We soon left behind us the irrigated ground, and entered on a barren region, less absolutely sterile than that of the preceding day’s journey, and having a more varied vegetation. Blocks of black volcanic rock were more frequent, and of larger size, indicating that we were nearer to the place of their origin, wherever that may be. In some spots Artemisia Herba alba was the predominant plant, but we met several new species not before seen. One of the most curious of these is a white-flowered Picris (P. albida), afterwards seen at intervals in the low country, whose ligules wither so rapidly that we failed to secure any satisfactory specimens. Without becoming hilly, the surface lay in slight heaving undulations, the upward slope being always longest towards the east; and the same remark applied throughout the day’s ride. In about three hours we reached Aïn Beida, where a copious spring of excellent water fertilises a tract of about a square mile. We turned aside from our track to halt beneath a very fine pistachio tree,[3] fully forty feet high and two feet in diameter. The sun was very hot, though the temperature of the air was not more than 80° Fahr., and we were assured that our halting place for the night was only four hours’ distant; and so it happened that between luncheon, and rest, and short excursions into the blazing sunshine to botanise in the surrounding corn-fields, we did not resume our journey until 3.20 P.M. The baggage train as usual had gone on ahead; and as the evening light was fading fast, about 7.20 P.M., when we expected to be near our night quarters, some inquiry from our escort revealed two disagreeable facts: first, that we were still nearly two hours’ ride from Misra ben Kara; and secondly, that the baggage train had taken a different road. It is not surprising that such intelligence coming suddenly on three hungry and tired Englishmen, with the further prospect of passing the night without food or shelter, led to a vehement row, in which strong, if not intelligible language was discharged at the head of the worthy Kaïd El Hadj, the commander of our escort. The whole affair had probably arisen from some misunderstanding; but it was settled by sending two of the escort to ride at full gallop after the missing baggage train, while we jogged on sad and silent towards our destined quarters for the night. Being pressed for time, we had abstained from botanising by the way from Aïn Beida; but at one place we stopped to gather some extraordinarily fine specimens of Phelipæa lutea, which caught our eyes in the failing light. This is the king of the broomrape tribe; the stems stood four or five feet high, with sceptre-like spikes of large yellow flowers, nearly two feet long, but it was quite too dark to ascertain on what plant this curious parasite had attached itself.
The stars shone down with marvellous brilliancy on the desolate tract over which we rode in single file, always ascending slightly, and the chain of the Great Atlas stood out more definitely than we had yet seen it, when, at past 9 o’clock we reached Misra ben Kara, and found to our relief that the baggage train had just preceded us. About 11 P.M. some food was prepared, and, being fairly tired, we soon lay down for the night after a frugal meal. But not to sleep, for the furious barking of the dogs from the adjoining village, or douar, and the clatter kept up by our own people, did not let us close our eyes till the night was far spent.
On this, as on many another occasion, we were forced to admire the extraordinary endurance of the common people of this country. It was not mainly the amount of work they are able to accomplish, but their high spirits and cheerful demeanour under hardships and difficulties. Four of our men travelled on foot, walking or running at a jog trot under a burning sun, and on arrival in camp the same men were always ready for work in setting up tents, moving heavy luggage, and attending to the various wants of their employers. Having often to wait till midnight for their food, they would pass the time in lively talk, and after the stimulus of a draught of green tea, their renewed spirits generally broke out in the form of songs or chaunts that seemed interminable. Then, after three or four hours’ sleep, they were ready to begin again next morning with the same unflagging energy and spirit. During the day the men on foot resorted to a curious expedient for diminishing the effect of heat, by thrusting a stick down the back between the skin and their scanty woollen garment, and thus securing ventilation.
We were up soon after daybreak on May 3. Our camp was close to the wretched village of Misra ben Kara, a large collection of mere hovels put together with mud and dried branches, and enclosed, as the douar generally is, within a sort of rampart formed of the dried stems and branches of the Zizyphus Lotus, piled up to a height of eight or ten feet, through which a single opening gives admission to the inhabitants and their domestic animals. It stands at a short distance from the Oued Nyfs,[4] one of the chief streams flowing northward from the Great Atlas. We started about 7 A.M., and soon reached the banks, fringed with magnificent oleanders in full flower, below which the shallow stream runs in a deep bed. Like all the rivers of this country, this is liable to great oscillations; and though it seemed nowhere two feet deep when we crossed it, travellers are said to be sometimes detained for days, owing to the impossibility of fording the stream in rainy weather.
