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CHAPTER III.

Sail to Algeciras — Vegetation of the neighbouring hills — Comparison between the opposite sides of the Strait of Gibraltar — Return to Tangier — Troubles of a botanist — Fez pottery — Voyage in French steamer — Rabat and Sallee — Land at Casa Blanca — Vegetation of the neighbourhood — Humidity of the coast climate — Mazagan — View of Saffi.

With the previous permission of the Commandant, we sailed from Ceuta in the Government felucca on the morning of the 15th, and had a pleasant run before a south-west breeze, which took us before noon to Algeciras. Our intention had been to return the same day to Tangier, but we found that the ordinary steamer had been taken up to carry sight-seers to a bull-fight at Seville. Resigning ourselves to the delay, we found fair accommodation in an inn upon the quay, and started for a walk over the wooded hills behind the town, not sorry to have an opportunity of comparing the vegetation of the opposite shores at this point where Europe and Africa so nearly meet.

The general aspect of the floras is nearly identical, but there is enough of difference to show that for a long period a barrier has existed sufficient to limit the diffusion of many characteristic species. Of these we found three on the hill near Algeciras—Rhododendron ponticum, Sibthorpia europæa, and Helianthemum lasianthum, a fine species with large yellow flowers, approaching a Cistus in stature and habit. A much longer list of European plants that have not passed into Africa might be made if all the known species found between Gibraltar and Trafalgar were taken into account; but it might with some reason be objected, that our knowledge of the African side of the Strait is too incomplete to speak confidently on this point. On the other hand, however, we may with some certainty assert that comparatively many well-marked species found on the southern side of the Strait are limited to the African shore, and have not been able to spread into Europe. From the accessible materials we find at least thirty-eight species belonging to this category, of which the large majority are species spread over a wide area in Northern Africa.

In attempting to draw inferences from these facts, it is necessary to bear in mind that the region where they occur—the southern part of the Iberian peninsula, and the opposite corner of Marocco—is remarkable for the variety of its flora, and for the large number of distinct species, each inhabiting a very restricted area. To those who suppose that the presence of numerous plants in two neighbouring districts, which are limited to one or the other, but are not common to both, is to be regarded as evidence for the existence of a physical barrier between them, an objector might reply that we have no more right to affirm that it is the prolonged existence of the Strait between Europe and Africa that has prevented the extension of so many species from one continent to the other, than we have to maintain that two neighbouring mountain groups, such as the Sierra Nevada of Granada and the Serrania de Ronda, each possessing a number of peculiar species, must have been formerly isolated by the sea, as otherwise the species would have been intermixed.

In answer to this objection, it may, with some plausibility, be urged that a large majority of the species with restricted areas are mountain plants; that there is much reason to believe that most of these peculiar species did originate within insulated areas, at a time when these were separated by the sea from neighbouring masses, where the conditions of life for each organism must have been somewhat different; and that in a few instances local peculiarities of soil, either chemical or mechanical, may explain the fact that a particular species is limited to a very small district. These considerations do not, however, fully explain the known facts regarding some regions of the earth possessing an exceptional number of peculiar species confined to small areas, the most remarkable of which are Asia Minor, South Africa, South-western Australia, and that which we are now discussing; and in weighing the evidence afforded by the floras of the opposite coasts as bearing on the probable duration of such a barrier as the Strait of Gibraltar, it is best to leave out of account all species that are not known to be widely distributed. Here our very limited knowledge of the flora of North Marocco opposes a considerable difficulty. Subject to such light as future observation will throw upon the subject, it may be said that, so far as mere botanical evidence goes, we should infer that the barrier was not present at the time when the great majority of the existing plants spread into this region; but that it has been established long enough to oppose a limit to the further diffusion of many species that otherwise would, in all probability, be found on both sides of the Strait, thus indicating a period geologically recent, but very ancient as compared with the historic record.

On the following morning we crossed the bay to Gibraltar, and, still finding no means of conveyance to Tangier, endeavoured to console ourselves by botanising on the ‘Rock.’ Later in the day the impatience natural to the British traveller induced us to open negotiations for the hire of one of the numerous tug steamers that make handsome profits by helping becalmed ships through the Strait. The first demand of one hundred dollars helped to moderate our ardour; and, though the more reasonable sum of forty-five dollars was afterwards named by another merchant, we finally decided to remain a second night in Europe, and await the ordinary steamer on the following day.

It is well known that all the rules which prevent unauthorised persons from prying into the arcana of a fortress are strictly enforced at Gibraltar; and on this account a naturalist wishing to explore the rock should always apply for the previous permission of the Governor. Not intending to remain more than a few hours, we had declined the hospitable invitation of Sir W. F. Williams, and not thought of obtaining an order to authorise our unrestricted rambling over the rock. Towards evening Ball had started with his tin box to examine the steep eastern face that looks towards the Mediterranean. While scrambling about in search of plants, he became aware that his movements were watched by two Irish soldiers, both decidedly the worse for liquor, and as he returned towards the path the word ‘spy’ was emphatically pronounced more than once. Anticipating any further unpleasant remarks, he addressed them some ordinary question, with a fair infusion of that national accent that is unmistakable to the Hibernian ear. The effect was immediate: the men were delighted to recognise a countryman; question and answer rapidly succeeded, and the only difficulty was to resist their pressing invitation to adjourn to a neighbouring wine-shop, where the poor fellows’ remaining intelligence would have been finally quenched in the compound of grape-juice and ardent spirits that is sold at Gibraltar as Spanish wine—not much worse, perhaps, than the mixture that is drunk at home by not a few persons boasting a refined taste under the name of pale sherry.

It seems natural to ask whether it is or is not true, as one is often assured, that correct plans of all the chief fortresses in Europe are to be found in the War Office of each of the chief States; for in such case the attempt to maintain secrecy as against the ignorant curiosity of travellers seems to be a puerile occupation for the military authorities in command.

The rock of Gibraltar and the sandy tract called the Neutral Ground produce many rare and interesting-plants; but these are already well known to botanists, being separately described in Kelaart’s Flora Calpensis, and further illustrated in a work of first-rate authority, Boissier’s Voyage Botanique en Espagne. The only tree that seems to prosper thoroughly on this barren sun-baked headland is the Chinese Phytolacca arborea, which was planted some fifty or sixty years ago in the Alameda and elsewhere, many of which have attained a great thickness. They remind one of the stunted clustered columns of some mediæval churches, each of the very numerous branches developing a projecting cylinder of woody trunk covered with grey bark.

