[Illustration: _Photograph by A. Lennox, Esq._

GROUP AROUND PERFORMERS, MARRÁKESH.]

The initial "voluntary" by the "orchestra" has ended; every eye is

directed towards the central figure, this time arrayed in ample

turban, white jelláb and yellow slippers, with a face betokening

a lucrative profession. After a moment's silence he commences the

history of--

"MULAI ABD EL KÁDER AND THE MONK OF MONKS."

"The thrones of the Nazarenes were once in number sixty, but the star

of the Prophet of God--the prayer of God be on him, and peace--was in

the ascendant, and the religion of Resignation [Islám] was everywhere

victorious. Many of the occupiers of those thrones had either

submitted to the Lieutenant ['Caliph'] of our Lord, and become

Muslimeen, or had been vanquished by force of arms. The others were

terrified, and a general assembly was convoked to see what was to be

done. As the rulers saw they were helpless against the decree of

God, they called for their monks to advise them. The result of the

conference was that it was decided to invite the Resigned Ones

(Muslimeen) to a discussion on their religious differences, on the

understanding that whichever was victorious should be thenceforth

supreme.

"The Leader of the Faithful having summoned his wise men, their

opinion was asked. 'O victorious of God,' they with one voice replied,

'since God, the High and Blessed, is our King, what have we to fear?

Having on our side the truth revealed in the "Book to be Read" [the

Korán] by the hand of the Messenger of God--the prayer of God be on

him, and peace--we _must_ prevail. Let us willingly accept their

proposal.' An early day was accordingly fixed for the decisive

contest, and each party marshalled its forces. At the appointed time

they met, a great crowd on either side, and it was asked which should

begin. Knowing that victory was on his side, the Lieutenant of the

Prophet--the prayer of God be on him, and peace--replied, 'Since ye

have desired this meeting, open ye the discussion.'

"Then the chief of the Nazarene kings made answer, 'But we are here so

many gathered together, that if we commence to dispute all round we

shall not finish by the Judgement Day. Let each party therefore choose

its wisest man, and let the two debate before us, the remainder

judging the result.'

"'Well hast thou spoken,' said the Leader of the Faithful; 'be it even

so.' Then the learned among the Resigned selected our lord Abd el

Káder of Baghdad,[8] a man renowned the world over for piety and for

the depth of his learning. Now a prayer [Fátihah] for Mulai Abd el

Káder!"

[8: So called because buried near that city. For an account of his

life, and view of his mausoleum, see "The Moors," pp. 337-339.]

Here the speaker, extending his open palms side by side before him, as

if to receive a blessing thereon, is copied by the by-standers.[9] "In

the name of God, the Pitying, the Pitiful!" All draw their hands down

their faces, and, if they boast beards, end by stroking them out.

[9: "The hands are raised in order to catch a blessing in

them, and are afterwards drawn over the face to transfer it to

every part of the body."--HUGHES, "Dictionary of Islám."]

[10: A term applied by Mohammedans to Christians on account of

a mistaken conception of the doctrine of the Trinity.]

"Then the polytheists[10] likewise chose their man, one held among them

in the highest esteem, well read and wise, a monk of monks. Between

these two, then, the controversy commenced. As already agreed, the

Nazarene was the first to question:

"'How far is it from the Earth to the first heaven?'

"'Five hundred years.'

"'And thence to the second heaven?'

"'Five hundred years.'

"'Thence to the third?'

"'Five hundred years.'

"'Thence to the fourth?'

"'Five hundred years.'

"'Thence to the fifth?'

"'Five hundred years.'

"'Thence to the sixth?'

"'Five hundred years.'

"'Thence to the seventh?'

"'Five hundred years.'

"'And from Mekka to Jerusalem?'

"'Forty days.'

"'Add up the whole.'

"'Three thousand, five hundred years, and forty days.'

"'In his famous ride on El Borak [Lightning] where did Mohammed go?'

"'From the Sacred Temple [of Mekka] to the Further Temple [of

Jerusalem], and from the Holy House [Jerusalem] to the seventh heaven,

and the presence of God.'[11]

[11: This was the occasion on which Mohammed visited the seven

heavens under the care of Gabriel, riding on an ass so restive

that he had to be bribed with a promise of Paradise.]

"'How long did this take?'

"'The tenth of one night.'

"'Did he find his bed still warm on his return?'

"'Yes.'

"'Dost thou think such a thing possible; to travel three thousand five

hundred years and back, and find one's bed still warm on returning?'

"'Canst thou play chess?' then asked Mulai Abd el Káder.

"'Of course I can,' said the monk, surprised.

"'Then, wilt thou play with me?'

"'Certainly not,' replied the monk, indignantly. 'Dost thou think me a

fool, to come here to discuss the science of religion, and to be put

off with a game of chess?'

"'Then thou acknowledgest thyself beaten; thou hast said thou couldst

play chess, yet thou darest not measure thy skill at it with me. Thy

refusal proves thy lie.'

"'Nay, then, since thou takest it that way, I will consent to a match,

but under protest.'

"So the board was brought, and the players seated themselves. Move,

move, move, went the pieces; kings and queens, elephants, rooks, and

knights, with the soldiers everywhere. One by one they disappeared, as

the fight grew fast and furious. But Mulai Abd el Káder had another

object in view than the routing of his antagonist at a game of chess.

By the exercise of his superhuman power he transported the monk to

'the empty third' [of the world], while his image remained before him

at the board, to all appearances still absorbed in the contest.

"Meanwhile the monk could not tell where he was, but being oppressed

with a sense of severe thirst, rose from where he sat, and made for a

rising ground near by, whence he hoped to be able to descry some signs

of vegetation, which should denote the presence of water. Giddy and

tired out, he approached the top, when what was his joy to see a city

surrounded by palms but a short way off! With a cry of delight he

quickened his steps and approached the gate. As he did so, a party of

seven men in gorgeous apparel of wool and silk came out of the gate,

each with a staff in his hand.

"On meeting him they offered him the salutation of the Faithful, but

he did not return it. 'Who mayest _thou_ be,' they asked, 'who dost

not wish peace to the Resigned?' [Muslimeen]. 'My Lords,' he made

answer, 'I am a monk of the Nazarenes, I merely seek water to quench

my thirst.'

"'But he who comes here must resign himself [to Mohammedanism] or

suffer the consequences. Testify that 'There is no god but God, and

Mohammed is His Messenger!' 'Never,' he replied; and immediately they

threw him on the ground and flogged him with their staves till he

cried for mercy. 'Stop!' he implored. 'I will testify.' No sooner had

he done so than they ceased their blows, and raising him up gave

him water to drink. Then, tearing his monkish robe to shreds, each

deprived himself of a garment to dress him becomingly. Having

re-entered the city they repaired to the judge.

"'My Lord,' they said, 'we bring before thee a brother Resigned, once

a monk of the monks, now a follower of the Prophet, our lord--the

prayer of God be on him, and peace. We pray thee to accept his

testimony and record it in due form.'

"'Welcome to thee; testify!' exclaimed the kádi, turning to the

convert. Then, holding up his forefinger, the quondam monk witnessed

to the truth of the Unity [of God]. 'Call for a barber!' cried the

kádi; and a barber was brought. Seven Believers of repute stood

round while the deed was done, and the convert rose a circumcised

Muslim--blessed be God.

"Then came forward a notable man of that town, pious, worthy, and

rich, respected of all, who said, addressing the kádi: 'My Lord--may

God bless thy days,--thou knowest, all these worthy ones know, who and

what I am. In the interests of religion and to the honour of God, I

ask leave to adopt this brother newly resigned. What is mine shall be

his to share with my own sons, and the care I bestow on them and their

education shall be bestowed equally on him. God is witness.' 'Well

said; so be it,' replied the learned judge; 'henceforth he is a member

of thy family.'

