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Updated: May 15, 2025
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 were splendid in gold braid, feathers and gaudy uniforms.
Mellilla was then not on the tourist's track, so was all the more interesting and novel. From there by steamer to Gibraltar, stopping at Ceuta on the way. At Gibraltar a friend, Capt. B , took me all over the rock, the galleries, and certain fortifications. A meeting of hounds near Algeciras was attended.
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