The so-called Club House, which ranks as the head inn, being already full, we put up at the Fonda Española, and had no cause for complaint, either as to food or accommodation. On the morning of the 17th we had notice that the steamer for Tangier was to start at noon; and, after laying in additional stores of drying paper, and enjoying a delightful morning stroll along the road to Europa Point, we were ready at the appointed time.

After more than the usual delay, we at length set our faces towards the African shore with a fresh SW. breeze in our faces. Few places in the world can show a greater variety of fine atmospheric effects than the Strait of Hercules. To-day the horizon behind us was clear, while the hills that bound the entrance from the Atlantic were veiled in thin haze; and, as the sun sank low, a strange purple hue suffused one-half of the sky. The skipper managed to arrive late in the roads at Tangier, and we found that, although a bribe to the official of the port might obtain admission within the walls, our baggage could not be landed until the following morning. We therefore decided to sleep on board the little steamer, and at length, on the morning of the 18th, we returned to breakfast at the Victoria Hotel.

Maw had made good use of his time. In a first excursion to the ‘Lakes’ he had failed to find a beautiful iris, which we had first admired on Sir J. D. Hay’s dinner-table, and which we had taken to be the Iris tingitana of Boissier and Reuter. Not easily foiled from his purpose, Maw returned two days later, and succeeded in his object. Subsequent examination has convinced us that the plant growing near the lakes is a luxuriant form of the Iris filifolia of Southern Spain, though intermediate between that and I. tingitana. The latter may perhaps be an extreme form of the same plant, but is yet little known, and had not, as far as we know, been brought into cultivation until carried to England by Maw. Our plant, which is one of the most beautiful of a beautiful group, is figured, under the name Xyphion tingitanum, in the 98th volume of the ‘Botanical Magazine,’ No. 5981. Nothing can surpass in the scale of rich sombre decoration the gradations of dark purple and brown velvet that enrich the petals.

One of the troubles that most try the patience of a botanical traveller here awaited us. As we had already assured ourselves, the spring climate of North Marocco is delightful to the human frame. The sky had been clear, the air warm, and only one or two slight showers of rain had fallen since we first landed on the coast; but the breezes, whether they travel eastward from the Atlantic, or westward from the Mediterranean, are laden with aqueous vapour nearly to the point of saturation, and nothing dries spontaneously by mere exposure to the air. Although our system of drying our plants by ventilating gratings makes it quite unnecessary to change the paper in such a climate as that of the Alps, or most parts of Europe, we now found that all the collections left at Tangier were suffering from damp, many specimens covered with mildew, and some hopelessly destroyed. Many hours on this and the following day were consumed in the endeavour to remedy the mischief. So far as structure is concerned, damp, when not too long continued, does not disorganise the tissues; but it finally removes the remaining freshness of colour which makes the beauty of a well-dried specimen.

In the course of the day we made some purchases of Fez pottery, of which a large store is kept by a Jew dealer. This ware, which combines elegance and variety of form with vigorous geometrical designs and rough execution, is now well known to the devotees of the prevailing fancy for ceramics, who pay in London or Paris many times over the original price. Through the kindness of the British Consul, Mr. White, we obtained some small specimens of a very scarce variety of unglazed pottery, of which the decoration consists merely in dots of black and red, forming various patterns. These were said to be the handywork of two potters of Fez, who both died during the last cholera epidemic.

During our seven days’ absence from Tangier, the vegetation had advanced very rapidly, and many plants had come into flower during the interval; so that we found abundant occupation, even in the immediate neighbourhood of the town. If we had wanted further evidence as to the character of the climate, it was afforded by the fact of our finding the British royal fern (Osmunda regalis), on bare sandstone rocks, close to the sea. In our proverbially damp climate it requires boggy or marshy soil to grow freely; but then, in spite of proverbs, we have fits of dry weather during the spring, and every now and then prolonged summer droughts, that forbid delicate ferns to flourish in exposed situations.

Early on the morning of the 20th we were awakened by the news that the long expected French steamer, Vérité, of Marseilles, had arrived, and would depart in the afternoon on her voyage to the Atlantic ports of Marocco and the Canary Islands. We were fully prepared to depart; the expected autograph letter of the Sultan had been delivered to Sir J. D. Hay, and by him to Hooker; our heavy baggage had already been forwarded to Mogador, and we lost no time in completing our preparations, and bidding farewell to those whose kindness and hospitality had made our stay at Tangier so agreeable. In quitting Martin’s Hotel, the solitary inconvenience that we could call to mind was the swarms of flies that invade the rooms, not more abundant, however, than in many valleys of Switzerland and North Italy; and we carried away from Tangier the impression that even on the Mediterranean shores there are few spots that combine such advantages of climate, natural beauty, and material comfort.

We found the Vérité, though boasting a French name, to be a nearly new Clyde-built steamer, owned by a Marseilles Company and commanded by Captain Abeille of that port, far better fitted up than most of those that ply along this coast. The passengers were few, and, as these disembarked at the intermediate ports, we at last became the sole occupants of the state cabin. On a fine evening, with the gentle heaving of the broad Atlantic billows to tune all to harmony, we passed the headland of Cape Spartel, and received the first rays of the great lanthorn as they shot out seaward when lighted for the night.

At seven o’clock next morning the engines were stopped, and going on deck we found ourselves lying some way off the shore, opposite the mouth of the river Oued Bouregrag, that divides Sallee from Rabat. The latter, as seen from a distance, is a place of somewhat imposing appearance. The chief mosque has a great square tower, rivalling those of Seville and Marocco; and a pile of modern masonry, on a scale unknown elsewhere in modern days in this country, marks the large barrack where the Sultan’s body-guard is lodged when he pays his annual visit to the coast. Carpets are made here, and also a peculiar sort of unglazed pottery, coarse in texture, but admirable in form, and singular in ornamentation.[1] Over against Rabat, on the north side of the river, is Sallee, once a famous place, the last outpost of Roman civilisation, and afterwards the home of pirates who were dreaded throughout the Mediterranean and along the coasts of France and England. Looking at the bare coast, and the paltry groups of mud boxes that make up a Moorish town, and knowing that the bar at the river’s mouth allows, except at spring tide, the passage only of ships of small tonnage, it seemed scarcely credible that the European Powers should so long have allowed such a nest of hornets to flourish at their very gates. When one reads that up to the middle of the last century it was not a very rare thing for the ‘Sallee rovers’ to lie under Lundy Island, and cut out Bristol merchantmen, one asks what the British navy was about, that the malefactors and their ships were not swept from the sea, and Sallee itself utterly destroyed. The false humanity that caused in our time such bitter lamentations over the chastisement of Bornean pirates had not been yet invented.

