[Illustration: Isabel Savory] IN THE TAIL OFTHE PEACOCK By ISABEL SAVORY. Author of "_A Sportswoman in India_" WITH 48 ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHSAND A PHOTOGRAVURE PORTRAIT "The Earth is a peacock: Morocco is the tail of it" _Moorish Proverb_ London: HUTCHINSON & CO. Paternoster Row 1903 PRINTED BYHAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD. , LONDON AND AYLESBURY _PREFACE_ _THIS book contains no thrilling adventures, chronicles, no days devotedto sport. It will probably interest only those minds which are contentwith "the C Major of this life, " and which find in other than scenes ofperil and excitement their hearts' desire. _ _Such as care to wander through its pages must have learnt to enjoyidleness, nor find weeks spent beneath the sun and stars too long--thatis to say, the fascination of a wandering, irresponsible life should beknown to them: waste and solitary places must not appal, nor triflingincident weary, while human natures remotely removed from their own, alternately delight and repel. Those who understand not these things, will find but a dull chronicle within the following pages. _ _If to live is to know more, and to know more only to love more, theleast eventful day may possess a minimum of value, and even quietmonotones and grey vistas be found and lost in a glamour born ofthemselves. _ _In this loud and insistent world the silent places are often overlooked, and yet they are never empty. _ _ISABEL SAVORY. _ WESTFIELD OLD HALL, EAST DEREHAM. _February, 1903. _ CONTENTS CHAPTER I PAGETANGIER--COUNTRY PEOPLE--THE PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA--MOORISHPRISONS--WE RIDE TO CAPE SPARTEL--DECIDE TO LEAVETANGIER AND PUSH INLAND 1 CHAPTER II CAMP OUTFIT--A NIGHT AT A CARAVANSERAI--TETUAN--THEBRITISH VICE-CONSUL--MOORISH SHOPS--WE VISIT A MOORISHHOUSE AND FAMILY 27 CHAPTER III DIFFICULTIES OF "LODGINGS" IN MOROCCO--A SPANISH FONDA--AMOORISH TEA PARTY--POISON IN THE CUP--SLAVES INMOROCCO--EL DOOLLAH--MOORISH CEMETERY--RIDE TO SEMSAR--SHOPPINGIN TETUAN--PROVISIONS IN THE CITY 63 CHAPTER IV THE FAST OF RÁMADHAN--MOHAMMED--HIS LIFE AND INFLUENCE--THEFLOOD AT SAFFI--A WALK OUTSIDE TETUAN--THEFRENCH CONSUL'S GARDEN-HOUSE--JEWS IN MOROCCO--EUROPEANPROTECTION 97 CHAPTER V PLANS FOR CHRISTMAS AT GIBRALTAR--A ROUGH NIGHT--THESTEAMER WHICH WOULD NOT WAIT--AN IGNOMINIOUS RETURNTO TETUAN--A RASCALLY JEW--THE ABORIGINES AND THEPRESENT OCCUPANTS OF MOROCCO--THE SULTAN, COURT, GOVERNMENT, AND MOORISH ARMY 121 CHAPTER VI WE LOOK OVER A MOORISH COURTYARD HOUSE WITH A VIEW TOTAKING IT--WE RENT JINAN DOLERO IN SPITE OF OPPOSITION--ANENGLISHMAN MURDERED--OUR GARDEN-HOUSE--THEIDIOSYNCRASIES OF MOORISH SERVANTS--A NATIVE GUARD--THERIFF COUNTRY 153 CHAPTER VII COUNTRY PEOPLE FORDING THE RIVER--WE CALL ON CI HAMEDGHRALMIA--AN EXPEDITION ACROSS THE RIVER IN SEARCH OFTHE BLUE POOL--MOORISH BELIEF IN GINNS--THE BASHA--POWDERPLAY--TETUAN PRISON 181 CHAPTER VIII MISSIONARIES AT TETUAN--POISONING IN MOROCCO--FATIMA'SRECEPTION--DIVORCE--AN EXPEDITION INTO THE ANJERAS--ANEMERALD OASIS 217 CHAPTER IX WE LEAVE TETUAN--A WET NIGHT UNDER THE STARS--S`LAM DESERTSUS--WE SAIL FOR MOGADOR--THE PALM-TREE HOUSE--SUSAND WADNOON COUNTRIES--THE SAHARA--THE ATLASMOUNTAINS 249 CHAPTER X ON THE MARCH ONCE MORE--BUYING MULES--A BAD ROAD--FIRSTCAMP--ARGAN-TREES--COOS-COOSOO--A TERRIBLE NIGHT--DOCTORINGTHE KHAYLIFA--ROUGHING IT UNDER CANVAS 281 CHAPTER XI A PARTING MONA--FORDING SHESHAOUA RIVER--JARS OF FOOD--FIRSTSIGHT OF MARRAKESH--A PERILOUS CROSSING--RIDEINTO MARRAKESH--THE SLAVE MARKET 311 CHAPTER XII THE THURSDAY MARKET--WE MIGHT HAVE GONE TO GLAOUIA--LEAVEMARRAKESH AND SET OUT ON OUR LAST MARCH FORTHE COAST--FLOWERS IN MOROCCO--ON THE WRONG TRAIL--ARABTENTS--GOOD-BYE TO EL MOGHREB 339 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS _Except where otherwise stated, the Illustrations are from photographs byROSE A. BAINBRIDGE. _ FACING PAGE PHOTOGRAVURE PORTRAIT _Frontispiece_ THE ROAD TO FEZ 6 R. ON A PACK 12 TWO SHEIKHS 18 TANGIER 24 TETUAN 30 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ OURSELVES AND BAGGAGE 34 CLOUDS OVER TETUAN 44 ALARBI ABRESHA'S HOUSE 54 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ OUR CAMP OUTSIDE TETUAN 60 A VEILED FIGURE OUTSIDE THE GATE 66 A MOHAMMEDAN CEMETERY 80 OUT SHOPPING 90 SHOPS IN TETUAN 94 A CLUSTER OF COUNTRY WOMEN 100 A TYPICAL MOORISH STREET 108 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ A STREET IN THE JEWS' QUARTER, TETUAN 116 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ REFUSE GOING OUT OF TETUAN 124 A MOORISH PRISON GATE 130 A PEEP OF TETUAN 138 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ A SAINT-HOUSE, TETUAN 148 JINAN DOLERO 158 OUR SERVANTS, S`LAM AND TAHARA 164 TWO WOMEN FROM THE RIFF COUNTRY 172 SELLING EARTHENWARE POTS 178 A FERRY-BOAT ON MARKET DAY 184 THE AUTHOR FORDING THE WAD-EL-MARTINE 188 THE BASHA GOING TO PRAY 198 THE FEDDAN, TETUAN 208 CHARMING SNAKES 214 MOORS AT HOME 222 STRAW FOR SALE 230 A GROUP IN THE FEDDAN, TETUAN 236 A BREEZY CAMPING-GROUND ON A ROOF-TOP 254 ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE WAY WE RODE IN MOROCCO 262 LIGHTERS LOADING 268 AFTER RAIN IN MOGADOR 274 WHERE MANCHESTER GOODS ARE SOLD, MOGADOR 284 OUR CAMP AT AIN-EL-HADGER 290 A BLINDFOLDED CAMEL WORKING A WATER-WHEEL 298 SHIPS OF THE DESERT WE PASS ON THE MARCH 308 TRANSPORTING OUR BAGGAGE 314 MARRAKESH 318 THE OPEN GATE 324 THE KUTOBEA, MARRAKESH 328 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ THE WAD-EL-AZELL 334 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ THE SULTAN'S GARDEN 344 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ THE RIVER TENSIF OUTSIDE MARRAKESH 346 _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _ ONE OF OUR LAST CAMPS. LOADING THE CAMEL 350 CHAPTER I TANGIER--COUNTRY PEOPLE--THE PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA--MOORISH PRISONS--WERIDE TO CAPE SPARTEL--DECIDE TO LEAVE TANGIER AND PUSH INLAND. CHAPTER I The vague and hazy ideals which the white light of an English upbringing relegates to dreamland and dismisses as idle fancies, rise up in the glare of African sunlight, alive, tangible, unashamed; the things that are, not the things that might be:--the vivid colouring, the hot crowding, the stately men and veiled women, the despotism and stoicism, the unchanging picturesqueness of the Thousand and One Nights, the dramatic inevitability of the Old Testament. --A. J. D. THERE was no desert in Morocco. If a country has not been "read up" beforehand, the imagination has freeplay and forms many false conclusions: yet though it suffer on the onehand rude awakenings, it is on the other compensated by certain newlights--indelible and unique impressions--which come only in the train ofthings _inconnu_. So though we found no desert, there are other things inMorocco. It is one of the few countries in the world, and they grow fewer eachyear, which is still unexplored--unknown. Thousands of square miles inMorocco have never been crossed by a European, or at any rate none havereturned to tell the tale: maps mark only blank spaces, and have no namesfor villages, no records of mountains or rivers: there are no roads, still less railways, in the country: the only means of transport alongthe wild, worn tracks is by camels, mules, and donkeys: he who will notride perforce walks. The bare fringe alone of Morocco, its coast towns, and the choice, let ussay, of two roads connecting them with its capitals, Fez and MoroccoCity, are open to travellers; beyond these limits it is difficult anddangerous for Europeans to venture. Of even its coasts towns Englandknows little enough: a daily paper printed in 1902 describes oneflourishing seaport of thirty thousand inhabitants as "a village. " Thereis more vagueness, in fact, about a country three times the size of GreatBritain and four days' journey from London than of many a remote cornerin the heart of Asia. The reason is at hand. An old Arabic proverb, "The earth is a peacock:Morocco is the tail of it, " typifies the entire satisfaction of itsinhabitants with their native land. What is, is good; why "civilize" and"progress"? As far as possible there shall no European enter therein. Realizing that, were new blood allowed to come into Morocco, its owneffete and uneducated people would have no chance in the race of life, and end by hopelessly knuckling under to the European, the countryisolates itself; nor is it likely that the jealous Powers of Europe willallow any one of their number to disturb that isolation and pluck thetempting fruit. And so to-day Morocco drowses in an atmosphere of _laissez faire_, adecadent nation, a collection of lawless tribes, who have changed littlefor the last two thousand years, living still much after the manner ofOld Testament days. They are devout Mussulmans. They believe the world tobe flat, and to come to an end with the west coast of Morocco. Theircountry they call _El Moghreb el Aksa_, which means, "The Extreme West, "or "The Land of the Setting Sun": "Morocco" and "Moors" are entirelyEuropean words, and never used by the Moors themselves--the one being acorruption of the name of their capital city, the other having beengiven them by the Spaniards. Morocco should be fascinating on the face of it: a great country runninginto hundreds of thousands of square miles, the only independentMussulman state of North Africa, with six million followers of the greatProphet, and a perfect climate, soil, and water-supply to boot, needs noextolling. And yet its chiefest fascination lies in things which, fromsome points of view, ought not to be. Its remote removal from all appertaining to the twentieth century, itsstrangely simple, untaught life, the solemn, stately men, the veiledwomen and their eyes, the steely blue cactus, the white cities and theglaring light, the mystery and the fatalism which intensify the air, arealike oddly inevitable and incomprehensible to a European. The other sideof the closed door has always constituted, for the wandering vagrantsamong mankind, their hearts' desire. For them there is still Morocco; andthe door will be shut in their faces again and again by a people and afaith and customs which they can never understand. And though it beuseless they will still go on, because it seems the best thing. About six weeks before 1902 was due, Rose A. Bainbridge and myself leftbehind us the last outpost of England--Gibraltar--with its cluster ofcivilization round the bottom of the great Rock. Four hours brought usacross the Straits; and seen from the deck of the dirty little _GibelMusa_, on to which we had changed from a P. & O. At Gibraltar, Moroccoshaped itself into a rugged country, ridge behind ridge of low hills andjagged mountains cutting the sky-line. A long white sand-bank lying backin a bay on the African shore, broken at one end by irregular vegetation, gradually developed upon its slopes a yellowish-white, fantastic city, which resolved itself into Tangier. Landing at Tangier among vociferating Moors has been described oftenenough, and needs no further enlargement. The next morning, November 13, 1901, found us sitting over coffee and anomelette out of doors, on a little balcony opening off the hotel VillaValentina, over-looking the road to Fez, and facing the broad, blueStraits which divided us from Europe. It was like a June morning at home, soft and balmy: the city dropped fromus down to the beach, and the sun poured upon the flat-roofed houses, coloured yellow to pale cream or washed-out blue, alternating with alavish coat of glaring whitewash. Tangier is an example of structure without architecture; at the same timethere is a certain fitness in the crude Moorish buildings, whose flatexpanse of wall is unbroken either by windows or ornament: they aresimple and "reserved. " Gleaming in high light under an equally light sky, they huddle almost one on top of the other, built upon every availablesquare yard inside the "papery" old city wall, which looks as if cannonwould blow it away. Patches of blue sea break the white city outline, andthe towers of the mosques rise above it all: their tesselated surfaces, tiled in shades of green and polished by the years, shimmer in thesunshine like peacocks' tails. [Illustration: THE ROAD TO FEZ. [_To face p. 6. _] Two or three gateways pierce the drab-coloured city wall, theirhorseshoe-shaped arches washed over with salmon-pink. The sameplaster-work arch repeats itself occasionally in the rough stone- andmortar-work of the houses, all of an inferior quality, short-lived andrebuilt again and again on the _débris_ of successive years, untilthey stand in time right above the cobble-stones of the narrowstreets. Outside the city wall a few private houses and two hotels lie back amongeucalyptus, palms, and bushy stone-pines: several of the legations whichrepresent the European Powers have modern houses, lost in greenery ofsorts. Behind these, again, a suburb of jerry-built Spanish houses, withthe scum of Spain, is inclined to grow, which offshoot of fifth-rateEurope gives at last upon the rolling pastures and windswept hills of theopen country. Our breakfast-table brought us face to face with every traveller whopassed along the great sandy track leading eventually to Fez, whichpeople in Morocco call a road, beaten to-day and for the last twothousand years by the feet of generations of camels, mules, donkeys, horses, cattle, and mankind. Though the wayfarers, plodding through the dusty hoof-marks, weredesultory, it was quiet for few hours even at night, and under ourwindows we waked to an eternal shuffling in the soft sand, the champingof bits, and guttural Arabic tones. R. And I leaned over the balcony. Women passed us wrapped in voluminouswhity-yellow garments--_haiks_--black eyes and red slippers aloneshowing. Date-coloured boys passed us, wearing red fezes and dirty-whiteturbans. Countrymen passed us in great, coarse, brown woollencloaks--_jellabs_--the hood pulled right on over the head, short widesleeves, the front joined all down, and having scarred bare legs and feetcoming out from underneath. These drove strings of diminutive donkeys, acouple of water-barrels balanced across the back of each--supplies ofwater for Tangier when the rain-water tanks are giving out: there are fewwells in the city. More women, veiled to the eyes, passed us, in delightfulshoes--milk-coloured leather, embroidered with green: an African woman, black as a boot, with thick negro lips and yellow metal bracelets on hercharcoal-sticks of arms. More donkeys passed us, carrying vegetables tomarket, driven by countrywomen in yellowish-white haiks, vast straw hats, and the inevitable veil. Two men passed us with an immense open boxcontaining thousands of eggs, hung between them by a pole on the shoulderof each--export for England: forty-eight millions were sent off in 1902, and this morning's omelette might not be our first Morocco egg. A Moor ofsome means came by, riding at a hard-held ambling walk his star-gazingwhite mule: the high-peaked saddle and bridle were of scarlet cloth, thestirrup-leathers of scarlet twisted wool; he wore a creamy woollen haik, falling in soft folds down to his yellow slippers, a turban whose snowydisc of enormous size framed his cinnamon-coloured face in symmetricalfolds of spotless white, and the top of a scarlet fez showed in thecentre of it. Almost opposite us a beggar had sat himself down at the edge of the road, under the shelter of the high cane fence--a grimy old greybeard, tannedand worn like a walnut, in a tattered jellab and shady turban. "For thelove of God; for the love of God, " he rolled out incessantly in Arabic, ending in a throaty gobble like a turkey; and the country people threwhim, as they passed, of their bundles--here an orange, there a lump ofcharcoal--whatever it might be it was crammed into the hood of thejellab; and the sing-song and the gobble began again. In a Mohammedancountry it is counted a duty as well as a holy deed to encourage beggars:almsgiving represents to the faithful Mussulman equivalent gain inParadise; and no one starves in Morocco, though occasionally dismissedwith a wave of the hand and "God provide for you. " Mad people areregarded as saints, and credited with the gift of prophecy. It is anexceedingly holy thing to walk about naked. A holy man in Fez was in thehabit of sitting at a missionary's gate stark naked; eventually thisproceeding had to be put a stop to, because the holy man would insistupon holding the horses of the missionary's afternoon callers. Our beggar sat in the same spot day after day, hour after hour, fatuitously happy, blissfully content. "God is great, and what is writtenis written": remorse, regrets, are alike unknown to Mussulmen; and it isthis which dignifies their religion and themselves. Life passes lightlyover them, and chisels few lines and puckers in the serene patriarchalfaces--they may be scamps of the first water, for all one can tell; itsits lightly upon them. A small boy in a white tunic and red fez, who called himself Larbi, wasplaying about near the beggar: being able to speak a little English, hemade himself useful to visitors, and was rapidly exchanging his goodqualities for the drawbacks of the hanger-on: he came out with us for aday or two, smoked several cigarettes in the course of the afternoon, andpicked us useless bunches of ordinary flowers. Remonstrance was futile, but when no more little silver coins were forthcoming he left offshadowing us. We found our own way down to the great _sok_, or market-place, in thewake of some donkeys carrying live cackling fowls, fastened by a bit ofstring and their feet to any part of the donkey and its baskets whichcame handy. On each side of the road and everywhere in Tangier theobstinate steely-grey cactus, or prickly pear, dominates the landscape:its fat fleshy leaves make as good a protection as the sharp-pointed aloeround the irregular plots of cultivated ground. Alternating with them, tall bound cane fences swish and rattle in the wind. Steely-grey and a yellow-bleached white describe the vegetation ofTangier, set in its white sand-dunes. Morocco is far from having lot orpart in the gorgeous East, as tradition says. To begin with, from the endof August to the end of April hazy days greatly predominate, and thirtyinches of rain are put in: naturally the country and people take theircue from the general colour of the sky, from its white-yellow light, inwhich a wan sun is yet able to produce a glare. Morocco is yellow-white, and the Moors themselves run from the colour of cinnamon, through shadesof coffee and old gold, to biscuit and skim-milk. Their houses and theirclothes take on the same whites and greys, yellows and browns, and thesand and the scrub again and again repeat the tale. Perhaps it has asaddening effect, borne out in the colourless monotone of the lives ofits countrywomen. Presently we passed a skin-yard, salted goat-skins, drying by the hundredunder the sun, spread upon the ground, upon the flat roofs, wherever askin could lie, curling with dryness, the empty legs of the late ownersstanding stiff and upright, like petrified stockings, pointing dismallyto heaven. We overtook a string of camels as we neared the sok, strolling along andregarding the skies, R. And myself with an exaggerated superciliousness. They were laden with dates, carpets, and slippers from Fez, and, togetherwith mules and donkeys, constitute the vans and railway-trucks ofMorocco, substituting over the face of the land a dilatory calm in theplace of speed and bustle. But at first it was a real effort to take in a tenth part of surroundingsso different from those of England; and when we found ourselves in thesok--the _hub_ of Moorish life--it was to be jostled by donkey-driversshouting "Baarak! Baarak!" by black water-carriers from the Sus country, by veiled women, by negroes from Timbuctoo, by mules and camels, by menwalking, men riding, without one sight or sound familiar, in adream-world of intense life, recalling nothing so much as the OldTestament. It was worth the journey out from home to see this sok--anopen space crawling with brown-and-white, cloaked and hooded humanity, mixed up with four-legged beasts, also brown, and the whole more like amagnified ant-hill on the flat than anything human. In front of thesquatted country people their stock-in-trade lay in piles, gorgeous intone: oranges and oranges and more oranges, selling at one thousand sevenhundred for a shilling; scarlet chillies--hot blots of colour; pinkonions; red carrots; white salt, collected down on the beach; greenpumpkins blotched with yellow; besides grain of all sorts, basketsful ofcharcoal, bundles of wood, dried fruit, flat round loaves of bread, cabbages, and what not. The sound of a perpetual muffin-bell was ringingbackwards and forwards--the _bhisti_ of Tangier, with his hairygoatskinful of water across his back, and two bright brass bowls hung bya chain round his neck, a bell in one hand, with the other dealing outdrinks of water for a Moorish copper coin of which a penny containsfifteen. We elbowed our way through the _Báb-el-Sok_, or Gate of the Market-place, into the city, and found ourselves in a long, narrow, straight street, dropping down to the _marsa_, or harbour. The irregular, lightcolour-washed houses jut out promiscuously over the minute cupboard-likeshops crammed with oddments of every sort and hue, and leaving scantyroom for the owner to squat on some carpet or mattress, until it strikeshim that it is time to eat or go to prayers, and he locks up the doubledoors of his "store cupboard" and strolls away. Looking down this attenuated Piccadilly of Tangier, over the whiteturbans and red fezes of the multitude, right away at the far end a fieldof blue sea was to be seen: half-way between, the faithful were beginningto pass into the big mosque one by one for midday prayers, each leavinghis shoes behind him and stepping over the high doorstep barefoot on tothe marble floor beyond, thence disappearing behind the ponderous greeniron doors, where the great line is drawn between Europeans and Asiatics, debarring from entry any except Mussulmen. The Villa Valentina breakfasted at 12. 45, and cut the morning short. Wewere out again later with a guide--Hadj Riffi he called himself--bent ona visit to the _Kasbah_, or fortress of the city. Hadj Riffi provided a donkey and pack, which of all substitutes forsaddles is most foolish, intended only for loads of all sorts to be slungacross them; but packs are easy to slip off and on, and have answeredtheir purpose in Morocco since the days when in Judæa Mary rode on one toBethlehem. Conducted through the queer, intricate city, we wound along maze-likealleys three or four feet wide, ever the old aromatic smell of the East, almost impossible to recall, yet recognized again in an instant's flash, and born of the Oriental world we jostled against--of Berbers, Arabs, negroes, men from the Sahara, men from the mountains of the Riff, Turks, Greeks, Levantines, Syrians, even an occasional Hindoo, all wanderers upand down the earth, unable to resist the call of the open road, engendered by nomadic habits of old. [Illustration: R. ON A PACK. [_To face p. 12. _] One word on the inhabitants of the country. The Berbers are theaborigines of Morocco, and live more or less in the hills andmountains, into which they were driven by the Arabs in the seventhcentury, when they overran Morocco. The Arabs, on the other hand, live inthe plains; and Arabs and Berbers practically halve the country betweenthem. Both peoples divide into numerous tribes, of which the men from theRiff are a Berber tribe. The negroes in Morocco are merely slavesimported from the south. One and all the Arab and Berber tribes arecalled indiscriminately by Europeans "Moors. " The other wanderers inTangier filter through the land from their own countries: who can tellwhy or wherefore? Hadj Riffi himself had obeyed his Prophet Mohammed inso far as to make the pilgrimage to Mecca. A journey the prospect ofwhich would horrify a tradesman at home is undertaken by anearnest-minded shop-keeping Moor as a matter of course. What are thetwelve uncomfortable days by sea to Jeddah? Or the journey thence toMecca, lying stretched in a long pannier on one side of a camel, balancedby a second pilgrim in a pannier on the other side, and over the whole anawning spread? But this luxurious travelling is for the rich pilgrim, whoswings silently along day after day, under the burning sun or the coldstars, across the tideless sea of sand, towards an illimitable horizon. Hadj Riffi "footed it, " spent three days at Mecca, at this timetransformed into a city of a myriad tents, among which it is easy enoughto be lost, teeming with pilgrims--Chinese, Hindoos, Circassians, Georgians, Bosnians--most of them unable to understand each other, beyonda verse or two from the Kor[=a]n and a few pious ejaculations. Hadj Riffi and his fellow-Moors prayed three days at Mecca, and performedthe ceremonies round the celebrated _K[=a]aba_, the chief shrine andholiest of all holy places, built by Adam and Eve after the pattern oftheir own Sanctum Sanctorum in the Garden of Eden. The far-famed Black Stone, presented to the masons by the Angel Gabriel, built into the east corner of the outer wall of the K[=a]aba, is asemicircular fragment of volcanic basalt, sprinkled with colouredcrystals, about six by eight inches large, bordered with silver, and thesurface of it reddish brown, undulating, and polished. Having kissed the Black Stone and performed other rites, the Moors wentthree days' journey to the Prophet's Mountain to pray; then they tookthemselves back to Morocco, but on their way, missing a steamer, wereobliged to travel by land through Tunis, which took them five months, and, running short of money, lived, Hadj Riffi said, largely on roots. In the meantime he urged our donkey along, breaking his discourse with"Arrah! Arrah!" until at last it was cajoled under the gateway and intothe Kasbah. This fortress, reported a good specimen of Moorisharchitecture, could impress nobody: it has no regular garrison; thebatteries are antiquated, the artillery hopelessly inefficient. Thecrumbling battlements are overgrown with rank grass and fig-trees, thoughtradition has it they were once brass, when the city was built of goldand silver. Tangier is immensely old, and has seen many conquerors, many demolitions. Arabs, Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Goths, Spaniards, and Portuguesehave all in their turn besieged and taken, ruled and deserted, the whitecity. England has had her turn too. When Charles II. Married Catherine ofBraganza, Tangier and Bombay formed part of her dowry and passed intoBritish hands. The Portuguese, to whom Tangier then belonged, withdrew;the English entered, repaired the city wall, built forts, and in thecourse of three years a great mole across the harbour at a cost of£31, 000. Trade increased rapidly under the protection of the pluckyTangier Regiment (now the Queen's Royal West Surrey). An English mayorand corporation--six aldermen and twelve Common Council men--wereestablished in the little colony, and attended church in scarlet andpurple. And then the Home Government made a mistake. The slovenly Tangier boardin London wasted money, sent adventurers out to Tangier as governors. Anexposure of their mismanagement followed, which induced the HomeGovernment to throw up a troublesome charge, and to evacuate as valuablea port as England ever possessed, in a country which, unlike India, isadmirably adapted for European colonization, and blessed with everynatural advantage Creation can offer. The mole and fortifications were blown up, Lord Dartmouth and hisgarrison marched out of Tangier on February 6, 1684, and the Moors tookpossession of a heap of fragmentary ruins. With Tangier in our hands wecould have confidently commanded the passage of the Straits for seventymiles, nor would there have been a risk to Gibraltar of having all hersupplies cut off in the event of Spain and Morocco being hostile to us. Fresh-comers to Morocco regret these things: in a few weeks the spirit ofthe country induces a lazy tolerance and a general apathy towards thepast as well as towards the present state of affairs. We found inside the Kasbah an entirely Moorish element--one sacred spotwhere no "Christians" may live. A children's school was making adeafening noise on our right, and we looked in to see a group of smallboys sitting round an ancient, turbaned Moor, who was sewing at a jellaband paying small attention to his pupils: one and all were on theirheels, lighted by the open door, there being of course no windows; andeach held in his two hands a board inscribed with Arabic characters, which he swayed backwards and forwards as he swayed his body in time withsentences from the Kor[=a]n, learnt thus by heart and chanted in a highsing-song key. There were no girls. Boys alone are taught anything; andin general their education begins and ends, as above, with the Kor[=a]n. Few Moors can write or read: there are no books in Morocco, except theKor[=a]n and a religious treatise or two, to tempt them to learn. As forgeography, an intelligent Moor will know by name England, France, andGermany, not Russia, and that his own country is the biggest, the best, and the most powerful. Leaving the noisy little school, which did not approve of being staredat, we came to the empty palace, with its great horse-shoe doorway, painted blue-white and carved in a rudimentary way, called in Arabic "Thelittle garden, " descriptive of its inside courtyard, planted withoranges, figs, and palms. Farther on stands the forge of the fortress: "for the slippers for thehorses, " Hadj Riffi explained. The blacksmith wore an apron of a wholegoat-skin; he pared down the hoof with an instrument like a shovel, helped by the horse's owner or any chance onlooker, for Moors "hunt inpacks, " and only a mere Christian does anything by himself. The shoe is acomplete circle of iron, has three nails on each side, and in some placesa bar across the centre. At last we reached the prison, the principal feature of the Kasbah. Muchhas been written about Moorish prisons, to be put down by ignorantcritics as exaggerated. English visitors have shown up their horrors, only to be forbidden now by a stringent order to go inside. It is hardto say what happens behind the scenes, but torture is lightly thought ofin Morocco; "cruelty, " as Europeans understand it, has no place normeaning in ignorant, fanatical minds; and an unpleasant inference istherefore to be drawn. Of course many of the prisoners are confined, in all good faith, foroffences, and will be released in time; but there are also Moors, in highpositions socially, or possessed formerly of means, who "wither andagonize" year after year in captivity, their only fault that they wererich or influential in bygone days, thus tempting a jealous rival toremove them out of his path, or a greedy Government to confine them andfeed upon their money. If they ever come out, it will be because awealthy friend has chosen to pay the Government for their release, orbecause it has happened to occur to the ministers at Court to send forthem; and half of them will reappear but scarred remnants of the men whowent in. Descriptions of tortures which were unknown even in the MiddleAges in England may well be omitted: tortures which result in blind andtongueless creatures, without hands; bled of every penny they oncepossessed, and maimed in order to induce them to reveal the spot wheretheir money was hidden, or the friends' names with whom they traded. We looked in through a small iron grating in the door about two feetsquare, revealing a space open to the skies, with roofed recesses in thewalls round the four sides, where the prisoners had huddled themselves intheir rags. At night they are chained by the leg. An Oriental does notrequire "a bed, " but he is provided with no substitute in prison, stillless with food and drink, for which he is dependent on friends orrelations willing to supply him. Of late years, in certain prisons, asmall loaf of bread per day is given to each man. He has the greatadvantage of being able to talk all day to his fellow-prisoners; but inthe case of a refined man such close intercourse has its drawbacks, moreespecially when a raving lunatic happens to be chained by an iron collarround his neck to one of the pillars. Madmen and all alike, withoutrespect of persons, veritably rot to death, cheek by jowl, in a Moorishprison. Disease, starvation, and injuries tend to shorten theircaptivity. Whoever has smelt the smell within those walls will endorsethe adjective "kindly" Death, than which there surely can be no morewelcome visitor. A few of the sound prisoners, sitting on the ground, were weavingbaskets, some of which we bought through the keeper of the prison; thenturned away, struck by the stoicism among the prisoners themselves in asituation of such uncertainty. Was it to end in death or release? Whoknows? They merely shrug their shoulders, and ejaculate, "Ift shallah"(God will show). Passing the soldiers guarding the outside of the prison, and out under asecond gateway of the Kasbah, we stumbled down what is called one of theSultan's "highways, " something very rocky and not far off theperpendicular. R. Chose her own feet, much to Hadj Riffi's annoyance. Though the ways are such that no donkey can be ridden without stumblingamong cobble-stones and pitfalls, and thereby running a risk of pitchingthe rider off the insecure pack into a refuse-heap, it was impossible fora European, in his eyes, to walk and to maintain his dignity at the sametime. [Illustration: TWO SHEIKHS. [_To face p. 18. _] That no Moor runs when he can walk, or walks when he can ride, or standswhen he can sit, or sits when he can lie down, is a saying fulfilled tothe letter. And what poor man, however heavily he loads his smalldonkey with garden produce, forgoes mounting himself on top of all, and making the little beast stagger along, at a fair pace too, to market?The life of such a man is not eventful, but what there is of it is good:he sings as he jogs along in a monotonous tone, and has a word for everysoul he meets, and a laugh too, curses his donkey--he is never quiet--andlands the produce of his little melon-patch in the market. The melons aresold by degrees, much gossip is interspersed, possibly he washes andprays, then eats, and sleeps a little; more gossip, until the sun tellshim it is time to get outside the city gates; and then off he jogs again, singing, talking, back to the little reed-thatched hut, fenced in by itshedge of cactus. Life is too full of--call it resignation or content--toleave room for disturbing speculations, and he is born of a race whichnever repines: there is Allah and the One Faith, and the sun to lie downbeneath and meditate and sleep. Not that the typical countryman isidle--far from it: he is hard-working, without any beer to do it upon. It is a matter of more speculation as to what the courteous, solemn men, in turbans like carved snow, whom one meets walking along the beachtelling their beads, or sees sitting in sunshine reading aloud in a lowvoice, steadily praising Allah, occupy themselves with from month tomonth; or the sleek sheikh--a countryman of some means, with smoothcoffee-coloured face and a haik whiter than an iced birthdaycake--perched between the peaks of his red cloth saddle, under which hishard, hammer-headed mule paces at an intermittent amble. Probably the sheikh has ridden out of the city to inspect his crops. Hishouse, with his wife, he has locked up: the keys are in his pocket. Heswings along a sandy track bordered with cactus, reaches his gardendoor, which is painted Reckitt's blue, unlocks it, and, tying his muleup inside to a fruit-tree, proceeds to inspect his vines and prunecasually some of the ashy-white branches of his fig-trees. Then he setstwo ragged countrywomen to work to cut his vines and hoe his beans. Hemay read a few verses of the Kor[=a]n later on. He may sleep. Eventuallyhe ambles home. Other days he spends among his friends in the city, sitting in their little shops and gossiping consumedly. He may hire anempty shop of his own for the same purpose, and turn it into what mightbe called "a club. " He will pray regularly; will play chess and draughtssitting in the front of a shop; will drink green tea. Whatever he does isdone without haste, and towards evening he strolls serenely, with manyinterruptions, in the direction of his own house. The climate of Morocco has never any of the brisk, freezing "grip" of ahard English winter, but rather tends towards encouraging indolence. InTangier itself energetic English visitors find little superabundant scopefor action: naturally enough, the residents, whom an enervating summer ortwo shears of much of the vitality with which they first landed, end insettling down into an enjoyable, mild routine. There is, however, shooting and a little pig-sticking for who will; but guns may not bebrought into the country, and no European would be allowed to exploit its_nullahs_: if not killed, he would be turned back and escorted intotrodden ways. The principal day's excursion from Tangier is out to Cape Spartel andback again: before we left the place we started early one morning withthis end in view, taking a donkey and boy carrying a camera, lunch, etc. --first along a cobbled roadway of which Tangier is immensely proud, across the river by a new bridge, and up the Mountain. The Mountain isthe summer abode of Tangier, and shady houses and gardens civilize whatwas once a wild hill, in the days when our great British minister, SirJohn Hay, did an unprecedented thing, and built himself a house there. Forty years ago no Christian was safe outside Tangier without a guard, and it is largely to Sir John Hay's fearless trust in the honour of theMoor that the change is due. It may still be unwise to walk in lonelyplaces after dark, or to become involved in a street row; for if oneruffian is excited to throw a stone, thirty will follow suit, andEuropeans have thus been stoned to death. But those who live out in theMountain and visitors to Spartel have nothing to fear in these days inthe shape of attack and robbery. It was about ten o'clock when we left behind us the leggy remains of aRoman aqueduct over the river, and, having climbed the Mountain, brokeinto open ground, stretching far away at the top. The cobbled roadresolved itself into an unsophisticated path; the stiff cane fences, shutting out all but the tree-tops in the gardens from view, came to anend; and we were in a breeze off the Atlantic, on undulating hillscovered with short scrub, gum-cistus, arbutus, tall white heather, oleander, and pink-and-white convolvulus. The track led us up and down, and grew more stony as we went on, gradually rising, till we were about a thousand feet above the sea. Looking back, Tangier lay far below, and beyond it in the distance whitecragged mountains glinted in the sun. It was a glorious day, November 24: a fresh breeze, tempered as it soseldom is in England at that time of year. Our path wound round the hillsand dipped towards the sea. From the stretches of heather through whichwe brushed we could hear below us the surf breaking on the rocks: itmight have been a corner of the west coast of Scotland. After eight miles' up-and-down tramp, the lighthouse at the end of thegreat cape, Spartel, the north-west corner of the African Continent, cameinto sight. This lighthouse was built at the instigation of the elevenPowers, but actually by the Sultan. The Powers--Great Britain, France, Germany, Spain, Austria, Belgium, Portugal, Italy, Russia, America, andBrazil--share the cost of its maintenance, and that of the whole roadfrom Tangier to the lighthouse, which follows the line oftelegraph-posts, the cable being laid to Spartel. The lighthouse isFrench built; its fixed intermittent white light can be seen thirty-sixmiles away, and it stands 312 feet above sea-level. Sitting down at its base, looking out to sea, we watched the black spinesof rock underneath us, set in whirlpools of foam--the Dark Continentshowing the last of its teeth. On our left the coast trended away intothe hazy distance: to our right across the blue Straits lay the yellowsands of the bay where Trafalgar was fought, and the irregular littletown of Tarifa, backed by purple Spanish hills. The evenings were short, and we were soon on our homeward way. Thestunted bushes on each side of the path, disturbed by the devastatingwoodcutters, could hardly hold a lion in the present day. Yet in thecourse of Sir John Hay's forty odd years of administration in Morocco twowere seen in these same woods, and he shot there himself a striped _Hyænarufus_, a great shaggy animal with a bristling mane. One of the two lionsought to have been shot, but he doubled back, and was heard of afterwardstravelling at a swinging trot between Tangier and Tetuan. He killed an oxin the valley the next day, and disappeared in the direction of thesnow-topped mountains. In this twentieth century lions in the north of Morocco would be a raresight: towards the south the mountain-fastnesses hold them still, together with leopards, wild cats, etc. ; but, like everywhere else, biggame moves off as civilization moves on. There remains the wild boar. The Moors hunt him with greyhounds, Europeans shoot him, and Englishmen have introduced pig-sticking. Thelargest pig Sir John Hay speared scaled twenty stone clean, and measuredsix foot four from snout to tail. But even pig are getting scarce. TheTent Club in Tangier organizes expeditions, and parties go out undercanvas for a few days at a time: the result is nothing very great. When it is a question of shooting pig, the Moors, born sportsmen, joinone and all--small farmers and peasants--purely from the love of sport. Some act as beaters, wearing leathern aprons and greaves--such as theGreek peasantry wore--to protect their legs. They carry bill-hooks to cuttheir way through the thickets, and bring along a tribe of native dogs, which do good service--a cross between a collie and a jackal, veteranpoachers, which prowl through the scrub, winding a boar at any distance. The thickets where pig lie are for the most part backed by the sea, andbordered by lake and marsh or plain, in which case it is not difficult toinveigle the driven boar to break where the guns are posted. A haunch ofwild pig judiciously roasted, with a _soupçon_ of wine in the gravy, isone of the delicacies of Morocco. As many as fifteen boars have beenaccounted for in a couple of days' shooting. The sun went down; the soft air grew colder: we walked quickly backthrough the outskirts of Tangier, between gardens full of plumbago, dituria, geraniums, hibiscus, pointsettias, narcissus, frescia, and rosesof all sorts, besides other flowers. Anything would grow in a soil whichhas been known to bear three crops of potatoes in one year, and wherecorn is sometimes sown and reaped all within the space of forty days. An enterprising English market-gardener is this year growing vegetablesand fruit for the London market, expecting to have green peas in CoventGarden in December, the duty on peas and tomatoes having been lowered to5 per cent. This man acts as agent to a land-owner. Fortunes, indeed, might be made, if it were not a question of FIND THE LAND; for while landcannot now be bought in Morocco by Europeans, the few fortunates who owninherited acres price them high, and, hoping for a boom in the course ofthe next fifteen years, demand £400 an acre. As we turned into the Villa Valentina a wonderful opal light warmed thewhite city and the sand-hills--they were no longer cold nor colourless;while banks of "rose" sunset-clouds were reflected "rose" in a grey-greensea. Tangier has two sides to it--one native, the other European. The Europeanside is all which appears on the surface, and it swamps the other. Giveneach of the eleven Powers, with its minister, its minister's family, itssecretary, its attaché, its interpreter, its student; add to these ahandful of English residents, a handful of English and American visitors, and a handful of varied nationalities thrown in; back them up with thenecessary foundation of purveyors, and lower down still a substratum ofleeches and black-sheep, greedy Jews, needy Spaniards, introducing drinkand tobacco and gambling, --and there you have before you all the elementsof a highly civilized town on the Mediterranean shore. It may be Tangier:it is not Morocco. [Illustration: TANGIER. [_To face p. 24. _] The Moorish aristocracy themselves speak of the place as"Christian-ridden Tangier, " and will have none of it: the Sultan says it"no longer belongs to him. " Its trade is _nil_, and what there is of itis in the hands of the Jews, who boast eleven synagogues, schools, and aGrand Rabbi at the head of all. We brought introductions with us to various people, and met with everyhospitality in Tangier. Sir Arthur and Lady Nicolson, representing GreatBritain, do all in their power for visitors; and the colony of mixednationalities fills its off hours together, most successfully, with around of picnics, afternoon rides, tea parties, and other amusements, implied by "wintering at Tangier"; from all of which any knowledge ofMorocco, or association with Moors, is far removed indeed. A seaport which has neither roads nor railways to connect it with thesurrounding country, is isolated a week's journey from the nearestcapital town, and whose links with the outer world all tend seawardsthrough steamers to foreign countries, can never constitute a study ofthe land to which it belongs only by right of position. But Morocco itself had brought us to the north of Africa. Tangier couldonly be a base for future operations, and consequently a fortnight ofTangier sufficed, finding us bent upon moving on, before the heavy rainsbroke, and the swollen rivers made travelling impossible. Travelling inMorocco is never at the best of times luxurious. "Say explore, ratherthan travel, " somebody writes, speaking of Morocco; and many were theinjunctions and warnings which the post brought us from friends athome--above all, to expect no ransoms, in the event of capture by lawlesstribes. It is true that a _Wanderjahr_ in Morocco has not the luxuries of travelin India; and Englishmen who would break new ground must wear Moorishdress, talk Arabic, and prepare to face considerable risks, with theoff-chance of writing in some such strain as Davidson: "To-day I haveparted with all my hair except one long tuft over my right ear. I neverexpect to become white again. My beard is very long. My legs covered withbites of vermin. My cheek-bones prominent, and my teeth sharp from havingvery little to do. " Not that R. And myself had such adventures in view; but we believed thateven as humble followers in the tracks of others we should find no lackof interest in a country so little known, among a people of "The ArabianNights, " under conditions which tempt the Unexpected to stalk out frombehind every corner. CHAPTER II CAMP OUTFIT--A NIGHT AT A CARAVANSERAI--TETUAN--THE BRITISHVICE-CONSUL--MOORISH SHOPS--WE VISIT A MOORISH HOUSE AND FAMILY. CHAPTER II _Tetuan_--the tiger-cat! so curiously beautiful. Recollections of it hang in the gallery of one's memory, not so much as pictures, but as Correggio-like masses of vivid colouring and intangible spirals of perfume. THE place we had set our hearts upon visiting, to begin with, was thenorthern capital, Fez--only to find, on going into particulars, thatinsurmountable barriers blocked the way. Even if we escaped the Decemberrains on the ride there, they would break sooner or later, makingsleeping out under canvas impossible: the flooded rivers might mean along delay--probably a week or more--on the banks; bridges in Morocco areharder to find than diamonds on the seashore, and when a river is inflood there remains only to sit down in front of it until the watersabate. The "road" to Fez, after the tropical rains, soon becomes a slough ofclay and water, ploughed up by mules and donkeys, and so slippery thatnothing can keep its legs. We decided, therefore, to leave Fez till thespring, when the rains would be over, and to visit for the present a citycalled Tetuan, only two days' journey from Tangier, camping out as longas we felt inclined, and returning to the Villa Valentina in a week, orwhen the weather should drive us back. But the gods thought otherwise. Tetuan was, by report, in the most beautiful part of Morocco: itssituation reminded travellers of Jerusalem; it was among the Anjera andRiff Mountains; and though, of course, travel was impossible within theforbidden land of the Riff, it was likely we should gather someinteresting crumbs of information, and come across a few of the famoustribesmen, while we were staying on the borders. Above all, it was aMoorish city, and counted an aristocratic one at that: no Europeanelement spoilt its originality. On the face of it Tetuan had attractions. Accordingly we made preparations to be off. The first thing to be done was to get hold of a man who could cook, actas guide, interpreter, and muleteer: plenty of them presented themselves, and we closed with a certain Mohammed, who had been with Colonel H----. Every third Moor is named Mohammed, or some corruption of it--eldest sonsinvariably. Next we ransacked Tangier for commissariat and camp outfit. Out of adirty little Spanish shop two men's saddles of antiquated English make, with rolls, were unearthed, and hired in preference to some prehistoricside-saddles, with moth-eaten doe-skin seats and horned third pommels. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] TETUAN. [_To face p. 30. _] Then we obtained a permit from the English Consul, for the sum ofseven-and-sixpence, authorizing us to apply to the governor of the Kasbahfor one of the Moorish soldiers quartered in Tangier, who should act asour escort to Tetuan. The Sultan of Morocco undertakes to protect Britishsubjects travelling in his dominions as far as possible, provided theysupply themselves with an adequate escort and avoid roads through unsafeterritory. The various tribes from among themselves sometimes provide anarmed guard to see travellers safely across their own country, handingthem on at the borders to the next tribe, who sends its mounted escort tomeet them. The headman arranges for the safety of Europeans, and histribe answers for their lives. But this plan involves prearrangement, publicity, and fuss. Now from Tangier to Tetuan the road by daylight isperfectly safe--though it happens that, at the time of writing, the bodyof a peasant, presumably out after sunset, has been found robbed andmurdered close to it. Therefore one soldier was all we should want; andat last this bodyguard was supplied, a ragged Moor, with a lean mule anda French rifle--all for five shillings per day. We next visited a general "stores, " lined with the familiar Cadbury, Keiller, and Huntley & Palmer tins: there we invested in corned beef, tinned soup, potted meats, cheese, salt, macaroni, marmalade, tea, coffee, sugar, candles, soap, matches, etc. Things not to be forgottenwere nails, hammer, rope, methylated spirit and etna. A revolver for itsmoral effect is necessary, and may be invaluable in a tight corner. Weprovided ourselves with two tents, one for the servants and a larger onefor ourselves; a set of camp furniture, including kitchen pots and pans;and an enamel breakfast and dining service, which, if time had matteredlittle, would have been well exchanged for an aluminium set out fromEngland, as lighter and more convenient. Mohammed hired four mules and another man--Ali--himself taking charge ofthe cooking department, providing meat, bread, vegetables, fruit, etc. :then with our _bundobust_ complete, and a letter of introduction from SirArthur Nicolson to the British Vice-Consul at Tetuan, we started onNovember 28. It was one of the hottest mornings we had had, not a fleck of cloud inthe sky, and what air there was due east: the sea lay flat as a bluepool, and five or six white sails might have been swans on its glassysurface. Mohammed appeared early in the sandy road underneath ourwindows. To avoid waking people in the hotel, we handed our diminutivekit out through the window to him--only a couple of waterproof rolls, which held rugs and bare necessities; then locking up the bulk of ourworldly goods behind us, slipped out of the Villa Valentina, mounted ourmules, and were off across the white sand-dunes bordering the sea. Tetuan lies forty-four miles to the south-east of Tangier: people withmuch time and little energy have made a three days' march of it. A rangeof hills rather more than half-way makes a natural division, and on thetop of this watershed a _fondâk_ (caravanserai) stands for the use oftravellers during the night: here it is usual to camp. We were an odd little procession as we left Tangier. Our mounted soldier, Cadour, led the way, in a brown weather-worn jellab, which he pulledright up over his head like a Franciscan friar: his legs were bare, hisfeet thrust into a pair of old yellow shoes. He carried his gun acrosshis saddle in front of him, inside one arm: it was in a frayed browncanvas case, which had holes in each end, out of which both stock andbarrel respectively protruded. With his other hand he jogged incessantlyat the mule's mouth. Take him all in all, a soldier's was the last tradehe outwardly impersonated. Behind him rode R. And myself, shaking down bydegrees into our saddles, glad not to have before us eight or ten hours'jog across rough country on provincial side-saddles, which, apart fromthe strained position, are inconvenient for slipping off and on again. Behind us followed the two baggage-mules with our tents, etc. : loaded asthey were, Mohammed and Ali had climbed upon the tops of their greatpacks. A mule carries as much as he can get along under in Morocco: theman climbs up afterwards, and does not count. Two hundredweight, with a Moor on top, is a fair load for a long journey, marching seven hours every day. Enough barley should be carried for eachnight's fodder: the ordinary mule and pony live on barley and brokenstraw, beans when in season, and grass in the spring to fatten them. Sevenpence a day will feed a mule, and hire comes to three shillings aday. Good mules are not bought easily, and are worth, on account of theirtoughness, more than ponies, fetching £12 any day. Ours were butsecond-rate hirelings, and we made up our minds to buy later on, whenstarting on a long expedition. A mule should be chosen chiefly for itspacing powers, doing four and a half miles an hour on an average forseven hours a day, without turning a hair or tiring the rider, whosecomfort depends on an easy pace. The longer the overlap of the hind-shoeprint over the fore-shoe print, the better the pace. Moorish horses arewiry little beasts, but you seldom see a handsome one: either they areewe-necked or they fall away in the hindquarters; their feet are allowedto grow too long, and their legs are ruined through tight hobbling. Noris there much inducement to a Moor to breed a handsome foal, liable to bestolen from him, if seen by a governor or agent of the Sultan's. Naturally he breeds the inferior animal he has a chance of keeping, andputs a valuable mare to a common stallion, branding and otherwisedisfiguring a colt which by bad luck turns out good-looking. The slender desert-horse, the _habb-er-reeh_ (gust of wind, as they callhim), with the small aristocratic head, a nose which will go into atea-cup, perfect shoulders, and diminutive sloping hindquarters, isseldom met with and hardly ever used, except quite in the south of thecountry, where he is given camel's milk to drink. People as a rule start off on their day's march with the dawn, after alight breakfast of coffee, beaten-up eggs, and dry biscuits; halt aboutten o'clock, supposing they are near water; and, if necessary, do two orthree hours more, comfortably, before sunset. But we had made a latestart, and the sun was far up as we jogged along one after the other, leaving behind the sands, the orange gardens, and the gimcrack Spanishhouses, at every step the open country widening in front of us. We followed a narrow path, one of the countless footpaths which zigzag inand out, and wind away to every point of the compass, like ants' tracksfrom an ant-hill. Donkeys, mules, countrywomen, eternally pass andre-pass along the polished ways, with the everlasting burdens ofcharcoal, faggots, vegetables, and flour: life in some form moving alongthem there always is. Towards the edge of the horizon, clumps of dwarf palm and coarse grassslanted in the breeze: here and there grey rocks stuck up on the hillsidelike fossilized bones, and met the blue sky. A stream was meandering, hidden under deep banks, on our right. We wound along the wide valley, doing our best to keep the mules going at a respectable pace, and findingthat there was quite an art in accomplishing it on a hireling. Cadour cutin behind, and supplemented our sticks and heels with Arabic words ofmuch effect, his own mule's mouth suffering badly from his jogging, remorseless hand. [Illustration: OURSELVES AND BAGGAGE. [_To face p. 34. _] A raven, "a blot in heaven, flying high, " sailed over our heads up inthe blue, and then, leisurely dropping, sat on a rock and croaked atus. Morocco is a country of circling kites and keen-eyed hawks, whoseeasy, buoyant flight and vibrating "hover" in the hot air arethings of undying fascination. Now and again a puff of eastwind--life-giving--would stir the whole countryside and pass on, leaving us glowing under a sun which warmed every cranny, and made thesection of air just above the flat fields rock with heat. Twocountrywomen toiled towards us under their bundles--a couple offigures swathed in yellowy white; they gazed at us as people gaze whohave few interests in their lives, then smiled and spoke, gesticulated, and laughed again: a herd of goats was outlined on thehill above; the goat-herd called to another far-off brown-clad figure, and the echoes filtered down to us: a rabbit dashed up out of apalm-bush and scuttled away: and then there was silence profound, andwe paced on eastwards, talking and singing a song sometimes, while thesun climbed right-handed. There is no life like it--that life of the open air and its absolutefreedom. Monotonous it would certainly be to many people: small anduneventful matters, and a palette set in greys and browns, charm but afew, for whom solitary rides and waste places are "things in common, " andchance meetings and little incidents by the way suffice. Two or three miles outside Tangier stretch rich undulating lands betweenlow hills: a few divisionless fields bear witness to both primitive anderratic farming, and give that regretful air to the landscape which landnot "done well by" always imparts. The writer has lately read a somewhat pessimistic letter upon the stateof Morocco. Morocco is a decadent empire, it is true: primarily, becausethe two races to whom the country belongs live, and have always livedfrom time immemorial, under a tribal system; and secondarily, becausethose same races, Arab and Berber, hate one another with a racialhatred. These two reasons by themselves augur badly for the land theylive upon, implying a state of armed neutrality, no cohesion, and nosettled peace. Under a tribal system the tribe is the unit, not the individual--"one forall, and all for one": it follows that transgression and retribution areboth upon a wholesale scale, and alike disastrous towards theconsolidation of a united nation. The government in a country cursed by the tribal system must in the verynature of things be despotic: lawless tribes need the tyrant's hand ofiron. To the fact of his being a despot the Sultan owes his security, coupled with one other reason. Arabs and Berbers alike are fanatics:religion is the air they breathe, the salt of life. The Sultan isdescended direct from the One Great Prophet; consequently the Sultan isacknowledged as lord. His policy is an Oriental one: tribe is played offagainst tribe, one European power against the other European power; theempire is isolated; innovations are prohibited, lest Europeancivilization should oust Moorish eccentricities. So much for the Orientalpolicy of "the balance of jealousies. " Despotism breeds despotism. While every Moor below the Sultan ranks asequal, the fact remains that Government officials are all in their ownsphere little despots, governing districts many days' journey from Court, with every chance of robbing and oppressing those under them, until theday of reckoning comes, when the Court, hearing how fat their fine birdhas grown, summons him to the capital, and the process of plucking andimprisoning their wealthy servant follows. Life exists upon life, from the _sheikhs_ (farmers), who live upon whatthey can squeeze out of the peasants, to the _bashas_ (governors), whoexist on tithes, taxes, and extortion wrung from the sheikhs andtownspeople, up to higher officials, who receive no salaries, and linetheir pockets by a process of bleeding the bashas and others . . . . . . Thus _ad lib_. Even the gaolers--also unpaid--earn their living byextorting money from the prisoners. The whole system of government reactsupon itself; for the venality of the officials drives the tribes toredress their wrongs at intervals by raids and open rebellion, to punishwhom there follows slaughter upon slaughter, and the country is laidwaste. Hence the principal reasons--wheels within wheels--which account for theMorocco of 1902: its prehistoric customs, its uncultivated acres. No reformer, no missionary, will alter the condition of Morocco. TheMoors themselves have made it what it is; but since for an Ethiopian tochange his skin is no light matter, there is small probability of theMoors themselves unmaking it. A gloomy prospect, yet one which, taking the case of the people andlooking upon it from a "happiness" point of view, must not be altogetherjudged from a European standpoint. The likes and dislikes of Moors arenot the likes and dislikes of Europeans, and most of them view their goodtimes and bad times with equal calm, as merely the will of Allah. Besideswhich, anything in the shape of law and order and daily routine raspstheir raw nature. Just as a Moor prefers to eat to repletion when thereis food, and to go without when there is not, so he would choose adesultory and irresponsible life, alternating between perfect freedom andexcessive tyranny, to any regular humdrum form of government which Europecould offer him. The country people we met, if hard-worked, had at the same time cheerfulenough faces: their enjoyment of life probably equals that of the Englishlabourer. On the whole, it is possible that, when the day comes--as it mustcome--that an effete and inadequate people goes to the wall, andcivilized blood occupies their room, it may bring good, but that goodwill be tinged with regret--certainly in the eyes of those selfishmortals to whom one country, neither wire-fenced nor scored by railways, nor swept nor garnished, but coloured to-day by the smoke of manythousand years, still offers palmy days. Thus giving thanks to Allah forthings as they are, after the manner of the country, we jogged along, looking out for a halting-ground: it was between twelve and one o'clock, and time to stretch our legs. The river and some oleander-bushes, with green lawns between them, offered all we wanted. Cadour took off his brown jellab, and spread itfor us to sit upon. There we lunched and waited for an hour. Some oxenwere ploughing close to us, driven in a desultory way by a figure clad ina pair of once white drawers, and a once white tunic with a leather belt. All which this husbandman wanted being corn enough to supply himself, andno surplus to fall into the sheikh's hands, the field was naturallysmall. A well-to-do farmer might rise to growing a little maize or cumminor millet or fenugreek for exportation, perhaps some broad-beans, chick-peas, or canary-seed; but the duties are heavy. Wheat and barleyhave been forbidden export: the infidel shall not eat bread of the truebeliever's corn. Our Arabic at that time was _nil_; there was no chance of a word with theploughman unless through Mohammed. Such a mere scratch of a furrow as hemade, into which the grain would be casually thrown, with never a harrowor substitution for one! Allah provides, and there is no reason tointerfere with his arrangements: "B`ism Allah. " Thus will the fields bereaped, the corn ground, the bread made, the loaf eaten, with the sameold invocation muttered beforehand: "B`ism Allah" (In the name of God). The two little oxen drew the patriarchal plough, hewn out of a log ofwood, and shod with an iron point, entirely by means of their heads, towhich it was fastened with dried grass-fibres across their foreheads andround their horns, making a sort of large straw bonnet on top of allwhich they held high in the air or sideways, with expressions of extremedisgust. In the middle of the field, yoked by the bonnet to a secondplough and a fellow-ox, the companion had inconsiderately lain down, tothe great inconvenience of its foolish partner, which remained standing, with its head forced into the most unpleasant angle downwards, and thestoical expression of a true Mussulman underneath its bonnet. On the opposite side of the stream some sheep, suggestive of the lean, tough mutton we fed upon, were searching round for anything in the shapeof pasture: flocks of small cows and calves were on the same questbetween the palmetto-bushes: somewhere a boy in charge was no doubtasleep. By this time Mohammed was impatient to be off: the bits were put backinto the mules' mouths, we got into our saddles again, and pushed on. Inwet weather the track must be a bad one to follow: innumerablestreamlets, which have eaten out deep gullies in the clay, have to becrossed, making the going hard upon heavily laden beasts, and after heavyrains impossible. We slipped about a little. Mohammed and his man hadtheir hands full with the two baggage-mules, which they had long agogiven up trying to ride. The slopes became more bleak: far away in thedistance Cadour pointed out our destination, a white speck on the top ofa range of hills, to be seen for a moment and lost sight of the next, aswe dipped down on to lower ground. Another hour brought it very littlenearer: fresh irregularities between opened up continually, meaning_détours_ to the right or left. A few plover wailed over some marsh: insuch places partridge, hares, golden grouse, and quail ought to be found;but since every male possesses a gun of sorts, from the peasant hoeingbeans upwards, and is not troubled with game laws or ideas uponpreserving, they become rarer. We passed clump after clump of white narcissus in full bloom, andmarigolds in yellow patches; but as we neared the hills the country grewwilder, and short scrub, palmetto, and cistus took the place of coarsegrass. At last we were at the foot of the pass, and the end of our march was alluphill, steep in places, the scrub turning into respectable bushes, withalmost a "jungly" aspect. The baggage-mules were pushed and urged ahead. At last, about five o'clock, the sun setting, we reached ourcamping-ground, up in the teeth of a rising wind. Standing by itself, the caravanserai--called a _fondâk_ in Morocco--was awhite-walled enclosure, with a great open space in the middle andcolonnades all round the insides of the four walls, where men and muleshuddled and slept unconcernedly. There is also one room to be had; butfilthy, of course, such quarters always are, and dear at any price (therate for accommodation is not large). One look into the walled enclosure, crowded with transport animals and their drivers, was enough, and weturned to see to the pitching of the tents outside. The panorama of hills in the west had a red, lurid light, such as JuliusOllsson loves to paint: across the stormy glow trailed a few white wispsof smoke where the peasants were burning wood on the hillside forcharcoal. Making a _détour_ of the fondâk while there was light to see, we chose the west side for our camp, apparently the most sheltered; butthe place is a temple of the four winds and gusty upon a breathless day. It was quite dark before the men had things ready, hampered as they wereby the gale which was getting up and the want of light. We tried to keepwarm, and watched the first star come out from a knoll; at last tookrefuge in our wind-shaken tent, unpacked, and sat ourselves down withoutstretched legs, wrapped in a medley of garments, round the littlecamp-table, lit by the flicker of two candle-lanterns, the flaps of thetents snugly fastened together from within, awaiting Mohammed's firstculinary effort. By-and-by from out of the chaotic kitchen-tent, pitched in the dark, filled with confused commissariat, and further blocked by Cadour, Ali, and their small effects, Mohammed emerged, and handed in through anopening in our tent chicken and eggs cooked in Moorish