Under the palms, however, it was more agreeable.
Narrow lanes, bordered on either side by high
mud walls, stretched in all directions throughout the
palm-groves. At intervals in these walls doors
were placed to give access to the plantations.
Finding one of these ajar, we pushed it open and
unceremoniously entered into the garden beyond. A
fallen palm trunk offered an inviting seat, and of
tin's I promptly took advantage, and gave myself up
to the enjoyment of that acme of an Arab’s bliss—
dolce fa r niente.
That garden was a delightful spot. Carrots,
parsnips, water-melons, gourds, and other vegetables
covered the ground in luxuriant profusion. Above
these grew quince-trees, apricots, lemons, fig-trees,
and oranges, while over all spread the leafy canopy
of the palm tops, protecting the lower growths from
the scorching rays of the sun. The sunlight filtering
through their interlacing fronds fell in great
splotches of gold upon the tangled greenery below.
Gorgeous dragon-flies darted hither and thither in
all directions. The air was filled with the musical
hum of bees and myriads of tiny insects. Close by
the water babbled through its narrow bed in a segia,
and overhead the doves of the oasis buffeted and
cooed with their soft melodious notes in the tops of
the palms. The air was warm and heavy with the
perfume of orange-blossom and the varied indefinable
scents of a tropical garden.
Even Aissa seemed influenced by the beauty of
the spot. He leant his back against a palm, gazed
sentimentally into the shady recesses of the grove,
A SEARCH FOR THE MASKED TAWAREKS 71
and with all his finer feelings aroused, crooned softly
to himself ‘ The Lament of the Prisoner of Kairowan.’
Somewhere in the Sahara—over there in the
country of the Tawareks, where such wonderful and
mysterious things occur—there is said to be an enchanted
oasis. All kinds of stories are told about
this place. It is said to be planted with the most
splendid palms and fruit trees in creation. In its
midst, surrounded by magnificent gardens, where
fountains play in marble basins, gorgeous singing-
birds warble all day long, and trees bearing precious
stones instead of fruit grow by the side of babbling
streams, a splendid palace is planted. Its walls are
of alabaster, porphyry, jasper, and jade ; the windows
are set in diamonds, rubies, and pearls; delicate
arabesques cover the roofs ; domes and minarets of
gold flash and sparkle in the sun, and the whole is a
dream of Oriental splendour which only the mind of
an Arab could evolve.
Many men have visited that palace, but none
have yet been able to enter its doors. Beautiful
damsels appear upon its roof and beckon to them
from its windows to approach ; but when, in answer
to their invitations, they attempt to enter its walls,
that palace always recedes before them, and no
mortal yet has ever been able to set foot upon its
threshold. Men, captivated by the loveliness of
these sirens of the desert, have followed that palace
about the oasis until they fell and died before its
walls of exhaustion and fatigue, while those beautiful
damsels still stood above them on the roof and lured
them on to destruction.