"So to the hospitable roof of this pious one went the convert. A tutor

was obtained for him, and he commenced to taste the riches of the

wisdom of the Arab. Day after day he sat and studied, toiling

faithfully, till teacher after teacher had to be procured, as he

exhausted the stores of each in succession. So he read: first the Book

'To be Read' [the Korán], till he could repeat it faultlessly, then

the works of the poets, Kálûn, el Mikki, el Bisri, and Sîdi Hamzah;

then the 'Lesser' and 'Greater Ten.'[12] Then he commenced at Sîdi íbnu

Ashîr, following on through the Ajrûmiyah,[13] and the Alfîyah,[14] to

the commentaries of Sîdi Khalîl, of the Sheïkh el Bokhári, and of Ibnu

Asîm, till there was nothing left to learn.

[12: Grammarians and commentators of the Korán.]

[13: A preliminary work on rhetoric.]

[14: The "Thousand Verses" of grammar.]

"Thus he continued growing in wisdom and honour, the first year, the

second year, the third year, even to the twentieth year, till no one

could compete with him. Then the Judge of Judges of that country died,

and a successor was sought for, but all allowed that no one's claims

equalled those of the erstwhile monk. So he was summoned to fill the

post, but was disqualified as unmarried. When they inquired if he was

willing to do his duty in this respect, and he replied that he was,

the father of the most beautiful girl in the city bestowed her on him,

and that she might not be portionless, the chief men of the place vied

one with another in heaping riches upon him. So he became Judge of

Judges, rich, happy, revered.

"And there was born unto him one son, then a second son, and even

a third son. And there was born unto him a daughter, then a second

daughter, and even a third daughter. So he prospered and increased.

And to his sons were born sons, one, two, three, and four, and

daughters withal. And his daughters were given in marriage to the

elders of that country, and with them it was likewise.

"Now there came a day, a great feast day, when all his descendants

came before him with their compliments and offerings, some small, some

great, each receiving tenfold in return, garments of fine spun wool

and silk, and other articles of value.

"When the ceremony was over he went outside the town to walk alone,

and approached the spot whence he had first descried what had so long

since been his home. As he sat again upon that well-remembered spot,

and glanced back at the many years which had elapsed since last he was

there, a party of the Faithful drew near. He offered the customary

salute of 'Peace be on you,' but they simply stared in return.

Presently one of them brusquely asked what he was doing there, and

he explained who he was. But they laughed incredulously, and then he

noticed that once again he was clad in robe and cowl, with a cord

round his waist. They taunted him as a liar, but he re-affirmed his

statements, and related his history. He counted up the years since he

had resigned himself, telling of his children and children's children.

"'Wouldst thou know them if you sawst them?' asked the strangers.

'Indeed I would,' was the reply, 'but they would know me first.'

"'And you are really circumcised? We'll see!' was their next

exclamation. Just then a caravan appeared, wending its way across the

plain, and the travellers hailed it. As he looked up at the shout, he

saw Mulai Abd el Káder still sitting opposite him at the chess-board,

reminding him that it was his move. He had been recounting his

experiences for the last half century to Mulai Abd el Káder himself,

and to the wise ones of both creeds who surrounded them!

"Indeed it was too true, and he had to acknowledge that the events of

a life-time had been crowded into a period undefinably minute, by the

God-sent power of my lord Slave-of-the-Able [Mulai Abd el Káder].

"Now, where is the good man and true who reveres the name of this holy

one? Who will say a prayer to Mulai Abd el Káder?" Here the narrator

extends his palms as before, and all follow him in the motion of

drawing them down his face. "In the name of the Pitying and Pitiful!

Now another!" The performance is repeated.

"Who is willing to yield himself wholly and entirely to Mulai Abd el

Káder? Who will dedicate himself from the soles of his feet to

the crown of his head? Another prayer!" Another repetition of the

performance.

"Now let those devoted men earn the effectual prayers of that holy one

by offering their silver in his name. Nothing less than a peseta[15]

will do. That's right," as one of the bystanders throws down the coin

specified.

[15: About eightpence, a labourer's daily wage in Tangier.]

"Now let us implore the blessing of God and Mulai Abd el Káder on the

head of this liberal Believer." The palm performance is once more gone

through. The earnestness with which he does it this time induces more

to follow suit, and blessings on them also are besought in the same

fashion.

"Now, my friends, which among you will do business with the palms of

all these faithful ones? Pay a peseta and buy the prayers of them all.

Now then, deal them out, and purchase happiness."

So the appeal goes wearisomely on. As no more pesetas are seen to

be forthcoming, a shift is made with reals--nominally 2-1/2_d._

pieces--the story-teller asking those who cannot afford more to make

up first one dollar and then another, turning naïvely to his assistant

to ask if they haven't obtained enough yet, as though it were all for

them. As they reply that more is needed, he redoubles his appeals and

prayers, threading his way in and out among the crowd, making direct

for each well-dressed individual with a confidence which renders

flight or refusal a shame. Meanwhile the "orchestra" has struck up,

and only pauses when the "professor" returns to the centre of the

circle to call on all present to unite in prayers for the givers.

A few coppers which have been tossed to his feet are distributed

scornfully amongst half a dozen beggars, in various stages of filthy

wretchedness and deformity, who have collected on the ground at one

side.

Here a water-carrier makes his appearance, with his goat-skin "bottle"

and tinkling bell--a swarthy Soudanese in most tattered garb. The

players and many listeners having been duly refreshed for the veriest

trifle, the performance continues. A prayer is even said for the

solitary European among the crowd, on his being successfully solicited

for his quota, and another for his father at the request of some of

the crowd, who style him the "Friend of the Moors."

At last a resort is made to coppers, and when the story-teller

condescendingly consents to receive even such trifles in return for

prayers, from those who cannot afford more, quite a pattering shower

falls at his feet, which is supplemented by a further hand-to-hand

collection. In all, between four and five dollars must have been

received--not a bad remuneration for an hour's work! Already the ring

has been thinning; now there is a general uprising, and in a few

moments the scene is completely changed, the entertainer lost among

the entertained, for the sun has disappeared below yon hill, and in a

few moments night will fall.

XVIII

SNAKE-CHARMING

"Whom a snake has bitten starts from a rope."

_Moorish Proverb._

Descriptions of this art remembered in a book for boys read years

before had prepared me for the most wonderful scenes, and when I first

watched the performance with snakes which delights the Moors I was

disappointed. Yet often as I might look on, there was nothing else to

see, save in the faces and gestures of the crowd, who with child-like

simplicity followed every step as though for the first time. These

have for me a never-ending fascination. Thus it is that the familiar

sounds of rapid and spasmodic beating on a tambourine, which tell that

the charmer is collecting an audience, still prove an irresistible

attraction for me as well. The ring in which I find myself is just a

reproduction of that surrounding the story-teller of yester-e'en, but

where his musicians sat there is a wilder group, more striking still

in their appearance.

This time, also, the instruments are of another class, two or three of

the plainest sheep-skin tambourines with two gut strings across the

centre under the parchment, which gives them a peculiar twanging

sound; and a couple of reeds, mere canes pierced with holes, each

provided with a mouthpiece made of half an inch of flattened reed.

Nothing is needed to add to the discord as all three are vigorously

plied with cheek and palm.

The principal actor has an appearance of studied weirdness as he

gesticulates wildly and calls on God to protect him against the venom

of his pets. Contrary to the general custom of the country, he has

let his black hair grow till it streams over his shoulders in matted

locks. His garb is of the simplest, a dirty white shirt over drawers

of similar hue completing his outfit.

Selecting a convenient stone as a seat, notebook in hand, I make up my

mind to see the thing through. The "music" having continued five

or ten minutes with the desired result of attracting a circle of

passers-by, the actual performance is now to commence. On the ground

in the centre lies a spare tambourine, and on one side are the two

cloth-covered bottle-shaped baskets containing the snakes.

The chief charmer now advances, commencing to step round the ring

with occasional beats on his tambourine, rolling his eyes and looking

demented. Presently, having reached a climax of rapid beating and

pacing, he suddenly stops in the centre with an extra "bang!"

"Now, every man who believes in our lord Mohammed ben Aïsa,[16] say

with me a Fátihah."

[16: For the history of this man and his snake-charming

followers see "The Moors," p. 331.]

