WITH THE SULTAN AT TAFILET.
Mohammed the Riffi was a long time before he gained an interview with
Sid Gharnit, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and when he did so it
brought no promise of a pleasant reception for myself. In fact, my
unlooked-for arrival caused that elderly gentleman no little concern,
for though I was well known to him personally, and bore a firman from
the Sultan to travel in his dominions, he seemed much upset. There
was, however, one item of news that my man brought me on his return
that cheered me much. Kaid Maclean, the English officer attached
to the Sultan’s suite, was in the camp. Had he not been there,
it is difficult to say into what straits I might have fallen, but,
fortunately for me, he was; and with everything else against me,
his pleading, as will be seen, eventually much bettered my condition.
A few words must be said here to explain the presence in this
remote corner of the Sahara of the two European officers who were
accompanying the Sultan; and I am sure that Kaid Maclean will
forgive my meddling in his affairs and writing a few words about him.
Some seventeen years ago Mulai el Hassen asked the then British
Minister, the late Sir John Drummond Hay, to find him a young
English officer to drill his troops. Maclean, then a lieutenant
in a line regiment, had previous to this applied to Sir John for
some such post, and was speedily appointed. Entering upon his work
with much zest and spirit, he soon discovered what good stuff was
in the Moors as soldiers, and they in turn began to appreciate
cleanliness and smartness, so that in a year or so the men placed
at the Kaid’s disposal reached a stage of competence in drill,
while he gained their respect and admiration. But jealousy at Court
put an end to the disciplined army, and with little exception
drill was discontinued. Meanwhile, however, Maclean had become
a trusty servant of the Sultan, useful to him in a thousand ways;
while his British moral standard, so different to that of the Moors,
had forced his Majesty to perceive his probity in all matters, and
he bestowed confidence and affection upon the British officer. From
that time Kaid Maclean has continued in the Sultan’s service,
and is perhaps as well known as, and certainly more popular than,
any official at Court. His position throughout has been a difficult
one; but so carefully has he avoided entering into any duties beyond
his own, so skilfully and openly has he shown no desire to encroach
upon the prerogatives of others, and so steadfast throughout has
been his wish to do nothing that did not further the interests of
the Sultan and the Government he has allied himself to, that he
has been able to keep himself free from the jealous quarrels that
are of everyday occurrence at the Moorish Court.
On the Sultan’s leaving Fez in April of the year in which I made
my journey, 1893, he took with him as far as Sufru, a small town
some few hours’ journey south of the capital, all his European
staff—that is to say, the military missions of France and Spain,
some three officers of each, attached to his Court. But from Sufru,
for reasons which are not quite apparent, he ordered the Europeans to
return to Fez, with the exception of the French officer, Dr Linares,
who was commanded to accompany him throughout his journey. Kaid
Maclean returned with the rest; but shortly before my leaving Saffi,
he, without my knowledge, had proceeded to Tafilet to join the
Sultan’s camp, as usual accompanied by his guard of troops. Yet
in spite of the fact that he was in his Majesty’s service, wore
the Sultan’s uniform, and was accompanied by troops and bore a
special firman from his master, he was several times roughly treated,
and was more than once in danger of his life upon the road. He
had arrived some ten or twelve days previous to myself at Tafilet,
and I look back to the fact that he was there to urge my cause with
the Sultan and the Viziers with no little feeling of thankfulness
and pleasure. To Dr Linares, too, I owe a word of thanks. Had not he
been present to perform an operation on my throat, in all probability
this book would never have been written, nor I have returned to tell
the tale of my journey. Fortune, which has never deserted me in any
of my long journeys, stood by me then, to ease my suffering and, I
think I may almost say, save my life. But I have progressed too far.
At length Mohammed returned with the welcome news of Kaid Maclean’s
presence, and a couple of soldiers to bring me into the camp, where
some shelter would be afforded to me until the Sultan’s opinions
and wishes as to myself should be known. Meanwhile I was told to
“lie low,” and that no communication must pass between myself and
either of the European officers, or even the native officials. In
a few hours’ time, when Mulai el Hassen should leave the privacy
of his tents for his office, my fate would be known.
