THE DESCENT FROM THE ATLAS.
Having digressed for a chapter from the account of my journey,
I take up again the narrative from where it was broken off—when
on the morning of November 5 we had reached the summit of the Tizi
n’Glawi, and were resting after our exertions.
The Glawi Pass scarcely deserves such a name, for there is in reality
no pass at all. One ascends to the very summit of the mountains to
descend as suddenly on the south side, the narrow strip of footing at
the top being only a few yards wide. It is true that the surrounding
mountains on either hand rise to a very considerable elevation above
that at which we found ourselves—8150 feet; but the road merely
crosses a connecting line of quartzite, overlying the shales,
which runs from Jibel Glawi on the west to Adrar n’Iri on the
east, the flat-topped snow-capped mountain that gives its name to
the stream up the valley of which we had been ascending. The views
in either direction were fine, but totally different; for while
to the north our eyes wandered over the valley of the Tetula, and
lower down the Ghadat, with the steep mountains densely wooded on
their lower slopes, before us to the south lay range after range of
broken limestone mountains, bare and bleak, and without a single
sign of vegetation. But one exception there was, the circular
valley of Teluet lying 2000 feet below us; but at this dry period
of the year, for as yet only the very slightest rain had fallen,
it looked as bare and dried up as did the hills that surrounded us.
The descent could be seen twisting in and out the escarpment of
the mountains, amongst boulders of rock from which here and there
unsightly wind-bent trunks of evergreen oaks appeared.
A few villages dotted the little plain below, whose flat roofs
upturned to our gaze had a strange appearance as we peered down
on them from so far above. For the most part they were perched
upon rocky eminences, raised slightly above the level of the small
valley. It is here that the great castle of the Kaid of Glawa is
situated, but from our vantage-point it was indistinguishable,
being hidden in the slight descent that leads from the valley to
the course of the Wad Marghen. This _kasba_ of the Kaid of Glawa,
Sid el Madani, was the last point at which, should I be discovered,
my return would be insisted upon, for beyond this the Moorish
Government holds little or no real jurisdiction, so it was not
unnaturally that we gave the place as wide a berth as possible. On
my return journey, when disguise was no longer necessary, I spent
a night at the _kasba_, and when the time comes shall describe
this mountain fortress, which even in Europe would be considered
a building of great size and strength.
Descending the 2000 feet that led to the valley of Teluet, we met
at the bottom almost the first large caravan we had as yet come
across. They were bound upon the same road as ourselves, though
their destination was Dads, while I hoped to push on as far as
Tafilet. The men forming the caravan were one and all Berbers, and
natives of Dads, added to which they were friends of the old Shereef
whom I was accompanying. Therefore I had nothing to fear from them,
and the little Arabic they spoke was so mixed up with Shelha that
there was no possibility of their detecting my foreign accent. Some
twelve men there were in all, with as many mules and donkeys. The
cheerfulness of this augmentation of our little caravan was damped
by the news they gave us, for from them we learned that the road
_viâ_ Warzazat was blocked, owing to the tribes being in
[Illustration: _A Pass on the Road._]
revolt, and that they had been obliged to turn back only some six
hours from where we met them. It had been my particular desire to
proceed _viâ_ this route, as there are rumours of ruins in the
valley of the Warzazat; but I at once perceived that we must follow
the inevitable and pursue the road _viâ_ Askura, which possessed
this attraction to the explorer, that it had never before been
traversed or described by any traveller. It was good luck that
brought us in contact with the Dads’ caravan, for in these wild
lawless regions there is safety in numbers, and I noticed that
the old Shereef especially cheered up at the sight of the dozen
antiquated flint-lock guns the men bore.
We at once decided to join company and pursue the road together,
and for the five following days the Dads tribesmen and their little
mules formed part of our caravan. Good sturdy fellows they were,
always laughing and running races, in which the brisk cold often
tempted me to join them. At this they were much amused, for my
slender—not to say thin—form and limbs, as yet but slightly
tanned with the sun, led them to suppose that I could ill stand
the hardships of the road. That I was a European in disguise never
once crossed their simple trusting minds, and amongst this wild
band I obtained a reputation of very considerable sanctity, on
account of the fact that I said my prayers in orthodox style with
the old Shereef, and that I wore suspended round my neck, over my
torn and ragged _jelaba_, a string of wooden beads, the insignia
of the sect of the Derkaua, or followers of Sidi Ali el Derkaui,
who may be almost said to be the patron saint of the Sahara.
