MAROCCO
AND
THE GREAT ATLAS

From a Drawing by W. Prinsep, December 1829

PANORAMA OF THE GREAT ATLAS FROM THE CITY OF MAROCCO

([Large-size], [Largest size])

JOURNAL OF
A TOUR IN MAROCCO
AND
THE GREAT ATLAS

BY
JOSEPH DALTON HOOKER, K.C.S.I., C.B.
PRES. R. S.
DIRECTOR OF THE ROYAL GARDENS, KEW; ETC.
AND

JOHN BALL, F.R.S., M.R.I.A.
ETC.

WITH AN APPENDIX
including
A SKETCH of the GEOLOGY of MAROCCO, by GEORGE MAW, F.L.S., F.G.S.

CAPE SPARTEL

London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1878

All rights reserved

PREFACE.

The expedition of which an account is given in the following pages was undertaken in the year 1871, and it was originally intended that a narrative of the proceedings should be given to the public soon after our return to England. Sir Joseph D. Hooker, who made careful notes throughout the journey, hoped to complete the work without much delay, and actually wrote the greater part of the first two chapters; but the constant demands upon his time arising from his official duties at Kew, and the important botanical works to which he is a chief contributor, further increased by his election, in 1873, to the Presidency of the Royal Society, so far interfered with the completion of the original design as to compel him to request his fellow-traveller, Mr. Ball, to undertake the completion of the work. The latter was at the time engaged in preparing for publication a memoir on the Flora of Marocco, which has since appeared in the Journal of the Linnæan Society, wherein the botanical collections made during the journey are enumerated and described; and his performance of the task allotted to him has been further delayed by several prolonged absences from England.

As regards many countries visited by travellers a delay of several years in publication might seriously affect the accuracy of a narrative intended to represent the existing condition of the country and its inhabitants; but in the case of Marocco, where, from a comparison with the accounts of early travellers, no notable change is apparent during the last two centuries, the effect of a few years’ interval may be considered insensible. Up to the date of our visit the Great Atlas was little better known to geographers than it was in the time of Strabo and Pliny; and it may be hoped that whatever interest belongs to our journey is as great now as it was at the moment of our return.

The narrative now published is mainly founded on the journals kept by Sir J. Hooker and Mr. Ball, supplemented in some particulars by that of our fellow-traveller, Mr. G. Maw. To the latter we owe a sketch of the Geology of Marocco, which appears in the Appendix. Along with this we have published some interesting contributions received from Mr. H. B. Brady and Mr. Freeman Bogers, as well as some papers upon various matters connected with the physical geography and the flora of Marocco.

It is impossible to present these pages to the public without repeating the expression of our obligations to some of those to whose assistance we largely owe whatever success we were able to attain. Foremost amongst these we must name H. E. Sir John Drummond Hay, K.C.B., British Minister Plenipotentiary in Marocco. From the moment when, in compliance with the request of Sir J. Hooker, Lord Granville, then Foreign Secretary, instructed our Minister to apply for the permission of the Sultan to visit the Great Atlas, Sir J. D. Hay, by his extensive knowledge of the country and the people, and by his great personal influence, afforded invaluable assistance to the expedition.

We were also much indebted for assistance and hospitality to the British Consular agents on the Marocco coast, and especially to the late Mr. Carstensen, then Vice-Consul at Mogador. We should not omit our acknowledgments of the courtesy and valuable information received from the late M. Beaumier, French Consul at the same port.

We trust that in the course of the following pages we have not omitted to express our thanks to other friends who have kindly contributed valuable information. The scope of this volume being mainly to give an account of our personal experience and observations, we have used, but sparingly, other materials, which might be in place if we had aimed at the production of a work of a more elaborate character.

CONTENTS.

APPENDICES.

Errata.

P. 388, line 10, after ‘Pharmacographia,’ 502, insert Cosson, in Bull. Soc. Bot. Fr. xxi. 163.

„ 394, „ 4 from bottom, for ‘Sus’ insert Sous.

„ 395, lines 4 and 9 from top, for ‘Sus’ insert Sous.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

JOURNAL
OF A
TOUR IN MAROCCO.

CHAPTER I.

Voyage to Gibraltar — View of Tangier — Interior of the town — Portuguese and English occupation — Hospitable reception by Sir John Drummond Hay — Ravensrock — Government of Marocco — Climate of North Marocco — Exceptional season — The Djebel Kebir and its vegetation — Cistus and Heath region — Cape Spartel — Night at the Lighthouse — Cave of Hercules — Arab village — Return to Tangier.

On Saturday, April 1, 1871, our party, consisting of Sir Joseph (then Dr.) Hooker, Mr. Maw, and Mr. Ball, with a young gardener, named Crump, from the Royal Gardens at Kew, left Southampton for Gibraltar, in the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s Steamship Massilia.

Even for the ordinary tourist it is a pleasant thing to turn his face towards the South in the early part of the year, and to feel that he is about to exchange six or eight weeks of bitter easterly winds for the bright skies and soft breezes of the Mediterranean region. Still more does the botanist rejoice to quit the poverty of our slowly unfolding spring flora for the wealth of varied vegetation that is spread around the shores of the Inland Sea. But for us, the occasion was one of deeper and more special interest. We were starting, under unusually favourable conditions, to explore a country which, though close to Europe, is among the least known regions of the earth. Although the obstacles we were sure to encounter and the limited time at our disposal, might not allow us to accomplish much, we felt a confident hope that we should learn something of a great mountain chain all but absolutely unknown to geographers, and be able to fill up some missing pages in the records of our favourite science. The thrill of pleasurable anticipation at the prospect of setting foot within the boundaries of terra incognita was heightened by the fact that for each of us this land of Marocco had long been the object of especial interest and curiosity.

From an early period Hooker had conceived the desire to explore the range of the Great Atlas, to become acquainted with its vegetation, and to ascertain whether this supplies connecting links between that of the Mediterranean region and the peculiar flora of the Canary Islands. This desire was increased during a journey in Syria, in 1860, made in company with Admiral Washington, the late Hydrographer of the Navy, one of the very few Europeans who had reached the flanks of the Great Atlas chain, when, as a young naval officer, he accompanied the late Sir John Drummond Hay on his mission to the city of Marocco in 1829.

Maw had already made collections of living plants in the neighbourhood of Tangier, and had also visited Tetuan, where he had pushed his excursions farther than any but one preceding traveller.

Ball had landed at Tetuan in 1851 with the hope of attaining some of the higher summits of the neighbouring Riff Mountains; but the disturbed state of the country in that year made it impossible to advance beyond the immediate outskirts of the city.

From the moment when it seemed likely that the permission to visit the Great Atlas sought for by Hooker, through the intervention of our Foreign Office, would be accorded by the Sultan of Marocco, no time was lost in making the requisite preparations. Although everything was done within about a fortnight, our equipment was tolerably complete; and when, after the first excitement of departure had subsided, we thought it over on board ship, we found but one serious omission to deplore. Two mercurial barometers, provided by Hooker, had been entrusted to Crump, and were by him left behind at the last moment. Thus, in the important matter of determining heights, we were forced to rely upon aneroid barometers and boiling water observations. It was fortunate that Ball carried an excellent aneroid, by Secrétan of Paris, which has before and since been severely tested in the Alps with very satisfactory results, and whose indications during our journey agreed closely with those given by the thermometer in boiling water.

Among the various preparations made for our journey there was none more important for our purpose than a manuscript catalogue of all the plants hitherto known or believed to have been found in the Empire of Marocco, which we owed to the kindness of our excellent friend M. Cosson, the eminent French botanist. Up to that date the information to be found in books was extremely scanty, and scattered throughout various systematic works, and the whole when summed up would have given a most incomplete account of the two or three districts partially explored by botanists. M. Cosson, by his unequalled knowledge of the North African flora, and by careful study of all the collections made in Marocco, many of which are in his exclusive possession, was the only person who could have supplied the materials which were so serviceable throughout our journey.

In the agreeable society of old friends and new acquaintances, whom we met on board the rather crowded steamer, the voyage to Gibraltar did not appear too tedious, but we were well pleased when, on the afternoon of the 6th, the moment came for landing.

We were not destined to see much of the famous ‘Rock’ or its native ‘scorpions,’ whether biped or hexapod. Scarcely had our voluminous baggage been transported to the hotel, when news reached us that an English steamer was about to sail within two hours for Tangier, and we at once decided that not a moment’s time should be wasted. Back again our heavy goods, in which botanical paper was a chief ingredient, were carried to the mole, and after paying the innkeeper a pretty heavy ransom, on account of rooms ordered but not used, and a hastily swallowed dinner, we once more found ourselves afloat. So much haste was not necessary, for the steamer did not start till some time after midnight; but the time was not badly spent, for the steamer was one of those that ply between London and the Canary Islands, touching at the ports on the Atlantic coast of Marocco; and the skipper, who was an old stager, and had formed his own opinions about the country, had plenty of information, of a more or less authentic, but mainly discouraging, character, which he was most ready to impart.

The distance from Gibraltar to Tangier is not more than thirty-five miles, and we came to anchor in the open roadstead soon after daylight on April 7. Unlike the ports on the Atlantic coast, the shape of the land here gives some protection from the prevailing westerly seas and winds; but in other respects this is a bad one. The ruined mole, round which sand has accumulated, forms on one side a dangerous reef, and elsewhere the shore shelves very slowly to a moderate depth. Ships of any burthen are forced to lie out far from shore, and the landing from boats is usually effected on the backs of Jews, inasmuch as no Moslem will degrade himself by performing such a service for a Christian.

On Good Friday the Jews were all engaged in the ceremonies of the Passover; but, as the sea was unusually calm, we were able to land on the ruins of the mole, and, after floundering through slippery seaweed, we were not long in reaching the sea gate of the city.

We had already perceived that, although no longer in Europe, we were yet under the shadow of European manners and customs. High above the city walls we espied, as we neared the shore, several conspicuous inscriptions, announcing the titles of various places of entertainment. In the centre the ‘Hôtel de France’ gave promise of culinary skill; but we preferred the ‘Royal Victoria Hotel,’ whose title, in quite gigantic letters, first attracted our notice, and which had been well recommended for cleanliness and comfort. Our subsequent experience justified the choice, and we had every reason to be satisfied with the attention we received from the intelligent and obliging coloured proprietor, Mr. Martin.

Tangier stands on the western side of a shallow bay, on rocky ground that rises steeply from the shore. Westward the hills gradually rise in swelling undulations towards the Djebel Kebir, or Great Mountain, covered with dwarf oaks and flowering shrubs, that ends in the promontory of Cape Spartel. On the opposite, or eastern, side the shores of the bay are low and sandy, but are backed by the rugged range of the Angera Mountains, culminating in the Ape’s Hill opposite Gibraltar.

As seen from the sea the town has a singular, though not an imposing, appearance. Cubical blocks of white-washed masonry, with scarcely an opening to represent a window, rise one above another on the steep slope of a recess in the hills that faces the NE. A few slender square towers belong to as many mosques of paltry proportions. Numerous consular flagstaffs remind the European that he still enjoys the protection of his own government, and on the summit of the hill a massive gaunt castle of forbidding aspect shows where he might expect to lodge if that protection were removed, and he were to give offence to the native functionaries. Zigzag walls encompass the city on all sides, pierced by three gates, which are closed at nightfall.

The stranger, who knows that Tangier is one of the most important towns of Marocco, and the residence of the representatives of the chief civilised States, is apt to be shocked when he first sets foot within its walls. The main street is as rough and steep as the most neglected of Alpine mule-tracks, and disfigured by heaps of filth—importunate beggars of revolting aspect, led about by young boys, assail him at every step—there is no bazaar, as in eastern towns, and the miserable shops are mere recesses, where, in an unglazed opening, little larger than a berth in a ship’s cabin, the dealer squats surrounded by his paltry wares.

On longer acquaintance, he will somewhat modify his first unfavourable impression. Unlike the towns of Southern Europe, where the main thoroughfares are cared for by the local authorities, while filth is allowed to accumulate in the byeways, the dirt and offal are here let to lie under his nose in the most public places, while the steep narrow lanes—reminding him of Genoa—that intersect the masses of closely packed houses, are generally kept clean and bright with frequent whitewash. The silent dead walls that front the public thoroughfares conceal the interiors of houses that are rarely opened to the eyes of Europeans, but are not wanting in the signs of wealth and of artistic taste. The dread of arbitrary exactions, that elsewhere in Marocco drives the Moor as well as the Jew to conceal the possession of property as carefully as men elsewhere hide the evidence of guilt, is less keenly felt here. For in and around Tangier, but nowhere else in this country, it may be said that life and property are tolerably secure, not only from outward violence, but from the caprice and cupidity of men in authority. The presence of foreign diplomatic agents, and the constant communication with Europe, have brought the Moorish authorities at this spot to some extent under the control of civilised opinion, and the disastrous encounters with France and Spain have convinced the Moor that, with all his personal bravery, he cannot resist the regular forces of his European neighbours, and must not provoke an unequal conflict.

Such historical recollections as are connected with Tangier are not flattering to the self-love of the two nations of Europe that have had most to do with it.

In 1437 the Portuguese, who then held Ceuta, attacked the town, but their army was defeated under the walls, and they were forced to conclude an ignominious peace. The terms included the cession of Ceuta to the Moors, and the delivery as a hostage of Dom Fernando, the king’s brother. The other stipulations not having been executed, the victors threw Dom Fernando into prison at Fez, and when he died in captivity hung up his body by the heels over the city walls.[1]

The fortune of war was changed in 1471 when the Portuguese took Tangier and several of the towns on the Atlantic coast, and the Moorish Sultan was forced to pay tribute to King Emanuel. Under less vigorous guidance, the Portuguese were unable to retain their ascendancy, but they kept possession of Tangier till, after nearly two centuries, it was, by a secret treaty, ceded to England as part of the dowry of Catharine of Braganza on her marriage with Charles II. When the brave Governor Dom Fernando de Menezes received the information, he entreated the Queen Regent to spare him the grief of seeing the city made over to the enemies of the Catholic faith. Her answer was the offer of a Marquisate if he obeyed, and dismissal from her service if he persisted in resisting her will. He chose the latter, threw up his command, and devoted the rest of his life to writing a history of the city. The English Court set great store by the new acquisition, believing, as the Earl of Sandwich said, that if it were walled and fortified with brass it would yet repay the cost. But English policy was then at its lowest ebb, and neither vigour nor intelligence directed any branch of our affairs. The English settlers sent out were an ill-conditioned rabble, ignorant of the country, its language and manners, and the Governor and the garrison were no better than the rest. After accomplishing one useful work by constructing a mole that converted the roadstead into a secure harbour, they were disappointed in their expectation of an extensive trade with the interior, and, what was more galling, were worsted in every encounter with the Moors, till, in 1685, the Government in London decided to abandon Tangier. When this became known at Lisbon, the Portuguese strongly urged the impolicy of abandoning such a position to pirates, and requested that it should be restored to them on condition that the English should have free use of the port. With characteristic meanness and imbecility the Duke of York—soon afterwards James II.—opposed the gift, and urged that the honour of England required that the place should be dismantled, and be left for occupation to whoever could hold it. His advice prevailed; and, on the retirement of the English force, the mole was effectually blown up, destroying the only good harbour for shipping on the seaboard of Marocco—a distance of fully nine hundred miles.

Nature, however, has made Tangier the port of North Marocco, and, in spite of human perversity, it is a place of some importance. Ready access to the fertile provinces lying between the Straits of Gibraltar and Fez has made it the centre of a considerable trade in hides and grain, which go to France and England, to say nothing of cattle and other supplies for the garrison of Gibraltar. Its nearness to Europe has made it the residence of the representatives of the principal civilised Powers, and its admirable climate has attracted invalids from Gibraltar and elsewhere, in spite of such drawbacks as dirt, bad smells, and the utter absence of roads.

On our arrival, we were most kindly received by Sir John Drummond Hay, to whose intimate knowledge of the country and justly acquired influence with the Moorish Court we are largely indebted for whatever success attended our journey. We learned from him that the Sultan had issued orders to the Governor of the Atlas provinces to allow Hooker to visit the range of the Great Atlas south of the city of Marocco, and to take every precaution for his comfort and safety; but he added that, although there was no reason to doubt the Sultan’s good faith, every artifice would be used to defeat the object, and that it would not be prudent to start for the south without an autograph letter from the Sultan himself, for which he had already made application. The Court was at this time at Fez—several days’ journey from Tangier; and, as business moves at a slow pace in this country, it was probable that we might have to wait some time for the necessary document. We therefore at once decided on devoting the interval to excursions in the neighbourhood of Tangier and Tetuan. The latter city lies at no great distance from the lofty peaks of the Beni Hassan, probably the highest part of the north-western range of the Lesser Atlas, best known as the Riff Mountains. There could be no doubt as to the botanical interest attaching to a visit to that range, the higher region of which is entirely unknown to naturalists, and we were very desirous to make an attempt in that direction. After full consideration, however, Sir J. D. Hay felt it necessary to object to our project, as involving undue risk. The Riff mountaineers enjoy a virtual independence, merely paying tribute to the Sultan. They are fierce and fanatical; and the presence of a Christian on the highest mountain, which is rendered sacred by a famous marabout—tomb of a Mohammedan saint—would be regarded as a profanation. Meantime, we were led to hope that we should be able to ascend the mountains nearer to Tetuan, and there was no difficulty whatever about excursions in the neighbourhood of Tangier.

Our first walk, in the afternoon of the 7th, was in the agreeable society of Sir J. D. Hay, to Ravensrock, his summer residence, on the wooded slope of the Djebel Kebir, overlooking the straits. Near the city gate we passed the cemetery, where turbaned tombstones almost disappear amidst the copious growth of prickly pear (Opuntia vulgaris), and then went some way through dusty lanes between lines of American aloe (Agave americana), and quickset hedges surrounding gardens where palms, acacias, and a few poplars were the prevailing trees. As we cleared the enclosures, and got into irregular, open ground, where steep slopes of uncultivated land alternate with patches of tillage, our eyes were gladdened by the sight of many a bright southern flower, already blossoming abundantly, in spite of the weather which, till lately, had been unusually cold. Trefoils, Medicagos, vetches, and other leguminous plants were here the predominant forms, as they are everywhere in the spring flora of the Mediterranean region. As we began to ascend the flanks of the Djebel Kebir, the character of the vegetation changed. Where the ground has not been cleared to make a garden for some of the European residents, whose little villas are scattered over the slope, the ground is covered with masses of luxuriant shrubs, and climbing herbaceous plants, among which some familiar forms of the North are mingled with many exotic species. Thus we saw roses, brambles, bryony, honeysuckle, and white convolvulus holding their ground amidst masses of lentisk, myrtle, Phillyrea, Alaternus, dwarf prickly oak (Quercus coccifera), gum cistus, and the golden profusion of five or six species of the Cytisus tribe that replace our native broom and gorse. After ascending several hundred feet by the roughest of paths, carried along a shaded gully, we entered through a gate the terraced garden whereon stands the house.

Nothing of its kind can surpass the beauty of the view. The steep slope below is planted with oranges and pomegranates—the first laden with golden fruit, the second with crimson flowers—broken here and there by palms, figs, olives, and carob trees, standing against a background of deep blue water, dancing in the gentle westerly breeze. On our left the steep slope of the mountain, rising over against the blue outline of Cape Trafalgar, forms the portal through which the Atlantic pours its current into the Mediterranean. Along the opposite shore of Spain every undulation, from the coast to the distant purple sierra, is plainly seen. The little town of Conil and the very houses of Tarifa are discernible with the naked eye, and visitors are enabled through a glass to watch the people as they come and go, and that extraordinary phenomenon for Southern Spain, the diligence, that of late years has plied between Algeciras and Cadiz. Turning to the right, the eye reaches the entrance to the Mediterranean, between the rock of Gibraltar and the loftier summit of Ape’s Hill; and in clear weather the range of the Serrania de Ronda, stretching towards Malaga, is seen on one side, while on the other the snowy peak of the Beni Hassan, south of Tetuan, closes the view. To give variety, if that were wanting, there is the ceaseless passage of shipping through this greatest of maritime highways, in a double stream of vessels, of every size and every nation, from the great Peninsular and Oriental steamer to the Moorish felucca. It is an example of the readiness with which sound travels over an unbroken surface, that the morning and evening gun at Gibraltar, nearly forty miles distant, are usually heard at this spot.

In the course of several delightful evenings passed in the agreeable society of Sir J. D. Hay and his family, we obtained much curious and valuable information respecting the country and its inhabitants, most of which was confirmed by our own subsequent observation and experience. We already knew that Marocco is the China of the West, and that while other Mohammedan States have been drawn, though at a tardy and halting pace, into following the general movement of European progress, this has remained more isolated and more impenetrable than even the Celestial Empire itself. But we were scarcely prepared to find that the utmost excesses of barbarism are matters of daily occurrence in a country so close at hand; and though we had read startling statements in the books of preceding travellers, and heard confirmatory tales during our stay in North Marocco, we were inclined to think that, at the worst, these referred to solitary acts of cruelty, probably magnified by the proverbial tendency to exaggerate all that is strange and horrible. It was not until we had spent some time in the southern provinces, beyond the reach of European prying observation, that we could persuade ourselves that these terrible stories of cruelty and wrong merely give a true representation of the ordinary condition of the country. Sir J. D. Hay, who probably knows it better than any other European, was not slow to testify to the good qualities of the rural population of Marocco, and the general absence of crime. We were afterwards led to believe that if life and property may be said to be tolerably secure throughout the portion of the empire really subject to the Sultan’s authority, this is due rather to the fact that temptation is rare, and the danger of swift and bloody retribution imminent, than to the existence of any high moral standard among the people. It is a strange inversion of all notions of government, that crime should come from above rather than below, and that the dread that men feel for the safety of their persons and goods is directed rather to the constituted guardians of order than to the outcasts from society. The first feeling of one unused to a barbarous government is surprise that it should be allowed even to exist, much more that it should possess considerable stability, and be handed on from one generation to the next, without a general outburst of resistance. Observation tends to explain this seeming enigma. Bad as it may be, the oppression exercised by the few strikes only those who are in some way conspicuous. The common mass, who offer no special temptation to extortion, escape comparatively unhurt, and feel little sympathy for the victim. Accordingly it is only when a Sultan or a Governor indulges in mere gratuitous acts of cruelty against his humbler subjects, that we hear of a general revolt. Oppression is, after all, less intolerable than anarchy; and at that very time most men would have chosen to live in Marocco rather than in Sicily.

Among other objects of interest Sir J. D. Hay showed us a coloured view of the Great Atlas range, as seen from the neighbourhood of the city of Marocco, executed at the time of his father’s mission to that city in 1829, and this naturally engaged our special attention.[2] The most singular point in the structure of the mountains was a very long range of what were represented as precipitous rocks of seemingly uniform height and structure, that appeared to rise abruptly from the plain, and to form an almost continuous outer wall or rampart on the north side of the chain. We were also shown a copy of Hollar’s[3] rare engraving, representing Tangier at the period of the English occupation, with the soldiers of Charles II., in their cumbrous uniforms, strutting on the mole.