So I followed my guides into the great camp.
It was a sight well worth seeing—worth almost the long journey to
Tafilet; for, though not the first time I had intruded my presence in
the camp of the Sultan of Morocco, I had never previously witnessed
a following of so large a number of troops and others, or so vast
a quantity of tents.
Threading our way through the camp, we at length arrived at
a spot near which I recognised the European encampment of Kaid
Maclean. There, with a few words of welcome from my guides, I was
shown into a small and much-dilapidated bell-tent, of the fashion
in use in the Moorish army for the soldiers, of whom it was already
half full, and a place was made for me by its occupants—a rough
set of men, it is true, but none the less ready to make me as
comfortable as the circumstances would allow. In that little tent
I spent five days, of which I shall have more to say, and I learned
that the Moorish soldier, be he never so ill paid and ill clothed,
be he dirty and rough in his language, can when he likes show a
solicitude and kindness far greater than one would ever expect
from such; and my five days of illness and watchful care from the
handful of men who shared my little quarters—or rather, I shared
theirs—was an experience gained in the strange character of the
Arab people. Scanty as were their rations, the best of everything
was specially cooked for me, notwithstanding the fact that I
could not even swallow water for the greater part of the time;
and these great rough fellows, brought up and trained to every
crime and brutality, became like nurses in a sick-room. With voices
lowered lest they should wake me when they thought me asleep, with
no noise in setting their tiny tea-tray or stirring the little fire
of charcoal, they spent their time in trying to amuse me and stir
up my wretched spirits. I met two of them this last summer in Fez,
whither I had proceeded to meet the young Sultan on his way thither,
a month after his accession, and we spent a riotous night of revelry,
laughing over the hardships we had shared in the camp of the late
Sultan at Tafilet, and amusing ourselves in a way than which we
ought to have known better; for so pleased was I to be able to repay
in a small degree their kindness to me, that we must have kept the
neighbourhood of my residence awake all night with music and singing.
Soon after my arrival I received a message from Kaid Maclean saying
he could not see me until the Sultan’s wishes were known; but
that if I wanted anything I could send to him surreptitiously,
for he had received strict orders to have nothing to do with me
at present. Meanwhile I made a written request to Sid Gharnit
that a small tent might be found for me and my men to lodge in,
and that was all I asked. Toward evening I received a reply. The
Sultan had been informed of my coming, and was very indignant,
absolutely refusing to give me a tent or anything else, and I was
to remain where I was until further orders.
There was nothing to be done, so each hour growing sicker and sicker,
I lay down in the dirty little tent, unable to eat or sleep. Hearing
that my health was bad, the French doctor was sent to me, and
prescribed a gargle, which, though it temporarily relieved the
pain, did not prevent the swelling increasing. Then four days of
great suffering, often struggling for breath, unable to lie down
for fear of choking, or to swallow even a drop of water to quench
my thirst. What clothing I had was insufficient, and the cold at
night was as intense as the heat of the sun, beating through the
thin and tattered canvas of the tent, was by day. Kaid Maclean had
received orders not to see me, and he knew better than to disobey
them, yet he did everything in his power to ease my suffering, and
constantly saw my servant, Mohammed Riffi, as to my condition. At
length things grew serious; at times I became unconscious for short
periods, and the indignation of my men and the soldiers in the tent
knew no bounds, for nothing was done to relieve me.
Poor Mohammed at length broke through every law of Moorish etiquette,
and with a burst of expostulation—and I doubt not a little
abuse—forced his way into the Viziers’ tent, and let them know
not only what he thought of them, but what would be thought of them
at Tangier should I die.
This changed matters. The French doctor was hurriedly sent to me,
accompanied by Kaid Maclean, and at sunset on the fifth day the
quinsy in my throat and the enlarged uvula and other swellings
were lanced.