Each of the onlookers extending his palms side by side before his

face, they repeat the prayer in a sing-song voice, and as it concludes

with a loud "Ameen," the charmer gives an agonized cry, as though

deeply wrought upon. "Ah Rijál el Blád" ("Oh Saints of the Town!"),

he shouts, as he recommences his tambourining, this time even with

increased vigour, beating the ground with his feet, and working his

body up and down in a most extraordinary manner. The two others are

also playing, and the noise is deafening. The chief figure appears to

be raving mad; his starting eyes, his lithe and supple figure, and

his streaming hair, give him the air of one possessed. His face is a

study, a combination of fierceness and madness, yet of good-nature.

At last he sinks down exhausted, but after a moment rises and advances

to the centre of the circle, picking up a tambourine.

"Now, Sîdi Aïsa"--turning to one of the musicians, whom he motions to

cease their din--"what do you think happens to the man who puts a coin

in there? Why, the holy saint, our lord Mohammed ben Aïsa, puts a ring

round him like that," drawing a ring round a stone on the ground. "Is

it not so?"

"It is, Ameen," from Sidi Aïsa.

"And what happens to him in the day time?"

"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."

"And in the night time?"

"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."

"And when at home?"

"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."

"And when abroad?"

"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."

At this a copper coin is thrown into the ring, and the charmer

replies, "Now he who is master of sea and land, my lord Abd el Káder

el Jîláni,[17] bless the giver of that coin! Now, for the love of God

and of His blessed prophet, I offer a prayer for that generous

one." Here the operation of passing their hands down their faces is

performed by all.

[17: The surname of the Baghdád saint.]

"Now, there's another,"--as a coin falls--"and from a child, too! God

bless thee now, my son. May my lord Ben Aïsa, my lord Abd es-Slám, and

my lord Abd el Káder, protect and keep thee!"

Then, as more coppers fall, similar blessings are invoked upon the

donors, interspersed with catechising of the musicians with a view to

making known the advantages to be reaped by giving something. At last,

as nothing more seems to be forthcoming, the performance proper is

proceeded with, and the charmer commences to dance on one leg, to

a terrible din from the tambourines. Then he pauses, and summons a

little boy from the audience, seating him in the midst, adjuring him

to behave himself, to do as he is bid, and to have faith in "our lord

Ben Aïsa." Then, seating himself behind the boy, he places his lips

against his skull, and blows repeatedly, coming round to the front to

look at the lad, to see if he is sufficiently affected, and returning

to puff again. Finally he bites off a piece of the boy's cloak, and

chews it. Now he wets his finger in his mouth, and after putting it

into the dust makes lines across his legs and arms, all the time

calling on his patron saint; next holding the piece of cloth in his

hands and walking round the ring for all to see it.

"Come hither," he says to a bystander; "search my mouth and see if

there be anything there."

The search is conducted as a farmer would examine a horse's mouth,

with the result that it is declared empty.

"Now I call on the prophet to witness that there is no deception," as

he once more restores the piece of cloth to his mouth, and pokes his

fingers into his neck, drawing them now up his face.

"Enough!"

The voices of the musicians, who have for the latter part of the

time been giving forth a drawling chorus, cease, but the din of the

tambourines continues, while the performer dances wildly, till he

stops before the lad on the ground, and takes from his mouth first one

date and then another, which the lad is told to eat, and does so, the

on-lookers fully convinced that they were transformed from the rag.

Now it is the turn of one of the musicians to come forward, his place

being taken by the retiring performer, after he has made another

collection in the manner already described.

"He who believes in God and in the power of our lord Mohammed ben

Aïsa, say with me a Fátihah," cries the new man, extending his palms

turned upwards before him to receive the blessings he asks, and then

brings one of the snake-baskets forward, plunging his hand into its

sack-like mouth, and sharply drawing it out a time or two, as if

afraid of being bitten.

Finally he pulls the head of one of the reptiles through, and leaves

it there, darting out its fangs, while he snatches up and wildly beats

the tambourine by his side. He now seizes the snake by the neck, and

pulls it right out, the people starting back as it coils round in the

ring, or uncoils and makes a plunge towards someone. Now he pulls out

another, and hangs it round his neck, saying, "I take refuge with the

saint who was dead and is alive, with our lord Mohammed son of Aïsa,

and with the most holy Abd el Káder el Jîláni, king of land and

sea. Now, let every one who believes bear witness with me and say a

Fátihah!"

"Say a Fátihah!" echoes one of the still noisy musicians, by way of

chorus.

"Now may our lord Abd el Káder see the man who makes a contribution

with his eyes."

_Chorus:_ "With his eyes!"

"And may his heart find rest, and our lord Abd er-Rahmán protect him!"

_Chorus:_ "Protect him!"

"Now, I call you to witness, I bargain with our lord Abd el Káder for

a forfeit!"

_Chorus:_ "For a forfeit!"

A copper is thrown into the ring, and as he picks it up and hands it

to the musician, the performer exclaims--

"Take this, see, and at the last day may the giver of it see our lord

Abd el Káder before him!"

_Chorus:_ "Before him!"

"May he ever be blessed, whether present or absent!"

_Chorus:_ "Present or absent!"

"Who wishes to have a good conscience and a clean heart? Oh, ye

beloved of the Lord! See, take from that dear one" (who has thrown

down a copper).

The contributions now apparently sufficing for the present, the

performance proceeds, but the crowd having edged a little too close,

it is first necessary to increase the space in the centre by swinging

one of the reptiles round by the tail, whereat all start back.

"Ah! you may well be afraid!" exclaims the charmer. "Their fangs mean

death, if you only knew it, but for the mercies of my lord, the son of

Aïsa."

"Ameen!" responds the chorus.

Hereupon he proceeds to direct the head of the snake to his mouth, and

caressingly invites it to enter. Darting from side to side, it finally

makes a plunge down his throat, whereon the strangers shudder, and the

_habitués_ look with triumphant awe. Wildly he spins on one foot that

all may see, still holding the creature by the neck with one hand, and

by the tail with the other. At length, having allowed the greater part

of its length to disappear in this uncanny manner, he proceeds to

withdraw it, the head emerging with the sound of a cork from a bottle.

The sight has not been pleasant, but the audience, transfixed, gives a

sigh of relief as the tambourines strike up again, and the reed chimes

in deafeningly.

"Who says they are harmless? Who says their fangs are extracted?"

challenges the performer. "Look here!"

The seemingly angry snake has now fastened on his arm, and is

permitted to draw blood, as though in reward for its recent treatment.

"Is any incredulous here? Shall I try it on thee?"

The individual addressed, a poverty-stricken youth whose place was

doubtless required for some more promising customer behind, flees in

terror, as the gaping jaws approach him. One and another having been

similarly dismissed from points of vantage, and a redistribution

of front seats effected, the incredulous are once more tauntingly

addressed and challenged. This time the challenge is accepted by a

foreigner, who hands in a chicken held by its wings.

"So? Blessed be God! Its doom is sealed if it comes within reach of

the snake. See here!"

All eagerly press forward, many rising to their feet, and it is

difficult to see over their shoulders the next gruesome act. The

reptile, held by the neck in the performer's right hand, is shown the

chicken in the other, and annoyed by having it poked in its face, too

frightened to perceive what is happening. In a moment the fangs are

shot out, and a wound inflicted in the exposed part under the wing.

Blood appears, and the bird is thrown down, being held in place by

the performer's foot till in a few minutes its struggles cease. Then,

picking the victim up, he holds it aloft by one wing to show its

condition, and exultingly calls for a Fátihah.

It is enough: my patience is exhausted, and I rise to make off with

stiff knees, content at last with what I have seen and heard of the

"charming" of snakes in Morocco.

[Illustration: _Cavilla, Photo., Tangier._

A MOROCCO FANDAK (CARAVANSARAI).]

XIX

IN A MOORISH CAFÉ

"A little from a friend is much."

_Moorish Proverb._

To the passer-by, least of all to the European, there is nothing in

its external appearance to recommend old Hashmi's _café_. From the

street, indeed, it is hardly visible, for it lies within the threshold

of a caravansarai or fandak, in which beasts are tethered, goods

accumulated and travellers housed, and of which the general appearance

is that of a neglected farm-yard. Round an open court a colonnade

supports the balcony by which rooms on the upper story are approached,

a narrow staircase in the corner leading right up to the terraced

roof. In the daytime the sole occupants of the rooms are women whose

partners for the time being have securely locked them in before going

to work.