We lay for the greater part of the day within some two or three miles of the shore, but the Atlantic rollers were too heavy to allow a nearer approach, or permit the landing of cargo. This happens too frequently to excite remark; and these great waves, originating in the passage of cyclones in the mid-Atlantic, often arrive so suddenly in the calmest weather as to create a serious danger for the seaman. At the least it is prudent to keep up a sufficient pressure of steam in the boiler to make it easy to gain the offing on the shortest notice; and we heard of several cases where the coast steamers had called in succession at all the Atlantic ports of Marocco without being able to communicate with any one of them, and cargo and passengers had been carried on to the Canary Islands with the uncertain prospect of being landed on the return voyage. Fogs offer another serious impediment to navigation on this coast. During the summer the low country for a distance of eight or ten miles from the shore is not rarely covered during the morning with a thick mist that clears away before mid-day. At such times ships dare not approach the sandy coasts, and, when the sky clears, the scarcity of landmarks makes it extremely difficult for the seaman to ascertain his exact position. As the same difficulty prevented us from touching Rabat on our return voyage, we can add nothing to what has been told by preceding travellers. Counting Sallee as a suburb of the larger town, the population is estimated at 40,000, or more than all the other Atlantic ports put together. The inhabitants are said to suffer from three scourges—prolonged droughts, the invasion of locusts, and, worst of all, the annual visits of the Sultan, whose body-guard of several thousand soldiers has to be fed at their cost.

To the naturalist a stay of some days at Rabat might be of great interest if he were able to accomplish a visit to the famous forest of Mamora, which fills a large part of the space, some twenty miles in width, between the mouth of the Bouregrag and the larger river Sebou that carries to the sea the drainage of the high mountains near Fez. The scene of most of the wonderful tales that circulate among the people of North Marocco—adventures with lions, robbers, and other wild animals—is laid in the forest of Mamora; but excepting one solitary plant, brought thence by the Abbé Durand—a very distinct species of Celsia—nothing is known of the fauna and flora of the forests of this part of Marocco. These appear to cover a considerable tract parallel to the Atlantic coast, and probably consist mainly of the cork oak, which in any other country might become a considerable source of profit. Eastward of the forest the country south of the Oued Sebou is a marshy tract, breeding endemic fevers that are said to extend to Sallee and Rabat.

In the afternoon the swell became more moderate, and a boat came out with passengers, including the family of Mr. Dupuis, the British Vice-Consul at Casa Blanca. It was decided that it would not be safe to land cargo, so the captain resolved to start without further delay and run for Casa Blanca—the Dar el-Beïda of the Moors. The sun had set, and night was closing in as we approached the low shore, where a few white houses mark a station which has risen to some little importance owing to the preference shown for it by French merchants, who carry on a considerable trade with the interior.

We accepted a courteous invitation from Mr. and Madame Dupuis, and, landing early on the morning of the 22nd, went to breakfast at their house. A less attractive spot than Casa Blanca it is difficult to imagine. A featureless coast of low shelves of red sandstone rock overlaid by stiff clay, stretches on either side in slight undulations, nowhere rising more than a couple of hundred feet above the sea. Not a tree gives variety to the outline or shelter from the blazing sun. The attempts made by the few residents to cultivate the orange and other useful trees have met with little success; and the eye seeks in vain the gay shrubs that adorn the southern shores of the Mediterranean. The Cistuses, Genistas, heaths, Arbutus, and myrtle, as well as the more sober prickly oak and laurel, are all absent, and the arborescent vegetation is almost limited to stunted bushes of lentisk some three or four feet high.

As we strolled for several hours over the surrounding country, we at once perceived the influence of new climatal conditions. It was not that many new species marked the passage from one botanical province to another, for to our disappointment we found very few that we had not already gathered in North Marocco, and, excepting one rare Celsia, none that were not already well known. As elsewhere, Leguminosæ were predominant, and especially trefoils and medicks; grasses were both numerous and varied in species; and Umbelliferæ were represented by many conspicuous plants, of which Ferula communis, growing to a height of ten or more feet, is especially notable. In the absence of more substantial materials, the thick stems are used for fences. The contrast offered by the vegetation of this coast with that of the Mediterranean shores is caused altogether by climatal conditions, which allow one set of species to flourish while the rest are more or less rigidly excluded.

The information received from our obliging hosts respecting the country and the native population agreed well enough with what we heard elsewhere. The prejudices of the natives are not so strong as to make them indifferent to the advantages of trade with the intrusive Christians who are settled on the coast; and the unfortunate issue of the last war with Spain has taught them the prudence of avoiding wanton provocation. Whatever may be the case with the tribes farther inland, the people of the coast provinces are quite disposed for commercial intercourse; but the jealousy of the authorities makes enterprise of all kinds too unsafe to be risked by an ordinary native of the country. Some of the provincial governors who live near the coast carry on trade with European merchants; but for the rest such business as exists is in the hands of the Jews. The only interference of the Government, which is at least ostensibly dictated by a regard for the welfare of the people, relates to the corn trade. In favourable years Marocco produces much more grain than the population can consume, but drought and locusts often destroy the crops throughout large districts. The permission to export corn is therefore given or withheld by sovereign order according to the reports received at head-quarters. It is needless to point out how much the uncertainty thus produced must interfere with the profits of cultivation.

