suggested to the thoughtful that my mother must have
been a European, and I heard one or two ask my man
whether she was a legal wife or a slave 1 In conversation,
however, I was proud and grateful to proclaim
myself a Christian and an Englishman. My native dress
meant after all no more than European dress does on
an Oriental in England: it brought me in touch with
the Moors, and it enabled me to pass among them unobserved.
Each evening quite an enthusiastic crowd used to
gather round my tent door— only kaids and sheikhs got
inside— to sip three friendly cups of green tea
My Moorish . . , , , , . I
Education syrup in approved native style, and each vied
with the other, as occasion offered, to initiate
me into the rites of Mohammedanism. As for improving
my Arabic, that was by no means forgotten, and
many a score of words were thus added to the goodly
stock in my ever ready note-book. Oh that I could
introduce you who read this into that picturesque circle 1
What times we hadl Inside, the cosy quarters for the
night, a bright, warm light, with a group of Moors round
the tea-tray; outside, a larger group, warming their hands
at the charcoal embers, as they diligently use the bellows
to hasten the boiling of our tiny kettle .for the sixth or
seventh time. The darkness beyond is deepened by the
ruddy glow which flickers on their faces. The expression
of their swarthy features is intensified as they listen with
rapt attention to some thrilling tale, or would-be words
o f wisdom from the lips of the village sage, or the description
of some wonder of “ Nazarene L an d ” which
the traveller tells. That's the way to pick up Arabic,
and how to get acquainted with the Moors 1
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD
TO MARRAKESH ON A BICYCLE
t t t HETHER cycling without roads is pleasant or not,
W depends, like so many another question, on the
way in which you look at it. For my part, I enjoyed
it in Morocco immensely, but the other man for there
were two of us— found it less funny. To
Cycling without begin withj j was a novice at “ wheeling,”
having had but one week s practice, and had
not learned what a good road means to the cyclist;
whereas my friend had just been cycling through France.
Then, too, knowing the country and speaking the language,
I derived full benefit from the remarks overheard, which
often lost much in translation. But the inexhaustible
good-humour and wit of my comrade, Dr. Rudduck,
kept us bright, and one realized fully the force of the
Moorish proverb: “ Choose your companion before your
road.” The novelty was something, too, both for us
and the natives, although when at times we had perforce
to walk, it was rather trying to be pitied by passers
by, who wondered why we had not hired mules to
transport such awkward “ luggage” as our machines.
Not only has Morocco no roads, it has also no inns
or hotels after leaving the coast, and the prospect of
unprepared native quarters was not exactly
Baggage relished, especially as we knew from experi-
Arrangements. y r « .
ence what they were like. So we schemed
to carry what we could on our machines, which were
rigged up with frames and carriers on which we were
28