Believer, and return thanks to Allah the One for sending an infidel who
gives them tea. Broadly speaking, it is only coast Moors, who have
suffered what is to them the contamination of European influences, that
smoke in Morocco.

Like the Walrus and the Carpenter, we talk of many things, Salam acting as
interpreter. The interests of my guests are simple: good harvests,
abundant rain, and open roads are all they desire. They have never seen
the sea or even a big Moorish town, but they have heard of these things
from travellers and traders who have passed their nights in the n'zala in
times recent or remote, and sometimes they appeal to me to say if these
tales are true. Are there great waters of which no man may drink--waters
that are never at rest? Do houses with devils (? steam engines) in them go
to and fro upon the face of these waters? Are there great cities so big
that a man cannot walk from end to end in half a day? I testify to the
truth of these things, and the headman praises Allah, who has done what
seemed good to him in lands both near and far. It is, I fear, the
headman's polite way of saying that Saul is among the prophets. My
revolver, carefully unloaded, is passed from hand to hand, its uses and
capacities are known even to these wild people, and the weapon creates
more interest than the tent and all its varied equipment. Naturally
enough, it turns the talk to war and slaughter, and I learn that the local
kaid has an endless appetite for thieves and other children of shameless
women, that guns are fired very often within his jurisdiction, and baskets
full of heads have been collected after a purely local fight. All this is
said with a quiet dignity, as though to remind me that I have fallen among
people of some distinction, and the effect is only spoilt by the
recollection that nearly every headman has the same tale to tell. Sultans,
pretenders, wazeers, and high court functionaries are passed in critical
review, their faults and failings noted. I cannot avoid the conclusion