At Casa Blanca our skipper took on board a considerable quantity of maize for the Canary Islands, and a good many bales of hides and wool for Marseilles; and we found the decks in some disorder when we returned on board our steamer in the evening. All next day—the 23rd—we remained in the roads of Casa Blanca, uncertain at what moment we should continue our voyage. The time did not hang heavily on our hands, for we had as much work as we could accomplish in getting our collections into tolerably good order. We here had to deal with an enemy that was new to all of us, excepting Hooker, and which for the next week was to cause more trouble and anxiety than any one not a naturalist can easily realise. Nothing is more common with us at home than to grumble at the dampness of the climate; and, as far as the effects on the human animal are concerned, our complaints are perfectly just. Air at 50° Fahr. cannot at the utmost carry more than about 4½ grains of aqueous vapour to the cubic foot; but at that temperature it produces, when nearly saturated, that feeling on the nerves of the skin, familiar to every inhabitant of these islands, which is the ordinary forerunner of colds, sore throats, rheumatism, and many another ailment. But the botanist, to whom the condition of his drying paper is even more important than that of his own body, finds an easy remedy for the inconvenience. By exposing his damp paper to a temperature of from 80° to 90° in the sunshine, or before a fire, he readily obtains a satisfactory degree of relative dryness, and in a very few days his specimens are in a state to put away, and with ordinary care need give him no further trouble. But the case is very different where the ordinary temperature of the air in the shade is about 75°, as was the case here, not to speak of 85° which is the common limit in the tropics. To the human body there is nothing unpleasant in the effects of such air when nearly saturated with vapour, and so long as the temperature remains habitually between 70° and 80° it is decidedly favourable to health, if not to vigorous exertion. But a cubic foot of air at 77° contains nearly 10½ grains of vapour, and when at all near to the point of saturation it has no perceptible drying effect on surrounding objects, and a moderate increase of 10° or 12° Fahr. in temperature has but a slight effect in increasing its desiccating power. We were first struck by remarking the very long time required to dry the decks as compared with what is usual in the Mediterranean, and we had still more painful experience of the difficulty of drying our paper. We were now the sole occupants of the saloon, and our captain left us free to use every part of the steamer; the deck was soon turned to account, cords were stretched across the rigging, even the neighbourhood of the boiler was invaded, but with indifferent success. Few readers may care to sympathise with the distress of a naturalist who looks on his specimens, not only as scientific documents bringing some additions to our knowledge of the structure and relations of the organised world, but as things of beauty giving delight to the senses of form and colour, when, after much pains and care, he finds the flowers change their hues and drop off, the leaves turn black, and when mould, the sure sign of decomposition, begins to encrust the stems and fruits.

At 1 A.M. on the morning of the 24th we were again under steam, and soon after daylight speed was slackened as we lay off Mazagan. The abruptness of the transition from deep blue water in the offing to a somewhat milky green where the ship gets into shallower water here attracted our notice. It is of common occurrence even on coasts where there is reason to believe that the bed of the sea shelves vary gradually away from the shore, and one might expect a gradual change of tint; but no satisfactory explanation occurred to us.[2] It was some time before the land came in sight, and we were able to make out the square tower of the Portuguese fort that marks the position of Mazagan. The town stands on a slightly projecting point of land facing northward, and therefore especially exposed to the north-east breeze that prevails throughout the spring and summer. We lay all day rolling heavily, and the surf, breaking in hills of foam upon the shore, was too high to allow of the landing of cargo; but in the afternoon a small boat put off with provisions. Amongst these was a large freshwater fish, a species of shad, that had been caught in the Oued Oum-er-bia which runs into the sea some five miles east of Mazagan close to the site of Azemour, a ruined town once of some importance. The freshwater fish of the streams from the Atlas may probably offer many objects of interest to the ichthyologist, but do not seem likely to add much to the resources of the cook. We were told that the fine-looking animal which was displayed at table is considered a delicacy; but we found the flesh insipid and cottony, and during our subsequent journey we failed to find any fish worth eating.

Neither on this occasion nor on our return did we see any trace of the ruins of Azemour or of the great river Oum-er-bia. This is apparently the chief stream of Marocco. It drains the northern declivity of the chain of the Great Atlas for a distance of 150 miles, and nearly the entire of the extensive mountainous region, a still unknown network of high ridges and deep valleys, that covers nearly half the space between the main chain and the Atlantic seaboard. Like all the other rivers of this country the volume of water varies to an extent unknown in Europe. In dry seasons, when a large part of the waters that descend from the mountains is diverted into irrigation channels, and never reaches the sea, the main stream runs over a shallow bed fordable in many places; but after heavy rains the swollen waters have such a rapid current that we were told of travellers being detained a week or ten days waiting for the opportunity of crossing it. Lieut., afterwards Admiral, Washington[3] estimated the breadth of the river where he crossed it, near Azemour, at 150 yards, and found it much the same at about eighty miles from the sea on the return journey from Marocco to the coast.

Mazagan, though a small and poor-looking place, bears many traces of its European origin, as we remarked when we landed here on our return voyage from Mogador. It was built by the Portuguese in 1566, and held in spite of frequent assaults by the Moors for more than two hundred years, having been finally surrendered in 1770.

We left the roads at 9 A.M. on the 25th, and were glad to see for the first time the land rising in bold cliffs. The headland seen a few miles south-west of Mazagan is Cape Blanco; but this projects little from the general outline of the coast, which shows a tolerably uniform direction, rising gradually towards the south-west, till we reach Cape Cantin, the chief headland of this part of the Atlantic seaboard. The summit is apparently about three hundred feet above the sea, and the calcareous strata nearly horizontal. Here the coast line, which from Cape Blanco had kept the direction from north-east by east to south-west by west, turns abruptly to the south. The cliffs recede a little at first and form a slight curve, then rising to a second headland some two hundred feet higher than Cape Cantin. Beyond this the shore again recedes, and the land subsides, where a slender stream has cut its way through the plateau inland, and affords space for the little seaport town of Saffi, or Asfi of the Moors. The coast line again rises on the south side of Saffi, forming a steep escarpment some three or four hundred feet in height, called the Jews’ Rock, about four miles from the town.

Saffi is by far the most picturesque spot on the west coast of Marocco. The extensive fortifications of the Portuguese, high walls and square towers, spreading along the shore and up the broken declivity on which the town is built, with several steep islets, whose rocks have been gnawed into uncouth shapes by the Atlantic waves, produce, as seen from the sea, a striking effect. Though fully exposed to the west, this port is better protected from the north-east winds than any other on the coast, except Mogador. Behind it lies the fertile province of Abda, famed for its excellent breed of horses, and it is the nearest port to the city of Marocco—about one hundred miles distant—but the want of secure anchorage for shipping neutralises these natural advantages.