Beside the lofty archway forming the gate of this strange hostelry, is

Hashmi's stall, at which green tea or a sweet, pea-soupy preparation

of coffee may be had at all hours of the day, but the _café_ proper,

gloomy by daylight, lies through the door behind. Here, of an evening,

the candles lit, his regular customers gather with tiny pipes,

indulging in flowing talk. Each has before him his harmless glass, as

he squats or reclines on the rush-matted floor. Nothing of importance

occurs in the city but is within a little made known here with as much

certainty as if the proprietor subscribed to an evening paper. Any

man who has something fresh to tell, who can interest or amuse the

company, and by his frequent visits give the house a name, is always

welcome, and will find a glass awaiting him whenever he chooses to

come.

Old Hashmi knows his business, and if the evening that I was there may

be taken as a sample, he deserves success. That night he was in the

best of humours. His house was full and trade brisk. Fattah, a negro,

was keeping the house merry, so in view of coming demands, he brewed a

fresh pot of real "Mekkan." The surroundings were grimy, and outside

the rain came down in torrents: but that was a decided advantage,

since it not only drove men indoors, but helped to keep them there.

Mesaôd, the one-eyed, had finished an elaborate tuning of his

two-stringed banjo, his ginbri--a home-made instrument--and was

proceeding to arrive at a convenient pitch of voice for his song. With

a strong nasal accent he commenced reciting the loves of Si Marzak and

his fair Azîzah: how he addressed her in the fondest of language,

and how she replied by caresses. When he came to the chorus they all

chimed in, for the most part to their own tune and time, as they

rocked to and fro, some clapping, some beating their thighs, and all

applauding at the end.

The whole ballad would not bear translation--for English ears,--and

the scanty portion which may be given has lost its rhythm and cadence

by the change, for Arabic is very soft and beautiful to those who

understand it. The time has come when Azîzah, having quarrelled with

Si Marzak in a fit of perhaps too well-founded jealousy, desires to

"make it up again," and thus addresses her beloved--

"Oh, how I have followed thy attractiveness,

And halted between give and take!

Oh, how I'd from evil have protected thee

By my advice, hadst thou but heeded it!

Yet to-day taste, O my master,

Of the love that thou hast taught to me!

"Oh, how I have longed for the pleasure of thy visits,

And poured out bitter tears for thee;

Until at last the sad truth dawned on me

That of thy choice thou didst put me aside!

Yet to-day taste, O my master,

Of the love that thou hast taught to me!

"Thou wast sweeter than honey to me,

But thou hast become more bitter than gall.

Is it thus thou beginnest the world?

Beware lest thou make me thy foe!

Yet to-day taste, O my master,

Of the love that thou hast taught to me!

"I have hitherto been but a name to thee,

And thou took'st to thy bosom a snake,

But to-day I perceive thou'st a fancy for me:

O God, I will not be deceived!

Yes, to-day taste, O my master,

Of the love that thou hast taught to me!

"Thou know'st my complaint and my only cure:

Why, then, wilt thou heal me not?

Thou canst do so to-day, O my master,

And save me from all further woe.

Yes, to-day taste, O my master,

Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"

To which the hard-pressed swain replies--

"Of a truth thine eyes have bewitched me,

For Death itself is in fear of them:

And thine eyebrows, like two logs of wood,

Have battered me each in its turn.

So if thou sayest die, I'll die;

And for God shall my sacrifice be!

"I have neither yet died nor abandoned hope,

Though slumber at night I ne'er know.

With the staff of deliverance still afar off,

So that all the world knows of my woe.

And if thou sayest die, I'll die,

But for God shall my sacrifice be!"

While the singing was proceeding Sáïd and Drees had been indulging in

a game of draughts, and as it ceased their voices could be heard in

eager play. "Call thyself a Mallem (master). There, thy father was

bewitched by a hyena; there, and there again!" shouted Sáïd, as he

swept a first, a second and a third of his opponent's pieces from the

board.

But Drees was equal with him in another move.

"So, verily, thou art my master! Let us, then, praise God for thy

wisdom: thou art like indeed unto him who verily shot the fox, but who

killed his own cow with the second shot! See, thus I teach thee to

boast before thy betters: ha, I laugh at thee, I ride the donkey on

thy head. I shave that beard of thine!" he ejaculated, taking one

piece after another from his adversary, as the result of an incautious

move. The board had the appearance of a well-kicked footstool, and the

"men"--called "dogs" in Barbary--were more like baseless chess pawns.

The play was as unlike that of Europeans as possible; the moves from

"room" to "room" were of lightning swiftness, and accompanied by a

running fire of slang ejaculations, chiefly sarcastic, but, on the

whole, enlivened with a vein of playful humour not to be Englished

politely. Just as the onlookers would become interested in the

progress of one or the other, a too rapid advance by either would

result in an incomprehensible wholesale clearing of the board by his

opponent's sleeve. Yet without a stop the pieces would be replaced

in order, and a new game commenced, the vanquished too proud to

acknowledge that he did not quite see how the victor had won.

Then Fattah, whose _forte_ was mimicry, attracted the attention of the

company by a representation of a fat wazeer at prayers. Amid roars of

laughter he succeeded in rising to his feet with the help of those

beside him, who had still to lend occasional support, as his knees

threatened to give way under his apparently ponderous carcase. Before

and behind, his shirt was well stuffed with cushions, and the sides

were not forgotten. His cheeks were puffed out to the utmost, and his

eyes rolled superbly. At last the moment came for him to go on his

knees, when he had to be let gently down by those near him, but his

efforts to bow his head, now top-heavy with a couple of shirts for a

turban, were most ludicrous, as he fell on one side in apparently vain

endeavours. The spectators roared with laughter till the tears coursed

down their cheeks; but that black and solemn face remained unmoved,

and at the end of the prescribed motions the pseudo-great man

apparently fell into slumber as heavy as himself, and snored in a

style that a prize pig might have envied.

"Áfuk! Áfuk!" the deafening bravos resounded, for Fattah had excelled

himself, and was amply rewarded by the collection which followed.

A tale was next demanded from a jovial man of Fez, who, nothing loth,

began at once--

"Evening was falling as across the plain of Háhá trudged a weary

traveller. The cold wind whistled through his tattered garments. The

path grew dim before his eyes. The stars came out one by one, but no

star of hope shone for him. He was faint and hungry. His feet were

sore. His head ached. He shivered.

"'May God have pity on me!' he muttered.

"God heard him. A few minutes later he descried an earthly star--a

solitary light was twinkling on the distant hillside. Thitherward he

turned his steps.

"Hope rose within him. His step grew brisk. The way seemed clear.

Onward he pushed.

"Presently he could make out the huts of a village.

"'Thank God!' he cried; but still he had no supper.

"His empty stomach clamoured. His purse was empty also. The fiendish

dogs of the village yelped at him. He paused discomfited. He called.

"Widow Záïdah stood before her light.

"'Who's there?'

"'A God-guest'

"'In God's name, then, welcome! Silence there, curs!'

"Abd el Hakk approached.

"'God bless thee, my mother, and repay thee a thousand-fold!'

"But Záïdah herself was poor. Her property consisted only of a hut and

some fowls. She set before him eggs--two, hard-boiled,--bread also. He

thanked God. He ate.

"'Yes, God will repay,' she said.

"Next day Abd el Hakk passed on to Marrákesh. There God blessed him.

Years passed on; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Abd el Hakk

was rich. Melûdi the lawyer disliked him. Said he to Widow Záïdah--

"'Abd el Hakk, whom once thou succouredst, is rich. The two eggs were

never yet paid for. Hadst thou not given them to him they would have

become two chickens. These would each have laid hundreds. Those

hundreds, when hatched, would have laid their thousands. In seven

years, think to what amount Abd el Hakk is indebted to thee. Sue him.'

"Widow Záïdah listened. What is more, she acted. Abd el Hakk failed to

appear to rebut the claim. He was worth no more.

