DADS.
It seems so long since I have found an opportunity of writing of
my personal experiences, and those of the good men who accompanied
me upon my journey, that it is quite a pleasure to abandon for
a time things geographical, and to enter for a chapter into the
less important but interesting details of my stay at Dads, where
a sojourn of five days in the Shereef’s house, with innumerable
kind but indigestible feasts elsewhere, allowed me to see much more
of the Berber home-life than would otherwise have been the case.
The first new experience was to look upon the interior of one of
these strange castles that the natives build themselves, the outsides
of which had so impressed me by their size and the manner in which
they are built. No sooner had we arrived at the Zauia Aït bu Haddu
than the opportunity I had all along been wishing to find occurred,
and on alighting from my donkey at the door of the Shereef’s house,
he bade me welcome with all the grace and rhetoric that the Arabs
know so well how to use.
A stable-yard, a large enclosed space, divided the house from the
street of the village, and, passing through this, a walnut-wood
door, of roughly-sawn planks, gave entrance to the house. Within
all was darkness, and it was only by striking a match that I could
perceive we had entered a wide and dusty passage which seemed to
lead nowhere. Groping along a gradual ascent, which took the place
of stairs, we reached the first floor, on which most of the living
apartments were situated, the remainder of the ground-floor serving
as stabling, and opening by another entrance into the yard we had
already passed through. Still ascending, we entered at length a
large unfurnished room some 30 feet square, the whole black with
smoke. Here we found a number of women, mostly accompanied by babies
in arms, attending to the household affairs. Some were cooking the
meal that was being prepared for our reception over fires of inferior
and smoke-giving charcoal, while others were weaving on hand-looms
a heavy woollen material, to serve eventually for the _haidus_ or
cloaks of the Berbers. The walls of the room were of rough _tabia_
and the floor of plastered mud, while the ceiling consisted of trunks
of walnut-trees supported on pillars of _tabia_, and covered with
brushwood and clay above, the latter forming the floor of the next
storey. A few huge copper cooking-pots and a rough unstained box
or two formed all the furniture visible, together with a heap of
dishes of considerable size, each a segment of the trunk of large
walnut-trees skilfully hollowed out. Some of these were already
filled with the steaming _kuskusu_ and boiled turnips that were to
form the staple _pièce de résistance_ of the coming feast. Again an
ascent of clay, supported on walnut beams fastened into the wall,
led us to a second chamber of much the same dimensions as the
first, only in place of the narrow loopholes which allowed a dim
light to enter in the lower storey there were here round holes in
the roof, serving at once for windows and chimneys, and decidedly
unsuccessful at either, for the heavy smoke of fig-wood charcoal
hung like a cloud in the air, obstructing what little light might
otherwise have entered. In other respects the rooms were in every
way identically the same, the walls black with smoke, and covered
with cobwebs near the ceiling, but with these exceptions tolerably
clean. Again we ascended, this time emerging on to the flat roof,
in the centre of which stood a highly decorated room built of
mud bricks, with a door of the usual walnut-wood and two or three
small windows with shutters. We were a great height up, probably
some 50 to 55 feet from the ground; but towers rose still higher,
though their only purpose seemed to be the defence of the _ksar_,
for they contained no rooms, but only galleries with narrow loopholes
in the walls. The door of the room was thrown open, and we entered
the clean and comfortable _minzah_ and threw ourselves down on the
rough rugs and carpets, delighting in being able to rest at last,
and in a cool atmosphere, after the heat of our journey—and with
every promise, too, of escaping the rigorous cold at night.