With one of these caravan men, Hammu by name, I made great friends,
and one of my pleasantest recollections of Dads was the feast
he gave me in his house, to which half the village was invited,
and which lasted from somewhere about mid-day to somewhere about
midnight. He was a simple gentle fellow this Hammu, but as good as
could be; and many a time when we lay huddled together of a night
for the sake of warmth he would cover me up with his thick _haidus_
of black goats’-hair as I slept, and swear in the morning that he
had not done so—that it was merely owing to the fact that he had
kicked it off in my direction that accounted for his having slept in
only a light cotton _chamira_ while I was warm and comfortable. Poor
Hammu! he never learned, so far as I know, that I was a European
in disguise,—not that I believe he would mind much, for the
friendship that sprang up between us would break through all such
barriers as this. He eventually finished, on the day I departed for
Tafilet, by embracing me and asking me to return with him to Dads,
and share his home, with his sister as my wife. He even promised
her a dowry of a few yards of blue cotton, a pair of bracelets, and
a cow. My Riffi man nearly exploded with his attempts to conceal
his laughter, but I took the compliment as in the manner meant,
and clasped his good strong hand with a grip of real friendship,
for I could not but recognise that the wild tribesman, with his
handsome face and fine bearing, meant every word he spoke.
But I digress from the narrative of my travel. It being out of the
question that we should pursue the route _viâ_ Warzazat, there was
no option about the matter, and we turned to the east across the
plain of Teluet, fording the Wad Marghen, or Wad el Melha, some two
or three miles above the Kaid of Glawa’s _kasba_. The stream is
not a very large one, but clear, fresh, cold water flows from the
snows of the western slopes of Jibel Unila throughout the entire
year. Although slightly brackish the water is drinkable to cattle,
but the inhabitants rely for their supply upon the many streams
and springs that form its tributaries. The river flows along the
Teluet valley from east to west, and at the south-west corner of the
plain passes out through a gorge to flow into the Idermi, which,
eventually joining the Wad Dads, forms the Wad Draa, the largest
and most important river of trans-Atlas Morocco. The second name
of the river, Wad el Melha, or salt river, is the local title of
every stream the waters of which are brackish.
Ascending by the dry bed of a torrent on the south side of the
river, we skirted the eastern end of Jibel Teluet, which forms
the southern boundary of the valley, and descended some four miles
farther on to the larger stream of the Wad Unila. The ascent and
descent we had crossed forms a small watershed for the tributaries
of the two rivers, though apparently these mountain torrents only
flow in the wet season. At one spot, rather more than half-way, we
passed extensive salt-mines, where quite a number of natives were
engaged in working rock-salt. The scene was a wild one, the half-nude
men with their rough picks hewing away and singing the while, as
others piled the salt in native panniers on to the backs of their
sturdy little mules. The power of these mountain-mules in overcoming
difficulties in the roads is extraordinary, and at one spot we saw
a couple literally descending a precipice, followed by a man who
only kept his footing by the aid of a sort of alpenstock. The manner
in which both man and beasts succeeded in descending seemed to us,
as we stood and watched, incredible, yet we were told that he made
the journey every day to this spot in the face of the precipice,
to collect rock-salt from a small deposit that existed there. At
one place where an unusually large supply of the precious mineral
existed, a roughly constructed fort had been built, for the mines
had been the cause of war for generations amongst the tribesmen
living near, their value being, for the arid bleak district,
extraordinary. No doubt to more or less reserving to himself the
monopoly, as is the case, is owing to a great extent the wealth
to-day in the possession of Sid Madani, the Kaid of Glawa. The soil
at this part consists principally of shales, strewn with boulders
of limestone, no doubt portions of the peaks above, which time,
water, and glacier have carried to their present position.