The relief was instantaneous; but even greater than the relief
was the change in the bearing of the Moorish officials toward
me. Accompanied by Kaid Maclean, Dr Linares had an interview with
the Viziers, and made my condition known, asserting that he would
not be responsible for my life if I was not at once moved to other
quarters, and that I was in a most precarious state of health.
Terrified at what might be the results to themselves should I die,
and my death be laid at their door, they gave permission for me
to be removed at once, and a few minutes later, with the doctor
supporting me on one side and Kaid Maclean on the other, all of us
rejoicing at the turn of events, I was half carried, half led, into
the comfortable tent of the Kaid. A wash and a change of clothes,
a little wine, and an egg and milk, and I turned over to sleep for
the first time for four days and four nights.
It may be thought that I have spoken at too great a length on my
own illness; but I have felt, uninteresting as my personal case may
be, that it might serve as a warning to any other traveller who,
like myself, might think that in reaching the Sultan’s camp the
end of his sufferings had come, and that he would find, if not
hospitality, at least no hostility. What would have happened had
I been in good health I do not know, nor do I like to repeat the
rumours which were given me on the best of authority; but there is
no doubt that I would have been quickly despatched to the coast,
and that in a manner neither pleasing nor flattering. However,
enough; I have long ago forgiven those to whom I owe that period
of suffering. The Sultan died from the effects of his journey;
the then Grand Vizier lies in chains in Tetuan prison, together
with his brother the Minister of War, who throughout, owing to
Kaid Maclean’s entreaties, had shown every possible desire that
my condition might be bettered. Sid Gharnit and I have talked the
matter over, and he protested, as I have no doubt was the case,
that he was unable to do anything for me against the Sultan’s
order. Personally, he remarked with a smile, he would have lent me
a tent, if for no other motive, that he thought I should probably
have brought him some little present from Europe next time I visited
the Court; and with this touch of humour we buried the hatchet and
supped together, talking over the great changes that had come to
pass since then, and ever and anon referring to the turns of fortune
that the Moors look upon as predestination. The great men of that
day were dead or in prison, while I had returned to health,—and
all in the short space of some six months.
Ay! “How are the mighty fallen!”
I recovered more quickly than I had fallen ill, and in a day or two,
under Kaid Maclean’s care, was able to leave my bed and sit in one
of his easy-chairs and watch the ever-changing scene that presented
itself to me in the heart of the Sultan’s camp.
No one who has not seen the great _mahalla_ of Morocco on the march
and pitched can form any idea of the strange mixture of boundless
confusion and perfect order that succeed each other in such quick
succession. A few words as to how the Sultan travelled and how
he lived cannot but prove interesting, and my stay in his camp at
Tafilet allowed me to see much of both.
[Illustration: KASBAH OF SEKOURA.]
First of all, in order that some idea of the size of the expedition
which Mulai el Hassen led to Tafilet may be obtained, let me begin
by stating that there were nearly 40,000 persons in his camp at the
time of my visit, including the members of the surrounding tribes
who were attending the sovereign on his march through their country,
and this entire crowd was living under canvas. But in order that
the manner in which the huge camp is arranged may be realised, it
will be easier to commence with its pitching, which, as far as the
ground allows, is regularly repeated upon every occasion—and at
Tafilet the absolute level of the edge of the desert showed off the
system to perfection. Allowed that all the baggage-animals carrying
the immense number of tents and quantities of baggage have arrived
at the spot chosen for the night’s encampment, the site where
the Sultan’s enclosure is to be placed is chosen, and until his
tent is erected none other can be. At length the golden ball that
crowns the great _kubba_ is raised into the air, and a moment later
from all sides rise up a multitude of tents great and small, each
one of which has its regular spot,—for from the time of choosing
the situation of the Sultan’s encampment men have been employed in
marking out the sites. This is done by a soldier pacing the diameter
of a circle, with the Sultan as its centre, and from this diameter
a complete circuit is made of the camp. This outer line of tents is
divided into various lengths, a certain part of the circumference
being allotted to the soldiers of each tribe—that is to say,
the conscripts of each district of Morocco—for the regular army
with the commander-in-chief form a separate camp.
