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CHAPTER II.

Start for Tetuan — Vegetation of the low country — Serpent charmers — Twilight in the forest — The Fondak — Stormy night on the roof — Breakfast on the hill — Riff Mountains — A Governor in chains — Fate of high officials in Marocco — Valley of Tetuan — Jew quarter of the city — Ascent of the Beni Hosmar — Vegetation of the Mountain — A quiet day — Jewish population — Ride to Ceuta — Spanish campaign in Marocco — Fortifications of Ceuta — Return to European civilisation — Spanish convict stations in Africa.

On April 10 we started, rather late, for Tetuan, leaving our tents and heavy baggage at Tangier. Our pompous interpreter, Hadj Bel Mohammed by name, whose huge blue spectacles seem to be permanent appendages of the Victoria Hotel, we found forward and intrusive in manner, and indolent and inefficient in action, and altogether of no account as a companion to travellers. Of the two soldiers who formed the escort—one recognised by his taciturnity the inferiority of his position; but the other by his quaint appearance and jocular disposition afforded us much amusement, if not much reliable information. This little fellow is properly called Hadj Mohammed, but he seems to be familiarly known among the English visitors to Tangier by the name of Bulbo. There was nothing military about him, except a very long gun which, throughout our journey, remained carefully covered up in an intricate red cloth case. If by any chance his aid had really been required, and such an unlikely suggestion were admitted as that Bulbo would have done anything else than put spurs to his horse and run away, he would have been driven to beg the attacking party to give him a quarter of an hour’s delay to get ready for action.

The distance from Tangier to Tetuan is only about forty miles; but we decided on stopping for the night at the Fondak,[1] a solitary Moorish caravanserai, about thirty miles distant from Tangier. Hurrying past the accumulations of offal and filth that are shot over the seaward face of the city wall, and indulging in a ten minutes’ gallop over the sandy beach, we left the seashore; and, after riding some way through deep sandy lanes, before long reached a stretch of low cultivated land that extends westward from Tangier to the hills that divide this from the neighbouring provinces of Laraish and Tetuan.

The season was not sufficiently advanced for the flowering of many seaside plants; but there was quite enough to rejoice the eyes of botanists who had escaped from the ghastly spring season of the North when the days grow longer, but only more dreary, and the bitter east wind parches and blasts the young leaves and blossoms that are tempted to their destruction by the mildness of our winter weather. As everywhere on the seaboard of Marocco, the great yellow chrysanthemum (C. coronarium), with florets varying in hue from orange to pale lemon colour, is conspicuous on sea banks, with several fine species of Heron’s-bill (Erodium). In the sands a large purple-flowered Malcolmia (M. littorea) and many Leguminosæ already diversified the aspect of the vegetation; while robust Umbelliferæ, mingled with the familiar eryngo of our own shores, had as yet merely developed their showy leaves.[2] But the characteristic form which chiefly interests the stranger to this region is a grey leafless bush, with long pendulous whipcord-like branches waving in the breeze, that is common among the sandhills, and recurs elsewhere in dry exposed situations. There is something sad in the meagre and drooping aspect of the plant that brings to mind those dismal mourning trinkets, wherein a lock of hair is made to form the effigy of a weeping willow. This is the R’tam of the Moors, whence botanists have formed the name Retama for a small group of brooms, containing a few nearly allied species, that are widely spread throughout the region extending from Spain to the Canary Islands. In the early spring our Tangier plant (Retama monosperma of Boissier) is covered with clusters of small white odoriferous flowers. These had nearly all disappeared, and were succeeded by little hard one-seeded pods, which in some of the varieties ultimately become thick and fleshy, and are much sought after by birds. Not uncommonly the slender branches are laden with clusters of a small species of Helix that at some distance might be taken for fruit.

Without halting, except at one spot to secure some specimens of the great onion (Allium nigrum of Linnæus), we rode pretty fast through the belt of cultivated land that lies between the shore and the hills. The agriculture of this country has probably undergone little change since the earliest historic period. The plough in daily use is the same that is figured on the monuments of ancient Egypt, and with two exceptions the crops are the same— barley, wheat, lentils, vetches, flax, and pumpkins. America has supplied two valuable articles of food—maize and potatoes—and two exotic plants that have become so common as to modify the appearance of many localities—the Agave, or American aloe of British greenhouses, and the Indian fig (Opuntia vulgaris)—both extensively used for hedges, and multiplying freely on waste ground. The last-named plant contributes to the scanty dietary of the natives; but the fruit, when eaten in any quantity, is said to be indigestible, and a potent ally to diarrhœa and dysentery. On reaching the hills, of which we merely crossed some low spurs, the aspect of the vegetation became more varied. The dominant plants were still those we had seen in similar situations about Tangier— the palmetto (Chamærops humilis), the great branched asphodel (Asphodelus cerasiferus), and some spiny species of the Cytisus tribe; but the slopes were covered with a brilliant and varied vegetation, presenting a marked contrast to the comparative monotony of the tillage region. Most of the common orchids were seen, and we admired the many climbing plants that cover the bushes, and even reach the tops of tall trees. The beautiful Clematis cirrhosa is, indeed, less common here than it is in Algeria; but the two forms of Smilax, the spiny and the smooth-stemmed (S. aspera and S. mauritanica), were abundant; and a wild vine is common here, as it is in similar positions on the northern skirts of the Great Atlas, where it is not known to have ever been cultivated for the production of wine. Our chief botanical prize in this part of the day’s ride was a beautiful Cytisus, with silvery white leaves and numerous dense heads of bright yellow flowers (Genista clavata of Poiret).

Throughout all this part of Marocco we were struck by the abundance of a dwarf plant of the artichoke tribe (Cynara humilis), which plays an important part in the domestic economy of the natives. It is almost stemless, and produces (at a later season) a large blue head of flower from the midst of a great tuft of much divided and very spiny leaves. Though not cultivated, it grows in great abundance in waste spots and the margins of fields on clay soil. Great piles of it were exposed for sale about the land gate of Tangier; and every morning whole processions of men, women, children, and donkeys, all laden with the same substance, were to be seen taking the same direction. It was painful to watch the women, half veiled, but not so as to disguise their age and ugliness, staggering onward, with huge bare legs and feet, under balloon-like loads of this spiny burden, tied up in a large coarse cloth. At this season the foliage serves as fodder for animals; somewhat later, when the heads are approaching the flowering state, they are extensively consumed as food for the human population, the end of the stem and the receptacle being eaten raw, as artichokes are in many parts of Southern Europe.