Those who have read his interesting and lively little work, ‘Morocco and the Moors,’ will not be surprised that so keen a sportsman and close an observer of the habits of wild animals as our host should have many curious anecdotes to tell; but we were not prepared to hear that less than twenty-five years before a lion had been killed close to the spot where his beautiful villa now stands. At the present time no animal of prey larger than a jackal is seen in this part of the country, but the wild boar is as abundant there as it is everywhere throughout Marocco. No doubt the religious scruples that forbid the use of the flesh have gone far to prevent the natives from reducing the numbers of these mischievous brutes. One anecdote in favour of an animal whose moral character stands in low repute may here be permitted.

Sir J. D. Hay had brought up a young leopard in his house until the animal had reached his full size and strength, and it seemed a scarcely safe companion for the younger members of his family. He therefore resolved to present it to the Zoological Gardens in London, where it was duly installed. Some two years later, when on a visit to England, its former master bethought him of the leopard, and, going to the gardens, recognised the animal and spoke to him in Arabic. The once familiar sounds immediately awoke the animal’s memory, and it at once displayed the appearance of unbounded, but joyous, excitement. On explaining the circumstances the cage was opened, and the animal showed the utmost delight at the approach of its early friend and master.

On the night of Easter Sunday, while enjoying the cool air and the view from the roof of the British Residency, we beheld that grand display of the Aurora Borealis, which was visible at the same time throughout Western Europe. As in the equally brilliant auroras of the preceding autumn, which the popular imagination in many different parts of Europe had attributed to the burning of Paris, the characteristic feature of this display was the pale flickering crimson tinge that rose from the northern and western horizon towards the zenith. Brilliant auroral phenomena are rarely seen in so low a latitude as Tangier; but thirty-two years earlier Hooker had beheld them from a still more southern station, during the visit of the Antarctic Expedition to Madeira in 1839, as described by Sir James Ross in the narrative of that voyage.

We were much impressed by the accounts we received of the remarkable salubrity of the climate of North Marocco, and we gathered abundant evidence to the same effect in regard to other parts of the territory. Nothing is more rare than to find a country where neither the natives nor foreign visitors have any complaint to make against the climate, and in that respect Marocco is almost unique. As regards the season of our visit, however, our case was that of nearly all travellers in whatever country they may find themselves. We had arrived in an exceptional season! How often is this fact gravely stated as something remarkable and unusual in the experience of the narrator, whereas, if he would but reflect, it merely represents the common experience of mankind in most countries of the earth! Excepting some portions of the equatorial zone, where the seasons recur with tolerable constancy, our notions of the climate of a place are got at by taking an average among a great many successive seasons. It is true that our own islands afford an extreme instance of variability; but elsewhere in the temperate zones of both hemispheres, the difference between corresponding seasons in successive years is often very great. Any one who watches the meteorological notices published in our newspapers, must be aware that if any particular day, week, or month be compared with the general average for the same period during a long term of years, he will find it to be either considerably hotter, or colder, or drier, or moister than the corresponding average day, week, or month; and when registers shall have been kept for a sufficient time in other countries, the same result will be seen to hold good, though in a somewhat lesser degree. Travellers will then be prepared to find that they should expect to enjoy or suffer from an exceptional season, and will think it more remarkable when they happen to alight on a season that approaches near to the average. That preceding our visit had been unusually severe; snow had been seen at Tangier, and had lain for some hours on the rock of Gibraltar, and, as a consequence affecting the object of our journey, the spring vegetation in North Marocco was unusually retarded. At the same time, so far as our sensations went, nothing could be more agreeable than the climate of this season, the thermometer in the shade during the day varying from 60° to 66° Fahr., and the air being delightfully clear and bracing.

On April 8 we started for a short excursion to the headland of Cape Spartel. In the immediate neighbourhood of Tangier Europeans may safely walk or ride unattended; but, as we were going a little beyond the ordinary limits, it was considered prudent to give us the escort of two soldiers, and to these we added a baggage mule and a native guide. In a botanical sense we were about to travel over beaten ground—the only spot in all Marocco where a naturalist can without difficulty wander at will over rocky hills that retain their natural vegetation. The little that was then known of the flora of the empire would have dwindled to a scanty list if we had struck out the rich collections that successive botanists during the last 100 years have brought from the Djebel Kebir and the adjoining hilly district west of Tangier. Although there was little prospect of new discovery, the expedition could not fail to offer a veritable feast to a botanist, and especially to one not already familiar with the vegetation of the opposite coast and the adjoining region of southern Portugal.

After standing the fire of some harmless ‘chaff’ from the Jew and Moorish boys that loitered about the city gate, we soon got clear of the enclosures near the town, and descended through cultivated land into a little grassy valley that lies below the hilly range of the Djebel Kebir. Bright spring annuals—blue and yellow lupen, crimson Adonis, a deep orange marigold (Calendula suffruticosa), blue pimpernel, and other less conspicuous flowers—enlivened the tillage ground; but the northern botanist is more struck by the perennial species that hold their ground on the large portion of the soil which the plough has not touched. Predominant among these, as elsewhere throughout a large part of the Mediterranean region, is the palmetto, or dwarf palm (Chamærops humilis). Where unmolested by animals, and protected from the periodic fires that the native herdsmen renew for the sake of getting herbage for their cattle, it forms a thick trunk, ten or twelve feet in height, which probably takes a long time to attain its full size; but in the open places it is commonly stemless, and covers the ground with its radiating tufts of stiff fan-shaped leaves. Many plants of the lily tribe abound; but in this mild climate most of them had flowered in winter, and few now showed more than their tufts of large root-leaves. Most conspicuous is the large maritime squill (Scilla maritima of Linnæus). The flowers are not large or showy, and do not correspond with the size of the bulb which often equals that of a man’s head. Another species of the same genus (Scilla hemisphærica) is more ornamental, as are the two common asphodels. The slender iris (I. Sisyrhynchium of Linnæus), whose delicate flower lasts only a few hours—opening one at a time on successive days, appearing about mid-day and withering in the afternoon—is very abundant.

On reaching the hollow ground, where a slender stream runs through damp meadows, we were charmed by the delicate tint of a pale blue daisy that enamels the green turf. It is merely a slight variety of the little annual daisy (Bellis annua), so common in many parts of Southern Europe; but the blue tint does not seem to have been noticed elsewhere. The larger blue daisy, afterwards seen as one of the ornaments of the mountain region of the Great Atlas, was at first supposed to belong to the same species; but, besides that this is perennial, it shows other less obvious differences.

It was on the slopes of the Djebel Kebir, where the stony ground is almost exclusively occupied by a dense mass of small shrubs, few of them rising more than three or four feet from the ground, but nearly all covered with brilliant flowers, that we first began to seize the really characteristic features of the North Marocco flora. A great variety and abundance of flowering perennials of shrubby habit is, indeed, a distinguishing feature of the whole Mediterranean region; but very little observation was needed to show that we were here in that well marked division that includes Southern Portugal, South-western Spain, and the opposite corner of Africa. This may be called for distinction the Cistus and Heath region; for though most of the same kinds of Cistus and Helianthemum extend as far as the south of France, and many species of heath inhabit the Atlantic coasts of Europe as far north as Connemara, it is only here that both these tribes flourish together, and give a prevailing character to the vegetation. Most conspicuous of all is the gum-cistus (C. ladaniferus), which in the Sierra Morena and the adjoining parts of Spain and Portugal obtains such predominance that for twenty miles together one may ride through a continuous thicket where the peculiar scent of the gum that covers the leaves and young branches is never absent. About Tangier the rich purple spot that usually adorns the base of the large petals is wanting, and the flowers show unmixed snowy white. Of the same tribe, besides several true Cisti, there are many species of Helianthemum. Of heaths, along with the commoner kinds (Erica arborea and E. scoparia), we saw in abundance the rarer and more characteristic forms, E. australis and E. umbellata. E. ciliata, one of our English rarities, is here very scarce, though it grows on the opposite side of the Strait. Our common heather (Calluna vulgaris) still holds its ground, but in a poor and stunted condition. The rhododendron of the East (Rh. ponticum), that is at home in the mountain region of Asia Minor and Syria, and which strangely reappears here and there among the low hills between Tarifa and Algeciras, on the north side of the Straits, has not been found on the African shore; but until the coast between Tangier and Ceuta has become more accessible, it will not be safe to assume that it is wanting. Among the many shrubby leguminous plants whose flowers give the prevailing golden tint to the hill sides, two of the Broom tribe (Genista triacanthos and Cytisus tridentatus), plants of very peculiar aspect and characteristic of this region, attracted our attention. It is impossible to omit another ornament of the hills—a plant rather widely diffused but nowhere common (Lithospermum fruticosum), whose azure blue flowers formed a charming contrast with the surrounding masses of golden colour.

The botanical district to which the northern corner of Marocco belongs has been already called that of the Cistus and Heath, but no single species of those tribes exactly conforms to the limits above pointed out. There are, however, several less conspicuous plants whose distribution more closely agrees with those limits. The most singular of these is the Drosophyllum lusitanicum, a plant of the sun-dew tribe, whose branched stem bears several large yellow flowers. The numerous slender strap-shaped root-leaves, nearly a foot in length, that are gradually contracted to the thickness of whipcord, are beset with pellucid ruby-tipped glands, and present a peculiarity that appears to be unique in the vegetable kingdom. Any one who has remarked the growth of ferns must have seen that in the young state the leaves are rolled or curled inwards, so that in the process of unfolding the face or upper side of the leaf, which was at first concealed, is gradually opened and turned to the light. A similar process occurs in many other plants; but in Drosophyllum alone, so far as we know, the young leaf is rolled or curled the reverse way, so that the upper side of the leaf is that turned outwards. It appears to grow in many parts of Southern Portugal; reappears on the north side of the Straits of Gibraltar near Tarifa and Algeciras, and on the southern side about Cape Spartel and on the hills above Tetuan, where it commands a view of the opening of the Mediterranean, but extends no farther eastward. Very similar is the distribution in Europe of two ferns whose natural home seems to be in the Canary Islands—the graceful Davallia canariensis, and the Asplenium Hemionitis of Linnæus. Both occur here and there in shady spots, from the rock of Lisbon to Algeciras and Tangier, but are unable to travel eastward beyond the Pillars of Hercules.

The scarcity of trees in this country is mainly due to the mischievous interference of man. The same ignorant greed of the herdsman, who to procure a little meagre herbage for goats sets fire to wide tracts of brushwood, that has reduced whole provinces of Spain to a nearly desert condition, has been equally busy and equally effectual in Marocco. The evergreen oak, which might produce much valuable timber, is the chief indigenous tree of this country; but, except on the rocky western declivity of the hill above Cape Spartel, few here arrive at a moderate growth, and the same is true of the Portuguese oak (Quercus lusitanica). The latter, indeed, never attains a considerable stature; but, where preserved from damage, it forms thickets some twenty or thirty feet in height, and, if duly protected, would help to preserve the hilly districts of this region from being annually parched by the summer sun. One of the shrubby evergreen oaks of this country (Quercus coccifera, L.), whose dark green spiny leaves are more like those of a holly than of an ordinary oak, might perhaps be successfully introduced in the south-western parts of the British islands. Its very dense foliage would make it valuable as a screen, and it produces a good effect when mixed with other shrubs.

Although the distance did not exceed ten or twelve miles, we had so much to do in filling our tin boxes and portfolios that the sun was sinking in the Atlantic as we reached the lighthouse at Cape Spartel. It is impossible not to feel some interest in this structure that for so many a mariner marks the limit of the great continent, more than three times the area of Europe, that remains, in spite of all the efforts of modern enterprise, the chief home of all that is strange and mysterious and unknown in the world. It represents, too, the only concession that the Moor has made to the demands of modern civilisation; for the building has been raised at the cost of the Sultan of Marocco, though the expense of its maintenance is shared between the four Powers, England, France, Italy, and Spain. The representatives of these States at Tangier form a board of management, and each in turn undertakes the actual control and inspection of the building. It was by an especial favour, and on the ground of our scientific pursuits, that we received permission from the Spanish Consul-General, then Acting Commissioner, with the concurrence of his colleagues, to lodge for the night within the building. It stands on a rocky platform some 250 feet above the sea. The massive tower, or pharos, that bears the lantern, is about eighty feet in height, and, with the annexed building, is enclosed by a strong wall, forming an outer court. The interior of the building is singularly picturesque. An inner octagonal court, surrounded by pillared arcades, supported on round, slightly stilted arches, with a fountain of cool spring water in the middle, gives access to the rooms, small and bare but perfectly clean, of which three were given for our accommodation. Some fowls and eggs supplied by the lighthouse-keeper, eked out by the provisions we had carried from Tangier, produced an excellent supper, and the evening was fully employed till a late hour in arranging and laying out the spoils of our first day’s work in Marocco. It was near midnight when, before turning in for the night, each in turn paused in the court to enjoy the exquisite beauty of the scene. The full southern moon poured a flood of silver light through the arched spaces, converting the pattering spraydrops of the fountain into pearls and diamonds. The shadows of the slender columns lay like bars of ebony on the white flags; while, for a roof, the Great Bear, every star twinkling its brightest, stretched upward towards the zenith. The great tower rose in dark shadow, for the lantern was turned away from us; but we could discern, streaming out to seaward, in spite of the apparent clearness of the air, two faintly marked cones of yellow light that were soon quenched in the moonlight. The air was still, the sea was quiet, and at first the silence seemed unbroken; but as the listener stood, the pulses of the great ocean, though they smote but gently the cavernous rocks below, beat distinctly on the ear, and marked the passing minutes.

We rose betimes next morning, finding fresh enjoyment in each breath that we drew of the delicious air, and after breakfast set out for a walk southward along the coast. For the first two or three miles the rocky ground sloped downward towards our right, and finally fell steeply to the beach. It was apparent that the season was not quite advanced enough to enjoy the full beauty of the flora, but we found, besides the Drosophyllum already mentioned, many interesting forms. Orchids were not so abundant as they usually are at this season in the warmer part of the Mediterranean region. Platanthera diphylla, growing in shady spots, was the only uncommon species.

An indentation of the coast marks the spot where a slender stream descends to the sea through a stretch of white sand; and beyond this the rocky coast rises but slightly above the sea level. Our steps were directed towards the so-called Cave of Hercules. This was originally a mere hollow in the face of the sea cliff; but from a remote period of antiquity it has been quarried for the purpose of extracting the hand-mills universally used in this part of Marocco. These, which are quite the same as the Scotch querns, are cut out in the rudest way by hammer and chisel, leaving the surface of the rock marked by a series of circular indentations about eighteen inches in diameter. In this way the original dimensions of the cave have been greatly enlarged, and, as it is still worked for the same purpose, the process is sure to be continued. In connection with the question raised of late years as to change of relative level of land and sea within the historic period, we observed some very ancient markings that showed the works to have been carried somewhat below the present level of high tide; but we could trace none that appeared to reach so low as that of the ebb tide.

So far as the evidence at this point goes, it seems to prove a slight amount of submergence during the period for which the rock has here been quarried. This period may probably be reckoned at 2,000 years, and possibly much exceeds that limit. Taken in connection with still existing remains in Greece, Asia Minor, the Phœnician coast of Syria, and Egypt, it tends to show that the changes in the general level of the Mediterranean coasts, indicated by many geologists, must have proceeded very slowly during the historic period, and that the more considerable oscillations, that have undoubtedly occurred near Naples and on the east coast of Sicily, have been mainly due to the local influence of volcanic action.

The soil near the cave was much mixed with sand carried by the wind, and the plants seen were chiefly widely diffused species that find tolerably uniform conditions of life on the sandy shores of the west coast of Europe. The rocks near the cave produce samphire and the sea fern (Asplenium marinum), just as they do in Cornwall; while Diotis maritima and Lotus Salzmanni, a local variety of the widely spread Lotus creticus of Linnæus, were frequent on the sands. The chief ornament was Statice sinuata, whose delicate azure flowers were already in blossom, long before most of the species of that late-flowering genus.

Our course now lay inland; but, instead of following the direct way back to Tangier, we were led by a false report (our first experience of blundering interpretation of English by the help of Moorish Arabic) to bear to the left, and recross the Djebel Kebir, so as to take Sir J. D. Hay’s villa of Ravensrock on our way back to the town. Near the track we passed close to a native village, or douar, the first which we had seen. When we had heard that the native population is broadly distinguished into two classes by the fact that some retain their original nomadic habits so far as to live permanently in tents, moving from one spot to another during the course of the year, while the others live in houses, and have become rooted to the soil, it never occurred to us that there could be any difficulty in distinguishing between one class and the other with the help of such obvious characteristic marks. But we soon found that the difference is but slight, and not very apparent. The black camel’s hair tent is often, both in seeming and in fact, a more durable dwelling than the miserable huts, composed chiefly of slender branches to which the dried leaves still adhere, covered sometimes with brown straw, and oftener with some tattered fragments of cloth, the remains of worn-out garments. Only the mountain tribes, the descendants of the ancient Bereber stock, whose southern descendants we were to become acquainted with in the valleys of the Great Atlas, have preserved the familiar use of stone masonry in this part of Africa. Laden with plants, and with appetites sharpened by our climb over the hill, we returned to our comfortable quarters at the Victoria Hotel. We did not pass over the very highest point of the Djebel Kebir; but an observation taken some sixty or eighty feet lower indicated an elevation of about 800 feet above the sea level.

FOOTNOTES:

[1]This episode forms the subject of Calderon’s noble play—El Prencipe Costante.

[2]A copy of this view is given in the frontispiece.

[3]Wentzel Hollar (or Hollard), a native of Prague, was sent to Tangier in 1669 by the king to take views of the town and its fortifications, which he afterwards engraved. Being one of the most distinguished engravers of the time, he settled in England, and executed some 2,400 prints, chiefly etchings, which are remarkable for their spirit, freedom, lightness, and finish. Hollar was one of the most conscientious of men; he worked for the booksellers at the rate of 4d. an hour, and always with an hour-glass on his table, which he invariably laid on its side, to prevent the sand from running, when not actually at work with his pencil or graving tool, and even when conversing on his business with his employers. He is said to have died in great poverty, with an execution in his house and a prison in prospect.

CHAPTER II.

Start for Tetuan — Vegetation of the low country — Serpent charmers — Twilight in the forest — The Fondak — Stormy night on the roof — Breakfast on the hill — Riff Mountains — A Governor in chains — Fate of high officials in Marocco — Valley of Tetuan — Jew quarter of the city — Ascent of the Beni Hosmar — Vegetation of the Mountain — A quiet day — Jewish population — Ride to Ceuta — Spanish campaign in Marocco — Fortifications of Ceuta — Return to European civilisation — Spanish convict stations in Africa.

On April 10 we started, rather late, for Tetuan, leaving our tents and heavy baggage at Tangier. Our pompous interpreter, Hadj Bel Mohammed by name, whose huge blue spectacles seem to be permanent appendages of the Victoria Hotel, we found forward and intrusive in manner, and indolent and inefficient in action, and altogether of no account as a companion to travellers. Of the two soldiers who formed the escort—one recognised by his taciturnity the inferiority of his position; but the other by his quaint appearance and jocular disposition afforded us much amusement, if not much reliable information. This little fellow is properly called Hadj Mohammed, but he seems to be familiarly known among the English visitors to Tangier by the name of Bulbo. There was nothing military about him, except a very long gun which, throughout our journey, remained carefully covered up in an intricate red cloth case. If by any chance his aid had really been required, and such an unlikely suggestion were admitted as that Bulbo would have done anything else than put spurs to his horse and run away, he would have been driven to beg the attacking party to give him a quarter of an hour’s delay to get ready for action.

The distance from Tangier to Tetuan is only about forty miles; but we decided on stopping for the night at the Fondak,[1] a solitary Moorish caravanserai, about thirty miles distant from Tangier. Hurrying past the accumulations of offal and filth that are shot over the seaward face of the city wall, and indulging in a ten minutes’ gallop over the sandy beach, we left the seashore; and, after riding some way through deep sandy lanes, before long reached a stretch of low cultivated land that extends westward from Tangier to the hills that divide this from the neighbouring provinces of Laraish and Tetuan.

The season was not sufficiently advanced for the flowering of many seaside plants; but there was quite enough to rejoice the eyes of botanists who had escaped from the ghastly spring season of the North when the days grow longer, but only more dreary, and the bitter east wind parches and blasts the young leaves and blossoms that are tempted to their destruction by the mildness of our winter weather. As everywhere on the seaboard of Marocco, the great yellow chrysanthemum (C. coronarium), with florets varying in hue from orange to pale lemon colour, is conspicuous on sea banks, with several fine species of Heron’s-bill (Erodium). In the sands a large purple-flowered Malcolmia (M. littorea) and many Leguminosæ already diversified the aspect of the vegetation; while robust Umbelliferæ, mingled with the familiar eryngo of our own shores, had as yet merely developed their showy leaves.[2] But the characteristic form which chiefly interests the stranger to this region is a grey leafless bush, with long pendulous whipcord-like branches waving in the breeze, that is common among the sandhills, and recurs elsewhere in dry exposed situations. There is something sad in the meagre and drooping aspect of the plant that brings to mind those dismal mourning trinkets, wherein a lock of hair is made to form the effigy of a weeping willow. This is the R’tam of the Moors, whence botanists have formed the name Retama for a small group of brooms, containing a few nearly allied species, that are widely spread throughout the region extending from Spain to the Canary Islands. In the early spring our Tangier plant (Retama monosperma of Boissier) is covered with clusters of small white odoriferous flowers. These had nearly all disappeared, and were succeeded by little hard one-seeded pods, which in some of the varieties ultimately become thick and fleshy, and are much sought after by birds. Not uncommonly the slender branches are laden with clusters of a small species of Helix that at some distance might be taken for fruit.

Without halting, except at one spot to secure some specimens of the great onion (Allium nigrum of Linnæus), we rode pretty fast through the belt of cultivated land that lies between the shore and the hills. The agriculture of this country has probably undergone little change since the earliest historic period. The plough in daily use is the same that is figured on the monuments of ancient Egypt, and with two exceptions the crops are the same— barley, wheat, lentils, vetches, flax, and pumpkins. America has supplied two valuable articles of food—maize and potatoes—and two exotic plants that have become so common as to modify the appearance of many localities—the Agave, or American aloe of British greenhouses, and the Indian fig (Opuntia vulgaris)—both extensively used for hedges, and multiplying freely on waste ground. The last-named plant contributes to the scanty dietary of the natives; but the fruit, when eaten in any quantity, is said to be indigestible, and a potent ally to diarrhœa and dysentery. On reaching the hills, of which we merely crossed some low spurs, the aspect of the vegetation became more varied. The dominant plants were still those we had seen in similar situations about Tangier— the palmetto (Chamærops humilis), the great branched asphodel (Asphodelus cerasiferus), and some spiny species of the Cytisus tribe; but the slopes were covered with a brilliant and varied vegetation, presenting a marked contrast to the comparative monotony of the tillage region. Most of the common orchids were seen, and we admired the many climbing plants that cover the bushes, and even reach the tops of tall trees. The beautiful Clematis cirrhosa is, indeed, less common here than it is in Algeria; but the two forms of Smilax, the spiny and the smooth-stemmed (S. aspera and S. mauritanica), were abundant; and a wild vine is common here, as it is in similar positions on the northern skirts of the Great Atlas, where it is not known to have ever been cultivated for the production of wine. Our chief botanical prize in this part of the day’s ride was a beautiful Cytisus, with silvery white leaves and numerous dense heads of bright yellow flowers (Genista clavata of Poiret).