The old Shereef remained below in a small room, which in his
younger days, when he resided at Dads, he had built himself, with
plaster walls and some rough Moorish painting on the ceiling, and a
horseshoe window opening on to the street, some 20 feet above the
roadway. Here, no doubt, he interviewed the members of his family
that he had abandoned for so long, and doubtless, too, listened
to the reproaches of the wives he had deserted for nine years or
so. However, all the male relations and a number of friends of the
house trooped up to our quarters, and as most of them knew Arabic
well, the conversation flowed cheerily enough over the excellent
hot dishes of food that they brought us. Then came Moorish tea,
with quantities of sugar and mint, I presiding at the tray, in the
seat of honour, for I was the stranger of the party, and therefore
the most honoured. A splendid handsome group of men they formed,
these hosts of ours and their friends, and clean withal, which
added very considerably to the pleasure of their company.
What questions they asked!—not the rude personal questions the Arab
pesters one with, but as to what was going on in Morocco, and how our
little party had fared on the way; and even more general than their
interrogations were their protestations of welcome. Very welcome
they made us too, bringing from their various houses great dishes
of food—plain stuff enough, but none the less acceptable—and
keeping the day as a sort of holiday.
It may seem to the reader that almost every page of this book
contains references as to what we obtained to eat; but on a journey
in which one tasted meat only twice in a month, and when often we
walked forty miles with nothing more than dates or inferior dried
figs to dine and sup and breakfast on, it is wonderful how important
a _souvenir de voyage_ is the remembrance of the rare occasions
on which we satisfied our hunger, or, as on our arrival at Dads,
we did more, and actually had enough to eat and to spare.
I quickly made friends with the natives of the place, and before
our guests departed, so as to give us an opportunity to sleep after
our weary journey,
[Illustration: _Inside the Village of Aït bu Haddu, at Dads._]
we had arranged to meet again later in the afternoon, and walk
about in the gardens which line the river-banks.
Meanwhile, I think some description ought to be given as to the
appearance of the men I found myself among and their womenkind.
Certainly of all the tribes and peoples that I have come across
in Morocco, those of Dads far exceed the rest in good looks and
handsome build. As a rule, all the men are well above average height,
gracefully and strongly formed, withal possessing an appearance of
athletes. In colour they are fair, the eyes sometimes blue, but
generally dark, while the eyelashes and eyebrows are black. The
nose, contrary to the general Berber type, is aquiline, and the
mouth finely cut and well shaped. Although they follow the rule of
shaving the head, they do not, like the Arabs, allow the beard and
moustache to grow, but entirely shave off the latter, and leave only
a small pointed beard on the extremity of the chin, which extends to
the ears in a fine line of closely cut hair on either side. Their
hands and feet are small and well shaped, the former showing no
signs of manual labour, all of which is performed by the women,
the men being the warriors, as it were, and, unless employed as
caravan-drivers, spending their time in idleness or bloodshed.
It is impossible in such a description as this to really reproduce
the type of the Berber of Dads, for his charm, and undoubtedly he
possesses much, is owing more perhaps to his manner and innate
politeness than to his outward form, though even in the latter
respect he is superb. Fierce as they are in war, the people of Dads
are when at peace the gentlest of creatures, extremely devoted to
their children, and living a home-life absolutely unknown amongst the
Arabs. Just as in appearance, so in moral character, do they excel,
and the vices so common amongst the Moors are unknown in the homes
of the Berbers. They seem to possess none of that uncontrollable
passion that is so large a feature in the Arab character, and its
place is taken by affection and sincerity. Seldom marrying more
than one wife, prostitution is absolutely unknown, with the result
that the health of the tribe is excellent, and one never sees those
horrid disfigurements of feature so common in other portions of
Morocco. No doubt to a great extent the moral character of the
Berbers is due to the fact that their women are allowed entire
liberty, do not veil their faces, and mix on almost all occasions
with the men. One of the first things that struck me on my arrival at
Dads was the good-humoured and innocent chaff that passed between the
men and the girls of the tribe, even in the streets of the _ksar_,
and still more when they brought us our food to the _minzah_ on the
house-top. The women are distinctly pretty, with very fair skins and
clear complexions; but they detract much from their appearance by
the strange manner in which they adorn their features with _henna_
and _kohl_, the former a red dye, the latter antimony. Usually
five red streaks pass from the top of the forehead to the eyebrows,
while each cheek contains a triangular patch of the same hue. The
eyebrows and lashes are darkened with the _kohl_, a black patch is
put upon the tip of the nose, another at each point of the mouth,
and still another on the chin. The neck is often slightly tattooed
in a narrow design running from under the chin as far as the breasts.