Though, to judge from the extent of tillage, the population cannot be very small in this part of the country, we saw but few habitations, and those of the most miserable description—chiefly low mud hovels in small groups, seemingly built with a view to avoid observation in out-of-the-way spots, and never near to the main track. In this region the natives are of mixed race, partly Moors and partly of Bereber stock, descendants of Riff people, who have come down from their mountains to settle in the low country.

We made our mid-day halt in a rich green level tract that lies between the first and lower hills, and a second and more considerable range which connects the Angera Mountains on the north with the higher mass of the Riff Mountains south of Tetuan. The drainage of this broad valley seems to flow southward till it falls into a considerable stream, descending from the high peaks of Beni Hassan and its neighbouring summits, that reaches the sea on the west coast some eighteen miles south of Cape Spartel. Our eyes were here gratified by the sight of comparatively fine trees, everywhere so scarce in Marocco. Of these the most conspicuous is a southern species of ash, very like the common tree. It is the Fraxinus oxyphylla of Bieberstein, which extends from Southern Russia and the Levant to Spain and Marocco. The leaves and fruit are smaller, but in this district the tree rivals in stature our native British species. Poplars are common beside the streams, which are fringed by tall oleanders and willows, and in drier spots the fig, carob, and olive grow to a large size. The almond tree is also common, but does not appear to have naturalised itself.

Animal life does not seem to be abundant; but some of the birds were new enough to our eyes to diversify the way; The commonest is the stork, which appears, from a sense of entire security, to have assumed a tone of complete intimacy with his human neighbours. He may be seen about the houses, familiar with the little brown-faced, black-eyed boys, or striding majestically through the crops, or wheeling slowly in wide circles through the air, till he suddenly stops, drops his long legs that had been stretched out behind him during flight, and, poising himself on them like an acrobat on loose stilts, comes to rest. A blue headed bee-eater, apparently the same species that is extremely common in South Marocco, was also seen during our ride.

As we began to ascend the main range of hills that still separated us from Tetuan we overtook a couple of wild-looking fellows, one carrying a tambourine, the other a cylindrical basket, who soon showed that they wanted to attract our attention. Our stately interpreter, riding along with his nose in the air, purblinded by his blue goggles, took no notice of them till one sat down and began tom-toming on the tambourine; and Bulbo, ever ready for amusement, soon enticed us to see the snake charmers. These have been so often described, that it is enough to make a few notes on the natural history of the exhibition. The object of the tom-toming—at first gentle and lastly furious—with which the performance commences, is clearly to aid the charmer in his endeavours to addle his brains, and deaden his nervous susceptibility, so that he may better encounter the pain, which, though not intense, must be considerable. His own share commenced by frenzied dancing and bodily contortions, and above all rolling his head violently from side to side. This accomplished, the basket was opened, and after a good deal of hustling two magnificent snakes unwillingly glided out, raised their beautiful heads, looking as proud as swans, glanced scornfully about, and very naturally tried to get back. This the charmer prevented, and still keeping up his abnormal nervous condition by rolling his head and eyes, bullied one of them into biting his arm, and then his hand between the thumb and forefinger, and drawing blood. He next vainly tried to make a snake strike at his forehead, and then prevailed on it to seize on his nose, and lastly on his protruded tongue, where it held on, probably attracted by the moisture, for some seconds, leaving two bleeding wounds on the upper surface of the organ, and as many on the under. With the snakes still hanging about him, the hero concluded the performance by laboriously thrusting a skewer through his cheek, which had no doubt been previously perforated for the purpose; after this the serpents were allowed to retire into the basket, which they were nothing loth to do. In these performances, which have been seen by most travellers in Egypt and India, there is little doubt that the poison-fangs have been previously extracted. Whatever may be said of the effect produced by music on serpents, there is no reason to suppose that it can modify the poisonous effect of their bite, and the real object in these cases is to act on the nervous system of the snake charmer himself. We were glad when the disgusting exhibition was over, and we left the performers well pleased with a gratuity of about eighteen pence—quite as much as five shillings would be to a poor man in England. When once the secret had been learned, many an English bumpkin could be got to undergo the operation for a pot of beer.

As we began to ascend the rugged track that winds up the hills the aspect of the country soon changed. Amidst the brushwood that covered the slopes, old gnarled trunks of wild olive, carob, and lentisk stood here and there—survivors of the forests that must once have covered the country—whose charred stems and maimed branches told a tale of the way in which man’s reckless greed has marred the face of nature here, as in so many other parts of the earth. Our last halt for botanising was near a spring, where the green turf was decked with many small orchids—all of them possibly forms of Ophrys lutea. We were not then acquainted with the careful observations of the late Mr. Treherne Moggridge, who completely proved that the differences in the form and colouring of the corolla which have been supposed to separate several species of the genus Ophrys are variable, even on the same plant; but our passing remarks entirely tally with his conclusions. As we lingered, the sun sank below the horizon; we unwillingly hearkened to the exhortations of our followers, who seemed to grow uneasy at the chance of being benighted, and pushed on towards our resting place.

The weird figures of the stunted and maimed monsters of the forest drew closer together as we neared the crest of the hill, and, in the fast growing gloom, assumed at each moment a more wild and threatening aspect. Bare branches standing against the sky, and eye-like holes in the black hollow trunks, were transfigured by the fancy; and to at least one of us the tale of Sintram, and Albert Dürer’s quaint old woodcut, supplied additional elements to the mental picture; until, as we emerged from the wood, the note of the cuckoo, bringing a whole train of home associations, suddenly broke the spell. We rode onward, and soon stood before El Fondak, the most stately place of shelter for travellers in the Marocco Empire.

From without this shows a rather imposing aspect, resembling that of a hill fort. A strong wall, some eighteen or twenty feet in height, without window or opening of any kind, except a central gate, surrounds a large court-yard. We had been warned that the accommodation within was not good, and we were not long in coming to the same conclusion.

