surely had seen death—for I know such eyes and would recognize them among thousands of others that had not seen the Reaper at his work.
"You are on your way to the war?" I asked, pointing toward the south.
"Yes, I am rejoining my ship. We are going to bombard the left wing of the army of these banditti from the Rif, who have had the impudence to challenge the rights of Spain in Morocco and to initiate a war against us."
I was silent, for I knew from the papers that the army of the Arab chief, Abd el-Krim, was successfully pushing the Spaniards northward out of their Moroccan territory, a fact that was greatly troubling the Madrid government.
"Look upon this sea," the officer tragically whispered, as his eyes traveled out across the ranks of the whitecrested waves that were hurrying on as though for some great attack. "Look and reflect Formerly the galleys of black pirates and adventurers rode this wind to our shores, where the Moors cut down our people, burned our hamlets and towns and carried off many prisoners. The men among these mostly perished, chained to the rowing-benches of galleys and brigantines, groaning under the lash of slave-drivers and the scorching rays of a burning sun; while the women languished, wept and died in Moslem harems, forgotten, abandoned and degraded. And now in this twentieth century the Arabs dream of renewing again this Moslem domination. We know it and we realize that now we must once more, once for all put an end to such barbarous dreams."