A large open square space is left to the east of the Sultan’s
tents, which is surrounded by the field-guns and other artillery,
and leading from this square to the outer line of tents is left
an open roadway. Between the circumference of the circle and the
Sultan’s tents spaces are allotted to the governors of districts,
the officials of the army and the Court, the Viziers, and the
Shereefs and relations of the Sultan.
His Majesty’s encampment is in itself a large camp. Surrounded
entirely by high walls of white canvas decorated in patterns of dark
blue, it is divided into two portions, in one of which the women
are kept, while the other contains his Majesty’s private tents,
which are many, and some of huge dimensions. At Tafilet I counted
from the hill above the camp no less than between fifty and sixty
tents within the canvas walls. None but the most trusted servants
and slaves enter the enclosure at all, and then not the women’s
portion while they are present. The entrance into the Sultan’s
quarters is formed by the two ends of the walls overlapping for a
considerable extent and running parallel to one another, and curved
as they proceed, so that there is no possible chance of any one
seeing within, while the height of the canvas prevents anything
but the tops of the tents being apparent from without.
Immediately outside, and within the square formed by the cannon,
is pitched the office-tent in which his Majesty transacts his
business. It is a small square tent of red and green cloth,
supported on four poles with gold tops. One side is left completely
open. Within it boasts no furniture but carpets and matting and the
divan on which the Sultan sits to transact business. Close by is
another large tent, of dark canvas, and of the form of a _ghima_,
the common dwelling of the Arab. This serves the purpose of a
mosque, and there the Sultan, surrounded by the Shereefs, Viziers,
and _tolba_, leads the prayers at the regular hours.
It was Mulai el Hassen’s custom to leave his private camp at
sunrise, and, walking to his office-tent, give audiences to the
Viziers, &c., and transact business until nine or ten, when he
would retire to the privacy of his own quarters, to reappear again
during the cool of the afternoon, generally from four to sunset;
and often of a night I could see him sitting there, with members
of his Court standing before him taking down his commands. Tiring,
indeed, must be the work of a Vizier, for he must always stand in
his master’s presence.
Mulai el Hassen may be said to have transacted the entire business
of his country himself; for although the different Viziers are
known by such titles as Ministers of War, and Foreign Affairs, &c.,
&c., they were in reality little more than private secretaries,
and the actual organisation and welfare of his country, as well as
its relations with the foreign Powers, rested with the Sultan alone.
The course usually pursued is as follows. Long strips of paper are
prepared with a _précis_ of all the matters of importance written
upon them, in as few words as possible. On having an audience the
various Viziers hand these to the Sultan, who scans them through,
asks questions on any point on which he may wish to learn further
particulars, and pencils the answers on the margin. I have on several
occasions seen these slips after they had left the Sultan’s hands,
and they are masterpieces of _précis_ writing, often a few inches
of narrow paper containing a list of pending affairs that would
necessitate many meetings of a Cabinet Council in London. Even more
precise were the Sultan’s answers—the pencilled “Yes” or
“No,” or the short questions affixed.