fat. After a longinterval tea followed, and fruit. We sat listening to the wind, writingup a diary and talking till bed seemed the best and only warm place. Thegale woke me after an hour or two: the tent, torn by raging gusts, threatened to give at every moment. I got up and took a look outside. Awild, gustful night indeed, of glimmering stars and a great whitehalf-moon--cold too: the mountains stood out sharp; there was littlecloud; round our tent a guard of men from the fondâk--always supplied, for the safety of travellers--were sleeping on the ground, heads and allwrapped up in their jellabs, --the moon shone on the queer bundles, and onour five mules, picketed opposite the tent door, backs to the wind, munching their barley. Neither of us got much sleep; roused periodicallyby the hammering in afresh of our strained tent-pegs, by the men'svoices, which would relapse into silence for half an hour, and then breakout again; above all, by the flapping and rattling of the canvas. For amoment there was a lull, and we heard the mules feeding and the thousandsounds of the night; then a wild blast almost carried the tent away, andthe monotonous undertone of voices would begin once more. We were up early, spent little time over dressing in a stiff breeze, andturned out to look at the weather. Banks of cloud lay piled up in thewind, but rain never comes with the _sharki_ (east wind). The sun wasup--no chance of seeing it for the present. Mohammed boiled eggs and tea, and in another twenty minutes we were readyto quit our exposed camping-ground. From the fondâk to Tetuan the distance is only fifteen miles, half aday's journey. The day before we had done twenty-eight miles, and oughtto have started at dawn, avoiding the pitching of our tents in the dark. To-day we were off betimes. It was cold, and I walked the first hour or two, Cadour and R. Ridingbehind with my mule, coming slowly down the steep, rocky ridge into thevalley in which Tetuan lies. It was a bad bit of riding, a continuousdescent, and the baggage-mules fell far behind: the rocky ravine wasuncultivated and treeless, scrub and rocks only on the bare mountains. Sometimes a crest would have a saw edge against the sky, suggesting firwoods; but as a matter of fact every tree worth having which is notplanted by a saint's tomb, and therefore holy, has long ago been madeinto fire-wood, no coal finding its way into the interior of Morocco, andmining being a thing unknown. At last the slopes gave on to more level ground and strips ofcultivation: we had our first view of Tetuan, at that distance littlemore than a streak of white lying in the shelter of the hills. It was better going; and R. Having jogged on some way ahead, I waited forCadour, climbed into my saddle, and caught her up. Here and there, perched on each side of us, far above in the mountains, wherever an oasisof green lay between sheltering cliffs, a village had sprung up, anirregular cluster of brown-and-white huts, thatched with cane, weatheredto shades of brown, the whole pile hedged with grey aloes and cactus, onthe steep mountain-side--also brown--where, unless looked for, they couldeasily have been passed over altogether. These were the only signs of man; for Tetuan shared the speciality of thefondâk the night before, in vanishing behind intervening hills and nevergrowing any nearer. But the mules this time were fresher, or we hadlearnt the art of keeping them up to the mark; they broke into a canter, and scampered across the rich-looking flats bordering the river WádMartîl. The Wád Martîl is the proud possessor of one of the seven bridgeswhich the Empire of Morocco can show--a somewhat quaint construction, buta _bonâ-fide_ stone bridge: no carriage could have crossed it; the middlecobble-stones were so steep and rough that they amounted to rocks. ButMorocco knows not carriages, and at least it was a bridge. Once across, Tetuan was not more than a few miles off. Seen from any height, it is one of the whitest cities in the world, andthe whitewashed walls lend themselves to flat shadow as blue as the skyabove. Tetuan has been described as "a cluster of flat-backed whitemice, shut up in a fortress in case they should escape": it has alsobeen likened to Jerusalem, with "the hills round about. " For my own part, it was like nothing I had seen, nor was prepared then and there toclassify--this heap of chalk, this white city. Not a particle of smokefloated over it: purity and sunlight alone were suggested by the outsideof the platter. The Moor has a weakness for whitewashed houses, for longwhite garments, for veiled women: there shall be no outer windows in hishouse, nor in his own private life. Ugliness there may be, enough and tospare, inside these white cities--it oozes out sometimes; but as far aspossible let a haik and a blank wall enshroud it all in mystery. None can fix the age of Tetuan: once upon a time the city was on theseashore--now seven miles of flats lie between, and crawling mules anddonkeys link the two, working backwards and forwards, week in, week out, jogging down with empty packs to the cargo-steamers, and labouring backacross deep-flooded country half the year, under solid burdens, to thecity. From the flat roof-tops the weekly visit of a merchant-vessel isduly looked for, and a long black steamer lies at anchor for the day inthe narrow ribbon of blue sea seen to the east, near the white CustomsHouse, which stands back from the beach. [Illustration: CLOUDS OVER TETUAN. [_To face p. 44. _] Southwards Tetuan faces the Riff country, range after range of mountains, inhabited by that indomitable tribe, whose "highlands" are closed toEuropeans. The river Wád Martîl, between Tetuan and _the Riff_, windsacross the seven miles of flats to the sea, and is fordable in two orthree places except in heavy rains; and days "in the mountains"--safewithin sight of the city--promised us many an expedition, and opened upanother world of heights foreshadowed and gulfs forbidden, where thehours were all too short. Behind Tetuan to the north, the mountainous Anjera country, wild, barehills abut upon the very city wall. The name _Tetuan_ means in Arabic "The eyes of the springs, " and all overthe city water gushes out of the limestone rock--the hardest water, Isubmit, that ever mortal tried to drink. Such a supply is worth a kingdomto an Eastern city. Every tank, fountain, and _hummum_ (Turkish bath) hasits never-failing supply, gratis, from the heart of the hills. The littlestreets are watered by it, and the sewage carried off on the lower sideof the city in a strong current, which--still useful--works primitivecorn-mills under the wall on the south side, where a sack receives theflour from a couple of flat revolving stones. A miller was robbed theother night asleep by his sack: the door burst open, and he expected abullet, but was let off with a clout on the head and the confiscation ofhis sack. Having ground the corn, sewage and all is conducted over the land, andenriches the fertile apricot- and peach-orchards, corn-fields andvineyards. The great orange-gardens lie beyond in the rich river-deposit. There is no want of fruit round Tetuan: May sees pomegranates, apricots, peaches, figs, prickly pears, in due course; September brings the grapeseason; acres upon acres of gardens are covered with green muscatsripening on the dry ground, and protected from the sun by branches strewnover the plants. West of the city, upon which side we rode in, there are fewer orchardsand more fields. Since crossing the Wád Martîl a string of travellers hadcaught us up and passed us: a soldier as escort led the way; a rich Jewambled on a fat brown mule hard behind; a muleteer and three starvedmules laden with Isaac's worldly goods brought up the rear. The muleteer, a happy fellow in a brown jellab, sang all the way, as herode sideways on his beast. He begged a match from Cadour, produced aragged cigarette from inside his turban, and lit it skilfully in thewind: he probably lived chiefly on cigarettes, kif, and green tea, eatingwhen there was bread; he was lean and sun-dried as a shred of tobacco, would sleep in snatches and often, his jellab-hood over his face to keepoff the sun or the dew. We got very near a pair of snowy _ibis_, or cow-birds, as they arecalled, attending on two grazing cows. White as geese, parading about onblack stilt-like legs, which raise them a foot or more off the ground, they have yellow bills and a slightly puffed throat, in flight extendingtheir long legs behind them. Cow-birds wage war on the parasites ofmules, donkeys, oxen, and sheep, hopping about the fields and droppingdown on to their backs: they are never shot. Morocco is by no means short of bird life. Only that morning, as we rodealong, we saw several pairs of whinchats, any number of crested larks, some plover, pied and grey wagtails, starlings, and a sand-martin. Starlings in Morocco fly literally in clouds like smoke, blackening thesky wherever they are surging and wheeling. A single shot into the middleof a flock has brought down from sixty to seventy of them. We jogged up the last yard of rocky path, and found ourselves in front ofTetuan in rather less than four hours after leaving the fondâk, to thesatisfaction of Cadour: it was an improvement on the day before. Thisornament of the cavalry had now come out in a clean white turban, in viewof entering the city: he puzzled us at this point by leading the way offthe road to a white wall in the middle of the field, behind whichtravellers occasionally camp, devout people pray, and sheep areslaughtered at the time of the Great Feast. Here he produced ourluncheon. But we, in the innocence of our hearts, would "lunch at a café"in Tetuan, after calling at the British Consulate and leaving our lettersof introduction: this, with signs and a Spanish word or two, was broughthome to Cadour, and we turned back, skirted the white city wall, reacheda gate built in an angle, and rode in under the archway, passing a fewfigures in jellabs reclining and talking beside a great stonewater-trough, which was running with fresh water. Following one of the worst-paved streets upon Allah's earth, whoseslippery rocks and pools of brown manure-water offered no temptingfootpath, the first Union Jack we had seen for many a long day appearedabove a wall and spoke _Britain_: towards it we made our way. A soldierin a long dark blue cloak and high-peaked red fez was sitting at theConsul's office door: he took our letters of introduction, and, withoutour being able to explain ourselves in Arabic, insisted on ushering usstraight into the presence of the Consul--Mr. W. S. Bewicke. We found him surrounded with papers and cigarette-ends: he would mosthospitably take no denial in the matter of lunch, but made us come intothe house at once. His long, narrow dining-room was flanked by a smallkitchen; above, the same shaped, long, narrow sitting-room was flanked bya small bedroom; a flight of narrow, steep stairs divided all four rooms, and completed the Consulate: this simple plan is usual in a Moorish houseof the sort, and admirably adapted for the Eastern habits of the people. The Consul considered it inadequate. A sunny, walled garden lay in front;big orange- and banana-trees, both covered with fruit, shaded preciousseedlings; a large tank, filled with gold-fish, took up much space underthe windows; and in the background a high cane fence penned in turkeys, geese, ducks, and chickens, scratching and squabbling under orange-trees. There are no grassy lawns in these gardens: they are devoted to fruit, shrubs, and flowers, bisected into equal divisions by tiled or grasspaths. People in Morocco, as all the world over, collect curiosities _nolensvolens_. Mr. Bewicke's dining-room was no exception. Guns from the Riff, eight feet long; brass powder-horns, knives, daggers, pistols, engravedand inlaid with silver, ivory, and coral; a long brass horn, once blownfrom the top of the mosque, sacred and difficult to get; copper vessels, pots, pans, jugs, bowls; blue china from Fez; quaint Jewish candelabraand lamps; brown and white native pottery, --all found a place. A young Riffian named Mohr acted as butler, a coffee-and-cream-colouredboy, with a girlish face and a head with a close weekly shave, all exceptone long love-lock, which, combed out, fell over one ear in a glossybrown curl. It is worn by all Riffs as good Mussulmans, and serves adouble purpose, that of scalp-lock when the head is decapitated byenemies and borne by the lock instead of by the mouth, and that ofhandle, by which Azrael, the Angel of Death, carries the body to heavenon the last day. Mohr wore a Riff turban of brown string, several yardslong, wound round and round his head, a white tunic and belt: his legswere bare; and leaving his yellow slippers behind him on the threshold, he moved noiselessly round the table with gracious manners, and, when hespoke, made nonchalant gestures with his hands. Had we come a few days earlier, we should have fallen in with a thousandmen from the Beni Has`san tribe, who had come down to pay their respectsto the new _basha_ (governor) of Tetuan, and to offer him presents. They had fired off a good deal of blank powder, and a stray bullet or twointo the Consul's garden door; had rushed about the _feddan_(market-place), discharging their guns; and had thrown stones at someone. On their way to Tetuan the thousand odd had pillaged right and left, stealing fruit and robbing houses. Finding some women washing, they stolethe clothes, and report said two women as well. At last twenty of themwere caught and put into prison, after which the nine hundred and eightymarched back to their own country. Lunch over, we walked with Mr. Bewicke into the city. While Tangier mightbe called an anæmic copy of a Moorish town, Tetuan has the strength of a_bonâ-fide_ life-study, and all that is curiously beautiful, strangelyobscure, is unsparingly suggested. The longer a European lives there, themore the paradoxes in Moorish life force themselves upon him, and themore tangible grow certain intuitions which his surroundings convey. It is not only such contradictions as lie on the surface--the squalor ofsome filthy fondâk, the emaciated raw-skinned donkeys, the bent-backedwomen, rubbing shoulders with the white-scented robes, the sleek mules, the luxurious tiled houses--these a blind man could see: theunder-currents which will puzzle an Englishman more the longer he livesthere are known to those only who have dwelt much in Morocco, and theybelong by every right to a life which is drawn to the letter in "TheArabian Nights. " The ramifications of the narrow streets in Tetuan would take a quarter ofa lifetime to master, and then an unexplored alley might be found, thoughit is easy to walk across the entire length or breadth of the city in tenminutes. Down a dozen intricacies we dived with Mr. Bewicke, through alabyrinth, half dark in places, where houses built overhead shut out thesun. Looking along the narrow streets, the buildings jostle one another, and the flat blank walls slope backwards out of the upright, at everyturn a haphazard colour-scheme in white and mauve and chocolate, in blueand ochre and cream. Here a long dark tunnel opens into sunlight and shops on each side, withgreat vines trailed on trellis-work--like a pergola--overhead, andsunlight in blotches on the cobbled paving below: there, just beyond, the_Slipper Quarter_, and we find ourselves in the thick of the tap-tap ofthe mallets on the hard-hammered leather--dozens of busy little shops oneach side, lined with yellow matting, and hung from top to floor withrows of lemon-yellow slippers for the men, rose-red slippers for women, embroidered slippers for the wealthy, crimson slippers for slaves, slippers with heel-pieces and slippers without. In each shop a man andboys at work: the white turbans and dark faces bending over the leather, the coloured jellabs which they wear, the busy hard-white-wood mallets inthe deft brown hands, even the waxed thread, the red jelly which gluesthe soles together, the gimlets, the sharp scissors, have a passingfascination for the wandering Moor himself, who sits down lazily in frontand talks to the workers. Still more for ourselves. Leather bags arebeing sewn next door and ornamented with work in coloured leather andsilks. Within hearing of the "tap-tap" lies the skin-yard, and the skinsare scraped and tanned and dyed and turned into slippers all in the samesquare acre or two, whence they depart many of them for Egypt and supplythe Cairo bazaars. A few steps farther, and there is a steady clanking of hammers on anvils, beating out hot iron--the _Blacksmiths' Quarter_. Not the old turbanedblacksmiths nor boys with shaved heads, in tunics grimed with age, andleather aprons sewn with red leather, nor the primitive bellows andquaint iron points, all being beaten out for the ploughs, are thefeatures of the Blacksmiths' Quarter; but the sheep. Every forge has itssheep, every shop its pen like a rabbit-hutch, made out of the side of abox, where the sheep lives when it is not lying just at the threshold ofthe shop in the sun, beside a half-finished meal of bran in a box. Sheepafter sheep, tame and fat, take up half the room in the street: there aresometimes a few hens, often a tortoiseshell cat curled up on a sack, butto every shop there is always a sheep fattening, as no other animal inMorocco fattens, against the _Aid-el-Kebeer_ (the Great Feast), whenevery family kills and eats its own mutton. The little shops in Tetuan group themselves together more or less. Thereis another quarter where sieves are made, a corner where baskets and thecountrywomen's huge straw hats are plaited, another where carpenterscongregate, and an open square where rugs, carpets, and curios cram theshops, and so on. We left the warm heat from the glowing cinders and the cascade of sparks, and walked on into the _feddan_ (market-place), which was teeming withwomen from the hills and villages round, come in to sell provisions. The _Jews' Quarter_ lies on one side of the feddan, shut in by a gate atnight and locked--a squalid, noisy, over-populated spot, where theworst-kept donkeys and most filth are to be met with. Tetuan is a cleancity: on every animal killed the "butchers" have to pay a tax; the taxgoes towards the sweeping of the streets once a week, and towards theirpaving--that is, if the basha is conscientious: the last basha ate anddrank the tax. A gutter runs down the middle of the streets, where chickens are killed, and the heads and uneatable parts of flesh, fish, and fowl thrown. Mulesand donkeys walk along the gutter, while foot-people flatten themselvesagainst the walls. A well-laden mule fairly absorbs the width of thelittle streets. The condition of these wretched transport animals is not due so much towanton cruelty as to neglect, and to a callousness bred of longfamiliarity. A Moor will not trouble to prevent his beasts having sorebacks and fistulated withers and raw hindquarters, any more than he seesthat his children are warmly clad and suitably fed. Fond of both, he isfoolish and apathetic, treating his mules roughly, cramming them withunnecessary food or neglecting them, and invariably working them tillthey drop. One or two little cafés we passed round the feddan, and banished anyconnection between them and lunch for ever and a day. A little room in the shade hung with yellow matting, no chairs, but awide divan at the far end, where a few Moors sat cross-legged orreclined, smoking long pipes of soothing kif, and eating the pernicioushaschisch--this constitutes a café. A few of the Moors are playing cards;the rest look on. A dome-shaped pewter teapot, filled with a brew ofsteaming tea, stands on a low table, with a painted glass beside it halffull of mint, which a freckled boy in a coarse jellab fills up from theteapot to the brim and puts to his lips; then he lights a cheapcigarette. A great urn, with an oil lamp under it, stands in one corner. No self-respecting Moor patronizes these cafés: he is the most fanaticalof Mohammedans in a land reputed to be more strictly religious than anyEastern country. In public he observes his Prophet's laws, onlyindulging _sub rosa_ in smoking--"eating the shameful, " as it is called. Mohammed knew very well that Eastern peoples drink to get drunk, andsmoke and eat opium for the purpose of intoxicating their senses. _Kif_, a herb something like hemp, produces this effect on the brain. Hetherefore forbade both. When a Moorish "swell" wants to amuse himself, instead of passing thetime at a café he goes out for the day into the country. There isgenerally an expression of perfect satisfaction with life as he finds it, on his lineless biscuit-coloured face and in his brown agate eyes--acontent seldom expressed under the top-hats in the Park. Time is to himno "race": he drifts easily down the years; knows no other home than, itmay be, Tetuan; nor is conscious that Tetuan sleeps, as it has slept forages, curled up, underneath the towering hills, white, petrified, likeLot's wife. Still down more streets, and on towards the Belgravia of the city wewalked, leaving steaming little hot-fritter shops, where _sfins_ arefried in oil and eaten with honey, where cream tarts may possibly be madeand honeyed cakes, and crisp pastry prepared with attar of roses, andcandied musk lemons, and dates mixed with almond paste. We left thefried-fish shops and fried spitted-meat shops behind, whence emerge_kabobs_--second only to _coos-coosoo_--and a smell indescribable; and wewound down tortuous alleys, past quiet windowless houses, whose greatpainted doors, yellow and brown, studded with enormous nails andknockers, spoke respectability. Never a straight street for six yards. Here an angle with a door; turndown under an archway: there a tiny branching alley, which we follow:here another door; plunge down the opposite way. A woman passes us witha friend, walking as only women in Morocco walk--figures in creamy haiksof the finest wool, which swathe them entirely from top to toe like asheet, a pair of eyes barely showing between the folds. At the bottom ofthe haiks a flash of colour obtrudes, tomato in one, beetle-green in theother, and filmy muslin over both, which in their turn allow a glimpse ofankles wrapped round in snowy linen folds--rose-pink, gold-embroideredslippers completing the whole, suggestive of a tea party. A yard farther and we pass _El-Jama-el-Kebeer_ (the Big Mosque), which, unlike that at Tangier, stands with its doors wide open, but in front ofwhich no infidel may linger. There was a vision of a cool tiled courtyardand splashing fountains of white marble and clean yellow matting, ofendless tiled pillars vanishing into shade. There are saint-houses in thecity where women are allowed to pray, but only upon one night in thewhole year in El-Jama-el-Kebeer--a field-day among the wives andconcubines, who flit like white moths through the darkness in flocks toworship, carrying red-and-blue lanterns. At last we reached the house of the Moor upon whom Mr. Bewicke intendedus to call--a specimen of the best Moorish houses. Alarbi Abresha has been nicknamed "the Duke of Westminster"--thewealthiest man in Tetuan. A slave responded to the hammer of the greatknocker, demanded who knocked, and then opened the door. Alarbi Abreshawas out; but his son, a youth badly marked with small-pox, received us, dressed in a jellab of pale blue, tasselled, and worked in white. Mr. Bewicke asked after _the house_. No one in Morocco inquires after thewife or family distinctively. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] ALARBI ABRESHA'S HOUSE. [_To face p. 54. _] A long passage led us into a large _patio_ (courtyard), in whichorange-trees were growing. It was open to the sky, the floor tiledwith shining tesselated tile-work; a marble fountain rippled in themiddle: the dado round the four walls, the three rows of pillars which onall sides supported the gallery above--all were tiled in the same mosaicof small saffron-yellow, powder-blue, and white tiles, which are baked, coloured, and glazed in primitive potteries outside the city, and madeonly in Tetuan and Fez. A Moorish house is the essence of purity andlight, with its whitewashed walls, its absence of all stifling furniture, and its capability of being sluiced down from top to bottom every daywith rivers of water by barefooted slaves. "The Duke" had spared no dollars to make his house beautiful. Of thetriple row of arches, supported by the pillars round the patio, theoutside row was a plain horse-shoe, the inner toothed, the inmost carved. Through an avenue of pillars the rooms all round the patio look out uponthe fountain and the orange-trees. Slaves occupied them. The kitchen alsoand the hummum are always on the ground floor. We were taken up to thefirst floor by the tiled staircase, with a plaster fan-shell ceiling, andwere shown into the best room--the room belonging to the master of thehouse. The tiled floor was hidden by an ugly modern French carpet instrips: white and coloured mattresses were laid all round the walls uponthe floor instead of chairs. Two immense brass bedsteads stood inrecesses, blue silk four-posters; a great cushioned mattress on thecarpet beside the bed is reported to be used by the wife; a slave willoften sleep in the same room. The lower half of the whitewashed walls washung with ancient silk brocaded hangings, a long-forgotten relic of theold wandering life as nomad Arabs, and still used by Arabs for theinsides of their tents. The richer the owner, the better his silkhangings: the design is invariably a succession of horse-shoe arches, more or less embroidered, and giving the rooms a warm, luxurious air. Inthe mosques very fine mats are used; in ordinary houses, cafés, andshops, yellow matting lines the walls. Above the old hangings the Dukehad hung a line of immense and tawdry gilt-framed mirrors. There wereclocks in the room to the number of ten, some of them going; two inlaidcabinets; three cases of artificial flowers under glass; a great woodencoffer--the wife's property--holding a wardrobe of clothes; a gun on oneof the walls; a rosary; a thermometer made in Germany: these were theonly knick-knacks. Moorish rooms combine bedroom with sitting-room, butare devoid of washing-apparatus, tables, chairs, books, or pictures. Bathing is done in the hummum or in the courtyard of the mosque; of booksthere are none; while pictures Mohammed forbade, as inclined to lead toidolatry. Query: have many artists been lost to the world in fourteenhundred years among a sect numbering a hundred millions? The ceiling and woodwork of the room were painted in barbaric, gaudyhues, which mellow with age and "tone" like a faded Kashmir shawl. A rowof tiled pillars divided the room lengthwise, and raised the inner half astep above the outer: it was immensely lofty, lighted by the great doubledoors only, which stood wide open on to the patio. Glass is not used inMorocco: the windowless rooms are aired by the unfastened doors whichlook on to the patio, itself open to the winds of heaven. The outsideworld can have little idea of the life going on within the courtyardhouse: there is much seclusion therein, in fitting harmony with thespirit of Morocco. Fireplaces do not exist, though from December to March the thermometerhas sometimes, on single occasions, touched freezing-point at night. Earthenware pans of charcoal, used for cooking, can be carried upstairsfor warmth. The other rooms in Alarbi Abresha's house were all more or less replicasof the best room shorn of its gilt. As the laws of the Medes andPersians, so is the arrangement of the mattresses (_divans_) round thewalls inside a Moorish house. A Moor does not spend his day indoors. He eats and sleeps at home, but isotherwise sitting talking with his friends in the city, or in his shop, or out at his garden-house or fields. He eats in any one of the divanned rooms in which he happens to be at thetime, his rule being to "sleep where you will and eat where you will. " Aslave carries in his dish of meat on a tray, and puts it on a table fourinches in front of the divan. Beef, mutton, and chicken are cooked in oiltill they fall apart and can be eaten with the fingers. He eatsvegetables and fruit, murmurs a "B`ism Allah" beforehand and a"Hamdoollah" (God be praised) at the end; washes his hands; drinks greentea, or begins his meal with it and bread of fine white flour. His wifehas the refusal of the dish after her lord, never eating with him; andthe slaves follow her. As many as five dishes may be brought up at ameal; and the master of the house, sampling each, chooses which he willeat, and sends the rest away. If he has a guest, it is the height ofpoliteness to select small pieces off the dish and put them within theguest's reach, or, still better, into his mouth. Moors, unless they are wealthy men, eat "by the eye"--that is, notaccording to what they require, but according to that they see set beforethem: frequent hiccups express gratification at hospitality received, accompanied by "Hamdoollah. " The amount which a Moor can eat isprodigious. There was a man at Fez who was reverenced as a saint by hisneighbours, because he had been known to eat a hundredweight of_coos-coosoo_ (porridge) and a whole sheep at a sitting. Alarbi Abresha, Junior, meanwhile, took us on into his father'sguest-house, a suite of magnificent rooms, decorated in execrable taste, the barbaric glories of the old Moorish style giving place to modernFrench vulgarity. A courtyard house can be a strange mixture. Itswoodwork, possibly _arrar_, a cypress of beautiful grain, scented likecedar, cinnamon-coloured, and immensely hard (out of which the Romanpatricians cut their precious tables, valued at their weight in gold ifas much as four feet wide: beams of arrar put into the Córdovo Mosque bythe Moors a thousand years ago still exist); its old silk hangings; itstiles, kept polished like jet, and never desecrated by anything harderthan a slippered sole, --all alike are the finest relics of a taste whichruled in the construction of the Alhambra, where Mauresque design is seenat its best. The aristocrats of Tetuan are descendants of the oldAndalusian families, who, having left Morocco and invaded Spain, settledthere, built the Alhambra, were in the course of time driven back overthe seas, and took refuge in Tetuan and other coast towns. Their verytitle-deeds, together with the keys of their houses in Granada, are stillin the possession of their descendants in Tetuan. While the best work in the courtyard houses of to-day harks back to thebrave days of Spain, the Moor of the twentieth century has less of thevitality and originality which distinguished his forefathers, and he isapt to mix cheap up-to-date decoration with the patio and the windowlesswall, of which the Duke's guest-house may stand for an example. When the great door had shut behind us, and we were outside in thestreet again, it seemed both narrow and prosaic after the sunny patio, with the yellow-fringed orange-trees almost branching into the rooms, andthe fitful accompaniment of running water, dear to the Moorish ear. In the course of the afternoon Mohammed, Ali, mules, and baggage put inan appearance, and we found them waiting in the feddan, anxious to putour tents up in the middle of the noisy, crowded sok, where the wind, which had dropped but little, was whirling dust round in clouds, andwhere we should have been the centre of a staring throng--at the sametime, an ideal place in the servants' eyes, suggesting cafés andconversation the whole night through. The camping-ground which "theinfidel" selects is an insoluble puzzle to the Moor, and they went offmystified and disappointed, under orders from the Consul to pitch thetents outside the city. Later on we followed, by a street redolent and sweet with honey, of whicha great quantity had just come in from the Riff country, leading to_Báb-el-Aukla_ (the Gate of Wisdom), so called because the elders of thecity, the wise men, used to sit outside on some of the great rocks: afine two-storied, square-shaped gateway, with a pointed arch and toothedornament above it. Three little windows overlook the arch; the blacknoses of small cannon protrude in a long row out of the white parapetedwalls; a flagstaff tops the whole, and flies the crimson streamer ofMorocco. A line of sea-green tiling beneath the cannon breaks the flatwall, where the heads of turbulent tribesmen hang occasionally, sent overfrom some neighbouring raid by the Sultan's orders, and first salted bythe Jews in the city, _nolens volens_. The cobbles were slippery underthe gate. The huge, heavy wooden doors, studded with iron bolts, arebarred and locked every night half an hour after sunset. Inside, lookingback, just at the parting of two streets, a great white wall faced us, topped with green tiles, grass-grown; below, a horse-shoe arch, somewhatin relief, belted with coloured tiles, defaced by age, contained a longsolid stone trough, into which two spouts of water gushed--never dry inthis city of springs. Mules and donkeys and country-folk all stop anddrink, and the front of the trough is carved. Báb-el-Aukla is the finest gate in the city. Go where you will in Tetuan, at every turn water bubbles into time-wornand artistically moulded troughs and basins, under quaint arches, tiledin blue and brown and white. In the narrow winding street-ways, betweenthe houses, half dark, still the bubbling of water is heard, and theshining wet trough seen. As we left the city and walked down the sandy road which leads to thesea, our tents lay a quarter of a mile off, two white spots, pitched ongrass just off the road, the mules picketed by them. We had a somewhat light meal at six o'clock, Mohammed's chicken turningout like hammered leather. He was no cook. [Illustration: OUR CAMP OUTSIDE TETUAN. [_To face p. 60. _] An Arabic proverb says, "What is past is gone, and the future is distant;and to thee is the hour in which thou art. " It was obviously neverintended by the Creator that mankind should make plans. Morocco may haveits drawbacks, but it is at least one of those few and blessed spotswhere it is waste of time to plan: life is a matter of to-day, and To-morrow?--Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Seven Thousand Years. Thus some time that evening, when, after coping unsuccessfully withthe chicken, it struck R. And myself that Tetuan had attractions over andabove the head of Tangier, we settled then and there to stay on at Tetuanas long as we liked the place, though the weather looked very much likerain, not at all like camping out, and we had no clothes with us to speakof. Overcoming or ignoring these difficulties, we finally decided to pay offour three men, send them back by themselves to Tangier with the tents andcamp outfit, write to the Villa Valentina, pay our bill, have our boxespacked up and sent over to us at Tetuan by muleteer, and move ourselvesinto the Spanish _fonda_ (inn) inside the city. Thus were we left for thenext six days with one clean collar apiece. In Tangier there had been some speculation on the elasticity of theSpartan wardrobes which we had brought out from England, at a moment whenthe dread of a vast impedimenta happened to lie strong upon us. In Tetuansuch panics bury themselves. The slimmest wardrobe will suffice. Acountry's own materials, whether home-spun of Kashmir or sheep-skin coatof Afghanistan, naturally meet its requirements best: deficiencies areeasily supplied, and later on we lived in mufti off the backs of Tetuansheep. Lying in bed in the early morning before it was light, duck were to beheard calling up the river; and, breakfast over, we strolled down to thebanks, where the thick green orange-trees on the opposite side bore acrop of cow-birds, sitting like a covey of white cockatoos on the tips ofthe branches among the golden oranges, so thick and snowy that the treemight well have burst into abnormal flower. By nine o'clock the camp was struck, and we had burnt our ships: the lastof the five mules, three men, and baggage tailed off out of sight alongthe road to Tangier. Under a cloudy sky, prophesying rain, we walked into the city to look forquarters: better, perhaps, a fonda in Tetuan than a tent at the fondâk inwet weather. CHAPTER III DIFFICULTIES OF "LODGINGS" IN MOROCCO--A SPANISH FONDA--A MOORISH TEAPARTY--POISON IN THE CUP--SLAVES IN MOROCCO--EL DOOLLAH--MOORISHCEMETERY--RIDE TO SEMSAR--SHOPPING IN TETUAN--PROVISIONS IN THE CITY. CHAPTER III This by God's grace is _El Moghreb_--Morocco--and here a wise man is surprised at nothing that he sees and believes nothing that he hears. IT is not easy to find a lodging in Morocco: there are no _dâkbungalows_--no large white English residences, with the familiar andhospitable _Burra Sahib_, a retinue of servants, spare horses, and aspacious bedroom at the disposal of the unexpected guest. Hotels, exceptat Tangier, are impossible for any length of time, unless to the vagariesof Spanish or Jewish cookery the heart can harden itself. We steeled our souls, assisted by the grateful sense of freedom from allpetty society functions, which in the nature of things are unknown in acity where one vice-consul, six women missionaries, and a post-officealone represent the British flag--where there is no English doctor, noEnglish church. Tetuan met all our needs: the only question was where to live. Immediately outside its walls lies a land of gardens and orchards. EveryMoor who can afford it has a garden, wherein he cultivates grapes andfruit-trees, --a dim reflection of that Paradise of his, which must bechequered with acres of shade cast by great rocks and giganticolive-trees; which must be abundantly watered by running brooks of milk, honey, and wine; whose soil shall be flour, white as snow. The Moor'sGarden of Eden reserved for the faithful after death bespeaks abundanceand repose, differing but little from a certain Heaven of Epicures, wherein _pâtés de fois gras_ were eaten to the sound of trumpets. Somewhere in his garden outside Tetuan he builds himself a garden-house, to which in the summer he migrates with his wife and slaves and thechildren of both, his divans, carpets, and kitchen utensils: the townhouse is locked up and stands empty while he spends four or five monthsunder his vines and figs. At the time we arrived in Tetuan--early December--not a garden-house butstill lay empty; and naturally in their direction our longing eyesturned--an impossible desire, it was said, thereby clinching the resolveto make a superhuman effort to bring it to pass: between living in thecity and a garden there could be no choice. In the meantime a Spanishfonda must constitute a make-shift until that came which is laid down forthose who wait. Inside Tetuan two hotels presented themselves. With fonda number one wecould not come to terms; it was not attractive-looking: we took ahigh-handed line and left. Fonda number two, after much haggling inSpanish, agreed to take us both at the modest sum of seven-and-sixpence aday, all included. No sooner was the bargain struck than a messengerarrived post-haste from fonda number one, to say that they would take usat our own terms. Their golden opportunity was lost. Report said fondanumber one might be a trifle cleaner, but fonda number two had the bettercook: the inside man carried the day in favour of number two. [Illustration: A VEILED FIGURE OUTSIDE THE GATE. [_To face p. 66. _] It was one among many flat-roofed whitewashed houses in the MoorishQuarter, in a street barely six feet wide. There was no outlook exceptfrom the roof-top, where the washing dried: there were no windows, therooms depending for light upon double doors opening on to the tiny tiledpatio--except in our own case, where the second room allotted to us wasbuilt over the top of the street, and had two windows cut in the walls bythe Spanish occupants, neither of which quite shut, and provided us withan ample supply of air. The room beyond possessed dilapidated doors, which gave upon the patio. The patio was, of course, open to all the rainof heaven as well as to all the sun: it was the principal sitting-room ofthe family, where, downstairs, on fine days, they plucked chickens, madebread, washed, sat and received callers, did needlework and chattered; onwet days creeping disconsolately round the lake of water in the middle ofthe tiled floor, where the rain dropped--splash--taking refuge on onesheltered seat in company with three dogs, a cat, and a tame chicken, orretiring into the dark little rooms which surrounded the lake. The family comprised Spanish parents, married daughter and husband, threeunmarried sisters, a brother, and a lodger--an old Spanish music-master. The fonda was run by the married daughter, a lady with a temper, who madeeverybody else work: her mother and one sister cooked; the second sisterwas busy with a trousseau and a young man; the third andprettiest--Amanda--waited on us. On the whole we were not uncomfortable, in spite of the Spanish element. Our rooms were clean: one afternoon wefound a chicken sunning itself in a patch of sunlight on the floor ofone--nothing worse. Dinner was sometimes, and Amanda was always, lackingin certain points to a critical eye. Sometimes it was a skirt, sometimesa petticoat, she wore: except on high days, it was doubtful and dependentupon chance threads and pins. All Amanda's blouses were low-necked, whatever the time of day: the stains and slits and remnants of tornfrills were unique. She wore her sleeves turned up, and silver bangles onher arms. Amanda never buttoned her boots, and often put in an appearancewith bare feet. But Amanda was redeemed by her head-dress and her manners. She wound acrimson shawl gracefully over her dark head, after the fashion of amantilla, with an effect beyond reproach. Amanda had a gracious way ofputting things: she bore herself with infinite dignity, and a_je-ne-sais-quoi_ which pointed to a mixed ancestry; she had well-shapedhands. At seven o'clock in the evening her knock preceded preparations fordinner, while she munched something or hummed a tune meanwhile. Seas ofthin soup invariably preceded a dish of shapeless masses of "soup-meat, "garnished with boiled peas. The third course consisted of chicken orpartridge: on less happy occasions foreign and "shudderous" dishesappeared; a peculiar jelly shell-fish was the lowest ebb--that and porkwe resented. Last of all, a tall glass fruit-dish would arrive, thestandard sweet--_flan_ (caramel pudding). Then a long pause. Finally, Amanda's step, with a great plate of hot toast and a tall tin coffee-pot:black coffee was the best part of the meal. A day or two after settling into the fonda we were asked to our firstentertainment in a Moorish house. Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli wanted Mr. Bewickeand ourselves to "tea" with him. As in the case of "the Duke's" house, so here, all the womenkind werehidden away on account of the Consul. Mohammedans are jealous andsuspicious of their wives and daughters to a degree, and strongly resent, if not prevent, an Englishman's going up on to the flat roof, lest hehave a view of fair occupants beyond or below. Nevertheless, the wivesalways contrive to peep out of some loophole and see all there is to beseen. Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli received us all three alone, as a matter of course, and led us upstairs to his best room. Like many others among the betterclass of Moors, our host had a shop and himself sold groceries. At thesame time his sister is the wife of one of the Ministers; and as there isno respect of persons in Morocco, Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli might be calledupon himself any day to fill a high official position, and be obliged togo, raising money, if he had not wherewithal to support the post, which, if a lucrative one, would soon repay the outlay. Trade at Tetuan, and apparently everywhere else over Morocco, is not whatit once was: the old flintlocks, inlaid with silver wire and lumps ofpink coral, are unknown since the last gun-maker died; snuff-nuts, evenslippers, do but a small business. Living is more expensive than it was:it cost Hadj Mukhtar three shillings a day to feed himself and the wholehousehold, he said. The room into which we went--our host leaving his yellow slippers in thedoorway, and motioning us all to sit down on the divans round thewalls--was hung with a silk dado, tiled in mosaic, and overlooked agood-sized patio with a running fountain. Our dirty boots compared unfavourably with the Hadj's clean, bare feet, which, as he sat down cross-legged on the white and embroidered cushions, were hidden underneath his voluminous garments; whereas ours, not to themanner born, contracted cramp, unless stuck out in an ungainly way. A gorgeously upholstered bed filled up one corner of the room; a gun hungon the wall. There was nothing else. Three little sons of the house and Mr. Bewicke's soldier-servant havingfollowed us in and seated themselves, preparations for tea--alreadywaiting, arranged in front of the divans on four brass trays, standing onfour low tables a few inches high--began. Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli, sitting on his heels in front of his tea-table, making tea with his thin brown hands, and presiding over it all with trueOriental dignity, was a veritable Moses or Aaron reincarnated. Women andmen alike mature rapidly in this country, putting on flesh and becomingmatronly and aldermanic without at the same time growing lined or aged: awealthy man of twenty-five is portly and slow of movement--the result ofEastern habits coupled with the climate. Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli, barely forty years old by his own account, had awhite beard and moustache, no wrinkles, eyes of mild blue and benignexpression, equally guileless and unfathomable. Talking in Arabic to Mr. Bewicke, he drew the tray close to the low divanin front of him, saw that his sons provided cushions for our backs, andproceeded to wash the green tea in a bright nickel pear-shaped teapot, with water from the great brass urn which stood over a charcoal-burner:the washed tea was then transferred into a twin teapot, which the Hadjgenerously filled with immense lumps of sugar out of a glass dishstanding on a tray by itself, stacked high with great blocks split offthe cone with a hatchet. Heavy with lump sugar, a handful of mint and bayleaves was also crammed into the little remaining space in the teapot, the boiling water out of the urn was turned on over all, filling up everychink, the lid shut down upon the steaming fragrant brew, and the teapotset back upon the brass tray, the centre of a ring of tiny gilt andpainted glasses. The eldest son--a boy of fourteen, dressed in red, and wearing a leatherbelt embroidered with blue, and a fez-bag fastened thereto to match, whose head had evidently had its weekly shave that afternoon--lit a lampunderneath a little incense-burner, filling it with sticks ofsweet-scented wood, till an odoriferous blue smoke rose from it. Withmuch care he carried the burner to us, and put it inside our coats, thoroughly impregnating every thickness with warmth and odours ofcedar-wood. It was taken last of all to Mr. Bewicke's soldier, whomanipulated it correctly as a Moor, putting it inside his flowingapparel, and sitting down with every fold closed in round him like aminiature tent, the burner smoking away inside. A scent-spray was thenhanded, with which we anointed ourselves in Moorish fashion, inside ourhats, up our sleeves, and round our necks. Meanwhile, Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli poured out tea with a great elevation ofthe teapot, raising his arm and showing greens and blues mixed toperfection underneath his _k`sa_--a white woollen or silk robe worn onlyby gentlemen--which, semi-transparent and gauze-like, fell in white wavesover his shoulders on to the divan. Under the k`sa was a long garmentwith wide sleeves and buttoned all down the front--a _kaftan_--ofsea-green cloth, embroidered with gold. The kaftan just revealed awaistcoat of a shade of blue, with gold and green buttons and embroidery. Underneath this, and above his white cotton shirt and drawers, heprobably wore a woollen jacket. But greens and blues and gold were alonevisible. Sometimes several kaftans or several jellabs are worn one on topof the other, all colours mixed, particularly if the owner is travelling. Moors are a wool-clad people for the most part, due to the wet winterclimate: the men's brown woollen hooded jellabs keep out the rain more orless, and the women's white woollen haiks answer the same purpose. The Hadj turned up his sleeves as he made tea, the underside of thembeing embroidered for this purpose. It was ready by this time, andbrought us on a brass tray by the eldest son. Though the little glassesare not capable of holding much, the violent sweetness and the flavour ofmint prevent the uninitiated from doing justice to the regulation threecups which courtesy demands should be drunk. But it grows, even upon theEuropean, that steaming golden-brown beverage, fresh and fragrant withsweet thymes, while something in the climate of Morocco tends to makesugar acceptable after a few weeks. We supplied ourselves with spongecake, pounds of which were piled on a brass tray in front of us: sweetbiscuits, toasted nuts, almonds, and raisins abounded on the same lavishscale; while a wicker basket, like a large waste-paper basket, was fullof thirty or forty round cakes of bread, several sizes larger than a Bathbun, made of the finest semolina flour, flavoured with aniseed and bakeda warm biscuit colour. The Hadj pressed third cups upon us, but with the innate breeding ofevery Moor understood the limited capacity born of early days in Morocco. A Moor is nothing if not courteous, and, whatever his real feelings, conceals them under polite speeches. He will, as somebody has said, "cutyour throat _most politely, most politely_, " or with profound urbanityoffer you a cup of poison. Our host had sipped a first cup before allowing the tea to be handedround--a custom observed to assure the guest that the teapot was freefrom poison, and that no deadly drink was offered us, containing seedswhich should propagate a horrible disease in the intestines, destroyinglife sooner or later. Poisoning is only too common among the Moorsthemselves, cases occurring almost every day in the country. Once, when Sir John Hay was having an angry discussion with agovernor--Mokhta--coffee was brought in. Mokhta, as usual, took the cupintended for the Englishman, and put it to his lips, making a noise asthough sipping it, but which sounded suspiciously like blowing into it, and then offering it to Sir John. Not fancying the bubbled coffee, hedeclined, saying to Mokhta, "I could not drink before you. Pray keep thatcup yourself, " and helping himself at the same time to the second cup, which he drank. Mokhta put down the cup which he had offered Sir John, and did not drink it. Some one in Tetuan dies every year of poisoning. Wives frequently killtheir husbands. No two brothers, both in ministerial offices at Court, would dream of sitting down and eating together without precautionsbeforehand, on account of _the marked pieces_ in the dish. One brother, as he dines, may invite the other, who happens to enter, to join him inthe meal; but he will reply, "I have already dined. " _He dare not. _ Meanwhile, Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli talked away in Arabic to Mr. Bewicke, whotranslated for us. He said that Menebbi, the Minister of War who wentover to England with the last embassy, and who is practically PrimeMinister, lost a considerable amount of influence during the short twomonths he was away, but that he was rapidly gaining ground, and might besaid to be completely restored to favour again. Menebbi is the only oneof the Sultan's Ministers who is likely to help him to reform theGovernment of Morocco. A clever, crafty brain, the whole Court under histhumb, it yet needed but an absence of eight weeks to generate in thathotbed of Eastern intrigue such a tissue of false evidence and lies asnearly cost Menebbi his position, if not his life. His enemies possessedthe Sultan's ear; every Menebbi had been removed from the army; he hadprobably not a single friend left in Morocco. With the fickleness oftheir race, his name was cursed at every street corner; and when spokenof, the people said, "There _is_ no Menebbi. " Hurrying back from England, the tidings of his fall reached Menebbi when he landed at Mazagan: he wasto be arrested. But the man they had to deal with was one of those fewwho make a full use of every opportunity life ever offers. From Mazaganto Morocco City, where the Court was, a distance of a hundred and fortymiles, he had a relay of mules and horses posted, and he rode withoutstopping. There were dead and sorry beasts left on the road that day. Menebbi rode up to the cannon's mouth, so to speak: he need never havegone to Morocco City, but that would have meant his sinking into privatelife and his banishment from Court; he preferred to "play to theuttermost, " and he staked life and fortune on the card he held. Things inMorocco City hung on an eyelash: the great man galloped in from Mazagan, went straight to the palace, never paused a moment, straight to theSultan's private door, straight into the presence itself. And who shallsay what Menebbi said to the Sultan through that night which he passedwith him--what false accusations he refuted, what diplomacy he used? Nextday Menebbi was not at prayers; he was "sick": in other words, he hadtidings of a plot to kill him on his way to the mosque. However, in timehe righted himself: now his enemies are under his heel, and Menebbibreathes again. The Hadj spoke of the great wish the Sultan has to visit England--animpossibility, for in the eyes of his fanatical subjects he would becountenancing the unbelievers, and his throne would be handed over to asuccessor: the throne to which he succeeded, for the first time in thehistory of Morocco, without having to fight his way to it--a fact owed tothe Wazeer's sagacity. Keeping the death of the old Sultan secret for afew days, the Wazeer meantime bribed and forced the Ministers to acceptthe young heir as Sultan, hurried to Fez, summoned every citizen to themosque, had the doors locked, proclaimed the news of the Sultan's death, and surprised or forced the whole mosqueful into swearing allegiance tothe present ruler. So far the Sultan knows only two or three places in his whole kingdom, and has practically spent his life at one--Morocco City, or _Marrakesh_, as the Moors call it. Nor would his journeys be reckoned blessings by theunfortunate country through which he passed. Only able to move with anarmy, that army, without any commissariat or transport, feeding itselfupon its march, wipes corn and food off the face of the land as a spongewipes a slate. "Where the Sultan's horse treads the corn ceases to grow. "He seldom travels with less than thirty thousand followers; and, supposing he is passing through a turbulent tribe, fights his way as hegoes, leaving ruin and desolation behind. "They make a desert, and theycall it peace. " Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli had travelled considerably farther afield than hissovereign; he knew Genoa, Marseilles, Egypt, and of course Mecca. TheMussulman pilgrims passing through Constantinople on their way to Meccathis year are, he told us, very numerous, the Sultan having ordered thefares on the Massousieh Company's steamers to be reduced one-half forthem. He thought that about two thousand Moors would be leaving Tangierin the early spring for the pilgrimage, returning some three monthslater. Neither the Hadj's sons nor Mr. Bewicke's soldier joined in theconversation, but continued steadily to consume tea, all eyes and ears. At last the trays were removed; and there being no co-religious eye toshock, Hadj Mukhtar indulged in a cigarette, while we puzzled him with afew tricks of balance and reach, which pleased him quite as much as hisboys: everybody tried their hands, and finally the Hadj sent his eldestson for an old, heavy sword, and, squatting on the floor, showed us aclever piece of leverage with it and his thumb, which it was in vain totry and imitate. Watching our failures, he produced a snuff-box, a small cocoanut-shell, ornamented with little silver and coral knobs, with a narrow ivorymouthpiece, a stopper, and an ivory pin fastened to the cocoanut-shell tostir up the snuff inside--Tetuan snuff--noted for its pungent flavour. Hadj Mukhtar jerked the grains through the narrow mouthpiece into thehollow of the back of his thumb, where all Moors lay it, then lifted hishand up to his nose. Near the door hung his rosary of ninety-nine beads, reminding the piousMussulman of the ninety-nine attributes of God. Each of the ninety-ninebeads corresponds to the name of some holy man, and as the bead is passedalong with the hand the saint's name is murmured. Curious that the use ofrosaries in the Spanish Church is said to have been borrowed first of allfrom the Spanish Moors. The eldest son of our host was, his father told us, looking forward tobeginning the Fast of Rámadhan this year--fasting, as he was only anovice, for half the day instead of the whole of it: evidently as muchimportance and excitement were attached to the prospect as later on wouldattend the boy's marriage. This same boy of fourteen is learning towrite in Latin characters, for a Moor a most unusual and advanced step:at present he was only wearing a little red fez cap, not having reachedthe age of turbans, with all their dignified symmetry. The Kor[=a]n wasall the literature the boy would ever know. Strange that a strong andsober people should have for ages confined their studies to the Kor[=a]n, an occasional Arab poet, and a sacred treatise or two. There is, as Ihave already said, no literature, no art, no science, in Morocco, and noarchitecture--the Kor[=a]n forbidding, it is said, research or study inany line except that of religion. Geography is entirely unknown. LikeMoors in general, Hadj Mukhtar may have heard of London and Paris, andmight know the names Germany and Russia, besides Mecca; but none of theformer would have any connection or "place" in his mind, and Morocco mustbe, he is confident, the finest country under the sun. If it were broughthome to him that his country is in a decadent condition, he would replythat at least it is good enough for him as it is; and that if Europeanswere allowed to exploit it and to settle therein, the end would beprosperity for the Western civilization, and a knuckling-under on thepart of the Moorish--which is true. We talked on upon one and another subject till it grew late, but beforewe left our host took R. And myself to see his wife, downstairs, in asmaller room. Five wives are allowed by Mohammed, but few Moors in Tetuanwere rich enough to afford as many, and contented themselves with slaves. We were not impressed by the very plain, sallow-faced lady, with a blackfringe and hard brown eyes, who shook hands with us, and from herlikeness to the eldest boy was probably his mother. The second son wasevidently by a slave: there was no mistaking that likeness--a fat, happyindividual, the greatest contrast to another slave, who, though welldressed, was pale and miserable-looking. Two or three other corpulent, smiling blackamoors made up the sum-total of the party in the downstairsroom--most comfortable, lounging on the cushions, they looked, no meanadvertisements of Hadj Mukhtar's "table. " The principal and favouritewife possessed a noisy sewing-machine, which she proudly displayed. Every Moor's establishment has its slaves--so many, according to hisincome: in Tetuan they are sold privately, and frequently exchanged onefor the other, while the wives are as easily divorced. Every yearsomething like three thousand slaves come into Morocco, chiefly from theSoudan: a few are stolen from Moorish tribes; the rest are brought in byMoorish traders, who catch them in various ways, such as scatteringsweetmeats, or in hard times corn, round the villages, up to neighbouringcoverts, just as a poacher at home entices pheasants with raisins, thenpouncing out and carrying them off. As there are no such things as Moorish women-servants, negresses andslaves of various types step into the gap, and the evil of this influx ofblack blood is seen in the deterioration of a fine race, and the increaseof the type which tends towards thick lips, low foreheads, and sensualtastes. The slavery of Christians in Morocco, once common, has been bytreaty abolished since the day when the savage Sultan Mulai Ismael hadeleven thousand Christian slaves in Mequinez employed in building hiswalls, whose bodies, when they succumbed, were mixed in with the stonesand mud of the buildings. Slaves are not ill treated in the present day, though now and again one may be flogged to death as the result of faultor the malice and slander of a jealous fellow-slave: as a rule they livehappily; and if a female slave bears a male child to her master, by a lawin the Kor[=a]n both mother and son are _ipso facto_ freed, though theycontinue to live on in the same house. The last thing Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli showed us was his hummum, cunninglyarranged to flank the kitchen fire at the back. A tiny room; but four ofhis wives and slaves could, he explained, take their bath in it at once. There was a small stone slab inside as a seat, and hot air came in bymeans of a pipe in one corner. The _hummum_, or Turkish bath, is partlyenjoined by the Kor[=a]n and partly taken for its own enjoyment; it is afeature of every Moorish house of any pretension, and largely used by menand women. The evening was a dark one, and we picked our way back to the fonda bythe light of lanterns: it is impossible to go out at night in Tetuanwithout carrying one; the streets are wholly unlit, and the refuse-heapsand central gutters unpleasant traps. Next morning R. And I strolled out of the city in the direction of Ceutaby way of the _Báb-el-M`kabar_ (the Gate of the Tombs). Just beyond thisgateway congregates in the road _el doollah_ (the drove)--that is to say, the mules and donkeys belonging to any one in Tetuan who has no work forthem on that particular day. They are all left by their owners at thisspot in the care of a tall, tattered Moor, whose business in life is tolook after them; and there they lie in the sandy road or lean up againstthe hot wall or each other, one of the saddest sights on God's earth, some of them infant two-year-olds, all of them overworked and starved. About midday the drover drives his charges off to the nearest grass--suchas it is--and the ragged squad troops along the stony track withoutbridles and without spirit to abuse its freedom. They have none of thempacks or saddles, unless their sore backs are too deeply aggravated toallow of exposure to the flies and dust; and in due time, one by one, theold or the dying drop tacitly out of the ranks; a couple of days--thescavenging dogs' work is done--and only a tangled knot of bones is kickedaway from the roadside by the feet of the living generation, which havepicked up the scantiest feed, and are straying back citywards again inthe late afternoon, to be called for outside the Báb-el-M`kabar each byits owner. El doollah had not started; and leaving them all in the road below us, wepassed the little knots of countrywomen who sit by the Báb-el-M`kabarselling myrtle for laying upon the graves, and wound our way uphillthrough the old Mussulman cemetery, with its quaint domed tombs andtoothed, arched doorways, cracked, decayed, and yellow with lichen, halfhidden among the tangle of bushes and wild flowers on the rough slope. The older of the tombs are probably those of the first Moors who fledfrom Spain in the days of that great _trek_ back to Morocco: a much laterand very conspicuous dome belongs to a brave lady, who, not a hundredyears ago, did her best to defend Tetuan against the Spaniards, fightingside by side with the Moorish troops, and, in the course of the siege, accounting for half a dozen Spaniards, thereby earning for herself in duecourse a Joan of Arc reputation and a public sepulchre. [Illustration: A MOHAMMEDAN CEMETERY. [_To face p. 80. _] The cemetery was overgrown with _ayerna_ root, one of the commonest weedsin Morocco, poisonous when it is eaten raw, though it is possible, afterboiling the root for ten or twelve hours, spreading it out to dry in thesun, and grinding it in a mill, to make a sort of bitter bread out of theflour, and to subsist upon that. This the poor do to a great extent, whenever corn runs short and they have nothing but roots and grasses tofall back upon: their pale yellow faces and emaciated bodies tell a taleof the ayerna root. We grubbed some up with a little difficulty in thestiff clay soil with nothing but sticks to help. Fifteen inches down wefound the root, a small whitish bulb, the size of a bluebell root. There is much desolation about the old cemetery, with its crumblingruins; but the sun struck a key-note of splendour, and turned thelichened stones into nuggets of gold. A black raven sat on a grey rock above us and croaked; below lay thewhite city--white beyond all English ideas of whiteness. Two tallminarets, with simple straight lines, only a mosaic of green tiling letinto their flat faces, cut the peaks of the mountains beyond. At aquarter past twelve a little white flag slowly mounted to the top of eachmosque; an infinitesimally small black figure appeared against the sky;then leaning over the parapet and looking down upon the humming city, acry broke from the figure, and was carried over to us upon the wind--acry which rose and fell, most musical, most sonorous: "Allah HoAkbar--Allah Ho Akbar. " The black dot moved round the parapet, and eastand west and north and south chanted the great summons to the Faithful toprayer. And then the little white flag was hauled down. On the other side of the river the neutral-coloured villages could bepicked out by their white saint-houses. Morocco is stuck as full ofsaints' tombs--fuller--than England of dissenting chapels. They stud theland. Moors rid themselves of much valuable energy in the erection, bycountless thousands, of tombs to the memory of the eccentric or piousdead; and distances are measured, tracks marked, not from church tochurch as in Spain, nor from village to village as in England, but fromsaint-house to saint-house, each of which is village-green, club, orpublic-house rolled into one, where the men gossip, the pious read, travellers halt, offerings are brought the dead saint, and sick childrenarrive to be healed--all at a little whitewashed building with a domelike an oven outside, and a horse-shoe arch, an olive- or a fig- or apalm-tree, a flag-staff hung with morsels of rag, and often a spring ofwater. At four cross-tracks, instead of sign-posts, heaps of stones, cairns, are to be found, placed in such a way as to indicate thedirection in which the next saint's tomb lies. A saint-house or two spot the green plain below the cemetery, whichmerges into the seven miles of flats stretching from the city to the sea, the haunt of wild duck, plover, and snipe, among wastes of coarse grass, marsh, and red tangle. Coils of grey river lie upon the flats: the veryflatness over which the stream snakes is at once most strong--serene. As we walked down the hillside, a brown figure upon a flat-topped tombwas silhouetted against the plain: he raised himself, and then againprostrated his body to the earth, his face set to the distant belt ofblue sea, worshipping towards Mecca. That afternoon we visited Semsar, a village two or three hours' ride fromTetuan, up in the mountains to the west. R. Had a sedate brown mule withno idea of exerting himself: my mount was a clever little grey, nervousand rather handy with his heels, nearly kicking me more than once when Idismounted or mounted carelessly. We rode, as usual, on the high-peakedMoorish saddles, covered with scarlet cloth, such as every Moor uses--thestirrup-leathers of twisted scarlet silk, several thick saddle-clothsunderneath, the girths never drawn, the saddle only kept from slippingover head or tail by scarlet britching and breastplate. It is impossibleto mount unless the stirrup is held. After repeating the sacramental word"B`ism Allah" (a Moor mounts and dismounts in the name of God), with aman at his stirrups, he sinks without an effort into his saddle, amidst afurbelow of white robes, which he has afterwards arranged carefully forhim. Possibly for this reason he gets on and off as seldom as possible, hugging the convenient maxim, common among the Moors, that mounting anddismounting fatigue an animal more than carrying a burden. He rides withhis knees up to his chin: he is a natural horseman, and looks at home inhis practically girthless and quite shapeless saddle, which must havegiven him a pang, if ever he galloped for his life in front of hisenemies, and