"'Why is the defendant not here?' asked the judge.

"'My lord,' said his attorney, 'he is gone to sow boiled beans.'

"'Boiled beans!'

"'Boiled beans, my lord.'

"'Is he mad?'

"'He is very wise, my lord.'

"'Thou mockest.'

"'My lord, if boiled eggs can be hatched, sure boiled beans will

grow!'

"'Dismissed with costs!'

"The tree that bends with every wind that blows will seldom stand

upright."

* * * * *

A round of applause greeted the clever tale, of which the speaker's

gestures had told even more than his words. But the merriment of

the company only began there, for forthwith a babel of tongues was

occupied in the discussion of all the points of the case, in imagining

every impossible or humorous alternative, and laughter resounded on

every side, as the glasses were quickly refilled with an innocent

drink.

XX

THE MEDICINE-MAN

"Wine is a key to all evil."

_Moorish Proverb._

Under the glare of an African sun, its rays, however, tempered by a

fresh Atlantic breeze; no roof to his consulting-room save the sky, no

walls surrounding him to keep off idle starers like ourselves; by the

roadside sits a native doctor of repute. His costume is that of half

the crowd around, outwardly consisting of a well-worn brown woollen

cloak with a hood pulled over his head, from beneath the skirts of

which protrude his muddy feet. By his side lies the basket containing

his supplies and less delicate instruments; the finer ones we see him

draw from a capacious wallet of leather beneath his cloak.

Though personally somewhat gaunt, he is nevertheless a jolly-looking

character, totally free from that would-be professional air assumed

by some of our medical students to hide lack of experience; for he,

empiric though he be, has no idea of any of his own shortcomings, and

greets us with an easy smile. He is seated on the ground, hugging his

knees till his attention is drawn to us, when, observing our gaze at

his lancets on the ground, he picks one up to show it. Both are of

rude construction, merely pieces of flat steel filed to double-edged

points, and protected by two flaps slightly bigger, in the one case of

bone, in the other of brass. A loose rivet holding all together at one

end completes the instrument. The brass one he says was made by a Jew

in Fez out of an old clock; the other by a Jew in Marrákesh. For the

purpose of making scratches for cupping he has a piece of flat steel

about half an inch wide, sharpened across the end chisel-fashion. Then

he has a piece of an old razor-blade tied to a stick with a string.

That this is sharp he soon demonstrates by skilfully shaving an old

man's head, after only damping the eighth of an inch stub with which

it is covered. A stone and a bit of leather, supplemented by the

calves of his legs, or his biceps, serve to keep the edges in

condition.

From a finger-shaped leather bag in his satchel he produces an

antiquated pair of tooth extractors, a small pair of forceps for

pulling out thorns, and a stiletto. The first-named article, he

informs us, came from France to Tafilált, his home, _viâ_ Tlemçen; it

is of the design known as "Fox's claw," and he explains to us that the

difference between the French and the English article is that the one

has no spring to keep the jaws open, while the other has. A far more

formidable instrument is the genuine native contrivance, a sort of

exaggerated corkscrew without a point.

But here comes a patient to be treated. He troubles the doctor with

no diagnosis, asking only to be bled. He is a youth of medium height,

bronzed by the sun. Telling him to sit down and bare his right arm,

the operator feels it well up and down, and then places the tips of

the patient's fingers on the ground, bidding him not to move. Pouring

out a little water into a metal dish, he washes the arm on the inside

of the elbow, drying it with his cloak. Next he ties a piece of list

round the upper arm as tightly as he can, and selecting one of the

lancets, makes an incision into the vein which the washing has

rendered visible. A bright stream issues, squirting into the air some

fifteen inches; it is soon, however, directed into a tin soup-plate

holding fourteen ounces, as we ascertained by measurement. The

operator washes and dries his lancet, wraps the two in a white rag,

and puts them into a piece of cane which forms an excellent case.

Meanwhile the plate has filled, and he turns his attention once more

to the patient. One or two passers-by have stopped, like ourselves, to

look on.

"I knew a man," says one, "who was being bled like that, and kept on

saying, 'take a little more,' till he fell back dead in our arms."

"Yes," chimes in another, "I have heard of such cases; it is very

dangerous."

Although the patient is evidently growing very nervous, our surgical

friend affects supreme indifference to all this tittle-tattle, and

after a while removes the bandage, bending the forearm inward, with

the effect of somewhat checking the flow of blood. When he has bound

up with list the cane that holds the lancets, he closes the forearm

back entirely, so that the flow is stopped. Opening it again a little,

he wipes a sponge over the aperture a few times, and closes it with

his thumb. Then he binds a bit of filthy rag round the arm, twisting

it above and below the elbow alternately, and crossing over the

incision each time. When this is done, he sends the patient to throw

away the blood and wash the plate, receiving for the whole operation

the sum of three half-pence.

Another patient is waiting his turn, an old man desiring to be bled

behind the ears for headache. After shaving two patches for the

purpose, the "bleeder," as he is justly called, makes eighteen

scratches close together, about half an inch long. Over these he

places a brass cup of the shape of a high Italian hat without the

brim. From near the edge of this protrudes a long brass tube with a

piece of leather round and over the end. This the operator sucks to

create a vacuum, the moistened leather closing like a valve, which

leaves the cup hanging _in situ_. Repeating this on the other side, he

empties the first cup of the blood which has by this time accumulated

in it, and so on alternately, till he has drawn off what appears to

him to be sufficient. All that remains to be done is to wipe the

wounds and receive the fee.

Some years ago such a worthy as this earned quite a reputation for

exorcising devils in Southern Morocco. His mode of procedure was

brief, but as a rule effective. The patient was laid on the ground

before the wise man's tent, face downward, and after reading certain

mystic and unintelligible passages, selected from one of the ponderous

tomes which form a prominent part of the "doctor's" stock-in-trade, he

solemnly ordered two or three men to hold the sufferer down while two

more thrashed him till they were tired. If, when released, the patient

showed the least sign of returning violence, or complained that the

whole affair was a fraud, it was taken as a sure sign that he had not

had enough, and he was forthwith seized again and the dose repeated

till he had learned that discretion was the better part of valour, and

slunk off, perhaps a wiser, certainly a sadder man. It is said, and I

do not doubt it--though it is more than most medical men can say of

their patients--that no one was ever known to return in quest of

further treatment.

All this, however, is nothing compared with the Moor's love of fire as

a universal panacea. Not only for his mules and his horses, but

also for himself and his family, cauterization is in high repute,

especially as he estimates the value of a remedy as much by its

immediate and visible action as by its ultimate effects. The

"fire-doctor" is therefore even a greater character in his way than

the "bleeder," whom we have just visited. His outfit includes a

collection of queer-shaped irons designed to cauterize different parts

of the body, a portable brazier, and bellows made from a goat-skin

with a piece of board at one side wherewith to press and expel the air

through a tube on the other side. He, too, sits by the roadside, and

disposes of his groaning though wonderfully enduring "patients" much

as did his rival of the lancet. Rohlfs, a German doctor who explored

parts of Morocco in the garb of a native, exercising what he could of

his profession for a livelihood, tells how he earned a considerable

reputation by the introduction of "cold fire" (lunar caustic) as a

rival to the original style; and Pellow, an English slave who made

his escape in 1735, found cayenne pepper of great assistance in

ingratiating himself with the Moors in this way, and even in delaying

a pursuer suffering from ophthalmia by blowing a little into his eyes

before his identity was discovered. In extenuation of this trick,

however, it must be borne in mind that cayenne pepper is an accredited

Moorish remedy for ophthalmia, being placed on the eyelids, though it

is only a mixture of canary seed and sugar that is blown in.

Every European traveller in Morocco is supposed to know something

about medicine, and many have been my own amusing experiences in this

direction. Nothing that I used gave me greater fame than a bottle of

oil of cantharides, the contents of which I applied freely behind the

ears or upon the temples of such victims of ophthalmia as submitted

themselves to my tender mercies. Only I found that when my first

patient began to dance with the joy and pain of the noble blister

which shortly arose, so many people fancied they needed like treatment

that I was obliged to restrict the use of so popular a cure to special

cases.