The camp once pitched, a matter of but a short time for so many men,
the regular routine of camp-life begins. Fires are lighted, and the
cooking, &c., commences. A large number of traders accompany the
camp, who set up their tents, where tea and sugar—such necessaries
to the travelling Moor—can be procured by the rich, while _kiff_,
the chopped hemp-leaf, appeals to the soldiery, if they happen to
have anything to buy it with. Bread, too, is sold, the ovens being
built upon the spot of stones and clay, or mud-bricks, as the soil
suits. Sheep are slaughtered, and _shua_—boiled mutton—can be
procured, each bringing his own dish or basket to take the meat
away in. Usually it is principally the mounted tribesmen, serving
only for a few months, and bringing some money of their own, who
indulge in these luxuries. The richer classes, the Shereefs and
Viziers, procure all their provisions from the Government, which
in turn procures them from the district if in a rich portion of
the country; but at Tafilet nearly all the grain, &c., was brought
from Marakesh and stored beforehand. These provisions, supplied by
the tribes through which the army is passing, are called _mona_,
and often amount to such a quantity as to cripple that portion of
the country for a year or more, so large a drain is made upon their
wheat and barley, their sheep, oxen, and fowls, to say nothing
of their pockets,—for the governor of the district, as well as
provisioning the Sultan and his troops for as long a period as
they stay in the country under his jurisdiction, has also to make
handsome presents. The _mona_, too, includes quantities of tea
and sugar, no light tax in far-away parts, where long transport
has added very considerably to the price. The soldiery receive
pay—irregularly—and with this have to purchase their own rations,
for which it is usually quite insufficient. At Tafilet the pay a
private was receiving would procure about a quarter of a small loaf
of bread per day; but with a few hundred square miles of palm-groves,
each tree richly laden with fruit, they did not fare so badly,
though on the journey back, where nature did not offer them such
assistance to the pittance the Sultan paid them, their sufferings
from cold and hunger were extreme. Only the riding and baggage
animals of the Sultan and his immediate officials receive fodder
from the Government, the various Kaids and the auxiliary troops—a
kind of yeomanry—that they bring with them being dependent upon
their own means; and as on a part of the Sultan’s route from
Fez to Tafilet barley cost no less than 5s. a feed for a horse per
night, the poor brutes fared ill. The camp at Tafilet, after three
weeks’ stay in one spot, though grain here was tolerably cheap,
was literally surrounded with dead mules and horses. The quantity
of baggage-animals was enormous. I was told by one who ought to be
well informed that no less than 9600 horses and mules were fed by
the Government each night, and there must have been 3000 or 4000
more belonging to the Kaids of districts and their retinues. A
rough calculation gave the result that the Sultan must be paying
some 3000 dollars—£500—per night for fodder, or rather the
cost of bringing it to Tafilet would have been as much as that;
for the merchants, who looked after their affairs far more keenly
than his Majesty could afford time to do, were able to sell it,
and make a small profit, at a price that gives this result, and
no doubt the Sultan was charged far more. Even if the transactions
necessary for purchasing it and bringing it this great distance were
absolutely honest, it could not have cost him less than the sum
mentioned. When one calculates the total amount spent on barley,
averaging rather less over the whole time, on an expedition of
nine months’ duration, and when one adds to this the pay of
the soldiery—for though often they do not get it the Government
invariably pays it out—and the food for the regular troops and the
Sultan’s immense retinue, not forgetting the presents that have
to be given on the road, and then to the total the vast amount of
swindling that takes place on every side, one will gather some idea
of the cost of such an expedition. As a rule in the more adjacent
portions of Morocco, so large are the levies of provisions, and so
much of the _mona_ is supplied by the governors of the districts,
that the summer march of the Sultan affords a profit to the treasury,
besides offering many opportunities for private pilfering. So poor
are these districts of the Sahara, however, that few of the spots
at which the army rested, with the exception of Tafilet and Askura,
could have afforded to keep them supplied for more than one or two
nights—and at Tafilet alone the Sultan remained three weeks.
A word of praise must be said for the organisation of, and order
maintained amongst, so large a number of men as are collected in
these vast camps. It must be remembered that every tribe and every
district is represented by a certain number of members, conscribed
by the Sultan previous to his setting out. These are often at open
warfare with the surrounding tribes, members of all of which are also
in the camp. Yet in spite of the fact that the men who have been
at war with one another for generations perhaps become neighbours
in the camp, few or no broils occur, and the general behaviour,
to the onlooker, is excellent. At night the stillness and quiet
were remarkable, considering the class of men, and the camp seemed
almost deserted, few moving about, though no doubt this is owing as
much to the fact that any man not carrying a lantern is liable to be
shot by a sentry as to anything else—for the price of a lantern is
beyond the reach of the ordinary soldier. From gun-fire at sunset to
that at sunrise one can rest in absolute quiet, except for the band
that plays at nine o’clock outside the Sultan’s tent, first on
the native _ghaita_ and then on European instruments—very badly
it must be acknowledged on the latter.
