y dressing was a
chilly opportunity. The evening before had been warm; but the rain
freshened the air, and the wind made it still more brisk. It was darker
than ever--too windy to have kept a light going; and clothes, discovered
with some difficulty in the shadows in hiding-places under rugs and
pillows where they had been stowed the evening before to escape the dew,
were hurried into in the dark anyhow and any way, half blown inside-out
in the wind.

At half-past four S`lam came up on to the roof-top with a light (which
was promptly extinguished) and a pail of cold fresh water, in which we
had an acceptable wash. He rolled up our bedding, and brought an
earthenware pan of burning charcoal, which was stowed away in a corner of
the stone stairway out of the wind, and on which the kettle soon began to
boil. At this point two remaining stars were put out by the advancing
dawn--a wan and shivering dawn. Sitting in the lee of the parapet, five
o'clock saw us ready, and supplied with hot tea and eggs. Not long after,
the rain-clouds blew over and the day broke clear.

Meanwhile, the muleteers had loaded up and vanished with the first streak
of daylight, in order to be in Tetuan in time for the great feast that
day; the inner square of the caravanserai was deserted; our own five
mules were all that was left. It was not a long business loading them:
the last rope was knotted, and the muleteers drove them off. We followed,
riding out under the gateway, whereon is written in Arabic a sentence to
the effect that Mulai Abdurrahman built the fondak in 1256, according to
Mohammedan reckoning of time.

The sky was grey and menacing: too many of the little single clouds
called "wet dogs" drifted across it. Having started at half-past five,
not till three o'clock that afternoon did we reach Tangier; halting once
on the march, at ten o'clock, and that only for half an hour for lunch. A
heavy storm cut that halt short, for the rest of the day the "wet dogs"
were true to themselves, and we were deluged. Vivid lightning flashed and
cracking peals of thunder rolled over the plain; it was one of those
March days which make March no month for camping out in Northern Morocco.
Added to that, the track was in a shocking state--up to the girths in mud
and water and clay of a sticky and treacherous nature. The mules slipped
back at every step. We had many small rivulets to cross, and were obliged
to make great detours in order to circumvent them