Throughout all this part of Marocco we were struck by the abundance of a dwarf plant of the artichoke tribe (Cynara humilis), which plays an important part in the domestic economy of the natives. It is almost stemless, and produces (at a later season) a large blue head of flower from the midst of a great tuft of much divided and very spiny leaves. Though not cultivated, it grows in great abundance in waste spots and the margins of fields on clay soil. Great piles of it were exposed for sale about the land gate of Tangier; and every morning whole processions of men, women, children, and donkeys, all laden with the same substance, were to be seen taking the same direction. It was painful to watch the women, half veiled, but not so as to disguise their age and ugliness, staggering onward, with huge bare legs and feet, under balloon-like loads of this spiny burden, tied up in a large coarse cloth. At this season the foliage serves as fodder for animals; somewhat later, when the heads are approaching the flowering state, they are extensively consumed as food for the human population, the end of the stem and the receptacle being eaten raw, as artichokes are in many parts of Southern Europe.

Though, to judge from the extent of tillage, the population cannot be very small in this part of the country, we saw but few habitations, and those of the most miserable description—chiefly low mud hovels in small groups, seemingly built with a view to avoid observation in out-of-the-way spots, and never near to the main track. In this region the natives are of mixed race, partly Moors and partly of Bereber stock, descendants of Riff people, who have come down from their mountains to settle in the low country.

We made our mid-day halt in a rich green level tract that lies between the first and lower hills, and a second and more considerable range which connects the Angera Mountains on the north with the higher mass of the Riff Mountains south of Tetuan. The drainage of this broad valley seems to flow southward till it falls into a considerable stream, descending from the high peaks of Beni Hassan and its neighbouring summits, that reaches the sea on the west coast some eighteen miles south of Cape Spartel. Our eyes were here gratified by the sight of comparatively fine trees, everywhere so scarce in Marocco. Of these the most conspicuous is a southern species of ash, very like the common tree. It is the Fraxinus oxyphylla of Bieberstein, which extends from Southern Russia and the Levant to Spain and Marocco. The leaves and fruit are smaller, but in this district the tree rivals in stature our native British species. Poplars are common beside the streams, which are fringed by tall oleanders and willows, and in drier spots the fig, carob, and olive grow to a large size. The almond tree is also common, but does not appear to have naturalised itself.

Animal life does not seem to be abundant; but some of the birds were new enough to our eyes to diversify the way; The commonest is the stork, which appears, from a sense of entire security, to have assumed a tone of complete intimacy with his human neighbours. He may be seen about the houses, familiar with the little brown-faced, black-eyed boys, or striding majestically through the crops, or wheeling slowly in wide circles through the air, till he suddenly stops, drops his long legs that had been stretched out behind him during flight, and, poising himself on them like an acrobat on loose stilts, comes to rest. A blue headed bee-eater, apparently the same species that is extremely common in South Marocco, was also seen during our ride.

As we began to ascend the main range of hills that still separated us from Tetuan we overtook a couple of wild-looking fellows, one carrying a tambourine, the other a cylindrical basket, who soon showed that they wanted to attract our attention. Our stately interpreter, riding along with his nose in the air, purblinded by his blue goggles, took no notice of them till one sat down and began tom-toming on the tambourine; and Bulbo, ever ready for amusement, soon enticed us to see the snake charmers. These have been so often described, that it is enough to make a few notes on the natural history of the exhibition. The object of the tom-toming—at first gentle and lastly furious—with which the performance commences, is clearly to aid the charmer in his endeavours to addle his brains, and deaden his nervous susceptibility, so that he may better encounter the pain, which, though not intense, must be considerable. His own share commenced by frenzied dancing and bodily contortions, and above all rolling his head violently from side to side. This accomplished, the basket was opened, and after a good deal of hustling two magnificent snakes unwillingly glided out, raised their beautiful heads, looking as proud as swans, glanced scornfully about, and very naturally tried to get back. This the charmer prevented, and still keeping up his abnormal nervous condition by rolling his head and eyes, bullied one of them into biting his arm, and then his hand between the thumb and forefinger, and drawing blood. He next vainly tried to make a snake strike at his forehead, and then prevailed on it to seize on his nose, and lastly on his protruded tongue, where it held on, probably attracted by the moisture, for some seconds, leaving two bleeding wounds on the upper surface of the organ, and as many on the under. With the snakes still hanging about him, the hero concluded the performance by laboriously thrusting a skewer through his cheek, which had no doubt been previously perforated for the purpose; after this the serpents were allowed to retire into the basket, which they were nothing loth to do. In these performances, which have been seen by most travellers in Egypt and India, there is little doubt that the poison-fangs have been previously extracted. Whatever may be said of the effect produced by music on serpents, there is no reason to suppose that it can modify the poisonous effect of their bite, and the real object in these cases is to act on the nervous system of the snake charmer himself. We were glad when the disgusting exhibition was over, and we left the performers well pleased with a gratuity of about eighteen pence—quite as much as five shillings would be to a poor man in England. When once the secret had been learned, many an English bumpkin could be got to undergo the operation for a pot of beer.

As we began to ascend the rugged track that winds up the hills the aspect of the country soon changed. Amidst the brushwood that covered the slopes, old gnarled trunks of wild olive, carob, and lentisk stood here and there—survivors of the forests that must once have covered the country—whose charred stems and maimed branches told a tale of the way in which man’s reckless greed has marred the face of nature here, as in so many other parts of the earth. Our last halt for botanising was near a spring, where the green turf was decked with many small orchids—all of them possibly forms of Ophrys lutea. We were not then acquainted with the careful observations of the late Mr. Treherne Moggridge, who completely proved that the differences in the form and colouring of the corolla which have been supposed to separate several species of the genus Ophrys are variable, even on the same plant; but our passing remarks entirely tally with his conclusions. As we lingered, the sun sank below the horizon; we unwillingly hearkened to the exhortations of our followers, who seemed to grow uneasy at the chance of being benighted, and pushed on towards our resting place.

The weird figures of the stunted and maimed monsters of the forest drew closer together as we neared the crest of the hill, and, in the fast growing gloom, assumed at each moment a more wild and threatening aspect. Bare branches standing against the sky, and eye-like holes in the black hollow trunks, were transfigured by the fancy; and to at least one of us the tale of Sintram, and Albert Dürer’s quaint old woodcut, supplied additional elements to the mental picture; until, as we emerged from the wood, the note of the cuckoo, bringing a whole train of home associations, suddenly broke the spell. We rode onward, and soon stood before El Fondak, the most stately place of shelter for travellers in the Marocco Empire.

From without this shows a rather imposing aspect, resembling that of a hill fort. A strong wall, some eighteen or twenty feet in height, without window or opening of any kind, except a central gate, surrounds a large court-yard. We had been warned that the accommodation within was not good, and we were not long in coming to the same conclusion.

The large quadrangle formed a sort of stable-yard, wherein were littered camels, horses, mules, and donkeys. The surrounding enclosure, covered with a flat stone roof, was walled in on two sides, and on the others formed a range of open sheds wherein the camel drivers piled their burdens, or the keeper of the caravanserai sheltered his cattle. On the other sides a series of doors gave admission to as many small cellars, or dungeons, with no other opening than the door for admitting light or air, empty, except for remnants of dirty straw and rubbish, but apparently tenanted by every imaginable variety of insect and creeping thing. The keeper of the caravanserai, a repulsive-looking old man, threw open one of the doors, and explained that the apartment had been reserved for our use. No deliberation was necessary on this occasion, for a unanimous declaration burst from our lips—nothing would induce us to enter such a filthy den—and we at once announced our intention to pass the night upon the roof. Our luggage was accordingly conveyed up through a narrow stone staircase, and we proceeded to prepare our frugal supper, of which portable soup was the chief ingredient, and soon afterwards to make our arrangements for the night.

Our so-called interpreter had become altogether obnoxious to us. During our mid-day halt he had coolly appropriated the most comfortable spot in the shade, devoured most of our oranges, and plainly showed that he had no notion of taking the slightest trouble about a set of Frankish lunatics, who spent their time in grubbing up little weeds by the roots, and looking at them through bits of glass. He relieved us altogether of his presence this evening; and we felt a certain satisfaction in thinking that his well-fed carcase would during the night supply wholesome and abundant food for the legions of hungry insects that tenanted the ground-floor of our hotel. Old Bulbo, whether because he shared our preference for the clean and airy quarters on the roof, or because he wished to display his zeal for our protection, installed himself with the long gun in the red case at a convenient distance, while we, after slowly consuming the evening cigar, unrolled our cork mattresses, and prepared our bivouac. We scarcely noticed at first the peculiar construction of the roof. Round three sides of the building there was a low parapet wall, but none whatever towards the front, where the flags sloped slightly outwards, and ended abruptly at the edge of the outer wall of the building. The stars shone brightly in the sky, and a pleasant breeze from the east fanned our faces as we lay down to rest on the front part of the roof, congratulating ourselves on the excellence of our quarters, when compared to the misery we had escaped below. Before long the breeze freshened, the night grew cooler (55° Fahr.), and we were glad to lace the oilcloth covers of our mattresses so as to keep out the keen air. Before doing so, Hooker judiciously laid an empty box on the windward side, and steadied it by placing within it two or three bottles of wine, and a few other luxuries for our consumption, his watch, and such other miscellaneous articles as lay at hand. Snugly ensconced in our coverings, oblivion soon crept over us, and we slept, it is hard to say how long. A horrid crash, and the fall of a heavy body between the adjoining sleepers, startled two of them into sudden consciousness. It was something like what happens in the saloon of a steamer, when a heavy sea strikes the ship, and, amidst a smash of broken glass and crockery, one is suddenly roused from one’s sofa by the unexpected visit of one’s neighbour’s travelling bag and hat-box. The cause of the phenomenon was the same, though the position was very different. The wind had risen to something more than half a gale, and seemed much inclined to sweep clear away from the stone roof everything that was not firmly fixed in its place. As we lay tightly laced in our oilcloth covers, like the chrysalis in its case, it cost some struggling and wriggling to get ourselves free, and rush to the rescue of our property, which was careering along the roof before each gust of wind that struck the building. Several articles had already been carried away over the edge; but the moon, shining brightly from amidst the light scudding clouds, helped us to recover everything of importance. The watch and note-book were safe; but the contents of a broken bottle of claret had somehow run under the cover of Hooker’s mattress, and, placed as we were, the attempt to rearrange it was something like the classical difficulty of ‘swopping horses in the middle of a stream.’ Cautiously creeping about to see what had befallen our companions, we found the faithful Bulbo (with more practical meteorological instinct than we had displayed) safely ensconced on the lee side of the low parapet. The shapeless heap, rolled up in the multitudinous folds of a white haïk, could not have been recognised, but for the inevitable long gun in the red case that lay beside it.

Little sleep was to be expected for the remainder of the night, and with the first light we began to move. Though the wind was falling, we could not attempt to avail ourselves of Maw’s cooking apparatus, and we agreed to postpone breakfast till we should reach some more sheltered spot. The vegetation here was little advanced, and we saw but few plants in flower, save a little yellow Lithospermum (L. apulum), on our way to the top of the pass, which was covered with low brushwood and shrubs of the same species that we had seen near Tangier.

We halted in a hollow place near the highest point, where we strangely omitted to take observations for altitude; and after a slight repast hurried down the slope in a SSE. direction, towards the valley of the Tetuan river. We here enjoyed a fine view of the snow-streaked mass of the Riff Mountains, which we may call, from their best known peak, the Beni Hassan Group.

The mountain ranges of the Riff—extending for about 180 miles from Tetuan to the mouth of the Oued Moulouya, which lies very near the French frontier—undoubtedly form a part of the system of the Lesser Atlas of Algeria; but, if we may trust the maps and such scanty reports as can be picked up, they constitute a separate group, not continuous with the coast range of Western Algeria. The true relations between the main range of the Lesser Atlas of Algeria and the diverging ranges of the Great Atlas that extend over the region S. and SE. of Fez must remain unknown so long as the latter region remains inaccessible to European travellers. The river Moulouya and its eastern branch, the Oued Za, mark the existence of two considerable valleys, and it is probable that the very sinuous course laid down for both those streams in the French map may be founded on native reports approximately correct; while it is quite certain that the adjoining mountain ranges as shown on that map differ very widely from the truth. A traveller going from Fez to the mouth of the Oued Moulouya, in a direction slightly north of due east, traverses a broad valley, with the Riff Mountains on his left, lying between him and the Mediterranean coast, and the northern branches of the Great Atlas on his right. Somewhere near Theza he reaches the watershed between the region that is drained towards the Atlantic through the Oued Sebou and the basin of the Oued Moulouya, but seemingly without having to make any considerable ascent. He descends to the Moulouya—or rather he would do so if the powerful Halaf tribe, who hold that region, allowed strangers to pass—where that river, after cutting its way through the unknown region between the Great and Lesser Atlas, enters a wide plain, some forty or fifty miles in extent each way. Before reaching the sea, the valley is again narrowed. On one side is the eastern extremity of the Riff Mountains, and on the other a range of lofty hills that may be considered as spurs of the Lesser Atlas of Algeria.

Before quitting this dry subject, it is necessary to remark that, even as regards the relatively well-known district near Tangier and Tetuan, the best maps are far from complete accuracy. In the French War Office Map—undoubtedly the best map of Marocco—the hill shading gives far too much importance to the comparatively low hills running from WSW. to ENE. on the south side of Tangier, and not enough to the range which we crossed between El Fondak and Tetuan. This extends from the main mass of the Beni Hassan to Ape’s Hill opposite Gibraltar, and divides the waters running to the Atlantic from those of the Tetuan river. Over against this (which we had just crossed) rose a parallel and more lofty range, terminating in the bold craggy mass of the Beni Hosmar (B. Aouzmar of the French map), rising steeply from the valley opposite Tetuan, and to ascend this was the main object of our present excursion.

Soon after we entered the main valley, and were riding along a broad track parallel to the Tetuan river, we came upon a group that for the first time brought home to us an illustration of the true condition of society in this country. A body of armed horsemen, many of them true Negroes or mulattoes, were resting beside the way, broken up into lively groups, laughing and chattering together. Amongst them was a solitary man, poorly clothed, and, as we observed, laden with heavy chains. He kept his back turned towards the track, and seemed to take advantage of the halt to dip his feet into the brook that ran along beside it. So numerous an escort in charge of a single prisoner suggested something unusual, and we were led to make inquiry. According to the story retailed to us, the chained captive was lately the powerful governor of a distant province, who had offered a stout resistance when summoned to the capital to give an account of his administration. It is well understood in Marocco that such summons, whether framed as a peremptory order or a flattering invitation, has but one meaning—that the time has come when it seems to the Sultan or his counsellors that the wretched governor should be ‘squeezed,’ or, in other words, be forced by torture to surrender whatever wealth he may have hoarded. As the appointment of a new governor generally means that the province will be subjected to fresh impositions and extortions, the people are apt to side with the old governor, and sometimes, in a country where the central power is so feeble, a man, by a judicious combination of force and bribery, may long keep the government at bay, and escape the miserable fate that usually awaits him. Our prisoner, apparently, was too formidable a man to be safely kept at Fez or Marocco, and was therefore sent to Tetuan, the extreme limit of the territory, there to undergo such torture as might be necessary to extort confession of the hiding place of his treasure, unless, through ill-judged obstinacy, he should die in torments before disgorging as much as might be expected. No better illustration of the system can be found than the fact that strangers are informed, as of something extraordinary and unexampled, that one old man now lives at Tetuan who long held a high and confidential post in the government, and yet was allowed to retire without being ‘squeezed!’ The truth is, that he had gained the good-will and confidence of the representatives of the European Powers, and that it was urged upon the late Sultan that the credit of his government would suffer, if, after a long course of faithful service, the minister were to undergo the common fate of his colleagues.

Some twenty years before, when one of our party visited Tetuan, the whole province was thrown into confusion by one of these customary acts of the then reigning Sultan. Hash Hash, a man of unusual capacity and energy, had governed the province of Tetuan for many years with extraordinary success. He kept the turbulent Riff mountaineers in order, and, so it was said, Jew and Christian, under his rule, enjoyed the same security as the Moor. At length he received messengers from the Court with the gift of a white horse richly caparisoned, and an autograph letter from his sovereign full of commendation and winding up with an invitation to the capital, then fixed at Fez. He started on the fatal journey, but arrived only to be flung into a dungeon and subjected to daily torture. Soldiers were sent to Tetuan, where his house was pillaged, his wives and children led to prison, while the absence of all control led to a rapid growth of crime in the district, and life and property were no longer thought safe in the surrounding country.

J. B. delt.

TETUAN

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The approach to Tetuan presented the most picturesque scene that we anywhere beheld in Marocco. Begirt with a lofty wall, set at short intervals with massive square towers, the city shows from a distance only a few mosques and a heavy, frowning heap of masonry that forms the castle or citadel. It stands on the slope of a limestone hill, some two hundred feet above the river, which flows through a broad valley, rich with the most brilliant vegetation. After riding for hours over the thirsty hills, it was a delight to rest the eyes on the patches of emerald meadow, and on the darker green of the luxuriant orchards, where the best oranges in the world grow along with figs, almonds, peaches, and all our common tree fruit. Amidst all this wealth of greenery many a little white house—a mere cube of chalk—gleamed brightly. Most of these seem to belong to peasant owners, but some are kiosks to which the wealthier inhabitants repair to escape from the heat and bad air of the town.

We were not yet familiar with the squalor and neglect that seem the inevitable characteristics of a Moorish town, and it was a disappointment to find the interior of Tetuan correspond so ill to the picturesqueness of its outward aspect. After riding between high walls, apparently forming an inner defence to the town, we went through some streets of mean aspect, and, traversing one wide open space, passed under an interior gate guarded by a sentry, and found ourselves in a labyrinth of narrow alleys decidedly cleaner than the remainder of the city. This is the Jewish quarter, where, as in the Jewry or Ghetto of mediæval Europe, the children of Israel are required to live apart, within a wall and gates that are locked at night, and where they seem to manage their own affairs with little interference from the Moorish authorities. We soon established ourselves in very fair quarters at the house of Isaac Nahum, who acts as clerk and interpreter at the single consulate which of late years has watched over the safety of all Europeans who happen to reach Tetuan whether by land or sea. Since the war in which Tetuan was taken by the Spanish troops—their solitary achievement during the last sixty years—the Government of Spain has desired to maintain its influence in this part of the country by the presence of a consul; and the other European States have willingly taken advantage of his presence. The duties cannot be heavy, for few strangers now visit Tetuan, although up to the year 1770 it was the residence of all the European consuls. The beauty of its site, the excellence of its oranges and other fruit, and the reported superiority in refinement of its inhabitants, both Moorish and Jew, do not compensate for the difficulty of access by sea, since none but the smallest class of coasting vessels can cross the bar at the mouth of the river. This is guarded (or was so up to the time of the Spanish war in 1859) by a massive square tower, without door or other apparent opening. A Christian boat from Gibraltar, in which one of us had formerly arrived, was hailed from the summit of the tower. After a preliminary parley, a rope ladder was let down from the top, some seventy or eighty feet, and a black soldier scrambled down with great activity, the final result of the parley being that the strangers, after payment of some trifling harbour dues, were sent to the town, a distance of five or six miles, under the escort of a soldier.

Whether because there really is some slight diminution in the feeling that has so long excluded strangers, and especially Christians, from the interior of Marocco, or that previous travellers had happened to make the attempt at unfavourable conjunctures, we found that the letter to the Governor given to us by Sir J. D. Hay was scarcely required, and no difficulty was raised about the requisite official permission to ascend the Beni Hosmar, as the mountain mass is called, which forms the end of the chain extending northward from the Beni Hassan.

One of our party had already succeeded in ascending about half the height of the mountain; but the only European known to have reached the upper ridge was the late Mr. Barker Webb, the author of the ‘Phytographia Canariensis,’ and other important botanical works. He effected his object by liberal expenditure, having begun by a present of 40l. to the Governor, besides handsome rewards to those who were sent with him.

We had no occasion to follow this example. The protection of the British Government, and the interest shown in our journey by the British Minister, were quite sufficient arguments on our behalf, and with the courteous assistance of the Spanish consul the arrangements for our excursion were soon settled. The requisite orders were issued by the Kaïd, and two soldiers were appointed, along with our Tangier men, to escort us on the following morning.

In spite of the usual delays, we started in good time on the morning of the 11th, and, descending over successive ledges of tufa, forming terraces for gardens and orchards, soon reached the level of the river, which was easily forded. The air was cool (55° Fahr. at 6 A.M.), the sky bright, and the hedges gay with the evergreen rose (R. sempervirens), and the large-flowered form of the hedge convolvulus (C. sylvatica), which in the South replaces our more modest Northern form, C. sepium of Linnæus. A short ascent among trees and high hedges took us clear of the cultivated land, and the aspect of the country at once changed. The upper part of the mountain is disposed in tiers of limestone crags, irregularly disposed, and therefore offering no difficulty for the ascent; but round the base are rather steep and very arid slopes, formed, in great part, of old accumulations of débris fallen from the upper crags. The most conspicuous shrubs are lentisk, oak scrub, Juniperus phœnicea, and several Cisti; but the palmetto successfully contends against its rivals, and in some places quite covers the soil. It disappears, however, before one reaches the middle height of the mountain, and the limit of its free growth, not taking account of a few scattered and stunted specimens, was found to be 1,227 feet (374 mètres) above the sea. The prevailing species, however, were small shrubby Leguminosæ. Of these the most trying to the temper of the botanist is Calycotome villosa. This and the allied species (C. spinosa) are very common in the warmer parts of the Mediterranean region, and the stiff spiny points of the numerous branches are most effective in tearing the clothing and the skin of anyone who approaches them.

We followed a tolerably good cattle track which wound upwards to the right, in a southerly direction, towards the upper part of the mountain. Before reaching its middle height, on some crags facing towards Tetuan, we found a peculiar saxifrage (S. Maweana), first collected by Mr. Webb more than forty years before, but which, with several others, remained unknown and undescribed in his Herbarium. Maw refound the plant in 1869, and has successfully cultivated it, along with many other Marocco rarities, in his garden in Shropshire. On the same rocks, besides numerous interesting plants not yet in flower, we gathered a curious crucifer (Succowia balearica) which must flower very early as the fruit was already approaching maturity.

