them up to the mark; they broke into a canter,
and scampered across the rich-looking flats bordering the river Wad
Martil. The Wad Martil is the proud possessor of one of the seven bridges
which the Empire of Morocco can show--a somewhat quaint construction, but
a _bona-fide_ stone bridge: no carriage could have crossed it; the middle
cobble-stones were so steep and rough that they amounted to rocks. But
Morocco knows not carriages, and at least it was a bridge.

Once across, Tetuan was not more than a few miles off.

Seen from any height, it is one of the whitest cities in the world, and
the whitewashed walls lend themselves to flat shadow as blue as the sky
above. Tetuan has been described as "a cluster of flat-backed white
mice, shut up in a fortress in case they should escape": it has also
been likened to Jerusalem, with "the hills round about." For my own part,
it was like nothing I had seen, nor was prepared then and there to
classify--this heap of chalk, this white city. Not a particle of smoke
floated over it: purity and sunlight alone were suggested by the outside
of the platter. The Moor has a weakness for whitewashed houses, for long
white garments, for veiled women: there shall be no outer windows in his
house, nor in his own private life. Ugliness there may be, enough and to
spare, inside these white cities--it oozes out sometimes; but as far as
possible let a haik and a blank wall enshroud it all in mystery.

None can fix the age of Tetuan: once upon a time the city was on the
seashore--now seven miles of flats lie between, and crawling mules and
donkeys link the two, working backwards and forwards, week in, week out,
jogging down with empty packs to the cargo-steamers, and labouring back
across deep-flooded country half the year, under solid burdens, to the
city. From the flat roof-tops the weekly visit of a merchant-vessel is
duly looked for, and a long black steamer lies at anchor for the day in
the narrow ribbon of blue sea seen to the east, near the white Customs
House, which stands back from the beach.

[Illustration: CLOUDS OVER TETUAN.

[_To face p. 44._]

Southwards Tetuan faces the Riff country, range after range of mountains,
inhabited by that indomitable tribe, whose "highlands" are closed to
Europeans. The river Wad Martil, between Tetuan and _the Riff_, winds
across the seven miles of flats to the sea, and is fordable in two or
three places except in heavy rains; and days "in the mountai