Spanish coast clearly in sight—we had left all that behind
at Tangier; this was the open Atlantic, looking now calm and smooth
enough. The sun was getting lower and lower—it was certainly a
long ride to Isawara, and our camp. At last we came in sight of a
hill crowned with tiny brown native houses and the inevitable prickly
pear, over the brow of which we were told we should find our camp,
and we rode in among its little white tents, just as the sun was
setting.
There must have been sixteen or seventeen tents of varying shapes
and sizes, and there was a perfect labyrinth of tent ropes and tent
pegs; all traps for the unwary, who, in a hurried moment, might
wish to strike out a short cut to any particular tent: trouble was
sure to follow—especially after dark. In the middle was the dining
tent for Ansaldo's party, which was much too small for the number
who had to dine in it—much grumbling ensued in consequence.
Several of the old stagers at pigsticking had brought their own tents;
some of these messed with Ansaldo, while others had brought their
own cooking arrangements. Violet and I were enchanted with our
little tent, which had a double covering and wings, so as to be water
proof. We had heard such tales of tiny tents that you could barely
stand upright in, that ours seemed, in comparison, quite a vast and