No Riffi loses sight for an instant of the main purpose of war, as defined in the textbooks, which is the destruction of the enemy. Nor does he conceive his function in any narrow specialist sense. Here is the story of a gold chronometer with which our host measures the passage of time while tea is brewing, though unable to decipher the hours themselves. ment where we are sitting to- with the basket, or even had gether, and the most hair- he not been interested in the raising way of tossing them mechanism of hand-grenades. about to make room for extra But, as it happened, he was guests? particularly concerned with the construction of the detonator, with the result that he blew himself up with the bomb he was examining, just as a troop of Spanish soldiers had settled down in the interior of el gizar's house. The accident actually took place in the street entrance, but the noise was too much for the sangfroid of the raiders, who popped up here and there in the traditional fashion of the forty thieves, perhaps actually from behind jars of oil. It therefore became necessary that the work should be done at once with knives. It happened one afternoon before the fall of Sheshuan, when there had been no visible target all day for his guns. Weary of the monotony of such an existence, the battery had been left in charge of a few men, while he led the remainder of his personnel into the outskirts of the town, in search of any adventure that might offer. Very soon a good opening presented itself in the person of a boy, with a tale of Spagnola drinking nightly in his father's house. It having been decided in general consultation that the occasion called for silence, each man was told to deposit the two hand grenades he carried in a large basket, before following the boy into the streets. On arrival, the band was rapidly disposed about the interior of the paternal establishment, in the manner of the forty thieves. All would have gone well had the boy not been entrusted Our artilleryman had already cast an eye on the gold watch rather ostentatiously displayed by a member of the party. But in the confusion entailed by the boy's unfortunate conduct, he was unable to discover the pocket in which its owner had replaced it after reading the time. In view of what had occurred, it would not have been discreet to linger in this house in the middle of the town, rifling the pockets of a dead Spaniard; so there was nothing for it but to carry the body off on his shoulders along the narrow ways, now crowded with agitated spectators. As luck would have it a Spanish patrol had appeared at the wrong moment, drawn by the report of the grenade, and here was the unfortunate He is fingering his chronometer affectionately, winding it up or moving the hands, raising the glass front to blow imaginary dust from the face, though he has not yet learned how to tell the time with any degree of accuracy. Yet this gunner appears to know his job. Tactics, as he expounds them, strike one as admirable for their special purposes, and professional enthusiasm fills one or two yawning gaps in his training. He turns out to be a charming companion in every way, genially handing round the pipe of kieff, or singing songs in a minor key, to the accompaniment of a sort of lute. He breaks off sugar from a glistening cone, and prepares tea with the intense care one is accustomed to see devoted to a cocktail; three times varying the proportion of his ingredients before the proper balance has been attained; then, with the second hand of his chronometer, he measures the time for brewing. When the company sips, conversation ceases. It is altogether a pleasant interlude, and one has almost lost the vague sense of trouble ahead when it comes to an end next morning, and an early start is made on the flattest of feet; for our hospitable friends have no mules that can be spared, the battery being about to move off in an opposite direction. The jareeq will be a long one, so the band must be moving at once and march quickly, in order to find shelter before nightfall. The way is hard to follow even in full daylight, and there is frequent argument between the askar and various guides who accompany the expedition. What it will be should night find us still on the mountain one does not try to imagine. Every little ravine conceals a furious tearing wad. The party has already passed through a dozen such torrents ten and twelve yards wide, into which men rush clinging together, immersed to the waist and drenched in spray, endeavour ing to maintain a foothold on loose slippery stones, occasionally making a false step, to vanish altogether for an instant beneath the rushing water. However, the final ridge has been crested, and in front lies a vast and fertile valley, while on the opposite slope the homestead where the night is to be passed can be distinctly made out through its grove of fruittrees. It is not long past noon, and the destination appearing no more than three miles away, we are glad to throw ourselves down on the rocks, munching green figs from a bag that Abu Sallum carries on his belt. A guide has found a convenient cascade, with pool below pool of crystal water. Every one is drinking and eating figs, or effecting small readjustments in his equipment. My shoes have become a cause for serious anxiety. I must continually bind them together with strips of canvas, for by this time only the uppers remain. I have tried going barefooted, as guides do, but my soles are not sufficiently inured to stones and brambles. The valley at our feet presents a spectacle of unusual fertility, with numerous groves of trees, and cattle grazing in its low-lying pastures; while what appears even from these heights to be a great river twists and turns among mounds studded with trees. It is through this river we must reach our destination. The whereabouts of the ford is apparently a moot point among authorities, and one hears many eloquent arguments put forward, as one lies contentedly dozing in the sun. The company rests and argues; but Abu Sallum, seemingly tireless, in spite of his deformity, is chasing lambs about the hillside from pure excess of spirits. At last Mohammed gives the signal to move, and it is down into a valley again, clinging to the face of a precipice. The vexed question of the best way is still undecided. Having scrambled