On other evenings the road chosen lies in the direction of the Caves of Hercules, where the samphire grows neglected, and wild ferns thrive in unexpected places.  I remember once scaring noisy seabirds from what seemed to be a corpse, and how angrily the gorged, reluctant creatures rose from what proved to be the body of a stranded porpoise, that tainted the air for fifty yards around.  On another evening a storm broke suddenly.  Somewhere in the centre rose a sand column that seemed to tell, in its brief moment of existence, the secret of the origin of the djinoon that roam at will through Eastern legendary lore.

It is always necessary to keep a careful eye upon the sun during these excursions past the caves.  The light fails with the rapidity associated with all the African countries, tropical and semi-tropical alike.  A sudden sinking, as though the sun had fallen over the edge of the world, a brief after-glow, a change from gold to violet, and violet to grey, a chill in the air, and the night has fallen.  Then there is a hurried scamper across sand, over rocks and past boulders, before the path that stretches in a faint fading line becomes wholly obliterated.  In such a place as this one might wander for hours within a quarter of a mile of camp, and then only find the road by lucky accident, particularly if the senses have been blunted by very long residence in the heart of European civilisation.

[Illustration:  A guide, Tangier]

I think that dinner brings the most enjoyable hour of the day.  Work is over, the sights of sea and shore have been enjoyed, we have taken exercise in plenty.  Salam and his helpers having dined, the kitchen tent becomes the scene of an animated conversation that one hears without understanding.  Two or three old headmen, finding their way in the dark like cats, have come down from Mediunah to chat with Salam and the town Moor.  The social instinct pervades Morocco.  On the plains of R’hamna, where fandaks are unknown and even the n’zalas[4] are few and far between; in the fertile lands of Dukala, Shiadma, and Haha; in M’touga, on whose broad plains the finest Arab horses are reared and thrive,—­I have found this instinct predominant.  As soon as the evening meal is over, the headmen of the nearest village come to the edge of the tent, remove their slippers, praise God, and ask for news of the world without.  It may be that they are going to rob the strangers in the price of food for mules and horses, or even over the tent supplies.  It may be that they would cut the throats of all foreign wayfarers quite cheerfully, if the job could be accomplished without fear of reprisals.  It is certain that they despise them for Unbelievers, i.e. Christians or Jews, condemned to the pit; but in spite of all considerations they must have news of the outer world.