As we really desired nothing more than to be let to wander about on the mountain according to our own fancy, we were rather pleased than otherwise when our escort of four soldiers with the guide, seeming to think that they had done enough of mountaineering after an ascent of some two thousand feet, proceeded to instal themselves, with the horses, who enjoyed a day of rest, in a pleasant spot, and showed no sign of pushing the enterprise farther. A steep slope now led us up to the rocky ridge of the mountain commanding a wide view, and overlooking a deep glen on the seaward side of the mountain. Here, in spite of the early season, we found several plants in flower that excited in us a lively interest. A little polygala, with rich purple red flowers, reminds one much of the red variety of P. chamæbuxus that is often seen in the Eastern Alps, but appears to be quite distinct. A chrysanthemum, differing little from an Algerian species, was our first acquaintance amongst a group of forms that is especially characteristic of the flora of the Great Atlas. But we were, perhaps, still more pleased to find on these heights, far removed from the nearest known station, some descendants of a suffering race that must, at some remote period, have been widely spread throughout Europe, the bright-flowered Ranunculus gramineus. Although it is still found at several places in France, in a few spots in the Alps, and in Spain, it appears to have disappeared from the Apennines within the last two centuries, and to be everywhere losing ground. When the rapacity of collectors shall have reduced it elsewhere to the condition of a vegetable Dodo, future travellers may rejoice that it has found a refuge in this corner of Africa. The distribution of the genus Ranunculus, in nearly every known country, supplies many topics for thought and inquiry. There are very few regions where the unbotanical traveller fails to recognise the familiar buttercup of his youth; yet, if he examines the plants, he will find well-marked differences in the leaves, the fruit, the stem, or the root, though the flowers may be scarcely distinguishable. Since our first landing in Marocco, buttercups had met us in all directions; but they nearly all belonged to one variable species, R. chærophyllos, widely spread round the warmer shores of the Mediterranean. In shady places we had a few times gathered another North African species, R. macrophyllus, and on this mountain we found a few specimens, already past flower, of R. spicatus; but of all the common species of Britain and Middle Europe, not one had been seen, unless we count the ubiquitous white-flowered species of our ditches, R. aquatilis.

From the time we first got a clear view of our mountain we had fixed on a range of beetling crags, not far below the summit, which promised to afford an excellent habitat for rare plants. The promise was kept, for we had scarcely approached their base when with joyful cries we saluted one of the chief prizes of our excursion. From clefts on the face of the rock hung great leafy tufts, quite a yard in diameter, supported on stems as thick as a man’s arm. The flowering branches produced an abundance of yellow flowers, then just expanding and only partly opened. We should have set it down as a new and very luxuriant species of wild cabbage, but that we happened to know that the fruit is entirely different, so much so as to constitute a very distinct genus of Cruciferæ. Mr. Webb, who probably gathered the plant at this very spot, described and figured it, in the ‘Annales des Sciences Naturelles,’ under the name Hemicrambe fruticulosa; but the original specimen seems to have been lost or mislaid, and no one had since laid eyes upon the living plant. The same rocks produced abundantly the beautiful Iberis gibraltarica, besides many fine plants not yet in flower, amongst which we recognised the rare Spanish centaurea, C. Clementei.

As seen from Tetuan, the ridge above the rocks appeared to lead very directly to the not distant summit of the mountain; but when, after a short scramble, we had set foot upon it, we clearly saw our mistake. At about a mile and a half from where we stood, and separated from us by a rather profound depression, was another ridge, some three or four hundred feet higher, which might or might not be surpassed by more distant prominences in the same range. It would have been easy to reach the farther summits, but we thought our time better spent in carefully examining the part of the mountain within our reach. Various indications, such as the disappearance of several species that are abundant lower down, and the much more backward state of the vegetation, went to prove that the climate of the upper plateau is sensibly different from that of its middle region; but there was little to show that we had reached the limit of a true mountain, much less that of a subalpine flora. We had, indeed, already found a variety of the large-flowered Senecio Doronicum, which in the Alps and Pyrenees ascends even to the Alpine region; and near our highest point Ball found a form of Erodium petræum, which in the Pyrenees and Northern Spain usually attains the subalpine zone. The season was still too little advanced; and the naturalist who will follow our footsteps about the beginning of June may expect a much richer harvest.

Having taken observations for altitude, which give height of about 3,040 feet above the sea for our station, we halted a few minutes to enjoy the noble panorama that was spread out below us. On the western side successive undulations of the ground—range beyond range of low hills—melted away into the horizon, but as the eye turned northward it rested on a more varied picture. To the right of the Angera Mountains and Ape’s Hill a small dark islet seemed to stand out from the Spanish coast. In this we scarcely recognised Gibraltar, for the shadow of a cloud happened to rest on its grey limestone cliffs. To the right extended a long reach of coast line, foreshortened from the promontory of Ceuta to the mouth of the river below Tetuan, with the much more distant outline of the Serrania de Ronda in the background. Then as we turned eastward, though the view was partly interrupted by projecting spurs of the mountain, we followed the long outline of the coast range of North Marocco, the secure refuge of the unconquered Riff tribes, whose fastnesses have never been profaned by the presence of an alien master. Some patches of dark shade evidently indicated forests, and these may probably consist wholly or in part of the Atlantic cedar, although that tree is not positively known to grow in Marocco.[3]

In order to cover as much ground as possible during the descent, we here agreed to take different directions, and lost sight of each other for some time. Hooker came upon a small mountain village, or hamlet, where several Bereber or Riffian families were crowded together in hovels built of mud mixed with stone, and rather better fitted to resist the weather than the sheds we had seen in the plain. Conversation was not practicable, but there was no indication of ill will on the part of these people. The only attempt at intercourse was on the part of one sturdy man who apparently requested a pinch of snuff, but declined the offer of a cigar. The use of tobacco for smoking appears to be unknown in Marocco, while kief—prepared from the chopped leaves of common hemp—is almost universally employed for that purpose both by Moors and Berebers; but snuff is in general request, and is imported in considerable quantities, both by regular traders and by smugglers who profit largely by the heavy duty.

In descending the mountain we observed large patches of a species of furze, smaller and stiffer in habit than our common gorse—the Ulex bæticus of Boissier—one of a group of nearly allied forms that replace our British species in the south of Spain and Portugal, and the neighbouring shores of Marocco.

On rejoining our so-called escort, we agreed that the track was too steep to make riding pleasant; and thus we all descended on foot till near the foot of the mountain, when a proper care for their dignity compelled the soldiers and the guide to remount.

We returned to our quarters in the town before the sun had set, and closed a very enjoyable day by reviewing our botanical prizes as we laid them into paper to undergo the first step in the process of their preservation. As usual the evening cigar accompanied our discussion as to future proceedings, and to its soothing influence we doubtless owe the fact that these debates always led to a satisfactory conclusion. On this occasion we agreed to divide our small party into two sections and separate for a few days. Maw was anxious to return at once to Tangier, with a view to visit some swamps that lie about ten miles south-west of the town, while Hooker and Ball were desirous of examining the coast between Tetuan and Ceuta. As it appeared that a small stock of Spanish would serve all necessary purposes in the excursion to Ceuta, Maw volunteered to take our disagreeable interpreter and one unnecessary soldier back to Tangier, while Bulbo was willing to risk a visit to the infidels at Ceuta.

On the morning of the 12th Maw departed, but Hooker was unwell. It was decided that a quiet day and the judicious exhibition of moderate doses of cognac, which we owed to the kindness of the Spanish consul, would be the most appropriate treatment; and the result was quite satisfactory.

Ball spent the day in botanising over the hills near the town, and was well satisfied with the result. The rarest plant found was, perhaps, a curious and very distinct fumitory (Fumaria africana of Lamarck), which he had gathered nearly at the same spot twenty years before. The red-flowered Polygala of Beni Hosmar (P. Webbiana of Cosson) was seen in a few spots near the town along with Arabis pubescens; and that singular plant, the Drosophyllum, hitherto seen in Marocco only on the hills west of Tangier, was here found within sight of the Mediterranean, growing along with Helianthemum umbellatum and several other less rare species of the Cistus tribe.

During our stay here we had a good opportunity of seeing something of the life of the Marocco Jews, who form a distinct and important element in the population of the empire. Tetuan has long been one of the head-quarters of the Hebrew race. When most of the chief Moorish families took refuge here after their expulsion from Spain—and some are said still to preserve the keys of their own houses in Granada—many Jews, flying from the faggots of the Inquisition, preferred the comparative toleration of Moslem rule, to the oppression and social disabilities that awaited them in Christian Europe. It was more tolerable to submit to occasional injustice and cruelty which was shared by all classes of society around them than to be daily reminded that they formed a class apart—the proper objects of general contempt and aversion. It is true that until late years the Marocco Jew was exposed to some vexatious regulations. He was required to put off his sandals on passing the outside of a mosque, to wear a peculiar dress, and is still confined to a separate quarter in each town. But in ordinary intercourse between man and man the Jews of the coast towns seemed to us to have attained a footing of almost complete equality, due as well to their superior intelligence and commercial instinct, as to the tolerance which affinity of race and creed has developed among the people of Arab stock. In truth, the Moor feels that the Jew is indispensable to him. In despite of his aversion to intercourse with the Christian, trade, in which the Jew serves as intermediary, has become a practical necessity, and it has procured for him foreign luxuries which he is now little inclined to forego.

In point of fact, Tetuan boasts of being the cradle of more wealthy Jewish families than any other town in the world; and among the practical concessions enjoyed by them, there now appears to be no difficulty in the way of Jews leaving the empire and returning to it, and frequent intercourse is carried on between the city and Europe by the way of Ceuta. The ceremonial observances of the Mosaic law are strictly adhered to. The first question put to us on our arrival was to know whether we had with us leavened bread, as such could not be admitted to the house during the feast of the Passover; and during our stay we were given cakes, some of plain flour, others prepared with orange juice.

The houses are quite on the same plan as those of the Moors, or in other words they merely differ in architectural detail from the ancient type that is preserved for us in the smaller houses of Pompeii. A single court (atrium) has several small rooms or closets used for kitchen, offices, and sleeping place for servants, and one large apartment, the chief living room of the family, filling one side. This remains open to the court by day, but is closed at night by a curtain. On the upper floor a gallery surrounds the court, and into this open upper rooms of moderate size. In Nahum’s house a second floor above the first had been added, but this appeared to be an unusual arrangement. On our arrival we had been struck by the superior neatness and cleanliness of the Jewish, as compared to the Moorish, quarter, and the same remark applied to their persons.

No European traders appear to have settled at Tetuan, and such trade as it possesses is in the hands of the Jews. Oranges, and a sort of brandy, called Mahaya, distilled from the grape, are the chief exports. The coarse pottery made here is much the same as that produced in Algeria and throughout Western Marocco. Rude geometrical patterns in ill-defined blue and green tints are usually enriched by round spots of bright red, laid on with something like sealing-wax over the glazing, and easily removed with spirit. The only thing deserving notice as representing art-manufacture is the gold embroidery, usually worked on silk or velvet. This is used for curtains or hangings by some wealthy Moors, and for personal wear by the Jewish women and children. At this festival season the younger children frequently appeared with caps or diadems richly embroidered; but the women more often wear a light silk handkerchief, with the fringe hanging freely, but kept in its place by a fillet of black or red velvet worked in gold, and forming a very ornamental head-dress.

Travellers have indulged in enthusiastic descriptions of the beauty of the Marocco Jewesses. Those who have visited Tetuan will have seen a fair specimen in the person of our host’s sister, a tall comely girl, free from the tendency to corpulence which is too common, and whose regular features are set off by a pair of fine dark eyes. But those for whom expression is an essential element of beauty in the human countenance will usually find something wanting to complete the attractions of the undeniably handsome women of this country.

It so happened that the occasion was especially favourable for seeing something of the life of the Israelite society of the city. This was the last of the festival days of the Passover, and towards evening there was a large gathering of neighbours in the ground-floor apartments of our house. The women were richly dressed in loose garments of light silk and a profusion of gold embroidery. It was almost impossible to recognise our host’s mother, a corpulent woman, who had hitherto appeared in a shabby costume of the scantiest proportions in which the developments of her ample person were unpleasantly apparent. Arrayed in festival splendour, she now assumed a regal attitude, and her figure appeared to be modelled on that of the nearest Christian potentate, the unregretted Queen Isabella. The men wore long blue coats of the dressing-gown pattern, with white cotton stockings and slippers, and, if not picturesque in appearance, showed to advantage beside our host who, mindful of his dignity as interpreter to the Consulate, appeared in European black frock coat and trousers. The children were especially gorgeous in head-dresses of crimson or purple velvet richly embroidered in gold. During the evening there was an attempt at dancing to the music of an accordion; but the space was too limited, and this was speedily given up. The party continued, however, till a late hour, and midnight passed before the sound of lively talk and laughter ceased in the lower chambers of our house.

On the morning of April 13 we started for Ceuta, about thirty miles distant from Tetuan. The track for several miles lies at some distance from the coast, which on the north side of the mouth of the river forms a projecting headland, called by the Spaniards Cabo Negro. After riding through green lanes, we mounted gradually by a broad path that winds amidst bushy hills for a couple of hours, and then descended towards the sandy shore; and for the remainder of the way kept close to the beach. After fording one or two smaller streams issuing from the marshy pools that lay between us and the hills on our left, we had a little trouble in crossing a more considerable torrent that seems to bring down most of the drainage of the Angera Mountains lying behind Ape’s Hill. The horses’ feet sank deeply in the yielding sand of the bed, though we were able to wade across without difficulty. It was an anxious moment for us as we watched the baggage mules struggling and floundering, until the water rose very nearly to the precious packages of paper that contained the fruits of our work since we left Tangier. Several villages were seen on the slopes of the hills to our left, but during the entire day we passed only three or four small houses.

Our day’s ride lay over the scene of the Spanish campaign in Marocco in the winter of 1859-60—a military event so completely eclipsed by the great wars that have since desolated many parts of Europe, as to be now almost forgotten. An intelligent and animated account of it was published by the late Mr. Hardman, who accompanied the Spanish army as correspondent of the Times newspaper. The advance of O’Donnell, the Spanish commander-in-chief, was slow and cautious; but considering the natural difficulties, and his complete ignorance of the resources and designs of the enemy, any other course would have been chargeable with rashness. The Moors, although at the last they showed the utmost personal intrepidity, failed to display the slightest military capacity—even such as has been found among many savage tribes—failing to take advantage of natural difficulties, and exposing themselves in fruitless and desultory attacks when the Spanish force occupied strong positions. The most serious difficulty for the Spanish general arose from the necessity for moving his army along the narrow strip of shore, where for several miles the ground between this and the stony hills of the interior is partly covered by shallow lagoons, and the soft soil is intersected by streams. An active enemy knowing the ground might have inflicted heavy loss on the advancing force; but, contrary to all expectation, the Moors scarcely showed themselves at the critical moment, and the Spaniards had none but the natural obstacles to contend with. After crossing the pass over which the ordinary track runs to Tetuan, the Spaniards marched to the left, and established themselves in an entrenched camp near the mouth of the Tetuan river, where they received by sea reinforcements in men, heavy guns, and provisions. After some delay, a brilliant action, terminated by the storming of their camp near Tetuan, cowed the Moorish leaders, and the Spanish occupied the city, but only after it had been sacked by the irregular forces of the retreating army. The Moors then sued for peace; but whether the negotiations were merely opened to gain time, or that the terms demanded by Spain, including the permanent cession of Tetuan, were deemed exorbitant, hostilities were resumed in March, and the Spanish army commenced to move towards Tangier. A final effort was made by the Moors; and in the battle which ensued, on the slopes of the hills by which we descended a few days ago into the valley of Tetuan, their men, though fighting against nearly 25,000 regular troops, well provided with artillery, seemed for a moment likely to win the day by sheer desperate valour. The victory cost the Spaniards some 1,300 men in killed and wounded, but achieved the object of the campaign. Guided by wiser counsels, the Spanish Government ceased to insist on the permanent occupation of Tetuan, and the city was restored to the Moors, on the payment of a war indemnity of about 4,000,000l. sterling. In the judgment of impartial foreign critics, the Spanish troops behaved extremely well throughout this campaign: when well led they showed no lack of fighting qualities, and to their patience under hardship, their temperance, and general good conduct, all observers bore testimony.

One result of the war was to increase the customs’ duties throughout Marocco, and to cause more strenuous efforts to keep down contraband trade than had ever been used before. The indemnity was partly provided by a five per cent. loan, raised in London; and the customs duties supply the means for paying the interest, with instalments of the principal. These have been so punctually discharged, that the stock usually stands at par. On the Atlantic sea-board the points accessible to sea-going ships are so few that little smuggling can exist. The long strip of Mediterranean coast between Tetuan and the French frontier is nearly all held by the semi-independent tribes of the Riff mountaineers, and it may be presumed that these pay no duties on the few articles of foreign produce that they consume; but the southern shore of the Straits of Gibraltar and the coast between Ceuta and Tetuan are easy of access in fine weather, and here the Moorish authorities are obliged to maintain a force of coast-guards. We met several wild-looking fellows, who became more frequent as we approached the Spanish lines before Ceuta, each scantily clothed and armed with a long gun. They must suffer much in cold and rainy weather, as they have no other protection than a slight screen of branches, interlaced with straw or reeds.

Ceuta stands upon a narrow promontory that forms the eastern extremity of a spur projecting from the high range of Ape’s Hill. As this promontory is only the last in a series of conical summits that gradually diminish in height as they approach the Mediterranean, the fortress is completely commanded on the land side. But the Spaniards have erected small forts on the nearer heights, and with moderate watchfulness are secure enough from any assault that could be made by the Moors. As we rode over the neck of land connecting the fortress with the adjoining hills, and finally approached the only entrance, which is reached by a succession of gates and drawbridges, we had leisure to admire the elaborate character of the defences, in which every known resource of military engineering, as understood at the beginning of the last century, seems to have been accumulated. The soul of Uncle Toby would have delighted in the multiplication of ditches, curtains, ravelins, demi-lunes, hornworks, and palisades that have been expended here for the purpose of astonishing the untutored mind of the ignorant Moor.

The little town that forms the kernel of these vast fortifications far surpassed our expectations. Say what we will, there is a vast gap between the condition of the least advanced countries of Europe and the barbarism from which no Mohammedan State has yet contrived to raise itself. Ceuta, however, is a very favourable sample of a Spanish town, and is far superior in aspect to most places of equal importance in the mother-country. The well-built houses in the main street, all dazzling with fresh whitewash, were gay with bright flowers that stood in pots and boxes on the balconies behind ironwork of elaborately ornate character, and the inhabitants had an air of activity and animation not common in Spain, anywhere out of Catalonia. We drew our bridles at the Fonda Italiana, the best looking of several inns, where we learned that all the bedrooms were occupied, and were sent for sleeping quarters to a neighbouring house. We got a large room with two good beds, and found everything both there and at the inn, where we were well fed, scrupulously clean. Our remark, which probably would not have been approved in Downing Street, was, ‘What a pity, when they were about it, that the Spaniards did not annex the whole of North Marocco!’ The course of events in Spain during the last six or eight years has gone far to justify Downing Street, and to show that European anarchy may be even worse than Moorish misgovernment.

As, in accordance with our daily custom, we reviewed the produce of our day’s botanising, before committing our plants to paper, it seemed to fall rather short of our expectations. The season was not yet advanced enough for many seaside species, and, besides, as every naturalist knows, one’s power of observation on horseback is comparatively limited. When the eye is carried forward by an external agency, and its motion is not altogether regulated by the will, many minute objects are too imperfectly seen to convey a definite image; and however often one may dismount, many slight suggestions that would be tested by one on foot are allowed to pass without verification. Along with most of the shrubs that we had seen about Tangier, we passed many small trees of Tamarix africana and stout bushes of Juniperus phœnicea. The most ornamental plant that we gathered was Phaca bætica, with fine purplish blue flowers, very unlike any of the forms of the same genus with which we were familiar in the Alps. The most interesting plant, in a scientific sense, that we found this day was so minute as to be altogether overlooked at the time; and it was only some time after our return to England that two minute specimens (less than an inch in height) were found engaged in a tuft of some stouter plant. They belong to a little crucifer, called Malcolmia nana. It has been found in a few spots scattered at wide intervals throughout the Mediterranean region, and as far eastward as the shores of the Caspian Sea.

At Ceuta we had the spectacle—always a painful one—of gangs of convicts chained together, and working under the charge of soldiers, which meets the eye in so many parts of Southern Europe. Difficult as is the subject of penal discipline for criminals, it may safely be said that this is one of the worst—if not the very worst—system that has ever been devised. The punishment, however hard, loses through familiarity most of its deterrent effect; while, far from reforming, it seems to be the most efficient method known for finally corrupting the less hardened offender. The objections are somewhat lessened when the convict station is removed from the general gaze, and where the prisoners have little hope and even little temptation to escape.

These conditions are satisfied in the three fortified posts which, besides Ceuta, the Spaniards hold on the coast of Marocco. The most considerable of these is Melilla, on a promontory a few miles south of Cape Tres Forcas, said to be a strong fort, but grievously damaged by an earthquake in 1848. It must be little better than a prison for the garrison as well as for the convicts, if it be true, as we were told, that it is considered unsafe to venture beyond musket-shot from the walls, and the Riff mountaineers amuse themselves from time to time by taking pot-shots at the sentries on the ramparts. The other posts are on rocky islets near the shore. El Peñon de Velez, also called Velez de Gomera, is about half-way between Ceuta and Melilla, and only about eight miles from the site of the Carthaginian city of Bedis—Belis of the Arabs—whence some etymologists derive the Spanish Velez. From the rank of an episcopal city in early Christian times, Bedis fell into bad repute as a pirate port, until it was taken and destroyed by the Spaniards. The third Spanish post is on the larger of the Zaffarine Islands, that rise from the Mediterranean nearly opposite the mouth of the Oued Moulouya, not far from the French frontier. To judge from a small packet of plants collected there by Mr. Webb, the only scientific traveller known to have visited them, these are mere barren rocks, affording no shelter to any but the common seaside species.

Of late years the Riff people have kept to their mountain fastnesses, and piracy is no longer an habitual occupation; but it would not be safe to suppose that it has been completely extinguished. The coast has many inlets and creeks that shelter fishing boats, which may easily be used for cutting out unarmed merchantmen when becalmed near the coast. As late as 1855 two or three cases of that nature were reported to the home authorities by the Governor of Gibraltar: and as pursuit was out of the question, and the Moorish Government owns no control over the Riff population, no redress was obtainable. The increasing use of steam has probably made the occupation tedious and unprofitable.