reflected that his safety was dependent upon thebreastplate. A man, before now, has, as he rode, unwound his waistcloth, and twisted it round his horse's neck, for further security against thesaddle's slipping back. Mr. Bewicke and his soldier rode with us: the latter a dark, lean-faced, unwholesome-looking man, unable, like so many of his countrymen, to growany hair on his face--an obsequious individual too, inspiring littletrust; below his long blue cloak he wore brown riding-boots, embroideredwith orange, and fastening up the back with orange-thread buttons. My little grey bustled along; but once or twice, when the road fell awayinto a steep drop, his weak hind legs gave under him, and he "sat down":we soon learnt the effect which merely shaking the feet in the greatangular stirrups has on mules whose sides have often been in touch withthe sharp points, and jogged forward wherever the bad road allowed. We had left the city by another of its six gates--the _Báb-el-Toot_(Mulberry Gate), the old name pointing back to an energetic past, whenmulberries, silk-worms, and silk-weaving flourished around Tetuan--whenthe cultivation of sugar-cane, cotton, and rice in Morocco was more thana memory. Following for a time the road to Tangier, we branched off to the right, and took a rough path winding upwards, passing a spring where women washclothes, three parts walled in, to prevent their being seen. A little higher up and one of the countless saints' tombs came insight--better known in this case as the Robbers' Tower, where brigandscongregate at sunset, and from an excellent coign of vantage keep alook-out on the Tangier road, to drop on any unfortunate so foolhardy asto be on it late in the day. After dark no Moor from Tetuan would walknear this saint-house. Only a few weeks after this very ride a man was murdered on the Tangierroad, why or wherefore no one knew, except that his body was found, brought into Tetuan, and buried without further investigation, since hisrelatives were neither rich nor powerful enough to institute a search anddemand compensation. Robbery in Morocco is almost sanctioned by Providence; it is made sosimple. The lonely tracks, the absence of police, the inconveniences oftravelling, and the innumerable wells scattered over the country, almostsunk for the reception of inconvenient bodies--one and all tempt a man toturn brigand; and yet Europeans are seldom attacked, in view of the fineimposed upon the tribe in whose territory a crime is committed. Thus the borders, where several tribes meet, are always unsafe country, one tribe disposing of bodies which they have done to death bydepositing them in the territory of the next tribe. But even in"Christian-ridden" Tangier a German was knifed three years ago walkinghome, as was his custom, at dusk. He happened to have no money on him. His murderer was given up to justice--that is, the basha of Tangier saidsome one must die, and together with the fine the tribe outside Tangierproduced a man, who was duly executed, though whether he was themurderer. . . . . . Meanwhile, we were leaving the millet-fields behind us--stubbles, anoccasional stalk three feet high, no lying for birds--and were in acountry of wild lavender and stunted bushes: these consisted chiefly ofcistus or else palmetto, a little dwarf palm, the fruit of which is eatenby goats, and the root by natives as a vegetable, while its fibrousleaves make rope and baskets and a hundred things. A bleak undulatingcountry, which ran up into rocky blue gorges and grey peaks on the righthand. The path was almost blocked at one point by an immense cairn on thetop of a ridge--a holy pile, upon which the devout Moor in passing castsa stone, because from this spot the mountain can be made out on which thevenerated shrine of Mulai Abdesalam lies, in Beni Anos, the goal ofthousands of pilgrims each year. Though it is within a day's ride ofTangier, the country for miles around is forbidden to any European, andtwo Englishmen only have penetrated into the sacred city of Shesháwan, which lies in the same district. Mr. Walter B. Harris and Mr. Somers, atdifferent times, got inside, but only at sunset, and after lying inhiding all night had to flee for their lives at dawn. Gradually we reached wilder and more rocky country, recalling Scotland asfar as the open moorland went. If fir-trees were planted on the shelteredslopes, the fir-pins should, in conjunction with the natural soil, formland capable of growing vines--an idle dream in the Morocco of to-day. Between two hills in front of us towered a cliff of rocky red limestone, which might once have formed the bed of some vast stream. Semsar laywhere the waters should have struck the rock beneath as they fell: a moresheltered village could not be, facing south-east. The cliff above isstill riddled with the remains of an old silver-mine, worked years ago bythe Portuguese: the ladders and scaffolding inside have fallen to pieces, and after penetrating along dark tunnels on hands and knees for a certaindistance an open shaft intervenes, and further exploration is impossible. Semsar, nestled into its crevice, takes more or less the local brown; butamong the thatched huts, rising one above the other like an uneven pileof mud terraces, a few walls were whitewashed, and of course a whitevillage mosque stood guard over all on the top of a hillock. There issomething a trifle "animal" in these villages, rough clusters ofbee's-comb or ant-heaps or beavers' lodgings as they might be, assumingexactly the shade of their surroundings, as nests the colour of theirhiding-places, or as the kh[=a]ki-coloured sand-lizard, desert-lark, andsand-grouse of the great Sahara take on the yellow-ochre tone of thatdesert. A friend belonging to Mr. Bewicke's soldier had ridden out behind us. Heowned a garden at hand, and asked if we would go in and look at it. Westooped low under a white stone doorway, an imposing structure, invariably the entrance to every garden: the door generally paintedReckitt's blue, and kept locked with a key eight inches long, while oneach side of the gateway the cane fence is tumbling to pieces andoffering useful gaps to marauders--a curious inversion of the rule inSpain, where to this day they bar the window heavily and leave the dooropen. Though to all appearance the owner was a hard-working Moor, the garden atany rate bore no great signs of expenditure of labour. We found ourselvesin an overgrown wilderness of orange-trees, peaches, pears, figs, plums, damsons, cherries, white mulberries, quinces, jasmine, all overgrown andstabbed by the interloping prickly pear--a good fruit, too, in its way, and a "useful beast" as a hedge. Half of his oranges were always stolen, the owner said; the remaininghalf brought him in from sixty to ninety shillings a year, sellingperhaps at a shilling or two the thousand. He had evidently not thecapital to get the half of what such fruitful soil could give withGibraltar at hand for export, nor the means of securing to himself anymoney he made; and it is poor work putting money into the hands of thenearest extortionate sheikh. Yet his garden was, and is to every Moor, asource of great satisfaction and content: truly a field of the slothful, a garden where the mystic finds rest and heart's ease, and the two thingswhich appeal most to sun-baked men--shade and water. It is enough in sucha spot to drowse away the sunny hours amidst the hum of bees, the rattleof the tree-beetle; to muse upon some book of whose drift only a faintidea is intelligible, content to leave its problems in the limbo of theinsoluble, where most of life's questions seethe harmlessly enough; then, turning, give thanks to Allah, who has made gardens for mankind, and dozeagain. Farther on the path led us across streams banked with maiden-hair fernlike rank grass. Water had worn the rock into grotesque shapes, acavernous arch in one place, the banks, like a tunnel, almost meetingover our heads in another. Immense blocks of stone barred the way; itwas not easy riding, but the mules climbed up and down rocky staircaseswith much tact, while we sat holding our breath. Over one of these obstructions the breastplate of my saddle, which hadonly been fastened to begin with by three stitches of string, burst, andI found myself almost over the grey's tail: such a common occurrence thatno Moor goes out without string and packing-needle handy; but this waspast mending on the road, and I changed on to the soldier's mule, whosetop-heavy saddle was no fit at all, and, shifting all over its back, required careful balance on the rider's part. The road was only a few feet wide, and so overgrown that, as we joggedone after the other, trying to dodge grey arms of fig-trees, lying on themules' necks under dark masses of foliage which shut out half the light, hatless, the stiffest bullfinch at home would have been ears of corncompared with what we went through. At last, however, it came to an end, and the trail opened out into thevillage of Semsar. Nobody was to be seen; dogs barked as usual; some kidsbleated inside a hut. We rode by the crazy hovels; a woman carrying wateremerged, and a boy with a baby. Beyond the last brown erection we came toa saint's tomb. This meant the village green without any "green. " Two orthree country people sat in the usual meeting-place among trodden-downweeds, talking and smoking their long pipes, congregated round one busyman, who was chopping a log into a plough with an axe. Around the tombwas a group of olive-trees, preserved leaf and stick and all, not abranch even of dead wood off the ground removed, by reason of thesanctity of the spot. However small a grove, it would otherwise have beencut down, as affording cover to robbers and _ginns_ (evil spirits). Thanks to saints' tombs the traveller in Morocco still meets with clumpsand occasional woods of olives. The sunshine glowed on their hoarytwisted branches, and flecked the gnarled trunks; the grey foliage castpatches of dense shadow on the brown earth under the mammoths, whosebroken lines and odd elbows supported such masses of quiet colour andsolemn shade. We wound our way to the left among the huts. Of any roadbetween them there was none; the mules could barely climb over some ofthe boulders among the refuse. Once quit of the "green, " we saw no one again, and got much mixed as todirection. Finally, we struck a path with a descent into a pool and belowa fig tree, which, having made ourselves small, we circumvented, anddiscovered that it meandered in time to the outside of the village. Following, we wound southwards by a gorge along a rocky stream, which hasthe reputation of rising suddenly after rain, and not long ago drownedthree mules. Stepping-stones are not provided in Morocco, and it is generally a caseof plunging through a stream to reach the opposite side. Near a city withgood fortune a Jew may pass, the chance may be worth waiting for; but noMohammedan Moor would carry an infidel across on his superior back. In time a different path led us back to Tetuan, and we rode in by theMulberry Gate at sunset, as the mueddzin was calling upon true believersto worship. On fine days we made many such excursions, and exploited the country formiles round. Showery and doubtful days were devoted to the city andshopping. Shopping in a foreign city tends towards the accumulation of whiteelephants, which, safely landed in England, work havoc in an Englishhome. Long flint guns from the Riff, and old blue dishes from Fez, andorange-striped rugs from Rabat look strangely out of place withwall-papers and oil paintings. The East will never sit down with theWest, and the adjuncts of either are bound to "fight. " And yet weshopped. There are fewer more interesting ways of studying the outside life of thepeople; a little gossip and less reliable information are all thrown into the bargain. The little Tetuan shops are a species of club, for eachMoor has certain shops at which he habitually sits and may be found withmore or less certainty. While the owner and his goods remain inside theshop, there is room for two people outside on the sill or doorstep, and acouple of fat leather cushions are provided for them. Even Mr. Bewickewas in the habit of sitting every day at Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli's shop andhearing the news, between four and seven o'clock every evening. [Illustration: OUT SHOPPING. [_To face p. 90. _] He interpreted for us in our early days. We spent a whole morning buying_humbells_ (striped carpets) at a shop where the owner was sitting on thefloor playing chess with a friend and drinking green tea. All over Tetuandraughts and chess are played constantly on little boards, either on thedoorstep or inside the shop. The game had its origin, like bridge andpolo, eastwards of England, and was introduced into Europe after theCrusades, together with baths and other civilized habits. Our shopmanlooked exceedingly bored at the interruption. However, after muchbargaining, we bought a humbell, having to point to everything we wishedto buy, for no Moor likes a Christian to come inside his shop, because ofhis dirty boots. A Moor is either in a pair of clean yellow slippers, orelse they are on the doorsill, and his feet are bare: he tosses all hissilks, towels, embroideries, carpets, on the floor, and sits amongthem, while the purchaser stands outside, points to the shelves and heap, and trusts to the owner's divining which particular silk handkerchief iswanted. In another shop we found a second humbell, chiefly black and orange, theproperty of a taciturn individual in a snow-white _selham_ (hoodedcloak), a turban to match, with scarlet peak, a dark blue garmentunderneath the selham, and a complexion like cream and roses. He lay atfull length on a pile of many carpets. We stopped in front of the shop. Neither rising, bowing, nor bustling about to show off his goods, thewhite figure lay still, looking dreamily through and beyond us. We werebores. In reply to a question of price, a long sum was murmured. At lastwe expressed a decided wish to inspect the humbell, and, slowly rising, he condescended to lift it from a shelf, his looks suggesting that hewould prefer being left alone. Again we asked his lowest price. Twenty-one shillings. We offered sixteen. Without deigning to answer, hesolemnly folded up the humbell and put it away, then folded one by onethe goods which littered the floor, and stacked them above the humbell onthe same shelf. Still standing in front of the shop, we repeated ouroffer of sixteen shillings. He shook his head decidedly, made adeprecating gesture, and prepared to sink again on his couch. Mr. Bewickeforbade us to offer more; we walked away. A voice said in Arabic, "It isyours, " and the humbell was thrown after us; the sixteen shillings werereceived with a sigh as the shopkeeper resumed his couch. Tetuan makes many artistic "towels, " which form the ordinary dress of thecountrywomen underneath their old enfolding yellowish-white woollenhaiks; but for quite the majority a towel as skirt and a towel as capeare sufficient for all purposes. There is the rare addition of a pair ofcotton drawers. The strong substance and fast scarlet dyes make these towels no meansubstitutes for curtains, except that, like native goods in general, theyseldom quite match, and distract the soul which demands "pairs" in alland everything. A Jew we visited in the Jews' Quarter had a fine carpet for sale, madefarther south, something like a Persian, the ground whitish, withharmonious reds and greens. For a long time we sat and tried to bargainin his odd little den up a dilapidated staircase and nearly pitch dark:he wanted £5. The pattern was a little small. We came away without it. Some of the old _kaftans_ (robes of coloured cloth or satin or silkbrocade, embroidered with gold or silver, buttoned down the front andwith wide sleeves) were well worth buying: none are made like themnowadays, for common material is used; unfortunately the best are oftenin tatters. We visited the Slipper Market, and, sitting on the doorstep of one of theshops, gave directions for two pairs--blue velvet embroidered with gold, and milk-coloured leather embroidered with green. Size, price, and colourwere duly discussed; rain came on, we sat on the doorsill sheltering, andthe basha--Tetuan's governor--was criticised. The slipper-maker had not agood word for him. To begin with, it seems he has no money, is of nofamily, and aristocratic Tetuan refuses to "hob-nob" with him. Hedislikes Tetuan after Fez, whence he was transferred, and where he mademore money. The other day a neighbouring tribe sent him a present of somany dollars. At the same time they owed him certain taxes, in lieu ofwhich he accepted the money, but pointed out that the present must followin due course. None ever arrived, and the basha sent his brother-in-lawand a soldier to the tribesmen to ask an explanation of itsnon-appearance. The brother-in-law was tactless, incensed the tribesmen, and provoked them to bastinado him, whereupon the soldier lost his head, and fired his gun off into the air. He was promptly disembowelled. The brother-in-law returned to the basha, stiff, but alive; and thecountry people give it as their verdict that the basha is a rapaciousman. They threaten that they will no longer bring their produce intoTetuan to market, but will hold their own markets at some place chosen bythemselves out in the country, and Tetuan shall come out to buy. Such aproceeding would be most inconvenient; for Tetuan is dependent for allits supplies on the country people, who hold their markets on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in the feddan, where they sit upon the groundpacked in hundreds, their chickens, eggs, butter, and produce in generalin their laps and at their feet. Their beef and mutton are butsecond-rate, and the shapeless lumps of lean, tough meat take double aslong as an English joint to cook, and make but a poor show in the end, hacked by the unskilful butchers past all recognition. Goat and fish areto be had, sometimes partridges, hares, and rabbits, occasionally ahaunch of wild boar. Fish came in on certain days when the wind wasfavourable: there was then a rush on the fish market, and almost a freefight over the great panniers full of shining silvery sardines, and overthe bodies of the sellers seated on the ground. The successful carriedoff a handful each, and the cafés and fish shops were soon fryingsardines for dear life, while the little streets were thick with thesteam of native oil and butter. Some big fish, four and five feet long, came into market sometimes, and a small boy would be hired by a purchaserto carry one home across his shoulder, its great head hanging downbehind, and underneath a pair of thin brown legs like little stickshurrying along the street. Bread in Morocco is "passing heavy, " flavoured with aniseed and full ofgrit. Vegetables are to be had in abundance. The slippers, which had been promised in three days, appeared in threeweeks. Whenever we passed the shop we asked after them: always the sameanswer--_M[=a]nana_ (To-morrow). "No, there was no butter to be hadto-day, but _m[=a]nana_. " "No, the pillows were not finished yet, but_m[=a]nana_. " "The boots left to be soled were not ready, but_m[=a]nana_. " Tetuan lives upon _m[=a]nana_: it is the reincarnation ofJAM YESTERDAY, AND JAM TO-MORROW, BUT NEVER JAM TO-DAY. Equally exasperating was the habit of every shopkeeper of locking up hisshop and going off to pray or eat or chat. If a shop had to be revisitedand purchases exchanged, the owner was invariably out, and the doorfastened with lock and key. At 12. 15 p. M. Nobody could ever be found, butwas presumably at the mosque. Again and again we visited the same shop:one day the owner was at a friend's shop, the next at home, and so on. Wegave him up, to see his sleek cross-legged figure seated inside thelittle cupboard the very next time we passed. [Illustration: SHOPS IN TETUAN. [_To face p. 94. _] Walking by a saint-house on the outskirts of the city, devout andimpoverished women were often to be seen there, visiting the shrine andcarrying with them small vessels of food, which they placed on the groundfor the spirit of the holy man to eat. The window of the shrine was tiedwith a hundred scraps of rag and dead flowers, bits of wood, and paperand oddments of all sorts. Empty earthenware bowls later on, and pariahdogs skulking around, licking their lips, told a tale; but if asked ifthey really thought their saint would come up out of his grave and eatthe food prepared for him, it was open to the Mussulman to answer theChristian, "And do you really believe that your dead friends come andsmell the flowers you plant on their graves?" Small-pox kills a great many Moors, and an incredible number are markedby the disease. It is looked upon much as measles are in England: casesare never isolated, and children are all expected to have it. Each yearit is prevalent, and people may be passed in the street with it out uponthem; but every four years it breaks out seriously, and a largepercentage of the population dies. Last of all, in our shopping days a few things we bought by auction. Noauctioneer is employed as in European countries, but the owner and sellerhimself perambulates the street or courtyard with his goods--a mule, or afrying-pan, or a carpet--calling out each successive bid which hereceives on his article, pushing his way and jostling the motley mob ofmarket people, peasants and loungers, silks and rags, until he has gothis price, and hands over to its new owner his late possession. CHAPTER IV THE FAST OF RÁMADHAN--MOHAMMED--HIS LIFE AND INFLUENCE--THE FLOOD ATSAFFI--A WALK OUTSIDE TETUAN--THE FRENCH CONSUL'S GARDEN-HOUSE--JEWS INMOROCCO--EUROPEAN PROTECTION. CHAPTER IV Manage with bread and butter till God brings the jam. _Old Moorish proverb. _ WE had not been long at the fonda before the Fast of Rámadhan began. Rámadhan, ordained by Mohammed, takes place in the ninth month of everyMohammedan year, and lasts for twenty-eight days, during which time theFaithful fast from dawn, when it is light enough to distinguish between ablack and white thread, to sunset. It alters by a few days every yearaccording to the moon, and when it falls during summer in scorching hotcountries the agonies of thirst endured mean a penance indeed. Rámadhan begins when the new moon is first seen. Tidings were sent fromTangier to say that it had been observed there, which tidings Tetuanhanded on to the farthest mountain villages: a gun was fired from theKasbah at sunset, horns were sounded, and Rámadhan began. It sometimeshappens that Tetuan does not see the new moon till the day after Tangierhas seen it at the beginning of the fast, in which case the Tetuan peopleare guilty of "eating the head of Rámadhan": this year it was not so. During the twenty-eight days of the fast, every night, or rather everyearly morning at 2 a. M. , the householder was awakened by the crashing ofhis knocker on his door and a shout bidding him "Rise and eat": themueddzin at the same time from the top of the mosque called the hour ofprayer, and long brass horns brayed to the same effect. The month was almost over before we had learnt to sleep through it all. As the fonda was in the Moorish Quarter our door was not exempt. Far awayup the street the knockers clanked, nearer and nearer every moment, thenthe man's footsteps, then our own knocker sounded like a sledge-hammer, and "Rise and eat" followed: the man went on to the next door, and backagain shortly up the opposite side of the street. And every Mussulmanarose in the dark and had a large meal. Again at sunrise the big gunboomed from the Kasbah, the concussion shaking our ill-built room, and wewoke once more. [Illustration: A CLUSTER OF COUNTRY WOMEN. [_To face p. 100. _] No doubt the original motive of fasting and abstinence in the OldTestament was the promotion of sanitary conditions. It is not good to eatpig in hot countries: thus pork was "unclean, " and is to-day in Morocco. Nor is the consumption of much spirituous liquor wise when thethermometer marks a hundred and one: hence the Kor[=a]n forbids the useof strong drinks. The same motive underlies the fast, which rests andrelieves systems over-fattened and little exercised. But the "all ornothing" theory which governs the uneducated and knows no moderation runsa benefit into an abuse. Rámadhan had its disadvantages. Tetuan wasrevelling at night and in a sodden sleep through the day; work wasslipshod and at sixes and sevens; men were irritable and quarrelsome;every one looked indisposed; and the excuse for it all was alwaysRámadhan. Worst of all, the countrywomen still tramped four and fivehours into market with loads, and children a month old, only halfnourished at the time of the fast. But Rámadhan came to an end at last: Morocco breathed again. The daybefore the fast was over everybody was smiling, and Tetuan had but onehope, that the new moon would be seen that night, and thus the month ofpenance come to an end. After the letter from Tangier had been receivednext morning, which said that the new moon had been seen there, the gunfrom the fort thundered, the basha went in gorgeous state to the_Jama-el-Kebeer_ (Big Mosque) on a white mule, all caparisoned in blue, and read aloud the letter, the city was uproarious, and the mountainsechoed again, for soldiers were sent post-haste up the valleys, and firedall day at intervals to notify to the fathermost villages that Rámadhanwas over. And the next day! The first day of the _Aid-el-Sereer_ (Little Feast)!Everybody was in shining white, if not new, apparel, and all Tetuan wasabroad. That among a people clad so largely in white and in gorgeouscolours means a great deal, and the streets of Tetuan might have competedwith the Park on the Sunday before Ascot. The Moorish crowd was almostentirely a male one, dressed like peacocks: satins embroidered with goldand silver prevailed. And if the snowy haiks and turbans and the resplendent shades of thekaftans were the first point about the feast, the sweetmeat stalls werethe second. A Moor is a born sweet-tooth, and at every corner of thestreets a board was stacked with creamy mixtures in which walnuts wereembedded, with generously browned toffee full of almonds, withcarmine-coloured sticks, with magenta squares of sweet peppermint, withblocks of nougat inches thick. And the joys of the feast seemed amply tocompensate for the fast. Mohammed ordained many minor feasts and fasts. Rámadhan stands out chiefof the one: _Aid-el-Kebeer_ (Great Feast), falling two months and sixdays afterwards, is chief of the other. The three reforms which Mohammed instituted were temperance, cleanliness, and monotheism, at a time when reform was badly needed. He was born inMecca five hundred and seventy years after Christ, an Arab of the tribeof Beni Has`sim. Christianity was not unknown around him in his day. Always somewhat of a visionary and introspective turn of mind, when hewas about forty years old he became deeply interested in the subject ofreligion. Living in the imaginative East, in a hotbed of mysticism andsuperstition, it was easy for him to conceive himself a chosen vessel ofthe Almighty, and to assume by degrees the rôle of prophet, in the honestbelief that the words he uttered came direct from that God whosemouthpiece he conceived himself to be. A small band of followers bydegrees collected round him, and in the ordinary course of events his endwould have been that of a saint with a tombstone white; but, added to thesaint's fanaticisms, Mohammed possessed the talents of a leader, and theambition which accompanies those talents. Men and more men were attracted to him; he instituted among them aceremonial of prayer, feasts, and fasts, and built a mosque at Medina, inwhich they worshipped. Persecution from their fellow-countrymen followedas a matter of course, and Mohammed's disciples, who began to callthemselves Mohammedans, turned to him as their chief. The one "able man, "he naturally assumed the position of a theocratic ruler, and led themagainst their enemies; while the words he spoke were committed to memory, constituting later on the Kor[=a]n. As a general Mohammed was successful: battle after battle was fought andwon, reverses were amply compensated for, and men flocked to hisstandard, while deputations from surrounding tribes poured in upon him, acknowledging his supremacy, and asking for instruction in his creed. That creed was admirably adapted to suit the manners, opinions, and vicesof the East: it was extraordinarily simple, it proposed but few truths inwhich belief was necessary, and it laid no severe restraints upon thenatural desires of men; above all, its warlike tendencies captivated themen of its day, and war, which at first had been necessary inself-defence, was still carried on, and gradually came to be looked uponby Mohammed and his followers as a lawful means towards spreading theirreligion. In the name of a _Holy War_ the conquerors offered theirdefeated enemies the option of death or embracing the new religion, whilethe women and children taken in battle were sold as slaves, after themanner of the time. And the Prophet's influence deepened and extended. Meanwhile, hissayings, or "the Kor[=a]n, " were written down from time to time by one orother of his followers, on palm leaves, on stone tablets, on theshoulder-plates of goats and camels, and even tattooed on men's breasts;while his ritual was strictly carried out--prayer with absolution, frequent washing, fasting, almsgiving, the pilgrimage to Mecca, and therecital of the formula "There is no God but God, and Mohammed is hisprophet. " Prayer was offered up five times a day, as now, by every truebeliever--at sunrise, at midday, at three in the afternoon, at sunset, and two hours after sunset: the _adzan_ (call to prayers) was chanted ateach time by the mueddzin from the minarets of the mosques. The firstthing in the morning at sunrise the call ran, "God is great; God isgreat. Mohammed is his prophet. Prayer is better than sleep. Come toprayer; come to prayer. " The believer, obeying the summons, washes, enters the mosque, and repeats from four to eight short prayers, withgenuflections between each. Mohammed strictly obeyed the forms of his doctrine, and himself performedthe yearly pilgrimage to Mecca and the ceremonies round the K[=a]aba. Hewas familiar with at least part of the Gospels, but his knowledge waspossibly scant and distorted: he was unfriendly towards Christians. Forthe Old Testament he had a profound respect. As far as can be gathered he was a sober and meditative man: he soughtneither state nor riches for himself, when either might have been his forthe asking. He looked upon women from a point of view not unlike thecharacters in the Old Testament--a distinctly Eastern one. He possessedfive wives, and probably concubines--bondwomen in much the same positionas Hagar of old. Mohammed instituted the veiling of women, with corresponding restrictionson domestic intercourse, as a check upon undue sexual licence--the curseof hot climates. There is no reason to believe that Mohammed was not honest in theconviction that his mission was divine, and that, if he countenancedvindictive revenge, rapine, and lust as a means towards the furtheranceof his teaching, he justified the act in his own mind by what he believedto be revelations from a spirit other than his own. A great character has perforce its great faults, and the courage andambition which made so mighty a leader were naturally enough the rockupon which that leader split, blinding his eyes and distorting his pointof view, leading him into compromise and error. But though self-deceivedand fanatical, it is improbable that Mohammed was insincere. By thespirit of his day he must be judged. His day believed in him. He died early in the seventh century, sixty-three years old, saying, "Verily I have fulfilled my mission. I have left that amongst you, aplain command, the Book of God, and manifest ordinances, which, if yehold fast, ye shall never go astray. " Within two years of his death theMohammedan armies had overrun Syria; Egypt was in their possession, andthe whole northern coast of Africa. The scraps which contained in writing the sayings of the dead Prophetwere all collected by his chief amanuensis: his followers appointed threejudges to overlook the work. The new collection was written in Mohammed'sown pure Meccan dialect, and every spurious copy was burnt. So carefullywas this done that there is but one and the same Kor[=a]n throughout thevast Mohammedan world. Mohammedanism satisfied the East for two reasons: first, because it was awarlike religion, and therefore appealed to warlike tribes; secondly, because, deeply underlying it, was the strong, calm spirit of fatalism, that world-old foundation-stone on which many a man has come to anchor. The very word Mussulman means, "One who has surrendered himself and hiswill to God. " ISLAM is the belief in one God, one Prophet (Mohammed), the immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, the day of judgment, angels, a devil. There are no subtle intricacies in such a creed, no mysteriouscontradictions to puzzle the uneducated mind; it amply satisfies a simplepeople; and probably no other dogma makes so many converts. In Morocco to-day the Mohammedan religion is interwoven with the wholefabric of life. To the Moor Allah is always present, is behind everydecree of the Sultan, and enters into the smallest detail of his ownprivate life to such a degree that barely a single action is performedwithout invoking the sacred name. Religion is, according to the temper ofthe individual Moor, "a passion, or a persuasion, or an excuse, but nevera check": for a man may commit any sin under heaven, and "Allah ismerciful; Mohammed is his prophet; all will be forgiven. " And this is nothypocritical: the larger soul includes the smaller--that is all. It follows as a natural sequence that, because Allah is as much part of aMoor's life as the air he breathes, he is forgotten. The repetition ofwords bulks so largely in Mohammedanism, that, as with the Jews of old, the letter of the law has killed the spirit. The evil of Mohammed'sreligion lies in its essential antagonism towards progress andcivilization: scientific investigation is forbidden; a proverb runs, "Only fools and the very young speak the truth. " Thus Mohammedanism willnever advance or regenerate Morocco; for these tenets are Governmentpolicy. At the same time there is in Mohammedan society a certain negative virtuewhich contrasts strongly with the gross immorality existing in Christiancountries. The conditions of what is lawful for a Mohammedan are wideenough to content, and extremes offer no temptation. Polygamy, divorce, and slavery are all allowed, and war upon unbelievers is enjoined as aduty. And yet "social evils" and the lowest depths to which humanityfalls are almost unknown in Morocco; while what is held to be sin isrigorously punished--adultery by stoning (a father has no hesitation inshooting his daughter himself), robbery by mutilation, and so on. Unlike many Christian churches, a Moorish mosque is never closed: thesanctuary is always open. It is council-chamber, meeting-place, and fortravellers at night resting-place. There are no priests in the Europeansense; but the _basha_ (governor) or the _kadi_ (judge) reads prayers onFridays, a sermon follows, and letters or decrees from the Sultan aregiven out in the mosque after service. The treatment of Mohammedan women, against which so much has beenwritten, is after all Oriental, and nothing more. The Kor[=a]n speaks ofwoman as an inferior being, an incomplete creation, needing no education, to be rigorously and jealously guarded all her life, and who after deathmay or may not be admitted into the Mohammedan heaven. Her function, ifrich, is to bear children, and to be treated like a petted lap-dog: ifpoor, to work as a labourer. But interrogate the wife of a rich Moor onthe subject, and she will not have the slightest wish to educate herself, but will affirm emphatically, "We have children and enough to eat. Whyshould we want to learn anything?" It is manifestly absurd to compare Mohammedanism with Christianity, whichare each the outcome of a distinct race, divided by that greatestbarrier--a racial gulf. Christianity, it must be confessed, bearing in mind the Christianrenegades with whom the Moor has traded, is looked upon by him for themost part as a thing beneath contempt. It had five hundred years, beforeMohammed was born, in which to impress itself on the East. It signallyfailed. And yet only a few years after Mohammed's death his religion hadtaken by storm Egypt, Turkey, Arabia, Persia, Turkestan, parts of India, the Malay Peninsula, the north coast of Africa, and parts of China, introducing monotheism, and impressing temperance and cleanliness onuncivilized millions, but never advancing beyond that point. It is bornein upon one that, in spite of missionary effort, Morocco will change itsreligion for that of Christianity when, as its own proverb says, "Thecharcoal takes root and the salt buds. " The East, when it adopts othertenets, will exchange its own for a wider and a more universal cult thanthat which modern sects and parties are endeavouring and failing tointroduce to-day. While we were in our small quarters at the fonda, the weather by no meanscame up to the high standard it is said to reach in December. A few sunnydays, when we could bask out of doors, were grudgingly sandwiched betweenmany wet ones, and again and again the Rámadhan sunrise gun awoke us togouts of almost tropical rain, a fiery sunrise followed by an hour'sbrilliant sunshine, the herald of a shamelessly distorted April day. Thelittle gutters down the middle of the streets ran like torrents, carryingoff chickens' heads and cabbage-stalks; hail scoured the pebbles; outsidethe city "the dry land was over your boots"; the road to the sea wasimpassable, and the rivers between Tangier and Tetuan were unfordable;snow lay in patches on the mountains; half the vale was inundated; theriver could be heard a mile away; both our windows leaked; and down inthe little patio, where the family sat, the waters were out. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] A TYPICAL MOORISH STREET. [_To face p. 108. _] From the west coast at Saffi terrible reports arrived of the havoc theweather had made of the city. The lowest barometer ever seen had precededsheets of rain, and a solid _hamla_ (flood) had entered the gates fromthe valley above, filling the narrow streets in a few moments to a depthof seven and eight feet, and carrying everything before it: men, women, children, and cattle were swept in a torrent through the water-gate outto sea, sometimes a hand stretched out above the eddies. Then the gatebecame blocked with floating _debris_ and bodies, and the flood rose toten feet in the principal street. The townspeople who survived tookrefuge on their roofs. The vice-governor was drowned. Houses, shops, mills, and mosques were gutted as if by fire; furniture and householdgoods were ruined; the Saffi shopkeepers were beggared. For many weeksafter the survivors starved upon roots, in spite of a subscription raisedin Tangier to relieve them. The rain apparently was something like a waterspout. Happily Tetuan wasexempt from waterspouts, and on days when the rain gave over for a timewe rode, or, picking our way along the muddy streets, drank tea with someMoor. One dull afternoon we sampled the state of the roads outside, R. On adonkey, and Mr. Bewicke and myself on foot. Walking out by the Gate ofthe Tombs, we bore to the left, and dived into the narrowest of narrowlanes, shut in with tall cane fences and high mud-banks crowned withprickly pear, the shape of whose fat, fleshy leaves recalls moles' paws. The donkey was an unusually large one, and its pack rolled more thanpacks in general: before we saw the last of Tetuan its rider had many afall off her unsteady perch; and if there is truth in the Moorish sayingthat "one does not become a horseman till one is broken, " R. May claim tohave qualified. It shied and bucked and came on its nose over rocks; butthis time Mr. Bewicke's boy, Mohr, directed its ways, and thoroughlyenjoyed cudgelling it along with a stick, helped by its rider's switch, cut from a quince-tree, which often as not hit Mohr instead of the ass. By-and-by we met a countryman, his wife, and a donkey. The woman, whowore little except two striped towels, and a handkerchief round her head, staggered along under a great load of faggots. She was stunted andwrinkled, removed mentally but few degrees from the three-year-oldweather-beaten donkey which minced along in front of her, also loadedwith faggots. The woman had strips of rough leather bandaged round herlegs to protect them from thorns. Her feet were bare. Her husbandsauntered last of all, presumably looking after the donkey: he had noload. Another time the donkey also might be exempt, while the woman wasstill burdened; and the man, when asked why, if he would not carry theload himself, he did not at least put it upon the donkey, would reply, "Because it is too heavy for the ass. " A little farther on and a magnificent Riffi passed us, walking along at asmart pace into the city, his face "old oak" colour, framed in a turbanof dark red-brown strings of wool. He wore a chocolate-coloured jellab, embroidered at the edge with white, and sewn with tufts of red, violet, yellow, and green-coloured silks: a tall, wiry fellow, with a back like aram-rod, a thin face, and keen, defiant eyes. The light glittered on hislong, brass-plated Riffi gun: a red leather pouch full of bullets hung athis side. He was a great contrast to the labourer who passed usafterwards, also bound for the city--an old and grizzled monkey-facedman, with his head tied round with a ragged red cloth gun-case. Hisjellab hung in tatters, but he also carried a gun, and by a string abrace of partridges and a wild duck, which "bag, " after some bargaining, became ours for the sum of one-and-sixpence. Among the brown jellabs and varied turbans European clothes were forciblyout of their place: a people like the Moors, childlike, patriarchal, whose lives embody one of the oldest and perhaps best ideas of a simpleexistence, may well hate the sight, on the face of their select country, of prosaic tailoring and hideous head-gear. The traveller in his boots, where boots are things unknown, passes the muffled women with theirsilent gait, the picturesque ruffians with their swinging stride, and isunable to help feeling not at home and something of a blot on thelandscape. The lane we wandered up had been, and was still in places, a watercourse, and we struggled along the steep chasms gouged out of the soft soil, andclambered over rocks which had withstood the torrent. By-and-by a red door intervened on our left, fitted into an imposingwhitewashed arched gateway, with a mounting-block on each side, and thegreat brass ring-shaped knocker in the middle of the door which the Moorshave left all over Spain--the garden-house of the French Consul. Inanother four months, when all aristocratic Tetuan would migrate in a bodyinto their "summer-houses, " and by their mutual presence reassure eachother as to their safety, the Consul would move out of the city: atpresent he would look on such a step as sheer madness. An old negro slave, with a beard like cotton-wool, was at work in thegarden, and, opening the door, let us in to look round. A wide gravelpath led up to the dazzling walls of the house, spotless as a sheet ofglazed cream-laid note-paper, the window-frames and door picked out withReckitt's blue. A white railing in front edged the terrace, the steps ofwhich were tanned by the damp salt air a fine rusty ochre. The houseinside was built on the invariable Moorish lines--kitchen and inferiorrooms on the ground floor, one great lofty room above, and the flat roofover all. A garden-room flanked the house on the south-east, the frontopen to the garden, pillared and arched with the old white plastered"horse-shoe. " In underneath the arches were shade and cool tiling, andoutside more tiled ground suggested steaming brews of fragrant green tea, tiny glasses, low tables, and long divans spread under the sky. It was a grey day, and height beyond height on into the Riff country wascloud-capped, while _shar d'jebel_ (the hair of the mountain, as theMoors call snow) whitened a few furrowed peaks. The flats lay below tothe left, and a horizontal blue pencil line was scored beyond them. Cow-birds stalked about the garden among some new vines which the oldnegro was putting in. We sat down on the terrace, looking at the view, and the silence of theplace was above all things most striking. A cavalcade of mules tailedaway in the distance in single file along the faint track to the sea; thepacked white city lay to the right, but no voices reached us; herecart-wheels, railway-trains, threshing-machines, and busy farm life werenot. It would have been hard to age and wrinkle in such a spot--Adam andEve might have felt at home. It was also a weedy one, this Paradise: a tangle of greenery spreadunderneath the oranges, hanging like yellow trimming on a green fabric, choking the vines and a few scarlet geraniums. Labour, in such indolentand self-possessed acres, was a crude and gauche idea. The greybeard with the marmoset face and leathern apron let us out at thered door: he had a history. His master, a prosperous Moor, once offeredto free him: the old slave refused the offer, on the score that he wasquite content as he was. However, his master urged him to accept, and hewas eventually given his freedom. But later on the master lost all hismoney, and ruin was before him. His old slave came back. "See here, mymaster; here am I. Take me; sell me"; and he finally persuaded the man tosell him. He seemed contented enough as the property of the FrenchConsul, who is a Moor. We passed a party of closely veiled women, as we strolled citywards, taking advantage of a break in the wet weather to visit their gardens, carrying a great key, and accompanied by two or three ink-black slaves, fine upstanding women, well fed and clothed, looking good-tempered to afault, whose children, by the same husband and master, would rank equallywith those of the wives. Mohammedan women, though veiled and supervised, have at least theirgardens to saunter out to and visit when the tracks allow. Jewesses inMorocco deserve infinitely more pity. Their one recreation seemed toconsist in walking as far as the Jewish cemetery, ten minutes outside theGate of the Tombs, and attending to the gravestones of their friends. The cemetery is gradually absorbing one side of a rough red-earthed hill;it has no fence of any description round it, and the flat pale-blue andwhite tombstones spread over the ground look in the distance like so muchwashing out to dry. The stones are all alike, oblong lozenges, inscribedin Hebrew. Here, especially on Fridays, the women's day, Jewesses congregate, flocking along the cemetery road--the mourners in ponderous black skirts, vast breadths of crimson silk let into the fronts and embroidered withgold, white shawls over head and forehead, a yellow sash-end edged withred appearing behind, and completing their mourning. Some of the shawlsare family heirlooms, and only parted with for five-pound notes. Loud checks and gaudy colours adorn the Rahels, Donahs, Zulicas, andMiriams not in mourning, as well as the white shawls; and the processiontroops to the cemetery, sallow, sad-eyed daughters of Jacob, talking amixture of Arabic and Spanish, with a few English and Shillah wordsthrown in. Of all life's unfortunates, the Jew in Morocco was once, next to thenegro in the West Indies, the most persecuted and degraded of God'screatures. In Tangier and the seaport towns, where the Christian representativescountenance and support him, the Jew, subject to certain restrictions, isin the present day a flourishing member of the community; but in theinterior his fate is still a hard one. There is a Jewish tradition that when Shalmaneser, King of Assyria, conquered the Israelites, the tribe of Naphthali took refuge in theinterior of Africa, and spread to Morocco. Jewish tombstones arecertainly to be found dating as far back as twelve hundred years, and onesynagogue possesses fragments of the Old Testament written on parchment, while there is a population of from four to five thousand Jews in theAtlas Mountains who have lived there since time immemorial. Perhaps the wandering Jew merely drifted into Morocco just as he driftsall over the universe, and he would have taken refuge in North Africamore particularly when Spanish persecution became intolerable. Once in Morocco, the Moors permitted the Jews to remain because they wereuseful to them; but upon certain conditions. They are confined to acertain quarter of the city--the Jews' Quarter, the Ghetto infact--which is shut and locked by a gate at sunset, barring them from theouter world. In their own quarter they may do as they like, except ride ahorse; the horse is considered too noble an animal to be ridden by theJew: outside they may not ride at all, not even a mule, but are obligedto trudge barefoot through the slush of the rest of the city, summer andwinter. They are compelled to wear one costume--a long black gabardineand a black skull-cap. Few Jewesses care to leave their quarters bythemselves, for fear of insult. No synagogues or public places of worshipare allowed them, and they must address Moors as _Sidi_, or "My lord. " But these customs are fast dying out. There is one which universallyobtains: the Jews' Quarter is known as the _Mellah_; Mellah means "salt"in Arabic, --the Jews are compelled to salt the heads of conquered tribeskilled in battle, and of criminals, which are afterwards nailed on thecity walls as trophies and warnings. In Tetuan the Jews are influential and well treated: many of them wearEuropean clothes. On Saturday--the Jewish Sabbath--a young masher (aMordejai, or Baruch, or Isaac) would boast a pair of brand-new yellowshoes and white socks, but wear at the same time a dove-colouredgabardine down to his heels and a mauve sash round his waist. Claret-coloured gabardines were fashionable, and a black skull-capinevitable. Though Tetuan was lax and liberal in its treatment of the Israelites, wealthy families of whom it possessed, the Mellah was at once thenoisiest and filthiest quarter of the city, teeming with children (unlikethe Moorish quarters, where there are few), who played and fought, laughed and cried, by fifties down the three principal arteries of thequarter, whose few feet of walking-space were lined with small and dirtygreengrocers' and butchers' shops, their stock-in-trade encrusted withflies. On hot days the Mellah stank; on wet it was deep in black slime. Once upon a time it ran close to the Jama-el-Kebeer; and when a hundredyears ago the Sultan who had built the big mosque sent his envoy toexamine it, all was approved of except the proximity of the Jews'Quarter. "Can a mosque be admired near Jews?" was speedily answered bythe Tetuanites, who turned the Israelites neck and crop out of house andhome, giving them another piece of ground walled in and sufficientlyremoved. The sons of Abraham are only tolerated all the world over. As a nation, Moors loathe them. To a pig, which they count "unclean, " they give theepithet of _jew_: out pig-sticking, when the pig breaks, the beatersshout, "The jew! the jew!" To begin with, having forced his presence onan unwilling people, the Jew retains his own exclusiveness, neithermarries a Moor nor eats with a Moor, nor treats him as anything elseexcept unclean. Not only this, but by unscrupulous cunning Jews contriveto exercise a maddening oppression over a people with whom they havechosen to cast in their lot, swindling, extorting money, and playing ahundred low tricks upon the very race on the produce of whose labour theylive: at the same time their exasperating patience and cringing humility, court contempt and insult. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] A STREET IN THE JEWS' QUARTER, TETUAN. [_To face p. 116. _] The poorest Moor in Tetuan is a gentleman: the richest Jew is not. But hehas his good points: a great sense of brotherhood, a strong bond offreemasonry among the Jewish nation, undaunted energy, and an unshakenfaith in their religion are all admirable points in themselves. Energy inTetuan was concentrated in the Mellah. The best workmen were all Jews. Ahundred things were sold by them which no Moor made. Thus in their Ghetto live the Chosen People, the Separate People, ofstrange and ancient customs, --leaving the hair uncut for a year after arelative's death, sitting on the floor, and not on a chair, for a weekafter; twisting a pocket-handkerchief round the waist on the Sabbath inorder to save "the work" of carrying it; slitting the button-hole of thewaistcoat in time of distress instead of "rending the garment"; eating_adafina_ on the Sabbath, an indigestible dish of hard-boiled eggs, meat, and potatoes prepared overnight and left on the fire till next morning. There is no end to ceremonials throughout a Jew's life: the first at hiscircumcision, the next when his hair is cut for the first time, the nextwhen he goes to the synagogue for the first time, and so on. When a Jew was buried in Tetuan, the uncoffined body, wrapped in sheetson a wooden bier, might only be borne out of the city by the_Báb-el-Je'f_, literally the Gate of the Unclean Dead--that is, the Jews'Gate. The mourners howled and the male relatives cried aloud; friends followed, talking and smoking cigarettes. It happened sometimes that the grave wasnot ready when the cortège reached the cemetery, and that the party wouldsit down on the hillside while it was lengthened and deepened; from timeto time the body would be measured with a walking-stick, and the resultcompared with the grave. It is impossible to write about the Jews and omit one certain point. Before the traveller has lived a week in Morocco he begins to hear of_protection_, and he carries with him vague words--"protected Jews" and"protected Moors"--which one sentence can explain. _Protection_ meansthat a European living in Morocco, a Portuguese, a Frenchman, anEnglishman--it matters not--has it in his power to make the Jew or theMoor desiring protection a nominal citizen of that country, Portugal orFrance or what not, and can allow him the rights of a citizen and theprotection of the same; while it follows that the Sultan and the MoorishGovernment have no more power to touch him than they have to touch aFrench or an English subject, the protected Jew or Moor being outsidetheir jurisdiction, and only answerable to the consul of that countrywhich has given him protection, whether Germany, France, or any other. The advantage of protection is to guarantee thereby the safety ofproperty. It was instituted a hundred years and more ago, to obviate thedifficulties and dangers incurred by Europeans in trading with Jews andMoors in a country so badly governed as Morocco. Supposing that aEuropean went into partnership and traded with a Jew or a Moor who wasunprotected, in course of time, when the Jew or Moor became rich, theMoorish Government would hear of it, and set to work systematically tobleed him. Naturally the European partner would lose money in the generalrobbery. Therefore _protection_. There is scarcely a Jew of property in Morocco who is not protected, andthere are hundreds and hundreds of protected Moors; but though many Moorshave enjoyed security for themselves and their belongings by this means, others less fortunate, more especially some years ago, have only escapedthe talons of Moorish despotism to fall into the clutches of Europeanswindlers, adventurers who have dared--themselves somewhat beyond thereach of their own home government--to fleece the unsuspectingMohammedan, bribing some basha to imprison him for the rest of his days. A European consul has before now "sold" his Moorish protectedpartner--that is, he tells him that, if he does not produce so muchmoney within a certain time, protection will be withdrawn. The wisercourse for the Moor is to pay the sum. If protection is withdrawn, theMoorish Government and the European blackleg will divide his worldlygoods between them. Such risks are minimized every year, and protection is greatly soughtafter by Moors and Jews. From the French they get it easily enough. Thesystem is a bad one: that it prevails at all is a proof of the corruptionof the Moorish Government. CHAPTER V PLANS FOR CHRISTMAS AT GIBRALTAR--A ROUGH NIGHT--THE STEAMER WHICH WOULDNOT WAIT--AN IGNOMINIOUS RETURN TO TETUAN--A RASCALLY JEW--THE ABORIGINESAND THE PRESENT OCCUPANTS OF MOROCCO--THE SULTAN, COURT, GOVERNMENT, ANDMOORISH ARMY. CHAPTER V Why curse? _Mektub. _ (It is written. ) IN spite of the attentions of Amanda, as December drew on and the weathershowed no signs of clearing, we began to hanker after a week atGibraltar, which should combine Christmas and the purchase of camp outfitfor use when the rains passed over. It was not difficult to tearourselves away from the fonda; for it became less easy to tolerate theproximity of the old Spanish band-master, with his bad tobacco andlong-winded stories; nor were our landlady and family over-refined. Wehad not come to Morocco to live amongst the scum of Spain: could Tetuanbe swept clean of the Spanish element, it were better for it. In fine, amusing and even interesting though our quarters had been for the time, circumstances pointed towards a move into others, the interval beingspent in a run across to Gibraltar. The steamers which call at Martine, down on the seashore, and bring goodsto be carted up to Tetuan, six miles inland, are as mysterious as theyare rare. One is supposed to call on alternate Tuesdays, weatherpermitting; another occasionally calls in the intervening weeks; nonecome direct from Gibraltar, though all are supposed to go straight backthere after touching at Ceuta. But there are many buts. Worst of all, theriver at Martine has formed a bar, and Martine is a "bar port": thisprevents landing in a strong wind. We pinned our faith upon the Tuesday boat, not realizing its uncertainty;for if the boat had not enough cargo on board to make it worth while hercalling, or if she had too much and time was short, or if the weather wasbad, she had no hesitation in missing Martine and Tetuan out of thatfortnight's round altogether. We did not want to ride forty-four miles to Tangier with the "roads" inthe state they were, even if it had been practicable; nor almost as farand a worse track to Ceuta: either would have meant sleeping a night inthe fondâk up in the hills, or in a Spanish lodging-house of doubtfulrepute: therefore we planned to go by boat from Martine, engaged roomsfor a week in Gibraltar beforehand, and, with the optimism born ofignorance, doubted not but that we should get away on the steamer. Packing up overnight and breakfasting at eight, we were soon ready tomount our mules and ride down to the shore to catch our boat. It was amatter of two and a half hours from Tetuan down to Martine: the trackneed not be described--this speaks for itself. Our luggage, tied withcomplicated rope-knots, was judiciously balanced upon one mule, and wehad said good-bye to Amanda and family when a message arrived from thesteamships agency to say that the steamer was not in. After taking counsel, however, the luggage was dispatched down toMartine; a muleteer badly marked with small-pox climbed on the top of ourworldly goods, and the mule jogged off: we would follow when the steamerwas sighted. [Illustration: REFUSE GOING OUT OF TETUAN. [_To face p. 124. _] Walking into the feddan in search of information about her, every Moor orJew only replied with shrugged shoulders and extended palms. Who couldtell? She might come in at eleven, she might not. "Ift shallah" (Allahwill show). As she had two hundred and forty tons of cargo to unload, theagents thought she might stay till the following day before starting forGibraltar: on the other hand, the previous night had been a rough one, and it was quite possible she had passed Martine altogether, and did notintend to call for another fortnight. It was a sunny morning: there was nothing to be said but "Mektub" (It iswritten), and nothing to be done except sit in the sun and await events, after the fashion of the brown figures in jellabs also sitting in the sunagainst the south wall of the feddan where it is highest and nearlyalways dusty. Wandering up and down, Spaniards were to be seen in one café shufflingfilthy cards and drinking spirits, while in another, behind a great vinewhich held in its arms a rustic trellis porch and seats, Moors lay ontheir elbows, tumblers of tea swimming in mint in front of them and longkif-pipes. A Riffi sat on a stool in the sun, leaning against the vine, nursing his gun; his single long black lock fell down by his ear, glossyand tied in a knot at the end. Next door a gunsmith was at work in hislittle shop sand-papering a gun-stock: a sheep was penned inside againstthe Great Feast, and more sheep in the grocer's beyond. On the oppositeside of the great square a Jew was selling enamel ware to one of the fivelady missionaries. Then meat came hurrying by, just killed outside theMulberry Gate and still warm. Red-and-white shapeless carcases werebalanced on a donkey's back, kept steady by a sanguinary Moor who slopedalong behind: the donkey knew its own way well, across the wide feddan, down a narrow street, and into the meat market. Thither hurried the ladymissionary to buy a joint. If cooked before it has time to get cold themeat is tender, otherwise it must be hung. It did not seem long before the bell on the top of the Spanish Consulaterang out twelve o'clock. There was no sign of any steamer--the steamshipsagent had given her up; and not wishing our luggage to lie on the beachall night--for gumption was not one of the characteristics written on ourpock-marked boy's face--we sent a messenger off on the two hours and ahalf ride down to Martine to summon him back. About one o'clock, just as we were sitting down to lunch in Mr. Bewicke'sroom, the news arrived that the steamer was signalled. All doubt was atan end: we lunched complacently, allowed time for coffee and abutton-hole out of the garden, mounted the mules, Mr. Bewicke his whitepony; the gardener, Madunnah, following behind on foot, carrying oursticks and umbrellas, which burden was increased half-way through thecity by a bracket, but lately coloured in garish tones, vermilionprevailing--it bled somewhat, but was to serve as a Christmas present atGibraltar. Over the cobbles, under the Gate of Wisdom, out on to the sandy track, and along the sea road we rode, the mules refusing at first to pass somesacks of grain which lay in the middle of the path waiting to go down tothe beach. There is a gate tax on every loaded animal which passes underthe Gate of Wisdom, to avoid which the sacks are carried just out of thecity on men's backs, set down, and picked up in time by mules. The first mile or so was not worse going than usual. Coming from theright by a trail which led across the river, a string of women boretowards us, bringing wood into the city from villages miles away--scruboff the mountain-side. Their rough heads were bound round withweather-stained coloured handkerchiefs: listless eyes looked straight outfrom under lined foreheads. On each side of their doubled-up backsprotruded rough wood-ends--these kept in place by a rope over theshoulder, grasped in knotted hands above copper-coloured muscular arms. The bit of towelling round the loins, brushed by the wind, left bare aspecies of knees and legs, carved by two thousand years of toil intohumanized Norman piers, buttressed with muscle, in which ankles have nolot nor part, which have carried and still carry unreasonable loads fromchildhood to the grave. These women walked in single file, as do themules and donkeys. And this is partly due to the space which the widebundles take up on each side, partly to bad paths, and partly to entirelack of initiative. Why should they strike out a line of their own, these"cattle" and "beasts of burden, " as they call themselves? The old waycomes easier. Thus life has moved across Morocco, without deviation, down immeasurableyears, and moves so to-day, along innumerable trails worn afresh by barefeet after every rain-storm, footprint into footprint, padded hard andsmooth, narrow and polished. The flats, after so much wet weather, were under water, and the lowerdown the road dropped, the deeper the country grew. Our mules struggledalong at a slow walk, and we constantly diverged off the track, circlingto this side or the other whenever a field looked an improvement upon ourmuddy quagmire, generally to find that it was very little better andsometimes worse. About half-way we met our luggage and messenger. The pock-marked boy hadtaken our effects to the shore, had found no steamer, waited a shorttime, then calculated that he would be late getting back to the city, and ran risks of robbers, to say nothing of _ginns_ (spirits) lurking inthe wells by the road, so turned his face homewards. We were in total ignorance, and so of course was he, all this time as tothe movements of the steamer: once out of the city, the level of the roadis such that nothing can be seen of the sea until a couple of hours'riding, lands people right on the beach itself. With every hope that shestill lay at anchor, we turned our "pock-mark" round, and the poor mulefaced the bad road down to Martine for the second time that day. Madunnah handed over the bracket to crown our baggage, and ploddedbravely on, often well up to his bare knees in mud and water. A brace ofduck forged across the sky above our heads; some plover called and calledagain mournfully, wheeling above the irresponsive marshes and brownfallows; a string of mules moved like mites over a cheese in the sandydistance. We passed the Wad-el-Martine in heavy flood, its yellow yeastydepths swirling between the soft red banks. At last a couple of stone bridges came into sight, isolated in a waste ofwater, remnants of the old Portuguese road, and in normal times affordinga dry path over two dykes. We plunged through unseen holes and amongstony pitfalls up to the lonely landmarks and dry ground for a few yards;then more floods; but after that the last mile or two became easy enough, the land rose, and dry sandy dunes, with tough bents flattened in thewind, conduced towards a jog, almost a canter. Goats, picking up a bareliving, scattered as we hurried along, past the white Customs House andan old wharf on the river, away to the beach. Behind us the mountainswere black and purple, heavy rain-clouds were gathering, and directly wetopped the crest of the sandy shore a strong east wind met us full inthe teeth straight off the sea. But there as large as life lay thesteamer, a long way out, on account of the bar and the wind, with achoppy sea running between. A cargo-boat was vainly trying to cross the bar, towed by a long greenboat which six Moors were rowing. She made no headway, shipped waterwhich deluged the cargo, and seemed half aground on the bar. No otherboat or boatmen seemed to be available: the steamer was not within hail. Certainly there were three more cargo-boats lying in shelter in a cornerof the river-estuary a little way off the land, but some men in one ofthem seemed half asleep--at any rate, they were out of our reach, anddeaf to our shouts and gesticulations to the effect that we wanted to berowed on board the steamer. We waited and waited; Madunnah yelled himself hoarse; but the cargo-boatstill rolled on the bar, lashed by the waves, and the men still strainedat their oars and paid no heed to our cries. Twice we thought they meantcoming to our signals, but each time they were only trying freshmanoeuvres. Rain came on, a sharp easterly scud; the pock-marked boy drew his jellabover his head; the mules turned their backs to the squall; but Madunnahstill stood at the edge of the waves, gesticulating wildly with oursticks and umbrellas at the impassive rowers. Sunset was upon us. At afire of driftwood on the beach a short distance off R. And I tried towarm ourselves. Suddenly the long green boat left the cargo and pulled towards us: thesea was rising, and looked anything but encouraging; breakers wereshowing their white teeth on the bar; but the green boat drew nearer andcame in at last, or nearly so--for she stopped short off the shore, and, half aground, lost her rudder. Still none of the crew paid the faintestattention as we hailed them in Arabic, English, and Spanish across thefew yards of water which put them just out of our reach. They hadsomething else to do except attend to three mad Britishers--let themrave. The cargo-boat, deserted by the long green boat, had stuck worse thanever: darkness was coming on, and she was in a bad case. The men in the"long green" roused the half-sleeping Moors in the companion boat, and itwas evident that both meant going out together to tow the belated cargoin. Our voices carried less as the wind rose, and it was evident even toMadunnah that words were wasted. The rain drove in torrents; it wasbitterly cold, and growing darker every moment; as the two boats turnedtheir heads towards the wave-swept cargo we realized that it was night, that all chance of getting on board was at an end for that day at least, and we set our backs to the sea. There still remained one alternative and a last chance of getting toGibraltar for Christmas Day: the steamer might not leave till thefollowing morning, and, taking shelter for the night in the Customs Houseon the beach, we ought to be able to get on board at daybreak. We turnedoff to the left through blinding gushes of rain, and headed for thisrefuge. [Illustration: A MOORISH PRISON GATE. [_To face p. 130. _] The Customs House was much like a caravanserai: an open space in themiddle was enclosed by sheds for mules and asses; a rough stair led tothe living-rooms, above the sheds, which opened on to a flat white roof. We stumbled up on to the roof; then in under a low doorway into a littlewooden lean-to, where an old Jew caretaker was living. The rest of theplace was given over to a family of Israelites, who had come down to"the seaside" from Tetuan for change of air. Much to our relief, the old Jew caretaker assured us that the steamerwould be landing cargo till noon on the following day: he offered useverything he had in his power for that night, and promised to see us offin a boat the next day. Committing us to his care, Mr. Bewicke left usand rode back to Tetuan with the mules and Madunnah; our baggage wasstowed away under shelter; and the old Jew, finding a light andimprovising two seats out of boxes and matting, sat us down at his littletable, with a bit of frayed linoleum on it and a glass. The roof leaked and the rain beat on to the linoleum, but we were in snugquarters after the beach, and our friendly host began boiling up a greatblack kettle in a tiny inner room, assisted by a Moor. He was veryrheumatic, the old man, also very deaf, and Martine must have been a dampspot for him (the river and marshes close at hand, and east or west wind, both of them heavy with moisture--nothing would dry, hung out in the airat Tetuan); nor were his quarters rain-proof. He hobbled backwards and forwards, muffled up in a worn greyhandkerchief, with a fortnight's white stubble on his chin, and an agedgreenish overcoat down to his slippers. From the recesses of a bunk in the next shelter, where he slept, heproduced some pink china cups; then returned with a plate of bread, hardened to the consistency of biscuit, and smelling strongly of aniseed. After that he made tea in a little brown earthenware teapot--sweet greentea with mint--and we soon thawed under a succession of cups. Still hestumbled about, hunting out of a cupboard a small basket of eggs, and inthe next room a great stirring and beating-up followed. By-and-by the Moor who had been assisting him appeared with an omelette;it was dark brown, mixed thick with aniseed, chopped ham, and parsley;nor was it easy to dispose of it. Our kind host ended up by pressing gin on us. Warmed and fed, but unfortunately unable to sustain a conversation withhim either in Arabic or Spanish, and having exhausted the few words atour command, the next best thing was to make ourselves comfortable forthe night. Lighting a candle, the old Jew paddled across the wet roof, and we followed him, dimly distinguishing beasts feeding in the stallsdown below, to a small room on the far side, where some sort ofpreparation had been made for us: a rug was spread on the stone floor, and a bedstead had a blanket laid upon it, while our baggage was piled ina corner. Putting on overcoats and rugs, we sat down on one of ourtrunks--it is unwise to place confidence in unknown beds in Morocco; butwhen, driven by sheer weariness, we lay down as we were on the blanket, we slept unmolested. A Jew on the other side of a thin partition which did not reach theceiling, snored heavily and awoke us at intervals. About six nextmorning, what sounded very like the steamer's whistle blew repeatedly, but we paid little attention to it, the old Jew and Mr. Bewicke havingboth assured us the boat would leave about twelve o'clock. Morning haddawned when we burst open the wooden shutters of a little window muchswelled with damp, and looked out across the sand-dunes at the sea. There lay the black hull of the steamer at anchor: the wind of the nightbefore had dropped; a flaring sunrise and stormy sky lowered behind theRiff Mountains, which were black. Dressing was short work. The Moor handed us in at the door a tin basinof water, and in a short time we were ready for the next move. At thatpoint R. Craned up to look out of the high window. When she spoke, Icould hardly believe her words. . . . _The steamer had weighed anchor andwas moving. _ There was no mistaking it: the black hull had swung round, and was makingfor the open sea, with a flag of smoke trailing behind her; and away shewent to Gibraltar. We rushed out upon the flat roof and up a rotten ladder minus threerungs--all unheeding--which gave access to the roof above our room, gaining nothing thereby except a panoramic view, with the departing boatin the middle distance. Already she stood well out to sea: the CustomsHouse was a quarter of a mile from the beach: there was nothing to bedone: to blame our kind old host would have been as ungrateful as it wasuseless, and regrets were equally unavailing. True it is that the wiseman fends for himself and makes no arrangements second-hand in Morocco, where every one is _casual_ and every plan is _casual_. Had we found outwhen the ship's papers were going on board, and arranged with the agentto call us and take us in his boat, we should have eaten plum pudding inGibraltar. Apparently the steamer had been signalling for the last hourto the effect that she was going, that the weather was bad and the searough outside, and that she would not venture to stay and dispatch hercargo--none of which facts the deaf and decrepit old Jew had grasped. Hehobbled out, and would hardly believe his eyes. We sat down to some weak green tea and the same dry aniseed-flavouredbread as the night before, and, thus fortified, reviewed our course ofaction, which had few complications, there being no other steamer beforeChristmas, and the ride to Ceuta or Tangier barred by reason of theflooded streams and general state of the country. The "open road" pointedtowards Tetuan and our old quarters in the Spanish fonda, of which we hadtaken only the day before such joyful leave. It was inevitable, that nextmove; and should be made quickly, to judge by the look of theweather--the clouds were growing lower and blacker every half-hour. Animals were a difficulty--our mules had gone back to the city the nightbefore; but it would have been hard work wading across the flooded acresfor seven miles; and there was our luggage. Eventually we raised a seedy little rat of a pony, which R. Rode; aragged donkey, on which half our goods was balanced; while the other halfwent on a mule, with me on the top of all. We turned our backs on thehospitable white Customs House and the ill-favoured sea with a mutteredimprecation. In Tetuan a wealthy man was building a house. It was at a standstill forwant of plaster. The plaster had already come in on the steamer _three_times, and three times she had gone away without unloading it. The boatwe had lost had made a fourth endeavour, and we learnt afterwards thatMr. N----'s ill-fated plaster had formed the cargo in the wave-washedboat of the evening before. Wet through, it set as hard as a stone in thesacks, and was useless: it lay like rocks on the beach. The bar atMartine has been tolerated for unknown ages: there is no reason to thinkthat the Moor will rouse himself into making an effort and trying tofacilitate the landing of passengers and cargo. We left upon our right as we rode along, some hundreds of yards from thesea, the remains of what years upon years ago was a fort, built somewhatas forts will be built in the near future--with a view to concealment. The outside wall facing the Mediterranean was crescent-shaped, and butfour feet high at most, the sand sloping up nearly to the top, andovergrown with vegetation, so that little or no fort showed at all. Therewere a few loop-holes, through which men could shoot from the insidelying down; there was a well in the centre of the fort, and a smallbomb-proof building, with an arched roof many feet thick, where powderhad been kept. A primitive construction, this harmless-looking littlecrescent facing the sea--once upon a time bristling with dare-devil Moorsand their long guns. Half-way to Tetuan we passed _the_ cart, the first and last I saw in theplace: its antediluvian body was set on two demented wheels, which rolledout of the upright like a tipsy sailor. The cart was Government property:five mules of different sizes, drew it up in a string from the sea to thecity, through the quagmire, laden with flour and kerosene oil and storesof all descriptions, a couple of Moors toiling alongside. R. 