We found here a few plants not hitherto seen, but were especially pleased with an undescribed Statice (S. ornata, Ball), not found elsewhere on our journey, whose numerous bright amethyst blue flowers were scattered on long, slender, much-branched panicles.
On the east side of the river we fairly entered on the portion of the great plain immediately surrounding the city of Marocco, extending some thirty miles from west to east, and southward to the base of the Great Atlas. This is inclined upwards from west to east, and still more decidedly from north to south; but to the eye it appears a dead level, and the hills represented on Beaudouin’s map as approaching near to the city on the south and east have no existence in fact. The north-western border of the plain is, on the other hand, marked by prominent rough hills of a ruddy hue, as seen from a distance, which rose on our left as we advanced towards the city.
Some portion of these hills, seeming to form an interrupted range, extending along the north side of the Oued Tensift and parallel to its course, was traversed by Washington on his route from Azemor to Marocco in December, 1829. He estimates their height above the plain at from 500 to 1,200 feet, and describes the rock as schistose, with veins of quartz, the line of strike from north by east to south by west, and the dip 75°. To us it appeared that the higher summits, which perhaps do not lie near Washington’s track, must rise fully 2,000 feet above the plain. On the southern side of the Oued Tensift, and nearer to the city, are some lower hills, very similar in appearance to the others, and probably of similar geological structure. One of these, visited by Maw, is described as formed of very hard, dark, grey rock, with knotted white concretions elongated in the line of stratification, the strike from north-west to south-east, and the dip south-west, varying from 50° to 80°.
Our attention, commonly fixed on the vegetation of the country, was on this day chiefly engaged by the great range of mountains, no longer very distant, that bounded the horizon to the south. We had expected to find no difficulty in singling out the peak of Miltsin, described by Washington in the first volume of the Journal of the Royal Geographical Society, as the highest peak of the Atlas visible from the city of Marocco, and the altitude of which, as determined by a rough trigonometrical measurement, he fixes at 11,400 English feet. Approaching the city by a very different route from that of Washington, we soon convinced ourselves that there is no summit visible in the main range much surpassing its rivals in height, and we subsequently came to the conclusion, that Miltsin, which appears somewhat higher than its neighbours in the view from the city, is situated somewhat on the north side of the watershed, and therefore nearer to the observer than any other lofty summit of the range. It may fairly be inferred from Washington’s account that he had no opportunity for measuring a base-line—such as could allow him to determine accurately the height of distant summits. The conclusion to which we now came, and which was confirmed by our subsequent observations, was that the part of the main range within sight of Marocco and its neighbourhood is remarkably uniform in height. There are many prominent points that probably approach the limit of 13,500 English feet, and no depressions that fall more than about 2,000 feet below that height, This, as will be seen hereafter, does not apply to the westerly part of the chain lying west of the sources of the Oued Nyfs, but this is only imperfectly seen from the neighbourhood of Marocco.
The day was hotter than any we had yet experienced, the temperature in the shade being about 85° Fahr., and the breeze which usually rises during the hottest hours was scarcely felt. But the vicinity of lofty mountains usually determines strong currents in the heated air, and these must have been at work, though unfelt by us. As we looked towards the mountain chain, we noticed lofty columns of sand or dust, remarkably uniform in shape, that travelled steadily westward across the plain in the opposite direction to the breeze, so far as this could be detected. At one time as many as three of these were seen at the same time, each moving independently. These miniature cyclones, arising from the interference of opposite currents of air, are not uncommon in the plains on the south side of the Alps, but are rarely to be seen on so great a scale as here.
About two hours after starting, the great tower of the chief mosque came into view, and one of our soldiers rode on ahead to announce our approach. Not long afterwards we met a courier bound for Mogador with letters for Mr. Carstensen, and we took the opportunity of reporting progress and sending him a few details as to our journey. In default of regular postal communication, which is not to be thought of in such a country, the facility for forwarding letters in Marocco is far greater than could be expected. For a few shillings a native is easily induced to make a journey of many days, and take care of letters, which always reach their destination. The reverence with which Mohammedan people generally regard all written communications—which may perchance contain the name of Allah—serves as a protection so effectual, that the loss of letters and despatches is scarcely ever heard of. These couriers travel forty or even fifty miles a day, and after a day’s rest are ready to return to the place whence they came. The chief object of Mr. Carstensen’s letter to Marocco had been to recommend us to the good offices of some wealthy and influential Moors, correspondents of English mercantile houses, and we were not long before experiencing the benefit of this piece of kindly attention.