The Birmingham age-herald., 1906-01-26
LIFE THAT ONE LEADS
 IN DREAMY ALGEClRAS

rock beneath all this hidden life monkeys are playing about the cactuses. One of them Is chained at the door of a powder house and makes faces at passers-by. Be- side him stands British soldier in khaki uniform, wearing the colonial helmet in use In the Indian army.
 What an immeasureable distance seems to separate one from Europe in this mili- tary city, which seems to have been cap- tured only yesterday When night falls, a cannon shot announces that the citadel is closed, and that no one may now enter the city. And khaki soldiers with band of music at their head march through the streets with their fanfare and drive be- fore them swarthy, mottled. picturesque and many colored throng, whom they herd like flock of sheep. Move on," they cry, Just as Dickens policemen cried to little Joe. For these\ are the people of Algeciras who have come here to work. and who must now be sent home across the bay to Spain.
 Then another charming vision floats be- fore my mind. Algeciras is an exquisite city-a little corner of Spain rarely wis., ited by tourists and never frequented by Cooks caravans-the spain of the olden times, the Spain of the ballads and
 
 Gautier-a city all white and blue, with It's quaint, low-built houses it's wrought iron balconies. and it's laurels and rose bushes a-blossom before it's green-shaded windows. The streets are still. and mourn ful, and the grass peeps up from between the cobbestones of the pavement. All Ia as silent as In a sun baked city of the orient l come and go in this strange solitude. Through the half-closed doors l get glimpse of delicious pathios, inner courts adorned with fountains and azule- jos, and with broad-leaved banana trees. laurel, roses and orange trees A fra grance of flowers and ripe fruit hangs over all this drowsy town.
 A bell rings out And thus called ab- ruptly back to realities, see the church in it's little open square surrounded by trees and adorned with stone benches. where aged men sit smoking in silence. What Is going on? The women are at prayer They wear mourning. They groan as they pray, and their tears rain down upon their rosaries. Why are they weeping? Because they are widows and bereaved mothers, whose husbands and sons come no more back to them-dead in Cuba, that island so far, so very far, away Others, more fortunate, returned only yesterday-repatriated soldiers of Spain And so-upon this charming stage with its picturesque setting-there Is wari
 In the highest of high spirits, those soldier boys invade the, wine rooms of AL geciras and drink deep of the pale golden Amontillado Their caps and guns are the sole remnants Of their equipment; many have thrust their bare feet into their alpargates. They are laughing and singing They walk with exquisite young girls-their sweethearts or novias-in the yellow. sun-scorched countryside about Algeciras. through fields of golden maize and among white cisterns surrounded by cactuses, where one meets superbly draped women bearing water-jars on their heads and reminding one of some bibli- cal apparition in Judean sitting. Gaily go the soldiers and the girls, gathering berries from the hedges and red blos- soms from betwixt the spines of the cac- tuses, while down wonder in the gloomy church, women in mourning murmur prayers for those who will never re- turn.