's "rat" was not too surefooted, and some of the floods were deep: onceit came on its nose, but a second time sat down in a hole in the middleof a sheet of water, leaving nothing for its rider but to slip off andwade out, walking afterwards wherever the track allowed, to raise alittle circulation underneath drenched clothes. A certain melancholypossessed the flats as well as our vexed selves that stormy andill-fortuned morning. In places the tops of the grass-blades alone showedin a green watery waste, except where tall dark rushes made a heaviermass, or where the tufts of red-brown tangle lay in warm lines. The seabehind us was an angry purple; the Riff Mountains were steel-blue; thenearer hills now black, now gold in fitful sun-gleams, now crossed by arainbow. Only in the north there was a great break, and a light likebrass, behind Ape's Hill. Tradition has it that a subterranean passageleads thence underneath the Straits to the Rock of Gibraltar, and is usedby the monkeys as a means of transit from Africa to Europe. Our miserable beasts were several hours toiling up to Tetuan: the raincame on, and with the wind straight off the snows it was as cold a rideas I remember. The next morning we went to the French Steamship Company's office for thepurpose of recovering our passage money from the agent, who had insistedupon our buying tickets beforehand. This fat, greasy Tangier Jew, of nochin, and flabby, suet-pudding face, flatly refused in plausible Frenchto return us our cash, gesticulating, contradicting himself, pretendingto misunderstand us, all in the same breath, and needing nothing so muchas a good kicking. Since the money would only go into his own pocket, wefought the point, and, after being most insolent, he was obliged topromise that if the French Consular Agent in Tetuan judged it right, hewould hand over the money. To the French Consular Agent we went: a Moor, whose office was in theFrench Post Office--a solemn, dignified man in a flowing blue jellab, over the same in white, both hoods drawn up over his head, showing a longolive face of the true Arab type, black eyes, black beard and moustache. He wore white socks and yellow slippers--a most courteous individual. Onhearing our case, he simply sent for the Steamships Company Agent, andtold him to hand over the money. We sat and waited with Mr. Bewicke, whowas interpreting for us. Presently a step, and, much out of breath, theplausible Jew himself arrived, in a long great coat and billy-cock. Hetook a seat, and stated his case in Arabic to the French Consular Agent. There could have been no greater contrast than between the vulgar excitedIsraelite and the stately Mohammedan. The Moor sat with folded arms:occasionally he raised one hand to emphasize a quiet monosyllable. Butalas for the steadfastness of his race! Perhaps he disliked being mixedup in the matter. At any rate, having said that the money was to berefunded, he allowed the Jew to argue the point, and, we gathered, wastelling him finally that the whole question had better be referred to thecompany itself--a dim and visionary Steamships Company on the other sideof the Mediterranean: it augured badly for us. But at this point R. Spoke in French, and reminded the Jew that he hadpromised to refund the money if the French Consul so judged, that theConsul had given judgment, and that if the Jew still refused he was nolonger a man of his word. Strange to say, this quickened a dormantconscience underneath all the dishonesty, or it pricked the Jew's pride;at any rate, after a torrent of protestations, from his tightwaistcoat-pocket he produced a pile of dollars, and handed them over tous. The money had taken an hour to draw: as far as actual value went itwas not worth it. The French Consular Agent, the dignified Moor, had to all intents andpurposes failed us at the critical moment, since he would not exert hislawful authority over a French-protected Jew. But a Moor's faults may besummed up in one word--_weak_. As in the above instance, refusing to facecircumstances or to follow one definite line of action to the end, heinvariably acts on the principle of "going roundabout. " In the course oftime evasion has come to appear to him the best line to pursue, and hehas sunk like a stone into a slough of compromise, a tarn of apathy. Such weakness, incompatible with Moorish fanaticism and courage, is dueprobably to tyranny. Living under a tyrannical government and religion, both of which, weldedtogether, form the one dominant factor of his life, the Moor is afraid ofeach, and stands in dread of the ruin it is in their power to work in hislife. Not only this, but he lives in fear of his countrymen and theirlong guns, of his wives and their poisons, of evil spirits. Morocco, as has been said, accepted Mohammedanism of necessity, not fromchoice, at the hands of the conquering Arabs, and it is accepted to-day, as the corrupt Government is accepted, with a shrug of the shoulders and"What God wills cannot but be. " Weakened by blind submission, and at thesame time holding nothing for which they have fought or wrought--notruths made adamant in the furnace of persecution, no Magna Charta won onthe sword-point of patriotism, all of which are so much tonic anddiscipline to a nation, breeding grit, developing backbone--the Moorishpeople are paralyzed by a despotism which allows no originality ofthought and action; they are no longer capable of "running straight, "but, suave and polite to a fault, lack that species of courage whichconduces towards plain-speaking. After all, who and what are to blame except the people themselves? Onewriter curses the religion, another curses the Government. _Cui bono?_Climate and the fertility of soil may have influenced the races calledMoorish, but the Moor himself is alone responsible for his Government andhis religion. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] A PEEP OF TETUAN. [_To face p. 138. _] Historians from time to time have had something to say about thesetribes, and tradition boasts a legion tales respecting them; but the mostable writer upon Morocco in old times was Leo Africanus, a Moor himself, who, when all his countrymen were expelled from Spain in 1492, fled toFez. Twenty-five years later he was captured by Christian pirates and taken toRome. He became a Christian, and he published his great and reliablehistory about the time that Henry VIII. Was successful in Flanders andScotland, when Wolsey obtained a cardinal's hat, and Catherine of Arragonhad not been ousted by Anne Boleyn. The aborigines of Morocco were without doubt Berbers, and to-day Berbersoccupy four-fifths of the country, in spite of the invasions of othernations. First on the list of the invaders came the Phoenicians, theearliest civilizing agency. The Romans followed eighty years after Cæsarhad landed in Britain, and annexed Morocco, Christianizing its people. Next to invade the country were the Vandals, who turned out the Romans, remained among the Berbers for over a hundred years, leaving red hair andblue eyes behind them. Then six hundred and ninety-eight years after thebirth of Christ the deluge of Mohammedan conquest burst over Morocco, andhordes of Arabs, burning with a fanatical missionary spirit, swept overthe land. At the end of eleven years the resistance of the Berbers wasovercome, and they adopted Mohammedanism as lightly as they had adoptedChristianity under the Roman rule. About two years afterwards a body of them crossed over into Spain underthe one-eyed chieftain Tarik, and laid the foundation of the Moorishsupremacy in Europe. Thither this band of pioneer Berbers was followed bythe Arabs: the two races mingled and built up together an empire in Spainsaid to surpass all its contemporaries in learning and refinement. TheSpanish named them indiscriminately _Mauros_, and _Moors_ they have beenever since; but the name Moor can be traced back as far as 23 A. D. , whenPliny and Strabo speak of the _Maurusii_ and _Mauri_. A reflection of their empire's greatness shone even in Morocco itself:libraries and universities were founded in Fez and Morocco City. But atthe same time the benighted country knew no settled peace; it was tornwith civil war between the Arab and Berber tribes, until the Berbersfinally mastered the Arabs, and forced them to confine themselves tocertain districts. Meanwhile, in Spain the Moorish Empire, which for seven hundred years hadremained firmly established, keeping alive Greek philosophy, building theAlhambra and making an indelible impression upon the Spanish nation, crumbled and fell, or, more properly speaking, was expelled from Spainafter a year of bitter persecution. Thousands of Moorish refugees flockedback across the Straits to the land of their progenitors, and settled inTetuan, Tangier, and the cities on the coast, buoyed up with thelingering hope of returning, when fickle Fortune smiled again, to theglories of their old houses in Granada, and to that land which had chosento cast them out. As may be imagined, the government of Morocco soon fell into their morecapable hands: they amalgamated more or less with the Arabs andBerbers--their own kith and kin--and the country became known to Europeas Morocco. In due time a certain Moor, a _Shar[=i]f_--that is, a direct descendantof the Prophet Mohammed--as head of the Mohammedan Church, graduallyunited under himself Arabs and Berbers alike, and was acknowledged astheir Feudal Lord, Religious Chief, and Sultan. The present Sultan is ofthe same holy line: hence his title of _Shar[=i]fian Majesty_. A Berber and an Arab may easily be distinguished from each other. Berbers, taken as a whole, have square frames, high cheek-bones, smalleyes, and are great walkers, not horsemen. The mountains are to them whatthe plains are to the Arabs, and they prefer an agricultural life to anyother. Leo Africanus describes them, and his picture in all essentials holdsgood to-day: "They are strong, terrible, robust men, who fear neithercold nor snow; their dress a tunic of wool over bare flesh, and above thetunic a mantle, round their legs twisted thongs, never anything on thehead. They rear sheep, mules, and asses; and they are the greatestthieves, traitors, and assassins in the world. " From personal experience let this ryder be added: that they make goodservants, faithful up to a certain point, to be trusted up to a certainpoint; but they are rascals. In Tetuan many more Berbers are to be met with than Arabs: the Riff tribeis Berber, and Tetuan is full of Riffis. Until the last thirty years the Berbers owned only a nominal allegianceto the Sultan; to-day he could pass through little of their territorywithout an army at his back, and into the Riff country he has never beenat all. Among the Berbers there is plenty of throat-cutting as a legalpunishment, and murder on the score of private vengeance, whileGovernment oppression is rampant. As for travellers journeying acrosstheir country, only certain "roads" are "open" and safe: a Christian, with proper precaution, is seldom attacked on the way to Fez or MoroccoCity--a Jew occasionally. Off the beaten track and anywhere in the Riffcountry his life would not be worth a _flus_ (small copper coin). The Arabs have given the Berbers a name of their own--_Shillah_, whichmeans "Outcast, " referring back to the days when they drove them out ofthe plains up into the mountains; and it has stuck to them ever since. Travellers descant upon _the noble Shillah race_. The dialect which theyspeak is called Shillah: the Riffis at Tetuan spoke Shillah amongthemselves, but soon picked up Arabic of a sort, and a little Spanish. The Arab differs in every respect from the Berber. One of the finesttypes among mankind, he has a tall, spare frame, aquiline nose, fineeyes. He is kind, hospitable, dignified, abstemious, a poet, a gentleman, and a horseman. He is capable of great things, and of all Orientals hasmost impressed himself upon the world. At the same time he is too oftentreacherous and blood-thirsty, inclined to be sensual and inquisitive. Perhaps his faults have led to the extolling of the noble Shillah race atthe Arab's expense. On this subject Mr. Cunninghame Graham writes, thatcertain travellers in Morocco must have "been humiliated at finding inthe Arabs a finer type than their own, and have turned to the Shillahrace with the relief that the earthen teapot must find when taken awayfrom the drawing-room companionship of Dresden china and put back againon the kitchen dresser. " For myself "earthen teapot" and "Dresden china"have both much fascination. I would trust either just as far as I couldsee him. Thus Morocco is populated by two antipathetic races, who neither singlynor jointly have or can consolidate it into a thriving empire. The Arabcared only to convert a conquered people to Mohammedanism and to push hisindividual fortune, heedless of assimilating individuals into onenation, as did the Romans. Great Arab chiefs there have been, but never apatriot. With the fatalistic spirit of the East, and a tendency to seelife only from the personal standpoint, it followed that, when a holy warno longer fired the wandering and independent shepherds to fight andforced them to obey, they became "slack, " remained stationary, orretrograded. The Arab would not advance civilization in Morocco, nor would the wildand lawless Berber; the Moorish refugees from Spain had sadlydegenerated; to crown all, civil war led to the destruction of thelibraries and universities in Fez and Morocco City, and education was nomore. Ignorance begat worse government; decline and poverty followed one afterthe other. Corruption among the rulers spread downwards and ran throughthe country, until the whole body politic was unsound, and is so to-day. Though the name of the Sultan, as Head of the Church, is held inreverence, yet many of the tribes would resist to the uttermost anyattempt on his part to subdue them by force of arms, so unsettled is hisempire. He holds himself to be far superior to the Sultan of Turkey, who is notdescended from the Prophet, but who, on the other hand, is the guardianof the sacred city of Mecca, and who possesses superior forces. Second in rank to the Sultan of Morocco follow his ministers--the ChiefMinister, the Foreign Minister, the Chief Adviser, the Minister of theInterior, and the Minister of Finance. Their duties are to carry out theSultan's wishes, and, receiving no pay, they look to enriching themselvesat the expense of their respective billets. A body of secretaries come after the ministers, who write and dispatchthe Sultan's decrees to distant cities, where their letters are readaloud in the mosques to the people by the governors. A special body ofmessengers is employed under the secretaries. Each district and city has its _kaid_ or _basha_ (its governor), whoseduty is to read the Sultan's letter aloud and carry out his instructions, who oversees the city market, prices food, detects false weight, dealswith robbers and murderers, and sees that the peace is kept. As well as basha every city has its _kadi_, or judge of civil law, whosettles all questions of land, of grants, divorces, etc. We visited the Court of Civil Justice at Tetuan, a tiny room, carpetedwith yellow matting, where the white-haired kadi, attired in white, satlike a magnificent white rabbit on a large red cushion on the floor, beside him a table six inches high, with learned-looking books, ink, parchment, and thin slips of wood for pens. Below the basha or kaid come _sheikhs_ (village elders), who may becalled gentlemen farmers. They collect the taxes directly from thecountry people. A province is taxed according to what it produces: no onepays the sum demanded of him, nor at the time it is demanded, buteventually every householder in the district is judiciously squeezed tothe uttermost farthing, and half of what he pays goes into the sheikh'spocket. Morocco conceals its wealth in times of visitations such as these: moneyand corn alike are buried in the ground. Some of the people areimprisoned, some tortured, and eventually all disgorge, and are left withbarely enough for their every-day wants. It is a system typical of the East and its slipshod, rough-and-readydealings: its great element of simplicity harks back to a life in tents, where red tape was unknown. The highest officials are in the habit of transacting business at theirstreet doors or in their stables: the basha invariably sits in somegateway near his house, hearing and judging matters which two or threegesticulating claimants explain to him. Private matters are publicproperty: the man in the street chats with the Minister of Finance--forare not all men equal? The minister may have sold groceries at one time, before he was called upon to fill a position at Court. Who can tell whata day may not bring forth? The Sultan--who is known as "The Lofty Portal, the Exalted of God, theNoble Presence"--has a body of servants and retainers round him: first ofall "The Learned Ones, " men who advise him, but make a point ofascertaining his wishes before they give an opinion, and are of no use atall except in conducting negotiations; next the officer who carries thegreat pearl-and-gold-embroidered parasol over his head; next an officerwho flicks away flies; then a master of ceremonies, a headsman, aflogger, a shooter, a water-bearer, a tent-layer, a tea-maker, astandard-bearer, and a "taster" to see that no poison is given. More closely connected than any of these with the Sultan is of course hisharem, of both black and white women, who have been honoured by admissioninto the much-sought-after precincts. Some of them are Circassians, supplied by Constantinople: all are the best which money can buy, or easeand position tempt. When their numbers have been greatly swelled, certainof them are drafted on as presents to kaids and bashas. The offspring of the Sultan's numerous wives are brought up in isolatedsanctuaries, each boy in company with a slave of his own age, whom hecalls brother. Girls inherit no rank. One and all are married when they reach maturity, at a State functionwhich takes place each year, the Sultan choosing their consorts. He giveshis favourite son--whom he has named as his successor--a high command inthe army or an important governorship: as long as the boy is too youngfor either, the Sultan associates him with himself in officialreceptions. All possible rivals to the Sultan are disposed of, chiefly by banishment. Guarding the intriguing and inflammable harem are eunuchs, imported atgreat expense from Abyssinia, and responsible for the Sultan's wives andconcubines, whom "wise women" prepare to meet their lord. The late Sultanwas in the habit of having his harem paraded in his garden on Thursdays, in order to select the most attractive, and spend Friday--the MohammedanSunday--in her company. It is a curious fact that the Imperial Treasure, which is distributedbetween Fez, Morocco City, and Mequinez, of which no details are evermade public, can only be opened by agreement between the keeper, thegovernor of the palace, the trusted eunuch, and the head woman in chargeof the harem. The secrets of its treasures are jealously guarded. It isprobably impoverished. Every one who approaches the Court is expected to make the Sultan apresent, and his collection of offerings would stock a museum. In the time of George I. We read of the Sultan's being sent "a richcrimson velvet sedan or chair for the favourite Sultana, and ten poundsof the finest tea at thirty shillings a pound. " In the present daytelephones, heliographs, gramophones, bicycles, motor-cars, guns, fireworks, and the latest inventions of all kinds find their way intoMorocco. In return the staple Moorish offering has always been, and still is, Arabhorses, with richly embroidered saddles and bridles. It is impossible to estimate the strength of the Moorish army. The onlyregulars are under European instruction, Sir Harry Maclean (known as KaidMaclean) acting as commander-in-chief. Their pay is something like apenny half-penny a day for infantry, fourpence for cavalry, a shillingfor commanding offices. The ranks consist of private, sergeant, captain, centurion, and colonel, each officer having a lieutenant. Every Moor capable of bearing arms in Morocco is liable to be _pressed_for service. In May, when the country is dry, each basha or kaid is ordered to collecttroops in his own district: then is Tetuan deserted, and every boy andyoung man absents himself. How the lady missionaries hid their house-boy!Tetuan sent off two hundred men, under a colonel, while we were there, which were to help punish certain rebellious tribes. Often theseexpeditions are for the purpose of raising taxes. In any case the tribesagainst which the Sultan's troops are sent are said to be "eaten up. "Long before it happened it was known and talked of. "Ah, yes; the Beni M`Saira would be eaten up in April. " The Tetuan two hundred were sent to help eat up the Beni M`Saira tribe, some of whom had abducted two Spanish children a year ago. The childrenhad driven their pigs on to land belonging to the tribe--a thing abhorredof by Mohammedans, to whom pigs are unclean. Expostulation was notheeded, and the Beni M`Saira resorted to strong measures, and kidnappedthe children. They were sold from family to family beyond hope ofrecovery, and it would be hard to say what was their fate. Of coursethey were never seen again. Tales were circulated which said that thegirl had been turned into a dancing-girl, and taught to dance upon hotashes, or she may have become slave and concubine to some Moor. She wassixteen years old, and the lady missionaries at Tetuan knew her well, andher ten-year-old brother. The Spanish Government had complained to the Sultan, and now a year afterthe offence the Beni M`Saira were to be eaten up; there was to be ageneral raid upon their country: men would be killed, women taken asslaves, villages burnt, and corn destroyed. The worst part of the wholebusiness is the fate of the prisoners on these occasions. Theseunfortunate men, suffering scarcely for their own misdeeds, are sent inchains to far-distant city prisons, whence they seldom emerge alive. The colonel of the Tetuan contingent was an example of the rapid risesand the vicissitudes of life in Morocco. Only the other day he had beenharbour-master down at Martine, but was accused of smuggling and turnedout of that berth; he then took a café and sold drinks in Tetuan, whensuddenly the Sultan's pleasure took the shape of making him a full-blowncolonel in his troops. As in the days of Joseph, the chief butler is sentfor out of prison and made much of: the baker is sent for and hanged. [Illustration: A SAINT-HOUSE, TETUAN. [_To face p. 148. _] The lucky colonel and his two hundred left Tetuan in bad weather: theirpay was such that many of them, before starting, sold the bulletssupplied them, in order to buy food with the money, preferring to fightwithout ammunition rather than on empty stomachs; but only _one quarter_of them got as far as El K`sar--the rest deserted on the road, to escapehunger and exhaustion from rain and cold. The Oolad Moosa tribe were eaten up not long ago; their land was harried, their fruit-trees destroyed, and themselves killed, imprisoned, andenslaved. I was told by a Spaniard that he had seen five camel-loads ofthe heads of tribesmen brought into Larache while he was there. TheSultan offered three shillings per head. His soldiers sent up not a fewheads which belonged to their own companions-in-arms. Consignments weresent off to various cities throughout Morocco, where the Jews, as usual, salted them, and they were set up over the gates and on the walls. There is little or no artillery in his Shar[=i]fian Majesty's army, though the few cannon he has, render him all-powerful against hisrebellious tribesmen, who are only armed with rifles (principallyFrench), which are smuggled into the country. Soldiers are supplied with the same rifles and European swords: thenative curved dagger is also used. Pitched battles are seldom heard of. The troops entrench themselvesstrongly, gallop out in parties against the foe, fire a volley into hisline, and gallop back again to reload. Pillage is the great element inthis species of guerilla warfare. In connection with the army are the _Makhaznia_ (mounted police): theyare practically cavalry. A few were quartered in Tetuan, and the bashaemployed them to take men prisoners and preserve peace and take messagesand so on. The Makhaznia are paid for whatever they do by any one whoemploys them, and they often act as soldier-escort to Europeans. The Government of Morocco has but one hinge--a golden one. Thirtythousand pounds was paid by the late governor of Morocco City for hisbillet, and a capable man would still make his fortune before he retired, by means of bribes and presents from every one in connection with him, and a little undue pressure and taxation here and there. But no governoris exempt from that war-cry in Morocco, "Pay! pay! pay!" And if he or abasha wish for the Sultan's favour, which in order to remain in office ismost desirable, he will forward a present regularly to Court, though atevery feast he is obliged to send another in addition. When a Sultanimprisons a minister, he confiscates all his money. Bribes largely contribute towards filling the coffers of Governmentofficials, from toadies down to unfortunate sufferers. A man has to buyhimself out of prison: it costs a murderer about four pounds. Those whocannot afford to pay do not come out. Not long ago a poor man whom we knew was suddenly appointed to fill alucrative post under Government. He dare not refuse it, but he was headover ears in debt, and of course a large sum of money was due in returnfor the appointment. He borrowed from the Jews and took up office. In oneyear he had paid all his debts, he had paid the Jews, and built himself aluxurious house. And who can wonder at it? Customs-house officers can allretire after _three years_ (if they choose), and live well. It iscalculated that the Government gets exactly half of the duties. Tetuan had a favourite tale of bribery. A man wanted to make sure of acase he was bringing before the basha. He knew that the basha had aweakness for mirrors. He was a poor man, but he bought the bestlooking-glass he could afford, and dispatched it. The case came on; thebasha gave it against him. "What!" cried the poor, discomfited loser; "did you not receive themirror?" "Yes, " replied the basha coolly; "but immediately afterwards a very finemule came along, and _he kicked the looking-glass into a thousandfragments_. " So when a man is disappointed of his due, they say, "The mule has kickedthe glass. " Another man had a brother in prison whom he wished to buy out: he tookthe basha a mule, and presented himself with his present. "You shall not bribe me, " said the basha. "Soldier! put this man intoprison with his brother, and put the mule into my stable. " The man's family had a heavy bribe to raise. CHAPTER VI WE LOOK OVER A MOORISH COURTYARD HOUSE WITH A VIEW TO TAKING IT--WE RENTJINAN DOLERO IN SPITE OF OPPOSITION--AN ENGLISHMAN MURDERED--OURGARDEN-HOUSE--THE IDIOSYNCRASIES OF MOORISH SERVANTS--A NATIVE GUARD--THERIFF COUNTRY. CHAPTER VI Ah! Moon of my delight, who know'st no wane The Moon of Heaven is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same garden after me--_in vain!_ CHRISTMAS DAY in a Mohammedan city passed with nothing to mark it exceptdeluges of rain. The fonda had not grown upon us; and when two Moorishhouses in the city at last presented themselves, the result of weeks ofinquiry, we decided to take one, if, as was apparently the case, agarden-house outside the city was not to be had for love or money. TheMoors all told us it was impossible. The fact is, that they are chary ofletting their houses to unbelievers: the thing is not encouraged in theland; indeed, they are liable to be imprisoned for doing so, unless theyhave "protection" from a foreigner. All sorts of complications have arisen out of permission granted toEuropeans to settle in the country: it depends on the European; he doessomething foolish, and legal or social or religious difficulties arise, and a storm in a teacup may end in serious dispute and a heavy indemnityto pay. So, naturally enough, the Sultan's advisers are averse toextending the limits of property owned by Europeans, and the barrierswhich they put in the way, debar ordinary people from running up villasand committing outrages such as half the world endures in silence. In Morocco it is necessary first of all to obtain the consent of theGovernment for the purchase of land. Interest can sometimes do it, andthe pill must be heavily gilt. The next obstacle lies with Moorishjurisdiction, which, with forethought, sets forth that all disputesrelating to property shall be referred to native courts and settled byMoorish law. This opens a door to barefaced bribery and intimidation:some one will be fleeced. Last of all, Moorish workmen building for anEnglishman or any foreigner are liable to persecution and arrest. Thusforeign labour must be employed. And how is foreign labour to be had? AJew or Spaniard may not be available. It is scarcely less difficult torent a house in Morocco, unless it is in Tangier. Of the two which were thus unexpectedly offered us one was out of thequestion--it was damp; but the other, standing empty in a long narrowalley in the middle of the city, was as sound as houses built of rubbishand thin bricks can be, and we went to look over it, well prepared toignore petty defects. It was entered, as usual, by a wide yellow door, studded with giant nailsand a resounding knocker: a courtyard house--a most quaint and originalconstruction in which to spend two or three months. From theochre-coloured door we walked into a tiny tiled patio open to the sky, too small and insignificant for a fountain or an orange-tree: the kitchenand one other room where servants could sleep opened out of it, lightedonly by their wide doors, which were never shut. So much for the groundfloor. A tiny tiled staircase led to the first floor. Four narrow rooms, windowless, flanked the four sides of the square, and looked down intothe little court below. Each room had double doors standing open forlight and air. From the house-top above the first floor, on to which wewent last, there was at least a view of a thousand flat white roofs, ofpencil-shaped minarets, of turtle-backed mosques; but at the same timethe sun itself could not be more dazzling to look at than was theimpossible whitewash which besmeared all the roofs, and we soon left forour first floor, in whose four little dark rooms we proposed to live. Standing on the gallery which ran outside them, and leaning on thebalustrade looking down into the minute patio, it was a case of the viewbelow into that, and the view above up at the sky, and no more--alimited, and on wet days gloomy, prospect. Added to that, the orgiesworked in the kitchen by a Moorish cook could not do other than proclaimthemselves all over the first floor. True, the little patio embodied theMoorish conception of _al-fresco_ seclusion, and a depth of shadow lay inthe inner rooms within the thin shell of the white walls. And yet--andyet--the lines of old-fashioned Eliza Cook returned insistently, andrefused to be silenced:-- Double the labour of my task, Lessen my poor and scanty fare, But give, oh! give me what I ask-- The sunlight and the mountain air. And in the end the vote was given against the little windowless dwellingin the Moorish Quarter. No doubt a courtyard house is bizarre, but it hasits imperfections. A Scotch proverb has it that "Where twa are seeking, they are sure tofind. " In time we found. A certain Moor of Tetuan, named Ali Slowee, aSpanish protected subject, was guardian, uncle, and stepfather to a boynamed Dolero. Dolero owned a garden-house outside the city, called_Jinan Dolero_ (The Garden of Dolero). Ali Slowee heard of our wants andoffered us his nephew's house, provided we undertook to give it up at theend of March. Than the unexpected, when it does come, nothing is so good. After a little difference over the rent (our landlord began by asking twopounds five a month, and came down to thirty shillings) all was settled, and New Year's Day, 1902, found us living in a whitewashed garden-housein Morocco, out in the country. Moors have extravagant ideas of the sums English people will pay. Mr. Bewicke was offered a house and garden for seven pounds ten a month: sometime after the landlord asked three pounds; eventually he came down tothirty-nine shillings. [Illustration: JINAN DOLERO. [_To face p. 158. _] Having handed a month's rent over to Ali Slowee, he had Jinan Dolero doneup, whitewashed at least, outside and in, from top to toe--a riteperformed on every opportunity all the year round in Morocco, likespring-cleanings at home. Tiles were mended, windows repainted, glass putin, and we followed, --the simplest thing in the world; "furnishing" takesno time in Morocco. Three mules carried out all we put into the emptylittle house--all our effects, that is to say, from the fonda. A few rugswere unrolled, camp-beds, table, and chairs put together, some nailsdriven into the walls, and in one hour we were "in. " Gibraltar suppliedthe camp furniture; necessaries were raked together in Tetuan, includingthe dome-shaped pewter teapot, and the painted tins, pink and green andblue, for tea, coffee, and sugar, which mark the tramp of the Europeanacross Morocco, and are both of them for ever associated with sweet greentea and turbans. Mattresses we had made, and made ourselves, of moss, brought in by the countrywomen and dried; and an Englishman, A---- (oneof the few who have become Mohammedans and settled in Morocco), lentseveral more, which made divans round our walls. A---- has a little house close to Jinan Dolero, and occupies himself withhis garden outside the city. He dresses like a Moor. In spite of it all, he is not welcomed among them as a brother, but goes by the name of "TheRenegade. " They probably divine that he adopts their religion as a partof the customs of the country with which he identifies himself, less forthe sake of Mohammedanism itself than for the life which that religioninculcates. Apparently men in such a position rarely benefit the country in whichthey settle, and often do harm, ending by paying the penalty of meddlingwith the manners and customs of another race. Now, at the time of writing this chapter, A---- has paid in full. Only afew months after we left Tetuan he was shot one evening in his garden andkilled on the spot, apparently from close quarters, probably from behindthe hedge. The servants had gone home and found his body next morning. Ifthey are to be believed, no one heard a shot. Men have been imprisonedand men will suffer death for the murder, no doubt; but whether theactual murderer is shot or goes scot-free, and what his inducement forcommitting the crime, probably half Tetuan will know and half Tetuan willtell, _and tell a lie_. Some say that A---- was shot for the sake of his gun and his money. Others that he was shot by some Riffi brothers because he was in thehabit of talking to their sister. Others that the murder was connectedwith his having lived at one time with a Moorish woman, from whom heeventually separated. No one will ever know. Jinan Dolero would have been called in the Riviera "a villa": it was atypical Moorish garden-house. We lived upstairs, after the manner of thecountry, in the airiest and lightest of small whitewashed sitting-rooms:its three windows, set certainly with head-splitting glass, looked south, east, and west, on sea, mountains, and city. The second larger room, inwhich we slept, had a thick white pillar in the very middle of it, supporting the ceiling. A store-room on the same floor did duty aslarder, and a staircase led up on to the flat white roof. Underneath us were kitchen, mules' stable, and two rooms for our twoservants: a little staircase led down to them and on to the hall andfront door. The floors were all tiled: a dip in the corner of each roomand a hole in the wall carried off the water when they were sluiced down. Innocent of spouting, the water merely streamed down the outside wall. Each window reached to the floor, and an inartistic iron grille removedall danger of falling out. It was the sunniest house in the world, and anairy one, for the passage and rooms had loop-holes, a foot high and fourinches wide, cut in the wall, through which air freely circulated. On theground floor the windows were _nil_, but more loop-holes let in amplelight. One was constructed on each side our hall door, that beforeunbarring at night we might know what manner of visitor we had, and evenfire a charge through the aperture if the occasion warranted. Our garden was another Moorish wilderness, another "Field of theSlothful, " thick in a waste of weeds, blue borage, and yellow marigolds. But it was also a vineyard. Dead-looking branches of vines trailed amongthe weeds, which later on were cut down with a sickle and turned intogreen meat for cows. Splendid muscats, we were told, our vines wouldproduce: branches are spread over them in the summer as a slightprotection from the sun, but the grapes are left on the ground and oftensoiled; nor has a Moor the slightest idea of picking them, or ofpreserving their bloom. Besides the vines, there were fruit-trees inJinan Dolero. Pink almonds blossomed first; the leaf and the flower ofapricots followed; apples, peaches, and pears came almost at the sametime; and we lived in a pink world. The fig-tree softened its hard heartlast of all, and its ashy-grey arms burst into tender green leaf andinfant figs; at the same time the pomegranates shot into warm redleaflets. There were lemons which were ripe on the trees on New Year'sDay, and made many a lemon-squash: there was double narcissus in flowereverywhere; it sprouted up in the grass paths which divided our garden, and got badly trodden down: there were rows and rows of beans, whichscented the air: last of all, there were some red geraniums in flower. A hedge of prickly pear ran down the east side of the enclosure, a tallcane fence effectually hedged in the rest, and the whole was entered bythe inevitable locked and barred door, and whitewashed doorway, the longkey of which, was a care in life, till we learnt that in Morocco everyprecaution is taken up to a certain point; matters are then handed overto Providence, and man, forbearing to meddle further, sits down andawaits their development. Thus, with all their locks and bolts, garden doors were often left open, and the cane fences were full of gaps. But none of our lemons werestolen--not, at least, after we got rid of the guard of soldiers whichfor the first week the basha insisted on sending to Jinan Dolero everynight. They ate them. Fine days were never long enough in the little garden-house facing themountains: in the mornings an opal light; the sunrise stalking acrosstheir summits, while a cloud of white mist would sweep down the valleyout to the blue sea-line; all day bright light and dazzle, a wind softand yet racy; at night an abrupt sunset, leaving for a few moments arose-pink after-glow, followed by an intense silence. The first thing in the morning, we always wandered in our garden down thegrassy paths among the dew; measured the rain-gauge; looked at the sky;watched the birds, of which a flight, chiefly flocks of finches, invariably travelled over the little terraces of fruit-trees towards theriver, taking our garden on the way, and feeding there for a while. Awhite jasmine almost hid our white steps and pillars: a rose grew withlavish prodigality; as Jinan Dolero stood there, in the middle of theGarden of the Slothful, a certain imperious dignity was given to thelittle white-walled structure by means of its magnificent situation. Sometimes we breakfasted in the garden: we were never in to lunch on finedays, but rode and walked all over the country, occasionally with thelady missionaries or Mr. Bewicke, but oftener alone with the big greydonkey and a boy. There were Moors to see in Tetuan, and always somethingof interest: we came away from that corner of Morocco without having gotthrough half of what might have been done. To live in a country, adoptingsome of its ways and imbibing a little of its spirit, is the onlysatisfactory way to "travel. " Hotels with home conventionalities andEnglish tourists never amount to the same thing. Either camp out orsettle down for a month or two in a hut, with one of the country peopleto cook. There must be sport, or agriculture, or village characters, orarchitecture, or botany, or geology to study: bird-life and bird-watchingare never-ending interests; the fields are never empty. Only by livingits own life, can the country and its ways unfold themselves, and becomeunderstood and cared for, by the traveller who has time for, and a loveof, such things. As a whole, and seen in January before spring has begun, around Tetuan itis a tired and brownish-looking country: its colour is bleached and driedout of it, and it has the air of a sun-dried, wind-blown land, patchedwith pieces of brilliant greenery where corn has been sown near water. And yet it possesses the charm of strength and repose which simplicitygives; for it has been worried by man but little, rather allowed tostraggle through the centuries at its own sweet will. In the evening every Friday, to mark the Mussulman's Sabbath, the sunsetgun boomed and echoed among the opposite mountains. Watching the greyturreted walls of the Kasbah bitten out against a primrose sky, withwatch in hand, at last the weekly flash of red, then a puff of brownsmoke shot out of the wall, and last of all, a reverberating roar, tossedbackwards and forwards among the hills. It is long before the "thunder"dies away, and we watch a gigantic smoke-ring, sprung from the mouth ofthe gun, float lazily out to the south; while the mueddzin's cry from thetop of the mosque rises and falls on the waves of sound, drifting nowclear, now faint, over the garden. When the sun dropped, the frogs began, from the cracks in the moist claysoil where they sat, all over our acre and a half, croaking in a wet, guttural chorus--the whole garden called; and the rattle of thetree-beetle which followed was one of those tropical sounds which recallthe East. The frogs were tiny brown fellows, hard to get at. The owlswould begin after the frogs--a brown owl, which flew noiselessly in thetwilight among the fruit-trees and on to the edge of the roof, hootinglong and low or chuckling oddly. Then stillness, and wonderful starlightnights, all through January. That month no rain fell. In February we hadseven and a quarter inches, and more in March. Having found Jinan Dolero, and furnished it after a fashion, we stilllacked servants, and they seemed to be almost as difficult to meet withas houses--that is, trustworthy ones. Again, however, we were fortunate. A soldier-servant who had lived with a missionary happened to havenothing to do, and agreed to come to us with his young wife, Tahara. Theyboth of them knew something of European ways, and were scrupulouslyhonest. They brought a few oddments, a little looking-glass, a mattresson which they slept upon the floor of the room near the kitchen, and afew cooking-pots and pans of their own. We overcame their objection tosleeping outside the city at that time of year; but I believe they neverliked it up to the last, though they comforted themselves with two guns(one of which belonged to the man, and one he borrowed) and the fact of arevolver as well, being all under the same roof with them. [Illustration: OUR SERVANTS, S`LAM AND TAHARA. [_To face p. 164. _] They were both of them Riffis, and their own home was in the Riffcountry, two days' journey into the mountains from Tetuan. His name wasS`lam Ben Haddon Riffi of Bekiona, son of Haddon and of Fettouch BenHaddon of Bekiona. S`lam's wife was Tahara. He had served for a year inthe French army in Algeria, in the 2nd Regiment of TirailleursAlgériens; and having picked up a little French, we learnt, with a fewArabic words, to understand each other. He and Tahara spoke Shillah toeach other. S`lam was about twenty-six years old, Tahara about twenty. He was asinewy, long-legged ruffian, well over six feet, and holding himselfcreditably. He had a pair of fierce, dark, restless eyes, little beard ormoustache, the front half of his head shaved, and a few locks left longat the back in token of his being a "brave" and having slain his man in ablood-feud. The Riffi turban, of strings of dark red wool, was woundround his head; a white shirt showed at his neck; he wore a blackwaistcoat, a white tunic down to his knees, and red knicks, below whichcame his long hairy shanks, ending in a pair of yellow slippers. A scarlet leather bag, hung by a red cord over his shoulders, a leatherbelt, and his gun, finished off our Moorish servant, who shot uspartridges, roasted chickens, and was as good a hand at buttered eggs andcoffee as I have ever seen. Out of doors he always wore his brown jellab, embroidered with silk tuftsof green and yellow and white. Tahara was a pretty, pale, dark girl, with curious cabalistic Riffi markstattooed in blue on her forehead and chin. She bound round her head anorange-coloured silk handkerchief; wore, except when at work, anembroidered yellow waistcoat, a pale blue kaftan down to her ankles, asprigged, white muslin, loose garment, all over that; and a creamywoollen haik, when she went out or was cold, covered everything. S`lam acted as butler, Tahara kept our rooms in order, and they werejoint cooks. Their standing dish was mutton stewed in vegetables, or achicken; and given time, four hours in the pot, on the pan of charcoal, it was quite a success. But they learnt many things in a Dutch oven lentby the missionaries, besides stews. They had eccentricities--as whenS`lam prepared to put the toast-rack itself on the charcoal fire, withthe bread in it, thus to "toast": the toast-rack we made ourselves, too, out of some old wire. They kept chickens, which S`lam brought home frommarket, either in their bedrooms for the night, or else in the kitchen, until their crops were empty and they could be killed. Every morning S`lam was dispatched to the city with a basket, instructions, and two or three shillings. He stayed there anunconscionable time, visiting his mother, and sitting sunning himself inthe doorway of a little Moorish café, returning laden before lunch. Henever went into the city without his gun and best jellab, striding alongwith his long legs--a most picturesque figure. After dinner every eveninghe rendered his account, stalking into the sitting-room when we called, pulling up a chair, and sitting down at the table opposite R. From hisleather bag, change was produced, and if the change was wrong, there wasagony; but that only happened once or twice. A scrap of paper was broughtout covered with Arabic writing, items of the day's expenditure, whichread more or less as follows:-- Chicken 7d. Milk 1d. Four eggs 2½d. Mutton 6d. Apples 2d. Vegetables 2d. Bread three times a week 4½d. Butter twice a week 9½d. Charcoal for cooking purposes, and oil for lamps, added three shillingsto our moderate weekly expenditure. Living is cheap enough in Morocco, nor are servants' wages heavy. S`lam and Tahara had eighteen shillings amonth and their food, which was simple indeed--a loaf each of nativebread a day, green tea, lump sugar, and odds and ends from our meals. Ourrent, it will be remembered, came to thirty shillings a month. Moroccosuits "reduced circumstances. " Once a week, one of the little donkeys, which passed along our "lane" indroves, carrying charcoal into the sok, was waylaid, brought into thegarden, and its three pannierfuls commandeered for us and stored in themules' stable, where Tahara did the washing in a great tub bought fromMr. Bewicke. Milk was left every morning by a Moor, who took it in for sale to thesok. When the accounts were all settled up, S`lam would swing out of the roomwith a "Bon soir tout-le-monde, " unless he stayed to give R. A lesson inArabic, which he could write as well as read--an unusual thing, andmarking him for a scholar in his country. Blood-feuds among the Riff tribe are common enough. S`lam's father wasshot when S`lam was a boy. As soon as he grew up, S`lam shot the man. Hehad left the Riff in consequence: he was a "marked man, " they said; buthe began to talk of going back again, and while he was with us he boughta new French rifle. In the Riff he might be potted at, he might not: hewould risk that. The brother or son of the man whom he had shot wouldnever trouble to journey far for the purpose of shooting him. Why shouldthey? All in good time. Some day, when he came their way, they would puta bullet into him. Only women die in their beds in the Riff. "Suddendeath, Good Lord, grant us. " Men in the Riff who have blood-feuds will not go out of their houses inthe early mornings without first sending the women and children to lookif the coast is clear: neither will they walk up a hedgerow nor in awood, but across the fields, keeping well in the open, since murder isalways committed out of sight, decently, and in good order. A man living in Tetuan now, has a blood-feud with an enemy, who has beenin consequence obliged to move to Tangier. Sometimes he comes over, secretly, by night, to see his mother, and lies hidden in her house tillthe sok is full of market people in the middle of the day, when he can goout into the crowd without running great risk, --though in the sok aquarrel sometimes arises; in a flash, guns are up at men'sshoulders--bang--bang--and bullets ping into the soft walls, if not intosome one or other. Only lately a boy was shot twice in the thigh, happening to be in the way in a scuffle. S`lam and Tahara were often amusing, if not interesting: nevercommonplace or "well-meaning. " One corner of the roof of Jinan Dolero hadbeen left unwhitewashed, the whitewashers' ladder was still there, andone morning S`lam came to say in his best French, "Deux mesdames. Pourarranger en haut. " The two madams were the whitewashers--two black madams, clad in a coupleof striped towels each, Ali Slowee's slaves, bought for, say, £7 each. Avery ragged countrywoman who came and weeded the garden, and seemedalmost devoid of intelligence, was also a madam. S`lam was deft with a needle; he borrowed one of ours and a thimble, sathimself down in the kitchen, and stitched away at a large white garment"pour Maman, " he said--sat up half the night, finished it, and took it toher next day. He did not make a bad man-servant; but he was fond of tempting Fate bycarrying trays, laden with china and glass, balanced on one hand; then hewould stoop down and pick up a kettle in the other, there would be anominous clatter, if not crash, in the tray amongst our crockery, andS`lam would murmur reproachfully under his breath, "O tray! tray!" He bought a new jellab for wearing on visits to the sok; and after it hadbeen proudly shown us, it was found, neatly folded up, placed on ahat-box in our bedroom. When we asked why it was there, he was takenaback. "Mightn't he keep it there? It was new: it was very clean. " One evening, when he came in to settle accounts, he said that he wishedto write a letter. Would we give him a sheet of paper and envelope? Theywere produced. We were not quite prepared for it, when he at once drew upa chair, sat down at the table, and politely asked for a pencil. But itwas impossible to snub so simple and well-meaning a child. I sharpened apencil, and S`lam wrote diligently for quite half an hour, without apause, from right to left, wonderful spidery characters: it was a longletter to his old master down in Morocco City. He held hisstring-turbaned head on one side, and was without embarrassment as he satbetween R. And myself (one of us worked, the other wrote); indeed, S`lammight have spent his evenings in a drawing-room all his life. When theletter was finished, he accepted a stamp most gratefully, wished us "Bonsoir, " and departed. Tahara had her eccentricities too, of which one was an extraordinaryaptitude for annexing wherewithal to tie round her head in place of herown yellow silk scarf, which was kept for high days. One week one of ourtable-napkins was raised to this honour; the next one of our cleanbedroom towels had taken its place round her dark locks. I made her a present of a flannel shirt to wear, but the second day S`lamhad appropriated that, and wore it in place of his waistcoat, unbuttoned. Apparently, in the eyes of the Tetuan world, we were taking a mostunprecedented and foolhardy step in sleeping outside the city in thewinter: the Ceuta "road" near us was said to be famous for robbery andmurder. For some reason or other a reputation clung to us of beingfabulously rich. The Moors warned, the missionaries seriouslyexpostulated with us. None of them would have done it, and Mr. Bewickewas put down as mad for countenancing such an action. But we had two menin the house at night; for, besides S`lam, a labourer was induced tosleep in the mules' stable for our protection, and we had a couple ofrifles and a revolver. Now, since the news of the murder of A----, onewonders . . . . . But _he_ was alone: _we_ had the safety of numbers. To show how jealous Moors can be, and what precautions they take abouttheir women, S`lam never allowed the labourer inside the garden gateunless he himself had come in. The man sat and waited on the bank. Then, after he was installed in the stable, the door between the kitchen andstable was locked and bolted. When we went out, Tahara was made to boltevery door; and if any one came to the house, she would only call down tothem out of our bedroom window. The first night we slept in our garden-house and for several nightsafter, the basha took upon himself to send us out a guard of soldiers, who were responsible for our safety. We never asked this favour, and wereannoyed; for they slept under our windows, talked and coughed the wholenight, lay on the bulbs in a flower-bed, and stole the lemons. Seeing, however, that we did not pay them anything at all for the attention, thebasha soon grew tired of sending them, much to our relief; for when, toprevent their depredations, we locked them outside the garden door, theybroke down our fence, scrambled into the garden, and lay under theprickly pears, as being a safer place than the lane outside. There has never such a thing been known, as a guard without a cough, orwho do not talk. If told to be silent, they reply that they must talk tokeep awake; for if they fell asleep, how could they guard? Occasionally, to show how much on the alert they are, guards will discharge their gunsin the dead of night. Altogether Moorish soldiers at close quarters arenot conducive to sleep. We had an excitement one night, but it turned out to be groundless. Gunswere fired from the garden-house below ours, repeatedly, about 10 p. M. , and S`lam got into a fever of excitement, brought his rifle up into oursitting-room, and sat watching at one of the windows. He thought it wastribesmen come down from the hills to rob. At last the firing stopped, and R. And I went to bed; but S`lam was up all night, and Tahara broughttheir mattress upstairs and slept in our sitting-room for safety. Itturned out to be Moors who had come out to sleep for one night, and wereamusing themselves by firing rifles from the loop-holes and out in thegarden. There is an advantage in being in a country where game is not sacred. Forinstance, one evening after tea, standing on the steps outside our"bungalow, " in the hush which came just after sunset, R. And I werestartled by a familiar call over in the garden next ours. S`lam wasstrolling about, and confirmed our supposition--a partridge. We wentindoors and forgot about it; but ten minutes later the report of a gunbrought us out again, and there was S`lam crashing over the great bamboofence into "next door" with his rifle, scudding across our neighbour'sbeans, then stooping down over something; a second later and he was backagain, across the palisade like a lamplighter, and striding triumphantlyup our path with a partridge dangling from his hand--a red-leggedFrenchman, which we hung long. This acquisition to the larder had to beapplauded perforce, in spite of its being shot sitting, and on some oneelse's acres. As luck would have it, S`lam's great bullet, about the sizecommonly used for big game, had gone through its head: he naïvelyexplained the advantages of shooting birds through the head. But I thinkhe was a fair shot. Most Riffis are. I suppose that the Riff tribe is more or less an anomaly. Think, if youcan, of a clan or a tribe who are pirates, wreckers, who encourageslavery, who count the vendetta an admirable custom, who have no laws, nogovernors, who acknowledge as their supreme head a Sultan who has neverfrom all ages ventured within their borders--a tribe who have, as it hasbeen said, "no fear, no anything, save and excepting their faith in OneGod and Mohammed as his Prophet, their own daggers, a Martini-Henry ifthey can get one, and failing that, a ten-foot-long Riff gun, coral-studded, ivory-butted, brass-bound, and deadly to handle"--a peoplewho live in a country without roads, _and all within a few hours ofGibraltar_: have they their parallel, except among adventurers in the FarEast, and those but a few upon distant seas? [Illustration: TWO WOMEN FROM THE RIFF COUNTRY. [_To face p. 172. _] To explore the unknown Riff country would be interesting indeed. No bookhas been written upon it except from hearsay, and no European haspenetrated across its length and breadth. The Riffis want no foreigninterlopers among their sacred hills, and would "knife" the first whoshowed his face. It is but two days' journey eastwards from Tetuan, thisselect and exclusive country, and it extends about a hundred and fiftymiles, with a population, it is reported, of one hundred and fiftythousand souls. Strange to think that no European pioneer, norgentleman-rover, has ever exploited the Riff. The law of the vendetta, is the law and the ten commandments of theRiffi, which, if he fail to keep, renders him in the eyes of hiscountry-folk damned to all eternity, to be ostracised among men. A widowwill teach her baby-son to shoot, and studiously prepare him for his onegreat duty, that as early as possible he may put a bullet into themurderer of his father. And thus the feud is nourished. Even thegreat-great-grandson of a man who has taken a life years upon years agois not safe. He will probably meet with a dagger or the muzzle of a longgun one day. But a people who inculcate such severe and cursory measures have theirredeeming-points. It is a fact that cursing and swearing, so common amongMoors, and polygamy and adultery, are seldom, if ever, met with in theRiff: for if one Riffi insults another, it is at the peril of his life;while the stain of immorality is wiped out at once by death. The gun, pistol, or dagger is the Riffi's summary judge and jury. Hesubmits to no authority. Questions on land, on inheritance, all legalquestions, are settled in each village by the keeper of the mosque. Hearranges marriages. The Riffis are therefore a moral people: a man has but one wife; thewomen do not veil, and yet familiarity is not tolerated between thesexes; a young man will go out of his way to avoid passing close by ayoung woman whom he sees in the distance, lest he be suspected ofbehaving lightly to her. The Riffis are an indomitable race, one which has never been conquered, magnificent raw material out of which to shape a battalion of infantry. Though acknowledged as the Kaliph of the Prophet and their religioushead, the Sultan, as has been said, has never dared to put his head inthis independent hornets' nest. They are an industrious tribe, growing crops assiduously