Our stay on this occasion was short, and soon after dark we were again in motion. We spent pleasantly enough our last evening on board the Vérité. Though he took little pains to conceal his strong prejudices against the English nation, our captain was thoroughly good-natured and obliging towards the individual Englishmen with whom he was associated. No doubt our scientific pursuits recommended us to his good offices, for the slight smattering of scientific knowledge acquired by half-educated persons in most Continental countries has the effect of awakening some interest in such pursuits. It may, indeed, be doubted whether, at least in France, the teaching of physical science goes far enough to convey any accurate knowledge, even of an elementary kind; but, at all events, the national temperament leads Frenchmen to expose their deficiencies more than other people readily do. An Englishman who knows that he is not well grounded in a subject holds his tongue, or if pressed by questions will probably exaggerate the extent of his own ignorance, where a Frenchman will gaily lay down the law and span over the gaps in his knowledge by startling bridges of conjecture. Our worthy skipper amused us not a little when, in conversation on the climate of this coast, reference being made to the rainless zone of the Peruvian coast, he explained that in that country the moisture of the air is absorbed by the gases that accompany earthquakes, thus accounting to his own satisfaction for the meteorological phenomenon. But the full vehemence of his nature was reserved for matters of much more immediate interest. He had left Marseilles after the Communist rising in that city had been suppressed, but while the miserable tragic farce that was to end in the horrors of May, 1871, was being enacted in Paris. He could not allude to the subject without a degree of fury that to us seemed utterly unreasonable. But it is easy for people at a distance to treat such matters with calmness, and there were not many Englishmen on the spot who at the time were able to share the noble calmness of Lord Canning during the Indian Mutiny.

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CHAPTER IV.

Arrival at Mogador — The Sultan’s letter — Preparations for our journey — The town of Mogador — The neighbouring country — Ravages of locusts — Native races of South Marocco — Excursion to the island — Climate of Mogador — Its influence on consumption — Dinner with the Governor.

At 5 A.M. on April 26 we at length reached the port of Mogador. Before many minutes a boat was alongside, and we were warmly welcomed by a gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Carstensen, the British Vice-Consul, brother-in-law of Sir J. D. Hay. He was, indeed, no stranger; for, as a correspondent and active contributor to the Royal Gardens at Kew, he had long been in friendly relations with the chief of our party. To his energetic good offices and hospitable attentions we owe deep obligations, and it was with sincere regret that we subsequently heard of his premature death in 1873.

At an early hour we were comfortably established in the British Consulate, where our host and hostess received us as old friends, and we were soon engaged in discussion as to the arrangements for the prosecution of our journey, in all of which Mr. Carstensen’s familiarity with the country and perfect command of the language were of the utmost value. Having received previous notice of our arrival and of the objects of our journey, he had already prepared the way, and thus very much abridged the delays that are inevitable in such a country.

The first step necessary was to call on the Governor and present to him the Sultan’s letter. We were courteously received by El Hadj Hamara, a well-looking man of middle age, in a small plain room, whose only furniture consisted in cushions laid round the walls. After shaking hands in European fashion, we proceeded to seat ourselves, cross-legged—no doubt looking very uncomfortable during the experiment—while the Sultan’s letter was produced. This was written on a small sheet of inferior paper, folded to the size of a note, and sealed with coarse sealing-wax. It was received by the Governor, the seal reverently applied to his forehead, and then broken. After reading aloud the few lines of writing, the Governor handed the letter to Mr. Carstensen, who proceeded to translate literally for our benefit. It ran thus: ‘On receiving this, you will send the English hakeem and his companions to the care of my slave, El Graoui, to whom I have sent orders what he is to do.’ It should be explained that El Graoui, spoken of as the Sultan’s slave, was the Governor of the portion of the Great Atlas that is practically subject to the Imperial authority, and precisely the person whose favour and assistance it was essential for our objects to secure.

To strangers unused to the style of the Marocco Court, the Imperial letter did not seem a very promising document; but it was evident that, so far as the Governor of Mogador was concerned, it conveyed the impression that we were to be treated with respect and attention; and this was doubtless confirmed by the arrival of a courier from Marocco, bearing a letter from the Sultan’s eldest son, then acting as viceroy in the southern provinces of the empire, with orders to take every care for our safety and comfort during the journey to the capital.

We soon had a specimen of the shape in which official protection displays itself in this country. On a representation from Mr. Carstensen that we should require numerous baggage animals, besides horses and mules to ride, the order had gone forth a week before our arrival that no horses or mules should be sold or hired in the town of Mogador until we had selected such as we required. This accordingly was one of our first cares, and the embargo was raised in the course of the day. We followed local advice, confirmed by our own previous experience in warm countries, in choosing mules in preference to horses. On a long journey they are far less liable to be laid up, and, to a scientific traveller who has frequent occasion to dismount, they give less trouble. Their obstinate temper is, however, often annoying, and, though surefooted, they sometimes have a very unpleasant trick of tripping or stumbling over stony ground.

A precaution which we took this day is much to be recommended to travellers. This was to make a trial of pitching our tents on a piece of rough open ground. People readily suppose that a tent that is easily set up in an English lawn must answer their expectations on a march, and have little notion of the amount of discomfort caused by trifling defects. We speedily found that the pegs supplied in England are not nearly hard enough to pierce the stiff-baked clay or stony paste that forms the prevailing soil in this country; and it was fortunate for our comfort that we took from Mogador an ample supply of rough pegs, made from the wood of the argan tree. We were each provided with a tent which satisfied our individual wants, but scarcely corresponded with the native ideas of what befits personages of distinction. We were well aware that in this country prestige was an essential element in success, and therefore willingly accepted the liberal offer of a large handsome native tent made by the local agent of Messrs. Perry & Co. of Liverpool. This was available only for the journey across the plains between Mogador and Marocco, as it was very heavy, forming a load for two camels, and therefore not suitable for a hilly country. It supplied a comparatively spacious saloon, wherein we passed our evenings very pleasantly, before retiring to our separate quarters for the night.

