On the Sultan’s leaving Fez in April of the year in which I made my journey, 1893, he took with him as far as Sufru, a small town some few hours’ journey south of the capital, all his European staff—that is to say, the military missions of France and Spain, some three officers of each, attached to his Court. But from Sufru, for reasons which are not quite apparent, he ordered the Europeans to return to Fez, with the exception of the French officer, Dr Linares, who was commanded to accompany him throughout his journey. Kaid Maclean returned with the rest; but shortly before my leaving Saffi, he, without my knowledge, had proceeded to Tafilet to join the Sultan’s camp, as usual accompanied by his guard of troops. Yet in spite of the fact that he was in his Majesty’s service, wore the Sultan’s uniform, and was accompanied by troops and bore a special firman from his master, he was several times roughly treated, and was more than once in danger of his life upon the road. He had arrived some ten or twelve days previous to myself at Tafilet, and I look back to the fact that he was there to urge my cause with the Sultan and the Viziers with no little feeling of thankfulness and pleasure. To Dr Linares, too, I owe a word of thanks. Had not he been present to perform an operation on my throat, in all probability this book would never have been written, nor I have returned to tell the tale of my journey. Fortune, which has never deserted me in any of my long journeys, stood by me then, to ease my suffering and, I think I may almost say, save my life. But I have progressed too far. At length Mohammed returned with the welcome news of Kaid Maclean’s presence, and a couple of soldiers to bring me into the camp, where some shelter would be afforded to me until the Sultan’s opinions and wishes as to myself should be known. Meanwhile I was told to “lie low,” and that no communication must pass between myself and either of the European officers, or even the native officials. In a few hours’ time, when Mulai el Hassen should leave the privacy of his tents for his office, my fate would be known. So I followed my guides into the great camp. It was a sight well worth seeing—worth almost the long journey to Tafilet; for, though not the first time I had intruded my presence in the camp of the Sultan of Morocco, I had never previously witnessed a following of so large a number of troops and others, or so vast a quantity of tents.