By day it is more lively: soldiers hurry hither and thither, bright
specks of colour in their gay, though often ragged, clothing;
horses and mules, kicking up the suffocating dust, gallop to and
fro; bugles sound; guns fire; and there is all the stir and bustle
of townlife. I never tired of sitting in front of Kaid Maclean’s
tent, under its awning, and watching the scene around me. As far as
the eye could reach in any direction extended the tents, some the
great circular _kubbas_ with their gilt globes and patterns in blue,
some two-poled _utok_, and many resembling the ordinary regulation
tent of our own army. From my vantage-ground I could watch the Sultan
himself, a white figure seated under the tent of red and green cloth,
and even recognise the Viziers as they stood before the open tent
listening to his commands. I could see him, too, as he left and
entered the private enclosure, and it was an interesting sight to
watch how the whole life of the camp depended upon that one figure;
how, when the time arrived for him to appear, the bodyguard ranged
themselves into long line and bowed their heads as he passed them,
crying, “_Allah ibarek amar Sidna!_”—“God grant blessings
and his ‘fulness’ to our Lord!” It was easy to perceive how
one and all, from the greatest of the Viziers to the least of the
soldiery, lived in terror of, and with it almost adoration for,
their Sultan. For of all autocrats there is none who holds power
as does the Sultan of Morocco. Life and death, imprisonment and
confiscation, as well as advancement and wealth, are all in his
hands. A nod of his head, and a man rises from poverty to riches;
another nod, and he dies secretly in prison. Yet in spite of the
immense power wielded by Mulai el Hassen, he was a man of justice far
above the general order of his people—a man who hated bloodshed,
yet brave and cool in danger. Now and again his acts were cruel,
but his cruelty was often justified by the crimes that had been
committed by his victims. Tolerant to an astonishing degree, no
people mourned his death more than the Jews, who, when he commenced
his reign, were harshly persecuted in Morocco, and to-day possess a
liberty far above that enjoyed by his Moorish subjects; and I doubt
not that their mourning was far more sincere than that of the Moors,
though, to tell the truth, they did not mourn to any very great
extent, being either too busy getting in their harvest, or else too
glad to pay off old debts and settle old blood-feuds without fear of
immediate punishment, to make many signs of grief. Yet those who held
the country’s welfare at heart must have sincerely felt the loss,
for it will be long, no doubt, before Morocco can boast as capable
a ruler, taking everything into consideration, as the late Sultan.
One curious custom in vogue in the law of Morocco came under my
notice while at Tafilet. This is the question of property left at
death by officials in the native Government—everything becoming
the property of the Crown. Unjust as this law may at first seem to
be, there is no doubt that there is at bottom a certain amount of
reason for it. A man, when appointed Kaid of a district or town,
is usually possessed of no wealth of any sort. The Sultan it is
who gives him his appointment, and any treasure or loot made out
of his office is all owing to the fact that the Sultan put the man
into the position to make it. It is, moreover, illegally made, for
the extortions of governors are supposed to go to the treasury,
with an allowance deducted for the maintenance of the Kaid and
his family and retinue. Of course it would be far more just if
the residue were handed back to the people from whom it had been
extracted; but in Morocco such a course would not be, to say the
least, considered at all a satisfactory method. During my stay in
the Sultan’s camp the Kaid of Shragna died, and before he had
quitted this life more than a few hours a cordon of soldiers was
drawn round his encampment and the entire concern brought into the
Sultan’s treasury—slaves, horses, mules, tents, furniture,
and a large sum of money. However, Mulai el Hassen behaved with
his customary leniency, and returned all the property with the
exception of the money, at the same time expressing his regret at
the death of so old and trusted a servant. There is no doubt the
Kaid had been a good governor—for Morocco—and the return of
his valuable women and slaves and horses and mules showed that his
Majesty could appreciate obedience to his word when combined with
a general system of justice and kindness to the tribe under him,
and could reward in the manner he did, as an example to others,
the men who practised it.