The next matter requiring attention was our costume. It was foreseen that during some part of our journey, at least, it might be expedient to adopt the native dress, or such an approximation to it as would prevent our attracting notice from afar as strange and outlandish creatures. After due deliberation, the haïk was finally rejected. This is the ordinary outer garment of natives of the upper class. An ample robe of fine white woollen stuff is a graceful and picturesque garment, especially on those who know how to group its folds about the person; but it is absolutely incompatible with the free use of the limbs, and more especially for botanists, whose pursuit brings them into frequent contact with the numberless spiny plants of this region. The unsightly jellabia, a blouse of rough white woollen stuff, with the addition of a hood that may be drawn over the head, was adopted, and was not found very inconvenient.

Anticipating unavoidable exposure to a nearly vertical sun, we had provided ourselves with the grey pith ventilating helmets so commonly used by Englishmen in the tropics. It was found that by winding round one of these a moderate strip of the usual material for turbans, it might be made to pass muster at a distance. But for head-gear on important occasions the turban was indispensable. The material, a broad band of light muslin, about thirteen or fourteen yards in length, is supplied from England, but the art of winding it round the head requires long practice, and we always resorted to the aid of one of our attendants. It certainly gives protection against a hot sun; but it is never quite convenient to a European of active habits, who finds it hard to acquire the orthodox gravity of Oriental demeanour, and is sadly apt to disturb the folds of the turban by some abrupt movement.

There was one article of dress as to which no compromise was possible. The slippers down at heel that are commonly used by all classes of natives, and even the red or yellow loose boots that are sometimes worn on a journey, were equally unsuited to our habits and pursuits, and we held fast to our accustomed foot-covering.

Mr. Carstensen had kindly made excellent arrangements for our convenience during our journey by selecting such native attendants as we should require. One was told off to each of us as a personal servant, expected to be always in readiness to render any required assistance; and Hooker’s English attendant, Crump, was included in this arrangement. This may appear superfluous, and so it might be to ordinary travellers; but for a party of naturalists anxious to make the best use of their time, it was almost indispensable. Several other men were attached to the camp in various capacities, one of the most useful being a saddler, daily in requisition to repair damage done to leather work; but by far the most important member of our suite was the interpreter to the British Consulate, whose services were spared for fully five weeks. Even with Mr. Carstensen’s thorough knowledge of the language, this must have been felt as a serious inconvenience, for Abraham proved himself active and intelligent; and the duties of a consular agent on the Marocco coast being by no means of a hum-drum character, the need of a man familiar with the country and the people in the capacity of secretary and assistant is daily felt. Being a Marocco Jew, born in a position of relative inferiority to his Mohammedan neighbours, Abraham no doubt felt a keen satisfaction in the sense of security which he derived from his position in the British service. To be able to converse in a tone approaching to equality with powerful officials; to emancipate oneself from restrictions trifling, yet galling, in matters of dress and demeanour; to share in some measure in the vague sense of power vested in the representatives of the great European States—must be the climax of ambition to a member of a despised nationality in a land where neither intelligence nor wealth nor good reputation give a man security or social recognition.

It had been arranged that our escort was to consist of four soldiers, under the command of a kaïd, nearly equivalent, as we were told, to a captain in European army rank. This was more than was requisite for security, as, with all its barbarism, the Marocco Government is efficient enough within the parts of the territory where the Sultan’s authority is recognised and feared. Within those limits it is enough to let it be known that a traveller enjoys the Imperial protection; no one will ever think of daring to molest him.

After devoting a good part of the day to indispensable preparations for our future journey, we were free to look about us in the singular little town which, as the chief port of South Marocco, is the last outpost of civilisation on the African coast at this side of the French settlements of Senegal. Like many other places in Marocco, this owes its existence to the caprice of a Sultan. It was founded in 1760 by Sidi Mohammed, the most energetic of recent Moorish sovereigns, and became a considerable place when, a few years later, the same ruler destroyed Agadir, and ordered the merchants established there to remove to Mogador. Jackson tells us that it received its European name from the sanctuary of Sidi Mogodol, standing somewhere among the neighbouring sandhills; but a town of Mogador is shown in a map published in 1608,[1] standing a short way north of the island, which is there marked ‘I. Domegador.’ As have most of those marked on the early maps, the ancient town had doubtless disappeared before the foundation of the present one, called by the Moors Soueira; but the old name must have survived in the country.

The low rocky island lying opposite to the town, and separated by a navigable channel, affords shelter from all winds except those from the SW.; but the depth of water is not great, and there are numerous dangerous reefs, so that in threatening weather steam is always kept up, and ships proceed to sea when SW. winds are expected. Although the island is shown on the oldest maps, and the channel is represented much as we now see it in the plates to Jackson’s work, from drawings made about the beginning of this century, we were positively assured that old people in Mogador recollected the time when the island was connected with the mainland by an isthmus, over which cattle could be driven at low water; and this story seemed to have gained credence with the European inhabitants.

Though it has no buildings of importance, the town is in one respect the most habitable in Marocco, being remarkably clean, and in that respect superior to very many seaports in Europe. This is largely due to the efforts of two intelligent French physicians, who have at various periods visited Mogador, but especially to the exertions of Dr. Thevenin, who has resided there for many years.

The Governor and other officials, with the European consuls and merchants, all reside in the Kasbah—the chief of the three quarters into which the town is divided. Here are several narrow but regularly-built streets; the houses are mostly of two stories, enclosing a small courtyard, which is entered by a low and narrow doorway from the street. In the Moorish town, inhabited by natives of the lower class, the houses are of one story, and poor in appearance; but the practice of whitewashing within and without once every week makes them look clean, and, no doubt, has much to do with the remarkable immunity of this place from contagious and endemic diseases. The Jewish town is much overcrowded; but we were assured that even here the modern gospel of soap and water has made much progress.