One branch of Moroccan medicine consists in exorcising devils, of

which a most amusing instance once came under my notice. An English

gentleman gave one of his servants who complained of being troubled

with these unwelcome guests two good-sized doses of tartaric acid and

carbonate of soda a second apart. The immediate exit of the devil was

so apparent that the fame of the prescriber as a medical man was made

at once. But many of the cases which the amateur is called upon to

treat are much more difficult to satisfy than this. Superstition is

so strongly mingled with the native ideas of disease,--of being

possessed,--that the two can hardly be separated. During an epidemic

of cholera, for instance, the people keep as close as possible to

walls, and avoid sand-hills, for fear of "catching devils." All

disease is indeed more or less ascribed to satanic agency, and in

Morocco that practitioner is most in repute who claims to attack this

cause of the malady rather than its effect.

Although the Moors have a certain rudimentary acquaintance with simple

medicinal agents--and how rudimentary that acquaintance is, will

better appear from what is to follow,--in all their pharmacop[oe]ia

no remedy is so often recommended or so implicitly relied on as the

"writing" of a man of reputed sanctity. Such a writing may consist

merely of a piece of paper scribbled over with the name of God, or

with some sentence from the Korán, such as, "And only God is the

Healer," repeated many times, or in special cases it may contain a

whole series of pious expressions and meaningless incantations. For an

ordinary external complaint, such as general debility arising from

the evil eye of a neighbour or a jealous wife, or as a preventative

against bewitchment, or as a love philtre, it is usually considered

sufficient to wear this in a leather bag around the neck or forehead;

but in case of unfathomable internal disease, such as indigestion, the

"writing" is prescribed to be divided into so many equal portions, and

taken in a little water night and morning.

The author of these potent documents is sometimes a hereditary saint

descended from Mohammed, sometimes a saint whose sanctity arises from

real or assumed insanity--for to be mad in Barbary is to have one's

thoughts so occupied with things of heaven as to have no time left

for things of earth,--and often they are written by ordinary public

scribes, or schoolmasters, for among the Moors reading and religion

are almost synonymous terms. There are, however, a few professional

gentlemen who dispense these writings among their drugs. Such alone of

all their quacks aspire to the title of "doctor." Most of these spend

their time wandering about the country from fair to fair, setting up

their tents wherever there are patients to be found in sufficient

numbers.

Attired as natives, let us visit one. Arrived at the tent door, we

salute the learned occupant with the prescribed "Salám oo alaïkum"

("To you be peace"), to which, on noting our superior costumes, he

replies with a volley of complimentary inquiries and welcomes. These

we acknowledge with dignity, and with as sedate an air as possible.

We leisurely seat ourselves on the ground in orthodox style, like

tailors. As it would not be good form to mention our business at once,

we defer professional consultation till we have inquired successfully

after his health, his travels, and the latest news at home and from

abroad. In the course of conversation he gives us to understand that

he is one of the Sultan's uncles, which is by no means impossible in a

country where it has not been an unknown thing for an imperial father

to lose count of his numerous progeny.

Feeling at last that we have broken the ice, we turn the conversation

to the subject of our supposed ailments. My own complaint is a general

internal disorder resulting in occasional feverishness, griping pains,

and loss of sleep. After asking a number of really sensible questions,

such as would seem to place him above the ordinary rank of native

practitioners, he gravely announces that he has "the very thing" in

the form of a powder, which, from its high virtues, and the exceeding

number of its ingredients, some of them costly, is rather expensive.

We remember the deference with which our costumes were noted, and

understand. But, after all, the price of a supply is announced to be

only seven-pence halfpenny. The contents of some of the canisters he

shows us include respectively, according to his account, from twenty

to fifty drugs. For our own part, we strongly suspect that all are

spices to be procured from any Moorish grocer.

Together with the prescription I receive instructions to drink the

soup from a fat chicken in the morning, and to eat its flesh in the

evening; to eat hot bread and drink sweet tea, and to do as little

work as possible, the powder to be taken daily for a fortnight in a

little honey. Whatever else he may not know, it is evident that our

doctor knows full well how to humour his patients.

The next case is even more easy of treatment than mine, a "writing"

only being required. On a piece of very common paper two or three

inches square, the doctor writes something of which the only legible

part is the first line: "In the name of God, the Pitying, the

Pitiful," followed, we subsequently learn, by repetitions of "Only God

is the Healer." For this the patient is to get his wife to make a felt

bag sewed with coloured silk, into which the charm is to be put, along

with a little salt and a few parings of garlic, after which it is to

be worn round his neck for ever.

Sometimes, in wandering through Morocco, one comes across much more

curious remedies than these, for the worthy we have just visited is

but a commonplace type in this country. A medical friend once met a

professional brother in the interior who had a truly original method

of proving his skill. By pressing his finger on the side of his

nose close to his eye, he could send a jet of liquid right into his

interlocutor's face, a proceeding sufficient to satisfy all doubts as

to his alleged marvellous powers. On examination it was found that

he had a small orifice near the corner of the eye, through which the

pressure forced the lachrymal fluid, pure tears, in fact. This is just

an instance of the way in which any natural defect or peculiarity

is made the most of by these wandering empirics, to impose on their

ignorant and credulous victims.

Even such of them as do give any variety of remedies are hardly more

to be trusted. Whatever they give, their patients like big doses, and

are not content without corresponding visible effects. Epsom salts,

which are in great repute, are never given to a man in less quantities

than two tablespoonfuls. On one occasion a poor woman came to me

suffering from ague, and looking very dejected. I mixed this quantity

of salts in a tumblerful of water, with a good dose of quinine,

bidding her drink two-thirds of it, and give the remainder to her

daughter, who evidently needed it as much as she did. Her share was

soon disposed of with hardly more than a grimace, to the infinite

enjoyment of a fat, black slave-girl who was standing by, and who knew

from personal experience what a tumblerful meant. But to induce the

child to take hers was quite another matter. "What! not drink it?"

the mother cried, as she held the potion to her lips. "The devil take

thee, thou cursed offspring of an abandoned woman! May God burn thy

ancestors!" But though the child, accustomed to such mild and motherly

invectives, budged not, it had proved altogether too much for the

jovial slave, who was by this time convulsed with laughter, and so, I

may as well confess, was I. At last the woman's powers of persuasion

were exhausted, and she drained the glass herself.

When in Fez some years ago, a dog I had with me needed dosing, so I

got three drops of croton oil on sugar made ready for him. Mine host,

a man of fifty or more, came in meanwhile, and having ascertained the

action of the drug from my servant, thought it might possibly do him

good, and forthwith swallowed it. Of this the first intimation I had

was from the agonizing screams of the old man, who loudly proclaimed

that his last hour was come, and from the terrified wails of the

females of his household, who thought so too. When I saw him he was

rolling on the tiles of the courtyard, his heels in the air, bellowing

frantically. I need hardly dilate upon the relief I felt when at last

we succeeded in alleviating his pain, and knew that he was out of

danger.

Among the favourite remedies of Morocco, hyena's head powder ranks

high as a purge, and the dried bones and flesh may often be seen in

the native spice-shops, coated with dust as they hang. Some of the

prescriptions given are too filthy to repeat, almost to be believed.

As a specimen, by no means the worst, I may mention a recipe at one

time in favour among the Jewesses of Mogador, according to one writer.

This was to drink seven draughts from the town drain where it entered

the sea, beaten up with seven eggs. For diseases of the "heart," by

which they mean the stomach and liver, and of eyes, joints, etc., a

stone, which is found in an animal called the horreh, the size of a

small walnut, and valued as high as twelve dollars, is ground up and

swallowed, the patient thereafter remaining indoors a week. Ants,

prepared in various ways, are recommended for lethargy, and lion's

flesh for cowardice. Privet or mallow leaves, fresh honey, and

chameleons split open alive, are considered good for wounds and sores,

while the fumes from the burning of the dried body of this animal are

often inhaled. Among more ordinary remedies are saraparilla, senna,

and a number of other well-known herbs and roots, whose action is more

or less understood. Roasted pomegranate rind in powder is found really

effectual in dysentery and diarrh[oe]a.