The Wad Unila, where our path struck its course, flows nearly due
north and south, issuing from a gorge 100 or 200 yards above,
and descending for half a mile through a narrow valley before
reaching the district of Tiurassín, in which we spent the night
of November 5.
This settlement of Berbers of the Imerghan tribe is a large place,
lying on the banks of the river where the valley is sufficiently
wide to form a small triangular plain, which is again bisected by a
torrent, at this period waterless, which flows from the east. The
_ksor_ are many and large, and present a remarkable appearance,
each a castle, or sometimes several castles, with high towers at
the corners, the summits of which are roughly decorated in sun-dried
bricks and white-wash. The great size and solidity of the buildings
struck one as extraordinary, after the hovels the Arabs erect as
habitations, and a rough measurement of one of the towers gave an
altitude of at least 70 feet, no mean height when it is taken into
consideration that they are built without any of the appliances we
know in Europe, and altogether without mortar or lime. The plain
I alluded to as formed by the valley may be perhaps half a mile
across, and consists of gardens of walnut and almond trees, with
a few other varieties of fruits.
The Wad Unila, the river of the place, rises to the north-east at the
summit of Jibel Unila, from which the stream takes its name. This
mountain forms one of the finest of the Atlas peaks, and is said
never to lose its cap of snow. The summit, the natives told me,
consists of a circular lake of great depth, from which the river
takes its rise. So important to the land through which it flows
are the waters of the Unila, for the natives are entirely dependent
upon its supply for irrigating purposes, that this lake, which is
said never to vary its level, has become a place of pilgrimage and
veneration, and in the spring of each year sheep are sacrificed
to its patron saint. Before uniting with the Wad Marghen (Wad el
Melha) at Aït Zaineb, four districts are watered—namely, taking
them from the river’s source, (1) Unila, (2) Assaka, (3) Tisgi,
and (4) Aït Zaineb; but the valley throughout is a narrow one,
shut in by high mountains, and only at its widest parts, such as
Tiurassín, is it inhabited. But very little wheat is grown, maize
and turnips taking its place as the articles of subsistence amongst
the natives. The walnuts and almonds, however, flourish to such an
extent that a large quantity are yearly exported to Morocco City,
being taken by the road we had followed across the Glawi Pass.
[Illustration: AT THE BASE OF THE ATLAS MOUNTAINS.]
The only traveller who had preceded me at Tiurassín was De Foucauld,
the French explorer, but from this point our ways separated—he
having continued his journey south along the river’s course,
while I turned off to the east, _en route_ for Askura and Dads. He
followed the river as far as its junction with the Idermi, which,
joining the larger stream of the Dads at Kheneg el Tauria, form
together the Wad Draa.
A few of the inhabitants of Tiurassín belong to the tribe of
Unila, which geographically occupies the slopes of the mountain
of the same name; but the larger proportion is formed of members
of the powerful tribe of Imerghan, which is found split up into
many divisions scattered all over this portion of trans-Atlas
Morocco. The constant state of warfare existing amongst the Berber
people has no doubt caused this disintegration of the larger tribes,
by the changing, acquisition, and losing of territory. The people
of Dads were the sole exception, and their position, offensive and
defensive, has prevented their being so divided, a fact that adds
not a little to their strength and importance.
We spent the night of November 5 at the large _ksar_ of Aït Yahia u
Ali, pitching our one little tent in a walled-in yard, which answers
the purpose of a caravanserai for passers-by. A great number of
natives crowded about, offering to sell us barley for our animals,
and chickens and eggs for ourselves; and though the last we found
to be unprocurable, in spite of all their protestations to the
contrary, our mules and donkeys fared better than usual. It was not
long before one of the reasons of these visits was discovered, for
the opportunity was not lost to the pilfering Berbers of stealing a
fine powder-horn belonging to one of my men, and formed of the horn
of a Barbary wild sheep (_muflon_), set in brass and silver,—a
tempting bait to these mountaineers, who set great store upon such
highly decorative articles of warfare. The cold was extreme, and
it was as much as we could do by crowding together in the tent to
keep warm. Although many natives visited us and paid their respects
to the old Shereef, not one for a moment eyed me with suspicion,
and Arabic seemed scarcely spoken at all amongst them. I found the
elevation of our camp to be 5480 feet above the sea-level. The small
caravan with which we had fallen in on the plain of Teluet camped
with us, and we were not sorry to have increased our numbers, for
the inhabitants of Tiurassín seem to be a hungry lot of devils on
the look out for loot.