In the afternoon we sallied forth with our portfolios; but in deference to public opinion, which could not endure that strangers of consequence should be seen trudging on foot, we rode for about a mile out of the town. Its surroundings are not prepossessing. The low tertiary limestone rock, on which it is built, and which doubtless extends inland for some distance, is covered up to the city walls by blown sand, driven along the shore before the SW. winds, forming dunes that cover the whole surface; and in most directions one may ride two or three miles before encountering any other vegetation than a few paltry attempts at cultivating vegetables for the table within little enclosed plots, whose owners are constantly disputing the ground with the intrusive sand. The chief break in the monotony of the sand ridges is due to the small stream of the Oued Kseb (called Oued el-Ghoreb on Beaudouin’s map), which reaches the sea little more than a mile away on the south side of the town. Much of the water being diverted, the current is not strong enough to keep a channel through the sands, but forms at its mouth a marsh, where many of the most interesting plants of the neighbourhood are to be found. The drip from the small aqueduct that supplies water to the town suffices to give nourishment to other less uncommon species.

Mogador has long been tolerably well known to botanists. It was visited by Broussonet at the latter end of the last century, and was for some time the residence of Schousboë. More recently the neighbourhood has been explored by the late Mr. Lowe and by M. Balansa. We could not, therefore, reasonably expect to find here anything new to science; but our short excursion was nevertheless full of interest, though not altogether of an agreeable kind. We here saw for the first time a district recently ravaged by locusts; and while we acquired a lively sense of the amount of mischief effected by these destructive creatures, we also found out how it happens that the damage is confined within tolerable limits; how, in short, they fail to turn the country into a desert. When one reads the reports of credible eye-witnesses, who describe the arrival of swarms of locusts that devour every green thing, one asks oneself how it can be possible for man or animals to survive such destruction. In the first place, it may be remarked that, like most other sweeping statements, these are not strictly true. The locusts do not, in point of fact, devour every green thing. In the spots where they were most destructive we always remarked that certain plants escaped untouched. The result of this immunity would naturally be to substitute the latter for the species destroyed by the locusts, were there not some very efficient agency for repairing the damage and maintaining the life of the species, if not of the individual. An important element in considering this question is the season at which the mischief is effected. The young locust grows very fast, and it is mainly during the period of growth that it consumes vegetation. When once the animal has attained its full size, it becomes comparatively inert, and its capacity for destruction is vastly diminished. If the swarm of young locusts arrives before the middle of April, when the rainy season is not quite over, the first showers revive the plants that have been devoured almost to the root with surprising rapidity. Perennial species throw out new buds, and are soon again covered with leaf and flower; and the same often happens with annuals, unless these have already shed their seed, and then a new crop soon reappears. It may be supposed that the vast amount of decaying animal matter left on the surface, even in the most barren spot, contributes not a little to the vigour of the vegetation, and thus compensates for the destruction effected at an earlier stage. It is when the swarms appear late, and attack the wheat or maize after the flowers are developed, that the consequences to the population are very serious, and famines result that periodically affect large districts.

In the present year it was clear that rain had fallen since the locust invasion, and although much damage had been done, tolerable specimens of many plants here seen for the first time were to be found. A few of these are common to the Canary Islands and this part of Africa; others are not yet known except on this coast. The most curious of them is the Senecio (Kleinia) pteroneura, whose succulent almost leafless branches, as thick as a man’s finger, bear a few heads of flowers that differ little, save in their larger size, from those of the common groundsel. Well pleased with our first glance at the South Marocco flora, we returned to our comfortable quarters, and spent a pleasant evening in discussing our future movements, and in drawing upon our host’s ample stores of information respecting the country and its inhabitants.

We were now for the first time brought into contact with the primitive stock of this part of Africa, one main branch of the Bereber race, which is distinguished by speaking some dialect of the Shelluh (Shleuh) language.[2] The affinity of this people with the Berebers of the Lesser Atlas—including under that name the Kabyles of Algeria, with the Riff tribes of North-west Marocco—has been denied, but does not appear to be open to reasonable doubt. The type is physically the same, excepting among some of the tribes south of the Great Atlas, where the intermixture of Negro blood has introduced new and very diverse elements. The languages now spoken among these tribes doubtless exhibit marked differences, especially to the ear of a foreigner. Jackson long ago denied the relationship between the Shelluh and the Bereber, while Washington, in the paper already quoted, came to a contrary conclusion. It may now be considered as beyond question that the differences between the Shelluh and the Kabyle are merely dialectic.[3] The value of linguistic evidence in ethnological inquiries has of late been questioned by eminent critics, and it must be conceded that such evidence, when it merely rests on lexicographical coincidences, is of less value than when it is derived from grammatical structure; yet, after all deductions, the facts remain to be accounted for, and, in the absence of proof to the contrary, it goes far towards proving community of origin. It must be remembered, that unlettered races are subject to far greater and more rapid changes of dialect than those who preserve in sacred books or popular poetry fixed standards of correct speech; add to this, the chances of error when a traveller, communicating with a native through an interpreter, and contending with sounds unusual to his ear, attempts to form a vocabulary. These causes, acting together, tend to increase the difficulty of recognizing linguistic affinities that really exist.

In the absence of any indication of the intrusion of a conquering race that can be supposed to have imposed its language on the previous population, it seems most probable that the native races of North Africa, between the Libyan Desert and the Atlantic coast, including also the Canary Islands, all belong to a single stock, which may best be called Bereber. The two main branches are both mountain peoples. To the north we have the tribes of the Lesser Atlas, extending from the gates of Tetuan to the hill country of Tunis, who may best bear the common name of Kabyles—to the south-west the population of the Great Atlas, from the neighbourhood of Fez to the coast between Agadir and Oued Noun, broken up into numerous tribes, but all speaking some dialect of the same language, and thence called generically Shelluhs. Of the scattered fragments of the Bereber stock that have spread far through the oases of the Great Desert, till they have come into contact with the Negro tribes from the south of that barrier, our information is still most imperfect. In constant conflict with each other, and with the Arab and Negro tribes who dispute with them the scanty means of subsistence that Nature here provides, they appear on the whole to predominate over their competitors. The Touarecks, scattered over a territory as large as half of Europe, from Algeria to Soudan, form a separate branch of the same stock; while we learn from Gerhard Rohlfs that the predatory tribes of the desert south of Marocco are merely Shelluhs who have changed their habits and manner of life to suit altered conditions of existence.

