Discharging our landaus, we journeyed through the Rue Bab Azoun, passing here and there groups of French and Moorish soldiers, and occasionally brushing against women of the true faith, whose veils hide many a beautiful face.
In the cabarets or cafés which line the plazas, French soldiers can frequently be heard singing the national air of France, the “Marseillaise.” The cosmopolites who comprise the foreign legion are an interesting body of soldiers, representing all nations, but serving under the dominion of the French government. Entering a cabaret where a game of roulette was in progress, we marines took a chance on the roll of the ivory ball, in which some of the party increased their wealth considerably. About every fourth turn of the ball, wine was dispensed. I had been very lucky in my play,
having several times picked the number, column, and color at the same time, to the great disgust of the croupier, whose radiant smile beams only when the wheel wins.
As conversation had become boisterous and my luck had taken a sudden turn, I cashed in, and, after thanking the croupier for his kind donations, whose smile portrayed a feeling of derision, I made my exit.
After depositing for safe keeping, in one of the leading hotels, numerous curios and several hundred dollars in French currency, I roved at random through the city without any special point of direction.
Having heard a great deal about the interesting sights to be seen in the “Kasbah,” the Moorish quarter, which is the ancient fortress of the deys and commands a view of the city from a height of five hundred feet above sea level, I ventured to this weird section of the city. Climbing the long winding stairway, or steps of stone, I soon found myself encompassed by a collection of wild-looking Moors in flowing robes, turbans, and sandals, the women similarly dressed, whose veiled faces showed only their eyes,
and the artistic tattooing in the centre of their eyebrows, pranced through dimly lighted lanes, like Rip Van Winkle’s hobgoblins of the Catskills.
Being unable to hold conversation with these barbarians, I contented myself with being a silent spectator of their grotesque actions.
After making the rounds of various places of interest, where it was distinctly obvious that I was an unwelcome visitor, I decided to return to the better-lighted and more civilized plazas of the city. As I tried to figure out my bearings on an imaginary compass, I became bewildered, and in consequence followed any street which had an incline.
From the main street of the “Kasbah” are numerous short streets or lanes, which seem to have no connection with other streets, terminating at the entrance to a building. I had tried various ways to reach the steps I had climbed, without success, and here realized the importance of having a guide or an interpreter. Finally I sighted the rays of a search-light, and later a light