Men and women continually apply for philtres, and women for means to

prevent their husbands from liking rival wives, or for poison to

put them out of the way. As arsenic, corrosive sublimate, and other

poisons are sold freely to children in every spice-shop, the number of

unaccounted-for deaths is extremely large, but inquiry is seldom or

never made. When it is openly averred that So-and-so died from "a cup

of tea," the only mental comment seems to be that she was very foolish

not to be more careful what she drank, and to see that whoever

prepared it took the first sip according to custom. The highest

recommendation of any particular dish or spice is that it is

"heating." Great faith is also placed in certain sacred rocks,

tree-stumps, etc., which are visited in the hope of obtaining relief

from all sorts of ailments. Visitors often leave rags torn from their

garments by which to be remembered by the guardian of the place.

Others repair to the famous sulphur springs of Zarhôn, supposed to

derive their benefit from the interment close by of a certain St.

Jacob--and dance in the waters, yelling without intermission, "Cold

and hot, O my lord Yakoob! Cold and hot!" fearful lest any cessation

of the cry might permit the temperature to be increased or diminished

beyond the bearable point.

XXI

THE HUMAN MART

"Who digs a pit for his brother will fall into it."

_Moorish Proverb._

The slave-market differs in no respect from any other in Morocco, save

in the nature of the "goods" exposed. In most cases the same place is

used for other things at other times, and the same auctioneers are

employed to sell cattle. The buyers seat themselves round an open

courtyard, in the closed pens of which are the slaves for sale. These

are brought out singly or in lots, inspected precisely as cattle would

be, and expatiated upon in much the same manner.

For instance, here comes a middle-aged man, led slowly round by the

salesman, who is describing his "points" and noting bids. He has

first-class muscles, although he is somewhat thin. He is made to lift

a weight to prove his strength. His thighs are patted, and his lips

are turned to show the gums, which at merrier moments would have been

visible without such a performance. With a shame-faced, hang-dog air

he trudges round, wondering what will be his lot, though a sad one it

is already. At last he is knocked down for so many score of dollars,

and after a good deal of further bargaining he changes hands.

The next brought forward are three little girls--a "job lot," maybe

ten, thirteen, and sixteen years of age--two of them evidently

sisters. They are declared to be already proficient in Arabic, and

ready for anything. Their muscles are felt, their mouths examined, and

their bodies scrutinized in general, while the little one begins

to cry, and the others look as though they would like to keep her

company. Round and round again they are marched, but the bids do not

rise high enough to effect a sale, and they are locked up again for a

future occasion. It is indeed a sad, sad sight.

The sources of supply for the slave-market are various, but the chief

is direct from Guinea and the Sáhara, where the raids of the traders

are too well understood to need description. Usually some inter-tribal

jealousy is fostered and fanned into a flame, and the one which loses

is plundered of men and goods. Able-bodied lads and young girls are

in most demand, and fetch high prices when brought to the north. The

unfortunate prisoners are marched with great hardship and privation

to depôts over the Atlas, where they pick up Arabic and are initiated

into Mohammedanism. To a missionary who once asked one of the dealers

how they found their way across the desert, the terribly significant

reply was, "There are many bones along the way!" After a while the

survivors are either exposed for sale in the markets of Marrákesh

or Fez, or hawked round from door to door in the coast towns, where

public auctions are prohibited. Some have even found their way to

Egypt and Constantinople, having been transported in British vessels,

and landed at Gibraltar as members of the dealer's family!

Another source of supply is the constant series of quarrels between

the tribes of Morocco itself, during which many children are carried

off who are white or nearly so. In this case the victims are almost

all girls, for whom good prices are to be obtained. This opens a door

for illegal supplies, children born of slaves and others kidnapped

being thus disposed of for hareems. For this purpose the demand

for white girls is much in excess of that for black, so that great

temptation is offered. I knew a man who had seventeen such in his

house, and of nearly a dozen whom I saw there, none were too dark to

have passed for English brunettes.

Though nothing whatever can be said in defence of this practice of

tearing our fellow-men from their homes, and selling them as slaves,

our natural feelings of horror abate considerably when we become

acquainted with its results under the rule of Islám. Instead of the

fearful state of things which occurred under English or American rule,

it is a pleasure to find that, whatever may be the shortcomings of the

Moors, in this case, at any rate, they have set us a good example.

Even their barbarous treatment of Christian slaves till within a

century was certainly no worse than our treatment of black slaves.

To begin with, Mohammedans make no distinction in civil or religious

rights between a black skin and a white. So long as a man avows belief

in no god but God, and in Mohammed as the prophet of God, complying

with certain outward forms of his religion, he is held to be as good a

Muslim as anyone else; and as the whole social and civil fabrics

are built upon religion and the teachings of the Korán, the social

position of every well-behaved Mohammedan is practically equal. The

possession of authority of any kind will naturally command a certain

amount of respectful attention, and he who has any reason for seeking

a favour from another is sure to adopt a more subservient mien; but

beyond this, few such class distinctions are known as those common in

Europe. The slave who, away from home, can behave as a gentleman, will

be received as such, irrespective of his colour, and when freed he

may aspire to any position under the Sultan. There are, indeed, many

instances of black men having been ministers, governors, and even

ambassadors to Europe, and such appointments are too common to excite

astonishment. They have even, in the past, assisted in giving rise to

the misconception that the people of Morocco were "Black-a-Moors."

In many households the slave becomes the trusted steward of his owner,

and receives a sufficient allowance to live in comfort. He will

possess a paper giving him his freedom on his master's death, and

altogether he will have a very good time of it. The liberation

of slaves is enjoined upon those who follow Mohammed as a most

praiseworthy act, and as one which cannot fail to bring its own

reward. But, like too many in our own land, they more often prefer to

make use of what they possess till they start on that journey on

which they can take nothing with them, and then affect generosity by

bestowing upon others that over which they lose control.

One poor fellow whom I knew very well, who had been liberated on the

death of his master, having lost his papers, was re-kidnapped and sold

again to a man who was subsequently imprisoned for fraud, when he

got free and worked for some years as porter; but he was eventually

denounced and put in irons in a dungeon as part of the property of his

_soi-disant_ master.

The ordinary place of the slave is much that of the average servant,

but receiving only board, lodging, and scanty clothing, without pay,

and being unable to change masters. Sometimes, however, they are

permitted to beg or work for money to buy their own freedom, when

they become, as it were, their own masters. On the whole, a jollier,

harder-working, or better-tempered lot than these Negroes it would

be hard to desire, and they are as light-hearted, fortunately, as

true-hearted, even in the midst of cruel adversities.

The condition of a woman slave--to which, also, most of what has been

said refers--is as much behind that of a man-slave as is that of a

free-woman behind that of her lord. If she becomes her master's wife,

the mother of a child, she is thereby freed, though she must remain in

his service until his death, and she is only treated as an animal, not

as a human being.

After all, there is a dark side--one sufficiently dark to need no

intensifying. The fact of one man being the possessor of another,

just as much as he could be of a horse or cow, places him in the same

position with regard to his "chattel" as to such a four-footed animal.

"The merciful man is merciful to his beast," but "the tender mercies

of the wicked are cruel," and just as one man will ill-treat his

beast, while another treats his well, so will one man persecute his

slave. Instances of this are quite common enough, and here and there

cases could be brought forward of revolting brutality, as in the story

which follows, but the great thing is that agricultural slavery is

practically unknown, and that what exists is chiefly domestic. "Know

the slave," says an Arab proverb, "and you know the master."

[Illustration: _Freyonne, Photo., Gibraltar._

RABBAH, NARRATOR OF THE SLAVE-GIRL'S STORY.]

XXII

A SLAVE-GIRL'S STORY

"After many adversities, joy."

_Moorish Proverb._

Outside the walls of Mazagan an English traveller had pitched his

camp. Night had fallen when one of his men, returning from the town,

besought admission to the tent.

"Well, how now?"

"Sir, I have a woman here, by thy leave, yes, a woman, a slave, whom

I found at the door of thy consulate, where she had taken refuge, but

the police guard drove her away, so I brought her to thee for justice.