and rearingcattle: their valleys are fertile and well farmed for an uncivilizedcountry. But these details must be taken for what they are worth. S`lamcould say nothing but good of the Riff: how cheap living was, and howabundant food, --except when rain failed, and then there followeddisastrous famine, and starving Riffis would come down to Tetuan, and liein the caves outside the city, and live on roots, doing any work whichoffered; and some of them would die, in spite of the missionaries'kindness and unremitting efforts. There are many legends about the Riffis: they boast one tribe amongthemselves who are said to be descended from the Romans; and there is noreason against the assumption, since the Romans were in Morocco afterCæsar's day. Another family claims to be descended from the inhabitantsof Sodom. Some of them are quite fair--regular "carrots": Vandal bloodmay run in their veins. While, again, some people say there are Celtsamong them, with Irish characteristics and Irish words. Possibly. Piratesand rovers are apt to introduce foreign strains. At any rate they have nothing in common with the Arabs, but are as unlikethat race as a Scotchman is unlike an Italian. Berber is of course theircommon origin, and they are identical with the Kabyles of Algeria, theTouariks of the Sahara, and the Guanches of the Canary Isles. Shillah, the Berber dialect which they speak--one of the many dialects belongingto that race--is not a written language; but an educated Riffi learns towrite and read at his village _jama_ (mosque school); he uses the Arabiccharacter in writing, and he learns to read the Kor[=a]n. Yet in one great point, like the Arabs, the Riffi, in common with theBerber race, lacks the power of cohesion and the spirit of patriotism, which should have welded all Berbers into one powerful people. Internalstrife, that curse of Africa, has split them up into isolated units, andthey stand at the same point they stood at a thousand years ago. Nor have the Riffis, in common with the Moors, reached the point ofdiscarding "petticoats and drapery"--that is to say, they wear the brown, hooded, woollen jellab, and the white woollen haik--a sheet of materialwithout seam, which they cast round themselves something like a Romantoga. Perhaps a cotton tunic is worn underneath. Part of the sleeves, the hood, and front of the jellab are oftenbeautifully embroidered in coloured silks. On the border of the cloththin leaves of dried grass are laid, which are worked over and over withcoloured silk, and make a thick, handsome edging. The coloured leatherbelts which they wear; the large embroidered leather pouches, withdeep-cut leather fringes, which hold bullets and powder and money andhemp-tobacco; their shaved heads, with one long oiled and combed orplaited lock; their turbans, red or brown, of strings of wool, --allcomplete a Riffi, and a very fine-looking fellow he can be. The labour element, which as a whole is antagonistic to the spirit ofMorocco, crops up here and there, less in the casually fanned fields thanin out-of-the-way corners. The Potters' Caves just outside Tetuanconstitute one of those corners. There is always work going on in thecaves, and smoke coming out of one or other of the many kilns, all theyear round. Morocco and Moorish architecture would be nowhere without thepotteries. Those infinitesimal little tiles which fit together and makesuch artistic colour-patterns, lining the _al-fresco_ patios, facing thewalls of the rooms, the pillars and doorways and flooring, the housesthroughout, are every one of them kneaded and cut and baked there: crocksto wash in, pans for charcoal, immense water-pots, small water-pots, bowls and shallow basins, dishes of all sizes, and saucers down to thesmallest, even ink-bottles, all come into being there. Leaving the city by _Báb-el-Nooadtha_ (the Gate of Sheaves), a littlewinding path leads to the caves, which lie among thickets of pricklypear, at the foot of the Anjera Hills, out of which they have beenhollowed, probably by the action of water. Immense ramifications theyare--great dark halls, roofed _au naturel_ in corrugated rock withfissured sides, where maiden-hair fern hangs cool and green. Here in thedark shadows are a little company of workmen, chiefly in brown jellabsand leathern aprons, one cutting squares out of the soft clay with apenknife--he has a pattern to help him keep them exact; another cutsdiamonds, another stars: piled up together, they look like little pastryshapes in brown, beside the workmen, who are all sitting cross-legged onthe ground. A little farther on two more men are dipping the top surfaces of thediamonds into an earthenware bowl full of yellow "cream, " which willglaze and colour them, all in one. This sulphur-colour, and a blue, and awhite, are generally used for the tiles--no other shades, as a rule. Aboy in a corner is at work at one of the first processes, treading out avast circle of yellowish clay into the consistency of stiff dough. Arather superior old Moor in a white turban, perhaps the master-workman, is deftly cutting out rosettes. In the front of the cave a little browndonkey, with pasterns as weak as a reed, is standing under the weight offour great earthenware pots full of water, two balanced on each side itspack. A boy empties them one by one of the water, pouring it into anatural basin scooped out in the ground, well puddled with clay, andtherefore without a leak. The water is wanted to mix with the "dough. "Then the donkey patters off for another load, the boy sitting sideways onits pack and shaking his heels--that makes it go. To the left stands a kiln in process of being packed with millions of theclay dice, which, baked hard, dove-tailed together, and forming a smooth, polished surface, will keep many a room cool. The kiln next door to it, is full of pots and pans of all shapes and sizes, but its opening isplastered up with clay, and they are not to be seen. Into the great fieryfurnace underneath, a man is thrusting dry brown bushes, and driedprickly pear, and whatever rubbish will burn. Much of it has been hackedoff the hillside by women, and has come on their backs many a mile. Thereis a crackling sound, smoke comes out, and a pink flame glows behind theman's body. The tiles ought to bake all right. Meanwhile, the same boy inside the cave has got his clay into goodorder--it is about two inches thick, and something the size of a biground table; then he stoops down, and, with a knife held in both hands, scores the clay across, much as toffee is scored; which done, eachsquare, about a foot in diameter, is carried off to be cut up into littleshapes or to go upon the potter's wheel. The potter sat in his little pit, working the wheel with his foot--asCarlyle says, "one of the venerablest objects, old as the Prophet Ezekieland far older. Rude lumps of clay, how they spin themselves up, by merequick whirling, into beautiful circular dishes. " The potter thumped his wet clay; then, as the wheel turned, pressed andmoulded it with clever clay-encrusted hands: the sleeves were turned backfrom his bony chocolate-coloured arms. He had a grey goatee and a quietsmile, a dirty turban round his head, a white tunic mostly clay, andunderneath a claret-coloured garment showed at the neck. He was a spare, wizened old man: perhaps his work, like Dante's, had madehim "lean for many years. " The faster his wheel revolved, the truerapparently was the shape of the vessel he turned out. His country mightaccept the lesson--that labour, like the wheel, conduces towards a goodend. I fancy that a decadent people, who will neither work nor spin, butchoose to rest and lie at ease, give the potter Destiny no chance. He hasno wheel, this potter--for Morocco will not labour, nor be broken, nordisciplined; and so he is reduced to a mere kneading and baking, withoutthe means he fain would employ; and he turns out a mere makeshift--hisproduction at best is "not a dish; no, a bulging, kneaded, crooked, shambling, squint-cornered, amorphous botch--a mere enamelled vessel ofdishonour. " [Illustration: SELLING EARTHENWARE POTS. [_To face p. 178. _] The great pot which the potter slowly evolved out of the soft brown clayunder our eyes was not perfect: he made it entirely by eye, and itmatched the rest of the group to the ordinary observer; yet it had adistinct "lean. " Did it grumble to itself, that vessel of the more ungainly make? as human vessels complain sometimes:-- They sneer at me for leaning all awry; What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake? Beyond the potter the ground was covered with an army of his softmud-coloured vessels, all sorted and arranged in groups which matched, dozen after dozen, far back into the inner shadows of the cave, like someweird and interminable china shop. I gave the old man a cigarette, whichhe puffed at over his wheel. In the next cave a white-bearded Aaron was solemnly dipping dishes into abowl of blue colour and glaze, and placing each with his finger and thumbon a board by him among countless fellows, while with his other hand hegravely swirled the liquid to prevent its setting. Others next him wereagain cutting out shapes; and three potters were hard at work, onemoulding the bodies of pots, another the necks, another the lids, while afourth put all three together. And thus they laboured on. Their slippers lay in the mouths of the cavesbeside their brown jellabs; and the smell of the moist clay and the dripof water up amongst the green fern mixed with the cool air. Almighty Potter, on whose wheel of blue The world is fashioned, and is broken too, Why to the race of men is heaven so dire? In what, O wheel, have I offended you? CHAPTER VII COUNTRY PEOPLE FORDING THE RIVER--WE CALL ON CI HAMED GHRALMIA--ANEXPEDITION ACROSS THE RIVER IN SEARCH OF THE BLUE POOL--MOORISH BELIEF INGINNS--THE BASHA--POWDER PLAY--TETUAN PRISON. CHAPTER VII Set not thy heart on any good or gain-- Life means but pleasure, or it means but pain; When Time lets slip a little perfect hour, Oh! take it--for it will not come again. MANY walks began by degrees to tell upon our boots, for the cobble-stonesof Tetuan and the rocks of Morocco in general are meant less for bootsthan for bare feet, which they do not seem to damage. In time, stress ofcircumstances drove us to a curly black-headed Jew bootmaker, whose mostexpensive pair of thick black boots cost nine shillings. AnotherIsraelite made us suits of rough brown jellab material, for the sum of £1each--stuff which wore for ever. The mountains on the opposite side of the river were our El Dorado, butthe river would not go down in January and allow of our fording it; rainfollowed rain, and it was higher than ever. One market day we walked downto watch the people from the other side come across, on their way intothe sok, laden with country produce. Years ago a bridge had been builtover the Wad-el-Martine, but, like other Moorish architecture, it was notbuilt to last, and the immense floods which swing down the Wad-el-Martinein winter-time soon left only a broken pier or two, to point out that abridge had been thought of. The money to build it was supplied byGovernment: half of it went into the pocket of the builder; a littlewent towards the bridge, which naturally could only be built of rubbish, without proper foundations. Now that there is no bridge, it is once more, as it had been for ages upon ages, a case of ferrying across by the bigferry-boat, or of fording. Since ferrying means money, and fording only awetting, most of the market-goers ford. It was a sight to see the countrywomen wading through, one after anotherlike a string of ducks, trying to keep dry: the water came just about upto their bodies, and the white haik and piece of towelling for a skirtcould be bundled up somehow--a very few wore short white cotton drawers. Their legs were remarkable for an enormous development of muscle inunusual places. Once across, they wrung out anything which had beenwetted, shivering somewhat; then arranged their voluminous haiks afreshover the mysterious great bundles on their backs, and, padding off insingle file, made for the city. What those bundles, which bent theirbacks half double, had inside them it was impossible to certify: oftenpart of it was a baby, judging by a round shape like a head under thehaik, and the fact that, when it had a knock, there was a cry: the restmight be chickens, oranges, vegetables, baskets of eggs, baskets ofcoos-coosoo, heads of brooms made of bamboo, honey, and so on. Some ofthe chickens dangled in front of the women by strings tied to theirwaists: the chickens were alive, of course. [Illustration: A FERRY-BOAT ON MARKET DAY. [_To face p. 184. _] On the tops of their heads the women wore enormous straw hats, with brimslarge enough to act as umbrellas and to keep the rain off theirshoulders. The ferry-boat, packed with them _and_ these straw hats, wasworth seeing, like a grand-stand in a shower hidden by umbrellas. Theweights which the women carry for hours at a time are almost incredible;but they begin as tiny girls, lopping along after their mothers at ahalf-run under tiny bundles, with the same bent backs; and habit issecond nature. After the string of women came along a youth, with two small donkeys, laden with panniers full of green vegetables. The donkeys jibbed upon thebrink; many "Arrahs" and curses and much cudgelling with a stick got themstarted; the panniers swayed horribly, and threatened to turn completelyround, as the current pushed the donkeys over this side and that. Oncein, they made pluckily for the opposite shore; but the stream carriedthem down; the water was well up their bodies; the distracted boy plungedand struggled behind first this one and then the other, whichever seemedin most danger--for the ford was none too wide. Urging them to keepup-stream, he clung on to one refractory pannier. The water rose higherand almost took them off their feet; but that was the worst place; now itwas better. The leading donkey was in safety in shallower water, nearingdry land; but the other poor fellow seemed less strong, and was not ableto make half such a good fight of it--its load may have been heavier. Inspite of the boy it got lower and lower down-stream: suddenly there wasan upheaval and a splash; its head went under altogether, pack andeverything in a hole. Then the boy surpassed himself; for, deep as itwas, he was there in a moment, got hold of the donkey behind, and pushedand half lifted, at no small risk to himself, and pulled, until thelittle fellow, after several relapses, found his feet. Finally, he wadedout, and stood, like a drowned rat, on the bank, pack and all streaming;then he collected himself after a pause, and doddered off towards thesok. The boy shook himself and his soaked clothes, clutched his stick, and ran after his donkeys. A well-to-do Moor, possibly a sheikh, was the next to go for the ford. He probably farmed, and his sleek mule was full of green corn and"beans. " They were things of colour, the pair of them: all the mule'sappointments scarlet, himself a glossy brown; while his master, in darkblue, sat tight on his scarlet saddle, his bright chased stirrupsflashing, so short as to bring his feet right up the mule's side--histurban, white as snow, with the red peak of the fez underneath, thedeepest blot of colour, against the sky. A white garment waved out in thebreeze under the blue jellab; he sat straight as a withy, feeling themule's mouth with a hard hand, and bringing its nose into the air. Therewere some bravado and a great deal of assurance in the whole. The worldused him well. Moors ride everywhere, if they possess anything with fourlegs. Why should they give themselves the fatigue of walking? But besidesthat, they are horsemen and most at home on a horse, while their countryis not one to travel in on foot. Having decided that the river was fordable, and that we ought to be ableto ride across it, we walked back by way of the city, and went in to teawith a Moor, ordering a donkey to be sent out the next day to JinanDolero, which should take us across to our El Dorado. The Moor whoentertained us was a certain Ci Hamed Ghralmia, the eldest son of aGovernment official who had fattened physically and financially on theCustoms, and whose fine house represented so many perquisites and bribes, and so much pared off the lump sum which went annually up to the Sultan. It was as luxurious a house as Eastern could wish: soft Rabat carpets, old Fez silk hangings, round the four-post beds, standing back inrecesses in the room into which our host led us, --hangings such as evenFez can no longer produce; such silk is not made. One piece, which wasquite as handsome in its way, was made years ago in Tetuan, from Tetuansilk-worms, reared on the slopes outside the Mulberry Gate--spun, dyed, and woven in Tetuan. Couches and divans filled up the corners; glowing colours and fine snowylinen abounded. It was a house in which to spend a sleepy Sabbathafternoon on a hot day, if it must be spent indoors. Cool air blewthrough the high rooms; the splash and ripple of fountains rose and fellin the cool marble patio below, and echoed up the tiled staircase; whileback, far in the shade of the secluded rooms, among avenues of pillars, vistas of light and shade, women like butterflies, in mauve and yellowand white, rose from some soft scented divan and flitted across. And inthe centre of it all, a little king, Ci Hamed Ghralmia--a pale, café-au-lait complexioned man, who looked as if life had never shown himone of its angles. He was fat and lineless: soft white hands, fleshyankles, no knots of muscle in so well-turned-out a mould of cream, not aspot, not a flush, no sign of liver; the lips slightly suggestedsensuality, and there was a line of cruelty round the mouth, but nofurther indication of self-indulgence; he might have lived on sugar andchicken coos-coosoo all his life, and altered in nothing but size sincehe was a year old, except for a beard on the soft white chin, and hiseyes, which were infinitely cunning. Brown and cold, like polishedmarbles, they had not reached that stage of cunning which veils itscunning, but would still gleam at the sight of money and expresssatisfaction over a well-made bargain. They were suspicious, as theignorant generally are, and believed in little that they saw. The oldBiblical characters who walk Morocco to-day have most of them the samefailing: they are sly. Ci Hamed Ghralmia was an "advanced" Moor--that is to say, in theafternoons, lying on his divan, he read Arabic books. He had bought someFrench knick-knacks too. He told us that he rented a shop, in which hesat in the mornings and chatted to his friends, using it not in any wayto dispose of any goods, of which it was devoid, but as a sort of "club"or meeting-place. Then in the afternoons he occasionally rode out on hismule. He had a garden, I think, outside the city. Or he played chess witha friend, or read. Perhaps he would use his _hummum_ (Turkish bath); hewould pray at his own particular mosque, regularly, so many times a day;and he would drink much green tea, and consume sugar, and sleepinordinately. Thirty years of this life in Tetuan found Ci Hamed Ghralmia still acontented man--supremely so. Wrapped in the finest white wool and muslinclothes, he lay along a divan opposite to us upon one elbow, the pictureof ease, and talked away. No Moor was ever anything but self-composed. Upon our camera's coming out, he was much interested; and to prove hisprogressive and enlightened state of mind, let us photograph him just ashe lay there--a vast, voluminous white chrysalis. Then he took us to seehis wives and slaves--a large party of them. They were allowed to comeout on to the staircase and talk to us; but when the interview had lastedfive minutes, Ci Hamed Ghralmia clapped his hands twice--we had seenenough--every wife and every slave vanished like magic. [Illustration: THE AUTHOR FORDING THE WAD-EL-MARTINE. [_To face p. 188. _] The next morning we made one of many expeditions up into the hills on theopposite side of the river, towards the south, and in the direction, though somewhat west, of the Riff. We rode in turns, it being somewhat ofa rest to scramble along on foot, to say nothing of exercise. The biggrey donkey had our lunch, a camera, some field-glasses, and a box forbotanical specimens slung about him. We had a fairly intelligentboy--Mohammed, a Riffi--and managed to understand a word or two he said. It had been explained to him by S`lam that we wished to get to the BluePool if possible. Arrived at the river, we found nobody--not being marketday, it was utterly deserted. The current was still swirling in aforbidding fashion, but Mohammed led the donkey straight in with R. ; hetucked up his clothes, held his yellow slippers high in one hand, andafter some goading they landed on the opposite bank. Mohammed left hisslippers, rode back through the river for me, and in due time I wasdeposited on the shingle. Off we set--first by a narrow path, thick oneach side with scented violets, and closed in with the usualten-foot-high cane fence. More streams had to be forded, but they weresmall and the donkey strong; so, to save time, I sat above his tail, behind R. , and he carried us across in one journey. So far we were still down on the flats; the hills towered in front of us;and among the streams, and where the river in its vagaries had oftenflowed, there was deposited many a rich bed of fruitful mud, turned intovaluable land, the very soil _par excellence_ for oranges. And they wereall around us--garden after garden, acre after acre, foliage studded withgold knobs by the million. And among them, and as far as the eye couldreach, up into the gorge between the hills, picturesque whitegarden-houses showed through rifts in the half-tropical foliage, or overhedges of prickly pear and oleander. Fig-trees, a hundred years old, madefaded grey blotches amongst the vivid greenery; the pink bloom of apricotwas stainless against stained-yellow walls. In such a place, theinexorable realism of the age in which we live, was shaken--spiritsthere surely were which should appear. We passed an old countrywoman with a tiny donkey carrying two greatpanniers full of green-stuffs: she was in difficulties, having a wrestleto make it cross a little stream. Mohammed went to her assistance. Onceover, she climbed on its small back with the help of a stone, putting herfoot on its neck to get into her place. And now, leaving the orange gardens and their wealth, our path took anupward turn into a more rugged country, a less fruitful soil. We left afield of pale blue flax on the left--a "blue pool" indeed; and about thispoint the donkey's pack, which had no breastplate, slipped over its tail;but Mohammed's knife, and some string, and the britching, put all torights for the time being. Later on a stirrup-leather broke. Following our winding path, we reached at last a white saint-house, whichdominated a little hill overgrown with gnarled grey olives, and actedguardian over a large and flourishing village which lay below, --at leastit was a collection of mud huts, and more of them than usual, but, likeso many of these "villages, " seemed to all intents and purposesdeserted--a city of the dead. Many of the inhabitants were out no doubt, but those who were in were not tempted by curiosity to stare at us:without windows there can be no signs of the rites which are carried oninside the houses. All we saw were dogs, fierce brutes, which stonesalone kept at a distance, where they sat showing their teeth andbristling their crests ominously. The saint-house, of course, was forbidden ground: we went as close ascommon sense permitted, and from under the shady olives looked back atTetuan down below us, a snow-white streak in the valley. Some rags were hanging upon a bush near us. It is an interesting andcurious practice, that of hanging votive rags upon the bushes aroundchapels and holy shrines: no less venerable is the performance ofpilgrimages to the same. Both practices go back into the dim ages. Theyare in use to this day amongst the Shintoists of Japan, and theinhabitants of Northern Asia, India, the Orkneys, and remote corners ofIreland, where sickly children are dipped in streams, or passed throughholes in stones or trees so many times running, going against the way ofthe sun, in order to produce the effect of making the sick child asstrong as a lion. Then an offering must be made to the saint, and a ragis torn off somebody's garment, and tied to a bush near his grave, toshow that they would have done more for the good saint if they had hadthe power. Rag-trees, burdened with the tattered offerings of the devout andimpecunious tribes-people, flourish throughout Morocco, --signs hangingout, and blown by the wind, in the face of travellers; warnings of thedeep-rooted superstition entangled in the innermost heart-cells of itspeople, to be disturbed at imminent peril. Leaving the saint-house and village, we struck a path upwards into a wildgorge, at the bottom of which a brawling torrent was tumbling. It turnedmany rude mills, and there were lush fields of corn on its banks. Faraway in the grey distance now, to the north, we could see a dark wedge ofrock, almost on the sky-line beyond the Anjera and other hills ofMorocco: _the_ Rock--Gibraltar. At this point we lunched. Mohammed was provided, and dropped behind arock: the donkey grazed. A little boy, minding goats, came up with afascinating pocket-knife, but would not let it go out of his hand. Aclear stream gave us drink--it was warm; bees hummed in the balmy air;there was an aromatic scent; clouds hung round the hills; the panoramabelow was essentially peaceful and "Christian. " And then we went on in search of the far-famed Blue Pool. But though wereached where the river lay in still pools, blue beyond all known blues, we found no more--only traces of a great flood and landslips, which, Isuspect, had washed away the lake people had talked of. We found enoughto bring us back on other days, and to understand why the missionariestake up their tents and camp in the mountains in the summer. We returned by a path farther west, and passed a great olive wood full ofblack shadows. The scrub on the hillsides holds pig--there are plenty ofthem; and the boars become more or less antagonistic at certain times inthe year. We were told tales of people who had met with terrifyingadventures, but personally our expeditions had no such thrillingincidents connected with them. It would have been unwise to stay out after sunset, and that time alwayssaw us back at Jinan Dolero. It is said to be the most unsafe hour; formen are coming into Tetuan, and if they can waylay and rob or murder atraveller, and make their way into the city before the gates shut, halfan hour after sunset, and sleep there, who shall suspect them of darkdeeds done outside in the evening? Besides, Mohammed would never haveconsented to be out late, on account of the firm belief which Moors havein evil spirits. There is a special race of beings, they hold, in manyrespects like men, in others like spirits, called _ginns_. Theirprincipal abode is the under-world, but they come up on to the earth, andare fond of lurking in wells and in dark corners, even in houses. Roomsare often haunted by ginns: men are surrounded by ginns. Some of themore enlightened Moors are inclined to represent ginns as merelysuperstitious imaginations and hallucinations on the part of theignorant; but probably in his heart of hearts, no Moor but has a secretdesire to propitiate ginns, and a secret dread of falling in with them. Ginns eat and drink and propagate their species, and even form sexualconnections with men. A man whose wife is any way odd or mysterious hasmarried of course a ginn. Ginns are fond of inhabiting rivers, woods, thesea, ruins, springs, drains, and caves; they come out at night more thanby day, and in certain streets no Moor will walk at night. Nor will aMoor sleep alone in a room. Ginns, when they appear, take the forms ofmen, goats, cats, dogs, almost any animal in fact, and also monsters. Whirlwinds, and shooting stars, and dear times, and famine, andepidemics, are all caused by ginns. It is the ginns who have eaten allthe food in the city when prices are exorbitant. If a man falls down inthe dark, it is a ginn: a sudden illness or an accident is the work of aginn. There are good ginns, but bad ginns are more common. The worst ofthem all is _Iblis_ (the devil). Iblis tempts men to wickedness. Alliniquity is the fault of Iblis. In order to keep the bad ginns at a distance, certain precautions may betaken. Salt and steel are antidotes. Salt in the hand when going out atnight, salt in the pillow when sleeping, are measures which should beused. In building a house some people put salt and wheat and an egg intothe ground, and kill a goat on the threshold. On sinking a well (thestronghold of ginns) a goat or sheep must always be killed. The best talisman against ginns is the repetition of certain passages inthe Kor[=a]n: when passing a dark spot, say the "Ajatu-l-kursi": as forneglecting to say "B`ism Allah" (In the name of God) before going for aride, or before doing any sort or kind of action, why, that is to have aginn as your companion on your horse, and at your elbow, whatever you maybe doing. As every place has its "owners, " its good or bad ginns, onstriking a light and going into a room Moors say, "Good-evening to you, Oye owners of the place. " And if a tent is to be pitched, first of all theprotection of good ginns must be solicited in that spot. Supposing a ginn gets hold of a man, and he is ill, there are certaindoctors, magicians, among the Moors who can cast the ginn out. Theypractice a regular "ginn-cult, " and celebrate annual feasts, goingoutside Tetuan to a certain spring near the Moorish cemetery, and killinga bullock, a black goat, a black donkey, and some chickens. The word _ginn_ originally meant "the secret, " "the mysterious, " "thehidden"; and the belief in ginns is part of the actual creed ofMohammedans, Arabs, and Berbers alike. But Moors have a hundredsuperstitions. They believe that all animals had a language once upon atime, --that the horse prays to Allah when he stretches out his leg; thatthe donkey which falls down, asks Allah that the same may happen to hismaster. They say that the donkey was once a man whom Allah changed intohis present shape because he washed himself with milk; that the stork wasa _kadi_, or judge, who was made a stork because he passed unjustsentences upon his fellow-men. It is therefore a sin to kill a stork, ora crow, or a toad, or a white spider, or a white chicken. A white spideronce spun its web over a cave where Mohammed hid: his enemies saw it, thought therefore that no one could have recently entered the cave, andpassed on. It is hardly necessary to say, that about Death--the Great Secret--thereare numerous superstitions. There were too many funerals in Tetuan: earlyin the afternoon one was often encountered at the Gate of the Tombs;death would only have taken place that morning, without much inquiry asto its cause, and whether by fair means or foul nobody knew and fewcared. The procession came swinging along, stately men in flowinggarments, white and dark, chanting the weird funeral hymn or"lament"--always the same mournful, monotonous cadence, rising andfalling in the narrow streets, and at last out into the air. And thenonce through the Báb-el-M`kabar, the great company in white turn into theMoorish burial-ground, and arrange themselves in a long line against thehillside, and the chant becomes general, almost a great cry, full of thestrange fascination of certain Eastern music, withal so unintelligible toEuropeans. The body, loosely wrapped in white, lies on an open bier. After a sort ofservice on that rough hillside against the walls of the city, theprocession winds on again to the shallow grave: a last chant, and thebody goes into the earth, and is quickly covered. A scribe, or reader, isleft behind when every one has gone: he reads pieces out of the Kor[=a]nover the grave, and chants. Friends, mourners perhaps, will come out onother days, and sit round the tomb, reading the Kor[=a]n together, andsinging the weird, sad melodies. You may see them. But I have never seena Moor give way to the slightest outward expression of grief. Mohammedans firmly believe, of course, in a Paradise to which the goodare admitted: their conception as to this land of the hereafter, largelyconsisting of gardens and shade, adds a bridge, by which means aloneaccess to Paradise is gained. The bridge (_Al Sirat_) is finer than ahair and sharper than a sword: the wicked invariably turn giddy and falloff into the pit of Hell, while the righteous negotiate it in safety. A rich man, when he is buried, is provided with a vault. The body is laidon its right side, its sightless eyes turned to Mecca. During the firstnight, Mohammedans hold that the soul remains in the body for the purposeof being interrogated by two angels before it can be admitted intoParadise. They appear, and the body is roused to a sitting posture and totemporary life. It replies to the dread examination. If this endsunsatisfactorily, the angels torture and beat the body, until thesepulchre closes in upon it. But if they approve the soul's replies, theybid the man sleep on in peace in the protection of God. Travellers complain of a want of "pageant" in Morocco. Ostentatiousfunerals and processions of all sorts, public demonstrations overtrifles, the worship of gilt and glitter, and the emotional spirit called_loyalty_, of the present day, do not exist in El Moghreb. There is aspirit of simplicity about its shows; they do not breathe of money: oldas their customs are, there is vigour in them and a certain amount ofuse, for the people have not outgrown them, do not make of them so manylay figures on which to display signs of their own great wealth. The Day of the Great Feast up at Court with the Sultan, that is _thepageant_ in all Morocco. We missed it. Connected with the bashas and kaids, who are the only great men in thecountry or in the cities, there is little or no respect or formality. Only on Sundays a sort of "flash in the pan" reminds the Moor that he hasa little despot in his midst, who is more or less lord of his life; andthe drums are heard all over the city, the soldiers turn out, for thebasha goes to pray at _El Aoli_ (noon) in his own particular mosqueopposite his house. On Friday, the Sabbath, the biggest _sok_ (market) in all the week, alittle black flag was flown from the mosque-tops early in the morning toremind Tetuan of the holy day. The basha was inside the cool mosque, praying, at the hottest time of the day; outside a few people collected, though the same event happened every Friday. No Moor is ever busy, everhurries, but can always wait. At a quarter to one a bugler on the eastside of the street, who had been sitting in the sun with his bugle, gotup and blew a call to fall in. About sixty soldiers, who had all strolledoff after the great man had disappeared into the mosque, sauntered upfrom different directions. If they were a ragged and indifferentlydrilled company, there was colour in the ranks at least. Every man wore ashort scarlet flannel tunic, a pair of white cotton drawers, and a redfez: one drummer had a tunic of beetle-green. As they lined the street, short sturdy men, with hairy legs and coffee-coloured faces, their brightbayonets flashing in the sun, the drums thumping and the trumpeterrunning up and down the scale, the dazzling sunlight gave a trace ofsplendour to the medley of scarlet and steel against the whitewashedwalls. Everybody waited expectant. A stout man in white came out of the mosque, ordered the small boys away, and saw that there was ample room for thebasha to pass across the street and into his own house. Then the ordinarycrowd of worshippers began to file out of the building--prayers over:green-blue kaftans lined with crimson silk, filmy white robes, snowyturbans, moved slowly along--a dignified, impressive crowd. There was apause before the basha appeared, a man arranging his two yellow slippersside by side upon the doorstep of the mosque. Another moment and thegreat, voluminous, expected figure filled the doorway. A twist of hisankles and he was in his slippers, the bugle sounded, the ragged squadpresented arms somewhat untidily, a line of servants bowed themselves lowand respectfully before him, and the basha moved slowly across thestreet. Leading his own troops, dispensing justice, an after-type of those greatArabs who sprang from the sands of Arabia and Africa, shook Europe, andflourished in Spain, a basha should be no tyrant, but a courteousgentleman, a noble of "The Arabian Nights. " But there was no aristocratictrace about Asydaibdalkdar. Carrying his rosary in his hand, clothedentirely in white, his features bore traces of servility and sensuality, the result of poisoning the Arab and Berber blood with the strain fromCentral Africa. Slavery is proving fatal to the Moorish race. Unlike thewell-bred Moor, the basha's face was deeply lined: cruelty, cunning, pigheadedness, all fought for the upper hand in his swarthy countenance. He walked in under his own gateway into a courtyard beyond: there he satdown in a corner upon a seat--a great figure, much like some Indiangod--while his underlings came forward, stood in a semicircle, bowed low, and saluted him; followed by his soldiers, who marched in single fileinto the courtyard, round it, past their chief, and out again--this threetimes, to the sound of drums; then, headed by the officer in command, they trooped off to the barracks, the basha's gateway was locked, andChurch Parade was over. [Illustration: THE BASHA GOING TO PRAY. [_To face p. 198. _] For half an hour all the gates of the city had been barred and bolted, while prayers were going on--there being a superstition among the Moors, arising from an old prophecy, that on a certain morning of aMohammedan Sabbath, Christians will gain possession of the cities whilethe kaids and bashas are in the mosques. Two hundred soldiers are allowed by Government to the governor of Tetuan, by means of which he is to maintain law and order. However, a hundredonly were maintained, and the pay of the remaining half went intosomebody's pocket. There was apparently little for them to do; drill wasa thing unheard of, and they spent most of the day hanging round thebasha's house or doing errands for him. On the feast days there was _Lab-el-Barod_--the famous "Powder Play" ofMorocco; and then the soldiers all turned out into the _feddan_ (thegreat market-square), and showed what Lab-el-Barod meant: to me rather afoolish game, with but one interesting point--that it is the imitation ofthe old Arab tribal battle. To-day the Moors gallop forward, stand up intheir saddles, fire their guns under their horses' necks, over theirtails--all this at full gallop--throw their guns into the air and catchthem, and last of all pull up in an incredibly short space, draggingtheir horses right on to their haunches, which evolutions are imitationsof what their ancestors did with spear and javelin. Lab-el-Barodprevailed in Spain till the middle of the eighteenth century, and it isstill played in the East with reeds. There is of course a picturesqueelement in it--white turbans, white garments streaming in the wind, scarlet saddles, flashing steel, hard-held horses with yards of tail, andabove all, the lithe figures in perfect balance whatever their positions;but the performance is often too "ragged" to be impressive, and itstrenuously demands flats of desert as a background. The basha would always come out and look on when there was one of these"field days" at Tetuan: his figure was not adapted to his participationtherein, being perfectly in keeping with his walk in life, and that walkconsisted in his sitting from six o'clock to ten o'clock in the morning, and from three o'clock to six o'clock in the afternoon, in a small openroom off the street opposite his house, in a reclining position uponcushions, before him an excited group (as often as not), contradicting, swearing, gesticulating, abusing, all at the same moment--one of whom iscarried off by the soldiers to be flogged, another is sent to prison, or, if the seekers after justice wax more troublesome than ordinary, they mayall be thrown into prison by the heels together to calm them. At the sametime the basha absorbs bribes, and sweeps loaves of sugar, packets ofcandles, and pounds of tea into his net. These are the ordinary bribes. When he was appointed basha, a royal letter from the Sultan was sent toTetuan and read aloud in the mosque: then he entered upon his duties. Hemust needs go warily from day to day; and even then luck may desert himat any moment, and a summons may arrive from the Sultan--he is to go toCourt at once. I recollect in what abject terror, one basha, who was sentfor at a day's notice, set out upon his journey, only to find, when hegot to Court, that he was to have a more lucrative billet and a higherpost of honour. Many who have departed in terror, all unknowing of thefuture, have found, when they reached Fez or Morocco City, where-ever theSultan might be, that their worst fears were realized. Either placedunder arrest, tortured, imprisoned, or bastinadoed, the little wealththey had accumulated is extorted from them, under the pretext of therebeing arrears in taxes or other dues, which must be made good. Thewooden jellab is used for the purpose of extorting confession in the caseof imaginary wealth supposed to be hidden (and much often is hidden): itis made of wood, resembling in shape a long cloak, and placed in anupright position; the inside is lined with iron points, which prevent thebody from resting against it without suffering. Inside this "jellab" thebasha is squeezed, standing up, and he remains there on a sparse diet ofbread and water till he divulges. Both the Prime Minister and the Minister of War were sent to the prisonin Tetuan soon after the accession of the present Sultan; but that wasfor plotting against his life. In the common gaol, heavily chained, underthe same roof with the herd of common prisoners, all they were allowedwas a curtain across one corner, behind which they sat. The PrimeMinister died there. The Minister of War is there to-day, March 1902, and, after over seven years' confinement, getting fat. Some members ofthe Rahamna tribe are there also. This tribe, which belongs to the farsouth, near Morocco City, about eight years ago was in a state ofrebellion, to quell which the Sultan sent his army with orders to _eatthem up_. Their fat lands and fine gardens were ruined; men, women, andchildren killed and taken prisoners; while six hundred of them were sentto the Tetuan prison, and a great number--I do not know exactly--went toRabat. That was eight years ago. Sixty of them are in Tetuan prison now, the remnant of six hundred. There is a kaid among them who is very ill, dying: the eight years have done for him. Since this was written, an order has come from the Sultan for the releaseof the Rahamna tribesmen. In Rabat, unfortunately, almost all who were inthe Kasbah prison died long ago. Its insanitary condition has earned forit the name of _Dar-el-Mout_ (the House of Death). But in the otherprison there were survivors. These came out with traces of the lategovernor's butchery. For trying to send a written petition to the Sultan three years ago, which set forth their condition, and prayed that after five years'confinement they might be considered to have paid for their rebelliousdeeds, and be allowed to return to their own land for the last years oftheir lives, the late governor, Ba Hamed, gave orders that their handsshould be mutilated. A knife was drawn across the back of the wrist, cutting the extensor tendons of the hand: the hand was packed with salt, and sewn up in wet cow-hide. When this was taken off or wore off, it wasnot recognizable as a hand. Miss Hanbury, who did her best to institute reforms in Moorish prisons, and succeeded in Tangier, left at her death a sum of money, out of which£5 came to Tetuan to be spent on their behalf. It fell into the hands ofthe lady missionaries, and they spent it in making jellabs for theprisoners to wear, whose garments are worse than filthy. Unfortunately £5was not nearly enough to clothe all; it only provided a jellab for oneout of every three of the prisoners, and the poor wretches fought likedogs for them. "They will wear them in turns, " the gaoler said. He and another Moor hadsuperintended the distribution of them; and to their lasting disgrace, deaf to argument and remonstrance on the part of the missionaries, theyeach appropriated a jellab to himself, saying, "This is my share; thisgoes to me. " They were of coarse material, such as neither gaoler norunder-gaoler would ever wear themselves: all they would do would be totake them into market and convert them into money. "Moors have _no_ feelings, " people say, and say wrongly; but that, to agreat extent, it is true take just one instance--the state of theprisons and prisoners. It was enough in the distance to "wind" the Tetuanprison. There remains the reflection--call it comforting if youlike--that a people who consent to endure such filth, and misery, andharsh treatment, are not affected by them in the same way in which ahighly civilized people would be affected. It is absurd to blame the Moorish Government; it is absurd to say, "Thepeople are obliged to endure. " No people can be forced to endure: a pointcomes beyond endurance, and they rebel, choosing death rather. Thevigorous and progressive race endures least. Therefore on the Moors' ownheads be the state of their prisons, the treatment of their prisoners: tothat cursed spirit of _laissez-faire_ half the blame is due; the restcomes of their indifference to suffering, to bad smells and dirt and asedentary existence. It is manifestly unfair to blame certain ministersand officials. Taking into consideration the manners and customs, hopesand fears, of the Moorish people, their prisons probably suit them rightwell, and they need no pity. * * * * * It was not always easy to get provisions, except life's bare necessities, in Tetuan. Provision Stores, which were long out of their goods, alwayshad the same answer when asked for them--"M[=a]nana" (To-morrow); andto-morrow never came. But it is unwise to "hustle the East": men havedied trying to find a way of doing so. Therefore we chewed withphilosophy the cud of the Moorish proverb:-- "_Manage with bread and butter till God brings the jam. _" On the whole we fared not amiss, while our establishment, with its twoRiffi servants, man and wife, worked well, until an occurrence took placewhich shook it to its very foundations, and left us to the end with aquestion which will never be solved. One evening, about half-past five, just as we had settled ourselves downafter tea to read, there was an unusual stir on the stairs. A minutelater and the door burst open. Tahara staggered in, followed by S`lam, who seemed very much excited and alarmed. The woman was deathly pale; hereyes were ringed with black. R. And I, seeing she was ill, jumped to theconclusion that something or other was very wrong with her, and tried tomake her sit down, or lie down, at once, on our divan. In a confusedscene which followed, the only words we grasped were, "Tabiba, tabiba"(Doctor), and S`lam, at our instigation, rushed downstairs to go off toTetuan, and to bring back with him Miss Z----, one of the ladymissionaries. Tahara was almost beside herself, apparently with terror, and for a few moments one was inclined to doubt her sanity. We triedvainly to quiet her, almost holding her on the divan; but there wasevidently something on her mind which every moment threw her into freshagitations, and--_ah! what would we not have given to have understoodArabic!_ for Tahara knew no French, like S`lam, and could barely say halfa dozen words in English; her Spanish, of which she knew a few words, wasGreek to us too. "Signorita! signorita! tabiba!" she kept repeating, wailing, and then atorrent of Shillah and Arabic and Spanish would follow, and we were atour wits' end. At last R. Managed to quiet her a little, and by-and-by tomake her try to help us to understand, by saying slowly in Arabic two orthree words which would be intelligible to us, together with the word orso of English which she herself knew. Then we gathered that her onedesire was that I should go to the tabiba's. But why? We told her thatS`lam had gone. She burst out into fresh agonies and shrieks: "S`lam notgo! S`lam not go!" Then she got up, and apparently wished to godownstairs--the last thing we thought she ought to do; but all ourefforts to keep her still seemed rather futile; and from what she wastrying to make us understand, there was more behind than we had an ideaof. She went, almost ran, down into her and S`lam's bedroom, we followinghard behind. Inside the room she tip-toed up to a recess high in thewall, almost out of her reach, and with difficulty lifted down a smallbundle of rags. This she unrolled, fold after fold, before our eyes, while a thousand guesses as to what was coming rushed through the brain;the last rag came off, and a small blue bottle, about four inches high, lay in her hand. She held it up to the light. It was half full of acolourless liquid like water. We read the label--"Prussic Acid. Poison";and an ugly fear took the place of vague conjecture. "Who has eaten this?" R. Asked in scanty Arabic. "Anna" (I), replied Tahara. The remedy of hot boiled milk rushed into both our heads at once, butTahara was again beginning in a fresh agony, which was now morepersistent than only terrified; and choking off her stream of words, wemanaged to gather, that what she wanted was to go herself with me intothe city, at once, to Miss Z----. Now a few drops of prussic acid ofcourse meant that she had not long to live, and yet there were nosymptoms of poisoning so far as we could gather at present. She mighthave taken it in a diluted form certainly. The whole thing was possiblywild imagination on her part. At any rate Miss Z---- would understandher, and that we could not do. I hurried on my boots, questioning as to whether the woman really meantthat S`lam had poisoned her. R. Helped Tahara wind her long white woollenhaik round her. In two minutes I was ready. Tahara slipped into herslippers, and, with the white shrouded figure clinging to me, in thefast-deepening dusk we started. It took fully twenty minutes to walk from Jinan Dolero to the house inthe middle of the city where the lady missionaries lived and had adispensary. Miss Z---- had had some medical experience, and was a cleverwoman. She understood, probably as far as any European can understand, the Moorish character; and it was with some confidence--possibly on thepart of us both--that we set out. But the way seemed lengthy; I knew thatS`lam would be there long before we could arrive: through the city thereare at least three intricate ways by which the house is reached, and myheart sank as I reflected that there was every chance of Miss Z---- andS`lam's taking another way than our own, and thus missing us. Meanwhile, it was growing darker every moment. Would the city gate still be openwhen we reached it? Was it not certain to be shut when we wanted toreturn? Tahara hung on to my arm and hand. There had been rain, and we bothslipped about in the dark, and splashed into unseen pools; she took offher pink slippers and carried them in one hand, and paddled along on herbare feet at a Moorish woman's top speed, still shaking with terror. Three or four times, dark as it was, she stopped and put out her tonguefor me to look at it. It seemed very pink, and I did my utmost toreassure her, having disturbing visions of her collapsing altogether onthe grass; for if she was to be understood rightly and believed, she hadpains in her body, and breathing seemed an effort. We were crossing the cemetery now by one of the intricate paths whichintersect it. There seemed not a soul within sight or sound. Every Moorwould be inside his house or hut. I hoped Tahara would pull herselftogether and last as far as Miss Z----'s. She said she was _bueno_, meaning good, better, and spoke again of thebottle which she was carrying carefully hidden in her waistband. Then, asfar as I could understand, she wished me to know that the poison hadsomething to do with the signoritas--ourselves--and our food. This was amost unpleasant reflection: I devoutly hoped that R. Would not begindinner before I got back, and comforted myself with the assurance that itwas unlikely, there being no one to get it ready. We had no outside manat that time sleeping in the house. "S`lam _no_ good; S`lam _no_ good, " Tahara kept repeating. And, to tellthe truth, our long-legged ruffian rose before my eyes as no meanembodiment of a stage villain. The Riffis are notoriously treacherous andput no value whatever on life; at the same time I knew that they madegood and faithful servants up to a certain point, and I shrank fromdistrusting a man who had so far served us well. And yet, how much doesone know of them? Nothing. We had had suspicions that all was not goingsmoothly with the two servants: though they had been married so latelythere was friction between them; Tahara had been heard crying at night, and had looked red-eyed. It was likely, therefore, that there had been aquarrel. S`lam's old mother may have made mischief. She was madly jealous ofTahara, whom S`lam had married without letting her know. He had gone overto Tangier; had arranged the marriage with Tahara's brother, who wasliving at Tangier with her; had brought her off, hardly a happy orwilling bride, for he told us that she cried the whole of the journey;and had sprung her upon his old mother at Tetuan. In his bachelor daysS`lam's earnings had gone to the old woman. Now they were spent on hiswife and himself. Therefore Maman saw nothing that was good in Tahara, and would have given much, no doubt, to see the last of her. Meanwhile, the city gate drew near. Tahara was moving along firmly withher hand in mine. The gate was still open!--that was a relief. We hurriedthrough, and, seeing a group of soldiers waiting outside, I judged thatit was just about to be shut. We were none too soon: the bars behind usclanged into their places. I much wished that R. Was not henceforth cutoff from all communication with me, and left outside the city entirely byherself: there were the two guns and revolver; after all, the house wasno more likely to be molested on this night than on any other. [Illustration: THE FEDDAN, TETUAN. [_To face p. 208. _] The narrow streets were nearly pitch dark; shadowy figures passed us atfirst; and Tahara drew her haik all over her face, leaving only a slitfor the eyes, and put on her slippers once more. Occasionally a littleshop had its hard-working inmate, sewing at slippers by the light of anoil lamp; but for the most part all was black darkness. How long theintricate streets seemed! We stumbled on the rough cobbles and slid intothe muddy gutter. Tahara's slippers again impeded her, and off they came. I wished devoutly I knew where Miss Z---- was, and could make straightfor her, probably hurrying at that moment for Jinan Dolero, somewhere inthe maze of streets and houses. We crossed the great open feddan, alldeserted, and I strained my eyes for a glimpse of her tall figure besidethat of S`lam's--in vain. Late as it was, children were about; they collected gradually behind usand followed us, nor was it easy at that time of night to drive them off. Tahara, though still struggling on, was leaning heavily on my arm. Thesooner we get to the Mission House the better. Two more narrow lanes, a last winding alley, and the welcome door of thetabiba's--never more welcome. I called to Miss Z---- as I led Tahara into the courtyard. Her answeringvoice was all I would have prayed for at that moment. She was juststarting with S`lam. Leading Tahara to the door, we found him on thethreshold, with his old mother, whom he must have gone first tofetch--Maman, whom R. And I had ever distrusted: feeling that she wasafter no good the first time she came to the house, we had limited hervisits. I told S`lam to stay outside. He did not seem astonished at seeing hiswife and myself, asking not a single question of either. Miss Z---- tookTahara upstairs into her bedroom, and I followed, explaining that Taharadid not want any one else to come in. For a moment or two, after we gother up into the room, all her old terror seemed to return; she was unableto speak, and collapsed upon the floor--a ghastly colour. Brieflyexplaining to Miss Z---- that Tahara believed herself to be poisoned, weknelt down on the floor and examined her. There were no apparent symptomsof poisoning--none; she was only cold and terrified beyond words. MissZ---- did her best to calm her, and laughed away her fears, hoping to getrid of the state of panic which her condition suggested more than anypoisoning. The next thing to be done was to persuade Tahara to explain matters toMiss Z----. This might have been easy enough at Jinan Dolero with S`lamout of the way; but here, feeling that he and Maman were under the verywindows, her terror was abject, and I almost gave up hope of getting asyllable out of her. We shut every window, we shut the door, we pulled down the blinds, tosatisfy her; we even stopped up the ventilation-holes; and then she stillhesitated and trembled. At last, crouched on the floor, Miss Z---- kneeling by her, Tahara, withher mouth at Miss Z----'s ear, murmured her tale in Arabic, while Iwished I could understand. _S`lam had given her poison. People in thecity had spoken against her and said evil things about her. S`lam wasjealous. He had been very angry. They had quarrelled, and he had poisonedher. But he must never, never, on any account, know that she had been tothe tabiba's to tell the tale. If S`lam suspected that Tahara knew he hadtried to poison her, and had told us of it--well, her life was not wortha flus. _ Even I knew that. Then in a fresh agony of terror she crouchedon the floor. I told her to show Miss Z---- the bottle. Now to part withthe bottle, or to run the faintest risk of S`lam's seeing it, wasevidently a nightmare to the poor girl. If he ever found out that she hadtaken it and brought it to Miss Z---- . . . We wasted many precious moments in trying to persuade Tahara to take itout of her belt, where it lay concealed, and show it to Miss Z----. Shelooked at the curtains, at the door. Could S`lam possibly see? At last, more or less by force, I got possession of it, handed it to Miss Z----with one hand, and kept Tahara still on the floor with the other. The stopper of the bottle, Miss Z---- thought, had a suspicious smell, but she gave it as her verdict that the bottle itself contained nothingbut water. She recognized it at once as having belonged to S`lam's latemaster, who always kept drugs in his house, and the name of whose Englishchemist was on the label. Miss Z---- poured a teaspoonful into a tumbler, and returned the bottleto Tahara, who was getting rabid at the delay. The teaspoonful we decidedshould be given to one of Miss Z----'s little chickens which she wasrearing. I said I would come in the morning and hear her report. Meanwhile, Tahara had refolded and hidden the precious bottle as it wasbefore, and Miss Z---- had managed more or less to reassure her, promising her that she was not poisoned this time, and laughing at herpanic. The pain of which she had complained had no doubt a natural cause:giddiness might come on through bending over the charcoal fire cookingdinner, Miss Z---- told her. Now Tahara's only terror was that S`lamshould ever find out what had happened. The bottle must be takenhome--must be replaced exactly where it had been found. Unsatisfactory as such a course was, there was some risk in pursuing anyother. S`lam, if he found out that his wife had betrayed him or hadsuspected him and come to us, might shoot her like a dog, in a passion, and be inside the borders of the Riff in a few hours. And who would blamehim, if he gave as his reason for his whole line of conduct that his wifehad been unfaithful to him, false though such a statement might be? A girl in Tetuan a few years ago was _suspected_ of having been seduced. Her father took her and her mother out to the Mussulman cemetery, withinsight and hearing of the city--the girl was sixteen: he shot her on theroad, and he and the mother dug a grave and buried her by the roadside. They went home, and no one said a word. The man still lives in Tetuan. Miss Z---- evidently shared Tahara's fears, and was anxious to allay anysuspicions which S`lam might begin to entertain. First, however, shefound out from Tahara that S`lam had no intention of poisoning thesignoritas (_us_)--that was _quite_ a mistake--at least so the girlassured her. Then, having once more reassured Tahara about her ownhealth, Miss Z---- led her downstairs; there she explained to S`lam andto his old mother that the girl was very nervous, that she had not feltwell, was to take a pill that night (one had been given her), and was tokeep quiet to-morrow, in which case she ought soon to be quite right. Miss Z---- wanted to walk out with me and to sleep at Jinan Dolero, evidently not liking our passing a night alone under such suspiciouscircumstances; but I was convinced there was no cause for fear, and Ithink we both knew that the less we made of what had happened the better;so, borrowing a lantern, I started back for Jinan Dolero, Tahara clingingto my arm, S`lam lighting the way, and the old mother following. Arrived at the city gate, it was shut. I had a strange wait alone withTahara and Maman, while S`lam fetched a soldier to unbar the gate. Thebasha's leave had to be got, and the basha sent to the EnglishVice-Consul to ask if it was his will that the gate should be opened fora British subject. Eventually we got through, all except Maman, who saidgood-night and went home. It was a cheering sight to see at last a little light far away in thevalley where our house lay--the only light visible. R. Had left thecurtains undrawn. In good time we reached the garden-house. I took Taharastraight into the bedroom, S`lam going to the kitchen to prepare dinner. The little bottle in its wrappings was immediately replaced in its niche, and Tahara ate some food which we brought her. S`lam, as usual, waited onus: he was oddly obsequious and deprecating in his manner, and I couldnot quite understand it. The night passed quietly. Early next morning Maman appeared, whichneither of us liked, but she had come ostensibly to ask after Tahara, whohad quite recovered. I walked into the city, and went to the MissionHouse to see Miss Z----. The chicken was quite as well as Tahara, and theliquid which at least one of them had taken was probably water. Even so, the mystery was not cleared up. If it was water, why did S`lam keep itwrapped up, and why did Tahara think it was poison? It was half empty. IfTahara had ever seen it full, somebody must have drunk a dose. Of courseS`lam's old master had not left a bottle of prussic acid about, and thennot missed it. He probably emptied the bottle and then threw it away; itmight have had a drop or two left in it, and the bottle may have beenfilled up with water; but that was pure conjecture. The poisons Moors so easily get, and which S`lam or his mother couldsupply themselves with, are generally in a powder form. I do not know howthey would mix with water: they are generally slow in working, sometimesweeks in taking effect. There was no reason why Tahara should not bepoisoned by such a drug, and yet feel no ill effects for the present. Thus we argued. Poisoning in Morocco is such an every-day occurrence thatit was a most ordinary suspicion on Tahara's part. After all, there mightbe nothing in it, but merely a fear grounded on all sorts of reasons andassumptions. It is only a matter of sitting down and thinking to conjureup plenty of fears in Morocco. Feeling that it was not pleasant to have a bottle marked "Poison" in thehouse, and not to be positive as to its contents, I resolved to empty andwash it out, sending the so-called "water" to an analyst at Tangier, andrefilling the bottle with _bonâ-fide_ water before replacing it. Thechicken test was not thoroughly satisfactory. As matters stood, MissZ---- decided to come out that afternoon to our house, while S`lam shouldbe sent away on an errand, in order that Tahara might be interrogated andthe thing ended. [Illustration: CHARMING SNAKES. [_To face p. 214. _] Arrived home, I found that S`lam had been dispatched to the city tomarket, and that Maman had gone with him. Alas! the little bottle haddisappeared; it was no longer in the niche which could be seen every timethe door was passed. Miss Z---- arrived in the afternoon. By that timesome other occult influence had come to work in Tahara's mind, anddirectly Miss Z---- spoke to her it was evident that she was hedging. Aslong as she was terrified and had lost her head she blurted out thetruth; but given time to think the matter over, a thousand side-issuesweighed with her, and she was no more inclined to trust us than she wouldhave been to trust a Moorish woman, who is brought up to lies, intrigue, and diplomacy, and fed upon such axioms as "When you have nothing else totell, tell the truth. " _The bottle_, she said, _had been taken away byS`lam and his mother. It belonged to his mother. It was poison to poisonpeople in the Riff. _ A little later on she said _it had nothing whateverto do with S`lam, and that it had only water in it--that S`lam had toldher so. That she had never seen him put anything into her food. That hewas "good. " That she only had a bad pain last night. That she did notknow why the bottle had been brought there. _ And so on. Her one prayerwas that the signoritas would forget all that had happened. But for daysshe would not let us: by creeping up when S`lam was out of the way andputting her finger on her lips, by anxious questionings andgesticulations, the thing was never allowed to rest. She felt, probably, that she was past one danger--there was no more to fear in thatdirection for the present; but that if her Riffi husband ever suspectedshe had "given him away, " he would soon dispose of so troublesome anincubus. And so we found the matter had come to a deadlock: more we shall notknow. It was typical of the Moors and their ways. It was, I cannot helpthinking, rather a shady business. Taking into consideration S`lam'smanner towards us for days after, added to those intuitions which one hasand cannot put into words, it struck us that S`lam himself did not thinkthe bottle had only water in it. Ask no questions in this strange land. Lies are the portion meted out tothe inquirer: it is not well to know too much. "Knowledge and virtue anda horse's mouth should not pass through too many hands, " and "If youquestion knowledge, it falls from its estate"--thus the Moors. I shall hear from Miss Z---- of Tahara's future welfare, unless she ismoved from Tetuan. If she comes to an untimely end within the next yearor so, our suspicions were not groundless. For the present we "forget, "of course. For the whole affair-- Oh no, we never mention it; Its feet are never heard! CHAPTER VIII MISSIONARIES AT TETUAN--POISONING IN MOROCCO--FATIMA'SRECEPTION--DIVORCE--AN EXPEDITION INTO THE ANJERAS--AN EMERALD OASIS. CHAPTER VIII "_The friendship of man is like the shade of the acacia. Yet while the friendship lives, it lives. When God wills it to die, it dies!