The large quadrangle formed a sort of stable-yard, wherein were littered camels, horses, mules, and donkeys. The surrounding enclosure, covered with a flat stone roof, was walled in on two sides, and on the others formed a range of open sheds wherein the camel drivers piled their burdens, or the keeper of the caravanserai sheltered his cattle. On the other sides a series of doors gave admission to as many small cellars, or dungeons, with no other opening than the door for admitting light or air, empty, except for remnants of dirty straw and rubbish, but apparently tenanted by every imaginable variety of insect and creeping thing. The keeper of the caravanserai, a repulsive-looking old man, threw open one of the doors, and explained that the apartment had been reserved for our use. No deliberation was necessary on this occasion, for a unanimous declaration burst from our lips—nothing would induce us to enter such a filthy den—and we at once announced our intention to pass the night upon the roof. Our luggage was accordingly conveyed up through a narrow stone staircase, and we proceeded to prepare our frugal supper, of which portable soup was the chief ingredient, and soon afterwards to make our arrangements for the night.

Our so-called interpreter had become altogether obnoxious to us. During our mid-day halt he had coolly appropriated the most comfortable spot in the shade, devoured most of our oranges, and plainly showed that he had no notion of taking the slightest trouble about a set of Frankish lunatics, who spent their time in grubbing up little weeds by the roots, and looking at them through bits of glass. He relieved us altogether of his presence this evening; and we felt a certain satisfaction in thinking that his well-fed carcase would during the night supply wholesome and abundant food for the legions of hungry insects that tenanted the ground-floor of our hotel. Old Bulbo, whether because he shared our preference for the clean and airy quarters on the roof, or because he wished to display his zeal for our protection, installed himself with the long gun in the red case at a convenient distance, while we, after slowly consuming the evening cigar, unrolled our cork mattresses, and prepared our bivouac. We scarcely noticed at first the peculiar construction of the roof. Round three sides of the building there was a low parapet wall, but none whatever towards the front, where the flags sloped slightly outwards, and ended abruptly at the edge of the outer wall of the building. The stars shone brightly in the sky, and a pleasant breeze from the east fanned our faces as we lay down to rest on the front part of the roof, congratulating ourselves on the excellence of our quarters, when compared to the misery we had escaped below. Before long the breeze freshened, the night grew cooler (55° Fahr.), and we were glad to lace the oilcloth covers of our mattresses so as to keep out the keen air. Before doing so, Hooker judiciously laid an empty box on the windward side, and steadied it by placing within it two or three bottles of wine, and a few other luxuries for our consumption, his watch, and such other miscellaneous articles as lay at hand. Snugly ensconced in our coverings, oblivion soon crept over us, and we slept, it is hard to say how long. A horrid crash, and the fall of a heavy body between the adjoining sleepers, startled two of them into sudden consciousness. It was something like what happens in the saloon of a steamer, when a heavy sea strikes the ship, and, amidst a smash of broken glass and crockery, one is suddenly roused from one’s sofa by the unexpected visit of one’s neighbour’s travelling bag and hat-box. The cause of the phenomenon was the same, though the position was very different. The wind had risen to something more than half a gale, and seemed much inclined to sweep clear away from the stone roof everything that was not firmly fixed in its place. As we lay tightly laced in our oilcloth covers, like the chrysalis in its case, it cost some struggling and wriggling to get ourselves free, and rush to the rescue of our property, which was careering along the roof before each gust of wind that struck the building. Several articles had already been carried away over the edge; but the moon, shining brightly from amidst the light scudding clouds, helped us to recover everything of importance. The watch and note-book were safe; but the contents of a broken bottle of claret had somehow run under the cover of Hooker’s mattress, and, placed as we were, the attempt to rearrange it was something like the classical difficulty of ‘swopping horses in the middle of a stream.’ Cautiously creeping about to see what had befallen our companions, we found the faithful Bulbo (with more practical meteorological instinct than we had displayed) safely ensconced on the lee side of the low parapet. The shapeless heap, rolled up in the multitudinous folds of a white haïk, could not have been recognised, but for the inevitable long gun in the red case that lay beside it.

Little sleep was to be expected for the remainder of the night, and with the first light we began to move. Though the wind was falling, we could not attempt to avail ourselves of Maw’s cooking apparatus, and we agreed to postpone breakfast till we should reach some more sheltered spot. The vegetation here was little advanced, and we saw but few plants in flower, save a little yellow Lithospermum (L. apulum), on our way to the top of the pass, which was covered with low brushwood and shrubs of the same species that we had seen near Tangier.

We halted in a hollow place near the highest point, where we strangely omitted to take observations for altitude; and after a slight repast hurried down the slope in a SSE. direction, towards the valley of the Tetuan river. We here enjoyed a fine view of the snow-streaked mass of the Riff Mountains, which we may call, from their best known peak, the Beni Hassan Group.

The mountain ranges of the Riff—extending for about 180 miles from Tetuan to the mouth of the Oued Moulouya, which lies very near the French frontier—undoubtedly form a part of the system of the Lesser Atlas of Algeria; but, if we may trust the maps and such scanty reports as can be picked up, they constitute a separate group, not continuous with the coast range of Western Algeria. The true relations between the main range of the Lesser Atlas of Algeria and the diverging ranges of the Great Atlas that extend over the region S. and SE. of Fez must remain unknown so long as the latter region remains inaccessible to European travellers. The river Moulouya and its eastern branch, the Oued Za, mark the existence of two considerable valleys, and it is probable that the very sinuous course laid down for both those streams in the French map may be founded on native reports approximately correct; while it is quite certain that the adjoining mountain ranges as shown on that map differ very widely from the truth. A traveller going from Fez to the mouth of the Oued Moulouya, in a direction slightly north of due east, traverses a broad valley, with the Riff Mountains on his left, lying between him and the Mediterranean coast, and the northern branches of the Great Atlas on his right. Somewhere near Theza he reaches the watershed between the region that is drained towards the Atlantic through the Oued Sebou and the basin of the Oued Moulouya, but seemingly without having to make any considerable ascent. He descends to the Moulouya—or rather he would do so if the powerful Halaf tribe, who hold that region, allowed strangers to pass—where that river, after cutting its way through the unknown region between the Great and Lesser Atlas, enters a wide plain, some forty or fifty miles in extent each way. Before reaching the sea, the valley is again narrowed. On one side is the eastern extremity of the Riff Mountains, and on the other a range of lofty hills that may be considered as spurs of the Lesser Atlas of Algeria.

Before quitting this dry subject, it is necessary to remark that, even as regards the relatively well-known district near Tangier and Tetuan, the best maps are far from complete accuracy. In the French War Office Map—undoubtedly the best map of Marocco—the hill shading gives far too much importance to the comparatively low hills running from WSW. to ENE. on the south side of Tangier, and not enough to the range which we crossed between El Fondak and Tetuan. This extends from the main mass of the Beni Hassan to Ape’s Hill opposite Gibraltar, and divides the waters running to the Atlantic from those of the Tetuan river. Over against this (which we had just crossed) rose a parallel and more lofty range, terminating in the bold craggy mass of the Beni Hosmar (B. Aouzmar of the French map), rising steeply from the valley opposite Tetuan, and to ascend this was the main object of our present excursion.