The costume of the women of Dads consists almost entirely of
_khent_—indigo-blue cotton—the dress being formed of two pieces,
which fasten over the shoulder and hang as if “cut square,”
back and front. Under the arms the two strips of _khent_ are sown
together as far as below the knees. A girdle—usually a cord of
red wool wound several times round the body, and the ends hanging
down in long tassels—takes the place of the wide _hazam_ of the
Arab women, and is infinitely more graceful. Often a second strip
of _khent_ is worn as a shawl, being brought over one shoulder
and fastened below the other arm. Necklaces of silver beads and
pendants with coral and amber form the chief ornament; and often
the head-dress of _khent_ is decorated in silver, while bangles
and a few anklets are worn. The women usually go barefoot, a few
of the richest only seeming to wear shoes; while with the men the
sandal—generally of raw hide—is almost universal.
The men’s dress is picturesque. Over the long wide-sleeved shirt,
or _chamira_, is worn a _haidus_ of thick black woollen material,
or else the same hooded garment in white wool, often varied with
narrow stripes of cotton interwoven. On the head a small white
turban, leaving the crown bare, is the customary covering; but many
affect, too, the _kheit_, or soft wool string, and still more go
bareheaded. As is usual with all Berbers, no belt or sash is worn,
the long _chamira_ hanging ungirdled from the neck to the ankles.
All sorts and varieties of hairdressing are to be found amongst
the children. Some have the crown bare, and the hair on the sides
of the head long, just for all the world like the babies of Japan,
while others possess a regular patchwork design of hair and bald
spots all over the head. They seem a happy good-natured lot these
children of Dads, and spend nearly the entire day at play, seldom
fighting or quarrelling. The principal occupation of the boys seems
to be slinging, at which they are remarkably adept. The sling is
formed of a small net of close-woven string, with two long cords
attached, and even quite small urchins can send a stone to a great
distance. Another amusement, absolutely unknown to the Arabs so far
as I am aware, is the modelling of little figures out of clay. Some
that I saw were excellent, principally men on horseback, and most
creditable performances for children who have nothing but their
fingers to work with. The horsemen were generally stood up a few
yards off and pelted with stones until broken, the excited urchins
meanwhile shouting, “The Arabs! the Arabs!”—the common war-cry
of their tribe when fighting with the latter race.