FOOTNOTES:

[1]From this Moorish word the Spaniards have taken Fonda, the common designation for an inn of the better class; while it is more accurately preserved in the Venetian Fondaco—e.g. Fondaco dei Turchi, &c.

[2]These sandhills were revisited by one of our party in the month of June, and then supplied many interesting plants not seen during our first stay at Tangier.

[3]In the Herbarium of the late Mr. Webb, now in the Museum at Florence, the plants gathered by him during his short expedition to Marocco are preserved as a separate collection. Amongst these are some fragments of the Atlantic cedar, which would appear from the accompanying label to have been obtained by him at Tetuan from some native of the Riff Mountains. It is probable that the same tree may be widely spread throughout the unexplored mountain districts of North-eastern Marocco. Gerhard Rohlfs, the only European who is known to have traversed the high mountain region S. of Fez, describing the fine valleys inhabited by the powerful tribe of the Beni M’ghill, says that the prevailing trees were larches of greater dimensions than he had ever seen elsewhere. He declares that he measured several stems from three to four metres in girth, and that such were not uncommon. It is in the highest degree improbable that the larch, which in Europe finds its southern limit in the Pyrenees, should extend to Marocco; and, as Mr. Rohlfs has no knowledge of botany, it is most likely that the tree which called forth his admiration is the Atlantic cedar.

CHAPTER III.

Sail to Algeciras — Vegetation of the neighbouring hills — Comparison between the opposite sides of the Strait of Gibraltar — Return to Tangier — Troubles of a botanist — Fez pottery — Voyage in French steamer — Rabat and Sallee — Land at Casa Blanca — Vegetation of the neighbourhood — Humidity of the coast climate — Mazagan — View of Saffi.

With the previous permission of the Commandant, we sailed from Ceuta in the Government felucca on the morning of the 15th, and had a pleasant run before a south-west breeze, which took us before noon to Algeciras. Our intention had been to return the same day to Tangier, but we found that the ordinary steamer had been taken up to carry sight-seers to a bull-fight at Seville. Resigning ourselves to the delay, we found fair accommodation in an inn upon the quay, and started for a walk over the wooded hills behind the town, not sorry to have an opportunity of comparing the vegetation of the opposite shores at this point where Europe and Africa so nearly meet.

The general aspect of the floras is nearly identical, but there is enough of difference to show that for a long period a barrier has existed sufficient to limit the diffusion of many characteristic species. Of these we found three on the hill near Algeciras—Rhododendron ponticum, Sibthorpia europæa, and Helianthemum lasianthum, a fine species with large yellow flowers, approaching a Cistus in stature and habit. A much longer list of European plants that have not passed into Africa might be made if all the known species found between Gibraltar and Trafalgar were taken into account; but it might with some reason be objected, that our knowledge of the African side of the Strait is too incomplete to speak confidently on this point. On the other hand, however, we may with some certainty assert that comparatively many well-marked species found on the southern side of the Strait are limited to the African shore, and have not been able to spread into Europe. From the accessible materials we find at least thirty-eight species belonging to this category, of which the large majority are species spread over a wide area in Northern Africa.

In attempting to draw inferences from these facts, it is necessary to bear in mind that the region where they occur—the southern part of the Iberian peninsula, and the opposite corner of Marocco—is remarkable for the variety of its flora, and for the large number of distinct species, each inhabiting a very restricted area. To those who suppose that the presence of numerous plants in two neighbouring districts, which are limited to one or the other, but are not common to both, is to be regarded as evidence for the existence of a physical barrier between them, an objector might reply that we have no more right to affirm that it is the prolonged existence of the Strait between Europe and Africa that has prevented the extension of so many species from one continent to the other, than we have to maintain that two neighbouring mountain groups, such as the Sierra Nevada of Granada and the Serrania de Ronda, each possessing a number of peculiar species, must have been formerly isolated by the sea, as otherwise the species would have been intermixed.

In answer to this objection, it may, with some plausibility, be urged that a large majority of the species with restricted areas are mountain plants; that there is much reason to believe that most of these peculiar species did originate within insulated areas, at a time when these were separated by the sea from neighbouring masses, where the conditions of life for each organism must have been somewhat different; and that in a few instances local peculiarities of soil, either chemical or mechanical, may explain the fact that a particular species is limited to a very small district. These considerations do not, however, fully explain the known facts regarding some regions of the earth possessing an exceptional number of peculiar species confined to small areas, the most remarkable of which are Asia Minor, South Africa, South-western Australia, and that which we are now discussing; and in weighing the evidence afforded by the floras of the opposite coasts as bearing on the probable duration of such a barrier as the Strait of Gibraltar, it is best to leave out of account all species that are not known to be widely distributed. Here our very limited knowledge of the flora of North Marocco opposes a considerable difficulty. Subject to such light as future observation will throw upon the subject, it may be said that, so far as mere botanical evidence goes, we should infer that the barrier was not present at the time when the great majority of the existing plants spread into this region; but that it has been established long enough to oppose a limit to the further diffusion of many species that otherwise would, in all probability, be found on both sides of the Strait, thus indicating a period geologically recent, but very ancient as compared with the historic record.

On the following morning we crossed the bay to Gibraltar, and, still finding no means of conveyance to Tangier, endeavoured to console ourselves by botanising on the ‘Rock.’ Later in the day the impatience natural to the British traveller induced us to open negotiations for the hire of one of the numerous tug steamers that make handsome profits by helping becalmed ships through the Strait. The first demand of one hundred dollars helped to moderate our ardour; and, though the more reasonable sum of forty-five dollars was afterwards named by another merchant, we finally decided to remain a second night in Europe, and await the ordinary steamer on the following day.

It is well known that all the rules which prevent unauthorised persons from prying into the arcana of a fortress are strictly enforced at Gibraltar; and on this account a naturalist wishing to explore the rock should always apply for the previous permission of the Governor. Not intending to remain more than a few hours, we had declined the hospitable invitation of Sir W. F. Williams, and not thought of obtaining an order to authorise our unrestricted rambling over the rock. Towards evening Ball had started with his tin box to examine the steep eastern face that looks towards the Mediterranean. While scrambling about in search of plants, he became aware that his movements were watched by two Irish soldiers, both decidedly the worse for liquor, and as he returned towards the path the word ‘spy’ was emphatically pronounced more than once. Anticipating any further unpleasant remarks, he addressed them some ordinary question, with a fair infusion of that national accent that is unmistakable to the Hibernian ear. The effect was immediate: the men were delighted to recognise a countryman; question and answer rapidly succeeded, and the only difficulty was to resist their pressing invitation to adjourn to a neighbouring wine-shop, where the poor fellows’ remaining intelligence would have been finally quenched in the compound of grape-juice and ardent spirits that is sold at Gibraltar as Spanish wine—not much worse, perhaps, than the mixture that is drunk at home by not a few persons boasting a refined taste under the name of pale sherry.

It seems natural to ask whether it is or is not true, as one is often assured, that correct plans of all the chief fortresses in Europe are to be found in the War Office of each of the chief States; for in such case the attempt to maintain secrecy as against the ignorant curiosity of travellers seems to be a puerile occupation for the military authorities in command.

The rock of Gibraltar and the sandy tract called the Neutral Ground produce many rare and interesting-plants; but these are already well known to botanists, being separately described in Kelaart’s Flora Calpensis, and further illustrated in a work of first-rate authority, Boissier’s Voyage Botanique en Espagne. The only tree that seems to prosper thoroughly on this barren sun-baked headland is the Chinese Phytolacca arborea, which was planted some fifty or sixty years ago in the Alameda and elsewhere, many of which have attained a great thickness. They remind one of the stunted clustered columns of some mediæval churches, each of the very numerous branches developing a projecting cylinder of woody trunk covered with grey bark.

The so-called Club House, which ranks as the head inn, being already full, we put up at the Fonda Española, and had no cause for complaint, either as to food or accommodation. On the morning of the 17th we had notice that the steamer for Tangier was to start at noon; and, after laying in additional stores of drying paper, and enjoying a delightful morning stroll along the road to Europa Point, we were ready at the appointed time.

After more than the usual delay, we at length set our faces towards the African shore with a fresh SW. breeze in our faces. Few places in the world can show a greater variety of fine atmospheric effects than the Strait of Hercules. To-day the horizon behind us was clear, while the hills that bound the entrance from the Atlantic were veiled in thin haze; and, as the sun sank low, a strange purple hue suffused one-half of the sky. The skipper managed to arrive late in the roads at Tangier, and we found that, although a bribe to the official of the port might obtain admission within the walls, our baggage could not be landed until the following morning. We therefore decided to sleep on board the little steamer, and at length, on the morning of the 18th, we returned to breakfast at the Victoria Hotel.

Maw had made good use of his time. In a first excursion to the ‘Lakes’ he had failed to find a beautiful iris, which we had first admired on Sir J. D. Hay’s dinner-table, and which we had taken to be the Iris tingitana of Boissier and Reuter. Not easily foiled from his purpose, Maw returned two days later, and succeeded in his object. Subsequent examination has convinced us that the plant growing near the lakes is a luxuriant form of the Iris filifolia of Southern Spain, though intermediate between that and I. tingitana. The latter may perhaps be an extreme form of the same plant, but is yet little known, and had not, as far as we know, been brought into cultivation until carried to England by Maw. Our plant, which is one of the most beautiful of a beautiful group, is figured, under the name Xyphion tingitanum, in the 98th volume of the ‘Botanical Magazine,’ No. 5981. Nothing can surpass in the scale of rich sombre decoration the gradations of dark purple and brown velvet that enrich the petals.

One of the troubles that most try the patience of a botanical traveller here awaited us. As we had already assured ourselves, the spring climate of North Marocco is delightful to the human frame. The sky had been clear, the air warm, and only one or two slight showers of rain had fallen since we first landed on the coast; but the breezes, whether they travel eastward from the Atlantic, or westward from the Mediterranean, are laden with aqueous vapour nearly to the point of saturation, and nothing dries spontaneously by mere exposure to the air. Although our system of drying our plants by ventilating gratings makes it quite unnecessary to change the paper in such a climate as that of the Alps, or most parts of Europe, we now found that all the collections left at Tangier were suffering from damp, many specimens covered with mildew, and some hopelessly destroyed. Many hours on this and the following day were consumed in the endeavour to remedy the mischief. So far as structure is concerned, damp, when not too long continued, does not disorganise the tissues; but it finally removes the remaining freshness of colour which makes the beauty of a well-dried specimen.

In the course of the day we made some purchases of Fez pottery, of which a large store is kept by a Jew dealer. This ware, which combines elegance and variety of form with vigorous geometrical designs and rough execution, is now well known to the devotees of the prevailing fancy for ceramics, who pay in London or Paris many times over the original price. Through the kindness of the British Consul, Mr. White, we obtained some small specimens of a very scarce variety of unglazed pottery, of which the decoration consists merely in dots of black and red, forming various patterns. These were said to be the handywork of two potters of Fez, who both died during the last cholera epidemic.

During our seven days’ absence from Tangier, the vegetation had advanced very rapidly, and many plants had come into flower during the interval; so that we found abundant occupation, even in the immediate neighbourhood of the town. If we had wanted further evidence as to the character of the climate, it was afforded by the fact of our finding the British royal fern (Osmunda regalis), on bare sandstone rocks, close to the sea. In our proverbially damp climate it requires boggy or marshy soil to grow freely; but then, in spite of proverbs, we have fits of dry weather during the spring, and every now and then prolonged summer droughts, that forbid delicate ferns to flourish in exposed situations.

Early on the morning of the 20th we were awakened by the news that the long expected French steamer, Vérité, of Marseilles, had arrived, and would depart in the afternoon on her voyage to the Atlantic ports of Marocco and the Canary Islands. We were fully prepared to depart; the expected autograph letter of the Sultan had been delivered to Sir J. D. Hay, and by him to Hooker; our heavy baggage had already been forwarded to Mogador, and we lost no time in completing our preparations, and bidding farewell to those whose kindness and hospitality had made our stay at Tangier so agreeable. In quitting Martin’s Hotel, the solitary inconvenience that we could call to mind was the swarms of flies that invade the rooms, not more abundant, however, than in many valleys of Switzerland and North Italy; and we carried away from Tangier the impression that even on the Mediterranean shores there are few spots that combine such advantages of climate, natural beauty, and material comfort.

We found the Vérité, though boasting a French name, to be a nearly new Clyde-built steamer, owned by a Marseilles Company and commanded by Captain Abeille of that port, far better fitted up than most of those that ply along this coast. The passengers were few, and, as these disembarked at the intermediate ports, we at last became the sole occupants of the state cabin. On a fine evening, with the gentle heaving of the broad Atlantic billows to tune all to harmony, we passed the headland of Cape Spartel, and received the first rays of the great lanthorn as they shot out seaward when lighted for the night.

At seven o’clock next morning the engines were stopped, and going on deck we found ourselves lying some way off the shore, opposite the mouth of the river Oued Bouregrag, that divides Sallee from Rabat. The latter, as seen from a distance, is a place of somewhat imposing appearance. The chief mosque has a great square tower, rivalling those of Seville and Marocco; and a pile of modern masonry, on a scale unknown elsewhere in modern days in this country, marks the large barrack where the Sultan’s body-guard is lodged when he pays his annual visit to the coast. Carpets are made here, and also a peculiar sort of unglazed pottery, coarse in texture, but admirable in form, and singular in ornamentation.[1] Over against Rabat, on the north side of the river, is Sallee, once a famous place, the last outpost of Roman civilisation, and afterwards the home of pirates who were dreaded throughout the Mediterranean and along the coasts of France and England. Looking at the bare coast, and the paltry groups of mud boxes that make up a Moorish town, and knowing that the bar at the river’s mouth allows, except at spring tide, the passage only of ships of small tonnage, it seemed scarcely credible that the European Powers should so long have allowed such a nest of hornets to flourish at their very gates. When one reads that up to the middle of the last century it was not a very rare thing for the ‘Sallee rovers’ to lie under Lundy Island, and cut out Bristol merchantmen, one asks what the British navy was about, that the malefactors and their ships were not swept from the sea, and Sallee itself utterly destroyed. The false humanity that caused in our time such bitter lamentations over the chastisement of Bornean pirates had not been yet invented.

We lay for the greater part of the day within some two or three miles of the shore, but the Atlantic rollers were too heavy to allow a nearer approach, or permit the landing of cargo. This happens too frequently to excite remark; and these great waves, originating in the passage of cyclones in the mid-Atlantic, often arrive so suddenly in the calmest weather as to create a serious danger for the seaman. At the least it is prudent to keep up a sufficient pressure of steam in the boiler to make it easy to gain the offing on the shortest notice; and we heard of several cases where the coast steamers had called in succession at all the Atlantic ports of Marocco without being able to communicate with any one of them, and cargo and passengers had been carried on to the Canary Islands with the uncertain prospect of being landed on the return voyage. Fogs offer another serious impediment to navigation on this coast. During the summer the low country for a distance of eight or ten miles from the shore is not rarely covered during the morning with a thick mist that clears away before mid-day. At such times ships dare not approach the sandy coasts, and, when the sky clears, the scarcity of landmarks makes it extremely difficult for the seaman to ascertain his exact position. As the same difficulty prevented us from touching Rabat on our return voyage, we can add nothing to what has been told by preceding travellers. Counting Sallee as a suburb of the larger town, the population is estimated at 40,000, or more than all the other Atlantic ports put together. The inhabitants are said to suffer from three scourges—prolonged droughts, the invasion of locusts, and, worst of all, the annual visits of the Sultan, whose body-guard of several thousand soldiers has to be fed at their cost.

To the naturalist a stay of some days at Rabat might be of great interest if he were able to accomplish a visit to the famous forest of Mamora, which fills a large part of the space, some twenty miles in width, between the mouth of the Bouregrag and the larger river Sebou that carries to the sea the drainage of the high mountains near Fez. The scene of most of the wonderful tales that circulate among the people of North Marocco—adventures with lions, robbers, and other wild animals—is laid in the forest of Mamora; but excepting one solitary plant, brought thence by the Abbé Durand—a very distinct species of Celsia—nothing is known of the fauna and flora of the forests of this part of Marocco. These appear to cover a considerable tract parallel to the Atlantic coast, and probably consist mainly of the cork oak, which in any other country might become a considerable source of profit. Eastward of the forest the country south of the Oued Sebou is a marshy tract, breeding endemic fevers that are said to extend to Sallee and Rabat.

In the afternoon the swell became more moderate, and a boat came out with passengers, including the family of Mr. Dupuis, the British Vice-Consul at Casa Blanca. It was decided that it would not be safe to land cargo, so the captain resolved to start without further delay and run for Casa Blanca—the Dar el-Beïda of the Moors. The sun had set, and night was closing in as we approached the low shore, where a few white houses mark a station which has risen to some little importance owing to the preference shown for it by French merchants, who carry on a considerable trade with the interior.

We accepted a courteous invitation from Mr. and Madame Dupuis, and, landing early on the morning of the 22nd, went to breakfast at their house. A less attractive spot than Casa Blanca it is difficult to imagine. A featureless coast of low shelves of red sandstone rock overlaid by stiff clay, stretches on either side in slight undulations, nowhere rising more than a couple of hundred feet above the sea. Not a tree gives variety to the outline or shelter from the blazing sun. The attempts made by the few residents to cultivate the orange and other useful trees have met with little success; and the eye seeks in vain the gay shrubs that adorn the southern shores of the Mediterranean. The Cistuses, Genistas, heaths, Arbutus, and myrtle, as well as the more sober prickly oak and laurel, are all absent, and the arborescent vegetation is almost limited to stunted bushes of lentisk some three or four feet high.

As we strolled for several hours over the surrounding country, we at once perceived the influence of new climatal conditions. It was not that many new species marked the passage from one botanical province to another, for to our disappointment we found very few that we had not already gathered in North Marocco, and, excepting one rare Celsia, none that were not already well known. As elsewhere, Leguminosæ were predominant, and especially trefoils and medicks; grasses were both numerous and varied in species; and Umbelliferæ were represented by many conspicuous plants, of which Ferula communis, growing to a height of ten or more feet, is especially notable. In the absence of more substantial materials, the thick stems are used for fences. The contrast offered by the vegetation of this coast with that of the Mediterranean shores is caused altogether by climatal conditions, which allow one set of species to flourish while the rest are more or less rigidly excluded.

The information received from our obliging hosts respecting the country and the native population agreed well enough with what we heard elsewhere. The prejudices of the natives are not so strong as to make them indifferent to the advantages of trade with the intrusive Christians who are settled on the coast; and the unfortunate issue of the last war with Spain has taught them the prudence of avoiding wanton provocation. Whatever may be the case with the tribes farther inland, the people of the coast provinces are quite disposed for commercial intercourse; but the jealousy of the authorities makes enterprise of all kinds too unsafe to be risked by an ordinary native of the country. Some of the provincial governors who live near the coast carry on trade with European merchants; but for the rest such business as exists is in the hands of the Jews. The only interference of the Government, which is at least ostensibly dictated by a regard for the welfare of the people, relates to the corn trade. In favourable years Marocco produces much more grain than the population can consume, but drought and locusts often destroy the crops throughout large districts. The permission to export corn is therefore given or withheld by sovereign order according to the reports received at head-quarters. It is needless to point out how much the uncertainty thus produced must interfere with the profits of cultivation.

At Casa Blanca our skipper took on board a considerable quantity of maize for the Canary Islands, and a good many bales of hides and wool for Marseilles; and we found the decks in some disorder when we returned on board our steamer in the evening. All next day—the 23rd—we remained in the roads of Casa Blanca, uncertain at what moment we should continue our voyage. The time did not hang heavily on our hands, for we had as much work as we could accomplish in getting our collections into tolerably good order. We here had to deal with an enemy that was new to all of us, excepting Hooker, and which for the next week was to cause more trouble and anxiety than any one not a naturalist can easily realise. Nothing is more common with us at home than to grumble at the dampness of the climate; and, as far as the effects on the human animal are concerned, our complaints are perfectly just. Air at 50° Fahr. cannot at the utmost carry more than about 4½ grains of aqueous vapour to the cubic foot; but at that temperature it produces, when nearly saturated, that feeling on the nerves of the skin, familiar to every inhabitant of these islands, which is the ordinary forerunner of colds, sore throats, rheumatism, and many another ailment. But the botanist, to whom the condition of his drying paper is even more important than that of his own body, finds an easy remedy for the inconvenience. By exposing his damp paper to a temperature of from 80° to 90° in the sunshine, or before a fire, he readily obtains a satisfactory degree of relative dryness, and in a very few days his specimens are in a state to put away, and with ordinary care need give him no further trouble. But the case is very different where the ordinary temperature of the air in the shade is about 75°, as was the case here, not to speak of 85° which is the common limit in the tropics. To the human body there is nothing unpleasant in the effects of such air when nearly saturated with vapour, and so long as the temperature remains habitually between 70° and 80° it is decidedly favourable to health, if not to vigorous exertion. But a cubic foot of air at 77° contains nearly 10½ grains of vapour, and when at all near to the point of saturation it has no perceptible drying effect on surrounding objects, and a moderate increase of 10° or 12° Fahr. in temperature has but a slight effect in increasing its desiccating power. We were first struck by remarking the very long time required to dry the decks as compared with what is usual in the Mediterranean, and we had still more painful experience of the difficulty of drying our paper. We were now the sole occupants of the saloon, and our captain left us free to use every part of the steamer; the deck was soon turned to account, cords were stretched across the rigging, even the neighbourhood of the boiler was invaded, but with indifferent success. Few readers may care to sympathise with the distress of a naturalist who looks on his specimens, not only as scientific documents bringing some additions to our knowledge of the structure and relations of the organised world, but as things of beauty giving delight to the senses of form and colour, when, after much pains and care, he finds the flowers change their hues and drop off, the leaves turn black, and when mould, the sure sign of decomposition, begins to encrust the stems and fruits.

At 1 A.M. on the morning of the 24th we were again under steam, and soon after daylight speed was slackened as we lay off Mazagan. The abruptness of the transition from deep blue water in the offing to a somewhat milky green where the ship gets into shallower water here attracted our notice. It is of common occurrence even on coasts where there is reason to believe that the bed of the sea shelves vary gradually away from the shore, and one might expect a gradual change of tint; but no satisfactory explanation occurred to us.[2] It was some time before the land came in sight, and we were able to make out the square tower of the Portuguese fort that marks the position of Mazagan. The town stands on a slightly projecting point of land facing northward, and therefore especially exposed to the north-east breeze that prevails throughout the spring and summer. We lay all day rolling heavily, and the surf, breaking in hills of foam upon the shore, was too high to allow of the landing of cargo; but in the afternoon a small boat put off with provisions. Amongst these was a large freshwater fish, a species of shad, that had been caught in the Oued Oum-er-bia which runs into the sea some five miles east of Mazagan close to the site of Azemour, a ruined town once of some importance. The freshwater fish of the streams from the Atlas may probably offer many objects of interest to the ichthyologist, but do not seem likely to add much to the resources of the cook. We were told that the fine-looking animal which was displayed at table is considered a delicacy; but we found the flesh insipid and cottony, and during our subsequent journey we failed to find any fish worth eating.

