we passed a tall look-out tower,
standing sentry over each one, from the top of which the Ain-el-Hadger
people could easily see an enemy coming. In England it would have been a
ruin: in Morocco it was in active use,--it is still "the Middle Ages" in
Morocco.

Leaving a garden on the left, surrounded by a high tapia wall, we crossed
a little streamlet into the brook which waters the valley, and reached at
last a corner surrounded with grey olives, deep in lush grass, and
overlooked by the inevitable quaint white-domed saint-house on the top of
a rocky hillock. It was an ideal spot. Omar and Said laid their two guns
under a tree (they rode with them across their knees, ancient
flint-locks, and carried bullets in bags at their sides, Omar possessing
a French rifle as well); we off-saddled, unloaded the two men's mules,
and unpacked what there was to unpack, the camel having practically
everything. R. and I strolled about and photographed. A countryman
brought us three fowls and some eggs. The sun set. Still the wretched
camel had not come. Dew fell heavily, and Omar made a famous fire and
supplied us with hot green tea. At last there were voices; a great form
loomed in the darkness and swung towards us; the donkey followed. It was
not long before the camel was unloaded, our big tent up, table and chairs
and beds put together, and though dinner was late it was the more
acceptable, The Saint proving a chef. A pannierful of bread was part of
the camel's luggage, and intended to last us until we got to Marrakesh:
vegetables we had in plenty for the first two or three days. And Omar
worked wonders with the means at his disposal. Early we turned in: the
stars were out; the frogs croaked in the streamlets. With the tent-flap
tied back, and looking out into the quiet night, we slept as sound as
tramps on the roadside at home.

I woke at 2 a.m. The guard had stopped talking, and were all asleep and
snoring round the tents, except one old greybeard, who was sitting up by
the fire. Four Ain-el-Hadger men had come to act as guard for the night,
bringing their guns and long knives with them. It was oddly light--the
"false dawn" of Omar Khayy[=a]m; but there were no stars.

[Illustration: OUR CAMP AT AIN-EL-HADGER.

[_To face p. 290._]

Such a dawn woke us at five! Every bird for miles around was singing:
blackbirds sounded like England, wood-pigeons cooed, cuckoos insisted,
and among them all, strange and Indian, a hoopoe called.