down-stream for a distance of two miles or more, we are approaching easier declivities, when a countryman with a plough is encountered, who assures us that the only possible ford lies as far again above the point from which the descent began. It is late afternoon when a band of footsore travellers is again taking its ease, but this time by the side of roaring water, at a spot where many declare a crossing can be effected. The crossing proves a desperate adventure, undertaken in groups of three or four with poles to feel the way, and clothing in a bundle on top of each man's head. Abu Sallum in particular presents a gallant spectacle, as he is dragged and lifted through the water by two tall guides, themselves by no means sure of a foothold. They are immersed to the armpits in the powerful current, and the spectacle of a small naked Sharif, always smiling hopefully as his head bobs up and down in mid-stream, while friendly hands sustain him on each side, is as surprising as it is diverting. Next we have to work downriver again, crossing various tributaries, until the ascent to the high-perched homestead at last begins. Night is falling by the time it has been attained, so far as oneself is concerned, on hands and knees. The rain has just recommenced, and, of course, we are not expected. Only after tedious delay does an ancient hag appear with a candle sheltered in a lanthorn, a vast distance away, and two children following in her wake. The three approach with marked diffidence, and a quantity of long-range talk takes place before our plight has been explained to the satisfaction of the old dame. Still she is troubled with doubts, and her complaining continues at intervals, though the two children have been told to unbolt the door of the guesthouse. One is grateful for any shelter. The two of them presently return with a fleainfested carpet, on which an uncomfortable night has to be spent, while rain pours through the roof. It seems the shadow of Boccali is pursuing his victims across the mountain, people here being evidently aware of every circumstance, and ready to take their tone from the chieftain. All next morning rain descends in sheets, dripping from the roof of the guestroom upon the four of us, crouched gloomily together, without even a charcoal brazier ; people of little weight in the world, a Riffi soldier and two dogs of Nazerani; while I suspect the only shred of consequence remaining to the party consists in its chance association with a down-at-heel Sharif. It is meekly grateful we are when this noble personage, by judicious insistence on his rank, procures our scanty breakfast. He appears Mohammed the Askari has for long expressed himself only in forceful grunts. Each member of the party is lost in his own gloomy meditation, resigned for ever to a life of contempt in this prison-house, encompassed with mountain and water, when, to the general astonishment, a most excellent omelette arrives for lunch, and the Kayed in person follows close on the dish. He is full of apologies for the scanty welcome that has been accorded. By all means we shall have another carpet. to be a person of exceptional amiability, and in the agreeable warmth of the two braziers that come in with the tea, one is beginning to look back benignly upon past privations, with a sense of wellbeing all the more intense by contrast. He has gone, and we still sit sipping tea, when a sudden illumination seems to flash over the inscrutable background of Mohammed's mind. He begins to talk of the joy there is in fighting, expressing his emotion in cheerful expletive, repeating two or three times over the curiously fierce tale the gunner related in his go for an instant since he joined billet, while he dwells lovingly the flooka at Beni Boufra. on every gruesome detail. "Did Before being slipped into the they not enter Sheshuan with pouch, though, every cartridge only knives in their belts must be cleaned with meticuNow it is many months since lous care, and placed in the I was fighting, and I am weary chamber of the rifle, to ensure of sitting over the brazier. a good fit. Both the askar are Let us go together, Abu Sallum, by this time in high spirits, with the harka for two days. and after dinner Mohammed Then the rain will be over, and has begun to sing, in a guttural we will return for the Inglizi. base: songs that are not much I am weary of so much idlemore than a long sustained ness. Ayeet! Ayeet!" drone, yet strangely expressive of creeping furious war. Songs that neither begin nor end. He is still singing when I fall asleep. The eyes of Ash-Sharif Abu Sallum, who is almost a dwarf, have kindled with joy. They two will go together where the Beni Hassan are harassing the retreat on Tetuan. They may take the place themselves. They will fire a few shots anyway, and perhaps gather loot. Who would not like to possess a heavy leather belt, with pouches attached, like that belonging to the gunner? They will go for two days where the bullets are flying-" psss, psss." Abu Sallum can imitate the noises of most things. Ayeet! It is weary waiting for this rain to stop. When the sky clears, and the wads are lower, they will return to fetch the Inglizi, who will still be here, and will bring with them mules for the journey. The Inglizi have not really been consulted. All afternoon Mohammed and Abu Sallum are pulling through their rifles, polishing every bit of metal, looking to their equipment, each filling his pouch with cartridges from a weighty bag that Mohammed has never let Next day at dawn I am disturbed by some movement. The first rays of the rising sun, striking horizontally through the tiny aperture which serves for window, fall upon Abu Sallum erect on his corner of the carpet. He stands with outstretched hands, the little hunchback! in his dirty feraya and rozzar of glittering beads, intoning the morning prayer with sublime indifference to his surroundings. At intervals he kneels down, bowing and bowing until his head strikes the carpet, while the words follow one another in drowsy waves of sound. Turning on my side, sleep has again overtaken me before it is over. Two hours later, when I stretch myself and sit up to feel for my shaving tackle in half obscurity, the places where the two askar were lying are already empty. Then some one, bringing in breakfast, announces that we |