Soon after we entered the main valley, and were riding along a broad track parallel to the Tetuan river, we came upon a group that for the first time brought home to us an illustration of the true condition of society in this country. A body of armed horsemen, many of them true Negroes or mulattoes, were resting beside the way, broken up into lively groups, laughing and chattering together. Amongst them was a solitary man, poorly clothed, and, as we observed, laden with heavy chains. He kept his back turned towards the track, and seemed to take advantage of the halt to dip his feet into the brook that ran along beside it. So numerous an escort in charge of a single prisoner suggested something unusual, and we were led to make inquiry. According to the story retailed to us, the chained captive was lately the powerful governor of a distant province, who had offered a stout resistance when summoned to the capital to give an account of his administration. It is well understood in Marocco that such summons, whether framed as a peremptory order or a flattering invitation, has but one meaning—that the time has come when it seems to the Sultan or his counsellors that the wretched governor should be ‘squeezed,’ or, in other words, be forced by torture to surrender whatever wealth he may have hoarded. As the appointment of a new governor generally means that the province will be subjected to fresh impositions and extortions, the people are apt to side with the old governor, and sometimes, in a country where the central power is so feeble, a man, by a judicious combination of force and bribery, may long keep the government at bay, and escape the miserable fate that usually awaits him. Our prisoner, apparently, was too formidable a man to be safely kept at Fez or Marocco, and was therefore sent to Tetuan, the extreme limit of the territory, there to undergo such torture as might be necessary to extort confession of the hiding place of his treasure, unless, through ill-judged obstinacy, he should die in torments before disgorging as much as might be expected. No better illustration of the system can be found than the fact that strangers are informed, as of something extraordinary and unexampled, that one old man now lives at Tetuan who long held a high and confidential post in the government, and yet was allowed to retire without being ‘squeezed!’ The truth is, that he had gained the good-will and confidence of the representatives of the European Powers, and that it was urged upon the late Sultan that the credit of his government would suffer, if, after a long course of faithful service, the minister were to undergo the common fate of his colleagues.

Some twenty years before, when one of our party visited Tetuan, the whole province was thrown into confusion by one of these customary acts of the then reigning Sultan. Hash Hash, a man of unusual capacity and energy, had governed the province of Tetuan for many years with extraordinary success. He kept the turbulent Riff mountaineers in order, and, so it was said, Jew and Christian, under his rule, enjoyed the same security as the Moor. At length he received messengers from the Court with the gift of a white horse richly caparisoned, and an autograph letter from his sovereign full of commendation and winding up with an invitation to the capital, then fixed at Fez. He started on the fatal journey, but arrived only to be flung into a dungeon and subjected to daily torture. Soldiers were sent to Tetuan, where his house was pillaged, his wives and children led to prison, while the absence of all control led to a rapid growth of crime in the district, and life and property were no longer thought safe in the surrounding country.

The approach to Tetuan presented the most picturesque scene that we anywhere beheld in Marocco. Begirt with a lofty wall, set at short intervals with massive square towers, the city shows from a distance only a few mosques and a heavy, frowning heap of masonry that forms the castle or citadel. It stands on the slope of a limestone hill, some two hundred feet above the river, which flows through a broad valley, rich with the most brilliant vegetation. After riding for hours over the thirsty hills, it was a delight to rest the eyes on the patches of emerald meadow, and on the darker green of the luxuriant orchards, where the best oranges in the world grow along with figs, almonds, peaches, and all our common tree fruit. Amidst all this wealth of greenery many a little white house—a mere cube of chalk—gleamed brightly. Most of these seem to belong to peasant owners, but some are kiosks to which the wealthier inhabitants repair to escape from the heat and bad air of the town.

We were not yet familiar with the squalor and neglect that seem the inevitable characteristics of a Moorish town, and it was a disappointment to find the interior of Tetuan correspond so ill to the picturesqueness of its outward aspect. After riding between high walls, apparently forming an inner defence to the town, we went through some streets of mean aspect, and, traversing one wide open space, passed under an interior gate guarded by a sentry, and found ourselves in a labyrinth of narrow alleys decidedly cleaner than the remainder of the city. This is the Jewish quarter, where, as in the Jewry or Ghetto of mediæval Europe, the children of Israel are required to live apart, within a wall and gates that are locked at night, and where they seem to manage their own affairs with little interference from the Moorish authorities. We soon established ourselves in very fair quarters at the house of Isaac Nahum, who acts as clerk and interpreter at the single consulate which of late years has watched over the safety of all Europeans who happen to reach Tetuan whether by land or sea. Since the war in which Tetuan was taken by the Spanish troops—their solitary achievement during the last sixty years—the Government of Spain has desired to maintain its influence in this part of the country by the presence of a consul; and the other European States have willingly taken advantage of his presence. The duties cannot be heavy, for few strangers now visit Tetuan, although up to the year 1770 it was the residence of all the European consuls. The beauty of its site, the excellence of its oranges and other fruit, and the reported superiority in refinement of its inhabitants, both Moorish and Jew, do not compensate for the difficulty of access by sea, since none but the smallest class of coasting vessels can cross the bar at the mouth of the river. This is guarded (or was so up to the time of the Spanish war in 1859) by a massive square tower, without door or other apparent opening. A Christian boat from Gibraltar, in which one of us had formerly arrived, was hailed from the summit of the tower. After a preliminary parley, a rope ladder was let down from the top, some seventy or eighty feet, and a black soldier scrambled down with great activity, the final result of the parley being that the strangers, after payment of some trifling harbour dues, were sent to the town, a distance of five or six miles, under the escort of a soldier.

Whether because there really is some slight diminution in the feeling that has so long excluded strangers, and especially Christians, from the interior of Marocco, or that previous travellers had happened to make the attempt at unfavourable conjunctures, we found that the letter to the Governor given to us by Sir J. D. Hay was scarcely required, and no difficulty was raised about the requisite official permission to ascend the Beni Hosmar, as the mountain mass is called, which forms the end of the chain extending northward from the Beni Hassan.

