Camel caravans had come in
from the interior for the Monday market. They had tramped from the
villages of the Zair and the Beni Hassan tribes, bringing ripe barley for
sale, though the spring months had not yet passed. From places near at
hand the husbandmen had brought all the vegetables that flourish after the
March rains,--peas and beans and lettuces; pumpkins, carrots and turnips,
and the tender leaves of the date-palm. The first fruits of the year and
the dried roses of a forgotten season were sold by weight, and charcoal
was set in tiny piles at prices within the reach of the poorest customers.
Wealthy merchants had brought their horses within the shadow of the
sok's[6] high walls and loosened the many-clothed saddles. Slaves walked
behind their masters or trafficked on their behalf. The snake-charmer, the
story-teller, the beggar, the water-carrier, the incense seller, whose
task in life is to fumigate True Believers, all who go to make the typical
Moorish crowd, were to be seen indolently plying their trade. But
inquiries for mules, horses, and servants for the inland journey met with
no ready response. Dar el Baida, I was assured, had nothing to offer;
Djedida, lower down along the coast, might serve, or Saffi, if Allah
should send weather of a sort that would permit the boat to land.
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