_" mused Dicky, with a significant smile. "Friendship walks on thin ice in the East. " THREE times a week, from ten o'clock to twelve o'clock in the morning, the lady missionaries opened their dispensary, which, as there was no manmissionary in Tetuan, was in women's hands alone, Miss Banks at the head. Though, unfortunately, she was not an M. D. Nor a qualified surgeon, thegood which she and her staff did was incalculable. The first day on whichthe dispensary was open after Rámadhan over sixty Moors came to bedoctored. The day I went, there were forty-four; and the two rooms--onefor men, one for women--were as full as they would hold, while a largesurplus stood waiting their turn outside. Most of them were of the lowerclass of Moors: the better class of women would ask Miss Banks to visitthem in their own houses; the better class of men would not go to ladymissionaries. The patients sat round the rooms in a circle. Miss Banks went to each inturn, and made a note of the case in a book. This over, she retired to aninner room; and, among scales, and glass measures, and drugs, and tins, and bottles by the score, proceeded to make up all the various medicines. Meanwhile, two others of the staff took up positions in the middle ofthe circles of men and women, and read the Bible to them in Arabic andtalked to them. They seemed to listen attentively, and one or two noddedoccasionally in agreement with what was said. Thus, though everybody was doctored and provided with medicine gratis, they had to sit and listen for a certain time to Christian views, _nolensvolens_; and this is the chief opportunity which missionaries have ofpreaching to the Mohammedan world. Many of the patients who had been before brought medicine-bottles andointment-boxes to be refilled. If not, the bottles had to be paid for. Inthe first instance they were given in with the medicine; but bottles arethings of great value to the labouring Moor, and it was found that thepeople came purely for the sake of getting them--once outside the house, the medicine was thrown away. One woman paid for her bottle in kind--four eggs. Some of the bottleswere absurdly small; others the reverse, for one woman appeared carryinga great earthenware water-pot standing three feet high. "My daughter, " she said to Miss Banks, "I want medicine. " "Yes, but I cannot give you medicine in such a huge pot. " "My daughter, I have been three days on the road, and I want _much_medicine. " Another woman, who looked old and decrepit, begged and prayed that abottle might be given her. Miss Banks was adamant. The woman whined andentreated from ten till half-past eleven: "I am too poor to buy one. Lookat me; I am ill, " and so on--until at last one of the other missionariesbegged Miss Banks to give her a bottle and send her away. Still sherefused to break her rule. The last patient got up to go. It was twelveo'clock. The old woman thrust her hand into the rag round her waist, pulled out a bottle, and handed it to Miss Banks to be filled. The cases we saw were numerous. A mother with two little boys whose headshad to be examined: they were dispatched with a box of ointment (sulphurand oil) and a bottle of medicine. A boy with swelled glands had thempainted. A woman had her chest painted, a man various parts of him. Pills, ointment, powders, etc. , were distributed, with manifoldinstructions, repeated again and again, until the patient's clod-likebrain had been penetrated and set in motion. Even then one would turnround at the door and say, "Then I am to eat this ointment?" A woman was given some salts wrapped in paper, to be mixed with water andtaken the next morning fasting. She did not come again for a month, andshe brought with her a large earthen pot half full of water and paper. She had mixed the salts in this with their wrapping, and had beendrinking a mouthful daily, but felt no better. Miss Banks gave a woman in good circumstances a bottle of medicine whichwas to last her eight days, and be taken after food; also some linimentfor external use. An urgent summons came two days later: the woman wasdying. "I thought it did me so much good that last night I took all therest, and then I drank the liniment, " she said. She recovered. A man did the same with pills--was so much pleased with the effect of onethat he devoured the rest all at once. They invariably ate the paper inwhich pills or powders were wrapped. On one occasion Miss Banks went to see a girl whom she was attending, andwho seemed worse. The answer, when asked if she was having her medicineregularly, was, "Oh no! she's so ill just now. When she's a littlebetter, we shall give it to her. " Supposing that a patient dies, or a man who has once been a patient dies, the people have no hesitation in saying to the missionaries when theymeet them in the street, "Oh! So-and-so's taken your medicine, and it'skilled him. " It is impossible to trust Moors with medicines which could damage them;this seriously handicaps a doctor: in extreme cases the dose must beadministered by the doctor personally. Besides the dispensary, the missionaries had day schools for thechildren, night schools for boys, and mothers' meetings for women. Here, again, the mothers who attended the meetings were given the material ofthe clothes which they made for nothing; but they were obliged to sitdown and listen to a Bible lesson first. It was one way, it was anopportunity, of bringing Christianity before Mohammedans. [Illustration: MOORS AT HOME. [_To face p. 222. _] Thus through the meetings and the schools and the dispensary themissionaries knew many of the women in Tetuan, and there were few housesinto which they had not been at one time or another. Sometimes it waspossible to read to the people in their homes, sometimes to talk. Butwith the men they seldom came in contact. Never with an educated Moor. Hewould despise women in general, despise Christianity past words, anddecline to argue on such a point with a man. People are apt to forget that Mohammedanism is a faith to which manymillions of earnest and intelligent men and women have pinned theirsalvation. To talk and argue with these--it is almost a truism to say--amissionary must be "up" in that subject which they have at theirfinger-tips--namely, their religion. This means that he or she must havea complete knowledge of the Kor[=a]n; must know the traditions relatingto Mohammed and his companions; must be able to converse about thedivinity and the innumerable saints of Islam; must have read variousreligious treatises; and, above and beyond all, must understand to thesmallest point the habits of the Mohammedan himself, know his life, beable to follow his thoughts, understand his actions, and be in sympathywith his recreations as well as with his work, otherwise the missionarytreads on the Mohammedan's toes fifty times a day, and provokesamusement, mingled with contempt, of which resentment is born. Needless to say, few missionaries in Morocco, except at the end of theirlife's work, possess these qualifications. Only a limited number know theArabic language: they speak it colloquially of course, but the immensedifficulties, which a thorough knowledge of it entails, debar most ofthem from satisfactory study. After years upon years of hard work, anArabian scholar frankly avowed to me that he had but skimmed the surfaceof the depths of the Arabic language. As far as the old idea of missionary work goes--of preaching to anattentive throng of Mohammedans and baptizing converts--Morocco ranksnowhere. The missionary who comes out to El Moghreb does incalculablegood in curing the hereditary disease and taint with which an Easternnation is rife, and many influence the surrounding people by the exampleof a good life and contact with a civilized mind: he or she is to beprofoundly admired for the determination with which one end and one aimare held in view from first to last, and to the furtherance of which thewhole of life is made subservient; and yet the shadows of disappointmentmust darken that missionary's path sometimes, unless he or she is aphilosopher. For we met with none who could point us out a singleconvert, openly declaring himself to be one. In Tetuan, after twelveyears' work, there was not one. Two women there were, who acknowledged tothe missionaries, that they preferred Christianity to Mohammedanism, andwho in private make use of Christian forms of prayer, but they would not"declare" their belief. It is said, and no doubt truly, that there would be many converts toChristianity in Morocco among the lowest class, if it were not for thepersecution of the Government, and the strong anti-Christian feelingwhich exists amongst those in authority. The religion and the Governmentare one; the Sultan is the religious head, a direct descendant fromMohammed; consequently Mohammedanism is _enforced_. A woman who declaredherself a Christian would have her children taken from her; a man wouldbe flogged round the city and boycotted, if he was not killed. Thus theprospects of the would-be convert are not happy: all which themissionaries have to offer him is, on the one hand martyrdom, on theother a miserable line of compromise--a life, that is to say, ofconcealment and deceit towards those nearest him, for though Christian atheart, he must yet remain Mohammedan to the world. This latter course ofcompromise is the line which is followed, and it is the course which istacitly inculcated by the missionaries. I heard of no martyrs, norChristian Moors openly declared, living in Morocco at peace with mankind. There is a hitch somewhere. Christianity is in danger of being dragged inthe dust. If it were possible for missionaries to make their doctrinesappeal to the powerful and more enlightened class among the Moors, influencing the country to such an extent that it should adoptChristianity of its own accord, this could never be so. But it is notpossible. In the present state of Morocco the idea is laughable. It ishardly to be expected that the most fanatical and conservative nationever evolved, will cast its religion, like a snake its skin, at thebidding of a body of despised Europeans. Before such a revolution couldtake place, the character of such a nation must entirely change; the Moormust be broadened and given a scientific training, if he is ever tobecome of a "progressive" turn of mind, desiring other ideals than thoseof his forefathers. At the same time the missionary must be adequately equipped for the fray, must be a "strong man, " must possess some of the qualifications of aleader. The first point is the all-important one: that more knowledge should begiven to Mohammedans--scientific knowledge; that they should be fired toimprove their own condition and that of their country, making themselvescapable of mixing as equals with men who stand for the highest productsof civilization the world so far knows. Then, educated and self-educating, their creed, whatever it is, will bethe outcome of their secular training. It matters little what the belief, so long as the individual is free as air to adopt it or not at his owndiscretion. It would appear, then, that Morocco needs schools, colleges, and men ofunusual calibre to deal with them. The doctor-missionaries do a vastamount of good; but it would seem that effort directed in fresh channelsshould meet with better results, and that so far there has been atendency to "begin at the wrong end. " It is easy to sit down and criticise; it is easy to map out new paths, the difficulties connected with which, few critics can realize. While wesee that many of the old by-ways are tortuous and lead to error, and thatmany of them only result in waste of energy, let us at the same time notforget to give all honour to those who set out to dig them, for even"defeat, is great. " One afternoon I walked round with Miss Banks, visiting patients. Westarted from the Mission House with a basket of medicines, ointment, thermometer, paint-brush, etc. , and dived into the little, narrow, crowded streets of countless windowless houses. The first call we paidwas at the house of a Moor in the capacity of "gentleman farmer": ofcourse he was out. Miss Banks knocked; there was a movement on the otherside, but no answer. She called through the keyhole, "Anna. Tabiba" (I. Doctor); and a discreet slave, trained by a jealous and distrustfulmaster, opened at the sound of her voice. We walked into athree-cornered, tiled patio: the lady of the house came to meet us in apink jellab, shook Miss Banks's hand and kissed her own, shook mine andagain carried hers to her lips; then led us into a room opening on to thecourtyard, with divans, in white, all round upon the tiled floor next thewall. We all three sat down cross-legged on the cushions, and our hostessrelated her symptoms to Miss Banks. She had a bad cough, and seemed gladto have her chest painted with iodine. She was the daughter of herhusband's cowman; and if, according to English ideas, somewhat below himin rank, was no worse educated than the first lady in the land. It is oddthat, while Moors are gentlemen born, their woman-kind, narrowed anddegraded, are in no sense aristocratic. They will stand upstairs andshout "Come!" to any one who is calling upon them and waiting below. "Sit down, " they will say imperatively: it is always the imperative. Ifthey are asked to show anything, they will bring it and almost throw itat the visitor's head. They have no "breeding. " Our hostess was thin, and not at all typical of a Moorish wife; for aMoor likes a waist which he can barely clasp with both arms, and women, when they desire to attract, fatten themselves at once. A woman who isengaged, is crammed with sweet fattening pills and farinaceous food. At one end of the room we sat in, was a gorgeous four-poster bed, hungwith scarlet, and covered with embroideries, the posts painted brightgreen, and a great gilt crown on the top of all. When no furniture isbought except divans and a bed, all the dollars can be piled on the bed. We left a bottle of mixture out of the basket and a doll for the onlychild, which would be treasured, for a bunch of rags is the nearestMoorish approach to a doll. From this house we went on to our hostess' old home, where her father, the cowman, lived. The patio there was cold and bare, and seemed thegeneral living-room; some wood was stacked in one corner; there was awell in another; there was an overpowering smell of "drains" everywhere;while in the third corner a poor, miserable little girl sat huddled up, with frightened eyes. Several families lived together in this smallhouse, and no fewer than six women crowded round the girl to explain hersymptoms to Miss Banks. It was only too apparent what was wrong, when sheuncovered her neck. Syphilis, hereditary--a terrible evil, to be foundall over Morocco, the result of Mohammedan customs and bad food. Considering that women are divorced and remarried over and over again, and that the conditions under which they live are so unhealthy, it issmall wonder if disease in some form or other does not show itself. Examples are to be met with in almost any street--the features of theface obliterated, and so on. The poor child, whom Miss Banks was treating, had been married. Now thatthis disease had broken out, her husband would probably divorce her. Ifshe were cured, she might marry again. Her friends had brought her allthe way from Shesaw[=a]n to Tetuan to be cured, and a Jew doctor hadoffered to put her right for the sum of £4. "But, " said her friends, "suppose she dies? What shall we get for ourmoney then?" So they sent to the English tabiba, who cures for nothing. Miss Banks left ointment and medicine. Cases can be cured if the patientwill persevere long enough with the medicine; but many of them are toofar gone when they first come. An old man upstairs in the same house, but of a different family, claimedher attention next. Three weeks ago he was perfectly well. He went to acafé one evening, drank a cup of coffee, came home, was seized with pain, and became completely paralyzed. It pointed to poison, but he had noenemies. Mercury is very largely used as a poison, and is given in differentforms. Little is thought of ending life by this means, unless therehappen to be influential relations who object to their relatives being inthis summary manner "put out of the way. " There is a girl now in Tetuan who keeps a shop. Her father and motherkept it before her, but she said that they were both so old, had lived solong, and had had their day, that she felt something must be done tosecure her own turn, and that speedily. Therefore she gave them both somepoison. There was a funeral. She took over the shop. Another woman was anxious to poison her husband because he was about totake a second wife. She prepared him the dish with the poisoned pieces. Suddenly she saw her child run into the house and join his father at themeal. Careless of betraying herself, she rushed to her Benjamin withcries of alarm, --too late; he had eaten, and he succumbed that night. Thehusband died at the end of a year from the effects of the same poison. Some of the drugs which Moors use take even longer to destroy life, butit is only a matter of time. The woman was put in prison, but she cameout after twelve months, and another man has taken her to wife. Some missionary and poisoning experiences are amusing. People often cameand asked for poison to administer to somebody who happened to annoythem. A slave appeared once and said, "I have a mistress: she's very old, isn'tshe?" "Yes, " said the missionary. "She doesn't enjoy life now much, does she?" "No, I don't think she does much. " "Would she enjoy being with the Lord much more than living on like this?" "Yes, " said the missionary, "she would be far happier with the Lord. " "Then, " said the slave, "give me some poison to send her to Him. " * * * * * Meanwhile, Miss Banks looked at her patient, who might or might not havehad his life tampered with; but there was little she could do then. Weleft that house and walked on into the poorest part of the city, down alittle alley which was hard to find, in search of a certain door whichwas still harder. After two or three mistakes, we hit upon the right one, and knocked at an old, battered, rat-eaten entrance falling to pieces. "Anna. Tabiba, " called Miss Banks; and the door was opened by acountryman, a Riffi, rough-looking, only a coarse jellab over him, butwith a kind expression on his face. The space inside was something like achicken-pen. We stooped under a very low doorway in the farther wall, andwent into a little shed-like lean-to, where the inhabitants evidentlylived entirely. A boy of thirteen was lying on the ground, covered with apiece of sacking. The father squatted down beside him. Two girls weregrinding beans close to them in a hand-mill--the old mill of . . . "theone shall be taken, and the other left. " Miss Banks and I seated ourselves on a wooden rail, which was part of amanger or a sheep-pen. These Riffis had been forced by famine to abandontheir home and come down into Tetuan, where at first they had lived in acave, on roots principally. The father would go out and hoe when he couldget work--every land-owner has hoeing to be done; but lately he had hadfever. The boy had an abscess, and could not move. In spite of it hesmiled cheerfully, and was delighted with a new red jellab which MissBanks brought him. Poor little chap! he did not live to wear it. I gavehim a trifle to buy food. Beyond the dried beans in course of beingground, and half a lemon, there was no sign of anything to eat. Beans andlemons to fight an abscess! [Illustration: STRAW FOR SALE. [_To face p. 230. _] After Miss Banks had attended to the child, we took our way to the houseof a Moorish doctor, who had been unable to cure himself, and had sentin desperation for his European rival. He was lying on a divan upstairs, himself the colour of oatmeal porridge, with his wife attending to him; and he had a terrible sore on his thigh. This was duly attended to. The long fast of Rámadhan might partly accountfor his state of health. In spite of his faith in Miss Banks, which hewould sooner have died than acknowledged, he had unbounded confidence inhis own skill as a doctor. We asked him if he could read. "Read? No. Why should he read? What was the use of reading? The thing youwanted to do was to _remember_. Now he, if he was doctoring any one, hewould try first this herb and then that. This herb no good. Try another. Another no good. Another no good. He might try twelve herbs, and all nogood. And the thirteenth herb would be good. And then he would _remember_that herb. Why! all his doctoring he taught himself . . . " A rough sort of doctoring it is too, consisting of two remedies--aviolent purge, or else burning with a hot iron. Every sore place isburnt; and for all sorts of illnesses, in cases of rheumatism, etc. , etc. , the patient is scored, perhaps all over his chest or back--"fired"like a horse. Sores are always cauterized. Bullets are never extracted. Wounds are bound up with earth and rags. A serious gunshot wound, meansdeath. Certainly there is a wide field for women doctors in Morocco. From this house we went on to one where the father, mother, and childrenwere all having a meal--a poverty-stricken family again, where one of thechildren was wasting away with fever. The rest of the party were sittinground an earthenware pan, which was full of mallow leaves, stewed innative oil, with red pepper and garlic in huge quantities. They weredipping in their fingers, fishing out the greasy mallow and garlic, andlaying it on their brown native bread and eating it. They insisted uponour joining them. It is no excuse to say "I have dined lately, " for aMoor eats at any time, when there happens to be food. Miss Banks tastedthe stew with a heroism worthy the noblest end. We went on to the house of a man who has one of the best shops in Tetuan. It was consequently comfortable, and delightfully fresh-looking. Themaster of the house was in bed with fever--that is to say, we found himreclining on a divan on the floor, beside a gorgeous bed, with alily-white turban fresh from the wash-tub wound round his head. We satdown on the divan running round the room, and Miss Banks was glad to hearthat her patient had at last consented to take quinine. He wasworn-looking, with small black beard and moustache. Moors, like everyeffete people, are unable to grow a great quantity of hair on theirfaces. After visiting her cases Miss Banks suggested something of a change, andwe turned into the best part of Tetuan, to pay a call upon one of thefirst families in Morocco, the head of which is now dead. B---- wasprobably the most wealthy and enlightened Moor in the city: he was onceemployed by Government, and he made his little pile; but he had nevermarried--or, rather, his only marriage had ended in a speedy divorce; andmost of his life he had been able to afford to keep a galaxy of slaves, whom he had freed in time, and whose offspring represent the familyto-day. The name of the chief of his slaves, and the mistress of the dead man'shouse at the present moment, is Fatima. Fatima has a history. B----possessed twenty white slaves: they were chiefly stolen from villages inthe south, and they passed into his hands; but his treasures were twobeautiful Circassian women from Turkey, one of whom he sent to the lateSultan (who is the mother of the present Sultan), the other he kept forhimself--Fatima. Fatima early showed a disposition far from humble, andB---- spoilt her. At last he made her head of his house and all hisslaves. One day she caused two of these women to be beaten in such amanner that one of them died. The other vowed revenge; went to B----, andtold him that she had seen Fatima looking through a window at a man inthe garden below. Considering that a woman of superior class must notlook out of her window, though the prospect be an arid yard, thestatement was calculated to rouse B----. Brought up on such proverbs as"When the bee hums and the buttermilk ferments, place, O brother, ahalter on thy little daughter, " and to consider women "the nearest roadsto hell, " B----took prompt and drastic measures. He chained Fatima up toa pillar for three months, and fed her on bread and water. Her eldestdaughter was to be married. Fatima was released and told she might attendthe wedding, but only as the equal of the lowest slave, and dressed assuch. She said that she had been accustomed to mixing with the first-bornof Tetuan as an equal, and she would go among them as nothing else. Tobreak Fatima's pride, B---- married a wife; but the wiles of his oldfavourite were too strong for him, and he gave her presents, including agold bracelet. The indignant wife, furious at her husband's attentions toa mere slave, got a divorce and left B----; whereupon he fell into thearms of Fatima, and she graciously consented to become once more head ofhis house. She is now the proudest woman in Tetuan, inclined to look uponthe missionaries and European women in general as dust under her feet. Her ignorance is unbounded. "India!" she said to Miss Hubbard. "You sayall India belongs to you English. You may well wish it did. You've onlygot one port. " Meanwhile, we had reached the door of this famous lady's house, and wereclanging the great knocker. It was superior to any door we had "wakened"that afternoon--made of pale, cinnamon-coloured wood, and immensely wide, carved up above and brightened with great fork-like hinges and nail-headsas large as pennies. A vastly stout slave, smart in proportion, openedthe door, and said something in Arabic to Miss Banks, which, translated, intimated that a large tea party was going on within. She led us alongfar-reaching, wide passages, which at length opened out into an extensivepatio, paved with great black and white marble tiles, like a giantchess-board. A double row of finely tiled pillars supported the roof, anda fountain shot up water in the centre of all. The style of the buildingsuggested that the dead man had known how to spend some of his money, andto make for himself a place refined and romantic rather than gorgeous. Stepping down the cool aisles between the pillars, the slave took ustowards a room opening out of the patio; and such a room!--hung withembroideries, surrounded with luxurious divans worked in scarlet andwhite, carpeted with deep-piled carpets, and yet no more than a meresetting for the fantastic butterfly world which seemed let loose inside. Tetuan's most aristocratic women, scented favourites of Moorish society, kept in lavender and reared on sugar and orange-flower water, are notamong those things which one easily forgets. About twelve of them ormore--enough to dazzle and not bewilder, furnish to perfection yet avoida crush--were half reclining on the divans round the room. Fatima was onour immediate left as we entered; a holy Shar[=i]fa on the right; thedaughter of another Shar[=i]f sat beyond her. The circle was one ofSanctity and Rank. We shook hands with the mistress of the house, and were motioned to takeour seats on the divan exactly opposite her. Fatima was no disappointment. She suggested much, and more than fulfilledthe promise of her history. She was pale and dark, with a little headlike a snake's, thin sarcastic lips, and eyes full of smouldering devil. Two silver trays stood in front of her, covered with fragile porcelaincups and thin gilded cut-glass, with a silver-topped box full of fragrantmint, another quaint box containing fine green tea, an enormous cut-glasssugar-basin heaped with small rocks of white sugar, two silver embossedand steaming teapots, some scent-sprinklers and incense-burners ofsilver. At her elbow, on the floor, was the largest silver urn I eversaw, capable of supplying half a dozen school feasts; down the room, in aline, upon the carpets, stood round baskets, three feet in diameter, filled with palest cream-coloured bracelet-shaped loaves of bread, madeof too fine and white a flour and too perfectly baked for any but theupper ten to indulge in. The centre basket contained perhaps fiftycakes--nothing on a small scale here--made of thin flaked pastry, icedover with sugar, filled with a confectionery of almonds, and quinces, andraisins, and orange-flower water, and an essence, one drop of which costfive shillings. These take a day to make, and are only met with in anelaborate _ménage_. Other tarts, lavishly coated with a snow of whitesugar, contained jams and nuts and all the sweet things dear to theMoorish heart. The movements of Fatima's small hands among the cups, covered with rings, each polished nail just touched with a half-moon of dark red henna, wereborn of _dolce far niente_, backed by a long line famous for theirbeauty: her restless black eyes alternately gleamed with cruelty andcunning; flashed with passion; grew sad as it is given to few eyes togrow. Many embroidered buttons, as edgings in front, betokened garment withingarment, which she wore, all of them at last confined by a broad, richlyworked belt; her kaftan was of lemon-yellow, shining with silverborderings; the muslin "overall" was the thinnest atmosphere of white;there were many necklaces, chiefly pearl, round her neck, and, mostcharacteristic of all, a tiny yellow silk handkerchief was knotted onceround her throat; on her black head, colour ran riot in silks of allshades, tied and twisted and arranged as only a Moorish hand knows; herfeet were wrapped in a soft pale yellow shawl, embroidered. She did notget up when we came in. Multiply Fatima twelve times, in colours more opulent and more bizarrethan her own, instead of her lithe figure, picture stone upon stone ofsleek flesh, and some idea of the epicureanism of the scene is arrivedat. Sitting on each side of us were two of the fattest women I have everseen. [Illustration: A GROUP IN THE FEDDAN, TETUAN. [_To face p. 236. _] Meanwhile, Fatima signed to a slave to carry across the cups of tea whichshe had poured out, together with thin china plates; then we weresupplied with the fine sweet bread. Miss Banks explained that I was not a_tabiba_ (doctor). Fatima told her I was to ask about anything which Idid not understand, and with interpretations we carried on triflingconversation. It was like stepping into "The Arabian Nights" come tolife. These women seldom go out of doors, or, if they do, nothing is tobe seen of them except a figure in an immense creamy woollen haik fromtop to toe, heavily veiled: possibly a pair of haunting eyes andbeautiful slippers suggest an attractive "beyond. " But here were we "i'the centre of the labyrinth, " where mere men can never go; in a maze ofhot imperious colour; in a world of ivory-tinted faces, flowing lines, and stately gestures; among _abandon_ such as one little dreams of in aMohammedan double-locked world. They lie at the ends of the pole, the women of Morocco: the countrywomen, beasts of burden; the wives of the rich, sumptuously fed and caparisonedlap-dogs. Amidst such a show of silk and embroidery no English-woman, in theutilitarian coat and skirt best fitted for travel, could feel other thanout of place, nor resist the weak desire that the imperious Fatima andher circle should have another impression of our countrywomen made upontheir ignorant minds than that given by short skirts and nailedboots--say, Covent Garden one night when the opera has drawn all thediamonds in town. I remember the Moorish French Consul, in the Tetuan post-office, saw R. Writing a card in there once. "What a great thing it is, " he said to Mr. Bewicke, "that your women canwrite and can arrange things for themselves. I go away; my wife cannotwrite to me. Our women are just like animals. " As far as I could gather, a Moorish woman does not think for herselfuntil she is divorced. Her father, mother, or brother marries her towhomsoever he or she chooses; but when once she is divorced, she is freeto marry after her own heart, and no one can interfere with her. Divorcewas of course allowed by Mohammed. It is so common that no wife issurprised at being divorced a year after marriage, or six months, even aweek. If she does not get up in time in the morning, her husband candivorce her, or if she becomes ill, or for a hundred petty reasons. Therefore upon the marriage-lines is always entered the sum of moneywhich a wife brings her husband; a poor woman will bring from thirtyshillings to three pounds, a rich woman from a hundred to three hundredpounds; and whatever the sum be, the husband must refund it to the wifewhen he divorces her. The actual getting of the divorce is simplicityitself. Man and wife go before the deputy of the governor of the city orprovince and state their case. The deputy will probably say, "Very well. Pay the woman such-and-such a sum mentioned in the agreement, and go yourseveral ways. " A man, however, often changes his mind, and marries the woman whom he hasdivorced; and perhaps they are divorced a second time and married a thirdtime. But he may not marry her the third time unless she has meanwhilebeen married by another man and divorced from him. Many of the Moorish husbands leave their wives--the Riffis, for instance, going back into the Riff. If they are away over a year and send no moneyto the wife, she can claim a divorce: going before the deputy with awitness or two, it is soon arranged; she then probably marries a secondhusband. Were it not for this arrangement, Tetuan would be full ofdeserted wives. It must be most difficult to try to "preach" either to the men or women. The men would not have it. I knew one missionary who used to sit in theirshops and talk to them, but directly he veered round within a point of"religion" that talk was over. The women were less difficult in thatrespect; they would discuss the point: one woman I heard say something asfollows:-- "Why should I turn a Christian? See--I may steal, I may lie, I may commitmurder; my sins may reach as high as from earth to heaven, and at the dayof my death _God is merciful_. He will forgive me all, because I witnessto Mohammed as his Prophet. Your religion is a narrow little religion;mine covers everything. You go home and go away by yourself and _witnessto Mohammed_ as his Prophet, and all your sins will be forgiven. " It is a sign of their being low down in the intellectual scale when themembers of society talk for the most part of "persons, " just as it is asign of a higher tone when the conversation runs chiefly upon "ideas. "Among the women at Fatima's tea party there was no sort or kind ofexchange of thought of any description, nor was there generalconversation. They talked in a desultory way to each other about theirchildren, their clothes, their food, their money, and eachother--sometimes they included Miss Banks, but never touched aninteresting point. If a woman unable to read or write only meets women also unable to reador write, and knows but one man, her husband, who feeds her and valuesher much like a tame doe-rabbit, it is unreasonable to expect to find inher much intelligence and energy. Wives, when asked if they did not wishto do more, would not like to read or write or work, only laughedderisively. The idea was absurd: they could not understand any onewishing to exert herself in a novel and unnecessary way. On my left, still sat the stoutest woman in the room--the holyShar[=i]fa. She lost her snuff-box, and roused herself to hunt all overher enormous person for it--a work of time; but a friend had borrowed it, and it was passed back to her. She sat on the divan, cross-legged likesome gigantic idol of ancient Egypt, many yards in circumference at thebase, her fat little hands folded across the embroideries and gold-workedbuttons and worked edges of the many gorgeous waistcoats and kaftans, which seemed piled one on top of each other on her immense frame. Herhead, the size of two footballs rolled into one, was swathed in violetand scarlet silk: straight whiskers of hair, dyed jet-black, were combeda few inches down each cheek, and then cut short. The whole "idol" satvery still, speaking but rarely, and then in a harsh croak like someoracular and forbidding bird: "it" had the appearance of beingcomfortably gorged. Meanwhile, Fatima signed or murmured to the slaves, and the sweetmeatswere carried round, and the fragile cups refilled; and there went up agreat aroma of sweet mint tea. Through the wide doorway the patio and its colonnades of many pillars laycool and shaded; cages of singing canary-birds hung from the ceiling; thefountain rippled in the middle; a tall girl in green and white saunteredacross in her slippered feet, carrying a tray; a gaily dressed slavepassed silently; and the whole thing might have been a dream. . . . Past the patio lay the courtyard, all one large garden, with tiled walksand red-gold oranges and heavy foliage set against the blue sky. Broaddate-palms, mimosa, and climbing creepers sometimes shook in a breath ofwind. The clear tanks, full of ever-running water and lined withmaiden-hair fern, moved with gold-fish, which matched the oranges; a petmonkey played amongst the lemons on a lemon-tree; a green parrot noddedto us from a bower of pink almond blossom. We wandered round the sleepy, silent courtyard, and in and out thechequered greenery, hot with windless, sun-filled air, back through theblack-and-white courts, until at last the great outside door shut uponFatima, her tea party, and the eternal mysticism of the East:--we werewithout the gates of Paradise, and in an atmosphere of rude realism oncemore. Soon after that afternoon of many calls with Miss Banks, a day up in theAnjera Hills, to the north of Tetuan, gave some idea of the strip ofcountry which lay between us, and the sea, and Gibraltar. This countrypossessed the fascination of being little known. No one troubled to go upthere, except its own wild inhabitants. Our own Consul had never been. The missionaries had not climbed so high, nor so far, this side theriver. Now the Tetuan _sok_ (market) is greatly dependent upon the countrypeople belonging to the Beni Salam tribe, who live up in the Anjeras; andfrom the flat white roof of our garden-house we had watched through apair of glasses on market mornings, strings of women, winding by aprecipitous path down the hillside, which is abrupt and mountainous, themselves dropping as it were from an upper world. They scrambled slowlydown, one after the other, descending many hundreds upon hundreds offeet; then filed slantwise over the slopes, right into the rockyMussulman cemetery, across that, and thence into the city by theBáb-el-M`kabar. The relations of these tribesmen between themselves and the city are moreor less friendly, and it is comparatively safe to wander about themountains as long as the "enemy, " as the Moors call the sun, has not set. We were most anxious to visit the country whence these market-goers came, appearing first upon the crest-line, then against the rough hillside, like a string of industrious white ants crawling down the wall of ahouse; therefore we engaged a youth with a downy beard and hairy legs andthe big grey donkey--the most active of his race--and set off one morningat half-past nine, prepared to climb into a Top World, like Jack of theBeanstalk, by means of a path which was less smooth "going" than hissupernatural ladder. There was a strong north-west wind, and it was hardly an occasion for"aloft"; but there was no haze; the clouds were scudding away to SouthAustralia; it was a day for a view. Taking the broken road towards the city, we branched off to the right, crossed a stream, and began the ascent. No one could ride at this point. R. Tried a tow by means of the donkey's tail, and met with aremonstrating kick. Certainly, if this could be called "one of theSultan's highways, " it was an odd specimen. We scrambled up the east sideof the range of hills, sometimes by a succession of rocky staircases, sometimes sliding (backwards chiefly) on loose shale: how the donkeycontrived to look after its four feet must remain a problem, but theMorocco ass is brought up from birth upon stony ground, with naïve andsimple notions upon the subject of paths. It was a long time before our heads showed up above the top of Jack'sBeanstalk (so to speak), and we met with a gale, at which the donkey'shair stood on end, and which occupied all our attention for a minute. Wehad seen Tetuan disappear far below us behind the elbow of a hill; thetopmost point of the Gib. Rock had loomed into sight; Ceuta looked as ifone might have thrown a stone upon it; and the Riff Mountains were nextdoor, clear and blue. We had passed some red fritillaries and thebee-orchid, a little wild mauve crocus, and some magnificent clumps ofwhite heath, which smelt of almonds and honey; had seen several pairs ofstone-chats with their white collars; had sat down for many "breathers";and at last were at the top, in a wind which flattened everypalmetto-bush plumb against the hillside. It was a breezy spot for riding(and here one _could_ ride, for the grey donkey was on _terra firma_ oncemore); therefore we cut short a survey of the country below us, hurriedoff the crest-line, and followed the path which led straight away intothe heart of the Anjera country. It was a good track when once the tophad been reached, exactly the right width for one individual, and used bythirty or forty every market day--three times a week. At the time whenthe cave-men lived in England, _single file_ was a standing principle inMorocco, and the practice still holds good. The path was beaten hard, by bare feet, in the rich dark red soil, andhad taken a shiny polish; the wind was held off us by boulders and smallhillocks; we got along at a steady pace. On each side mountains and onlymountains were to be seen, peak beyond peak, slope after slope, coveredwith short wind-tossed scrub and sharp, hard rock, except at any greatheight or in the prevailing wind; there ledge after ledge lay peeled bythe weather, blistering in the sun, the scarified faces of the cliffsworn at the summits into pinnacles of gaunt stone. No mark of humanity, except the single red path, suggested that civilization ever troubledthese heights, and there was hardly anything worth the notice of a goatin the shape of fodder. The path rose and fell, skirting now this shoulder and now a gully, butkeeping for the most part on high ground, here and there winding upwardsacross the sharp spine of a ridge, and, by way of some awkward staircase, once more landing us on the level. More often than not, the donkey hadonly himself to carry; the boy probably thought us mad, but there was nounderstanding what the other would fain have said. Except for thewind--and even that dropped--a great silence lay on the proud heights;they defied man to interfere with their grizzled _débris_: the birds hadforgotten to sing: all around was that certain awed solemnity, always tobe found, in the companionship of the everlasting hills. But the air waschampagne; the heather was mad in the breeze; the sky where it met therocks, an intoxicating blue. And how the clouds "travelled"! Though, inspite of that, the hills never spoke: like the Sphinx, whose repose nodance of lizards nor flashes of sunlight can disturb, they are "too greatto appease, too high to appal, too far to call. " Occasionally a dip inthe hollow back of a mountain showed the sea beyond: there are few seasbluer than the blue Mediterranean can be, and this was one of its days. The polished track led us on: still no sign of a village, nor anyevidences of civilization. At last from the top of a ridge we looked overand down into a calm green oasis, "a lodge in some vast wilderness, "secluded, sheltered, where it would have been good to pitch a tent andcamp for many moons. We swung along downwards, dropped under the lee ofthe hill, and our path skirted the fringe of the green oasis. It was notmany acres in extent; it was covered with short scant grass; it wouldhave made an ideal polo-ground. Water lay over a small corner of it, and beyond a shadow of doubt it hadonce been the bottom of a lake; indeed, the Beni Salam tribe believe thatwater still lies underneath the turf. Here the first sign of humanityshowed itself: two goatherds drove their flock down to the water, and oneof them carried in the hood of his brown jellab a few hours' old kid;they soon passed on and disappeared among the boulders and heath. The long level lines of the green oasis were broken at the edge bydiminutive bones of rock protruding through the grass. Sunk in the hollowof the hills, there was little or no wind; the sun glowed indolently downon the green lawn, tempting us to stay; but the foot-prints in the redsoil pointed forward, and we turned our backs upon the flat stretches ofsunny turf and left the waveless tarn behind. No more emerald oasis, but grey-green scrub and stones on themountain-sides: we were up again in a stern and desolate defile, wastebeyond waste strewn with rocks. The distances were oddly deceptive in therare, clear air: a saddle between two peaks looked miles away--we wereupon it in half an hour; again, a turret of rock apparently within astone's-throw was a weary climb. And still the red trail snaked on beforeus. Even the big grey donkey began to lose its interest and to require"encouragement" from the Moorish boy. We speculated as to whether we should ever reach a village before it wastime to make tracks for the world below, while the sun was well up. Atlast, in front of us, a long low saddle intervened, with rising groundon each side: this we determined to scale, once mounted on top see allthere was to be seen, and go no farther. And toil brought its unexpectedand exceeding great reward. Standing on the crest-line, shading our eyeswith our hands, mountain beyond mountain lay in the distance--theAnjeras, the hills of Spain, the Mediterranean, Gibraltar; while in theforeground clustered four villages, brown mud-coloured huts upon thebrownish slopes, and only picked out of their surroundings by means ofthe one little whitewashed spot of a mosque. Below us a river had carveda gorge in the red soil and tumbled over worn boulders beside the nearestvillage, but it was more or less hidden from sight. Much as we wanted to go on, it was impossible. First, there was not time. Secondly, the donkey would have had as much as was good for him by thetime he got back. Therefore we chose a warm, sheltered spot, backed bysun-baked rocks and scented with cropped tussocks of yellow gorse; andthere we lunched, the boy and donkey slipping out of sight, and leavingus alone, with the hills, and the sound of the wind. It must be a long tramp into Tetuan, even for hill people born to thelife of the open road, --four hours into the city with heavy loads ofcharcoal, faggots, chickens, eggs, butter, vegetables; four hours backagain with oil, sugar, salt, tea, and every sort of necessary which isnot home grown. And three times a week. And only women. We met a stringof them as we set our faces homewards, like "toiling cattle strainingacross a thousand hills"; but they all had a word to say and a smile, asthey sloped along at a steady swing. The sun was setting when we left the good upper world of silence and thewinds; by-and-by the crest-line intervened between ourselves and thestrong serene heights--they were seen no more; and we came "hand overhand down the Beanstalk" which led to the white city below. CHAPTER IX WE LEAVE TETUAN--A WET NIGHT UNDER THE STARS--S`LAM DESERTS US--WE SAILFOR MOGADOR--PALM-TREE HOUSE--SUS AND WADNOON COUNTRIES--THE SAHARA--THEATLAS MOUNTAINS. CHAPTER IX The stream of life runs, ah! so swiftly by, A gleaming race 'twixt bank and bank--we fly, Faces alight and little trailing songs, Then plunge into the gulf, and so good-bye. ABOUT the month of April, Morocco takes its head from under its wing; thebad weather turns its back on the country; the tracks dry up and are fitfor travellers to take to once more. The time had come for the sake ofwhich we had borne with the rains, and we longed to be off, to knowsomething more of this strange and fascinating land. May is a better month than April, up in the north, for travelling; Aprilis often dashed with the tail-end of the rains; but our desire was to godown into the far south, and May and June in the south are both too hotto enjoy camping out. April is quite warm enough; indeed, Morocco City"stokes up" early in April; therefore we made it the middle of March whenwe said good-bye to Jinan Dolero and set our faces Tangier-wards, thereto await some steamer which should take us down the coast. The odds andends which had furnished us at Tetuan and were not wanted had to besold--a very simple matter. The day before we left our whitegarden-house, S`lam and some _mesdames_, as in his best French he alwaysspoke to us of his ragged countrywomen, carried them into the sok, asthey were, on their backs; and they were sold to the highest bidderamong the market-goers. To transport ourselves and our belongings over to Tangier, a Jewmuleteer was requisitioned, who provided men and mules for the twodays' journey. After long consultations we decided to take S`lam withus on our travels in the capacity of personal servant and headcook--partly because he could cook, partly because, in spite of theTahara-and-bottle-of-water-or-poison episode, we liked him, and he hadbeen a good servant according to his lights. After all, he wasprobably as trustworthy, and more so, than any man we could pick up ina hurry down south--at least, everybody warned us that they were a setof rascals there, of whom we were to beware. Finally, he was used tous and we were used to him. So S`lam set out with our cavalcade, andwe proposed to keep him while we were at Tangier, take him by boat toMogador, and after our march was over return him to Tetuan. But, while"man proposes----" I was sorry for Tahara. She was left behind with her old enemy--S`lam'smother. He left the mother money, but Tahara not one flus. He said, too, that when he came back from Morocco City he should go straight off to theRiff and get work there; and Tahara would be left again. Such is thecustom of the country: the husband may go off for a year, at intervalsreturning to his wife, whom he leaves generally under some sort ofsupervision. So poor little Tahara, who had no voice in her marriage, buthad wept all the way to Tetuan under the escort of her bridegroom andbrother, was left penniless in the old mother's clutches. She had norelatives near to help her, otherwise I have no doubt that she would havegot a divorce. We could only ask Z---- to keep an eye on her, forinterference in the Moorish domestic hearth on the part of a Europeanwould be a fool's work indeed. It was March 19 when we began to wander once more, having handed the keysof Jinan Dolero back to its owner and cleared out the little white house. Unfortunately we pitched on the _Aid-el-Kebeer_ (the Great Feast), starting the very day before it was due; and, in consequence of theMohammedan-World being upside-down with joyful anticipation, could get nogood mules, nor induce any one but a Jew to leave Tetuan at such a time. S`lam looked forward to feasting with his brother at Tangier, and startedoff with a good grace. A more serious miss than either Moorish servantsor reliable mounts was perhaps a tent. There was none to be had in Tetuanat just that time, and a night had to be passed upon the way. However, there was no help for it: we set off as we were, and arrived towardssunset at the half-way caravanserai, the little white-walled fondâk onthe top of the hills, where we passed such a windy night, on our way overfrom Tangier in December, under canvas. It was a good ride, and our mules travelled badly: saddles and bridleswere tumbling to pieces too. For the last mile or so we both walked andsent the baggage on ahead. From a bend round the crest of a hill we saidfarewell to an uneven white streak set at the foot of the distanthills--Tetuan--and saw it no more. The fondâk was in front of us, fourlonely walls exposed to every change of weather, and no life stirringoutside. We walked through the arched gateway into the square, which issurrounded with Norman arches, and found a company of mules and donkeys, of owners and drivers, taking shelter for the night: our own baggageanimals were already hobbled in a line in front of the arches, underwhich the muleteers sit, and drink, and smoke, and sleep the hours away, till the first streak of dawn. We scrambled up an uneven stone staircase at the corner of the square, and investigated the two little rooms at the disposal of travellers. Onelook: there were suggestions of the insect world in both. We recrossedthe thresholds and sought further: the flat white roof above the archesround the square, if windswept, was too airy to be anything but fresh andwholesome, --it should meet all our demands. Here then, out in the open, under the sky, our two beds were arranged, in the lee of a few yards ofparapet which had been built to shelter the west corner of the roof. S`lam had a small pan of charcoal also up on the roof in our corner, overwhich to get something hot for us to eat; and as soon as the odd littlemeal was finished we turned in. The precipitous twilight had shadowed down sufficiently to undress inmore or less privacy even upon a housetop; over our beds we spread a thinwoollen carpet to keep off the dew; the moon, which was beginning itslast quarter, faced us full, in a sky picked out with a few stars, against which the dark outline of the hills was cut clear; there washardly a fleck of cloud in that best roof under which a man can sleep. [Illustration: A BREEZY CAMPING-GROUND ON A ROOF-TOP. [_To face p. 254. _] Below, down in the square, the picketed mules stamped and munched barley;the muleteers' voices, back under the arches in the colonnade, arose andfell, round a fire where green tea was brewing and much kif was in courseof being smoked; occasionally an owl hooted. Waking from time to time, the moon was always staring down (I shall never forget that moon); butat each interval it had moved farther round overhead. At last it sankbehind the field of vision, and up "in that inverted bowl we call thesky" the remote and passionless stars had it all to themselves. About half-past three in the morning we were awakened suddenly by thepatter of rain on our faces, great single drops, which quickened into ahurrying shower; while gusts of wind from the south-west rose and sweptround the corner of the low parapet against which we had put the heads ofthe beds. One glance showed that the sky was overcast; it was very dark, most of the stars were hidden, and there was an ominous sound of rain inthe wind. The fondâk is notably a wet resting-place, for it lies on thetop of the watershed which divides the plains of Tetuan and Tangier, andit draws the clouds like a magnet. One of us put up a sun-umbrella, which had been useful on the hot ridethe day before; it kept an end of one bed more or less dry, andfortunately the shower did not last long, while underneath warm beddingit was possible to keep dry for a time. The wind rose, however, andforced itself in at every fold of the bedclothes. We had carefullyarranged all our kit under the parapet close to the beds, partly toprevent its being stolen, which sometimes happens if left out of theowner's reach, partly to prevent its rolling or blowing off theunprotected edge of the roof. The sunset of the night before had not foretold wind; but wind therebegan rapidly to be, and by-and-by the lid of one of our cooking-potsbowled along the roof, fell over the edge, and rattled on the stones inthe square below: a cloth belonging to the cuisine took flight next overthe outer wall, and was seen no more. We lay speculating on what mightfollow. Then another shower began; but the clouds were lifting a little, and it was short if it was sharp; while underneath the blankets therewas not much to complain of. At four o'clock a sound of life began down below; the muleteers were allup and stirring in the square. Lights were lit, for since the moon andstars had been obscured, the night had turned from brilliant light intoone of shadows and blackness. Was there to be more rain? Nothing elsemattered. In this fine interval--for the last shower was stopping--itseemed wise to get up and dress and have our bedding rolled together:neither of us was going to move into the rooms. Certainly dressing was achilly opportunity. The evening before had been warm; but the rainfreshened the air, and the wind made it still more brisk. It was darkerthan ever--too windy to have kept a light going; and clothes, discoveredwith some difficulty in the shadows in hiding-places under rugs andpillows where they had been stowed the evening before to escape the dew, were hurried into in the dark anyhow and any way, half blown inside-outin the wind. At half-past four S`lam came up on to the roof-top with a light (whichwas promptly extinguished) and a pail of cold fresh water, in which wehad an acceptable wash. He rolled up our bedding, and brought anearthenware pan of burning charcoal, which was stowed away in a corner ofthe stone stairway out of the wind, and on which the kettle soon began toboil. At this point two remaining stars were put out by the advancingdawn--a wan and shivering dawn. Sitting in the lee of the parapet, fiveo'clock saw us ready, and supplied with hot tea and eggs. Not long after, the rain-clouds blew over and the day broke clear. Meanwhile, the muleteers had loaded up and vanished with the first streakof daylight, in order to be in Tetuan in time for the great feast thatday; the inner square of the caravanserai was deserted; our own fivemules were all that was left. It was not a long business loading them:the last rope was knotted, and the muleteers drove them off. We followed, riding out under the gateway, whereon is written in Arabic a sentence tothe effect that Mulai Abdurrahman built the fondâk in 1256, according toMohammedan reckoning of time. The sky was grey and menacing: too many of the little single cloudscalled "wet dogs" drifted across it. Having started at half-past five, not till three o'clock that afternoon did we reach Tangier; halting onceon the march, at ten o'clock, and that only for half an hour for lunch. Aheavy storm cut that halt short, for the rest of the day the "wet dogs"were true to themselves, and we were deluged. Vivid lightning flashed andcracking peals of thunder rolled over the plain; it was one of thoseMarch days which make March no month for camping out in Northern Morocco. Added to that, the track was in a shocking state--up to the girths in mudand water and clay of a sticky and treacherous nature. The mules slippedback at every step. We had many small rivulets to cross, and were obligedto make great detours in order to circumvent them at all. Even then ourbaggage was in the greatest peril, for the mules could barely keep theirfeet; and once down in some of the deepest quagmires, there would havebeen the utmost difficulty in getting them up again, or in rescuing ourunfortunate kit. And the rain came through everything, bedding and allbeing fairly drenched. The mules which carried the baggage were of coursemuch the best of our beasts: R. 's and my mounts were indeed sorry forthemselves. The last hour was the darkest, during which R. 's mule felldown for the sixth or seventh time--it was slippery and rough--and wehad the worst piece of country of all to cross, where we found oneunfortunate mule bogged in a sort of mud stream. Though a soaking doesnot greatly signify when dry clothes and a roof lie at the journey's end, nine hours at a foot's pace, through mud and water, wet and weary, willtake the heart out of most people. We tailed into Tangier, a dilapidated, worn string of bedraggled vagrants, and rode to the Continental. An hourlater, clean and dry, in comfortable chairs, with hot coffee, there wascontent. Meanwhile, S`lam was not at all fulfilling our expectations; and since weleft the fondâk, far from distinguishing himself on the march, he failedover and over again to rise to the occasion, excellent servant though hehad been in the garden-house near his own city. While the muleteerswalked all the way from Tetuan, driving the baggage-mules and urging onour own, S`lam by arrangement rode on the top of a light load; and therehe sat, huddled up on the mule, wet and discontented, dawdling behind, last of all, in the cavalcade, and anything but living up to hischaracter of soldier-servant and escort. By virtue of his late service inthe Algerian army and his rifle, he should have been admirably adapted tofill that capacity; but less like a soldier, and more like a whimperingdog, man never looked. Nor did he look after our things, allowing them tobe badly exposed to the rain, and taking no precautions for protectinganything. In the face of condemnation he sulked. Arrived at Tangier, nearly a week elapsed before a Hungarian boat put in, by which we could sail for Mogador. S`lam was of course due daily at thehotel to report himself and to execute orders. It was on one of theseoccasions, upon the very morning before we were due to start for Mogador, that he sprung upon us his intention of going straight back to Tetuan. This announcement came rather like a bolt from the blue. We hadcongratulated ourselves upon taking down into the interior a more or lesstried and faithful knave, where knaves of such a description wereproverbially scarce; and now our henchman announced that he had no longerany wish or any intention of accompanying us to Morocco City. The reasons or excuses which he gave were: first, that his wages wereinsufficient; and, secondly, that "a courier" had been sent over to himfrom Tetuan to tell him that his mother and his wife were quarrelling tosuch a degree that Tahara had threatened to go back to her native Riffcountry with her brother unless S`lam returned, and if she took that stepit would mean a divorce. His wages had been already raised considerably, because the post he wasnow to fill had more duties connected with it: they might have beenfurther increased. The other excuse may or may not have been true; but asthe two women had never done anything else except quarrel, the situationwas a foregone conclusion. The old mother may have been trying to poisonTahara again. But would S`lam trouble to prevent that? Whatever hismotive, it was more than annoying that at the last moment he should throwus over, leaving no time in which to look out for a new man, and areliable man, without whom, in a country as lawless as Morocco, it wouldbe a little rash, on the part of two people only, to travel. But an unwilling servant is not to be endured. We gave S`lam his release, stipulating only that he should return the dollars advanced him for hiswife and mother not many days before. To this he protested that he had no money, not a peseta left--every coinhad either been spent at the feast or had been left at Tetuan. In this case, the best plan would be, we said, for S`lam to take with hima letter to the Consul at Tetuan explaining to him what had happened;then as S`lam earned money, he might pay it into the Consul's hands forus, until he had made good the sum advanced him. At this S`lam lookedblank: he said such a letter would mean _prison_ for him. We stood firm. It was a rude shock to our faith when his hand found its way into theleather bag at his side under his jellab, and he pulled out and threw onthe table two-thirds of the money which had been given him. It was suggested that he should pay the whole sum. No! he was penniless. Then in that case he could sell the new jellab he had just bought. He scoffed at the idea. In reply to our order to come to the hotel the first thing the followingmorning and see our baggage safely on board the steamer, he said that heshould leave Tangier at daybreak, and that it was quite impossible forhim to attend upon us, evidently expecting that his prepaid wages wouldbe amicably allowed to slide. But not in the face of this finaldesertion. We reiterated the former course--a letter to the Consul atTetuan; again he pleaded abject poverty; but meeting only withinclemency, once more plunged his hand into his bag, and pulled outdollars amounting exactly to the sum which he had been advanced. So much for his poverty. We were now, he explained, "quits. " "All wasright between us. " He "would not like to leave us with a trace of illfeeling remaining between us and himself. " He _did_ leave us, however, with his tail fairly between his legs, and, if he had been kicked out of the hotel, could not have gone forth moresadly. What motive he had for going back to Tetuan, or what whim seized him inTangier, remained a mystery. Impulsive as a child, he had been at firstmadly keen, so he said, to go with us to the world's end; then, as thetime approached, in the same ratio his ardour evaporated; until, finally, he had no more desire left, and on the march over to Tangier grew moreindifferent and morose at every step. While we were in Tangier he waslike a fish out of water. And yet he had been once to Fez and to MoroccoCity: he was a travelled man. Possibly he had a more remunerative billetin view, or was homesick, or jealous about Tahara. After all, whateverthe reason, his line of conduct was only distinctly Moorish, andcharacteristic of a race in which, as a whole, no wise man places greatreliance. A Moorish servant will not rob his European master: perquisitesare a _sine qua non_, of course. Probably his lies are no blacker thanthose of European servants; but the Moor, in place of that quality offaithfulness which can ennoble an English rascal, has a cold-bloodedcurrent in his veins. His manners may be charming--he is a plausibledevil; but lean upon him, and he turns out to be as jerry-built as hisown crumbling whitewashed walls. It is with somewhat of a feeling of banishment into the unknown, that thepassenger by the little coast-steamer takes his departure from Tangier, and sees first its white houses and yellow sands, and last of all Spartellighthouse, disappear as the boat ploughs southwards. Once upon a timeGibraltar had constituted in our minds the outposts, so to speak, ofcivilization; but since we had spent three months in such an unexploredspot as the Tetuan vale and mountains, without society of theconventional type, or library, or church, or any other adjuncts, Tangier, when we came back to it, appeared in the light of a Paris. And nowTangier was again to be left behind; and on one of the littlecoasting-steamers, which deliver cargo at ports on the way, we meant totravel down to Mogador. To have marched the same distance would havemeant perhaps a month on the road, going by Fez and taking it easily;therefore we saved much time by taking the steamer. Though by all reportit was not likely to be at all a comfortable journey, it could only lastfour days at most; and few travellers but can stand four days'discomfort. We did not start without a few warnings and cautions from variousfriends, who seemed inclined to think that we were doing an unprecedentedthing in thus setting off alone into the interior without even a reliableservant, which since the desertion of S`lam was the case. That could notbe helped. We hoped for the best as regarded finding men in Mogador. [Illustration: ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE WAY WE RODE IN MOROCCO. [_To face p. 262. _] Sir Arthur Nicolson had provided us with letters of introduction to theBritish Consul in Mogador, and to a Moor in Morocco City, where it isunnecessary to say there are no representatives of the EnglishGovernment. I had written to him on the subject of getting up to Glaouia, in the Atlas Mountains, and had received the following reply:-- "DEAR MISS SAVORY, -- "As the Court is away from Morocco City, I hardly think it would be wise for you to attempt a visit to Glaouia. Matters are never very stable when the seat of Government is away, and I do not think the Government would be disposed to give you a permit at present. There would, however, be no objection whatever to your going to Morocco City, and I think you will find the journey interesting. "Yours very truly, "A. NICOLSON. " This letter was a blow. But when we finally reached Morocco City we foundthat the thing could be done--that we could get up to Glaouia eitherunder the protection of the English missionaries or with a certain Jewishtrader who lives in Morocco City. The fact of the matter is, that totravel "officially, " as it were, in Morocco is a fatal mistake. It meansa written permission from the Sultan, an army of followers, a commotionwherever a halt is made, and a great deal of hospitality. The Sultan doesnot encourage Europeans to travel out of the ordinary line of route, onaccount of the superstitious and fanatical spirit of his people, whichwould be roused to wrath against him, were he to countenance the invasionof their sacred land by infidels. Consequently, when he gives a permit, he writes upon the document to the effect that the Christian is committedto the care of Kaid So-and-so, and Kaid So-and-so is to see that no illhappens to him. When the Christian traveller arrives at the district belonging to thiskaid, through which he wishes to pass, he goes to the castle and deliversthe permit. The kaid reads it, and knows what it means: the Sultan onlywishes the Christian to be kept to frequented roads. Therefore theChristian is offered every hospitality, and the kaid almost weeps as heexplains that it is impossible for the traveller to proceed--thetribesmen are dangerous, are in revolt along the line the Christianwishes to go. The traveller says he will take his chance. His servants, primed by the kaid, refuse to go with him on the score of the danger. Ifhe manages to get away with one trusty follower, the kaid sends soldiersafter them, fetches them back to the castle--to save their lives, hesays, and his own life, which would be forfeited if a hair of their headswas injured. The Christian, after his rebellious conduct, may be forcedto return discomforted to the coast towns, or he may be allowed to marchon in another direction, keeping on the beaten track. Thus the MoorishGovernment will politely frustrate enterprising spirit on the part of theinfidel. But if the traveller is content with other than a royalprogression through the country, if he will travel quietly and withoutostentation, dressed according to the habits of the people, and beprepared to "rough it, " the chances are, that he may get to places whichhe could never have reached while impeded by a Government escort. But the way above all others to