One of our party had already succeeded in ascending about half the height of the mountain; but the only European known to have reached the upper ridge was the late Mr. Barker Webb, the author of the ‘Phytographia Canariensis,’ and other important botanical works. He effected his object by liberal expenditure, having begun by a present of 40l. to the Governor, besides handsome rewards to those who were sent with him.

We had no occasion to follow this example. The protection of the British Government, and the interest shown in our journey by the British Minister, were quite sufficient arguments on our behalf, and with the courteous assistance of the Spanish consul the arrangements for our excursion were soon settled. The requisite orders were issued by the Kaïd, and two soldiers were appointed, along with our Tangier men, to escort us on the following morning.

In spite of the usual delays, we started in good time on the morning of the 11th, and, descending over successive ledges of tufa, forming terraces for gardens and orchards, soon reached the level of the river, which was easily forded. The air was cool (55° Fahr. at 6 A.M.), the sky bright, and the hedges gay with the evergreen rose (R. sempervirens), and the large-flowered form of the hedge convolvulus (C. sylvatica), which in the South replaces our more modest Northern form, C. sepium of Linnæus. A short ascent among trees and high hedges took us clear of the cultivated land, and the aspect of the country at once changed. The upper part of the mountain is disposed in tiers of limestone crags, irregularly disposed, and therefore offering no difficulty for the ascent; but round the base are rather steep and very arid slopes, formed, in great part, of old accumulations of débris fallen from the upper crags. The most conspicuous shrubs are lentisk, oak scrub, Juniperus phœnicea, and several Cisti; but the palmetto successfully contends against its rivals, and in some places quite covers the soil. It disappears, however, before one reaches the middle height of the mountain, and the limit of its free growth, not taking account of a few scattered and stunted specimens, was found to be 1,227 feet (374 mètres) above the sea. The prevailing species, however, were small shrubby Leguminosæ. Of these the most trying to the temper of the botanist is Calycotome villosa. This and the allied species (C. spinosa) are very common in the warmer parts of the Mediterranean region, and the stiff spiny points of the numerous branches are most effective in tearing the clothing and the skin of anyone who approaches them.

We followed a tolerably good cattle track which wound upwards to the right, in a southerly direction, towards the upper part of the mountain. Before reaching its middle height, on some crags facing towards Tetuan, we found a peculiar saxifrage (S. Maweana), first collected by Mr. Webb more than forty years before, but which, with several others, remained unknown and undescribed in his Herbarium. Maw refound the plant in 1869, and has successfully cultivated it, along with many other Marocco rarities, in his garden in Shropshire. On the same rocks, besides numerous interesting plants not yet in flower, we gathered a curious crucifer (Succowia balearica) which must flower very early as the fruit was already approaching maturity.

As we really desired nothing more than to be let to wander about on the mountain according to our own fancy, we were rather pleased than otherwise when our escort of four soldiers with the guide, seeming to think that they had done enough of mountaineering after an ascent of some two thousand feet, proceeded to instal themselves, with the horses, who enjoyed a day of rest, in a pleasant spot, and showed no sign of pushing the enterprise farther. A steep slope now led us up to the rocky ridge of the mountain commanding a wide view, and overlooking a deep glen on the seaward side of the mountain. Here, in spite of the early season, we found several plants in flower that excited in us a lively interest. A little polygala, with rich purple red flowers, reminds one much of the red variety of P. chamæbuxus that is often seen in the Eastern Alps, but appears to be quite distinct. A chrysanthemum, differing little from an Algerian species, was our first acquaintance amongst a group of forms that is especially characteristic of the flora of the Great Atlas. But we were, perhaps, still more pleased to find on these heights, far removed from the nearest known station, some descendants of a suffering race that must, at some remote period, have been widely spread throughout Europe, the bright-flowered Ranunculus gramineus. Although it is still found at several places in France, in a few spots in the Alps, and in Spain, it appears to have disappeared from the Apennines within the last two centuries, and to be everywhere losing ground. When the rapacity of collectors shall have reduced it elsewhere to the condition of a vegetable Dodo, future travellers may rejoice that it has found a refuge in this corner of Africa. The distribution of the genus Ranunculus, in nearly every known country, supplies many topics for thought and inquiry. There are very few regions where the unbotanical traveller fails to recognise the familiar buttercup of his youth; yet, if he examines the plants, he will find well-marked differences in the leaves, the fruit, the stem, or the root, though the flowers may be scarcely distinguishable. Since our first landing in Marocco, buttercups had met us in all directions; but they nearly all belonged to one variable species, R. chærophyllos, widely spread round the warmer shores of the Mediterranean. In shady places we had a few times gathered another North African species, R. macrophyllus, and on this mountain we found a few specimens, already past flower, of R. spicatus; but of all the common species of Britain and Middle Europe, not one had been seen, unless we count the ubiquitous white-flowered species of our ditches, R. aquatilis.

From the time we first got a clear view of our mountain we had fixed on a range of beetling crags, not far below the summit, which promised to afford an excellent habitat for rare plants. The promise was kept, for we had scarcely approached their base when with joyful cries we saluted one of the chief prizes of our excursion. From clefts on the face of the rock hung great leafy tufts, quite a yard in diameter, supported on stems as thick as a man’s arm. The flowering branches produced an abundance of yellow flowers, then just expanding and only partly opened. We should have set it down as a new and very luxuriant species of wild cabbage, but that we happened to know that the fruit is entirely different, so much so as to constitute a very distinct genus of Cruciferæ. Mr. Webb, who probably gathered the plant at this very spot, described and figured it, in the ‘Annales des Sciences Naturelles,’ under the name Hemicrambe fruticulosa; but the original specimen seems to have been lost or mislaid, and no one had since laid eyes upon the living plant. The same rocks produced abundantly the beautiful Iberis gibraltarica, besides many fine plants not yet in flower, amongst which we recognised the rare Spanish centaurea, C. Clementei.

As seen from Tetuan, the ridge above the rocks appeared to lead very directly to the not distant summit of the mountain; but when, after a short scramble, we had set foot upon it, we clearly saw our mistake. At about a mile and a half from where we stood, and separated from us by a rather profound depression, was another ridge, some three or four hundred feet higher, which might or might not be surpassed by more distant prominences in the same range. It would have been easy to reach the farther summits, but we thought our time better spent in carefully examining the part of the mountain within our reach. Various indications, such as the disappearance of several species that are abundant lower down, and the much more backward state of the vegetation, went to prove that the climate of the upper plateau is sensibly different from that of its middle region; but there was little to show that we had reached the limit of a true mountain, much less that of a subalpine flora. We had, indeed, already found a variety of the large-flowered Senecio Doronicum, which in the Alps and Pyrenees ascends even to the Alpine region; and near our highest point Ball found a form of Erodium petræum, which in the Pyrenees and Northern Spain usually attains the subalpine zone. The season was still too little advanced; and the naturalist who will follow our footsteps about the beginning of June may expect a much richer harvest.