Very different was the fate of Kaid Ben Bu Shaib, one of the
governors of the tribe of Dukála, who owned a great castle not far
inland from Mazagan, on the Atlantic coast. The goings on of this
man’s sons had become a byword throughout Morocco, and no young
girl in the district was safe from their molestation. The old man
himself may have been innocent enough of all crime; but the native
Government very justly remarked that a man who could not govern
his own sons could scarcely be trusted to look after a tribe of his
fellow-men. So troops were despatched secretly to Dukála for fear
of his treasure being carried away by members of his family, and
the same day as he was seized at Tafilet his house was surrounded
and his property carried off. One of his sons, I believe, escaped;
the other was taken prisoner. The old man in the camp was seized
by a guard in the presence of the Grand Vizier, Haj Amaati—who
himself, only some six months later, was to share a like fate—and
received some rough treatment before the irons were adjusted to his
legs. It is said that during the years he had been governor he had
amassed a large fortune, and that 120,000 dollars were discovered
in his house; but for this I cannot answer for certain. He was
taken a prisoner to Marakesh and there incarcerated, much to the
joy of the people he had governed, for his extortion and the worse
crimes of his sons had drawn the hatred of the whole tribe upon
them. The law of responsibility for one’s relations’ doings is
by no means a bad law in Morocco, though in cases it may come hard
upon individuals. So largely do the Arabs congregate in clans,
and so easily can a single member of a clan escape after crime,
that if it were not that his relations were held responsible, no
punishment could ever be meted out. But to take an imaginary case. A
village contains one or more separate families—that is to say,
the village may be divided into two or three small clans, as the
case may be. A member of one commits a murder, and steps over the
boundary into the tribe governed by another Kaid. He thus escapes the
jurisdiction of his own governor, who is incapable of seizing him,
for fear of trespassing upon the prerogatives of his neighbouring
official. It is only the relations in this case who can accomplish
his capture, and wherever he goes he will probably be in touch with
them. Therefore when the Kaid puts a couple of his brothers, for
instance, in prison, it stirs up the remainder of his clan to obtain
their release by handing over the culprit to justice. They set off
and catch him and bring him a prisoner to the Kaid, who probably
lets the innocent men out of prison with a fine. At this they are
so much exasperated that they take good care to confiscate amongst
themselves the real culprit’s property, and when he is freed from
prison drive him out of the village, lest any more of his goings on
should bring them into the same unhappy circumstances on a second
occasion. Though not a very direct way of dealing out justice, this
interfamily law of responsibility answers its purpose extremely well.
I had not intended to enter at all into the ways and manners of
the natives of Morocco in this book; but the case of Kaid Ben Bu
Shaib suffering for his sons’ sins—as well, no doubt, as for
his own extortions—an example of the system in common practice,
was more or less forced upon me.
The sight of all others that I witnessed in the _mahalla_ at
Tafilet was the Sultan’s procession, when he went to pray at,
and returned from, the tomb of Mulai Ali Shereef, his ancestor,
who lies buried near Abu Aam, and of whom I shall have more to say
in my chapter on the oasis of Tafilet.
I have often witnessed the great pageants of Morocco; and since
this very one, which took place at the end of November 1893, I have
seen two others—the last entry of Mulai el Hassen into Marakesh
the following month, and the first entry of Mulai Abdul Aziz,
his successor, into Fez in July 1894. But for picturesqueness
neither approached the procession that accompanied the Sultan
from the camp to the tomb of his ancestor at Tafilet, for here
there was every feature to add to the oriental appearance of the
scene. The background of palms and desert, the thousands of tents,
the gay uniforms—though the word is ill applied to costumes
of every hue and colour—of the foot-soldiers, the long white
robes of the cavalry, the gorgeous velvet saddles and still more
gorgeous banners of gold brocade and embroideries,—all formed one
of those strange scenes that one can witness now and again at the
Court of the Moorish sovereign, so much in contrast to the usual
dull colouring of the country and its inhabitants.
