which they are built tribesmen is truly awful; but beyond the also look down, and occasionally take long shots at a passing waggon or troop of cavalry. Sometimes also they creep close, threading their way along the bottoms of gullies and watercourses to some secret spot, where they will wait to ambush a column in broad daylight. We seem to have been travelling for ages, yet with all this hard going we are only sixty miles from Tangier as the crow flies. The track has meandered up and down and turned upon itself, sometimes for a mile or two running due west to avoid an insuperable obstacle. They hide us in a village right over the Spanish posts until dark. At sundown a meal of bread and chicken is set before us, and so soon as dusk arrives the expedition sets out, intending to effect a crossing before moonrise. It is a circuitous descent through hidden ways, but nothing could be easier than the actual traverse. Creeping along a depression screened by bushes, leading the mules and clinging close together in the dark, the going has become surprisingly easy for a few yards-that is all. The only comfortable bit of walking since we left the highroad outside Tangier has been experienced, and one is grateful for the benefits of civilisation. There are none of its less pleasant devices to be avoided, no wire or or booby traps. The occupants of neighbouring block-houses seem unaware of our presence, though the noise But road on the brink of a descent into the river-bed trouble begins with a mule that slips, sending an avalanche of stones clattering to the bottom, so that it seems the sentries must surely at last have taken alarm. In tense stillness following the rattle of falling boulders a solitary rifle-shot rings out. nothing more transpires, and all clamber safely over the last ridge, pitching about in the scrub, topping the crest directly under the loopholes of a blockhouse, whose garrison can hardly be ignorant that somebody is about, though for the moment the howling of jackals on the hill in front drowns every other sound. The noise of wild beasts is barely audible for the rattle of the final descent into the dry bed of a wad, in company with an avalanche of stones. I am trying to disentangle myself from complications on the farther bank, when Seyyed seizes my hands out of the darkness, caressing both affectionately in his own. "La bas. La bas," he whispers joyfully, and together we subside among the thorns in blissful content. For behind is the last capiemento; last capiemento; behind the Jabala and its fickle tribesmen; in front lie only Seyyed's dear native land, and the mountains and delectable valleys of the Riff. It is eleven o'clock and the moon bright overhead, when the procession, ascending by incredible ways, pulls up at last in the middle of a village. Here, as every- on his constitution is wonderfully beneficent, inducing a state of wellbeing hardly to be described. "But not a word of this among my family." And the caution is reinforced with a most expressive gesture, palm quite flat and outward, hand held close beside the cheek, while a slight pursing of the lips indicates unfathomable secrecy. So the day passes in a pleasant alternation of meals and confidences, until sunlight begins to disappear from the deeper valleys, and the mountain peaks are already changing their colour from gold to delicate pink. The day's activities are ended, and we are the centre of a semicircle of villagers squatting on the ground and chatting together, while women look on from the recesses of surrounding homesteads. The time for evening prayer approaches, as shadows stretch longer and longer across great spaces of valley, and in due course the venerable Imâm appears, pacing up and down a natural terrace that flanks the group of houses; while the men move away from our verandah to assemble beneath an olive towering on the brink of the declivity. They are joined by others from the village, and all stand waiting in groups. Finally, El Arbi himself, breaking off an objectlesson on the use of the electric torch, rises to take his station a little apart from the rest, ceremoniously spreading his praying-mat. There is a singular swing in his movements, a A whole day is spent squatting in the shade thrown by the wide eaves of the Kayed's house. From this vantageground the Sheshuan road is still visible to the south, its monotony occasionally enlivened by the passage of troops. But such evidence of military activity does not in the least interest the villagers, though they come all day in groups to examine the Inglizi on the terrace men and boys with frank curiosity, women with infinite coyness, peeping continually but pretending not to see. Ash-Sharif El Arbi sits fanning himself in the shade, benign and resplendent, explaining with appropriate condescension to his rustic admirers the complexity of life in Tangier, where so many nations live and squabble together. During a gap between these visits he expresses to me his intention to see even more of the world, when peace makes travelling easier. He has been given to understand that in London whisky attains an excellence that can only be tested on the spot, the clever Inglizi keeping back the best for home consumption. He is fully aware that neither Tangier nor Gibraltar can in this respect compare with the chief city of the Inglizi. The effect of whisky VOL. CCXVIII.-NO. MCCCXX. T2 conscious rectitude that may ground, over whom lengthenbe the combined outcome of ing shadows from the mouneasy circumstances and noble tains to the west have already birth, as he prostrates him- fallen. self and rises up to prostrate himself again. He glances proudly in our direction in the intervals between dignified genuflections, while a few yards away the Imâm waits for the appointed hour, ready to lead the service; and behind these two a score of villagers, who have laid down their weapons and spread their jaleebs in long lines, are also waiting. A few moments later, above the chatter of children, harmoniously intoned phrases of the Koran rise on the quiet air. With outstretched arms the men of the place are uttering their invocation to Allah, the just and only one, calling on the name of his prophet. The actions of their leader are not unlike those of the officiating priest at vespers, and his congregation as devout. They bend low, with outstretched arms, at intervals prostrating themselves with foreheads to the earth, while on the brink of the precipice children are playing some sort of game with pebbles they have picked up. The plateau finishes abruptly beyond the great olive, and falls to a profound ravine, only to rise again almost as steeply. High on the breast of the opposite hill another hamlet is perched, possibly a mile away, its