BY CAPE SPARTEL
O
ver the meadows that blossom and wither Rings but the note of a sea-
bird's song, Only the sun and the rain come hither All year long.
The Deserted Garden.
Before us the Atlantic rolls to the verge of the "tideless, dolorous inland sea."
In the little bay lying between Morocco's solitary lighthouse and the famous
Caves of Spartel, the waters shine in colours that recall in turn the emerald,
the sapphire, and the opal. There is just enough breeze to raise a fine spray as
the baby waves reach the rocks, and to fill the sails of one or two tiny vessels
speeding toward the coast of Spain. There is just enough sun to warm the
water in the pools to a point that makes bathing the most desirable mid-day
pastime, and over land and sea a solemn sense of peace is brooding. From
where the tents are set no other human habitation is in sight. A great spur
of rock, with the green and scarlet of cactus sprawling over it at will, shuts
off lighthouse and telegraph station, while the towering hills above hide the
village of Mediunah, whence our supplies are brought each day at dawn and
sun-setting.
3 S. L. (SAMUEL LEVY) BENSUSAN
Two fishermen, clinging to the steep side of the rock, cast their lines into
the water. They are from the hills, and as far removed from our twentieth
century as their prototypes who were fishing in the sparkling blue not so very
far away when, the world being young, Theocritus passed and gave them
immortality. In the valley to the right, the atmosphere of the Sicilian Idylls is
preserved by two half-clad goatherdswho have brought their flock to pasture
from hillside Mediunah, in whose pens they are kept safe from thieves at
night. As though he were a reincarnation of Daphnis or Menalcas, one of
the brown-skinned boys leans over a little promontory and plays a tuneless
ghaitah, while his companion, a younger lad, gives his eyes to the flock and
his ears to the music. The last rains of this favoured land's brief winter have
passed; beyond the plateau the sun has called flowers to life in every nook and
cranny. Soon the light will grow too strong and blinding, the flowers will
fade beneath it, the shepherds will seek the shade, but in these glad March
days there is no suggestion of the intolerable heat to come.
On the plot of level ground that Nature herself has set in position for a camp,
the tents are pitched. Two hold the impedimenta of travel; in the third Salam
and his assistant work in leisurely fashion, as befits the time and place. Tang-
ier lies no more than twelve miles away, over a road that must be deemed un-
commonly good for Morocco, but I have chosen to live in camp for a week
or two in this remote place, in preparation for a journey to the southern
country. At first the tents were the cynosure of native eyes. Mediunah came
down from its fastness among the hilltops to investigate discreetly from se-
cure corners, prepared for flight so soon as occasion demanded it, if not be-
fore. Happily Salam's keen glance pierced the cover of the advance-guard
and reassured one and all. Confidence established, the village agreed after
much solemn debate to supply eggs, chickens, milk, and vegetables at prices