Having taken observations for altitude, which give height of about 3,040 feet above the sea for our station, we halted a few minutes to enjoy the noble panorama that was spread out below us. On the western side successive undulations of the ground—range beyond range of low hills—melted away into the horizon, but as the eye turned northward it rested on a more varied picture. To the right of the Angera Mountains and Ape’s Hill a small dark islet seemed to stand out from the Spanish coast. In this we scarcely recognised Gibraltar, for the shadow of a cloud happened to rest on its grey limestone cliffs. To the right extended a long reach of coast line, foreshortened from the promontory of Ceuta to the mouth of the river below Tetuan, with the much more distant outline of the Serrania de Ronda in the background. Then as we turned eastward, though the view was partly interrupted by projecting spurs of the mountain, we followed the long outline of the coast range of North Marocco, the secure refuge of the unconquered Riff tribes, whose fastnesses have never been profaned by the presence of an alien master. Some patches of dark shade evidently indicated forests, and these may probably consist wholly or in part of the Atlantic cedar, although that tree is not positively known to grow in Marocco.[3]

In order to cover as much ground as possible during the descent, we here agreed to take different directions, and lost sight of each other for some time. Hooker came upon a small mountain village, or hamlet, where several Bereber or Riffian families were crowded together in hovels built of mud mixed with stone, and rather better fitted to resist the weather than the sheds we had seen in the plain. Conversation was not practicable, but there was no indication of ill will on the part of these people. The only attempt at intercourse was on the part of one sturdy man who apparently requested a pinch of snuff, but declined the offer of a cigar. The use of tobacco for smoking appears to be unknown in Marocco, while kief—prepared from the chopped leaves of common hemp—is almost universally employed for that purpose both by Moors and Berebers; but snuff is in general request, and is imported in considerable quantities, both by regular traders and by smugglers who profit largely by the heavy duty.

In descending the mountain we observed large patches of a species of furze, smaller and stiffer in habit than our common gorse—the Ulex bæticus of Boissier—one of a group of nearly allied forms that replace our British species in the south of Spain and Portugal, and the neighbouring shores of Marocco.

On rejoining our so-called escort, we agreed that the track was too steep to make riding pleasant; and thus we all descended on foot till near the foot of the mountain, when a proper care for their dignity compelled the soldiers and the guide to remount.

We returned to our quarters in the town before the sun had set, and closed a very enjoyable day by reviewing our botanical prizes as we laid them into paper to undergo the first step in the process of their preservation. As usual the evening cigar accompanied our discussion as to future proceedings, and to its soothing influence we doubtless owe the fact that these debates always led to a satisfactory conclusion. On this occasion we agreed to divide our small party into two sections and separate for a few days. Maw was anxious to return at once to Tangier, with a view to visit some swamps that lie about ten miles south-west of the town, while Hooker and Ball were desirous of examining the coast between Tetuan and Ceuta. As it appeared that a small stock of Spanish would serve all necessary purposes in the excursion to Ceuta, Maw volunteered to take our disagreeable interpreter and one unnecessary soldier back to Tangier, while Bulbo was willing to risk a visit to the infidels at Ceuta.

On the morning of the 12th Maw departed, but Hooker was unwell. It was decided that a quiet day and the judicious exhibition of moderate doses of cognac, which we owed to the kindness of the Spanish consul, would be the most appropriate treatment; and the result was quite satisfactory.

Ball spent the day in botanising over the hills near the town, and was well satisfied with the result. The rarest plant found was, perhaps, a curious and very distinct fumitory (Fumaria africana of Lamarck), which he had gathered nearly at the same spot twenty years before. The red-flowered Polygala of Beni Hosmar (P. Webbiana of Cosson) was seen in a few spots near the town along with Arabis pubescens; and that singular plant, the Drosophyllum, hitherto seen in Marocco only on the hills west of Tangier, was here found within sight of the Mediterranean, growing along with Helianthemum umbellatum and several other less rare species of the Cistus tribe.

During our stay here we had a good opportunity of seeing something of the life of the Marocco Jews, who form a distinct and important element in the population of the empire. Tetuan has long been one of the head-quarters of the Hebrew race. When most of the chief Moorish families took refuge here after their expulsion from Spain—and some are said still to preserve the keys of their own houses in Granada—many Jews, flying from the faggots of the Inquisition, preferred the comparative toleration of Moslem rule, to the oppression and social disabilities that awaited them in Christian Europe. It was more tolerable to submit to occasional injustice and cruelty which was shared by all classes of society around them than to be daily reminded that they formed a class apart—the proper objects of general contempt and aversion. It is true that until late years the Marocco Jew was exposed to some vexatious regulations. He was required to put off his sandals on passing the outside of a mosque, to wear a peculiar dress, and is still confined to a separate quarter in each town. But in ordinary intercourse between man and man the Jews of the coast towns seemed to us to have attained a footing of almost complete equality, due as well to their superior intelligence and commercial instinct, as to the tolerance which affinity of race and creed has developed among the people of Arab stock. In truth, the Moor feels that the Jew is indispensable to him. In despite of his aversion to intercourse with the Christian, trade, in which the Jew serves as intermediary, has become a practical necessity, and it has procured for him foreign luxuries which he is now little inclined to forego.

In point of fact, Tetuan boasts of being the cradle of more wealthy Jewish families than any other town in the world; and among the practical concessions enjoyed by them, there now appears to be no difficulty in the way of Jews leaving the empire and returning to it, and frequent intercourse is carried on between the city and Europe by the way of Ceuta. The ceremonial observances of the Mosaic law are strictly adhered to. The first question put to us on our arrival was to know whether we had with us leavened bread, as such could not be admitted to the house during the feast of the Passover; and during our stay we were given cakes, some of plain flour, others prepared with orange juice.