habitations bathed in golden light. Sunlit walls contrast effectively with the turbans of the devout group in the fore Suddenly a shrill tearing noise breaks through the invocation, passing right overhead; and after a perceptible interval, a tiny puff becomes apparent among buildings on the far slope. Then a wall bends over and falls prone. The shriek is repeated even closer, and another curling puff of smoke appears between distant cottages. From somewhere far off the dull bark of gunfire catches the ear in an interval of worship. Village dogs have burst into a tempest of barking. But the Imâm continued his familiar litany, and the hubbub dies away. Only a few children have broken off their game to stand and watch the bursting shells. The journey is not yet half finished. There is still a week's march in store. Black-bearded Kayed Mohammed must himself accompany his friends to Talaambout, where Sidi Mhâmed may possibly be found; at any rate, there will be the Nâyeb to entertain the guests of El Makhzen. An entire day is spent surmounting a solitary rock. The procession picks its way in single file over a flank just beneath the pinnacled summit, and the Englishmen, who take a pride in going on foot, despite official discouragement, are secretly glad of the occasional excuse for rest distance, to hold his master's steed when the proper moment arrives. Then Ash-Sharif alights and extends a fat hand to greet the Nâyeb, while Kayed Mohammed hovers deferentially in the background for an instant before joining in the talk. Courteous sentences are exchanged, the Inglizi are presented, and the whole party turns toward the village, while the Nâyeb explains the situation in detail, for Sidi Mhâmed is unfortunately not here. Unforeseen developments have made necessary the presence of the Commander-in-Chief on the Laraiche front. The Nâyeb bids the Inglizi welcome in his leader's name, and even before explanations are over, a carpet is carried by on the shoulders of negroes, into a modest dwelling close at hand. Soon everybody is inside and seated on the carpet, with a great bowl of honey in the centre of the circle. Fragrant meat follows an hour later, and delicious fresh-baked bread. provided by new vistas of following on foot at a suitable towering peaks, though it is the speechless sort of admiration only that can be expressed under the circumstances. Other races are not without pride, but their notions of dignity are fundamentally different. While we scheme to conceal our exhaustion from the mountaineers, El Arbi, at the steeper bits, where riding is out of the question, lolls panting on Seyyed's shoulder, mopping his streaming countenance with a handkerchief. Seyyed would help the Inglizi also, if they would allow him; but they prefer to behave like beggars and footpads. It is late afternoon when increasing anxiety that these same Inglizi should mount their steeds and otherwise comport themselves as persons of consequence makes it plain that an inhabited place is near. Sure enough, Talaam bout appears through a gap in the cliffs, and out of consideration for the feelings of our fine companions, we hastily rearrange our jaleebs and clamber on to the backs of our mules, in order that there may be a touch of state about the entry. Downhill to Talaam bout the procession jogs, and in the outskirts the Nâyeb is Nâyeb is found found walking with companions in the shade of prickly pears, the various personages making a stately group in their flowing robes as they advance to meet us. Coming near, El Arbi presses a length or two ahead, as befits his station, Seyyed But this cordial welcome could only have been possible to the fine hospitality of the East. Successive military occupations have long since stripped the place bare of food reserves. The The poultry all fell victim months ago, and herds of goats have been depleted to the point of extermination. There is nothing for breakfast next morning; nothing, anyhow, suitable for visitors of consequence. After a prolonged absence in search of delicacies, Kayed Mohammed returns to the guest-room, where these noble persons are in waiting, with a melancholy "Walloo." Neither tea nor sugar is to be found. Goats' milk and water are the only beverages available. As for solid nutriment, they are ashamed to offer nothing more appetising than figs and raisins, with a plain cous-cous and cakes of bread. These simple things, with a rich vegetable soup, form the diet of the peasantry in out-of-the-way places, and can be had any where. But our friend and travelling companion takes the matter much to heart. It is not thus that guests should be treated. Later on, rejoicing in a surfeit of everything, he will at times lift his hand moist with the juice of well-cooked fowls, and murmur contentedly, "Pas comme à Talaam bout." But for the moment he is inconsolable. It must not be inferred from this trifling remark that El Arbi speaks French, although already earlier in the day he has conveyed an idea in that language. His is an expansive nature; his thoughts range over many countries, and find their subtle expression in a variety of tongues. For each occasion he selects that language best suited to the thought which is to be expressed. It was in the heat of noon that the second episode to which I have referred took place, ascending so steep a declivity, and at such an angle and over such obstacles, that he had been obliged most reluctantly to dismount and clamber from pinnacle to pinnacle with only the support of his servant and his stick. Well do I remember him turning, with moisture trickling down his cheeks and depending in beads from the soft brown hairs of his beard. Waving his hand with a gesture that included every jagged rock on an entire range, he murmured wistfully, "Pas comme à Paris!" Paris, I hasten to add, is unknown to him, as is every town in the world except Tangier and Algeciras. But it is not for nothing that he has drained the pleasures of these two centres of civilisation to the dregs. He has emptied the cup each has to offer, and his fervid imagination is full of rosy images of what Nazerani life must be at its mighty fountainheads. Francia, Londres, Ingleterra, Espagna, Allemagna-all these mere names have significance. The big ships that arrive at Gibraltar all the way from El-bald-el-Inglizi are just as substantial to to him as the fashionable ladies of the Champs Elysées, or a pinch of snuff. Now he is on his way home to visit his mother, who lives at Snaada with the rest of the family; but at any time he may sally forth, perhaps to find himself a marked man on the smooth boulevards of Paris. Talaam bout is built on a spur projecting from piled-up masses of mountain. Homesteads crown the spur and cling to its sides, interspersed |