The character of the Bereber has scarcely received justice at the hands either of ancient or modern writers. They have been inconvenient neighbours for those who have sought to encroach on their territory, and they are justly dreaded by the traveller through the Great Desert as the most active and enterprising of the human enemies he must confront or evade. Comparing them with the Moor and Arab population of South Marocco, our report agrees with that of Jackson, who probably knew them better than any other European has done. They are decidedly superior in intelligence, in industry, and general activity to their neighbours. Two of our retinue, selected by Mr. Carstensen among the mountaineers who resort to Mogador to pick up a living about the port, distinguished themselves over all the rest both in physical and mental qualities; and one of these especially, who became Hooker’s personal attendant, showed an amount of general intelligence and unfailing cheerfulness that made him a favourite with the entire party.

On the morning of the 27th we made an excursion to the island. It is formed of an irregular, low, knobby mass of very friable tertiary rock, which seems to yield rapidly to the erosive action of the heavy waves that almost constantly break on its seaward face, where the overhanging cliffs are hollowed into caverns. At the time of our visit it appeared to be uninhabited. Two or three heavy pieces of cannon, honeycombed with rust, lay near the highest point, but seemed never to have been placed in position. A small building was said to have been sometimes used for the custody of State prisoners, but otherwise there was no indication here of the presence of man. In such a spot we expected to find the coast vegetation fully developed, but we counted without the locusts. Nowhere else did we observe such complete destruction. A good many plants growing on the rocks, within constant reach of the sea-spray, had escaped; but on the rest of the island scarcely a green leaf remained, and it required a patient search to discover a few fruits of some leguminous plants that appear to abound in this locality. Of the seaside rock-plants three were supposed to be peculiar to this single spot. Andryala mogadorensis, of Cosson, a very showy species of an unattractive genus, has been well figured in the ‘Botanical Magazine’ for 1873; Frankenia velutina, the most ornamental species of that variable genus, appeared at first quite distinct, but we were afterwards led to suspect it to be a local form or subspecies of the widely spread perennial Frankenia, so common in the Mediterranean region. Both of these we afterwards found on the coast near Saffi. Of the third plant—Asteriscus imbricatus, of Decandolle—but a single stunted specimen was found by Ball, and as yet it has no other known habitat. We here saw for the first time a plant which turned out to be rather common in South Marocco, and which was taken by us, as it had been by preceding botanists, to be the Apteranthes Gussoniana, of Mikan, first described by Gussone as Stapelia europæa, and in truth closely resembling in habit and appearance some of the South African species of Stapelia. The fruit, which we afterwards found in abundance, did not appear different from that of Gussone’s plant; but when the specimens carried to England by Maw flowered two years later, the structure of the flower showed that it should be recognised as a distinct species of the group which has received the generic name Boucerosia, and it was accordingly published by Hooker, in the ‘Botanical Magazine’ (No. 6137), under the name Boucerosia maroccana.

In the course of the day we called on Monsieur Beaumier, the French Consul, in company with Dr. Thevenin, an intelligent physician, who has spent several years at Mogador, much to the advantage of the inhabitants whether Christian or native. M. Beaumier not only received us with the proverbial courtesy of his country, but showed a warm interest in the success of our journey, and kindly supplied us with many items of information, along with manuscript notes prepared by himself during his residence in South Marocco. His premature death, from an illness contracted during a visit to France in 1875, has been a serious loss to the country which he had made his second home.

Amongst other items of information, we owe to M. Beaumier a series of meteorological observations carried on at Mogador with a single interruption for nearly nine years, and supplying all requisite particulars for eight complete years. The results are so remarkable that they have attracted the attention of many physicians, and may probably lead at some not distant date to the selection of this place as a sanitarium for consumptive patients.

Dr. Thevenin mentioned several facts of much interest in their bearing on this question. In the first place, phthisis is all but completely unknown among the inhabitants of this part of Africa; while in Algeria cases are not rare among the natives, and in Egypt they are rather frequent. In the course of ten years he had met but five cases among his very numerous native patients, and in three of these the disease had been contracted at a distance. He further mentioned several cases among Europeans who had arrived in an advanced stage of the disease, on whom the influence of the climate had exercised a remarkable curative effect.

An examination of the tables, showing the results of M. Beaumier’s observations, and especially those for temperature, may help to explain these facts, as they certainly show that Mogador enjoys a more equable climate than any place within the temperate zone as to which we possess accurate information.

It should be mentioned that these observations were made with good instruments, sufficiently well situated on the shady side of the open court-yard of the French Consulate, about thirty feet above the sea level. The hours of observation were 8 A.M., 2 P.M., and 10 P.M.—not perhaps the best that could be selected, but sufficient in a climate where rapid transitions are unknown.

A few of the results here stated in Fahrenheit’s scale are derived from M. Beaumier’s tables as continued to the end of 1874:—

Mean temperature during eight years	=	66.9°
Do. for the hottest year (1867)	=	68.65
Do. for the coldest year (1872)	=	65.75
Mean of the annual maxima	=	82.5
Mean of the annual minima	=	53.0
Highest temperature observed	=	87.8
Lowest temperature observed	=	50.7

More striking still is the comparison between the temperature of summer and winter. The following results show the monthly mean temperature, derived from eight years’ observations:—

Summer	⎧ ⎨ ⎩	June	=	70.8
		July	=	71.1
		August	=	71.2
Winter	⎧ ⎨ ⎩	December	=	61.4
		January	=	61.2
		February	=	61.8

showing a difference of only 10° of Fahrenheit’s scale between the hottest and coldest months. It has not been possible to ascertain accurately the daily range of the thermometer, as there were no self-recording instruments employed; but there is reason to believe that this would exhibit a still more remarkable proof of the equability of the climate. So far as the observations go they show an ordinary daily range of about 5° Fahr., and rarely exceeding 8° Fahr. It may be added, that in the course of six weeks from our arrival on April 26 to our departure on June 7, the lowest night temperature observed at Mogador was 61° Fahr., and the highest by day 77° Fahr.

If the climate of Mogador be compared with that of such places as Algiers, Madeira (Funchal), and Cairo, which have nearly the same mean winter temperature, it will be found that in each of those places the mercury is occasionally liable to fall considerably below 50°, and that the summer heat is greatly in excess of the limits that suit delicate constitutions, the mean of the three hottest months being about 80° Fahr. at Algiers, about 82° at Funchal, and 85° at Cairo. It will help to complete the impression as to the Mogador climate to say, that rain falls on an average on forty-five days in the year; and that, per 1,000 observations on the state of the sky, the proportions are