The houses are quite on the same plan as those of the Moors, or in other words they merely differ in architectural detail from the ancient type that is preserved for us in the smaller houses of Pompeii. A single court (atrium) has several small rooms or closets used for kitchen, offices, and sleeping place for servants, and one large apartment, the chief living room of the family, filling one side. This remains open to the court by day, but is closed at night by a curtain. On the upper floor a gallery surrounds the court, and into this open upper rooms of moderate size. In Nahum’s house a second floor above the first had been added, but this appeared to be an unusual arrangement. On our arrival we had been struck by the superior neatness and cleanliness of the Jewish, as compared to the Moorish, quarter, and the same remark applied to their persons.

No European traders appear to have settled at Tetuan, and such trade as it possesses is in the hands of the Jews. Oranges, and a sort of brandy, called Mahaya, distilled from the grape, are the chief exports. The coarse pottery made here is much the same as that produced in Algeria and throughout Western Marocco. Rude geometrical patterns in ill-defined blue and green tints are usually enriched by round spots of bright red, laid on with something like sealing-wax over the glazing, and easily removed with spirit. The only thing deserving notice as representing art-manufacture is the gold embroidery, usually worked on silk or velvet. This is used for curtains or hangings by some wealthy Moors, and for personal wear by the Jewish women and children. At this festival season the younger children frequently appeared with caps or diadems richly embroidered; but the women more often wear a light silk handkerchief, with the fringe hanging freely, but kept in its place by a fillet of black or red velvet worked in gold, and forming a very ornamental head-dress.

Travellers have indulged in enthusiastic descriptions of the beauty of the Marocco Jewesses. Those who have visited Tetuan will have seen a fair specimen in the person of our host’s sister, a tall comely girl, free from the tendency to corpulence which is too common, and whose regular features are set off by a pair of fine dark eyes. But those for whom expression is an essential element of beauty in the human countenance will usually find something wanting to complete the attractions of the undeniably handsome women of this country.

It so happened that the occasion was especially favourable for seeing something of the life of the Israelite society of the city. This was the last of the festival days of the Passover, and towards evening there was a large gathering of neighbours in the ground-floor apartments of our house. The women were richly dressed in loose garments of light silk and a profusion of gold embroidery. It was almost impossible to recognise our host’s mother, a corpulent woman, who had hitherto appeared in a shabby costume of the scantiest proportions in which the developments of her ample person were unpleasantly apparent. Arrayed in festival splendour, she now assumed a regal attitude, and her figure appeared to be modelled on that of the nearest Christian potentate, the unregretted Queen Isabella. The men wore long blue coats of the dressing-gown pattern, with white cotton stockings and slippers, and, if not picturesque in appearance, showed to advantage beside our host who, mindful of his dignity as interpreter to the Consulate, appeared in European black frock coat and trousers. The children were especially gorgeous in head-dresses of crimson or purple velvet richly embroidered in gold. During the evening there was an attempt at dancing to the music of an accordion; but the space was too limited, and this was speedily given up. The party continued, however, till a late hour, and midnight passed before the sound of lively talk and laughter ceased in the lower chambers of our house.

On the morning of April 13 we started for Ceuta, about thirty miles distant from Tetuan. The track for several miles lies at some distance from the coast, which on the north side of the mouth of the river forms a projecting headland, called by the Spaniards Cabo Negro. After riding through green lanes, we mounted gradually by a broad path that winds amidst bushy hills for a couple of hours, and then descended towards the sandy shore; and for the remainder of the way kept close to the beach. After fording one or two smaller streams issuing from the marshy pools that lay between us and the hills on our left, we had a little trouble in crossing a more considerable torrent that seems to bring down most of the drainage of the Angera Mountains lying behind Ape’s Hill. The horses’ feet sank deeply in the yielding sand of the bed, though we were able to wade across without difficulty. It was an anxious moment for us as we watched the baggage mules struggling and floundering, until the water rose very nearly to the precious packages of paper that contained the fruits of our work since we left Tangier. Several villages were seen on the slopes of the hills to our left, but during the entire day we passed only three or four small houses.

Our day’s ride lay over the scene of the Spanish campaign in Marocco in the winter of 1859-60—a military event so completely eclipsed by the great wars that have since desolated many parts of Europe, as to be now almost forgotten. An intelligent and animated account of it was published by the late Mr. Hardman, who accompanied the Spanish army as correspondent of the Times newspaper. The advance of O’Donnell, the Spanish commander-in-chief, was slow and cautious; but considering the natural difficulties, and his complete ignorance of the resources and designs of the enemy, any other course would have been chargeable with rashness. The Moors, although at the last they showed the utmost personal intrepidity, failed to display the slightest military capacity—even such as has been found among many savage tribes—failing to take advantage of natural difficulties, and exposing themselves in fruitless and desultory attacks when the Spanish force occupied strong positions. The most serious difficulty for the Spanish general arose from the necessity for moving his army along the narrow strip of shore, where for several miles the ground between this and the stony hills of the interior is partly covered by shallow lagoons, and the soft soil is intersected by streams. An active enemy knowing the ground might have inflicted heavy loss on the advancing force; but, contrary to all expectation, the Moors scarcely showed themselves at the critical moment, and the Spaniards had none but the natural obstacles to contend with. After crossing the pass over which the ordinary track runs to Tetuan, the Spaniards marched to the left, and established themselves in an entrenched camp near the mouth of the Tetuan river, where they received by sea reinforcements in men, heavy guns, and provisions. After some delay, a brilliant action, terminated by the storming of their camp near Tetuan, cowed the Moorish leaders, and the Spanish occupied the city, but only after it had been sacked by the irregular forces of the retreating army. The Moors then sued for peace; but whether the negotiations were merely opened to gain time, or that the terms demanded by Spain, including the permanent cession of Tetuan, were deemed exorbitant, hostilities were resumed in March, and the Spanish army commenced to move towards Tangier. A final effort was made by the Moors; and in the battle which ensued, on the slopes of the hills by which we descended a few days ago into the valley of Tetuan, their men, though fighting against nearly 25,000 regular troops, well provided with artillery, seemed for a moment likely to win the day by sheer desperate valour. The victory cost the Spaniards some 1,300 men in killed and wounded, but achieved the object of the campaign. Guided by wiser counsels, the Spanish Government ceased to insist on the permanent occupation of Tetuan, and the city was restored to the Moors, on the payment of a war indemnity of about 4,000,000l. sterling. In the judgment of impartial foreign critics, the Spanish troops behaved extremely well throughout this campaign: when well led they showed no lack of fighting qualities, and to their patience under hardship, their temperance, and general good conduct, all observers bore testimony.