In spite of the great size of the _ksor_ of Dads, with their
castellated towers and fortified walls, the place is an extremely
poor one, and little or no money circulates, except amongst the men
employed in caravan-work. Even in this case it is very few indeed
who possess more than a couple of mules, such being considered a
large capital, and the long and wearisome journey to Morocco City
and back usually brings only some five dollars or so of profit
per mule; that is to say, an absence of a fortnight, with some 250
miles of desert and mountain, the latter often snow-clad, may, if
robbers be escaped and favourable luck be met with, bring in some
sixteen shillings of English money. But, as a rule, the population
of Dads subsist upon the dried figs and other scanty produce of
their gardens, which are poor enough little fields, well irrigated
certainly, but with inferior soil and scanty products. The figs
are plucked ripe and laid out on to the flat house-tops to dry
in the sun, and eventually stored for the winter. So hard do they
become that we were obliged to crush them between stones before we
were able to make any impression upon them with our teeth. Very few
cattle are to be found, such as there are being entirely stall-fed,
_fsa_—a kind of lucerne—being grown for the purpose. There being
absolutely no grazing land, the cows seldom leave the yards of the
house. They are invariably fed out of mangers, built of _tabia_,
and raised about 12 to 18 inches from the ground. The women attend
to the cattle as to everything else, it being their duty to fetch and
carry water and firewood, in fact to do almost all the work with the
exception of tilling the soil, and in a few cases I saw them even
so occupied. As a rule, the cultivation is done by paid workmen,
who take piecework, the digging of an acre of soil preparatory
to its being sown with turnips bringing the labourer about two
shillings English money. These labourers are not of the Dads tribe,
for they think it below their station to dig, but usually come from
the banks of the Wad Draa, and are known, both amongst themselves and
all over Morocco, as “Haratin”—that is to say, “freemen,”
and not slaves. In type they form much in common with the negro,
and seem too not unlike him in good humour and docility. Their
language is a variety of Shelha, called “Drauia,” but is only
partially comprehensible to the tribes
[Illustration: _A Woman of Dads._]
speaking the pure dialect. Numbers of these “Haratin” are to
be found all over Morocco, where they usually pursue the calling of
water-carriers, and thus become members of the fraternity of Mulai
Yakub, to whose tomb, at the hot springs near Fez, they have to
make a pilgrimage before taking to the _guerba_ or “water-skin,”
from which they peddle the liquid to the crowd. They are usually an
honest and trustworthy people and excellent labourers, talking and
laughing while they dig or ply whatever trade they have taken to,
but they seem incapable of skilled labour of any sort.
Having now briefly sketched the character and manner of life of
the people of Dads, a few words must be written as to the country
their tribe inhabits.
The division of the Berbers which takes its name from the river
Dads possesses the entire banks of that river from the spot where
it leaves the valley of the main chain of the Atlas to where it
changes its course from north and south to east and west, a few
miles from the northern slopes of Jibel Saghru, the Anti-Atlas,
where the tribe of Aït Yahia, a division of the larger Seddrat,
commences. The distance thus in the hands of the Dads tribe is a
narrow strip of land on both banks of the river, some twenty-five
miles in length. The fact that their district extends from the Atlas
range to the Anti-Atlas gives them a power altogether beyond their
numerical strength amongst the Berbers of trans-Atlas Morocco, for
by their position they hold entire command over the caravan-roads
from Marakesh to Tafilet and the intermediate places. Whichever road
be chosen—whether it be by the valleys of the Warzazat and Idermi,
by the Glawi Pass, or by Demnat and Aït bu Gemmés—the traveller
is obliged to pass through Dads, and in order that caravans may
do so with immunity, it is necessary that alliances be made with
the tribe by the surrounding people. This, too, empowers the
inhabitants of Dads to trade with far more security than those
of the other districts, for the fact that they allow caravans to
pass through without plundering them gives them the same right
elsewhere; and should another tribe rob or attack a Dads caravan,
woe betide the next band of men of the tribe in question that
passed through Dads. Thus it was that I heard on my return from
Tafilet that a small caravan from Askura, coming from the east,
met with a reception that amply repaid the loss of the property of
the mule-drivers who had accompanied us through Askura, and whose
plundering we had witnessed. Again, the strength of Dads is owing,
no doubt, not a little to the fact that the tribe is undivided, and
collected at one spot, whereas, I believe without exception, all the
other Berber tribes are scattered over various parts of the country,
none inhabiting one district, as is the case with Dads. Although
continual blood-feuds are springing up amongst the inhabitants of the
various _ksor_, the tribe unites in the case of attack from without,
all intervillage quarrels being left until the enemy is driven
off. But so firm a position have the people managed to obtain for
themselves, and so renowned are they for their pluck and bravery,
that nowadays attack from other tribes is uncommon. However, a few
years since the powerful Aït Atta marched in force against the
inhabitants of Dads, accompanied by a large number of horsemen;
but the superiority in numbers, and the fact that the Dads people
possessed no horses, did not suffice to give them victory, and
they were, after a long struggle, eventually driven back to the
east across the plain of Anbed. A few Aït Atta _ksor_ which had
formerly stood at Dads, inhabited by friendly tribesmen, were
thereupon destroyed, and the Attauis driven out or put to the sword.
