Resting by
day and travelling by night, they had passed without challenge through the
French lines. A visitor knowing Arabic and Shilha, and able to discount
the stories properly, might have had a faithful picture of Morocco as its
own people see it, had he been admitted to join the weather-worn, hardy
traders who sat complacently eyeing their diminished store towards the
close of day. Truth is nowhere highly esteemed in Morocco,[52] and the
colouring superimposed upon most stories must have destroyed their
original hue, but it served to please the Moors and Berbers who, like the
men of other countries one knows, have small use for unadorned facts.
Perhaps the troubles that were reported from every side of the doomed
country accounted for the professional story-teller's thin audience. By
the side of tales that had some connection with fact the salt of his
legends lost its savour.
[Illustration: IN CAMP]
Towards evening the crowd melted away silently, as it had come. A few
mules passed along the road to Mogador, the Bedouin and his company moved
off in the direction of Saffi, and the greater part of the traders turned
south-east to M'touga, where there was a Thursday market that could be
reached in comfort.
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