Neither on this occasion nor on our return did we see any trace of the ruins of Azemour or of the great river Oum-er-bia. This is apparently the chief stream of Marocco. It drains the northern declivity of the chain of the Great Atlas for a distance of 150 miles, and nearly the entire of the extensive mountainous region, a still unknown network of high ridges and deep valleys, that covers nearly half the space between the main chain and the Atlantic seaboard. Like all the other rivers of this country the volume of water varies to an extent unknown in Europe. In dry seasons, when a large part of the waters that descend from the mountains is diverted into irrigation channels, and never reaches the sea, the main stream runs over a shallow bed fordable in many places; but after heavy rains the swollen waters have such a rapid current that we were told of travellers being detained a week or ten days waiting for the opportunity of crossing it. Lieut., afterwards Admiral, Washington[3] estimated the breadth of the river where he crossed it, near Azemour, at 150 yards, and found it much the same at about eighty miles from the sea on the return journey from Marocco to the coast.

Mazagan, though a small and poor-looking place, bears many traces of its European origin, as we remarked when we landed here on our return voyage from Mogador. It was built by the Portuguese in 1566, and held in spite of frequent assaults by the Moors for more than two hundred years, having been finally surrendered in 1770.

J. B. delt.

SAFFI

[(Large-size)]

We left the roads at 9 A.M. on the 25th, and were glad to see for the first time the land rising in bold cliffs. The headland seen a few miles south-west of Mazagan is Cape Blanco; but this projects little from the general outline of the coast, which shows a tolerably uniform direction, rising gradually towards the south-west, till we reach Cape Cantin, the chief headland of this part of the Atlantic seaboard. The summit is apparently about three hundred feet above the sea, and the calcareous strata nearly horizontal. Here the coast line, which from Cape Blanco had kept the direction from north-east by east to south-west by west, turns abruptly to the south. The cliffs recede a little at first and form a slight curve, then rising to a second headland some two hundred feet higher than Cape Cantin. Beyond this the shore again recedes, and the land subsides, where a slender stream has cut its way through the plateau inland, and affords space for the little seaport town of Saffi, or Asfi of the Moors. The coast line again rises on the south side of Saffi, forming a steep escarpment some three or four hundred feet in height, called the Jews’ Rock, about four miles from the town.

Saffi is by far the most picturesque spot on the west coast of Marocco. The extensive fortifications of the Portuguese, high walls and square towers, spreading along the shore and up the broken declivity on which the town is built, with several steep islets, whose rocks have been gnawed into uncouth shapes by the Atlantic waves, produce, as seen from the sea, a striking effect. Though fully exposed to the west, this port is better protected from the north-east winds than any other on the coast, except Mogador. Behind it lies the fertile province of Abda, famed for its excellent breed of horses, and it is the nearest port to the city of Marocco—about one hundred miles distant—but the want of secure anchorage for shipping neutralises these natural advantages.

Our stay on this occasion was short, and soon after dark we were again in motion. We spent pleasantly enough our last evening on board the Vérité. Though he took little pains to conceal his strong prejudices against the English nation, our captain was thoroughly good-natured and obliging towards the individual Englishmen with whom he was associated. No doubt our scientific pursuits recommended us to his good offices, for the slight smattering of scientific knowledge acquired by half-educated persons in most Continental countries has the effect of awakening some interest in such pursuits. It may, indeed, be doubted whether, at least in France, the teaching of physical science goes far enough to convey any accurate knowledge, even of an elementary kind; but, at all events, the national temperament leads Frenchmen to expose their deficiencies more than other people readily do. An Englishman who knows that he is not well grounded in a subject holds his tongue, or if pressed by questions will probably exaggerate the extent of his own ignorance, where a Frenchman will gaily lay down the law and span over the gaps in his knowledge by startling bridges of conjecture. Our worthy skipper amused us not a little when, in conversation on the climate of this coast, reference being made to the rainless zone of the Peruvian coast, he explained that in that country the moisture of the air is absorbed by the gases that accompany earthquakes, thus accounting to his own satisfaction for the meteorological phenomenon. But the full vehemence of his nature was reserved for matters of much more immediate interest. He had left Marseilles after the Communist rising in that city had been suppressed, but while the miserable tragic farce that was to end in the horrors of May, 1871, was being enacted in Paris. He could not allude to the subject without a degree of fury that to us seemed utterly unreasonable. But it is easy for people at a distance to treat such matters with calmness, and there were not many Englishmen on the spot who at the time were able to share the noble calmness of Lord Canning during the Indian Mutiny.

FOOTNOTES:

[1]Some fine specimens have been exhibited at the South Kensington Museum, by our companion, Mr. Maw.

[2]Professor Tyndall has shown that the differences of tint in seawater depend upon differences in the amount and dimensions of the particles of solid matter held in suspension; but the abruptness of the transition from one tint to another has, we believe, not been fully explained.

[3]‘Journal of the Royal Geographical Society,’ vol. i., pp. 132-151.

CHAPTER IV.

Arrival at Mogador — The Sultan’s letter — Preparations for our journey — The town of Mogador — The neighbouring country — Ravages of locusts — Native races of South Marocco — Excursion to the island — Climate of Mogador — Its influence on consumption — Dinner with the Governor.

At 5 A.M. on April 26 we at length reached the port of Mogador. Before many minutes a boat was alongside, and we were warmly welcomed by a gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Carstensen, the British Vice-Consul, brother-in-law of Sir J. D. Hay. He was, indeed, no stranger; for, as a correspondent and active contributor to the Royal Gardens at Kew, he had long been in friendly relations with the chief of our party. To his energetic good offices and hospitable attentions we owe deep obligations, and it was with sincere regret that we subsequently heard of his premature death in 1873.

At an early hour we were comfortably established in the British Consulate, where our host and hostess received us as old friends, and we were soon engaged in discussion as to the arrangements for the prosecution of our journey, in all of which Mr. Carstensen’s familiarity with the country and perfect command of the language were of the utmost value. Having received previous notice of our arrival and of the objects of our journey, he had already prepared the way, and thus very much abridged the delays that are inevitable in such a country.

The first step necessary was to call on the Governor and present to him the Sultan’s letter. We were courteously received by El Hadj Hamara, a well-looking man of middle age, in a small plain room, whose only furniture consisted in cushions laid round the walls. After shaking hands in European fashion, we proceeded to seat ourselves, cross-legged—no doubt looking very uncomfortable during the experiment—while the Sultan’s letter was produced. This was written on a small sheet of inferior paper, folded to the size of a note, and sealed with coarse sealing-wax. It was received by the Governor, the seal reverently applied to his forehead, and then broken. After reading aloud the few lines of writing, the Governor handed the letter to Mr. Carstensen, who proceeded to translate literally for our benefit. It ran thus: ‘On receiving this, you will send the English hakeem and his companions to the care of my slave, El Graoui, to whom I have sent orders what he is to do.’ It should be explained that El Graoui, spoken of as the Sultan’s slave, was the Governor of the portion of the Great Atlas that is practically subject to the Imperial authority, and precisely the person whose favour and assistance it was essential for our objects to secure.

To strangers unused to the style of the Marocco Court, the Imperial letter did not seem a very promising document; but it was evident that, so far as the Governor of Mogador was concerned, it conveyed the impression that we were to be treated with respect and attention; and this was doubtless confirmed by the arrival of a courier from Marocco, bearing a letter from the Sultan’s eldest son, then acting as viceroy in the southern provinces of the empire, with orders to take every care for our safety and comfort during the journey to the capital.

We soon had a specimen of the shape in which official protection displays itself in this country. On a representation from Mr. Carstensen that we should require numerous baggage animals, besides horses and mules to ride, the order had gone forth a week before our arrival that no horses or mules should be sold or hired in the town of Mogador until we had selected such as we required. This accordingly was one of our first cares, and the embargo was raised in the course of the day. We followed local advice, confirmed by our own previous experience in warm countries, in choosing mules in preference to horses. On a long journey they are far less liable to be laid up, and, to a scientific traveller who has frequent occasion to dismount, they give less trouble. Their obstinate temper is, however, often annoying, and, though surefooted, they sometimes have a very unpleasant trick of tripping or stumbling over stony ground.

A precaution which we took this day is much to be recommended to travellers. This was to make a trial of pitching our tents on a piece of rough open ground. People readily suppose that a tent that is easily set up in an English lawn must answer their expectations on a march, and have little notion of the amount of discomfort caused by trifling defects. We speedily found that the pegs supplied in England are not nearly hard enough to pierce the stiff-baked clay or stony paste that forms the prevailing soil in this country; and it was fortunate for our comfort that we took from Mogador an ample supply of rough pegs, made from the wood of the argan tree. We were each provided with a tent which satisfied our individual wants, but scarcely corresponded with the native ideas of what befits personages of distinction. We were well aware that in this country prestige was an essential element in success, and therefore willingly accepted the liberal offer of a large handsome native tent made by the local agent of Messrs. Perry & Co. of Liverpool. This was available only for the journey across the plains between Mogador and Marocco, as it was very heavy, forming a load for two camels, and therefore not suitable for a hilly country. It supplied a comparatively spacious saloon, wherein we passed our evenings very pleasantly, before retiring to our separate quarters for the night.

The next matter requiring attention was our costume. It was foreseen that during some part of our journey, at least, it might be expedient to adopt the native dress, or such an approximation to it as would prevent our attracting notice from afar as strange and outlandish creatures. After due deliberation, the haïk was finally rejected. This is the ordinary outer garment of natives of the upper class. An ample robe of fine white woollen stuff is a graceful and picturesque garment, especially on those who know how to group its folds about the person; but it is absolutely incompatible with the free use of the limbs, and more especially for botanists, whose pursuit brings them into frequent contact with the numberless spiny plants of this region. The unsightly jellabia, a blouse of rough white woollen stuff, with the addition of a hood that may be drawn over the head, was adopted, and was not found very inconvenient.

Anticipating unavoidable exposure to a nearly vertical sun, we had provided ourselves with the grey pith ventilating helmets so commonly used by Englishmen in the tropics. It was found that by winding round one of these a moderate strip of the usual material for turbans, it might be made to pass muster at a distance. But for head-gear on important occasions the turban was indispensable. The material, a broad band of light muslin, about thirteen or fourteen yards in length, is supplied from England, but the art of winding it round the head requires long practice, and we always resorted to the aid of one of our attendants. It certainly gives protection against a hot sun; but it is never quite convenient to a European of active habits, who finds it hard to acquire the orthodox gravity of Oriental demeanour, and is sadly apt to disturb the folds of the turban by some abrupt movement.

There was one article of dress as to which no compromise was possible. The slippers down at heel that are commonly used by all classes of natives, and even the red or yellow loose boots that are sometimes worn on a journey, were equally unsuited to our habits and pursuits, and we held fast to our accustomed foot-covering.

Mr. Carstensen had kindly made excellent arrangements for our convenience during our journey by selecting such native attendants as we should require. One was told off to each of us as a personal servant, expected to be always in readiness to render any required assistance; and Hooker’s English attendant, Crump, was included in this arrangement. This may appear superfluous, and so it might be to ordinary travellers; but for a party of naturalists anxious to make the best use of their time, it was almost indispensable. Several other men were attached to the camp in various capacities, one of the most useful being a saddler, daily in requisition to repair damage done to leather work; but by far the most important member of our suite was the interpreter to the British Consulate, whose services were spared for fully five weeks. Even with Mr. Carstensen’s thorough knowledge of the language, this must have been felt as a serious inconvenience, for Abraham proved himself active and intelligent; and the duties of a consular agent on the Marocco coast being by no means of a hum-drum character, the need of a man familiar with the country and the people in the capacity of secretary and assistant is daily felt. Being a Marocco Jew, born in a position of relative inferiority to his Mohammedan neighbours, Abraham no doubt felt a keen satisfaction in the sense of security which he derived from his position in the British service. To be able to converse in a tone approaching to equality with powerful officials; to emancipate oneself from restrictions trifling, yet galling, in matters of dress and demeanour; to share in some measure in the vague sense of power vested in the representatives of the great European States—must be the climax of ambition to a member of a despised nationality in a land where neither intelligence nor wealth nor good reputation give a man security or social recognition.

It had been arranged that our escort was to consist of four soldiers, under the command of a kaïd, nearly equivalent, as we were told, to a captain in European army rank. This was more than was requisite for security, as, with all its barbarism, the Marocco Government is efficient enough within the parts of the territory where the Sultan’s authority is recognised and feared. Within those limits it is enough to let it be known that a traveller enjoys the Imperial protection; no one will ever think of daring to molest him.

After devoting a good part of the day to indispensable preparations for our future journey, we were free to look about us in the singular little town which, as the chief port of South Marocco, is the last outpost of civilisation on the African coast at this side of the French settlements of Senegal. Like many other places in Marocco, this owes its existence to the caprice of a Sultan. It was founded in 1760 by Sidi Mohammed, the most energetic of recent Moorish sovereigns, and became a considerable place when, a few years later, the same ruler destroyed Agadir, and ordered the merchants established there to remove to Mogador. Jackson tells us that it received its European name from the sanctuary of Sidi Mogodol, standing somewhere among the neighbouring sandhills; but a town of Mogador is shown in a map published in 1608,[1] standing a short way north of the island, which is there marked ‘I. Domegador.’ As have most of those marked on the early maps, the ancient town had doubtless disappeared before the foundation of the present one, called by the Moors Soueira; but the old name must have survived in the country.

The low rocky island lying opposite to the town, and separated by a navigable channel, affords shelter from all winds except those from the SW.; but the depth of water is not great, and there are numerous dangerous reefs, so that in threatening weather steam is always kept up, and ships proceed to sea when SW. winds are expected. Although the island is shown on the oldest maps, and the channel is represented much as we now see it in the plates to Jackson’s work, from drawings made about the beginning of this century, we were positively assured that old people in Mogador recollected the time when the island was connected with the mainland by an isthmus, over which cattle could be driven at low water; and this story seemed to have gained credence with the European inhabitants.

Though it has no buildings of importance, the town is in one respect the most habitable in Marocco, being remarkably clean, and in that respect superior to very many seaports in Europe. This is largely due to the efforts of two intelligent French physicians, who have at various periods visited Mogador, but especially to the exertions of Dr. Thevenin, who has resided there for many years.

The Governor and other officials, with the European consuls and merchants, all reside in the Kasbah—the chief of the three quarters into which the town is divided. Here are several narrow but regularly-built streets; the houses are mostly of two stories, enclosing a small courtyard, which is entered by a low and narrow doorway from the street. In the Moorish town, inhabited by natives of the lower class, the houses are of one story, and poor in appearance; but the practice of whitewashing within and without once every week makes them look clean, and, no doubt, has much to do with the remarkable immunity of this place from contagious and endemic diseases. The Jewish town is much overcrowded; but we were assured that even here the modern gospel of soap and water has made much progress.

In the afternoon we sallied forth with our portfolios; but in deference to public opinion, which could not endure that strangers of consequence should be seen trudging on foot, we rode for about a mile out of the town. Its surroundings are not prepossessing. The low tertiary limestone rock, on which it is built, and which doubtless extends inland for some distance, is covered up to the city walls by blown sand, driven along the shore before the SW. winds, forming dunes that cover the whole surface; and in most directions one may ride two or three miles before encountering any other vegetation than a few paltry attempts at cultivating vegetables for the table within little enclosed plots, whose owners are constantly disputing the ground with the intrusive sand. The chief break in the monotony of the sand ridges is due to the small stream of the Oued Kseb (called Oued el-Ghoreb on Beaudouin’s map), which reaches the sea little more than a mile away on the south side of the town. Much of the water being diverted, the current is not strong enough to keep a channel through the sands, but forms at its mouth a marsh, where many of the most interesting plants of the neighbourhood are to be found. The drip from the small aqueduct that supplies water to the town suffices to give nourishment to other less uncommon species.

Mogador has long been tolerably well known to botanists. It was visited by Broussonet at the latter end of the last century, and was for some time the residence of Schousboë. More recently the neighbourhood has been explored by the late Mr. Lowe and by M. Balansa. We could not, therefore, reasonably expect to find here anything new to science; but our short excursion was nevertheless full of interest, though not altogether of an agreeable kind. We here saw for the first time a district recently ravaged by locusts; and while we acquired a lively sense of the amount of mischief effected by these destructive creatures, we also found out how it happens that the damage is confined within tolerable limits; how, in short, they fail to turn the country into a desert. When one reads the reports of credible eye-witnesses, who describe the arrival of swarms of locusts that devour every green thing, one asks oneself how it can be possible for man or animals to survive such destruction. In the first place, it may be remarked that, like most other sweeping statements, these are not strictly true. The locusts do not, in point of fact, devour every green thing. In the spots where they were most destructive we always remarked that certain plants escaped untouched. The result of this immunity would naturally be to substitute the latter for the species destroyed by the locusts, were there not some very efficient agency for repairing the damage and maintaining the life of the species, if not of the individual. An important element in considering this question is the season at which the mischief is effected. The young locust grows very fast, and it is mainly during the period of growth that it consumes vegetation. When once the animal has attained its full size, it becomes comparatively inert, and its capacity for destruction is vastly diminished. If the swarm of young locusts arrives before the middle of April, when the rainy season is not quite over, the first showers revive the plants that have been devoured almost to the root with surprising rapidity. Perennial species throw out new buds, and are soon again covered with leaf and flower; and the same often happens with annuals, unless these have already shed their seed, and then a new crop soon reappears. It may be supposed that the vast amount of decaying animal matter left on the surface, even in the most barren spot, contributes not a little to the vigour of the vegetation, and thus compensates for the destruction effected at an earlier stage. It is when the swarms appear late, and attack the wheat or maize after the flowers are developed, that the consequences to the population are very serious, and famines result that periodically affect large districts.

In the present year it was clear that rain had fallen since the locust invasion, and although much damage had been done, tolerable specimens of many plants here seen for the first time were to be found. A few of these are common to the Canary Islands and this part of Africa; others are not yet known except on this coast. The most curious of them is the Senecio (Kleinia) pteroneura, whose succulent almost leafless branches, as thick as a man’s finger, bear a few heads of flowers that differ little, save in their larger size, from those of the common groundsel. Well pleased with our first glance at the South Marocco flora, we returned to our comfortable quarters, and spent a pleasant evening in discussing our future movements, and in drawing upon our host’s ample stores of information respecting the country and its inhabitants.

We were now for the first time brought into contact with the primitive stock of this part of Africa, one main branch of the Bereber race, which is distinguished by speaking some dialect of the Shelluh (Shleuh) language.[2] The affinity of this people with the Berebers of the Lesser Atlas—including under that name the Kabyles of Algeria, with the Riff tribes of North-west Marocco—has been denied, but does not appear to be open to reasonable doubt. The type is physically the same, excepting among some of the tribes south of the Great Atlas, where the intermixture of Negro blood has introduced new and very diverse elements. The languages now spoken among these tribes doubtless exhibit marked differences, especially to the ear of a foreigner. Jackson long ago denied the relationship between the Shelluh and the Bereber, while Washington, in the paper already quoted, came to a contrary conclusion. It may now be considered as beyond question that the differences between the Shelluh and the Kabyle are merely dialectic.[3] The value of linguistic evidence in ethnological inquiries has of late been questioned by eminent critics, and it must be conceded that such evidence, when it merely rests on lexicographical coincidences, is of less value than when it is derived from grammatical structure; yet, after all deductions, the facts remain to be accounted for, and, in the absence of proof to the contrary, it goes far towards proving community of origin. It must be remembered, that unlettered races are subject to far greater and more rapid changes of dialect than those who preserve in sacred books or popular poetry fixed standards of correct speech; add to this, the chances of error when a traveller, communicating with a native through an interpreter, and contending with sounds unusual to his ear, attempts to form a vocabulary. These causes, acting together, tend to increase the difficulty of recognizing linguistic affinities that really exist.

In the absence of any indication of the intrusion of a conquering race that can be supposed to have imposed its language on the previous population, it seems most probable that the native races of North Africa, between the Libyan Desert and the Atlantic coast, including also the Canary Islands, all belong to a single stock, which may best be called Bereber. The two main branches are both mountain peoples. To the north we have the tribes of the Lesser Atlas, extending from the gates of Tetuan to the hill country of Tunis, who may best bear the common name of Kabyles—to the south-west the population of the Great Atlas, from the neighbourhood of Fez to the coast between Agadir and Oued Noun, broken up into numerous tribes, but all speaking some dialect of the same language, and thence called generically Shelluhs. Of the scattered fragments of the Bereber stock that have spread far through the oases of the Great Desert, till they have come into contact with the Negro tribes from the south of that barrier, our information is still most imperfect. In constant conflict with each other, and with the Arab and Negro tribes who dispute with them the scanty means of subsistence that Nature here provides, they appear on the whole to predominate over their competitors. The Touarecks, scattered over a territory as large as half of Europe, from Algeria to Soudan, form a separate branch of the same stock; while we learn from Gerhard Rohlfs that the predatory tribes of the desert south of Marocco are merely Shelluhs who have changed their habits and manner of life to suit altered conditions of existence.

The character of the Bereber has scarcely received justice at the hands either of ancient or modern writers. They have been inconvenient neighbours for those who have sought to encroach on their territory, and they are justly dreaded by the traveller through the Great Desert as the most active and enterprising of the human enemies he must confront or evade. Comparing them with the Moor and Arab population of South Marocco, our report agrees with that of Jackson, who probably knew them better than any other European has done. They are decidedly superior in intelligence, in industry, and general activity to their neighbours. Two of our retinue, selected by Mr. Carstensen among the mountaineers who resort to Mogador to pick up a living about the port, distinguished themselves over all the rest both in physical and mental qualities; and one of these especially, who became Hooker’s personal attendant, showed an amount of general intelligence and unfailing cheerfulness that made him a favourite with the entire party.

