Our place of encampment is again a well-chosen site. A ‘mona’ of sheep, fowls, shebbel, eggs, butter, bread, milk and oranges was now brought, and a horrid cutting of throats ensued. I wish we did not know that mutton belonged to a sheep or the wing of a fowl to a chicken. A camp scene sadly reminds me that man is a bloodthirsty creature.
March 5. Rain! Rain in torrents!
About midday we had half an hour’s fine weather, and I sallied out in search of antiquities, and found numbers of large square hewn stones covering the green turf. Here and there were remains of a well-built wall—but of no height or form to enable me, in my ignorance, to say what these ruins had been. Every appearance around indicated the remains of a town of importance, probably Roman. The Moors tell me that in digging they find many ruins underground. In one place, however, called Uhara, there were the ruined remains of what would appear to have been a castle or barrack. This the Arabs declared to have been the palace of the Sultan of Portugal’s daughter. It is possible that this building is Portuguese, for they—the Portuguese—possessed all this line of country, and would naturally select the same advantageous position for a castle as their predecessors the Romans. The material of this building was thin flat stones, not hewn, but apparently collected from the surface of the soil and built with a hard cement—not mortar—as far as I could judge. The remnant of an arched well was near the building. We also came across what appeared to have been an amphitheatre, formed in part by the natural rising of the ground and in part by the hand of man. Not far from this site, some years ago, I stumbled by chance on a much more perfect amphitheatre[9], in which were still the steps or seats for the spectators and the dens for the wild beasts and gladiators.
On returning to camp I found that the Sheikh of Ibdaua had arrived with his cavalry to present his salams; but had come empty-handed—‘not even a bowl of milk’—as I was informed by Kaid Serbul, who has been sent by the Basha to provide ‘mona.’ So this Kaid-caterer has not allowed the Bedouin to approach my ‘Exalted Presence.’ I must, however, make friends with this gentleman, and show him by and by, if he prove a tame Moslem, that the Englishman is not so hard upon him as his own countrymen. A good name is what I wish to leave amongst these poor people. Some day it may prove of importance.
March 7. Starting our baggage at an early hour, so as to give time for the animals and baggage to be taken in boats across the river, and the tents to be pitched, we followed in the afternoon.
El Araish was soon in sight, and its fine river El Kus (the Lixus of the ancients). The Sultan’s fleet, consisting of four dismantled and rotten brigs, lay in this river. The captains of these vessels hoisted their flags as I passed. A twelve-oared boat, with the captain of the port and crew in full dress, awaited me; and two or three boats for the horses. One of these boats, by way of compliment, was destined to convey my horse all alone! At the port-gate was the Governor of the town, with a guard of honour drawn up to receive me, and in the Custom House the administrator and other authorities welcomed us with the usual salams and compliments.
The cat is out of the bag! Every night since we have started I have heard loud disputing and high words, in which fowls, eggs, mutton, &c., prevailed. It appears that from the plentiful mona I receive, a large surplus of live-stock remains, though my servants and followers eat to their hearts’ content and are looking twice as sleek as when they left Tangier. These sheep and fowls had been appropriated by them without my knowledge, and sold as they thought best, and one of the ‘Faithful’ complained to me because my Arab secretary, Sid Ben Yahia, insisted upon having his share of the spoil. I have put a stop to this shameless proceeding and have let them know that, as the food is given to me by the Sultan’s orders to be eaten, it shall be eaten and not an atom sold. So what my friends can’t eat, David Sicsu and the Arab secretary shall; and what they cannot, my servants shall; and what they cannot eat, the muleteers shall devour; and what the muleteers can’t eat, the poor shall; and what the poor can’t eat, they shall keep till they can. I have made one or two Moors discontented by this arrangement, but have pleased the majority: this is my aim, and to be just to all.
March 8. Rain again in the morning, but we made a start, and it turned out a most delightful day. Our path was over undulating hills of a red sandy soil, covered with rich grass, and the ‘klakh[10],’ an annual fennel-like plant, growing nine and ten feet high; the ‘silphion’ of the Greeks, producing gum ammoniac, the ‘fasogh’ of the Arabs. Here and there we passed patches of fine wheat and barley, the latter already in the ear. It is distressing to see this wide extent of country almost uninhabited, and its rich soil only cultivated where the wandering Arab happens to pitch his tent; yet capable, I should judge, of competing with any corn producing country in Europe. There was little or no variety of scenery on the road, and we did not meet half a dozen persons, or see en passant more than two Arab ‘duars,’ till we reached the spot of our encampment, near a limpid stream, called ‘Gla.’
March 9. On approaching an Arab duar, we witnessed a curious spectacle. The Arabs were flitting, and conveying their mosque on two mules’ backs. This place of prayer is a conical hut, about nine feet high and five in diameter. The priest alone enters at the time of prayer, the congregation going through their devotions in the open air.
Our encampment we found near a lake or marsh called ‘el Kra.’ St. Leger and myself waded in up to our middles after coot and duck, but only got a ducking and one coot.