travel in Morocco is to secure the helpof a missionary and to go with him. Medicine is the golden key whichopens every gate; and a Moor will do anything for a _tabiba_ (doctor), which is what a missionary practically is to him. The missionary arrivesat a remote village, and the countryside flocks to him to have its teethpulled out, its sores doctored, its fevers cured; and if the tabibawishes to go on farther, by whatever path, who shall gainsay him, whilehe carries life and health in his hands? He understands their dialect alittle, he dresses as they do, and he brings no overbearing servants toeat up their substance. Nor is he a spy, but only some harmless fanatic, some quaint Nazarene, who thinks to win heaven by thus walking the earthand doing good. Thus several missionaries have penetrated to places in Morocco, fromentering which, Europeans are debarred: they have not "advertised"themselves nor written books upon what they have seen. But the thing hasbeen done, and not only by men. Women missionaries have been where noChristian is supposed to be allowed. Indeed, it should be easier forwomen, in one way, to travel in forbidden territory than men, becausetheir sex is not credited with the sense which could do harm; and theidea of a woman spying, or thinking to exploit the country, discovermines, and so on, would be absolutely laughable to a Moor. Probablywomen, with a large stock of medicines and a knowledge of the countrydialect, could travel in the unknown "Beyond" with comparatively littlerisk. There is one other way for the Englishman to see something of theless-known districts of Morocco, and that is to travel under theprotection of a holy Shar[=i]f. Shar[=i]fs are, like the Sultan, descendants of Mohammed, and they possess the holy _baraka_--that is, thebirthright of the Shar[=i]fian line. They are little gods, and they haveimmunity from the laws of God and man. Their advice is sought for andfollowed by the ordinary country people on every question, and theirdecision is invariably accepted as final. There is no such thing as anaristocratic class or nobility in Morocco; and yet the Shar[=i]fs answerin a way to the same idea, for they possess a religious authority whichsets them far above their countrymen, and constitutes them, in a sense, lords over the people. Besides, they act greatly as mediums between thesecular governors and the tribes, and judge upon various matters. It ispossible for a holy Shar[=i]f to sin, but quite impossible for him to bepunished, the obvious argument being that "the fire of hell cannot toucha saint in whose veins runs the blood of the holy Prophet. " The Shar[=i]fian families form an entire class by themselves. They arefed and clothed and housed by a convenient system of religious taxation, and large presents are made them, while after death their tombs becomeobjects of visit to all devout Mohammedans. A holy Shar[=i]f generally rides a horse, and he dresses in white, with ablue cloth cloak, or else a white woollen over-garment. He wears a pairof yellow slippers, or perhaps riding-boots, called _temag_, buttoned allup the back with green silk buttons, and embroidered down the side withsilk and silver thread. A scarlet fez and a white turban complete him. Shar[=i]fs never shave under the chin, since the days when a certainsultan was being shaved thus by a barber who had it in his mind to cutthe royal throat. But a little boy passing saw the evil design in thebarber's eye. With great presence of mind he rushed into the shop, cryingto the Sultan, "O Most Holy One! the Great Mosque has fallen down!" Bothsultan and barber leapt up and rushed out: the boy explained matters tothe sultan, and the barber was killed. But neither Shar[=i]f nor missionary-doctor had we any hope of meeting atMogador, able and willing to travel into the Atlas Mountains with us. Westarted with plenty of chances open in front, but with nothing certainwhereon to rely. Telegraph station and all such vanities were left behindus at Tangier: letters could not reach us till we ourselves reachedMorocco City, ten or twelve days being the time they would take to arrivethere from Tangier. Our agents--Cook & Son--in the latter place, hadinstructions to open all wires, and in an urgent case to forward to us bya _rekass_ (a runner), who might do the distance in as short a time asseven or eight days. A wire sent thus, by a rekass, might cost three orfour pounds, according to the time the man took: the faster he did thejourney, the more he should be paid. In spite of its hotels Tangier does not possess a single shop whereEnglish newspapers or books can be bought. Our literature had by thistime reached a low ebb; and on board the Hungarian boat, at a time whenone generally reads omnivorously because there is nothing else to do, wehad but a couple of standard books to fall back upon--a history of thecountry was one, the other a volume of Lecky. The history was fairlycommitted to heart before travelling days were done. On the whole, when at last we got off in the little Hungarian steamer, she did not leave much to be desired. For three days we had hung on atthe Continental Hotel, waiting for the hourly expected arrival of theboat, beginning almost to despair of her ever coming in. Finally, patience was rewarded, and one afternoon, with all our baggage, we went on board. We had everything wanted for camping out except tents, and these were to be hired at Mogador. A great wooden kitchen-box heldpots, pans, knives, etc. , and a case contained potted meats, soups, biscuits, and so forth. R. And myself were the only women on board when we left Tangier: eightmen joined us at dinner that night, at one long table in the smallsaloon, and we were said to fill the boat. She was very small, onlyeighteen hundred tons, and there was not much room for walking about onher; but we never went out of sight of the coast, and, sitting on acouple of chairs, could see through the glasses whatever was going on onthe beach--which, I must add, was little enough, at a time when thesmallest incidents become of importance. The greater part of the _Arpad_was given up to cargo. We landed green tea in quantities at Mazagan, andblack-wood, cane-seated chairs for the Jews and Spaniards living there, as well as bales of goods and casks; but we took nothing on board, andthe _Arpad_ became more and more like an empty egg-shell, with a decidedinclination to roll, on the swell which invariably sets down that coast. The captain, a small dark Hungarian, when we left Tangier, changed into athin tweed suit and straw hat: he did not understand English. There wasno stewardess; but the steward, who did all the waiting at table, spoke alittle German. One of our fellow-passengers was an Englishman, born inMorocco, without any desire to leave it--his horizon Gibraltar: he wasDutch Consul at Mazagan. Another man was a grain merchant in Mazagan. Allwere interesting, and could tell us a great deal about the country. Certainly the coast-line, as seen from the deck of the _Arpad_, wasmonotonous, desolate, uninviting to a degree: a long low shore, kh[=a]ki-coloured, treeless, without sign of life, did not raise in usregrets that we had come by sea, especially when told that what we saw, was a fairly correct sample of most of the country we should have riddenthrough. [Illustration: LIGHTERS LOADING. [_To face p. 268. _] On the entire six hundred miles' length of coast south of Cape Spartel, and down which we were steaming, there is not a single lighthouse, bell, beacon, or buoy to mark a reef or shoal, nor is there any harbour, and nosteamer dares to lie close in-shore off a port at night. Therefore, asthere are several ports at which cargo has generally to be landed ortaken on board, steamers go on the line of steaming all night, and lyingoutside a port in the daytime, while boats carry cargo between them andthe shore. Rabat, Casablanca, Mazagan--we stopped at them all, and gotaccustomed to the eternal clank of the crane hoisting bales in and outof the boats; to rolling on to the backs and down into the troughs ofthe Atlantic combers. Finally, we reached Mogador early on the morning of Good Friday, 1902, and said good-bye to the uneasy _Arpad_ and its primitive _ménage_without regret: irregular, white-walled Mogador, set in its rock-lockedharbour, lay in front of us. It was the hot south--there was no doubtabout that. The Riviera is called "the sunny south, " and Tangier iswarmer than the Riviera; but penetrate inland into Africa, go down as faras Mogador, and it is another thing altogether. Here there is no _trace_of Europe, but a great sense of being far away in letter and spirit fromEngland--farther away than Bombay, and many another place, whichout-distances it in miles again and again. We saw Mogador first in a grey light: heavy thunder-clouds hung above;dim and visionary hills lay behind; a regiment of camels paraded the wetsands in front, and lay in the sun underneath the battlemented walls;black flags floated from the mosque-tops, for it was the MussulmanSunday. For the rest Mogador is a city of sea and sand--sand, sand, andyet more sand: it takes two hours' riding to get to anything else exceptsand. With the grey waves washing round two sides of it, and two sides blownand sanded by desert wastes, white-walled Mogador has a somewhat saddenedaspect, as of lifeless bleached bones, apart from the fact that it is sofar removed from the outer world. And infinitely remote, it certainly is. A telegram takes about afortnight to reach England; so that an answer by wire to a wire can beexpected in about a month. A letter sent by a special courier to Tangiertakes eight days--a distance of four hundred miles: by this means a wirecould be sent to England in nine days. The steamers to Mogador are mostirregular, because, in view of there being no safe anchorage, a boat willnot put in in bad weather. Cargo, passengers, and mails are often andoften enough not landed at all, and the inhabitants of the city see butthe stern of the vanished steamer with all their letters on board, not toreturn perhaps for a week. When the English Consul married, and hisfurniture was sent out from England, the _Forward_ boat, which broughtit, came in sight of Mogador, and, being a rough day, went off to Madeiraand on its round by the Canary Isles, back to London again, withouttouching at the sad white city at all. In this way things are apt to belost: it has happened with passengers. A rowing-boat landed us on green seaweedy rocks, and we walked up the oldshell-encrusted water-stairs, and under the arch of the Water-port Gate, above which is carved in Arabic, "The glorious King, my lord Mohammed, ordered the building of this gate by his servant Hamed, son of Hammoo, 1184. " Once on a time, Agadir, a city on the coast, much farther south, was thegreat port and commercial centre of Southern Morocco; but it was farremoved from the Sultan's grasp, the tax-gatherer could pursue the eventenor of his ways without interruption, and the kaid afford to bedictatorial and troublesome. Then the heavy hand fell, and the Sultan'sarmies closed the seaport, offering its throng of prosperous merchantsthe alternative of going to prison or of taking up their abode inMogador. This they did, and Mogador arose; while to work the lighters(the cargo-boats), and to generally serve the merchants, a company ofBerbers was transported with them from the Sus and Agadir to the newseaport. Beyond the Water-port Gate we met a line of heavily laden camels, with acompany of athletic Berber drivers from the Sus, in quaint long tunics ofbutcher-blue, and lank black hair: many of the men veiled themselves;they all looked as wild as hawks, different from any type hitherto seen. The familiar Hebrew broker, in dark blue or black gabardine and greasyskull-cap, was strongly _en evidence_; while as to the state of the dogswe met, of them must the Moorish proverb be written, "If fasting be atitle to Paradise, let the dog walk in first. " Our baggage had all to pass through the Customs House inside theWater-port Gate; and there we walked, through great white-walledcourtyards, whose vistas, of arch beyond arch, suggested Temple courts. Donkeys laden with skins were hurrying across them. Now and then a trainof camels swung along, carrying gum or wax or argan oil or almonds. In agood almond year as many as a thousand camels have sometimes come intoMogador in one day. The Customs House officer was at breakfast, and weawaited his coming by our baggage. At last there was a stir among themany hands who had carried our things up from the boat, and the mostsolemn and dignified individual conceivable slowly sailed upon the scene, way being made for his flowing robes, which were white as a sheet of bestglazed "cream-laid" before the pen marks it. I handed him our pass-paperfrom the Customs House officer at Tangier, feeling like a humble subjectlaying a petition before a monarch: he slowly unfolded it, and moreslowly searched for and produced a pair of spectacles in a silver case. Lastly, having read the document and reviewed our pile, he "passed" itwith an impressive wave of his hand. He then took a seat, a Moor minionon each side: we filed solemnly past him, shaking him by the hand. Anew-born infant has not such a guileless face as that bland Arab. We took up quarters in the Suera Hotel, managed by a capable Scotchwomanand her husband, who had once farmed on the veldt. Early next day I rodeto Palm-tree House on a little horse belonging to the hotel: out by theBeach Gate, we cantered along the sands close to the sea, crossed theriver, left the patron saint-house of Mogador on our left hand, boreupwards across the sandy dunes, and struck inland over hard calcareousrock, where, in the teeth of the wind, the sand never lies. It wasblowing, that day, a hot desert wind, which in a naturally hot place onlymakes one the hotter: with the wind, came a good deal of fine sand, on areally windy day making riding almost impossible. Palm-tree House is a hotel four miles south-east of Mogador, in theloneliest of situations, with the advantage of a view and an open, wildcountry all round: it has none of the drawbacks of the city; it isbreezy, wild, and bare. Having reached the top of the dunes, we struckoff in more or less of a bee-line for Palm-tree House, still riding oversoft sand, where nothing but miles upon miles of _r`tam_ (white broom)grew, lovely when in flower, of which we were destined to see almost morethan enough before we left Southern Morocco. The horses ploughed their way through the white track; two or threebutterflies hovered about the r`tam; chameleons scuttled occasionallyover the path; a tortoise crept along. There were not a few locusts abouteither, looking like handsome little dragon-flies on the wing. A last canter along one of the rough rides through the scrub led us up tothe house, planted well on a rising sand-hill, a view of the sea infront, the hills behind. There are no palm-trees, and there is no garden, nor is there any water, I was told, on the spot; but for all that, Palm-tree House might havebeen a satisfactory lodge wherein to put up. The stunted bush and thesand fringed the very walls. It had the country to itself, and there wasnothing _but_ itself which could spoil that country. It was cool and airyand oddly quiet. Inside, tiles and open patios and big panelled roomsgave all that could be desired: outside, there was an impression ofsimplicity and freedom. The stables were a great point, and the bobbery pack, which hunt pig forfive months all through the winter, accounted in one season for somethinglike nineteen full-grown boar, ten tuskers, and nine sows. Palm-tree House belonged for more than twenty years to a Britishmerchant, who simply provided accommodation for any sportsman liking tocome out and put up for a week or so outside Mogador: it has still theair of a shooting-box. The host, in breeches and gaiters and a great feltwideawake, rode up while we were there, and offered us everyhospitality--a tall wiry man, with good hands and seat. Had time been of no object, we should have moved on into Palm-tree House. It would be a spot to visit at any season, for the climate scarcelyvaries all the year round: the difference between summer and winter isnot more than five degrees. Back again in the city and strolling round it that same afternoon, theconviction was borne in upon us that of all saddening spots Mogador waspossibly the saddest--that is, to the traveller, from an outside point ofview: residents may have another tale to tell. But without vegetation orcultivation within sight, suggestive of life and change and labour, withthe monotonous roar of the grey breakers beating its seaward walls, andwastes of blown white sand to landward, Mogador is the picture of a citywhich has lost all heart, and settled down into grim apathy, without avestige of joy or activity outside its walls. The overcrowding of theJews in the Mellah is a shocking evil, already stamping the risinggeneration with disease. Earlier by three-quarters of an hour than Tetuan at the same time ofyear, the city gates at Mogador were shut at six o'clock, and picnicparties of Moorish or European traders were hurried back in broaddaylight. We met the basha gravely pacing the sands on a white mule withscarlet trappings--of all stout officials, in a country where it is a sinand a shame on the part of one in office to be thin, the stoutest. Hisbroad body overshadowed the big mule, and his two little legs might havebeen a pair of ninepins below a vast cask draped in white. To the south of Mogador lies first the Sus country and then Wadnoon, dividing the Morocco which is partly known to Europeans, from the Sahara, which nobody knows. The Sus may be said to be practically unknown, and itis distinctly "forbidden" land, through which only two or threetravellers have ever passed--Oskar Lenz, Gatell, Gerhard Rohlfs, andpossibly a missionary; but they were all disguised and went in terror oftheir lives; nor have they left satisfactory records of theirexperiences. [Illustration: AFTER RAIN IN MOGADOR. [_To face p. 274. _] And yet the Sus is comparatively close to Mogador, with which ittrades; mules from the Sus were always in the Mogador market; camels werecoming in every week with wool, camels' hair, goat-skins, hides, beeswax, a little gold dust, ostrich feathers, gum-arabic, cattle, and all theproduce of the Sahara; while the Berbers from the Sus were interestingabove any Riffis or tribesmen with whom we had hitherto met. Their country is supposed to contain rich mines: it is said to be fertileand thickly populated; it is not loyal--on the contrary, it isill-affected to its liege lord, the Sultan; it is fanatical to a degree, and largely swayed by a form of government best expressed by itstitle--Council of Forty. In return for their own goods the Berbers fromthe Sus carry back into their country all sorts of Manchester goods, powder, tea, sugar, cheap German cutlery, and the like. These same Berbers, of unknown origin, were, so the Kor[=a]n tells us, packed up by King David, in olden times, in sacks, and carried out ofSyria on camels, since he wished to see them no more. Arrived somewherenear the Atlas Mountains, their leader called out in the Berber tongue"Sus!" which means "Let down!" "Empty out!" So the exiles were turned outof their sacks, and the country in which they settled is called Sus tothis day. Wadnoon trades to a great extent with the Soudan, and Mogador receives animmense amount of its ostrich feathers: slaves are the most importantarticle of commerce in Wadnoon, and Morocco is the chief market for thistraffic in humanity, the slaves being brought chiefly to Morocco City. But if a fever lays hold of the traveller for penetrating into theunknown Sus, what must be felt of the great Sahara, that waveless inlandsea of sand, with its eternal stretches of depressionless wastesreaching on, past horizon after horizon? Perhaps an occasional oasis, green as young corn; a well; a feathery date-palm; a melon-patch. Butrare are these things, and for the most part the Sahara is an endlessdesert which few Europeans could cross and live. Its ancient lore, itsmystic traditions, give it a fascination all its own. Imagine theostrich-hunting on its borders; picture the natives riding theirunequalled breed of horses, the _wind-drinkers_, which carry theirmasters a hundred miles a day, and which, ridden after the birds up-wind, gradually tire them down, until they can be knocked on the head with abludgeon; the Arabs too, themselves, with the unforgettable mannerspossessed by such as Abraham, and handed down from time immemorial; lastof all, Timbuctoo, the Queen of the Desert, the fabled home of thevoracious cassowary, --does not the picture imperiously summon thetraveller "over the hills and far away"? Very far away; for Timbuctoo istwelve hundred miles from Mogador, and a journey there would mean atleast forty days across the Sahara, through a country belonging topeoples in no way friendly towards "infidels, " where oases are few andfar between. Some day we may know the Sahara under other conditions, for a scheme wasstarted years ago with the intention of flooding the great desert bymeans of a canal from the Atlantic Ocean, which should carry water on toEl Joof, an immense depression well below sea-level somewhere in thecentre. Thus, where all is now sand, would lie a vast sea: we should"boat" to Timbuctoo. So far, however, the scheme has begun and ended inwords. But though the great Sahara is desert pure and simple, it is a mistaketo imagine it devoid of life. Even as there has never yet been found acollection of aborigines without its totem, neither are there anyextensive parts of the globe where life of some sort does not exist. TheSahara is little known, chiefly because the oases in the centre areoccupied by intensely hostile and warlike tribes, whose animosity ischiefly directed towards the French, whom they hate with a deadly hatred. But the edges of the great desert have been visited, and on the northernlimits two animals are found--the addax antelope, and Loder's gazelle. The wide-spread hoofs of the addax antelope enable it to travel over sandat a great pace. It is a large and ungainly beast with spiral horns. Probably it follows in the wake of the rains wherever they go; but whathappens to it in the dry season is unknown. Similarly with Loder'sgazelle: though more or less a desert animal, it is a mystery how itremains alive through the long rainless months, in places apparentlywithout water, and on wastes of rolling, wind-drifted sand. Of the natural inhabitants of desert country, the Sahara is by no meansdevoid: sand-lizards, jumping-mice, sand-grouse, sand-vipers, desert-larks, and even a family of snakes belonging to the boas, are tobe found. The kh[=a]ki-coloured sand-grouse are most difficult to see onthe yellow face of the country: the sand-rats and sand-moles all take onthe colour of their surroundings, and thus hide and protect themselves:one and all exist in some marvellous manner where it would seem thatexistence could only be miraculous. The skink is met with, beloved of theRomans, who imported desert-skinks into Rome in Pliny's day, and heldthem a valuable remedy for consumption, chopped up into a sort of whitewine: the trade was brisk in 1581. To-day the Arabs consider it aremedy, and eat it as a food. It acts very much in the same way as doflat-fish in the bottom of the sea, sinking itself under the sand, allowing the sand to lie over its back and cover it, like a flounder, only leaving its sharp eyes out of cover, and sometimes the spines on itsback. For the maintenance of all this animal life, it is quite possible thatrain may occasionally fall even upon desert, and disappear withlightning-like rapidity; for on the borders of certain African deserts inthe north a phenomenon very much like the description of the Mosaic mannaoccurs when the plains have been wetted with rain. The surface is seennext morning "covered with little white globes like tiny puff-balls, thesize of a bird-cherry, or spilled globes of some large grain. " It isgathered and eaten by the Arabs, but, like an unsubstantial fungusgrowth, melts or rots in the course of a day or two. Enough of the Sahara. Meeting with men in Mogador who had come straightfrom the mysterious country, veiled, untamed, and remotely removed fromEuropean touch, our interest was naturally kindled in that Back of theBeyond. There is no need for the traveller to penetrate so far as eitherthe Sahara or the Sus. Long before he reaches them, and in order to doso, he must cross the Atlas Mountains by one of the wild passes, and thegreat chain of the Atlas is still unsurveyed and practically unknown. SirJoseph Hooker and Dr. Ball explored a part of its valleys many years ago:no one since then has made a satisfactory attempt to learn details. Thechain is supposed to be about thirteen thousand feet high, and it isabout twenty miles from Morocco City; but the character of the lawlesschiefs and tribesmen who inhabit it, so far prevents intrusion andexploration. In a few days we were to see it--the mighty, solitary wall, on which theancients believed the world to rest, described by Pliny, rising abruptlyout of the plains, snowclad, one of the world's finest sights: the Atlashad largely brought us to Southern Morocco. CHAPTER X ON THE MARCH ONCE MORE--BUYING MULES--A BAD ROAD--FIRSTCAMP--ARGAN-TREES--COOS-COOSOO--A TERRIBLE NIGHT--DOCTORING THEKHAYLIFA--ROUGHING IT UNDER CANVAS. CHAPTER X And all this time you (at home) are drinking champagne (well, most of it, anyway), and sleeping in soft beds with delicious white sheets, and smoking Turkish cigarettes, and wearing clean clothes, with nice stiff collars and shirt-cuffs, and having great warm baths in marble bath-rooms and sweet-smelling soap . . . And sitting side by side at table, first a man and then a woman--the same old arrangement, I suppose--knives to the right and forks to the left, as usual. THE hot desert wind in Mogador showed no signs of changing: there was noenlivening sun, and the sad white seaport could only charm in a morbidmanner: to be out under the skies, in the open, away from the city andsealed houses and the _eyes_, was a thing to be sought after, and thatquickly. Southern Morocco is like the East in that it is all eyes. Thewatchful East--it may be lazy, but nothing escapes its eyes. They gleambetween the folds of the veil; they look from out of a smooth face, mildand yet as little to be read as the deep sea. And who knows what lies atthe bottom of those quiet pools? There need be no waste of time in Morocco, even as there is noconvention: having decided to start--_start_. The 31st of March saw usaway, leaving Mogador with the intention of marching to _Marrakesh_, which is the Moorish name for Morocco City, the southern capital of theempire. In order to see more of the country we marched by a zigzagroute, crossing, but not following, the beaten track; thus we were onceor twice in villages where European women had not been seen: we met noone, and we camped in odd, out-of-the way corners, objects of hugeinterest to the wandering Arabs with whom we fell in. Mr. Maddon, the British Consul at Mogador, to whom we brought letters ofintroduction from Sir Arthur Nicolson, helped us in several ways, and inhis turn provided us with letters to an Arab in Marrakesh. We managed tobuy two mules: one was from the Sus, with a backbone like a sword-fishand every rib showing, but he was as hard as nails, and would pace alongall day without any trouble; the other was a lazy beast, fat and older;but they both of them proved useful animals, answering our purpose forthe time being. We meant to sell, when we left the country: hiring isexpensive work. Of course it was "just a dear time to buy": it always is. The Jew broker, through whom we bought the mules from the Susi to whomthey belonged, asked seven pounds ten for each of them, but came down tosix pounds fifteen. We sold them some weeks later for five guineas each:hiring would have cost a great deal more. Ordinarily they are to bebought for five pounds and less in Mogador. No Susi will trade directwith a European, and every bargain goes through Israel's hands, whichmeans a big percentage pocketed by the Jew. [Illustration: WHERE MANCHESTER GOODS ARE SOLD, MOGADOR. [_To face p. 284. _] Our hotel-keeper, the Scotch lady, provided us with reliable servants, one of whom turned out to be invaluable. Mulai Omar was, as his nameindicates, a saint by heredity. Algeria was his birthplace. He wastwenty-four years old; and having lived in a French possession, spokeFrench, not like S`lam, but perfectly. He was a well-educated littlefellow, enterprising, energetic; interpreted Arabic and Shillah forus; acted as cook, in which capacity he was first-rate; generallyorganized the camp; and was our personal servant. Mulai Omar was quite aman to know, and a friend to trust. He was unattractive-looking--small, dark, and dirty; wore a red fez, a short black monkey-jacket, andimmense, full, white cotton drawers. Saïd, our second servant, intendedto look after the mules, was a lazy Arab, who acted the fine gentleman, and was never without a cigarette in his mouth. He helped Omar more orless, and was responsible for much loss of temper on our parts, before weparted. Another saint by heredity, Mulai Ombach, looked after our camel, which carried the heavy baggage. Our fourth and last man, Mohammed, drovea donkey, nominally for the purpose of carrying provender for the mulesand camel, but which often as not bore either Mulai Ombach or Mohammedhimself. The two principal servants, Omar and Saïd, rode two mules, whichcarried light loads as well. We hired a couple of Moorish men's saddles for our own use, red-clothed, high-peaked, and well stuffed; also two big tents--one for the servants, one for ourselves. Our commissariat was not hard to manage, helped outwith stores we had brought from Tangier; for bearing in mind Napoleon'struism that "the army marches on its stomach, " we had laid in an amplesupply. Eleven o'clock saw us finally under way on the morning of the 31st. Wehad intended to start at nine; but any one who has ever travelled andcamped out knows the difficulty of getting away upon that firstmorning--the final wrench between the servants and their oldsurroundings, the dozen petty obstacles. In this case one of the muleshired for baggage turned out to be in a wretched condition when it cameto the hotel, and another had to be found in its place--no easy matter. The camel was started off at half-past ten with our beds, bedding, cuisine necessaries, part of the tents, and chairs and table; but, to ourdisgust, Mulai Ombach, its driver, stopped short at the bazaar, and therewe found them both when we rode through the city. They were hurried up, and the whole party seen safely through the city gates; but once outside, the camel was so slow that we left them behind, R. And myself joggingahead with Mulai Omar and Saïd, trusting that the heavy baggage wouldcatch us up at lunch-time. One more delay--outside the Jewish cemeterywas standing, waiting for us, the wife of Saïd: many tears were flowing, and sobs to be heard under the haik. Saïd produced some dollars, whichwere no doubt intended to last her during her husband's absence: he thenrode on without attempting a farewell, and we were really off at last. For the first five miles we hugged the coast in a northerly direction, keeping close to the sea: the tide was high; in one place, where we madea short cut, resulting in rather a nasty bit of riding, we were actuallyin the waves, slipping over black rock, with deep pools on each side. Itwas a grey day, not hot, and the hard flat sands, across which we rodefor the most part, were excellent going. The only wayfarers we met, tramped along behind camels. Untrustworthybrutes these animals are, especially the bubbling ones, out of whose waywe most cautiously kept; for though a camel seldom bites, when he does itis serious. He never forgets an injury. A man in Mogador ill-treated onebadly a few years ago: it went into the interior for a year, and cameback to Mogador, and met and knew the man at once, taking him by thenape of the neck, as is its habit, and tearing the back of his skull off. The sandy dunes on our right were covered with _r`tam_ (white broom), slender, waving, silver-green stems, in seed just then. Only r`tam couldgrow in such poor soil. When we turned inland we found ourselves amongstdense undergrowth, a small forest, consisting chiefly of _tugga_ (a sortof juniper), of myrtle, _sidra_ bushes, and other shrubs, intersected bynarrow paths, along one of which we paced in single file, the limestonewhich crops up all over the country making our pace a slow one. It wasthe middle of the day when we found ourselves in the thick of thisjungle. Omar pointed out a little sandy clearing, and in amongst thebushes, out of earshot of the track, we halted for lunch. The mules hadtheir packs taken off, and rolled themselves in the sand. A carpet wasspread on a bank; and there, with the sea still to be seen behind us, thethickets echoing with familiar blackbirds, and every space glowing withthyme, iris, lavender, and other flowers, we spent the first of many lazyhours of the sort. Alas! our camel was still behind us, and never turnedup: that was a wretched piece of _bundobust_. But long before we quittedMorocco we vowed never to have a camel for baggage again. Only half-an-hour's halt we allowed ourselves; then saddled up, and wereoff again. Still through "jungle, " and by a sandy path the trail led us, blocked often by stones and rocks, truly one of those . . . Sad highways, left at large To ruts and stones and lovely Nature's skill, Who is no pavior. The flowers became more interesting at every step; but there was littletime to get off and collect specimens, though the path was so narrowthat, riding along, pink climbing convolvulus and tall lavender couldeasily be gathered off the bushes. For any unknown specimen some onedismounted, and it was stowed away in an empty tin kettle for safety. By-and-by we dropped down into a narrow valley, green and cultivated: alonely palm-tree or two stuck up--the "feather duster struck bylightning" of Mark Twain. A fine crop of beans was growing on our right, Indian corn and barley to the left: the land looked full of heart, rich, and unlike even the Tetuan country. We came across a man or two workingin a dirty white tunic in the fields, and left behind some wretched hutsdown by a spring. About this time we lost Omar's dog, which was to havebeen our guard--a rather lame lurcher, which thought better of footing itall the way to Marrakesh. The country was full of magpies--not nearly so smart as ourWarwickshire mags, brownish about the tail, and with less white; yetthey could scarcely have been in bad plumage at that time of year. Ina narrow pathway we stood aside to let a camel pass: since we had leftthe coast wayfarers had grown rare for the most part. The place atwhich we had halted for lunch was El Faidar, within sight of one ofMorocco's countless little white saint-houses--Sidi Bousuktor. Now, after a long climb over a ridge, we looked down from the top into avalley--Ain-el-Hadger; and Omar pointed out in the distance the spothe suggested we should camp at for the night. Descending the ridge wasthe roughest piece of riding on the road to Marrakesh: the shale gaveway under the mules' feet; great rocks projected on the track. None ofus dismounted, however: Tetuan had hardened our hearts and accustomedus to awkward corners, and the mules were clever. Slowly we slippedand slid down into the most luxuriant green vale, set in thescrub-covered hills, carpeted with fields of young corn, olive-trees, gardens, fruit-trees, and flowers abundantly. To the north, upon our left, lay the Iron Mountains, no very greatheight, somewhere about two thousand feet, and famous for iron in thedays of the Romans and Carthaginians, who both probably worked them. Nowthey are mined no more, and only known as the favourite quarters of wildboar, signs of whose existence we saw for ourselves, in patches of groundrooted and torn up. We rode down through these fruitful acres as the sun was getting low:here and there lay a little white farmer's house; birds wereeverywhere--suddenly we heard a cuckoo, then a nightingale. At a place where three little glens met we passed a tall look-out tower, standing sentry over each one, from the top of which the Ain-el-Hadgerpeople could easily see an enemy coming. In England it would have been aruin: in Morocco it was in active use, --it is still "the Middle Ages" inMorocco. Leaving a garden on the left, surrounded by a high tapia wall, we crosseda little streamlet into the brook which waters the valley, and reached atlast a corner surrounded with grey olives, deep in lush grass, andoverlooked by the inevitable quaint white-domed saint-house on the top ofa rocky hillock. It was an ideal spot. Omar and Saïd laid their two gunsunder a tree (they rode with them across their knees, ancientflint-locks, and carried bullets in bags at their sides, Omar possessinga French rifle as well); we off-saddled, unloaded the two men's mules, and unpacked what there was to unpack, the camel having practicallyeverything. R. And I strolled about and photographed. A countrymanbrought us three fowls and some eggs. The sun set. Still the wretchedcamel had not come. Dew fell heavily, and Omar made a famous fire andsupplied us with hot green tea. At last there were voices; a great formloomed in the darkness and swung towards us; the donkey followed. It wasnot long before the camel was unloaded, our big tent up, table and chairsand beds put together, and though dinner was late it was the moreacceptable, The Saint proving a chef. A pannierful of bread was part ofthe camel's luggage, and intended to last us until we got to Marrakesh:vegetables we had in plenty for the first two or three days. And Omarworked wonders with the means at his disposal. Early we turned in: thestars were out; the frogs croaked in the streamlets. With the tent-flaptied back, and looking out into the quiet night, we slept as sound astramps on the roadside at home. I woke at 2 a. M. The guard had stopped talking, and were all asleep andsnoring round the tents, except one old greybeard, who was sitting up bythe fire. Four Ain-el-Hadger men had come to act as guard for the night, bringing their guns and long knives with them. It was oddly light--the"false dawn" of Omar Khayy[=a]m; but there were no stars. [Illustration: OUR CAMP AT AIN-EL-HADGER. [_To face p. 290. _] Such a dawn woke us at five! Every bird for miles around was singing:blackbirds sounded like England, wood-pigeons cooed, cuckoos insisted, and among them all, strange and Indian, a hoopoe called. The sun climbedup behind the saint-house and solitary palm; the olives began to castshadows; the grass was silver with dew. We breakfasted soon after six, our table out on the green lawn. Such air and scents of moist earth! Itwas chilly too. The mules fed busily in the long wet grass; behind thekitchen-tent the camel lay, chewing; an old sheikh turned up on a donkey, and joined the servants at breakfast round the fire, at one of thosemeals which were all green tea and tobacco. Just as we were starting a party of fifteen sheikhs and countrymen rodeup on their way to a distant "powder play" at the fête of some saint, twodays' journey off. Passing our camp, they turned into a littlethree-cornered field of much poppies and little corn, and proceeded tobivouac for an hour or two. Tailing one after another through a gap inthe hedge, on the finest barbs Southern Morocco can produce, heavy, buthandsome in their way (particularly a white with flowing mane and tail, and two iron-greys), they pulled up underneath some dense greenfig-trees, and dismounted in the shade, leaving their scarlet clothsaddles to match the poppies. There was colour running riot indeed. Several of the stately figures, allin white, walked up to the saint-house to pray: one great man waddleddown to the stream (to be great is to be fat, in Morocco), and a fewbegan to groom their horses. The guns were piled: the sun glinted on themand on the silver-chased stirrups, and blazed on the snowy garments, onthe poppies, and the saddles, one of which was blue, another yellow. Wewere in the land of Arabs: the Berbers were left behind at Mogador, andthese tall lean horsemen, burnt coffee-coloured, were all descendants ofthe sons of the desert. By this time the camp was scattered: the camel had risen from its kneesand paced off under its medley load some time before, attended by MulaiOmbach, Mohammed, and the donkey. The Ain-el-Hadger guard had each received a trifle for his night'sservices; Saïd had groomed and brought up our mules; we mounted, and, followed by himself and Omar, perched on the top of the two packs, theirguns sticking out at one side, rode away. The first few miles were notmarked by anything of particular interest: the collections of huts andbare walls which sometimes adorned the hillsides were far away; thecurious piles of stones in the fields, almost like scarecrows, were onlylandmarks. But after a time we rode into the country of the argan-tree, that most interesting and unique specimen, which flourishes in thiscorner of Morocco, covering an area about two hundred miles long andforty wide, and growing nowhere else in the known world. Southern Moroccowould be lost indeed without argan oil, which is used for cookingpurposes as a substitute for butter, and of which we had with us a largesupply. The oil is extracted from the fruit of the tree: at the end ofMarch it should be fit to gather, looking much like a large olive, andpossessed of a green fleshy husk, greedily eaten by camels, goats, sheep, and oxen. Thus, as well as gathering the nuts themselves off the ground, the country people allow their flocks to feed upon the fruit: havingdriven them home, the animals chew the cud, disgorging the argan nuts, which are collected, and eventually cracked by women and children inorder to obtain oil. The average height of the tree is twenty-five feet, but its rugged sidebranches will cover a space of seventy feet. Gnarled and twisted, thebark is a little like crocodile-skin, and forms in squares: the trunk hasa way of folding upon itself, too, as it grows--slowly; for a large treemay be three hundred years old, and in consequence its wood is immenselyhard. The argan is more or less tropical: though a tree has been known tolive against a south wall in England, it was killed by the first severewinter. Among the argans, little oxen were ploughing the red rich soil of thevale through which we rode; it was watered by a brook, and real hedges ofpomegranate, out in brilliant flower, divided the fields. In one of thesesome Arabs were digging carrots; in another homely potatoes, the first wehad seen, were doing remarkably well. By this time the camel and attendants had been overtaken and left farbehind, and since we had passed our heavy baggage no other forms of lifeseemed to be travelling along the same trail as our own: certainly acountryman joined himself to us, partly to point out our direction, partly for the sake of company; he held his stick behind his shouldersand stepped out well, but not for long. And after he had left we only sawa few women in the distance. These were often on donkeys, and somecarried water-pots on their heads; but not one of them was "a beast ofburden" in the sense of the women round Tetuan--not one crouched under anoverpowering load of faggots or charcoal. As we jogged on, the great barley-fields, all in ear, though still green, might have led us to believe we were in England, except that in the nextsheltered spot a white saint-house would be found, with its dome and itspalm-tree, perhaps a shady olive grove, allowed to flourish for the sakeof the holy place. Yes, it was Africa. Farther on, an Arab village lay close to the track, no windows in itsyellowish flat walls, apparently no roofs: a stoned arched entrance wasfilled up with thorn-bushes, and the tops of the walls piled with thesame to prevent outsiders from molesting the inmates. This warliketendency was again shown in another watch-tower, built, like the last, atthe conjunction of two valleys. Meanwhile, the bare and uninteresting-looking Iron Mountains weredisappearing from view: another ridge, which met them at right angles, spotted with argan-trees, looked in the distance like a tea or coffeeplantation on Eastern hills--that too faded from sight; and we rodeon--now through a blaze of flowers, for every hedge flamed pink andyellow, and even the dry thorns were blotted with colour--now past fieldsof mauve poppies and scarlet poppies and stretches of stainless blue. Awhite saint-house stood out against the colour, its dome like dazzlingchalk, it shadows blue: we looked back at it from under an argan-tree, inthe shade of which we rested for ten minutes, picking up a few nuts, anddrinking long and deep out of Omar's stone water-jar. Not far from this spot we came upon _Sok-el-Had_ (the SundayMarket)--that is, a place where every Sunday a country market is held, and to which the whole countryside flocks to do its marketing. This wasTuesday, and therefore Sok-el-Had was forlorn and deserted, its rows oflittle mud huts and its meat-hangers empty, not a soul within miles. Theyare as old as Morocco, these places known by the name of the week-day onwhich the market is held--places so strangely deserted upon any otherday. Still we rode on for several hours, past Sheikh Boujiman Ben Hamed'swhite house, while the sun blazed on the bare path, and the argans stoodtoo far apart to cast consecutive shade. It was with much satisfactionthat we saw our next camping-ground in the distance about one o'clock: wehad started early, and a long lazy afternoon was a good prospect. _Sok-el-Tleta_ is named once more after its market--Tuesday Market. Evenas Sok-el-Had was forlorn, so Sok-el-Tleta in proportion teemed withlife. Held on the open hillside, upon a great bare space worn brown bycycles of Tuesday markets, the prevailing colour brown and white, hundreds of mules, hundreds of Arabs, the sight was one not to beforgotten. We dismounted, and followed Omar into the thick of the fray, surroundedat once by a staring and interested crowd. It was an extraordinary scene. Streets were formed by rows upon rows of little mud cubicles, thatchedover, inside which, on a mud shelf, the vendor sat, with his goods spreadout for sale round him. Slippers were being mended; blacksmith's work wasbeing done; cottons and stuffs were selling, sugar, groceries of allsorts, brand-new slippers and new clothes, vegetables and meat. Meat wasthe centre of the whirlpool, and round the carcases and shapeless jointsthe largest crowd: it hung on upright stakes and branches stuck in theground, and the effect was that of a nightmare wood, in which the weirdtrees were bearing gory and dreadful fruit. It was all life and stir, that bare hillside; and by half-past one o'clock the whole thing hadmelted away, and there was no sign of a human being moving. Mulai Omar was well known in Sok-el-Tleta, his wife's relatives livingthere: because he was a saint his clothes and slippers were kissed byevery one who met us as we rode along to our camp beyond the TuesdayMarket. We passed women and children digging for ayerna root: the cornnot being yet ripe, they were short of food. The root of this weed, though eatable, is most unwholesome, and unless carefully prepared, people grow thinner and more yellow upon it daily. But all our interest in a few moments was focussed upon a most imposingruin, a real Windsor Castle of a rudimentary type, which commanded ahilltop on a table-land on the right, great walls rearing themselves upto the sky, towers defending every corner, a turreted gate-house theentrance, and the whole loop-holed, grim-looking enough. Obviously thekaid who built such a kasbah was a great man: his garden, a beautifulovergrown wilderness, gone like his castle to rack and ruin, lay below atSok-el-Tleta, wisely situated, for vegetation would have been badlyexposed upon the hilltop. About twenty-seven years ago the kaid who built the kasbah--chiefly byforced labour on the part of all the country people for miles round, though skilled workmen came from Mogador and were paid--was attacked bythe Arab tribes from end to end of his province of Shedma, and after asix-months' siege was forced to fly to Marrakesh, where he died inprison, the tribesmen demolishing the castle for hidden treasure, tillevery wall had yielded its secret. Probably he oppressed his provincelike every other kaid, and was well hated. We went inside, and it was aforegone conclusion that we should camp there upon the grass. Thegovernor's own halls were in a block in the centre, room after room, mostintricate. Our tents were pitched in the vast sunny courtyard. Wewandered about, exploring the odd corners, all the afternoon: not avestige of timber or decoration remained. Handsome little red-brownkestrels with grey heads hovered over us and sat on the old walls, uttering their querulous cry: a beautiful blue jay, with cinnamon backand black-tipped wings and tail, was nesting in a hole among the bricks, and let us come close to him. A _sib-sib_ scampered along an oldwindow-ledge, a little animal like a squirrel, grey with striped back, the stripes running from head to tail: it ruffled out its tail at will. The camel turned up at five, having been nine hours on the road. Later ona _mona_ (a present) was brought us, consisting of butter, in a lordlydish set round with pink roses. So in the deserted walls of the kasbah wepassed the night. Ghosts ought to have haunted those horribledeath-traps, the _matamors_, of which there are said to be a hundred. Theground seemed riddled with these "wells, " intended for the storage ofgrain, but used by sheikhs and kaids as their private prisons, whence attheir will they draft on luckless captives to the public gaols: an oldenemy is quite harmless in a matamor, with a square stone over the top, for the rest of his life. The wonderful cisterns were another feature of the kasbah, immense tanksunderground, concreted and still water-tight--at the end of every dryseason cleaned out and whitewashed, now half full of stinking rain-waterand decay. We got off at seven the next morning, struck the main road from Mogador, left it, and found ourselves in quite an agricultural country, greenbarley-fields, planted all over at intervals with figs and pomegranates, even hedges of a sort. Then again we were in the argan forest--the lastof it, and the best: beautiful trees, with their knarled, twistedbranches. I thought of yews on the Surrey hills. Here coarse grass grewbetween, something like a park at home: goats clambered up into theforks, feasting on the green fruit. But all too soon the argans came toan end, and we saw this phenomenon of Morocco no more. Nor was the exchange of the argan forest for the everlasting _r`tam_(white broom) and a sun-baked, arid wilderness, a welcome one. It alwaysmeant stones and sand and a general grilling, the r`tam, as it waved likepampas-grass to the far horizon. By-and-by palmetto cropped up, thefan-shaped dwarf palm, which makes ropes and twine, baskets, mats, dish-covers, leggings, hats, and girths. Here it grew in the middle ofwretched little attempts at corn-fields--a drawback to farming, thoughfrom want of water farming might well have been let alone. Topping arise, the whole undulating country was r`tam and palmetto: occasionally aflock of goats moved on its face, tended by thin mahogany-coloured Arabboys in dirty woollen tunics. When a single olive-tree appeared, we hailed its shade for lunch. Themules, hobbled together, grazed: Omar and Saïd lay at a short distance, drinking green tea and smoking near the little fire they had lit. Botanical specimens had to be dried. That night we camped outside the kasbah belonging to the most powerfulkaid in the whole district: an immense reddish-yellow pile it was, builtof _tapia_--that is, of mud, gravel, and water principally, poured intobottomless cases on the wall itself, and left to set. The kasbah hadlived through a siege or two, and looked as if it would "ruin" quickly. From the arched gateway a crowd of squalid retainers emerged to stare atsun-helmets and Englishwomen: living like mediæval times within thecastle's protecting walls, the "feudal system" practically obtains inMorocco in the present day. Alas! the governor, Kaid Mohammed, was at Fez: his _khaylifa_(lieutenant) received us inside the filthy and squalid kasbah, seated ona doorstep--a better-dressed man than his retainers, curtailed perhaps inintellectual allowance, who gave us leave to camp outside. [Illustration: A BLINDFOLDED CAMEL WORKING A WATER-WHEEL. [_To face p. 298. _] That evening we watched a blindfolded camel turning a water-wheel, andsome wretched prisoners, with irons on their feet, who shuffled out ofthe gate and drew water. A black slave brought Kaid Mohammed's horses towater one by one; then made each roll on a sandy patch of ground, offwhich he first carefully picked every stone. The sun streamed in at our tent door next morning, but we were atbreakfast before it had more than left the horizon, and soon on our waythrough a rough country of scrub and olives--a capital country for pig(which are shot in numbers), and practicable for spearing them, one wouldthink. Jogging along little paths, with a cool breeze in our faces, whichinvariably went round with the sun, we came by-and-by to a valley, greenand wooded with olives, where barley was growing, looking as if it hadbeen kept under glass, it was such an even crop, and rooted in therichest soil. Crack--crack--ping! and a stone whistled over our heads:this meant Arab boys scaring birds with slings, made of dried grass, andprobably after David's pattern. From out of an Arab village a little black child ran with a bowl of verysour milk, which, however, Omar and Saïd appreciated: the child wore onefilthy whitish garment and a bead necklace, a little inky-black pigtailcompleting it. This was a day of all days, in that we had our first view of the AtlasMountains--those mountains which we had come so far to see. There theywere, first seen from a certain ridge, mighty peaks, snow-covered, filling one with an intense desire to travel into their fastnesses: ahaze, however, hid the greater part of the range. A countryman joined us for a short distance, to whom Omar gave acigarette-paper and a pinch of tobacco. Again all cultivation wasexchanged for uncompromising plain, stones, stones, and a soil likeiron, on which nothing grew except the thorny zizyphus lotus, with thedouble row of thorns, one pointing forward, the other back, out of whichthe Soudanese make their zarebas. A colony of bottle-shaped nests, madeof dried grass, in these thorn-bushes, tempted me to try for some eggs. The attempt proved what a barrier the thorny lotus can be. I wasextricated with difficulty by means of Omar's gun-barrels and Saïd'shands; but not without one nest and eggs--they apparently belonged to avariety of sparrow. A well with one tree, a spot of shade in the arid plain, intervenedfarther on. The mules drank. An Arab rode up, lean, walnut-coloured;slipped off his high-peaked red saddle, hobbled his mule, and lay downunder the tree. Hot as it was, we pushed on. This plain is said to remindtravellers of the stony part of the Sahara. In the air was a scent ofburnt grass and flowers--a _honey_ smell: every time a breeze came wewere duly grateful. The mules clattered on over the stones until SidiMoktar came in sight--a saint-house of the deepest sanctity, near which acountry market is held one day a week. Up to this cluster of what Omardignified by the name of _shops_ we rode, and, dismounting, stooped ourheads, and took possession of one of the minute mud-booths, the servantsgoing into another next door. We could sit upright, though not stand, andthere was shade in the shape of a thatched covering, while after theglare and flare of the sun outside it was as cool as a cellar. From one to three we rested there, drank green tea after lunch, studiedmaps, took notes. But the sun was as hot as ever when we took to the openroad again, plain before us, the Atlas dimly to be seen. Some oddlyformed hills, from four to five hundred feet high, flat-topped, presentlyappeared: one, from its contour, is called _Hank-el-Jemmel_ (Camel'sBack). We rode past them. A layer of coarse chalcedony covers the flatsummits, which would offer resistance when, ages ago, the Atlas wall wasscooped into ridge and ravine, and the plain below washed bare, exceptfor isolated remnants, such as these table-hills. We picked up fragmentsof chalcedony and small blocks of volcanic rock, or basalt. About five o'clock we reached an Arab _douar_, or village, and decided tocamp near it for the night. Twenty or thirty conical huts, made ofbranches and grass and anything which keeps out the sun, black camel'shair or a worn-out garment; the whole surrounded by a great hedge, or_zareba_, of the thorny lotus, not growing, but piled up, one hole leftin the fence for exit, and closed at night by simply piling extra thornsin the space; a company of howling dogs, --such is an Arab douar, and itis probably unequalled for filth, though when the parasites become toomany, even the thick-skinned Bedouin moves out, and a new douar is put upsomewhere else. There was no choice as regards camping near such a spot:it may have been unsafe in the open--at any rate no servants could everbe induced to sleep except under the protection of a village or a kasbah. It was five o'clock. An old sheikh or headman came out from between thethorn-barrier, welcomed us, and led the way inside to a perfectlyimpossible open space, a dunghill, amongst the huts, where we might camp;it was overrun with fowls, and covered with filth of every description. Therefore, though assured that we should be much safer within the zareba, and deeply against the wishes of the servants, we insisted upon leadingthe way outside, and choosing a spot as far removed from the fence aspossible, though only too near for our own comfort. As soon as the tentswere pitched and the sun had set, such a noise of goats (which had justbeen driven inside the douar) bleating, and donkeys braying, and dogsbarking, and children crying, arose, as we prayed it might not be our lotoften to hear at the end of a hard day. An admiring throng had gathered round us while the tent was in course oferection, and we were sitting on the grass. One old woman squatted beforeus, cross-legged, not a yard from our feet, and _gazed_; she wore nothingbut one woollen garment, apparently a square held together on theshoulders by steel pins: her skinny arms, legs, and feet were bare, ofcourse. We did not encourage "the masses, " but kept them at arm's-lengthwith sticks. That was a noisy night: half the douar was apparently being entertainedin the servants' tent, which for safety was pitched all too close to ourown, and they talked far on into the small hours in mumbling undertones, to the sound of which we finally slept, nor waked till a glorious dawn ina cloudless sky roused us at five o'clock. The herds were then wendingtheir way out of the douar, filing across the plain, the mysteriousdelicate light of sunrise on the backs of the sheep and goats. By seveno'clock the sun was too hot to sit in for choice. We had alreadybreakfasted in the conical shadow cast by the tent, a group of childrenwatching every operation, some of them wearing the quaintest necklaces, of argan nuts strung together, and lumps of yellow sulphur sewn intoperforated squares of leather: these were eagerly untied and handed overto us for a _bellune_ (2½d. ). At eight o'clock we had left the douar behind, and were heading forSheshaoua, south of the Camel's Back, along a trail more stony anddesert-like than any before: even the few thorn-bushes did not flourish;perhaps the white snails, with which they were so thickly covered thatthe branches looked all in blossom, did not agree with them--snails whichare beloved of partridges. We met no man nor animal, till at last a_rekass_ passed us, a runner carrying the mail to Mogador, jogging alongthe two hundred and seventy miles' journey, for which he would be paid, there and back again, thirteen shillings. His stick was tucked under hisclothes, down his back, for the sake of ventilation; his waistband wastightened; his palm-leaf wallet was on his back, with letters, possiblysome bread, a match or two, and some hemp, inside. He was a long-limbedfellow, bronzed and bearded, with the vacant, glassy eyes of akif-smoker; for kif kept him going often instead of food, and helped himto swing along day after day, untiring, like a camel, sleeping little, praying occasionally at a saint's tomb, fording the streams, trottingover the plains, his eyes fixed on the horizon--"eating the miles, " asArabs say. This particular rekass left Marrakesh on Monday morning atten, and reached Mogador on Wednesday afternoon at three, doing his twohundred and seventy miles in forty-nine hours. When Sir William Kirby Green died suddenly on an embassy in Marrakesh, arekass carried the news to Mazagan, a hundred and sixty miles, inthirty-two hours; but the Vice-Consul told me that upon reaching hisoffice the man fell down--he could not stand to tell the news. We rode on, praying for a breeze which never came: the sun literallysizzled on the baked desert, the rocks gave out an oven-like heat, andthe rarefied air oscillated over the wastes. It was too hazy for morethan glimpses of the Atlas and their snows: as far as we could seestretched only illimitable drab-coloured plain, broken by the flat-toppedhills. At last we stumbled along to the top of a ridge; and there, strange and delightful sight, away in the distance lay a green basin, trees, no mirage, but the valley of Sheshaoua. Sheshaoua is a district ruled by a powerful governor, whose great kasbahlies somewhere about the centre, dominating a large village. The districtis watered by a stream from the Atlas Mountains, which accounts for itsfertility; for, except where irrigation is possible, there can be nocultivation in this sahara: wide ditches conduct the stream across thelength and breadth of the province, resulting in a green ribbon upon theface of the plain, the fields being edged with little hard mud-banks, keeping the water evenly distributed over the surface when the crops needflooding. To have lived upon sun-burn is to appreciate the colour green: the marchlost its monotony and some of its heat, when green lay in front and camenearer with every stride. Two hours and a half were short: the end ofthat time found us riding between corn-fields, crossing streamlet afterstreamlet watering the vegetation, and at last jogging over real turf, instead of clattering on stones, which had made talking difficult for thelast day or two; now the path was actually soft and earthy. A long stringof camels kept pace with us for a time on a parallel trail; then a douarcame into sight, afterwards two saint-houses and a ruined kasbah. Thathalf of these castles are ruined is not to be wondered at, consideringthat they are mud-built, and that tribal disputes and invasions areinterminable. Some of those same crumbling tapia walls which we passedsupported immense earthen jars, standing out against the sky--jars whichare stored with corn or butter, and sealed up: nine months' old butterhas the reputation of an old wine. Shady trees, standing for the most part by the stream, hung over ourpath, but would have made damp camping-grounds, and we rode on through amarsh, up one ridge, down the opposite side, and at last into theprincipal village of Sheshaoua, not far from which, on a hillside to thenorth-east, lay one of the familiar country market-places, with itscollection of little shelters for the sellers, its upright branches onwhich to hang meat--Thursday's market this. A ruined, red-walled kasbahfaced it, apparently inhabited by storks alone, busy building their greatrough nests: some were in the village. Sheshaoua was no douar, but a high-walled collection of houses, overlooked by the modern kasbah on the hill. Thither we rode, up thesteep slope, to call on the kaid, Sekassam Belcady, and ask permission topitch the tents in one of the gardens which fringed the stream below. This the khaylifa granted at once (the kaid himself being at Fez with theSultan), pressing on us the alternative of putting up inside the kasbahitself; but the open air had stronger attractions, and we wound our waydownhill to the stream, on the other side of which the kaid's own gardenlay. There being no bridge, the stream deep, and the banks steep, themules were driven over by themselves, and R. And I followed one by one onOmar's back--on and into a natural garden fit for the gods, one ofNature's own parterres, and a paradise at that. On dry ground, underneath orange-trees covered with blossom, we lunchedand lay down: of flowers, except wild ones, there were none, nor anyattempt at cultivation; the terraces were dense in greenery and shade, interlaced with branches, intersected by streamlets, perfumed withorange flowers; water murmured; nightingales answered each other fromevery corner; wood-pigeons cooed content; most musical of all, thebulbul's throbbing, passionate note--not loud--was heard for the firsttime. Yes; we might have said: "If there is a heaven upon earth, it isthis, it is this, it is this. " The snake creeps into most paradises: suddenly a thunder-storm invadedours; heavy rain began even to penetrate the thick lace of leaves andbranches over our heads, and, walking to the opening at the edge of thewood, it was clear that heavy storms were working up from the north-east;nor did the day improve. Having sat through two downpours, with everysign of more to follow, when another pressing invitation came from thekhaylifa to spend the night in the kasbah, it seemed foolish to do otherthan accept; for bad weather under tents, which like ours did not claimto be waterproof, has no attractions. Further, the khaylifa had statedthat the guest-house was new, and had never been occupied. Thither we hurried through the rain. The inside of the "castle" wasblocked by a collection of filthy-looking sheds or rooms, which seemed tobe full of Arabs and negroes and women--wives of the khaylifa--all ofthem squalid and mannerless: the paths between were littered with refuse. A country kaid, judging from the state of his kasbah, is possessed of norefinement, and has less sense of decency and comfort, as European ideasgo, than many members of the labouring class at home. The appearance of the guest-house was, however, reassuring: the longlofty room into which we were shown had been newly whitewashed, theceiling painted red and green; its double doors and two windows openedinto a little courtyard, and rooms beyond housed the servants. A sheepwas being skinned in an adjoining shed: we were to be feasted. Meantime, few, if any, of the kaid's retainers could have abstained fromvisiting us, to judge by the levée which we held for more than an hour:perhaps the black slaves were most interesting, but they were alsohardest to remove, from the scene of such a phenomenon, as twoEnglishwomen within their own walls. Probably no such thing had happenedwithin the memory of man; for Sheshaoua is off the beaten track toMarrakesh, nor do travellers as a rule sleep out of their tents. While we had tea, under a battery of eyes, and further annoyed by thechatter at the open door and windows, a _mona_ (a present from thegovernor) arrived, and was set down at our feet. It was not thetime--just after tea--to eat an immense dish of _coos-coosoo_, or asteaming pile of hot mutton and raisins, cooked in oil, which lay on theround trenchers, when the great beehive-like straw covers were raised:some of the hot cakes accompanying them might be managed, but the restwas handed over to the expectant servants, to whom coos-coosoo is asroast beef to the British labourer, though less stimulating, for it onlyconsists of wheat or millet or maize flour, granulated, steamed, andeaten hot, sometimes crowned with chicken. Following hard on the mona came a message from the khaylifa asking formedicine. Graphically answering my question as to what was the matterwith him, the messenger stroked his waist: we found a pill, which wascarried off with much gratitude. A short time elapsed, and then, to our horror, four slaves arrived, carrying great preparations for tea--brass trays, urn, and the wholeparaphernalia--mint and sweetness filling the room. Again the servantsbenefited; and even a third time, after we were actually in bed; for thedoor was bombarded, and three women came in, and laid a great almondpudding, of much delicacy, covered with stripes of grated cinnamon, atour feet. That night was the one bad experience of our time in Morocco. Though theguest-room was new and apparently clean, some matting had been laid onthe floor, which we had not removed, and with the darkness its occupantscame out in such numbers that, in spite of "Keating" round the legs ofeach bed, the long hours were taken up in warfare, and we never slept. Next day the room was scoured out, and the lively matting ejected, whilewe were strolling round Sheshaoua between heavy showers of rain, whichreduced the clay country to a state of quagmire. However, Sunday, after apeaceful night both inside and out of doors, broke fresh and clear: allthe great loose thunder-clouds had packed themselves into long cloudletswith ruled horizontal bases; and in clear, rarefied air, standing upalmost unearthly in their beauty, the Atlas range from end to end, was tobe seen at last. Chiselled peak after peak, upon which no traveller hasever set foot, glistened in the sun, apparently about ten miles off, inreality more like thirty or forty. It was one of those mornings whichhave been thoroughly washed, and the swirling pea-soup river bore witnessto the operation as surely as the air of purity which the whole countrywore. All was radiant: down below, the orange grove of our arrival rangwith nightingales and bulbuls; there was a scent of heaven, an undertoneof racing waters. [Illustration: SHIPS OF THE DESERT WE PASS ON THE MARCH. [_To face p. 308. _] Just as we were packed up to start, the khaylifa sent and expressedthanks for our medicine, and asked that as a favour we would see hiswives, one of whom was ill. They were found in mud rooms, dark and dirty, most uninteresting in themselves. One stout "lady" had a swelled neck, the other had cataract: both wished to be prescribed for. I recommended, through Omar, bathing the swelled neck: it was necessary from acleanliness point of view. From the same point of view I shook handshurriedly and departed, climbed into the saddle, and was soon far awayfrom the kasbah at Sheshaoua. CHAPTER XI A PARTING MONA--FORDING SHESHAOUA RIVER--JARS OF FOOD--FIRST SIGHT OFMARRAKESH--A PERILOUS CROSSING--RIDE INTO MARRAKESH--THE SLAVE MARKET. CHAPTER XI "We who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told: Give to these children, new from the world, Rest far from men. Is anything better, anything better? Tell us it then: Us who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told. " W. B. YEATS. WE were once more upon the march; and yet all links with the kasbah werenot broken, for we had gone but a short way when a servant ran after us, carrying a familiar dish, known from afar--a parting mona. Laid at ourfeet, we tasted, as courtesy demanded, a coos-coosoo made of gratedalmonds, powdered sugar, and cream--a sweet which cloys at an early hourin the day, though to Moorish servants, at any and every moment of theirlives, it is as caviare to the few. A circle was formed round the dish:in two minutes, all that was left, was "an aching china blank. " Quantity rather than quality distinguishes Moorish cookery. The richman's dishes are more or less like the poor man's, only that he has sixtimes as many; indeed, there are said to be dishes of coos-coosoo whichseven men can barely carry. The Sultan's own cuisine is quite simple, better served, and more of it perhaps, than his subjects', but otherwiseexactly the same. Having disposed of the mona, our cavalcade started, and we rode down tothe Sheshaoua River, still in heavy flood, but fordable since the finenight. The waters roared past between the crumbling banks: we saw in oneplace waggon-loads of red soil suddenly subside with a vast noise intothe cataract which had undermined it. Upon the brink the men strippedthemselves; then, wading into the torrent, hauled across mules, camel, and donkey one by one: we took our feet out of the stirrups, and managedto keep dry; the camel behaved admirably. [Illustration: TRANSPORTING OUR BAGGAGE. [_To face p. 314. _] It was an uneventful day, across a bleak and stony country. Towardsevening we passed a ruined kasbah, rose-red in the sunset. Riding dueeast, our long sharp shadows pointed ahead: there was a peace over allthings. The shadowed heights on the right, scooped into blue gullies andmighty crests, carried a veil of cloud on their tops: the good little redpath we were on, was without a stone. As the sun dropped we swung alonginto a dim grey beyond, to the muffled tramp, tramp of the mules' hoofs, _shuffle-shuffle through the night_, while a cool breeze got up, and aflight of birds high above us called aloud as they passed over. Ah! buthow good it was!