In all those wars and blood-feuds no quarter is given, any one old
enough to carry a gun or dagger, the two weapons of the country,
being considered fair game. Prisoners taken alive are stabbed to
death with the curved dagger of the place, powder and shot being too
valuable. Contrary to this barbarous custom, the women and children
are spared, the former being permitted to go free, and a strict
code of honour prevents their being violated. Immediately a _ksor_
is besieged the women and children are allowed to pass out untouched,
and are even helped on their way to safe quarters by the enemy. In
many cases of this sort strange incongruities are found amongst the
Berber people. In the case of the Arabs, prisoners of war might be
spared, but the women would be a prize too tempting to be allowed
to escape, and would one and all be outraged, and the children as
likely as not sold.
The river flows through the centre of the valley, flat gardens
extending from its banks to where the parallel cliffs rise to the
level of the plain east and west. The _ksor_ for the most part
lie immediately below these cliffs, though in the upper portion,
particularly in Aït Iunir, they are found scattered amongst the
gardens, rising most picturesquely above the tree-tops. These
gardens are usually walled, and contain little but figs, and these
of a poor quality, though they give large crops. The upper portion
of the valley seems to be far more fertile than near Aït bu Haddu,
for instance, for the fruit-trees reach a far larger size, and the
vegetation is richer altogether. Apples, pears, plums, and apricots
abound here, though below few are found, and pomegranates are not
uncommon. The date-palm is absent altogether.
As at Askura, one is struck by the labour that has been expended
in ensuring a continual supply of water for the gardens. This is
done by means of innumerable small canals. On account of the level
of the gardens being somewhat higher than that of the river-bed,
the water has in almost all cases to be drawn off from the main
stream far above the _ksor_ and gardens it is to supply, and this
fact is a constant cause of warfare; for when a village is separated
from the river by a couple of miles perhaps of canal, on which it
entirely depends for its supply, the enemy soon take advantage of
the fact and cut off their water, which raises the siege at once,
and a sortie has to be made by the defenders. Nor is it only during
war, for, more often still, the original commencement of the strife
is the fact that some one has drawn off the contents of some one
else’s canal, and a feud commences. The water, however, serves a
purpose in warfare other than raising sieges by being cut off, for
the very opposite policy is often resorted to, and water brought to
play upon the soft _tabia_ walls of the _ksar_, a channel being dug
right up to the building. Strong as it is to withstand the effects
of climate, _tabia_ is like blotting-paper before water, and almost
as soon as the walls are reached the building commences to crumble
away from the foundations, imperiling the lives of all within,
and necessitating a sudden flight, and probably the falling into
the hands of the enemy waiting without. In order to prevent their
enemies from approaching the _ksor_ and cutting off or turning on
the water, both equally disastrous, watch-towers are built along
the banks of the canals. The _äudin_, as the natives call them,
are usually square towers some 30 to 40 feet in height, and full of
loopholes. In case of war they are garrisoned with a handful of men
who are supplied with sufficient quantities of water and provisions
to stand a siege, and from them a guard can be kept over the canal
and its banks, while their position—the summit, as a rule, of
mounds—prevents the water being turned on to their foundations. The
whole of the Dads valley is sprinkled with these towers, which add
a by no means unpicturesque feature to their scenery.
Looking down from the tops of the cliffs upon the valley of Dads,
the district presents an appearance the like of which I have seen
nowhere else in the world. It is not that it is beautiful scenery,
or that its fertility calls for admiration; rather it is the fact
that in its curious position and architecture it is unique. The
valley, with the river flowing through its midst, is entirely shut
in on both sides by high cliffs of yellow soil. From amongst the
gardens crop up everywhere the _ksor_ with their battlements and
towers, each one of which would be considered a large building in
Europe. As a frame to this strange scene there is the barren desert,
bounded on the north by the rocky snow-clad peaks of the great chain
of the Atlas, and on the south by the irregular line of Jibel Saghru.