Our companions were loudly regretting the fact that they had
been obliged to abandon the route _viâ_ Warzazat, as that road
is considered much the safer, the Arab tribe of Askura, whose
district we were to pass, being much dreaded on account of their
lawless depredations. Nor do they deserve much else but discredit,
for this very little caravan was pillaged under our own eyes by the
robbing Arab tribe, whose reputation is the worst of all the peoples
of this portion of the country. No love is lost at any time between
the Berbers and Arabs, and this curious settlement of the latter,
in the very midst of the strongholds of the former, does much to
keep the hatred alive.
The next morning by sunrise, and in bitter cold, we were threading
our way up the dry torrent-bed that I mentioned as bisecting the
little plain formed by the junction of the rivers at Tiurassín. As
we proceeded the steepness of the climb increased, and it was not for
some five or six miles that we found ourselves at the summit of the
spur of the Atlas that our road crossed. Reaching quite suddenly a
level piece of country some half a mile in extent, a magnificent view
met our eyes as we turned and looked back. Stretching away before us,
a panorama of a hundred miles of snow-capped peaks met our view,
and glorious they were in the early sunshine, one and all glowing
pink and gold. Beneath we could see far down into the shadows of
the gorge that we ascended, steep clay and shale slopes crowned
with pines and evergreen oaks. Certainly the Atlas range presents
as fine a view from the south as from the other side, but the great
plain of the Tensift was missing to add to the effect of their great
altitude. In return, however, for this, there is a foreground of
far wilder appearance, broken crags of limestone rock rising range
above range until the snow capped the whole. The peaks, too, do not
bear from this vantage-ground the same look of equal altitude that
forms so prominent a feature from the north, but each rises singly
and is easily recognisable could any definite system of naming be
discovered. Such, however, is not the case, and often a mountain
known here by one title is a few miles farther on spoken of by an
entirely different one, the nomenclature being purely local. So it is
with the rivers all over Morocco, with but one or two exceptions,
and these only the largest, for the smaller streams often take
their names from the villages they pass through or near, and I know
one river in Northern Morocco, the length of which cannot be more
than some twelve to fifteen miles from its source to its mouth,
which boasts no less than six separate names. I could identify,
however, every peak to which some more or less recognised title
seems to pertain. On the extreme west, and to the south somewhat of
the others, was Jibel Sirua, a snow-clad peak, which lies slightly
away from the main chain, forming the base of the valley of Wad Sus,
between the districts of Tifinut and Ras el Wad. It is the principal
elevation of the chain that divides the basins of the rivers Sus
and Draa. Then, taking them from the west, Jibal Miltsin, Tidili,
Glawi, Taurirt or Adrar n’Iri, Adrar n’Deren, and lastly Unila,
of all the most beautiful in form, adding almost a proof to what
the account of the deep circular lake had forced one to believe,
that it forms the cone of an extinct volcano. Even from here, and
far more so from the north, one could not but be struck by the
equality of altitude presented by the view of the range, a fact
proved by the altitude of the Glawi Pass, the lowest at this part
of the chain, and yet 8150 feet above the sea. Supposing, then,
that the average height of the peaks reaches 12,000 feet, it will be
seen that only at one spot is the altitude below 8500, and probably
in few others reaches much below 9000, and where the exception is
found, probably only in cases of tortuous gorges entirely hidden in
a panorama such as presented itself from where we stood ourselves
at an altitude of 6800 feet above the sea-level. Jibel Sirua, it
is true, is connected with the main chain by a low ridge of peaks,
and Unila stands more alone than any of the rest; but neither of
these can reach the altitude of Miltsin and Tidili, which can be
roughly estimated at some 13,000 feet.