Nothing more beautiful could be imagined than the long procession of
cavalry and infantry, of wild Berber and Arab tribesmen. A gentle
wind unfurled the banners to the breeze, and raised the dust under
the horses’ feet just thickly enough to cast a white glamour over
the whole scene, through which sparkled and glistened the flags and
the golden globes of their poles, the bayonets and rifles of the
infantry, and the heads of the spears of the guard. Then, mounted
on his great white horse, saddled and trapped in green and gold,
with the canopy of crimson velvet and gold embroidery held over his
head, rode the Sultan, while huge black slaves on either hand waved
long scarfs to keep the flies from his sacred person. In and out of
the city of tents, for such the _mahalla_ is, wound the procession,
the line of march guarded by troops on either side.
Another example of the kindness and solicitude of the Sultan was
manifested that day, for, on account of the heat, he countermanded
personally the order that the infantry were to accompany him on
his ride of two hours or so, and sent them back from a couple of
hundred yards beyond the limits of his camp.
Quantities of slaves were on sale in the _mahalla_, and it was a
pleasure to witness their absolute indifference to what was going
on. They were free to run about round the slave-traders’ tents,
and merry were the pranks they played upon one another and on the
Moors. Just opposite Kaid Maclean’s tent, where I was installed,
was a man who possessed seven, most of them young girls and boys,
and a happier band I never saw. They laughed and gambolled from
morning to night, and in their mischief often came and had a peep at
me, running away again half frightened at their temerity. No doubt
the freedom of the camp and the many strange sights it presented
formed a delightful contrast to the desert journey they had so
lately accomplished, for none of them had as yet learned to speak
Arabic. Poor little things! they had yet much to suffer in the cold
Atlas before they reached their various destinations in Morocco.
At last, after nine days, my fate was decided upon. I was to
return to Marakesh in the company of Kaid Maclean, and nothing
could have met my wishes more completely than this did. It was
by the Kaid’s own entreaties that this had been decided upon,
and now that I was sufficiently recovered in health to travel,
we were both anxious to start. The cold weather was setting in,
and already we were experiencing sharp frosts of a night, and we
dreaded that every day’s delay would increase the probability of
our being snowed up in the high passes of the Atlas.
Dr Linares dined with us our last evening, and he envied much the
fact that we were leaving the desert behind so shortly, with every
chance of making a quick journey, while he was to remain with the
Sultan and travel back by the short stages by which the _mahalla_
proceeded.
We could no longer claim the glory of being the only three Europeans
in Tafilet, for the camp had received an addition, in the persons
of seven French deserters from the “Legion étrangère,” who
had tramped all the way across the desert from Algeria, a march
which had taken them some two months to accomplish. They arrived
robbed of everything but their ragged uniforms, and half-starved,
to find but poor consolation in the Sultan’s camp, although, in
hopes of gaining employment, they became Moslems. Arabic names were
given to each; but possessing no knowledge of the language, they
could not remember them, or who was who, much to the amusement of
the native soldiers, who, ill-fed though they were, spared whenever
they could some trifle of food. On their arrival at Marakesh they
were sent to Mogador, and handed over to the French authorities to
suffer the punishment they had merited for their desertion. There
was still another Frenchman in the camp, a Mons. Delbel, who to
all intents and purposes was a Moslem, and was everywhere received
as such. He has since published his notes upon the journey in the
journal of the Geographical Society of Paris.
At length the day arrived, and long before dawn, by the light
of lanterns, we struck camp, and in the bitter cold turned our
horses’ heads to the north and set out for Marakesh.