the Baron must needs hire it and invite me, with his wife, to
a trip up a certain hill or mountain overlooking the city. A holy man,
or marabout, denned on the top and we must pay our respects. The road
proved to be exceedingly steep, and zigzagged in a remarkable way, with
very sharp, angular turns. No car had ever been up it, and few
carriages. We reached the top in due time, saluted the old man and
started back. My friend was at the wheel and did a few turns all right,
till we came to a straight shoot, very narrow, a ditch on one side,
trees on the other, and just here the brake refused to work. Reaching
over I touched his shoulder and suggested that he should go slower. No
reply; he was speechless, and we knew at once that he had lost control,
and realized our horrible position. On we rushed, he guiding it straight
all right, till we approached the bend, the worst on the road, and quite
impossible to manipulate at great speed. Right in front was an unguarded
cliff, with a drop of 500 feet over practically a precipice. But--well,
there was no "terrible accident" to be reported. Most fortunately a pile
of rocks had been accumulated for the purpose of building a parapet
wall, and on to the top of this pile the car jumped and lodged, without
even turning over. The jar and shock were bad enough, but no one was
much hurt. It reminded me of another occasion when I got a jar of a
different kind. Once, after playing golf with a man in America, he
offered to drive me to town in his motor-car. Knowing him to be a
scorcher I excused myself by saying that I was not ready to go. He
started; very soon afterwards word came back that he had run into a
telegraph post and killed himself and his driver. Such things tend to
cool one's motor ambition.

At Oran I boarded a small French steamer for Mellilla, in Spanish
Morocco, a Spanish convict station and a considerable military post.
This was just before Spain's recent Riff Campaign. The table fare on
the steamer was not British! Cuttle-fish soup or stew was prominent on
the bill; a huge dish of snails was always much in demand, and the other
delicacies were not tempting, to me at least. Eggs, always eggs! How
often in one's travels does one have to resort to them. In Mellilla
itself there was no hotel. We messed at the strangest restaurant it was
ever my ill-luck to enter. The troops reminded me somewhat of those of
Guatemala, slovenly, slouching, and poorly dressed. Their officers wer