The daily morning journal and courier., 1902-09-06
THE LAND OF THE MOORS
ACCOUNT OF 4 TRIP FROM TAN
 GERS TO FEE.

Interesting aud Picturesque Character of the Natfves-A Simple and Effec-
 tive Way of Preserving the Safety of Travellers.
 "Allahu 'khbar! God is most great" exclaimed Zammoori in shril guttural voice, as he halted his ragged caravan on the slope of a hll. Our muleteer was from Azammoor, the City of the Wild Olive-named in days when Barbary knew not the Arab-at the mouth of the Mn er-Rabeea, or Mother of Grass. After much haggling and shrieking pro- test, he had consented to carry our
 camp from Tangier to Fez, for, though he looked upon the Nazarine with the scorn of true believer he knew the wisdom of the Moorish proverb, When a dog has money, call him my Lord the Hound" A days march with in sight of the sea over sandy dunes clothed with fragrant broom brought us
 beyond the stony ridge of Akabal el Hamra, or the Red Hill. The plough man was unyoking his oxen and the shepherd was driving his flock into the village when we pitched our tents near
 cluster of matched novels walled in
 by a cactus hedge. Slave of the Pro-
 phet, come hither,'' cried Zammoori,
 throwing back the gelab or loose wool
 en cloak that hung from his shoulders
 with the fiowng grace of a Roman toga. A lank figure, clad like a monk, strode out of the gloaming. and the packs were taken from the mules. While the camp was being made ready we visited the debar, or hamlet, in which were more storks than people. The rattle of vel low beaks sounded from every palmet- to-covered roof, for the stork is sacred. To hin-descendant of a, robber who plundered the caravans on the road to Mecca-the women confide the secrets of their hearts.
 Wading through bogs we came to the
 ruin of Ad Mercuri. Only few blocks
 of stone rising among the rank grass
 mark the site of this once important outpost of civilization. Rome has left no impress on Barbary, Ad Mercuri and Volubilis are memorials of her fail
 ure to subjugate the land or to over- come the wis inertiae of the Arabs. Her influence, as we'll as her roads and forts, has vanished like footprints in the dessert. Ascending the plateau of Gharbiya, we halted on the outskirts of market, or fair, to which the people flock once a week. The soko el Arba stretched out Ike a great camp with a black border of horses and mules. Un- der tiny tents reclined courtly Arab merchants, from whose white gelabs ra- diated rainbow -colored silks, and stuffs and threads. Groups of peasant wo- men, with henna-stained fingers and
 lustrous eyes that shone from lashes
 blackened with antimony, squatted
 around and the shrll clamor of bar
 gaining filled the air. Berbers, whose
 bushy forelocks and untamed glance
 proclaimed them from the blad es seeba,
 or lawless land, moved silently about in
 tunics of stiff woven goat hair. Sight
 less beggars in rags shook their empty
 gourds to the wailing cry: Give us
 what is Allahs, O believers!'
 A negro minstrel clashed his iron
 cymbals and went through a graceless
 dance, while the vendor of sticky sweet
 meats drew to him the small people by
 loud praise of Halawat. Swarms of
 flies hovered about the fire over which a
 half-naked Moor grilled minced meat dipped in oil and stuck like a sausage on an iron skewer. Merchants and beg gars must have been content to see us depart for our presence interrupted
 their business. We passed one or two
 saint houses or tombs, the white walls
 and domes of which glistened among
 dark green foliage. It is easy to be a
 saint in Morocco. They have a donkey
 that is a saint because he helped to
 drive cut the Nazarene. All you need do in order to become "holy man" and have your bones deposited under a
 quobah, where the faithful will pray
 and drop pence, is to make up your
 mind not to work, to wander abroad
 muttering prayers over your rosary, to
 abstain from speech with your fellows,
 or to cultivate some other eccentricity.
 Our muleteers held in reverence and
 awe ''holy man" whose noisy inspira-
 tion was derived from gin, which he
 drank openly in their midst But in this treeless land, holy men, even of bad
 character, have their uses-after death.
 Their tombs are set in cool groves of
 olive and palm, wherein the weary
 traveller may reflect that after all the monuments of a mans life are often less useful than the monument of his
 death, for mausoIeum may, at any
 rate, give shelter and shade.
 Before night we reached the hamlet