The district of Dads is divided into six portions, each of
which contains many _ksor_. These subdivisions of the tribe are
respectively, commencing from the south—
(i.) Arbaa miya. “the four hundred”;
(ii.) Iutagin;
(iii.) Aït u Allel;
(iv.) Aït Hammu;
(v.) Aït Iunir;
(vi.) Aït Tamuted.
Of these the first-named, Arbaa miya, is decidedly the largest,
strongest, and altogether most powerful. It contains some forty
_ksor_. It is at the north end of Aït Tamuted that the Wad Dads
leaves the valleys of the Atlas to enter the plain.
I spent five days at Dads, and very pleasant ones they were,
while the rest after the weary tramp refreshed men and beasts
wonderfully. During the heat of the day we would wander down to
the banks of the river, and saunter through the gardens, or sit and
talk under the shade of the fig-trees. So accustomed had I become to
playing the part of a native that my life with the Berbers caused
me no anxiety lest my identity should be discovered, and I even
became lax in my attentions at prayers, attending merely the noon
and sunset “services.” The mosque of Zauia Aït bu Haddu was a
small enough place, with a roof supported on heavy beams of rough
walnut-wood, and a minaret in bad repair. Water for the purpose of
ablutions had to be brought from the nearest canal, for the _zauia_
stands above the level of the gardens, almost immediately below
the cliffs. Being a sanctuary of Shereefs, it was not built on the
same plan of defence as the generality of the _ksor_, though its
entrances were mostly guarded with gates. No doubt the fact that
most of its inhabitants are descendants of the Prophet renders
it less liable to attack, and less likely to be embroiled in the
intertribal feuds which are of everyday occurrence.
Close to the village was a “Mellah,” or “Ghetto,” of
Jews, living by themselves in a separate quarter, which also was
undefended, from the fact that they do not in any way participate
in the wars. The Jews exist at Dads, as elsewhere among the Berbers,
under the system of _debeha_, or sacrifice, so called from the fact
that a sheep or ox is supposed originally to have been offered to the
Berbers in order to obtain protection. The families of Jews here too
live in a feudal state, each being dependent upon some Shleh family
for immunity from ill-treatment and robbery: in return for this they
pay a small yearly tribute to their protectors. As a rule they are
the skilled workmen of the place, being particularly renowned at Dads
for their guns, which are often gorgeously decorated in silver. The
shops, too, are almost entirely in the _mellahs_, though little
can be purchased except indigo-blue cotton—_khent_—candles,
and sometimes tea and sugar. Money is so scarce, however, that the
trade is very small, though large quantities of merchandise pass
through Dads en route to Tafilet, and dates on their way to Marakesh.
[Illustration: _Young Jew of Dads._]
The cliffs that bound the river east and west are in many places
fretted with caves, but all tradition as to their former use is
lost. I was told that some copper implements of agriculture were
found in one or two only a short time before my visit, but the manner
in which I was travelling prevented my making many inquiries upon
the subject. However, I was enabled to enter many of these caves,
and they appear to have been used as dwellings by their inhabitants,
a supposition much strengthened by the fact that farther up the
Wad Dads there are several settlements of cave-dwellers existing
to-day, known as Aït Iferi, “the sons of the caves.” I did
not enter these inhabited caves, though I passed them, but from
all outward appearance they seemed to resemble those near the Zauia
Aït bu Haddu, several of which I explored. These varied somewhat
in size and shape, but three chambers seemed to be the average
number. These rooms were all small, the largest I measured being
some 13 feet by 7 feet, while the smaller averaged some 7 feet by
6. The walls are very rough, pieces of rock often projecting a foot
or so, and in all respects they did not show nearly so much skill
in their excavation as those I had previously seen at Imin Tanut,
some two days’ journey south-west of Marakesh, near the residence
of the Kaid of Mtuga. Nor are the caves of Dads situated in the face
of the precipices as are these others; for whereas at Imin Tanut it
is impossible to enter any but a very few, those at Dads are easily
accessible, being one and all placed at the bottom of the cliff. One
larger than the rest lies at the back of the _mellah_ of Jews near
the _zauia_, and is used by them for a place in which to wash their
dead, and here their corpses lie for a night before burial.