Although but very little snow was reported to have fallen as
yet this winter, all the peaks were well covered, and judging
from the altitude at which we were, and the fact that the
_arar_—calitris—and evergreen oak abounded, I should estimate
the snow-line at this particular period at 10,000 feet. However,
as a general rule, no true estimate can be formed as regards the
snow on the Atlas, for so much depends upon the severity of the
winter or the heat of the summer; and to the best of my belief,
based upon statements made to me on the spot, snow altogether
disappears from the Atlas in very dry seasons, with the exception
of sheltered spots and crevices. Probably the least snow is found
about the end of October, after a previous dry winter and a hot
summer. In May and June, before it has had time to melt, I have
seen a far greater expanse of snow-capped peaks than I did on my
return from Tafilet in December. Generally speaking, the deepest
snow is found in March and the least in October.
Descending from this elevation of 6800 feet by the bed of a now dry
torrent, we continued our journey in an east by south direction,
passing through one or two narrow gorges between rocks that were
remarkably fine. It is no difficult matter to see that in winter and
wet weather this road must be impassable, for the sole track is in
the bed of the stream, and there were signs on the rocks of the water
having risen to some six feet above the level of its stony course.
Here one began to notice the first clear signs of the fact that
while the valleys of the northern slopes of the Atlas run almost
due north and south, those of the side on which we were take an east
and west direction, parallel, in fact, to the backbone of the chain;
the intermediate hills forming a small range along the foot of the
southern side, such as is found, only at a greater distance away,
on the north. I refer to the hills of Jibeelet and Rahamna.
The system of the Atlas at this part of its chain may be said
to consist of five distinct ranges, all running east and west
and nearly parallel. To the extreme north are those I have just
mentioned, Jibeelet and the hills of Rahamna; then the main chain
of the Atlas itself; then the hills at its feet on the south, to
which no distinct name seems to pertain, and which are so close to
the range as to form part of itself; then again the Anti-Atlas, or,
as it is more properly called, Jibel Saghru; and farther south still,
the unexplored line of Jibel Bani, which leaves the Wad Draa near
where it turns to the north, and not far from the _zauia_ of the
Shereefs of Tamgrut—Ulad Sid ben Nasr—and extends as far as
the southern limits of the oasis of Tafilet, near the hills known
as Jibel Belgrul.
Following the course of a valley, our road proceeding nearly due
east, we passed the ruins of a _ksar_, or more properly a fortress,
known as the Teherumt of Majdáta, the latter being the name of
this inhospitable and nearly uninhabited district. The fort is in
bad repair, half of it tumbling down, but in what remains a few
poor Berbers have taken up their residence, and managed to till an
acre or two of the soil in the immediate neighbourhood and plant
it with turnips. Although a tolerable amount of vegetation is
visible, we saw no herds or flocks, though it was stated that in
spring a few goats are grazed hereabouts. Almost immediately after
passing the Teherumt—“fort”—two small rivers are forded,
the easternmost of which is known as the Wad Igurian, while I
was unable to find the name of the other, only an insignificant
stream. Both appear to unite after reaching the plain, from which
only a low range of hills now separated us. The valley we were
following, though scarcely deserving of being called a valley,
for its watercourse was dry, descended to the western of these two
rivers, only a few hundred yards of hill dividing the two streams,
and after passing the Igurian one commences to ascend again by the
course of a dry torrent, the hills on the south taking the form of
high perpendicular cliffs of remarkably fine appearance. But little
vegetation was to be found here, a few oleanders along the bed of the
stream being almost all there was. Again passing a small watershed,
we descended toward the river of Agurzga, parallel to the two we had
passed, both of which crossed the road, which proceeded between the
parallel ranges of mountains on the north and hills on the south, at
right angles. I could hear of but few inhabitants in these districts,
though our men said that a small tribe of Aït Minzeru lived higher
up in the mountains, near the eastern slopes of Jibel Unila.
Where the road runs under the high cliffs the name of
“Kaiseríeh” has been given to the spot, the same implying the
narrow streets of the bazaars of a town.
At Agurzga, on the banks of the river of the same name, we spent
the night of November 6.