On the morning of the 27th we made an excursion to the island. It is formed of an irregular, low, knobby mass of very friable tertiary rock, which seems to yield rapidly to the erosive action of the heavy waves that almost constantly break on its seaward face, where the overhanging cliffs are hollowed into caverns. At the time of our visit it appeared to be uninhabited. Two or three heavy pieces of cannon, honeycombed with rust, lay near the highest point, but seemed never to have been placed in position. A small building was said to have been sometimes used for the custody of State prisoners, but otherwise there was no indication here of the presence of man. In such a spot we expected to find the coast vegetation fully developed, but we counted without the locusts. Nowhere else did we observe such complete destruction. A good many plants growing on the rocks, within constant reach of the sea-spray, had escaped; but on the rest of the island scarcely a green leaf remained, and it required a patient search to discover a few fruits of some leguminous plants that appear to abound in this locality. Of the seaside rock-plants three were supposed to be peculiar to this single spot. Andryala mogadorensis, of Cosson, a very showy species of an unattractive genus, has been well figured in the ‘Botanical Magazine’ for 1873; Frankenia velutina, the most ornamental species of that variable genus, appeared at first quite distinct, but we were afterwards led to suspect it to be a local form or subspecies of the widely spread perennial Frankenia, so common in the Mediterranean region. Both of these we afterwards found on the coast near Saffi. Of the third plant—Asteriscus imbricatus, of Decandolle—but a single stunted specimen was found by Ball, and as yet it has no other known habitat. We here saw for the first time a plant which turned out to be rather common in South Marocco, and which was taken by us, as it had been by preceding botanists, to be the Apteranthes Gussoniana, of Mikan, first described by Gussone as Stapelia europæa, and in truth closely resembling in habit and appearance some of the South African species of Stapelia. The fruit, which we afterwards found in abundance, did not appear different from that of Gussone’s plant; but when the specimens carried to England by Maw flowered two years later, the structure of the flower showed that it should be recognised as a distinct species of the group which has received the generic name Boucerosia, and it was accordingly published by Hooker, in the ‘Botanical Magazine’ (No. 6137), under the name Boucerosia maroccana.

In the course of the day we called on Monsieur Beaumier, the French Consul, in company with Dr. Thevenin, an intelligent physician, who has spent several years at Mogador, much to the advantage of the inhabitants whether Christian or native. M. Beaumier not only received us with the proverbial courtesy of his country, but showed a warm interest in the success of our journey, and kindly supplied us with many items of information, along with manuscript notes prepared by himself during his residence in South Marocco. His premature death, from an illness contracted during a visit to France in 1875, has been a serious loss to the country which he had made his second home.

Amongst other items of information, we owe to M. Beaumier a series of meteorological observations carried on at Mogador with a single interruption for nearly nine years, and supplying all requisite particulars for eight complete years. The results are so remarkable that they have attracted the attention of many physicians, and may probably lead at some not distant date to the selection of this place as a sanitarium for consumptive patients.

Dr. Thevenin mentioned several facts of much interest in their bearing on this question. In the first place, phthisis is all but completely unknown among the inhabitants of this part of Africa; while in Algeria cases are not rare among the natives, and in Egypt they are rather frequent. In the course of ten years he had met but five cases among his very numerous native patients, and in three of these the disease had been contracted at a distance. He further mentioned several cases among Europeans who had arrived in an advanced stage of the disease, on whom the influence of the climate had exercised a remarkable curative effect.

An examination of the tables, showing the results of M. Beaumier’s observations, and especially those for temperature, may help to explain these facts, as they certainly show that Mogador enjoys a more equable climate than any place within the temperate zone as to which we possess accurate information.

It should be mentioned that these observations were made with good instruments, sufficiently well situated on the shady side of the open court-yard of the French Consulate, about thirty feet above the sea level. The hours of observation were 8 A.M., 2 P.M., and 10 P.M.—not perhaps the best that could be selected, but sufficient in a climate where rapid transitions are unknown.

A few of the results here stated in Fahrenheit’s scale are derived from M. Beaumier’s tables as continued to the end of 1874:—

More striking still is the comparison between the temperature of summer and winter. The following results show the monthly mean temperature, derived from eight years’ observations:—

showing a difference of only 10° of Fahrenheit’s scale between the hottest and coldest months. It has not been possible to ascertain accurately the daily range of the thermometer, as there were no self-recording instruments employed; but there is reason to believe that this would exhibit a still more remarkable proof of the equability of the climate. So far as the observations go they show an ordinary daily range of about 5° Fahr., and rarely exceeding 8° Fahr. It may be added, that in the course of six weeks from our arrival on April 26 to our departure on June 7, the lowest night temperature observed at Mogador was 61° Fahr., and the highest by day 77° Fahr.

If the climate of Mogador be compared with that of such places as Algiers, Madeira (Funchal), and Cairo, which have nearly the same mean winter temperature, it will be found that in each of those places the mercury is occasionally liable to fall considerably below 50°, and that the summer heat is greatly in excess of the limits that suit delicate constitutions, the mean of the three hottest months being about 80° Fahr. at Algiers, about 82° at Funchal, and 85° at Cairo. It will help to complete the impression as to the Mogador climate to say, that rain falls on an average on forty-five days in the year; and that, per 1,000 observations on the state of the sky, the proportions are

Clear 785; Clouded 175; Foggy 40:

the latter entry referring to days when a fog or thick haze prevails in the morning, but disappears before mid-day. The desert wind is scarcely felt at Mogador. On an average it blows on about two days in each year, and on these rare occasions it has much less effect on the thermometer than it has in Madeira, doubtless owing to the protective effect of the chain of the Great Atlas.

These remarkable climatal conditions have been mainly attributed to the influence of the north-east trade wind, which sets along the coast, and prevails, especially in summer, throughout a great part of the year; the average of north and north-east winds being about 271 days out of 365. West and south-west winds blow chiefly in winter on about fifty-seven days in each year, and variable winds from the remaining four points prevail on an average of thirty-seven days. The north-east breeze, increasing in force as the sun approaches the meridian, maintains the exceptionally cool summer temperature already indicated as characteristic of the Mogador climate—a privilege which is not shared by Saffi or Mazagan, where the summer heat is sometimes excessive. It must be noted that although the summer temperature of the interior of Marocco is much higher than that of Mogador, it yet falls far short of what is found in places lying in the same latitude in North Africa or Asia. This is evidently owing to the influence of the Great Atlas chain, with its branches that diverge northward towards the Mediterranean, which screen the entire region from the burning winds of the desert, and send down streams that cover the land with vegetation.

When one comes to consider how it happens that a place possessing such extraordinary natural advantages has not become frequented by the class of invalids to whom climate offers the only chance of recovering health, or prolonging life, the obvious answer is, that invalids cannot live on air alone, and that few persons in that condition have the courage to select a place where they may reasonably expect much difficulty in procuring the comforts and even the necessaries of life, competent medical advice, and some reasonable opportunities for occupation or amusement. The difficulties under the first two heads are perhaps not very serious. Lodging and food may apparently be procured on reasonable terms, and for many years past there has always been a competent French physician residing here. The resources of the place in point of society are of course limited, and must vary with the arrival and departure of the few European residents; but any one fortunate enough to be interested in any branch of natural history would find constant occupation of an agreeable kind in a place where there are not half a dozen days in the year that may not be agreeably passed out of doors.[4]

A special subject, to be earnestly recommended to any competent inquirer, whether invalid or not, who may pass six months at Mogador, is the language and ethnology of the Shelluh branch of the Bereber race. Many of these mountain people come to seek a living at Mogador, and from our experience it would not be difficult to find one who would become a useful servant.

In the course of the day we visited the extensive stores of Messrs. E. Bonnet & Co., who export large quantities of olive oil from the neighbouring provinces. By increased care in the preparation and subsequent purification of the oil, its quality has been much improved. The cultivation of the vine has of late rapidly increased, and wine of tolerable quality has taken a place among the products which Marocco supplies to England.

Notwithstanding all that we had heard of the excellence of the climate, we had to confess that at this season Mogador is not a paradise for the botanist. The NNE. winds come saturated with vapour, and charged with minute particles of salt from the breaking of the Atlantic waves on the reefs near the town; and, as the temperature of the land is scarcely higher than that of the sea, the air has little or no drying effect on paper and plants. The consequence was that Mr. Carstensen’s kitchen was used both by day and night to save our specimens from destruction by damp.

As our interpreter, besides the cook and one or two more of our retinue, were Jews, it was decided that, in order to spare their feelings and those of the Jewish community in Mogador in respect to the Sabbath, we should despatch them along with our heavy baggage on April 28, while we should follow on the succeeding day to the spot where they were to await us. Later in the day, after completing the arrangements for our journey, we went by invitation to dine with the Governor. We found that our host had had a table prepared with chairs for Mrs. Carstensen, who with two European ladies graced the entertainment. Beside them a carpet was spread for Mr. Carstensen and our party; while the Governor himself, with three native functionaries, sat in their usual fashion, cross-legged, on another carpet several yards distant. The first preliminary was the washing of fingers. One attendant bore water, another a brass bowl or basin, and a third presented to each in turn an embroidered towel. This process is always repeated at the close of dinner, and is common to all classes in the country. The feast then began, as every well-ordered Moorish banquet must do, by green tea. Three cups, carefully prepared in the presence of the guests, in a silver teapot half filled with sugar, were handed in succession to each, and then fresh tea, with mint leaves added, is again prepared, and of this decoction the natives usually take one or two cups more. The serious part of the repast then followed. A large dish of coarse earthenware, covered with a conical cap of fine straw, twice the size of a beehive, is laid on a low wooden frame in the centre of the circle of guests. On the present occasion duplicate dishes were prepared for us, and for the Governor and his native friends. When the cover was removed, we were introduced to the national dish which was destined to be our frequent acquaintance during our journey in the South. The basis of keskossou is coarse wheaten, or sometimes millet flour, cooked with butter, for which oil is occasionally substituted. To this is added mutton, lamb, or fowls, cut up into pieces, with various vegetables, either laid on the farinaceous substratum or mixed up with it. Numerous dishes succeeded each other, but they appeared to be all variations on the same gastronomic theme. The cookery on this occasion was better than we often found it; but the pervading flavour of rancid butter, long kept in great earthen pots, is repulsive to European stomachs, and few strangers are ever fortunate enough to be able to enjoy Moorish feasts. To some of us this was the first occasion for practising the art of eating with our fingers, and it was lucky that our host was not at hand to observe the awkwardness of our first essays. We improved somewhat with practice, but never could approach the dexterity and neatness with which the natives accomplish the operation, using only the fingers of the right hand. Conversation was completely drowned during dinner by the native music provided in compliment to the distinguished guests. Four men, squatting on the ground, struck the stretched metal strings of an instrument somewhat resembling a very rude Tyrolese zither, and kept up a constant chant or recitation in loud nasal tones, very different from the slow monotonous almost always melancholy songs of the Arabs in the East. These men, on the contrary, declaimed the words with unflagging energy, as though determined that the hearers should understand the story; and it was a moment of intense relief when at the end of dinner the deafening clang of strings and voices ceased. The fingers were again washed, green tea again served, courtesy requiring that each guest should take at least three cups, and then the Governor and his friends advanced and joined our party.

Mr. Carstensen had asked permission to bring some wine for our use during dinner, and afterwards naturally took the occasion to invite the Moors present to take a share. With very slight show of reluctance, they accepted; and, though the quantity consumed was but trifling, the effect was unmistakable. The conversation became very lively, and jokes passed which excited peals of laughter, though most of them evaporated in the process of translation. One of the Moorish guests—Director of the Tobacco monopoly, as we were told—from the first struck us as a man of jovial temperament; and on him the extra glass or two of wine had a potent effect, the jollity culminating in an extemporised dance, reminding one of the dancing bears, once the delight of our youth, that have disappeared since the era of Zoological Gardens. The copious doses of green tea did not prevent some of the party from sleeping; while others sat up till near morning, engaged in the almost hopeless endeavour to get large piles of botanical paper thoroughly dry, before we finally started on our journey into the interior.

FOOTNOTES:

[1]See [Appendix C.]

[2]The usage of preceding English writers is hereafter followed by writing the name, Shelluh; but to our ears the native pronunciation is more accurately given by the spelling Shleuh or Shloo.

[3]See [Appendix H.]

[4]Those who are interested in the subject should consult a pamphlet entitled ‘Mogador et son Climat,’ par V. Seux, Marseille, 1870, and a paper in the Bulletin of the French Geographical Society for 1875, by Dr. Ollive, now residing at that place, styled ‘Climat de Mogador et de son influence sur la Phthisie.’ There are some errors in the tables included in the latter paper, and especially in that headed ‘Tableau comparatif des Températures moyennes de diverses stations hivernales.’

CHAPTER V.

Departure from Mogador — Argan forest — Hilly country of Haha — Fertile province of Shedma — Hospitality of the Governor — Turkish visitor — Offering of provisions — Kasbah of the Governor — Ride to Aïn Oumast — First view of the Great Atlas — Pseudo-Sahara — Tomb of a Saint — Nzelas — Ascend the ‘Camel’s Back’ — Oasis of Sheshaoua — Coolness of the night temperature — Rarity of ancient buildings — Halt at Aïn Beida — Tents and luggage gone astray — Night at Misra ben Kara — Cross the Oued Nfys — Plain of Marocco — Range of the Great Atlas — Halt under Tamarisk tree.

The morning of Saturday, April 29, was fixed for our departure from Mogador, and about 7 A.M. all were ready to start.

Mr. and Mrs. Carstensen, with a rather numerous party of the European residents at Mogador, had arranged to escort us for a distance of some seven miles; and it was agreed that, instead of following the direct road to the city of Marocco, which runs about ENE. from Mogador, we should make a detour nearly at right angles to that direction, or about SSE., so as to gain a fuller acquaintance with the Argan forest.

Our course lay in the same direction that we had chosen in our first short excursion from the town. Between the belt of sandy shore that is daily washed by the tide, and the sand dunes that rose in undulations on our left, we rode past the mouth of the Oued Kseb, and then began to ascend over sandy dunes, whereon the prevailing plant is Genista monosperma, the R’tam of the Arabs, whose slender silvery branches wave in the slightest breeze. Several of the peculiar plants of this coast occurred at intervals, such as Cheiranthus semperflorens, Statice mucronata, a curious and somewhat ornamental species, and two or three kinds of Erodium. As the track rises and recedes a little from the coast, the tertiary calcareous rock that underlies the sandhills crops out here and there, and the first Argan trees begin to show themselves. As we advanced, the trees grew larger and nearer together, and as we approached our intended halt, at a place called Douar Arifi, they formed a continuous forest.

The Argan tree is in many respects the most remarkable plant of South Marocco; and it attracts the more attention as it is the only tree that commonly attains a large size, and forms a conspicuous feature of the landscape in the low country near the coast. In structure and properties it is nearly allied to the tropical genus Sideroxylon (Iron-wood); but there is enough of general resemblance, both in its mode of growth and its economic uses, to the familiar olive tree of the Mediterranean region to make it the local representative of that plant. Its home is the sub-littoral zone of South-western Marocco, where it is common between the rivers Tensift and Sous. A few scattered trees only are said to be found north of the Tensift; but it seems to be not infrequent in the hilly district between the Sous and the river of Oued Noun, making the total length of its area about 200 miles. Extending from near the coast for a distance of thirty or forty miles inland, it is absolutely unknown elsewhere in the world. The trunk always divides at a height of eight or ten feet from the ground, and sends out numerous spreading, nearly horizontal branches. The growth is apparently very slow, and the trees that attain a girth of twelve to fifteen feet are probably of great antiquity. The minor branches and young shoots are beset with stiff thick spines, and the leaves are like those of the olive in shape, but of a fuller green, somewhat paler on the under side. Unlike the olive, the wood is of extreme hardness, and seemingly indestructible by insects, as we saw no example of a hollow trunk. The fruit, much like a large olive in appearance, but varying much in size and shape, is greedily devoured by goats, sheep, camels, and cows, but refused by horses and mules; its hard kernel furnishes the oil which replaces that of the olive in the cookery of South Marocco, and is so unpleasant to the unaccustomed palate of Europeans. The annexed cut, showing an average Argan, about twenty-five feet in height, and covering a space of sixty or seventy feet in diameter, with another, where goats are seen feeding on the fruit, exhibits a

ARGAN TREES

scene which at first much amused us, as we had not been accustomed to consider the goat as an arboreal quadruped.[1] Owing to the spreading habit of the branches, which in the older trees approach very near to the ground, no young seedlings are seen where the trees are near together, and but little vegetation, excepting small annuals; but in open places, and on the outer skirts of the forest, there grows in abundance a peculiar species of Thyme (T. Broussonnetii), with broadly ovate leaves and bracts that are coloured red or purple, and the characteristic strong scent of that tribe. It is interesting to the botanist as an endemic species, occupying almost exactly the same geographical area as the Argan. As we afterwards found, it is replaced in the interior of the country by an allied, but quite distinct, species. Its penetrating odour seems to be noxious to moths, as the dried twigs and leaves are much used in Mogador, and found effectual for the preservation of woollen stuffs.

Not many flowering plants were seen in the shade of the Argan trees; the only species worthy of note being a very slender annual Asphodel (A. tenuifolius), and Carum mauritanicum—a plant somewhat resembling our British pignut.

Meanwhile carpets had been spread under the shade of one of the largest Argan trees, and a copious breakfast was displayed. Fully an hour had been consumed between eating and conversation and the parting cigar, when, bidding farewell to our friends, we finally started on our road for the interior, under the guardianship of the worthy old Kaïd who commanded our escort. Separated from our interpreter and our luggage, we felt ourselves at first strangely isolated; but thanks to the cheerful readiness of our Shelluh attendants, and especially of Omback, who had been specially assigned to Hooker, this impression soon wore off. Our men had been engaged in unloading cargo from English ships in the port of Mogador, and had commenced the study of the English tongue by picking up about a dozen words from the sailors. They at once showed themselves anxious to add to their store, and the result was that all, but especially Omback, gained such a smattering of the language as served our purpose for many of the ordinary purposes of life. ‘Catch him flower’ became the ordinary way of desiring a man to gather some plant by the wayside, and many similar phrases soon passed current between us. The only term of disapproval in use with our men was ‘bloody dog,’ and this was not seldom applied to the mules whenever they gave trouble, as those creatures are wont to do.

As we rode on, the Argan forest grew thinner, the trees were gradually intermixed with other species, amongst which we noted a few specimens of Callitris quadrivalvis—the Arar of the Moors—and before long we gained, from the brow of a low hill where the forest ceased altogether, a rather wide view over a country not altogether unlike some parts of England. The hills of the province of Haha rise in successive undulations as they recede from the coast in sloping downs, relieved at intervals by clumps of trees, and elsewhere broken by masses of low shrubs. The calcareous rock, which seems never far from the surface, is thinly covered over with red earth; and patches of cultivation, chiefly barley or wheat, the former now nearly ripe, here and there indicated the presence of man somewhere within reach, but seemed to show that he plays a subordinate part in fashioning the appearance of the country. The prevailing bush or small tree is Zizyphus Lotus, whose double sets of thorns—one pointing forward and the other curved back—were destined to plague us throughout all the low country of South Marocco. The Zizyphus was often quite covered over by climbing plants, that rise ten or twelve feet from the ground. The most frequent of these, an Ephedra and an Asparagus, do not appear to require any special organs of attachment. Probably the intricate branches and complex spines of the Zizyphus render these superfluous.

Soon after this we first met bushes of one of the peculiar plants of South Marocco, then little known, and of which we were not able to learn much by personal inspection. The Acacia gummifera of Willdenow is one of a group of allied species of which the remainder inhabit Upper Egypt and Nubia, while one, at least, is widely spread throughout Eastern Africa and Arabia. The tasteless gum known as the gum-arabic of commerce is probably produced by several of these species. Like its allies, the South Marocco plant flowers late in the year, after the first autumn rains, and ripens its pods during the winter. Hence, as seen by us in spring, without flower or fruit, there was little to distinguish this from several of the other forms of this group.[2]

Among herbaceous plants that attracted our notice was Glaucium corniculatum (here always orange, and never crimson as it is in Palestine), with Campanula dichotoma, only just coming into flower, whilst two or three degrees farther north, in Palestine and Syria, it usually flowers three weeks earlier. More interesting, as being one of the few local plants common to South Marocco and the Canary Islands, was the Linaria sagittata (Antirrhinum sagittatum of Poiret), very unlike any other toadflax in the form of its leaves and its much branched twining stems that spread far and wide over the low bushes.

Although the air was cooled by a pleasant breeze, the direct rays of the sun were very powerful, and we were glad to make a short halt for luncheon near a well, where a small ruined building of rough masonry gave a narrow fringe of shadow. Resuming our route, we soon after recrossed the sluggish stream of the Oued Kseb, whose banks were fringed with Vitex Agnus castus, and with Cyperaceæ not yet in flower. We took this at the time for one of the branches of a river shown on the French map as falling into the Atlantic north of the Djebel Hadid, some twenty miles from Mogador; but we afterwards came to the conclusion that no such river is in existence.

At or near the ford is the boundary of the province of Shedma, much less extensive than that of Haha, but apparently more fertile. The soil now sensibly improved, and there were indications of more careful husbandry. At the same time the larger portion of the surface remained in a state of nature, and gratified our botanical appetites by a display of many novelties. The varied species of Genista, that are so conspicuous in North Marocco and the Spanish peninsula, were here little seen, but are replaced by several allied genera. Cytisus albidus and Anagyris fœtida are especially prominent. Withania fruticosa, a curious Solanaceous shrub, which we had already seen near Casa Blanca and during the morning ride, here became extremely common; but what most interested us was Linaria ventricosa of Cosson, a large species, with stiff erect branches three or four feet in height, first found in the adjoining province of Haha by M. Balansa, and which we afterwards saw to be widely spread through South Marocco, and one of the characteristic features of the flora.

The dwarf fan-palm (Chamærops humilis, or palmetto of the Spaniards), much less common in Marocco than it is in the hotter parts of Southern Europe, was here rather abundant, perhaps because it is one of the few plants that the locusts are unable or unwilling to devour.

As we rode onward, gradually ascending over a gently undulating country, this became constantly more productive. In two or three places the people were cutting tolerable crops of ripe corn; the olive, fig, and pomegranate became frequent, and for the first and last time we saw the former tree cultivated with care, pruned, and apparently manured.

The sun had just set when we at length reached our camp outside the large castle of the Governor of Shedma, and found our interpreter and other attendants anxiously awaiting our arrival. The tents were already pitched, and our heavy luggage was in its place. We should have been glad to eat a moderate repast in peace, lay out the plants collected during the day, and retire to rest; but that would have been nowise suitable to the dignity of a party travelling under the especial protection of the Sultan, and whose importance had doubtless been exaggerated to the utmost by the inventive talents of our interpreter. In the absence of the Governor, his son, a stout overfed man of forty, welcomed us on our arrival, and invited us to dine in the kasbah, and of course courtesy required us to accept the invitation. After a brief toilet, we proceeded to enter the castle, and were led through open spaces to the inner building, which forms the dwelling of the Governor, and then through a court, with flower-plots in the centre, to a large and handsome hall, where we were to be entertained. As usual, there was little furniture, save several showy Rabat carpets, but we noticed three or four ornamental French timepieces in a recess where it would appear that the Governor or his son were used to sleep. Besides our host, there was present a grave man whose features differed much from the ordinary Moorish type. He turned out to be a Turk who had already passed several months as a guest in the Governor’s castle. We never understood accurately what had brought him so far from Istamboul; but we were led to believe that he had come on some informal mission, and that its traditional jealousy of foreigners, nowise confined to Christians, had led the Moorish Court to interpose obstacles in the way of his advance into the country.