One result of the war was to increase the customs’ duties throughout Marocco, and to cause more strenuous efforts to keep down contraband trade than had ever been used before. The indemnity was partly provided by a five per cent. loan, raised in London; and the customs duties supply the means for paying the interest, with instalments of the principal. These have been so punctually discharged, that the stock usually stands at par. On the Atlantic sea-board the points accessible to sea-going ships are so few that little smuggling can exist. The long strip of Mediterranean coast between Tetuan and the French frontier is nearly all held by the semi-independent tribes of the Riff mountaineers, and it may be presumed that these pay no duties on the few articles of foreign produce that they consume; but the southern shore of the Straits of Gibraltar and the coast between Ceuta and Tetuan are easy of access in fine weather, and here the Moorish authorities are obliged to maintain a force of coast-guards. We met several wild-looking fellows, who became more frequent as we approached the Spanish lines before Ceuta, each scantily clothed and armed with a long gun. They must suffer much in cold and rainy weather, as they have no other protection than a slight screen of branches, interlaced with straw or reeds.

Ceuta stands upon a narrow promontory that forms the eastern extremity of a spur projecting from the high range of Ape’s Hill. As this promontory is only the last in a series of conical summits that gradually diminish in height as they approach the Mediterranean, the fortress is completely commanded on the land side. But the Spaniards have erected small forts on the nearer heights, and with moderate watchfulness are secure enough from any assault that could be made by the Moors. As we rode over the neck of land connecting the fortress with the adjoining hills, and finally approached the only entrance, which is reached by a succession of gates and drawbridges, we had leisure to admire the elaborate character of the defences, in which every known resource of military engineering, as understood at the beginning of the last century, seems to have been accumulated. The soul of Uncle Toby would have delighted in the multiplication of ditches, curtains, ravelins, demi-lunes, hornworks, and palisades that have been expended here for the purpose of astonishing the untutored mind of the ignorant Moor.

The little town that forms the kernel of these vast fortifications far surpassed our expectations. Say what we will, there is a vast gap between the condition of the least advanced countries of Europe and the barbarism from which no Mohammedan State has yet contrived to raise itself. Ceuta, however, is a very favourable sample of a Spanish town, and is far superior in aspect to most places of equal importance in the mother-country. The well-built houses in the main street, all dazzling with fresh whitewash, were gay with bright flowers that stood in pots and boxes on the balconies behind ironwork of elaborately ornate character, and the inhabitants had an air of activity and animation not common in Spain, anywhere out of Catalonia. We drew our bridles at the Fonda Italiana, the best looking of several inns, where we learned that all the bedrooms were occupied, and were sent for sleeping quarters to a neighbouring house. We got a large room with two good beds, and found everything both there and at the inn, where we were well fed, scrupulously clean. Our remark, which probably would not have been approved in Downing Street, was, ‘What a pity, when they were about it, that the Spaniards did not annex the whole of North Marocco!’ The course of events in Spain during the last six or eight years has gone far to justify Downing Street, and to show that European anarchy may be even worse than Moorish misgovernment.

As, in accordance with our daily custom, we reviewed the produce of our day’s botanising, before committing our plants to paper, it seemed to fall rather short of our expectations. The season was not yet advanced enough for many seaside species, and, besides, as every naturalist knows, one’s power of observation on horseback is comparatively limited. When the eye is carried forward by an external agency, and its motion is not altogether regulated by the will, many minute objects are too imperfectly seen to convey a definite image; and however often one may dismount, many slight suggestions that would be tested by one on foot are allowed to pass without verification. Along with most of the shrubs that we had seen about Tangier, we passed many small trees of Tamarix africana and stout bushes of Juniperus phœnicea. The most ornamental plant that we gathered was Phaca bætica, with fine purplish blue flowers, very unlike any of the forms of the same genus with which we were familiar in the Alps. The most interesting plant, in a scientific sense, that we found this day was so minute as to be altogether overlooked at the time; and it was only some time after our return to England that two minute specimens (less than an inch in height) were found engaged in a tuft of some stouter plant. They belong to a little crucifer, called Malcolmia nana. It has been found in a few spots scattered at wide intervals throughout the Mediterranean region, and as far eastward as the shores of the Caspian Sea.

At Ceuta we had the spectacle—always a painful one—of gangs of convicts chained together, and working under the charge of soldiers, which meets the eye in so many parts of Southern Europe. Difficult as is the subject of penal discipline for criminals, it may safely be said that this is one of the worst—if not the very worst—system that has ever been devised. The punishment, however hard, loses through familiarity most of its deterrent effect; while, far from reforming, it seems to be the most efficient method known for finally corrupting the less hardened offender. The objections are somewhat lessened when the convict station is removed from the general gaze, and where the prisoners have little hope and even little temptation to escape.

These conditions are satisfied in the three fortified posts which, besides Ceuta, the Spaniards hold on the coast of Marocco. The most considerable of these is Melilla, on a promontory a few miles south of Cape Tres Forcas, said to be a strong fort, but grievously damaged by an earthquake in 1848. It must be little better than a prison for the garrison as well as for the convicts, if it be true, as we were told, that it is considered unsafe to venture beyond musket-shot from the walls, and the Riff mountaineers amuse themselves from time to time by taking pot-shots at the sentries on the ramparts. The other posts are on rocky islets near the shore. El Peñon de Velez, also called Velez de Gomera, is about half-way between Ceuta and Melilla, and only about eight miles from the site of the Carthaginian city of Bedis—Belis of the Arabs—whence some etymologists derive the Spanish Velez. From the rank of an episcopal city in early Christian times, Bedis fell into bad repute as a pirate port, until it was taken and destroyed by the Spaniards. The third Spanish post is on the larger of the Zaffarine Islands, that rise from the Mediterranean nearly opposite the mouth of the Oued Moulouya, not far from the French frontier. To judge from a small packet of plants collected there by Mr. Webb, the only scientific traveller known to have visited them, these are mere barren rocks, affording no shelter to any but the common seaside species.

Of late years the Riff people have kept to their mountain fastnesses, and piracy is no longer an habitual occupation; but it would not be safe to suppose that it has been completely extinguished. The coast has many inlets and creeks that shelter fishing boats, which may easily be used for cutting out unarmed merchantmen when becalmed near the coast. As late as 1855 two or three cases of that nature were reported to the home authorities by the Governor of Gibraltar: and as pursuit was out of the question, and the Moorish Government owns no control over the Riff population, no redress was obtainable. The increasing use of steam has probably made the occupation tedious and unprofitable.