Of all the picturesque and romantic spots we passed on the entire
journey, I think Agurzga deserves to be
[Illustration: _Agurzga._]
considered the first, for not only is its situation, shut in
with high precipices of bare stone, fine in the extreme, but the
hand of man has done much to add to the scene by perching strange
great castles, rich in decorated towers, on every pinnacle of rock
that juts up in the narrow valley, and by terracing a sufficient
quantity of land to allow of a strip of gardens along the edge
of the river. The stream enters this portion of the valley by
a narrow gorge, between precipices some thousands of feet high,
and taking a semicircular bend, still between high walls of rock,
opens out into a stony bed, one bank rising sheer in broken boulders
to some height, while on the other side are the gardens of walnut,
almond, and fig trees, terraced one above the other. Rising again
high above these gardens are rocky eminences on which the great
castles are perched, in one case the summit being crowned by a huge
block of building, in others by tier above tier of strange yellow
_ksor_ and white square towers, the summits of the latter richly
decorated in brickwork and turreted. Just as the Wad Agurzga enters
the district to which it has given its name, so does it leave it
again, flowing out to the level country through a gorge in the
range of hills along the northern slopes of which we had been
travelling. Through this narrow gorge, guarded by a ruined fort,
we could catch a glimpse of the wide plain beyond, across which
the rivers flow before entering themselves into the Idermi or the
Dads, as the case may be. This plain, of which I shall have more to
say anon, forms the centre of the Draa basin, and extends from the
foot-hills of the southern slopes of the great Atlas range as far as
the northern extremity of Jibel Saghru, the so-called Anti-Atlas,
to the south. The river of Agurzga, flowing from the snow-level,
is always well supplied with excellent water, which whirls and
eddies along in crystal clearness over its stony bed, here in deep
blue pools, and there in tiny rippling rapids. In winter-time it
is liable to sudden floods, and often entirely unfordable.
We pitched our tiny tent at an elevation of 4850 feet above the
sea-level, just opposite a large _ksar_, near a few solitary trees,
and sent to the village for supplies, which we found difficult
to obtain. However, without my knowledge, my men made out a tale
that I was a poor Shereef on my way to make a pilgrimage to the
tomb of Mulai Ali Shereef at Tafilet, and accordingly we obtained
what money alone had failed to do, an excellent supper of boiled
turnips and almonds and walnuts—not very nourishing, it is true,
but hot and satisfying to those who had tasted nothing all day,
as had been our case. The poverty existing in this spot is extreme,
for the small quantity of land under cultivation is only sufficient
to sustain the life of the inhabitants without allowing them to
sell food, and all along the road we found the greatest difficulty
in purchasing provisions. The money we offered was to them a large
sum, but its acceptance in return for what little they had of grain,
eggs, fowls, or turnips would have eventually placed them in the
position in which we found ourselves—namely, in possession of
money but unable to purchase food with it. It is extraordinary upon
occasions like this how one realises the worthlessness of money in
places where there is nothing to be procured with it; and our little
hoard of silver, small as it was, seemed but to mock our hunger.
However, my supposed sanctity did more for us than coin could
do, and we supped after all. It was not until the following day
that I learned the ruse by which my men had been obliged to obtain
provisions. I felt but little remorse, however, as the villagers had
been paid for what they brought in small presents to the children,
and would no doubt find an opportunity of rechanging the few pesetas
we had given them into food in course of time.
Early on the morning of November 7 we left Agurzga, and proceeding,
still almost due east, crossed a line of hills and descended some
two hours later to the valley of the Ghresat. The highest point of
this five or six miles of road reaches an altitude of 5800 feet,
where a small watershed is crossed, from which the streams flow east
to the Ghresat and west to the Agurzga. For a mile or two after
striking the river the road follows its course, almost due south,
and passing between some undulating hills, the large settlement of
Ghresat, with its picturesque _ksor_, lies before one, and beyond
it the wide plain that lies between the Atlas and the Anti-Atlas.
We had finished with the mountains, and with a sigh of relief
emerged from the valley to the level country, feeling that at
last the weary work of continual ascent and descent was done with,
for a time at least.