After a quarter of an hour’s interchange of civil speeches, conversation began to flag; but the Governor’s cook, who perhaps wished to display his professional skill on the occasion, was yet far from completing his operations. Quite an hour passed, we were tired and sleepy, and our fat host showed no talent for conversation, so that the time hung heavily enough until the usual preface to dinner, green tea, was introduced. Doubtless the entertainment was everything that a Moorish connoisseur would have thought refined and exquisite. Orange-flower water was provided for washing the fingers, and incense was burned at the beginning of the repast. Our host was attentive enough to pick out and present to us choice pieces of meat or vegetable from the dishes that followed each other in slow order, but he fortunately did not think it necessary to show the utmost mark of hospitable attention by taking an especially delicate morsel from his own mouth and thrusting it into that of a guest. It was quite ten o’clock when, after further potations of green tea, we returned to our tents. Presently Hooker was requested, through Abraham, our interpreter, to receive the mona, or offering of food, which, in accordance with the Sultan’s order, was to be provided at each place where we stopped on our journey. The mona on this occasion befitted the dignity of the Governor of an important province rather than the wants of three travellers who had just been abundantly fed, and whose retinue could not, with the best intentions, consume one half of the articles supplied.

Opposite the door of our large tent a number of the Governor’s servants appeared, the whole group being lit up by torchlight. First, five live sheep were dragged forward, then twenty fowls, then followed a large hollow dish filled with eggs. To these succeeded a very large earthen jar of butter, and another of honey, a package of green tea, four loaves of sugar, candles of French manufacture, which are largely imported, and finally corn for our horses and mules. As if all this were not enough, there then advanced a procession of men, carrying the usual large dishes with beehive covers, each of which in turn was laid down before Hooker. It may be here mentioned that the presentation of mona was henceforward a daily ceremony, repeated every evening, some time after our arrival in camp. The requisition was made by the soldiers of our escort upon the local authority, whether a governor or a mere village sheik; and this was a part of their duties which they performed with unfailing zeal and punctuality. On such an occasion as the present we had no fear of pressing too hardly on the donors of the mona; but in poor places, and especially in the valleys of the Great Atlas, we had an unpleasant feeling that the exorbitant demands of our rapacious escort imposed a heavy tax on the limited means of the population.

Struggling against sleep, we diligently worked at our plants till long past midnight, and then, at length, sought rest after our first day’s journey in South Marocco. On the morning of April 30, we were up betimes, and had an opportunity of viewing the kasbah. It is a large pile of building, enclosed by a high wall, within which there is space for great numbers of horses, camels, and domestic animals of all kinds, with dwellings for the numerous retainers and rooms for guests, all separate from the central block which forms the residence of the great man, his family, and personal attendants. Except that it is mainly built of tapia, or blocks of mud, rammed into square moulds and hardened in the sun, this and other similar buildings in Marocco differ little from the castles which the semibarbarous feudal chiefs inhabited throughout a great part of Europe in the so-called ages of chivalry, and down to the beginning of the last century. A more extended acquaintance with the country afterwards showed further points of comparison. There is not one of these kasbahs that has not been the scene of atrocious deeds of cruelty and treachery, such as we find in the records of most of our mediæval strongholds. When we shudder at tales of Moorish atrocities we are apt to forget that they merely disclose an anachronism, no way surprising in a country that has stood altogether aloof from the influences that have brought Europe to a condition of relative civilisation.

The kasbah of Shedma is well placed, on nearly flat ground, at the summit of one of the highest of the undulating hills that intervene between the coast and the great plain of Marocco, standing, by our measurements, 1,430 feet (436 mètres) above the sea level. The view over the gently heaving surface of the lower hills to the south was very pleasing. The slopes covered with short herbage, the green now beginning to turn brown and yellow, are studded with trees, chiefly Argan, olive, and fig, sometimes in clumps, sometimes dotted over the surface. Close to us, adjoining the gate of the kasbah, were several very fine Argan trees just coming into flower.

We were rather late in this morning’s start, and it was near 9 A.M. when, after the tents and luggage were packed, we got under way, accompanied by our host of last night, the Governor’s son, who volunteered to show us his father’s garden, of which he was evidently proud. We rode down the hill, and soon reached a place called the ‘Tuesday Market’ (Souk el Tleta), beside which we were to inspect the first example we met of Moorish horticulture. The enclosed space, about an acre in extent, was divided into oblong beds, in which the only cultivated flowers were roses and marigolds, growing amidst an abundant growth of weeds. Along with these we noticed several beds of mint, which is in constant requisition for mixing with green tea.

At the open space of the ‘Tuesday Market,’ our host took leave of us. We had not thought it necessary to make him a present, but he had no hesitation in asking for such small articles as caught his fancy. Maw had beguiled the tedious hour of waiting for dinner last night by exhibiting the combustion of magnesium wire, and complied with a request to that effect by giving up a small portion of his store. The Moor had spied a small lens in the hands of Crump, Hooker’s servant, and now asked for that. He next begged for some trifling European article belonging to Abraham, our interpreter, and finally for a box of fusees, the last possessed by Ball.

In a country where shops are unknown, except in a few large towns, the only chance for obtaining anything which the peasant cannot raise on his own ground is at the nearest market. These are held at some selected spot throughout the inhabited parts of the country, not always near a village, and the place takes its name from the day of the week on which the market is held. We found this place to be 1,183 feet (360·3 m.) above the sea level.

Our way now lay for some distance amidst enclosed and cultivated land, through green lanes bordered by shrubs covered with climbing plants. As the enclosures came to an end, and we again found ourselves in an open country dotted with trees, we observed the Argan gradually becoming more scarce, and the Zizyphus more frequent, until the last of the former were seen about ten miles east of the kasbah. Among the smaller shrubs Rhus pentaphylla was prominent. The genus Teucrium is especially characteristic of South Marocco, as may be inferred from the fact that four new species were found by M. Balansa, besides many of those common about the Mediterranean. We here met one of the peculiar Marocco species (T. collinum); and the ever varying T. Polium constantly recurred throughout our journey, from the coast up to over 4,000 feet above the sea.

After several brief halts, requisite for collecting new and rare plants by the way, we rested for half an hour in a shady spot near a well. Up to this point our course since morning had varied between due E. and SSE.; but for the remainder of this day’s journey our general direction was about ENE. The track slowly wound its way upwards amongst hills covered with Retam, till it reached the brow of a rounded eminence that overlooks a wide expanse of treeless plain extending eastward to the horizon, except where some low flat-topped hills were seen in the dim distance. We had now accomplished the first stage of our journey. We had traversed the zone of hilly country lying between the coast and the great plain of Marocco, on the verge of which we here stood. Leaving out of account a few prominences to be spoken of hereafter, the plain appears to the eye quite horizontal; but in fact there is a very perceptible inclination of about forty feet per mile from south to north, as it slopes from the foot of the Great Atlas towards the river Tensift, and a further slighter dip of about ten feet per mile from east to west, between the city of Marocco and Sheshaoua. The deficiency of water at once explains the great change in the vegetation, which was speedily perceptible in detail, but obvious to the eye from the first view of the country newly opened before us. Corresponding to this is a considerable change of climate, arising from the rapid heating of the surface by day, and the no less rapid cooling by radiation at night. We are already far from the equable climate of Mogador; and although the air in the shade is only pleasantly warm, we are happy to have the protection of pith helmets covered by turbans between our heads and the direct rays of the sun.

The verge of the great plain over which we rode this afternoon is far less barren than the portion which yet lay before us; and we found several species characteristic of similar situations in Spain and Africa, along with some others, hitherto undescribed, that appear to be characteristic of this part of Marocco. Thus Artemisia Herba alba became conspicuous, in some places almost covering the surface. Of the more noticeable herbaceous plants here seen were Matthiola parviflora, Gypsophila compressa, Ebenus pinnata (rather common throughout the low country), Onobrychis crista galli, an Elæoselinum, near to E. meoides, and numerous Compositæ, of which Cladanthus arabicus is one of the most conspicuous. We did not notice the fragrant odour which some travellers have found in the flowers of this species. To the same natural Order belong several undescribed plants, which became more abundant as we advanced into the interior of the country, belonging to the genera Anacyclus, Matricaria, Anthemis, and Centaurea.

About half-past four we reached our appointed camping place, at Aïn Oumast, one of the few wells of drinkable water found in the region we had now entered. In the coast zone it would appear that in ordinary years the rainfall is sufficient to enable the natives to raise grain crops wherever the soil is suitable for the purpose; but in the interior, cultivation is limited to the tracts that are capable of irrigation from the streams descending from the Great Atlas, or else to the immediate neighbourhood of wells. The ground around Aïn Oumast had borne a scanty crop of grain, and the rough surface, now baked hard by the sun, was not very comfortable for sleeping upon, even with the intervention of a mattress of cork shavings.

For a short way before our arrival, the main chain of the Great Atlas had for the first time been in view, dimly apparent at a distance of some sixty miles; but as the sun declined towards the horizon, the outlines became clearer, and we naturally watched with increasing interest every feature of that mysterious range seen, even from a distance, by few civilised men, whose recesses we hoped to be the first to explore. We discussed eagerly the question whether some patches of lighter colour represented snow, or merely surfaces of whitish limestone rock; and, as usual, the only effect of discussion was to confirm each in the impression first formed, which it was impossible to verify or disprove unless, by viewing the range from the same direction under similar conditions at a later season, we could discover whether the appearances in question should have altered or disappeared.

The mona presented by the Kaïd or sheik of the place was naturally less profuse than that offered at Shedma, but yet abundant for the needs of our camp. As almost everywhere, save in the remoter valleys of the Atlas, green tea and a quantity of white sugar formed a main feature in the entertainment, and doubtless the most expensive to the poor people who had to provide it.

The day had been warm, though not oppressive, the thermometer probably standing at about 80° Fahr. in the shade, and the fall of temperature during the night was very sensible. Even after the sun had risen on May 1—soon after five A.M.—the thermometer marked only 54° Fahr., but by six A.M. it reached 67°. The observation for altitude gave 1,132 feet (345·5 m.) above the sea; probably too low by fifty or sixty feet, owing to the local effect of radiation in depressing the temperature of the air in contact with the surface.

We were on our way soon after six; and, on leaving behind the bushes and small trees that grow on the skirts of the irrigated ground, we entered on a wide bare plain, stretching unbroken as far as the eye can reach, which forms the most singular feature in the aspect of this part of Marocco. The surface is covered with calcareous rough gravel, mixed in places with siliceous concretions. The scanty vegetation was already nearly all dried up, and it was not without difficulty that we secured specimens of most of the few species that can endure the parching heat and drought. Conspicuous among these was Peganum Harmala, forming at intervals green patches amid the general barrenness. Stipa tortilis was frequent, but mostly dried up, and here and there occurred tufts of a meagre variety of Avena barbata. More interesting than these were a diminutive annual species of Echium (E. modestum, Ball) and two species of Centaurea—one hitherto known as Rhaponticum acaule of Decandolle, the other, before undescribed (C. maroccana, Ball). In its general aspect, and in the character of its vegetation, this region bears a striking likeness to the stony portions of the Sahara, and we were not sorry to include this among our Marocco experiences, though well pleased that the acquaintance was not to be much prolonged.

Some six or seven miles east of Aïn Oumast we passed a short way north of Sidi Moktar, the tomb of a saint much venerated in this region, and the last spot where for a long distance water is to be found at all seasons. This is one of the halting-places, called Nzelas, frequented by ordinary travellers who follow this road. The Nzela is one of the peculiar institutions of this country deserving of some notice. The Marocco Government recognises, at least in theory, the duty of protecting travellers from violence to their persons and goods; for without some provision for the purpose the small amount of trade now existing between the interior and the coast could scarcely continue to exist. As well as all other executive functions, the sovereign commits this to the Governor of each province, who accordingly stations a few armed men at the places where travellers are accustomed to halt. Such a post is a Nzela. It does not imply the existence of any shelter, and still less of any supplies for the sustenance of men and cattle. In a country where the sparse population lives in tents or temporary sheds, the traveller must provide such things for himself; but at a Nzela the wayfarer may count on security from violence, and the guards are entitled to a trifling payment for each beast of burden that is committed to their protection. From any demands of this nature, as well as from the tolls that are levied on passing from one province to another, we were declared by our escort to be free, as personages travelling under the direct authority and protection of the Sultan. The boundaries of the three provinces of Shedma, Mtouga, and Ouled bou Sba met at Sidi Moktar; but such places in Marocco are proverbially unsafe, because they are the frequent resort of robbers and outlaws. In case of a robbery or murder being committed, the people of each tribe throw the blame upon their neighbours, and the men of one province are very shy of attempting to pursue malefactors who take refuge within the boundaries of another. After the commission of many outrages at this place, it was found necessary to transfer a portion of territory to the Ouled bou Sba, at the same time making the Governor of that province and tribe responsible for the safety of those whom business or piety lead to the sanctuary of Sidi Moktar.

As we rode onward the Great Atlas chain remained in view, but dimly seen through the haze that increased with the increasing heat of the day, and ahead of us rose some flat-topped hills of singular aspect which have attracted the attention of all travellers in this region. Some of these hills extend for a considerable distance, while others form small isolated masses; but they agree in two respects—all are flat-topped, and all show a steep escarpment especially on their westward faces. We afterwards saw reason to believe that they all rise about 450 feet above the portion of the plain near at hand, and reach nearly the same height as the plain surrounding the city of Marocco. The general appearance suggested the probability of a former wide extension westward of the latter plain, and subsequent erosion by marine or fluviatile action. As we approached the most conspicuous of these isolated hills, we were struck with the singular appearance of the stunted bushes of Zizyphus Lotus, which form the only arborescent vegetation of this region. From a little distance they looked as if covered by some white-flowered climbing plant, or else laden with white fruit. This appearance was due to the extraordinary number of two species of snails (Helix lactea and H. explanata) that completely covered the branches. We frequently noticed the same appearance afterwards, but nowhere so markedly as here.

Towards the foot of the first and most conspicuous of the hills above mentioned, which bears the inappropriate name Hank el Gemmel (Camel’s back), the plain rises gently rather more than one hundred feet in all; above this the slope of the hill becomes steep, and finally exhibits an almost vertical face at the top. At the foot of the steeper slope, about four hours’ ride from Aïn Oumast, our track passed by an ancient well, now almost dry, and often completely so; and here, under the imperfect shade of a lotus tree, we made a short halt. The direct rays of the sun being very powerful, we were somewhat surprised to find the temperature of the air to be only 77° Fahr. Leaving our escort, we ascended the low but steep hill above the well. The scarped face exhibited a section of the yellowish-white limestone that appears to underlie nearly the whole of the low country between the coast and the base of the Atlas. No fossils were found; and in the present state of our knowledge, or rather ignorance, of the whole region, it seems impossible to fix its position in the geological series. The level summit is capped by a thin layer of coarse chalcedony, in which we recognised the origin of the siliceous fragments scattered over the plain below. This layer would offer resistance to superficial denudation, and account for the tabular forms of the hills, but where these were attacked from below by marine or river action the covering would necessarily be broken up and the fragments scattered over the plain below. With reference to the opinion expressed by Maw in his paper in the Proceedings of the Geological Society, and in the Appendix to this volume, as to the origin of the tufaceous coating of the plain between Aïn Oumast and Marocco, the only difficulty that presents itself arises from the presence of these siliceous fragments on the surface along with the disintegrated tufa. If, as he and other geologists believe, such a superficial coating is due to evaporation from the underlying mass of water charged with carbonate of lime, it seems hard to account for the diffusion of the chalcedony fragments, unless we suppose a submergence of the plain subsequent to the formation of the tufa layer, and a renewed supply of such fragments by further erosion of the hills that formed the sea or river coast line. To confirm this conjecture, we may note the fact that the fragments of chalcedony became progressively rarer as we advanced from the lower portion of the plain over which we this day travelled to the upper level surrounding the city of Marocco.

The summit of the hill was found to be 1,648 feet (502·4 m.) above the sea and 303 feet above the well at its base. It was barren, yet supplied a few additional plants to our collection. Frankenia revoluta was abundant, as was also a lavender somewhat intermediate in appearance between Lavandula multifida of the Southern Mediterranean shores and L. abrotanoides of the Canary Islands. We also found a form of Cotyledon hispanica of Linnæus (Pistorinia hispanica of Decandolle), with pale yellow flowers, intermediate in some respects between the common plant of Southern Spain and P. Salzmanniana of Boissier and Reuter.

Resuming our journey, we bore somewhat south of east over a country similar in character to that traversed in the forenoon, but not showing such a complete dead level surface. On the way we noticed for the first time Cucumis Colocynthis, one of the characteristic plants of the desert region, extending from Arabia and Southern Palestine across the entire of Northern Africa, but rarely approaching the littoral zone. Here, as near Suez and elsewhere, so far as we have observed, this plant is curiously infrequent. Growing as it does in a region where it has few rivals to contend with, and the surface is remarkably uniform, one yet finds but one or two individuals scattered at comparatively wide intervals over the stony plain. The fruits are used in Marocco to preserve woollen clothing from moths, but their purgative qualities do not seem to be known to the native doctors.

Here and there in this part of our route we encountered small blocks of volcanic rock—trap or basalt—as to the origin of which we have no information. We have no grounds for supposing eruptive action to have occurred in this region within a period so recent as that subsequent to the formation of the tufa which covers the whole surface of the lower country, and it is not easy to account for the transport of these blocks from a distance after its formation.

The direct heat of the sun was great in the afternoon, and the way barren and monotonous, so that it was with thorough satisfaction that, on reaching the summit of a slight swelling rise on the plain, at near 5 P.M., we saw before us a green shallow basin, at the farther end of which our eyes rested gladly on the abundant foliage of gardens and orchards. A stream from the Great Atlas, diverted into numerous slender irrigation channels, is the source of this apparent fertility, but so much of the water is taken up in this way that only a trifling surplus remains; and, save after heavy rains, it seems that a mere streamlet flows northward to join the Oued Tensift, the chief river of South-western Marocco. The green that gladdened our eyes seemed to have given but deceptive promise, for we at first entered on a scrub formed exclusively of Chenopodicaeous bushes, including Arthrocnemum fruticosum, Caroxylon articulatum, Suæda fruticosa, and Atriplex Halimus.

The same thing happens here that may be noticed in the neighbourhood of the freshwater canal in the Isthmus of Suez. Where the soil contains a quantity of soluble salts, the first effect of admitting moisture by irrigation is to form a salt marsh, which becomes covered with its own characteristic vegetation; but if the surface is so disposed as to allow the percolation of fresh water, the salts are gradually carried off, the salt marsh is converted into fertile land, and the ugly Chenopodiaceæ disappear. Accordingly, after traversing a broad belt of scrub, we soon found ourselves amidst luxuriant vegetation, and saw our tents, which had preceded us, pitched under the shade of tall fig-trees, in one of the orchards belonging to the village of Sheshaoua. This place is a true oasis, and an abundant growth of fig, olive, pomegranate, apple, plum, and apricot, with an undergrowth of grasses and herbaceous plants, affords a striking contrast to the desert tracts surrounding it.

The vegetation of the irrigated land, excepting a few tall palms, was almost exclusively European; and not without pleasure we gathered many common English species, such as our common bramble, dandelion, charlock, Sisymbrium Irio, Geranium dissectum, Hypochæris radicata, Sonchus oleraceus, Lycopus europæus, Plantago major, Rumex pulcher, Carex divisa, and Scirpus Holoschænus.

The usual mona was sent soon after our arrival; and the local governor, a deputy of the Governor of Marocco, paid a visit of ceremony in the evening. He was a black of nearly pure Negro type, and in all probability originally a slave. We were not then familiar with the fact that slaves frequently rise in Marocco to the highest posts in the State. The body-guard of the Sultan is exclusively recruited among the black population, either voluntary immigrants, or slaves imported young from Timbuctoo. These form the only troops in the country that can be relied on to repress internal disorder, though in case of war with a European Power there is little doubt that the whole Moorish population would respond to an appeal to their patriotism and fanaticism. Whether the same would hold good as to the Bereber tribes of the Great and Lesser Atlas may be much doubted. With these the sentiment of national, or rather tribal, independence is the predominant feeling, and so long as an invader kept aloof from their native valleys they could not be easily moved to action. It naturally happens that an absolute ruler, too conscious of his slight claim on the affections of his own people, is led to prefer men whose prominent virtue is that of the dog—attachment and fidelity to him who feeds them. When it is considered that, in addition, the Negro often possesses far more energy than the Moor, united to at least equal natural intelligence, it may be believed that the rulers of Marocco have shown no want of policy in favouring this section of the population.

The thermometer about sunset stood at 72° Fahr., while in the water flowing beside our camp it marked but 62°. At 1 A.M., when we had concluded our nightly task in laying out our plants, it had fallen to 52°, and rose only to 57° an hour after sunrise, when the barometer was recorded, and gave an estimated altitude of 1,141 feet (347·8 m.), or almost exactly the same as that of Aïn Oumast. The coolness of night temperature throughout this region of Northern Africa doubtless contributes to make the climate not only healthy but favourable to human activity; and it was impossible for us not to speculate at times on a possible, though remote, future, when this may become the home of a prosperous and progressive community.

Early rising does not always mean an early start, and many delays occurred on the morning of May 2, before our caravan was fairly under way at about 9 o’clock. On leaving our encampment, we perceived, on rising ground close at hand, the remains of an ancient town, with stone houses, for the most part in ruins, but some of them still inhabited, and a kasbah or castle of somewhat imposing appearance. We failed to obtain any information as to these buildings, which may probably be of considerable antiquity. It must be remembered that throughout the portion of Marocco inhabited by an Arab population permanent houses are unknown, excepting in the coast towns and the royal cities of Marocco, Fez, and Mekines. The country people live in douars, which are merely groups of rude dwellings, half hovel half tent, usually formed of branches, over which a piece of camel’s hair cloth is stretched, and leaving no wreck behind when choice or necessity leads their inhabitants to remove from one spot to another. Even the Governor’s kasbah, though often a pile of large dimensions, rarely survives a single generation. The great wall and massive towers surrounding it, as well as the building itself, are constructed of unbaked bricks or of blocks of mud half dried in the sun; and save in cases where a son succeeds his father in power, the custom of the country is to level the whole structure to the ground on the death or removal of the occupant. A few seasons complete the work, and nothing remains but a few mounds of clay to mark the site. Thus it happens that in a country of which the greater part is naturally fertile, the stranger may travel long distances without perceiving a trace of human habitations, or any other buildings than the zaouias and koubbas, which are scattered over the country at unequal intervals. By these names are designated the tombs of persons, who, when alive, attained a reputation for sanctity, differing only in the rank which they hold in local estimation. The person over whose remains a zaouia is constructed may be regarded as the patron saint of the tribe or province, while the koubba marks the resting-place of a saint of less renown.

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.