With the exception of these caves I found but little signs of
antiquities, the ruins I had been told of before leaving Marakesh
turning out to be merely the remains of “_tabia_” _ksor_, the
age of which it was impossible to determine. Once allowed to fall
out of repair, it takes a very short time for these buildings,
constructed with such a soft material, to crumble away, though
when properly attended to, and the rain kept off, they seem to
last for a great time. One curious ruin exists near Dads, which
I was enabled to visit, but I refrain from giving any attempt at
a minute description here, as I was unable to take satisfactory
measurements. Suffice it to say that it stands on a circular hill of
bare rock, and is built of large blocks of stone, without mortar. I
attach considerable importance to this ruin, and hope to be able
to return on some future occasion and more minutely explore it. The
hill is known as Jibel Korah, and is well known to every native of
Dads. The ruin has a bad reputation, and is said to be inhabited by
devils. A similar building exists near Todghrá, on a rocky slope
to the south-west of that oasis.
As the roads ahead of us were reported to be infested with robbers,
especially deserters from the Sultan’s army which was now at
Tafilet, we thought it best to leave behind at the _zauia_ my two
mules, and proceeded on our way with only a couple of donkeys, one
belonging to the Shereef’s nephew, the other mine. Our party, too,
diminished in numbers. The old Shereef had reached his destination,
and was to go no farther; his son was a useless creature, and I
decided not to take him; while our pilgrim, the devotee of the sect
of the Derkauiya, turned aside to seek his home. A good fellow he
had been, and heartily sorry I was to lose his company, though he
seldom said much or intruded his presence upon us. Yet he was by
far and away the most interesting of our little band, and exhibited
the strange case of the fanatical devotee, all whose ideas had been
overthrown by his pilgrimage to Mecca. His loathing for Christians
had received a blow in the kindness of the captain of the steamer
he had travelled on, and, in spite of his religious detestation of
the “Nazarene,” he confessed to a secret partiality for their
character. Before leaving the Sahara, in fact, he had formed his
judgment of the whole world on his surroundings and the traditions
of his people; but now his eyes were opened, and he was sorely
bewildered. Had I dared, I would like to have made a more careful
study of this man’s mind and opinions, but it must be remembered
that I was passing as a Moslem, and therefore had to be guarded in
my conversation.
Our party from Dads to Tafilet consisted of five—the Shereef’s
nephew, to whom no words of praise could do justice; my Riffi
servant, Mohammed; the miserable cur of a negro whose conduct
caused us so much anxiety, but who paid for it on our return to
Marakesh; a Dads tribesman, who went as our _zitat_, or guarantee
against robbery and murder; and myself, still in my torn _chamira_
and _jelab_, barefooted, browned by the cold and sun, and as hard
as nails: and a merry little band we were, as—our two donkeys
packed with our scanty baggage, only a few pounds in weight—we
shook hands with all the friends who had been so kind to us at Dads,
and, receiving their blessing, set out. The last to leave us was
Hammu, my friendly caravan-man, and he accompanied us some way up
the valley, until, reaching a district with which his _ksar_ had a
blood-feud, he bade us “adieu” and turned back. For a quarter
of an hour or so we could hear his voice rising and falling in the
strange cadence of the Berber songs until it died away in silence.