--no telegrams, no conventionalities, no possessionsworth worry or consideration. Strange, the influence which such a simplelife has upon the mind: letters, and newspapers, and the topics of theday, and the world in general, have little interest for the time being, and get buried in the wastepaper-basket of trivialities, while theweather, and the state of the track, and little things in Nature, assume gigantic proportions and fill the mind. We camped that night near another red ruined kasbah, whose long line ofcrumbling tapia walls against the Atlas Mountains stretched itself outlike a watch-dog beside the forbidden hills. In the morning Arabs weremore importunate than ever, one woman thrusting her head between theflaps of the canvas while we were dressing. A deal, meantime, went on inthe kitchen-tent over a lamb, Omar feeling its neck and tail, andsubsequently buying it for five shillings, after which it was silentlydispatched on the far side, skinned, cut up; and the donkey bore apannierful of meat that day. Our blue jay of the ruined kasbah at Sok-el-Tleta turned up again on themarch, beautiful as ever, and no less tame; but all the birds shared thatdistinction, and were of a confiding nature delightful to see. Before Frouga, one of our next camping-grounds, was reached, we passed akasbah which six years ago was in the possession of a kaid, who may ormay not be still alive, in prison. His province, at any rate, roseagainst him to a man at the late Sultan's death, and wrecked his castle, the Government disposing of him after he had escaped to Marrakesh. Theorchards of almond-trees, with thriving beans planted underneath them, and the fat fields of barley, spoke volumes for the prosperity of hisdays. It takes much provocation to induce country people to rise andrebel against their kaid; for rebellion, if unsuccessful, brings downsuch awful vengeance on the heads of the tribesmen: therefore his hardcase was probably just punishment. Another river, the Asif-el-Mel, had to be forded on the same day. It wasa bad crossing, we were warned by one sheikh not to attempt it, andneither of our men knew the ford; but some Arabs turned up, and theyhelped to get the mules safely across. R. And I had each four men withus: we tied our boots, stockings, camera and glasses round our necks, androde over, careful not to look down at the race of the torrent, which hasturned horsemen giddy often enough, --a raging river rather more thanbreast-high is not a thing to be trifled with. On the banks beyond lay alarge and flourishing village, chiefly remarkable on account of its_Mellah_ (Jews' Quarter), --a strange thing to find so far fromcivilization; and yet it was not, for the interior of Morocco is full ofwandering Israelites, who, living and dying in remote Arab and Berbersettlements, become naturalized to a certain extent, yet ever "keepthemselves to themselves, " housed only in their own "quarter, " under lockand key after sundown, and subjected to a few irksome regulations. Someof them become rich on the profits of the "middle man, " buying skins andproduce of all sorts from the country people, and passing them through tothe coast towns: such men may be worth from £3, 000 to £5, 000. It is hard to conceive a race settling from choice amongst the squalorand filth of the lowest type of Arab, but as a matter of fact, the JewishQuarter violated, over and above all the rest of the village puttogether, every tradition of cleanliness. The Berber villages of thenorth, dirty enough in all conscience, absolutely shone in comparisonwith the Arab douars in the south, or with their larger settlements, those semi-villages, whose flat-roofed huts were stacked with earthen orbasket-work jars. These bottle-shaped jars, full of what Mohammed calls"the liquor of the bee, " cream-cheese, barley, etc. , were plastered withmud, and waterproof: when they occurred in twos and threes on every roof, the effect was striking. It would have been a monotonous ride to Frouga except for the AtlasMountains on our right, which we had been steadily nearing for days: nowcomparatively close, their gleaming snow-peaks were never withoutinterest, and Omar told tales of travellers' experiences up in one or twoof the passes. The principal roads across the chain to Taroudant, Ras-el-Ouad, and the Sus, pass through Frouga, and make it an importantplace. It possesses an _inzella_, or sort of fondâk, where men andtransport are safe for the night under the protection of the kaid of thedistrict. We pitched our tents among little fields of beans and barley, plantedwith olive-trees, close to a mosque, and awoke when _es-sbar_ (sunrise)was called in sonorous tones from the top of the dome: a cuckoo answeredthe mueddzin, and a pair of little doves began to coo persistently. The gardens of Frouga are celebrated--full of vines planted likehop-gardens, of prickly pear, figs, pears, apricots, and corn, in betweenthe fruit-trees. And yet the owners are not rich: the governors of thedistrict see to that; for supposing a man becomes richer than thegovernor, X. , he goes to the Government and says, "If you make megovernor instead of X. , I will bring you more money than he does, andhere is a present at the same time. " The Government accepts the bribe, and gives the man a letter stating that he is made governor instead of X. The man collects his friends and ousts X. , perhaps imprisoning him forlife. A governor, therefore, never allows a man under him to possesscapital. He may be rich in cattle and gardens, but he will have to paythe governor out of his profits from thirty to ninety shillings at statedtimes all the year round, and never have any "spare cash. " If he refusesto pay, he is turned out of his own home and acres, which fall into thegovernor's hands. Naturally he prefers to cling to his gardens. Beyond Frouga lay some of the most fertile land in Morocco. We passedwonderful crops of barley and wheat, which in an average year, for everybushel sown, yield forty bushels. Moors say that corn in Morocco is knownto yield, not forty, but a hundred-fold. In England fifteen-fold isconsidered an average crop. Morocco grows two crops each year: there is aspring harvest and an autumn harvest. It would seem, therefore, that ifagriculture were encouraged, and light railways laid down to the coast, money would pour into the country--especially supposing that, instead ofwheat, such a crop as linseed was grown. Russian and American competitionwould probably diminish the profits to be made out of wheat, but a soiland a climate like Morocco might grow anything and everything. At presentfraud and dishonesty seem the soul of trade: the Jew brokers cheat theMoors; the Moors sand their sheep's wool to make it heavy, mix paraffincandles with their beeswax, put all manner of things into oil, and so on. But a single example shows the spirit of the country. A friend of oursfound his horses becoming poor, yet he saw their corn taken out to themevery evening: he examined it; it was quite good. After a time itoccurred to him to look inside the horses' mouths, and he found the gumscut and lacerated in order to prevent their eating their barley, which, after it had lain a certain time on the ground untouched, was confiscatedby the servants. [Illustration: MARRAKESH. [_To face p. 318. _] Meanwhile, each day as we marched on, brought us nearer to our bourn, andat last we found ourselves on a wide flat plain, unbroken, except by thetrail which we followed, consisting of six or eight narrow paths, windingon side by side like railway rails--a splendid "high road" forMorocco. Truly it is a spare-room country. The snaking track might takeup acres and acres of rich land. What matter! There is room. It was still very hot: smoked spectacles kept off a certain amount ofglare, and I wore two hats, a straw on top of a felt, having neglected tobring a solar topi; but even so the sun was unnecessarily generous, glowing on the splendid polish which some of the Arabs carried on theirsepia-coloured skulls, and making it impossible to follow the crestedlarks, singing their heads off, up in the brilliant sky. At last we felt a breeze, topped a low rise: an old greybeard all inwhite jogged up towards us on a donkey, a man running behind; a villagelay below; but our eyes only went to one spot in the wide blue plain, which was spread out like a praying-carpet before us. That spot laytwenty-five miles off--a single tower, the Kutobea in Morocco City. "Marrakesh!" cried Omar and Saïd simultaneously. We rode on, across dry plain, over old river-beds, through patches ofolive-trees, pink oleander, and castor-oil plant; leaving Arab douarsbehind; meeting with white cow-birds which recalled Tetuan; passing menwith merchandise on camels and donkeys, strings of country people, andwanderers of all sorts; stopping to rest near wells where swallows werebuilding in the brickwork and donkeys stood asleep in the shade; watchingArabs beating out corn with sticks, men ploughing, until we were oncemore amongst "greenery" and in a fertile stretch of country. Surely therewas a river near. We passed fine crops of maize; onions were doingfamously; fields of bearded wheat rustled in a life-giving breeze. Andthen the Wad-el-Nyfs, the largest river we had to cross, came into sight. Saïd at the outset precipitated himself into a great hole, and was wellducked: eventually we all landed safely on the other side, though thestart was far from reassuring, some Arabs on the bank telling us it was"not good" to cross, and wading down into the torrent, for us to see thatthe water took them up to their necks almost at once, sweeping themdown-stream. Before we rode into the water every man divested himself ofeach particle of clothing which he wore; and R. Got across with twodark-skinned individuals clinging on to her legs, one on each side of themule, a third hanging on to its bridle, and a fourth at its tail; while Ifollowed also with four attendants. Not long ago, a party of missionarieswas fording one of these very rivers, and neglected to have men at themules' heads, one of which stumbled and threw its rider into the rapidstream: she was drowned. It was not deep at the time, or more precautionwould have been taken: on the other hand, the stream is always like amill-race, an accident can happen in a moment, and therefore a ruleshould be made, and never under any circumstances broken, to the effectthat every rider have a man at the mule's head, and more than one, according to the state of the river. We had a long hot ride to Tamsloect: the breeze, which was westerly, wasuseless to us; the track led over stony yellow hills; now and again wecaught glimpses of the Kutobea standing up very far away; and all thetime the great snow-fields, on the vast mountains, close upon our right, looked tantalizingly near and cold. Occasionally we watered the mules ata stream: tortoises were swimming about in one of these. But on the wholeit was a singularly uneventful and a very sultry ride, until at last longlines of red mud walls, many gardens, three mosque towers, and some tall, dark, green cypress-trees proclaimed Tamsloect--an important village, possessing a Friday market, an unequalled view of the Atlas, and a saint, Mulai Abdullah Ben Hassi. An Arab, Hadj Cadour, is one of the great men in Tamsloect; and to him, having an introduction, we went. The best hours spent in Morocco werethose lived with certain of the Moors themselves, sharing for a shorttime their simple and yet fantastic life, learning something of theirinnate courtesy and generous hospitality. Hadj Cadour was a host of theold aristocratic school. He was out at his garden-house when we reachedthe village, entertaining friends at a tea party; and upon our messagereaching him, he sent back a man on a white horse to point out another ofhis gardens close at hand, where he suggested that the tents should bepitched, while R. And I rode out and joined his tea party. Leaving Omar to superintend the camp, we started off after the rider onthe white horse: he led the way through the village, finally into alabyrinth of gardens, where we brushed through bearded wheat such as Ihave never seen before nor since, which luxuriated with olives, fruit-trees of all sorts, and pale pink monthly roses. Presently in themidst of the semi-wilderness a little white house intervened, half buriedin trees, and close to it, in the shade, under an olive, was gatheredHadj Cadour's tea party, six or eight dignified Arabs, in those perfectlywashed and blanched garments which so fit their solemn, dignifiedmanners, their sad and intellectual type of faces: not that Moors arenecessarily either of the two last; but they look it--that is all. A great tea-kettle, as usual, loomed in the background; carpets and thickred Morocco leather cushions made seats for the members of the charmedcircle: we reclined there with the rest, talking, as far as a few Arabicwords would carry us, of our starting-point, our destination, the road, the rivers, the weather, Hadj Cadour helping us out, one and allinterested and anxious to be understood and to understand. Our hostdispensed _sherrub de minat_, the wine of the country, made from grapes;the little dome-shaped pewter teapot was there, with its fondassociations of Morocco, together with the copper tray and circle ofdiminutive painted glasses; a gorgeous indolent sun poured down beyondthe patch of shade; the hum and hover of insects vibrated in the air; andpresently musicians were summoned--girls wearing pale green jellabs andsilver ornaments, with yellow handkerchiefs twisted round their heads, men in bright colours. Sitting down between us, each was given a glass ofsherrub de minat, and by-and-by they began to play. Weird and wild musicit was, that of the _tareegea_, the _gimbi_, and the _tahr_, quaintnative instruments of the roughest construction, and yet, as music, possessing fascination not a little. The long kif-pipes were lighted, green tea and wine were sipped, thewhite figures stretched themselves on the cushions, and a great anddreamy content came over the faces under the white turbans. There wasnowhere a trace of boredom such as mars so many Europeanentertainments--rather the thing was loved for itself, and every man feltit and entered into its spirit. Now and then the musicians broke into astrange song, and the guests beat their hands and murmured in chorus;then again they would seem half intoxicated, in a harmless fashion, withkif and wine and music, and would appear to be absent in a world of theirown. The music had a lilt in it, and often a suggestion of something halftamed, desperate, swung along with the cadences; and thin wreaths ofsmoke from the long pipes blew up through the olive branches, and anArabic sentence dropped now and again on the ear: the hot, slow, sleepyafternoon waned. . . . Poetry bulks so largely in the Arabic nature. Emotional and yet simple, that nature is, to a certain extent, appealed to by the refined. Thesordid and vulgar have no attractions for it. There is no language morepoetical than the Arabic language, where "snow" is called "hair of themountain" and "rainbow" is "bride of the rain. " "Red mullet" is "thesultan of fishes": "maiden-hair fern" is translated by "little cane ofthe well. " Ordinary Arabic words show an extraordinary gift ofdescription: the word for "secretly" means literally "under the matting, "and "never" is expressed thus, "when the charcoal takes root and the saltbuds. " Uncontrolled ascendency of imagination marks the Arab, and endows hisnature with a fascination all its own: an outdoor life is his heritage, and the things of Nature are a part of himself. "Spring" he calls"grass"; "summer" is "gleaning"; "autumn" is "fruit"; "winter" is"rainy. " If only he could keep pure his race, Morocco had never stood among thenations where she stands now. The steady infusion of African blood isbecoming her ruin: the sensual negro type, spreading rapidly, is eatingits way into the heart of the people. When it is remembered thatthousands upon thousands of slaves are imported into Morocco from theinterior of Africa every year, that they become eventually "free, " theirchildren inheriting equal rights with other children, it is no longer amatter of wonder that the Moorish race shows signs of deterioration, thatits people are effete. It is after meeting with men such as Hadj Cadourand many others, who hark back to the old type of chief and horseman andthe desert life, touched with the old vein of poetry and chivalry, thatone regrets the things which are. But we had spent an afternoon which wasone worth recollecting; and when we had parted from that little circleunder the shady olive, and were jogging back to our tents, it was toremember that there are still good things in Morocco. The tents we found ready for us in a delightful spot enclosed by a wall:a tank lay in the centre of the garden, around it a few paths, and agreat deal of mint. But a terrible ordeal awaited us--green tea and agreat spread, provided by the brother of Hadj Cadour, who had alsoarranged carpets as seats around the tank. Again next morning, just afterwe had finished breakfast, this hospitable individual sent into our tenttwo steaming hot chickens fried brown in argan oil, with half a dozenround cakes of fine flour; and when, immediately afterwards, we rode tohis house to say farewell and tender our thanks, he proffered green teaonce more. Heavy drops of rain awoke us in the middle of the night; but just as anominous patter was coming through the old canvas and sounding on thebed-clothes, the shower stopped. Again later it came on, with thunder. Omar changed the smart clothes which he had put on in view of a triumphalentry into Marrakesh; we packed and got off as quickly as we could, expecting more rain; many good-byes were said; Hadj Cadour sent a servantwith us to the gates; and we rode out of Tamsloect. [Illustration: THE OPEN GATE. [_To face p. 324. _] Outside, towards the east, its gardens were numerous: great black poplarsand palms grew freely. For an hour we rode alongside a district whichbelonged entirely to Mulai el Hadj, the great man of Tamsloect, and aholy Shar[=i]f to boot. This man is rich, and because he is a holyShar[=i]f he can never be dispossessed of his wealth. His white houseand cypress-trees stand out prominently in the village we had just left;throughout his gardens he has built a succession of water-towers, whichirrigate his land; he is British-protected, and as important a man in thesouth as the French-protected Wazeer of Wazan is in the north. All this time we were riding steadily towards Marrakesh, interestincreasing with every step as we neared the city, to visit which we hadleft Mogador about ten days before. That last day's march was not an interesting one: the great Atlas, uponwhich we had now turned our backs, were no longer to be seen, on accountof clouds which the last night's storm had brought upon them; the plainover which we rode possessed a deadly monotony, for we were not enteringMarrakesh upon its best side, where gardens upon gardens of palm-treesstretch beyond the city gates for miles and miles, but our road fromTamsloect was prosaic and dull. Certainly we crossed some of thewonderful underground canals, which carry water five and ten miles, fromsprings in the country, into the city--about whose origin nothingwhatever is known, tradition remaining silent as to any builder. Thesegreat works are merely water-ways tunnelled through the solid earth, notat any great distance from the surface: along their courses the streamsare conducted for great distances. There are openings at intervals whichventilate the tunnels: these are kept clean and easily examined by meansof the same. The whole arrangement is very rough, very primitive, butperfectly answers the purpose for which it was made. The crops which we left behind us at every mile looked well, and it wasto be hoped would soon make good the failure of the preceding crop: thatfailure had accounted for the skinny children and lean women whom we hadmet, and was the reason of the country people's continuous digging forayerna root, and washing the same by the roadside and in so manyvillages. Meanwhile, Marrakesh and its adobe walls, of a sad yellow-pink tone, grewnearer and nearer, till at last the long line of crumbling tapia was buta short distance off, and the Báb-el-Roub, a massive gateway, plainly tobe seen. Just outside the walls, Mr. Miller, one of the missionaries, metus: he had one piece of news, which carried with it regret wherever itwas heard across the length and breadth of the British Empire--the deathof Cecil Rhodes. Under the Báb-el-Roub we rode into the city of crumblingwalls and silent sandy roadways: somewhat of a deserted city, the greatsouthern capital appeared to be at first; but then we were nowhere nearits heart, and the half of it is gardens and quiet houses, while a smallpart only, is wholly full of vitality: the whole is crumbling to pieces, and strange of all strangest cities ever seen. We rode straight to Kaid Maclean's house, lent us by Lady Maclean--thebest house in Morocco City, over-looking one of the many market-places, and that open space in which story-tellers and snake-charmers, surroundedby a dense circle of admirers, cater to an attentive throng. The housewas empty, and we "camped" in several of the rooms, lunching in a longgallery which looked straight out on to the Atlas Mountains: the muleswent into a capacious stable; the servants made themselves comfortable inthe kitchens. It is hard to find house-room in Marrakesh: of course ahotel is unheard of, nor is camping-ground to be met with easily. Thereare no foreign consuls in this far-off city, and no English elementbeyond the two or three missionaries who live there. Travellers havegenerally to depend upon the loan of some house for the time being, froma holy Shar[=i]f or Moor of some standing; but the house may be anywhere, and comfortable or otherwise. Since the Sultan was at Fez, his army andhis commander-in-chief, Kaid Maclean, were at Fez too: hence the reasonof the Macleans' house standing empty, within which we were so fortunateas to find ourselves. Marrakesh cannot be described: it must be seen. It is more suggestive, more intangible, more elusive--that is to say, its Eastern medley of apopulation is so, and its crumbling tapia-walled houses are so--than anyother Moorish city. More ghosts should stalk the half-deserted yellowroadways of Marrakesh, more mysteries be shrouded within the windowlesswalls, than a man of Western civilization could conceive. It is a vast city--other writers have chronicled the number of squaremiles which it accounts for--and yet, in spite of its size, the sum-totalof souls it contains is not overwhelming. There are gardens everywhere, stretch after stretch of palm-trees, acre after acre of fruit-trees, andwedged among them all, lie the flat roofs, swarm the endless throng whichspells humanity; and the oddest, most varied humanity--Arabs and negroes, men from the Sus, from the Sahara, from Draa, Berber hillmen, tribesmenfrom the Atlas, a tumultuous multitude, a hive of bees of whom no censushas ever been made. We were among them all, the first time we rodethrough the city. No one walks in Marrakesh: as a matter of fact I didlater on, often enough, sometimes alone, getting somewhat jostled in thenarrow ways--beyond that in no way inconvenienced. But every one who can, is on a mule or a long-tailed countrybred, pushing along at a foot'space, crying out now and then, and avoiding this pair of black toes, that coffee-coloured bare heel. Beyond the wall, covered with nails, whereon heads are fastened afterrebellions have been quenched and the time of punishment and warning hascome, we rode into the land of little shops. Here, in another instance, Marrakesh is unique: the narrow streets were in great part entirelyroofed in overhead either by vines or by bamboos; the brilliant sunlightstreamed through the spaces between the vines and canes, and chequeredthe seething white throng which eternally passed underneath it. From anopen street we plunged into the cool shade of one of these arcades. Andhow it moved! Nothing ever stood still in the Marrakesh soks. Life"travels" for ever and for ever there. Between the shops, themselvesteeming with bustle and incident, moved up and down, the throng of white, draped, dignified figures, calling, heaving, struggling, jostlingsometimes, chattering always, blotched with shifting yellow sunlight andblack shadow cast by the lattice roof overhead. It was a transformationscene; it was a weird dream--weird to the point of seeming unreal, unlikemen and the haunts of men, though all the time rampant with _humans_. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] THE KUTOBEA, MARRAKESH. [_To face p. 328. _] When the Sultan went to Fez, a party of soldiers and goldsmiths andcraftsmen of all sorts went with him from the city of Marrakesh, innumber over forty thousand souls. But the exodus made no appreciabledifference in the soks. Not only the numbers, but the types of the streamof faces between which we rode were all striking, and each one so farremoved from anything at all European. Humanity can indeed be separatedfrom humanity by gulfs impassable, or gulfs which may alone be bridgedover by a violation of nature, on the part of the man upon the eastbank or upon the west bank. The palm-trees wave above Marrakesh, turtle-backed mosques and talltowers rise among the gardens and gleam in the sun, but above and beyondevery other feature of the far-away fantastic southern capital onewatch-tower rises over everything and rears itself into the sky--theKutobea, built, according to tradition, by Fabir for the Sultan ElMansur. It stands in a vast empty space close to the Great Mosque: fewpeople pass that way--their footfalls are almost unheard in the softsand; and the lonely tower cuts the clear quiet sky. The Kutobea is builtof dark red stone. There is a pattern, alternately raised and sunk, onthe faces of the minaret, the sunk part cut deep, the raised part carvedand standing out. A broad band of wonderful black and green iridescenttiles, snakes round the top like some opulent spotted serpent. Part of ithas dropped away: the gilded brass balls, the cupola, are here and theretarnished; but the sun sets, and his indulgent rays swamp every defect, burnish and polish and gild corner-stone and fretted marble andemerald-green tile alike, until the "to-day" of the Kutobea is astriumphant as its "yesterday" of many hundred years. The design of thetower itself--the minaret--is said to have come from Constantinople, asdid the Giralda at Seville, which it so resembles. Of the mosque, beside the Kutobea, nothing was to be seen except itswalls, and through an open door avenues of pillars. The huge building hasan Arabic name meaning "The Mosque of the Books"; for what reason--whocan tell?--tradition is silent. Marrakesh itself is supposed to have been built upon the site of animmensely old structure, the ancient Martok. As it is now, Yusuf-ibn-Tachfin founded it in 1072, a city which covers almost as muchground as Paris--a purely African city. Fez, Tetuan, Tangier, haveSpanish blood in them: Marrakesh is African to the core. Arabs here arein a minority: the spare Saharowi type, the shaved lip and cheeks andpointed chin-tuft of the Berber race, men from the mysterious sandysteppes below Cape Bojador, Soudanese blacks, men from Wadnoon--one andall congregate in this city. Even the music and songs are, naturallyenough, all African, with the strange interval, the rhythm which haltsand races where no European music ever halted or raced; and the tom-tom, the gimbri, the ear-piercing Moorish flute, all fall upon the English earas things intensely strange and strongly fascinating. Marrakesh boasts no aristocracy: it is a city of the people. It has fewShar[=i]fs: it is a land of "traders, " speculating, toiling, intriguing;between its yellow adobe walls, and its whitewashed dazzling walls, amidst its dense metallic semi-tropical vegetation, up and down its sandysilent ways, they live and die. Its fountains are beautiful:_Shrab-u-Schuf_ (Drink and admire) is inscribed on one of them. But it isnot by its architecture that Marrakesh stands and falls; rather by apersonality all its own--by its many ruined walls, by its desertedstreets, by the hot pulse of life throbbing imperiously through itsarteries crowded to suffocation with humanity, by its flaring Africansunlight, by the figures which can never be other than picturesque, by athousand impressions which can never die. And by reason of all thisMarrakesh is great. Once upon a time it was impossible for an Englishman to see the SlaveMarket. Owing partly to the radical hatred of Europeans, partly to thesuspicious and seclusive nature of the Moor, the presence of foreignersin the sacred Slave Market was tabooed. Not that the Nazarene was "takenup" or turned back if he showed his face inside the courtyard: on thecontrary, he was allowed to walk in, and apparently no eye was aware ofhis presence. And yet in a few moments he would find himself alone. TheSlave Market had vanished, had melted away: a line of disappearing backswas all which was to be seen. Supposing a Moor had connived at thisattempt on the part of a Nazarene to see slaves being sold, that Moordisappeared, by order of the Sultan, and there was a funeral later on inthe day. However, while we were in Marrakesh, less rigorous orders were in vogue. Having come prepared to see the market disguised in native dress ifnecessary, we found that we were able to go there without muchdifficulty, and only escorted by one of the missionaries and a servant. Though slaves are bought and sold through the length and breadth ofMorocco, it is not possible in any other city than Marrakesh for theEuropean to see or know much about it. In the coast towns the sales areconducted privately. In Fez it is probable that they might be attended byothers than Moors; but at the time of writing I take it that no wiseEuropean, if such should be there at all in these unquiet times, wouldventure to put himself into a position likely to attract all the bulletsand knives in Fez in his direction. Just at sunset--6. 30, I think--the Slave Market in Marrakesh opens, andwe went in. To some ears it would no doubt have sounded the strangestanomaly, that prayer to the Most High God, with which the sale wasprefaced; but a Mussulman hallows every action, right or wrong, with apetition; besides which slavery is lawful and good in his eyes, isapproved of and permitted by Mohammed in the written book of theKor[=a]n; is, in short, a part of the scheme of Nature which it were aserious mistake not to use and enjoy. So the line of auctioneers formedup, held out their hands, prayed, invoked a blessing over theproceedings, mumbling in sonorous tones for a few moments. Then silence. It was over: the sale began. There is nothing more easy than to betheatrical and emotional in describing scenes of this sort--one has readof them scores of times: words such as "degrading" and "harrowing" riseup in the mind's eye, coupled with violent epithets and stinging clauses. And yet, finding oneself in the centre of another just such a scene, onerealized how impossible the thing was, to understand, or to feel, beforehand, and how curiously it played upon the emotions. Walking intothe market with a sobriety, with a cold, critical interest such as a Neromay have felt towards his victims, one divined early in the proceedingsthat the scene tended unduly to intensify emotion. Truly no men thinkalike: a vast chasm yawns between the natures of the slave-trader and theEuropean: that chasm is a universal education. To realize all whichseparates a native of Africa from a Frenchman or an Englishman, and thedifficulties which lie in the way of promoting an understanding betweenthe two, visit such a place as the Slave Market in Marrakesh. Groups of slaves, more or less gorgeously dressed, some in rags wherenothing better could be afforded, were sitting far back in littlecovered-in recesses which lined the square. All round the square stood, or sat upon their heels, intending purchasers, for the most partmiddle-aged elderly men, sleek and fat, in turbans and soft linen, whitebeyond reproach. Each auctioneer, the prayer over, advanced to the groupsof slaves, and led out one or perhaps two or three, and paraded themround and round the square under the eyes of the buyers. At last a bidwas made: the auctioneer walked on, pushing the slaves in front of him, and calling out the amount of the bid. A higher bid was made: he shoutedout that bid, and still walked on. Then a purchaser signed to him that hewished to look at the slaves. The auctioneer at once marshalled the womenor woman slave (there were many more women than men) up to the Moor whowished to examine her. She squatted in front of him, while he looked ather teeth, felt her arms, neck, and legs, and in a low voice asked her astring of private questions. After a time the woman was allowed to getup, the auctioneer called out the latest bid for her, and walked her on. Probably some one else would examine her "points, " and another andanother; and her price would go up till the auctioneer should have gotwhat he wanted, and the woman would be handed over to her new master. Some of the slaves walked round with a profoundly indifferent air--noneof them looked in wild spirits; but, on the other hand, it was "Kismet"rather than misery which was written on their faces. It is a rare thingfor any slave to object violently or to make any scene: as a rule theyknelt down obediently enough in front of the fat Mohammedans, who thrusttheir fingers into their mouths, took them by the chin, and treated themwith great familiarity. But, oddly enough, on one of the nights weattended the market a scene did occur. A middle-aged woman, absolutelyrefused to walk round--we were told probably because she had been partedfrom her child, and could not bear to be sold. The poor creature weptwildly, and hid her face in the red cloth round her head. She was, however, in the end forced along like a recalcitrant mule, her clothtorn off, herself made to kneel down at the bidding of a group oftraders, and undergo the usual examination. Some of the young girlslooked shame-faced, shuffling along behind or in front of the auctioneerswith bent heads. The sad middle-aged woman fetched in the end sevenpounds ten shillings. A little child was going for three pounds ten. Agirl of thirteen--that is, at her very best--was selling for fifteenpounds: she was of course unusually attractive. The slave trade of Africa receives an apparent stamp of legality from thefact that religious warfare and the taking of prisoners in war and makingthem slaves are looked upon as Divine institutions. There is noobligation on the Mussulman to release slaves, and as long as wars andraids last, the mass of slaves in Mohammedan countries tends rather toincrease than otherwise, their progeny ever adding to the originalnumber. There is no restriction as to the number of slaves or concubineswhich a Moor may have: it entirely depends upon his purse. His women arehis luxury, and an expensive one. A concubine may be sold at any moment, and the position is thus precarious and varied: it has one saving clause, which I have already explained--the woman who bears a son to her masteris free, and at his death his property will be divided between the sonsof concubines equally with the sons of his wife and wives. Mussulmanraids still continue against the negroes of Central Africa, againsttribes in Persia, in Afghanistan, and other parts of the world; indeed, as long as Mohammedanism lasts, there is very little chance of theabolition of slavery. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] THE WAD-EL-AZELL. [_To face p. 334. _] One afternoon we went over the garden belonging to the late basha ofMarrakesh--Ben Dowd--almost the only garden I have ever seen in Moroccowhich had in it flowers; and these were roses from Spain, valuable andbeautiful, the pride of the basha. There was a charming summer-house halfbuilt, and a conservatory nearly finished, in different parts of thegarden. In the midst of his prosperity, only eight months before, BenDowd had been arrested and put into prison. It was the old tale ofjealousy. The Grand Wazeer was afraid of the basha, and in order tosecure himself from harm succeeded in having Ben Dowd deposed and putentirely out of harm's way. Though an explanation is always forthcomingfor violent proceedings such as the above, it would be unwise to assumein Morocco that the explanation had a grain of truth in it. Wheels withinwheels; intrigue after intrigue; lie, topped by lie, make up the sum ofMoorish diplomacy, and render the coil of politics in that country anabsolutely fascinating study, not because it is so surreptitious, butbecause it is clever as well as cunning, and all the time involves biggerinterests than ever appear on the tapis--interests which concern France, Austria, England, Germany, and other Powers, all of whom struggle for afinger in the seething pie. To return to Ben Dowd. He was "detained" in a house--not ignominiouslycommitted to the common gaol, an unusual respite--allowed twelveshillings a day, and his wife's company. He was in Fez with theserestrictions at the time we were looking over his gardens; and half ofhis wives were left behind at his own house, costing him a pound a day, we were told, in the face of which his allowance seemed inadequate. When the Government seized him, no money was found in his house; butthree hundred thousand dollars' worth of goods in the shape of carpets, mirrors, gilt bedsteads, etc. , were confiscated. His post, however, isstill vacant: he is a good man, and possibly the Government will repentof its hasty step, and in due time restore such a valuable servant tofavour. On the other hand, Ben Dowd may be ruined for life. The bashas and kaids of Morocco were all gnashing their teeth, while wewere at Marrakesh, over the new system of taxation, which the Sultan anda certain progressive member of his Government, are endeavouring tointroduce into the country. The main idea in these new regulations is, that governors will be paid specified salaries by the Government--thatthey will collect taxes as usual, but send the amount of money collectedintact to Court, not, as has been the custom hitherto, docking off thehalf, it may be, and pocketing it as their own pay. Again, each provincehas been lately inspected by a certain number of trustworthy men, whohave fixed its rate of taxation. The countryman is to pay so much uponhis possessions--for example, ninepence for a cow, three shillings for ahorse, twopence-halfpenny for an olive-tree, three shillings for a camel, no more and no less--instead of having the utmost squeezed out of him, which has been the practice of the governors up till now. The scheme sounds excellent. A letter has been read aloud in every cityand country market-place, apprising the people of the new law, and theyare delighted in proportion, but scarcely believe that the Governmentwill be strong enough to enforce it. Indeed, it is hardly probable thatthe new taxation system can succeed unless two important steps are firsttaken--the tribes must be disarmed, and a new set of governors beappointed to take the place of the old. As long as the tribesmen arearmed, there can never be law and order, any more than there can besettled peace upon the Indian frontier under the same conditions. At onemoment the tribes will side with the Government, at another they willtake the part of a governor, at another they will attack a neighbouringtribe. It is all very well to tax such men justly and to treat them likecivilized beings, instead of trampling them underfoot, preventing theirbecoming rich, and holding them to be ignorant devils; but they are notcivilized, unfortunately--they have not sufficient education to know whenthey are well off and to profit by it. Every man of them has a gun, andbloodshed and plunder are life itself to him. Treat him well, he bideshis time, grows rich with the rest of his tribe; together they descendupon their neighbours, avenge an old wrong, loot to their hearts'content, perhaps attack the Sultan himself. But disarm one and all suchmen, and in the far future a peaceable agricultural folk may reign intheir stead. It would be a work of time, but it has been effected beforein the annals of history. The second condition, which would go far towards the working of the newsystem of taxation, is the appointment of new governors. The salary whichthe governors are to receive, is a comparatively small one, compared withthe vast sums which they have been in the habit of accumulating, by meansof extortion and by defrauding the Government. It is hardly fair toexpect a man to cut down his expenses, give up half his wives, sell hisslaves, and fall in the estimation of those under him. The thing mustassuredly lead to dispute, born of peculation, and fighting must be theinevitable result. But if, on the other hand, new men are appointed, whofrom the first suit their expenditure to their means, a more peacefulworking basis will be established. The old Oriental policy of the "balance of jealousies" will doubtlessplay its useful part: that is to say, each governor will watch hisnext-door neighbour like a cat watching a mouse; and if he detect anyunderhand dealings, or evasions, or infringements of the new law, he willreport at once to the Sultan, and thereby gain _kudos_, perhaps asubstantial reward, for himself. In this way the Government may receivesupport at the hands of the men whom it is keeping in order. CHAPTER XII THE THURSDAY MARKET--WE MIGHT HAVE GONE TO GLAOUIA--LEAVE MARRAKESH ANDSET OUT ON OUR LAST MARCH FOR THE COAST--FLOWERS IN MOROCCO--ON THE WRONGTRAIL--ARAB TENTS--GOOD-BYE TO EL MOGHREB. CHAPTER XII The best that we find in our travels is an honest friend. He is a fortunate voyager who finds many. We travel, indeed, to find them. They are the end and the reward of life. They keep us worthy of ourselves; and when we are alone, we are only nearer to the absent. THE great Thursday Market is one of those things in Marrakesh which, onceseen, is stamped deeper than a hundred other memories upon the mind. Itis held in a sun-baked open space outside the Gate of the ThursdayMarket, just beyond the city walls, within view of the plains and adistant low range of mountains. Thousands and thousands of tall palms, groves of them, wave in the wind all over the surrounding country: a fewgreat watercourses, worn and eaten out of the red soil, burrow betweenthe forests on their way down to the great river. To reach the market we rode out along a road thronged with people sellingall sorts of goods, from splendid old flintlock guns from the Sus chasedwith silver and gold and going at three pounds, to striped carpets strongand violent in colouring at seven-and-sixpence each, and second-handclothes of the most varied description. At last, topping a little hill, we rode down into the market: it is, more correctly speaking, a horsefair, --mules were also for sale. The horses down in the south are withoutdoubt very different from the poor little ponies bred up in the north;but even these, in comparison, for instance, with a thoroughbred hunterat home, fell far short of what my defective imagination had led me toexpect of Arab stallions in Morocco. For the most part there was nothingfor sale except great heavy brutes with small heads and proud archednecks. Every one of them fell away in the hindquarters. As usual the sale was prefaced by a prayer: hard bargaining, sharppractice, and much or little swindling, inseparable from horse-dealing, must all of it, first of all, be watered by prayer. Therefore thehorsemen formed into a line; the central figure chanted some verses fromthe Kor[=a]n; the rest held out their hands palms upwards, then joined ina sort of Amen, the instant afterwards sticking their spurs into theirhorses and dashing forward, charging in a line over the plain between tworows of spectators, and pulling the horses up on to their haunches at theend, red with spur-marks and white with foam. This was repeated two orthree times, the short space in which the riders pulled up out of a fullgallop being sometimes almost incredible; then a great circle was formedof would-be purchasers and onlookers, and the horses were ridden into thecircle and then round and round to display themselves, each rider at thesame time _auctioning his own horse_, yelling out the bids for it, asthey rose, at the top of his voice. When the last bid was made, and hecould get no more, the rider, after shouting the price, added that he"would not consult the absent one, " meaning thereby that the owner of thehorse, whether himself or not, would raise no objection to the animal'sbeing sold for that price. Unless this sentence had been pronounced, thepurchaser could not have been certain that the owner would not sayafterwards he did not intend to sell for that sum. Most of the horsesfetched from three pounds twelve to four pounds ten. Mules were sold in the same way--the prayer, the parade round the circle, each rider seated almost on his mule's tail, urging him on, with handsand heels, to pace his best, the mule's nose up in the heavens. Some ofthem were splendid animals, which I would have given anything to havepossessed--perfectly made, looking more intelligent than many humans, andfull of pluck and staying power: these fetched rather more than double, what the best horse in the whole market sold for. But in criticising thehorses, I speak of what I saw on this occasion: there may be, and nodoubt are, fine arabs to be had in Southern Morocco--at least so I amtold--but I came across only what may be called "a cart-horse stamp. " And yet they look very fine, these same sensible-looking beasts, withtheir great eyes, and flowing manes and tails, and proud carriage. Thereis something, too, eternally fascinating in the beautiful seat of an Arabon his horse--not of a fat sheikh or a rich basha or a thriving merchant, but that of the lean and wiry Arab horseman born and bred, who, as hethunders past at full gallop, puts himself into a dozen positions, is athome in them all, shoots behind him, above him, below him, withoutdrawing rein, turning in any direction, while he makes the whole air ringwith his wild cries. The Moorish saddle of course helps his grip; butbeyond that, there is something cat-like in the lithe swing of his body, and it is that body's right and natural function to be upon a horse. Thewhite turban, the flowing white garments, the gorgeously coloured saddle, the great silvered stirrups, are all part of the whole--and an attractivewhole--born of the limitless desert, the great far-reaching sky, thepure wind: it is Arabian, that is all--_and so much_. Meanwhile, camels were selling in another corner of the market, beingmade to lie down and rise and generally show themselves off: they werefetching from three pounds ten upwards. Cows, goats, and sheep were lessinteresting; but the throng of men which filled up the fair was, as ever, more than a study. Above and beyond all, stood out the wild inhabitantsof the Atlas, and men from the Sus, wearing black camel's-hair jellabswith a great russet-red or saffron-yellow patch let into the backs ofthem. The origin of this striking "badge" is not known, but the jellabsthemselves looked absolutely in keeping with the lawless ruffians, onwhose shoulders they hung, and the wild blotch of bizarre colour was"just themselves. " Bay, is the colour which in a horse the Moor chooses first--the pearl ofcolours, sober and most hardy; while a light chestnut brings ill luck, though a dark chestnut is the colour of the wind, can "travel, " and wasMohammed's favourite. A horse must have the colour of its saddle inharmony with itself--an apple-green saddle for a black horse, scarlet fora white, the whole beautifully worked and embossed in silk, and when onthe horse's back, should be set, perhaps, upon as many as _nine_different coloured saddle-cloths, one on top of each other. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] THE SULTAN'S GARDEN. [_To face p. 344. _] Of all filthy quarters in the filthiest of cities, I think the JewishQuarter in Marrakesh has a fair chance of ranking first, --outside it, rubbish, a manure-heap eighty feet high, which no one troubles to remove;inside the walls, black mud, feet deep, streets which are sewers, collections of dead dogs, rotting vegetables, refuse of all sorts;amongst it all, a dirty people, callous beyond belief as regardssanitation, with sore heads, sore eyes, matted rags. Not a butcher'sshop which is not black with flies and "high" with rotten meat: flies lieupon every article of food. And in the very vortex of this muck-heap--astounding to thetraveller--are content to live wealthy Jews, happy to flourish all theirlives shoulder to shoulder with unutterable squalor. We went over a house belonging to a Jew millionaire, well built, lavishlydecorated, as luxurious as money and Morocco would permit, evidently thepride of the whole family. Probably few of them went far outside the citywalls: they were born to the Mellah. His success as a trader might havegiven the head of the house a country place in England, shady lawns, acarriage and pair to drive in: he preferred his own muck-heap. But Icannot conceive upon what he spent his money, other than theglorification of the inside of his house. The Sultan's palace looked deserted: it is long, however, since he leftit, and high time he was in Fez again; for Fez is more in touch withEurope--Fez means a shade more progression and civilization than life inMorocco City. Round the palace lay bales of goods which had been orderedby him and sent out from England--things such as waggons, motor-carspossibly, which are supposed so much to shock his narrow-minded subjects. They imagine that his Shar[=i]fian Majesty wastes vast sums of money;whereas for a great monarch, the ruler of an empire, his private billsare probably absurdly small. He may have fireworks let off every nightfor ten minutes, horrifying Marrakesh; but the cost of his amusements, considering his position, must be curiously reasonable: so oneconsidered, as one looked at the "parcels" awaiting his return to thecapital, which lay in the immense courtyard outside his palace, where"powder play" is held, and where he receives foreign ambassadors, marching through the great gateway which leads to his own private rooms, over which is inscribed in Arabic an odd sentence; it reads literally, "What God wills: there is no power but God. " The days passed, and our time in Marrakesh drew to an end. In spite ofall that had been told us in Tangier, of the difficulties and dangerswhich would attend an expedition into the Atlas Mountains, in spite ofthe verdict that we should not be given a permit, should be "stopped andnot allowed to continue the journey, " we found that, once upon the sceneof action, there would have been little difficulty in getting at least asfar as Glaouia, and in pushing up through one or two other passes. The ride to Glaouia might take five or six days: there were several otherplaces and a district or two which would have been worth visiting tentimes over. The missionaries in Marrakesh were willing to make allarrangements: one of them would have gone with us, and under that escortit would have been possible to travel into the Atlas without risk. Weshould have gone "privately, " without troubling any one, withoutformality; and in all probability no one would have troubled about us:that, after all, is the only way to travel satisfactorily in Morocco, notwith half a dozen soldiers and a vast noise. But for this year at any rate our travels in Morocco had reached theirlimit. R. Was not strong enough to face more marching: the hot sun, longrides, and general "roughing it" had told upon her, and theresponsibility of taking her on farther afield, into remote regions ofuncertain climate, was too great. [Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier. _] THE RIVER TENSIF OUTSIDE MARRAKESH. [_To face p. 346. _] Early one morning we set forth upon our last march, back again to thecoast, by the track which leads eventually to Mazagan, a seaport somedistance farther north than Mogador. Here we hoped to pick up a steamer, and proceed, _viâ_ Tangier, across to Gibraltar, where it would bepossible to get a P. & O. Boat and head for home. The march to Mazagan was easy, and contained little incident. Afterleaving the plains of Marrakesh and its waving palm-trees, and seeing thetall Kutobea disappear at last, we found ourselves in the "LittleMountains, " and along the rough road began to fall in continually withparties of tribesmen, Arab country people, all mounted, who had beencommandeered to accompany the Sultan as far as Fez, and who were nowcoming back to their homes. Splendid bronzed fellows they were, darkbrick-dust colour, wrapped in long white cloaks, with the hood of anunder garment pulled down over their faces: sometimes a white clothswathed their heads; their chins were hidden in soft folds which reachedup to their hawk-eyes, veiling the face, like true sons of the desert, asa protection against sun and wind. Guns were slung across theirshoulders: they wore long yellow riding-boots and spurs, with half adozen saddle-cloths; and all rode horses, strong little beasts, wellgroomed, some hog-maned, but usually with great locks of hair sweepingover their necks, and their tails almost touching the ground behind. Ongrey or white countrybreds as a rule, they wound along the mountain pathin single file, these tall white-cloaked horsemen, in nowise differingfrom their ancestors of a thousand years ago--Arabs of unbroken descent:as they emerged from between the wild hills it would have been hard tofind a more picturesque sight. One of the few peaceful camping-grounds between Marrakesh and Mazagan wasat a little distance outside an Arab village of about thirty littlepointed thatched huts, enclosed within a zareba of thorn-bushes: it wascalled Smeera. We camped near some trees and water: the fig-trees were full of crows, which came in to roost in thousands, and The Little Owl (_Athene noctua_)haunted the place. In the early half-light of the morning thiswise-looking little bird was found, when we awoke, to be sitting upon theedge of the flap of the tent in the doorway, gazing in upon us with roundyellow eyes; nor was it the least nervous. I recollect how, the evening before, there sat outside Smeera, as sooften may be seen outside the like villages, away beyond the huts and thezareba, where it was very quiet, upon some flat grey stones, eight ortwelve village men--Arabs. Sitting there in the sunset, wrapped in theirwhite hooded mantles, this conclave of wise white owls, easily to bemistaken for grey stones, so rigid are their backs--of what do they talkas the hours go by? There is no joke nor song nor a drop of liquor going, as in a "public, " where our labourers at home would naturally congregate. But this charmed circle sits on, staring into the west: the tall beardedwheat rustles in the wind close to them; the illimitable plain stretchesaway to the horizon, flat as their own uneventful lives; the sun dropsbehind the soft straight line of Earth; they do not move, --wondrouspicturesque figures, long white folds, peaked hoods, sitting, their kneesdrawn up to their chins, for how long? What is time to an Arab? One evening our camel never turned up, and we fully expected to have hadto sleep without beds or any other of the night's usual adjuncts. We hadstarted that morning at seven, had ridden till twelve, had halted for anhour and a half, starting again at half-past one, and riding tillhalf-past five; and all the way, after a mile out of Sok-el-Tleta, wherewe watered the mules at a pond and the trail forked, we were on the wrongroad. Only the man with the camel knew the Mazagan line of march thoroughlywell: he had explained it beforehand to Omar. Omar made a mistake, andthe camel and attendants were behind ourselves. However, news travelsoddly fast in uncivilized countries, and the camel-driver heard after atime that the "advance squadron" was on the wrong trail. He set out afterus, and ran and walked, and caught us at three o'clock in the afternoon. The wretched camel followed his steps all the way, with Mulai Ombach incharge of our baggage, three donkeys, and a boy, who were afraid of beingcut off from us, and dared not risk a night by themselves. Thecamel-driver put us right, Omar and Saïd were well cursed, and we began atoilsome journey across rough country, hoping to hit the right trail intime. We found ourselves in the wildest and dirtiest of Arab encampments nowand again, where infuriated dogs, unaccustomed to visitors, rushed outand almost bit us upon our mules, amidst a hail of stones from Omar andSaïd. A valley luxuriating knee-deep in flowers--the Flower Valley wecalled it--was the one redeeming feature of that march. There are certaintimes for seeing the wild flowers in Morocco--perhaps April in the southis the best month: so far we had not been as much struck by them asreport would lead one to expect. And yet they were most beautiful. Picture corn-fields full of love-in-a-mist; orchards of fig-trees, withthe grass ablaze with golden pyrethrums; red mallow standing up in thebarley; the ground carpeted with blue-and-white convolvulus; masses ofcarmine-coloured convolvulus densely festooned over the thorn-hedges; onthe barest, stoniest of soil stretches of cistus, pale pink to fadedmauve; asphodels everywhere; sometimes the wild spring form of thecultivated artichoke, the small variety of the ice-plant, the larkspur, the lupin, and several varieties of lavender. All these we met with, overand over again: rarer plants were to be found for the looking. R. Collected specimens of them all, to be classified by the authorities atKew Gardens on our return. The Flower Valley yielded one or two which we had not seen before, and wewould have lingered there, but that time was precious and we had nonotion of our exact whereabouts. It was a case of going on and on andmeeting no one: evening began to draw near, and still we were off theright track, while our baggage might be anywhere. There was nothing forit but to push forward and trust to luck: in time we cut into innumerablelittle paths, which snaked side by side in the same direction across theplain, pointing towards the coast, and these we surmised to be the trailto Mazagan, which proved to be correct. But at that moment, though wewere anything but certain, it had become absolutely necessary to halt forthe night. It was dark, and the mules were done. An Arab village lay on ahillside not far off, and we made for it. Omar and Saïd had with them on their mules our tent and two or threenecessaries for cooking: we had therefore a roof over our heads, and intime a fire was made, odds and ends were scraped up, and we ate a meal ofsorts sitting on the ground beside a candle stuck on a stone. The nightgrew very cold: there was, however, a bit of thin carpet, which weproposed to wrap ourselves in to sleep. Now and then one of us looked outbetween the flaps of the tent into the darkness and watched--a case of"Sister Ann! Sister Ann! do you see any one coming?" [Illustration: ONE OF OUR LAST CAMPS. LOADING THE CAMEL. [_To face p. 350. _] We had, however, grown tired of looking out, and were just arrangingourselves on the ground, when familiar noises sounded outside, andOmar's voice crying joyfully, "Le chameau arrive!" Perhaps, above all else which was interesting on the road to Mazagan, thelittle Arab settlements, composed entirely of tents, interested us most. In them, was lived the truly nomad, gipsy life of the wandering Arab, whois a herdsman by heritage, and in following that vocation _a roamer parexcellence_. They live, these Arabs, in tents: the sides are made ofstraw and wattle hurdles; over the top is stretched an immense piece ofbrown or black camel's-hair cloth. The tents are barely five feet high inthe middle, less at the edges: squat brown mushrooms they look, orsomething like the keels of boats turned bottom upwards. All of them wereopen in front, "very public" the world would say; which primitive andopen-air mode of living was indeed their great feature. Some of them weredivided off down the middle by a hurdle, thus forming two "rooms": thehurdles were occasionally faggots, without straw. Around the tents laythe flocks, chewing the cud or browsing on the scanty grass-land:children ran out to us with bowls of milk: when the grass gave out withinreach all round, the tents were taken down, the hillsides deserted, andthe families wandered in search of pastures new, carrying a few chickens, some pots and pans, two or three bundles of rags, and leaving behind agood many parasites and a bare patch. Thus Arab life in Southern Morocco--a thriftless, desultory existence, yet with the charm of continual change and of living with the earth. "Totake no thought for the morrow" is the practice of all Moors, whetherArabs or Berbers: no Moor spends money on anything which will not bringhim in immediate profit, and this accounts for the fact that trees andforests are never planted, or schemes started for working mines, orroads made, or bridges built; even if the capital were forthcoming, whatwould be the use of spending money only to be repaid little by little, year by year?--a man may die before he profits for all his trouble! After all, argues the Moor, who could wish to alter Morocco? Is it notperfect as it is?--veritably, "_the tail of the peacock_, " the sun of theuniverse! Its very imperfections are among those things which in this fanaticalMohammedan land so fascinate the traveller. Its sad colours, its airsteeped in mystery, its courtly unknowable people, its wild tribes, itswhite shut houses, its concealed women, its mad fanaticism, itsmagnificent stoicism--one and all are sufficient to hold the European, and to call him back again long after El Moghreb has forgotten his face. Another of those chains has been forged which bind certain places andcertain countries to a soul, each henceforth belonging the one to theother, and each gaining a little something thereby; nor can the links ofthese chains be broken, since unseen possessions, such as they, are amongthose things which no power on earth can touch, which can neither begiven nor taken away. It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun, Or South to the blind Horn's hate; Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay, Or West to the Golden Gate, Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass, And the wildest tales are true, And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail; And life runs large on the Long Trail--the trail that is always new. _Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld. , London and Aylesbury. _ A SELECTION FROMMESSRS. HUTCHINSON & CO. 'SNEW BOOKS. _A Work on Arctic Exploration of International Importance. _ ON THE "POLAR STAR"IN THE ARCTIC SEA. By H. R. H. The DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. The Story of the First Italian Expedition to the North Pole. Translated by WILLIAM LE QUEUX. _In 2 handsome volumes, with over 200 Illustrations in the Text, and withFull-page Photogravure Plates, Panoramas, Maps, etc. _, 42s. _net. _ * * * * * _An Important New Work by a Most Successful Biographer. _ THE SAILOR KING:William IV. , his Court and his Subjects. 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THE VICE-CHANCELLOR'S WARD. By CHRISTIAN TEARLE. THE MAN WITH THE WOODEN FACE. By MRS. FRED REYNOLDS. LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO. , PATERNOSTER ROW. Transcriber's Notes: 1. Obvious punctuation errors repaired. 2. This text contains diacritical marks and symbols, where possible theseare represented in the text by the following symbols. Diacritical mark above below-------------------------- ------ ------macron (straight line) [=x] [x=] 3. List of corrections: Page 24, "colourness" changed to "colourless" Page 37, "venalty" changed to "venality" Page 57, "matresses" changed to "mattresses" Page 58, "exemple" changed to "example" Page 70, "Hillali" changed to "Hilalli" Page 94, "a. M. " changed to "p. M. " Page 187, "Morocoo" changed to "Morocco" Page 197, "trumpter" changed to "trumpeter" Page 255, "farthur" changed to "farther" Page 262, "staple" changed to "stable" Page 324, "floor" changed to "flour" Page 345, "votex" changed to "vortex" Page 346, "dozon" changed to "dozen"