Have pity on her, and God will reward thee! See, here! Rabhah!"

At this bidding there approached a truly pitiable object, a

dark-skinned woman, not quite black, though of decidedly negroid

appearance--whose tattered garments scarcely served to hide a

half-starved form. Throwing herself on the ground before the

foreigner, she begged his pity, his assistance, for the sake of the

Pitiful God.

"Oh, Bashador," she pleaded, addressing him as though a foreign envoy,

"I take refuge with God and with thee! I have no one else. I have fled

from my master, who has cruelly used me. See my back!"

Suiting action to word, she slipped aside the coverings from her

shoulder and revealed the weals of many a stripe, tears streaming down

her face the while. Her tones were such as none but a heart of stone

could ignore.

"I bore it ten days, sir, till I could do so no longer, and then I

escaped. It was all to make me give false witness--from which God

deliver me--for that I will never do. My present master is the Sheïkh

bin Záharah, Lieutenant Kaïd of the Boo Azeezi, but I was once the

slave-wife of the English agent, who sold me again, though they said

that he dare not, because of his English protection. That was why I

fled for justice to the English consul, and now come to thee. For

God's sake, succour me!"

With a sob her head fell forward on her breast, as again she crouched

at the foreigner's feet, till made to rise and told to relate her

whole story quietly. When she was calmer, aided by questions, she

unfolded a tale which could, alas! be often paralleled in Morocco.

"My home? How can I tell thee where that was, when I was brought away

so early? All I know is that it was in the Sûdán" (_i.e._ Land of

the Blacks), "and that I came to Mogador on my mother's back. In my

country the slave-dealers lie in wait outside the villages to catch

the children when they play. They put them in bags like those used for

grain, with their heads left outside the necks for air. So they are

carried off, and travel all the way to this country slung on mules,

being set down from time to time to be fed. But I, though born free,

was brought by my mother, who had been carried off as a slave. The

lines cut on my cheek show that, for every free-born child in our

country is marked so by its mother. That is our sultan's order. In

Mogador my mother's master sold me to a man who took me from her,

and brought me to Dár el Baïda. They took away my mother first; they

dragged her off crying, and I never saw or heard of her again. When

she was gone I cried for her, and could not eat till they gave me

sugar and sweet dates. At Dár el Baïda I was sold in the market

auction to a shareefa named Lálla Moïna, wife of the mountain scribe

who taught the kádi's children. With her I was very happy, for she

treated me well, and when she went to Mekka on the pilgrimage she let

me go out to work on my own account, promising to make me free if God

brought her back safely. She was good to me, Bashador, but though she

returned safely she always put off making me free; but I had laid by

fifteen dollars, and had bought a boxful of clothes as well. And that

was where my trouble began. For God's sake succour me!

"One day the agent saw me in the street, and eyed me so that I was

frightened of him. He followed me home, and then sent a letter

offering to buy me, but my mistress refused. Then the agent often came

to the house, and I had to wait upon him. He told me that he wanted to

buy me, and that if he did I should be better off than if I were free,

but I refused to listen. When the agent was away his man Sarghîni used

to come and try to buy me, but in vain; and when the agent returned he

threatened to bring my mistress into trouble if she refused. At last

she had to yield, and I cried when I had to go. 'Thou art sold to that

man,' she said; 'but as thou art a daughter to me, he has promised to

take care of thee and bring thee back whenever I wish.'

"Sarghîni took me out by one gate with the servants of the agent, who

took care to go out with a big fat Jew by another, that the English

consul should not see him go out with a woman. We rode on mules, and I

wore a white cloak; I had not then begun to fast" (_i.e._ was not yet

twelve years of age). "After two days on the road the agent asked for

the key of my box, in which he found my fifteen dollars, tied up in

a rag, and took them, but gave me back my clothes. We were five days

travelling to Marrákesh, staying each night with a kaïd who treated us

very well. So I came to the agent's house.

"There I found many other slave girls, besides men slaves in the

garden. These were Ruby, bought in Saffi, by whom the agent had a

daughter; and Star, a white girl stolen from her home in Sûs, who

had no children; Jessamine the Less, another white girl bought in

Marrákesh, mother of one daughter; Jessamine the Greater, whose

daughter was her father's favourite, loaded with jewels; and others

who cooked or served, not having children, though one had a son who

died. There were thirteen of us under an older slave who clothed and

fed us.

"When the bashador came to the house the agent shut all but five or

six of us in a room, the others waiting on him. I used to have to cook

for the bashador, for whom they had great receptions with music and

dancing-women. Next door there was a larger house, a fandak, where the

agent kept public women and boys, and men at the door took money from

the Muslims and Nazarenes who went there. The missionaries who lived

close by know the truth of what I say.

"A few days after I arrived I was bathed and dressed in fresh clothes,

and taken to my master's room, as he used to call for one or another

according to fancy. But I had no child, because he struck me, and I

was sick. When one girl, named Amber, refused to go to him because she

was ill, he dragged her off to another part of the house. Presently we

heard the report of a pistol, and he came back to say she was dead. He

had a pistol in his hand as long as my forearm. We found the girl in a

pool of blood in agonies, and tried to flee, but had nowhere to go. So

when she was quite dead he made us wash her. Then he brought in four

men to dig a pit, in which he said he would bury butter. When they had

gone we buried her there, and I can show you the spot.

"One day he took two men slaves and me on a journey. One of them ran

away, the other was sold by the way. I was sold at the Tuesday market

of Sîdi bin Nûr to a dealer in slaves, whom I heard promise my master

to keep me close for three months, and not to sell me in that place

lest the Nazarenes should get word of it. Some time after I was bought

by a tax-collector, with whom I remained till he died, and then lived

in the house of his son. This man sold me to my present master, who

has ill-treated me as I told thee. Oh, Bashador, when I fled from him,

I came to the English consul because I was told that the agent had had

no right to hold or sell me, since he had English protection. Thou

knowest what has happened since. Here I am, at thy feet, imploring

assistance. I beseech thee, turn me not away. I speak truth before

God."

No one could hear such a tale unmoved, and after due inquiry the

Englishman thus appealed to secured her liberty on depositing at the

British Consulate the $140 paid for her by her owner, who claimed her

or the money. Rabhah's story, taken down by independent persons at

different times, was afterwards told by her without variation in a

British Court of Law. Subsequently a pronouncement as to her freedom

having been made by the British Legation at Tangier, the $140 was

refunded, and she lives free to-day. The last time the writer saw her,

in the service of a European in Morocco, he was somewhat taken aback

to find her arms about his neck, and to have kisses showered on his

shoulders for the unimportant part that he had played in securing her

freedom.

XXIII

THE PILGRIM CAMP

"Work for the children is better than pilgrimage or holy war."

_Moorish Proverb._

Year by year the month succeeding the fast of Ramadán sees a motley

assemblage of pilgrims bound for Mekka, gathered at most of the North

African ports from all parts of Barbary and even beyond, awaiting

vessels bound for Alexandria or Jedda. This comparatively easy means

of covering the distance, which includes the whole length of the

Mediterranean when the pilgrims from Morocco are concerned--not

to mention some two-thirds of the Red Sea,--has almost entirely

superseded the original method of travelling all the way by land, in

the once imposing caravans.

These historic institutions owed their importance no less to the

facilities they offered for trade, than to the opportunity they

afforded for accomplishing the pilgrimage which is enjoined on every

follower of Mohammed. Although caravans still cross the deserts of

North Africa in considerable force from west to east, as well as from

south to north, to carry on the trade of the countries to the south

of the Barbary States, the former are steadily dwindling down to mere

local affairs, and the number of travellers who select the modern

route by steamer is yearly increasing, as its advantages become better

known. For the accommodation of the large number of passengers special

vessels are chartered by speculators, and are fitted up for the

occasion. Only some £3 are charged for the whole journey from Tangier,

a thousand pilgrims being crowded on a medium-sized merchant vessel,

making the horrors of the voyage indescribable.

But the troubles of the pilgrims do not begin here. Before they could

even reach the sea some of them will have travelled on foot for a

month from remote parts of the interior, and at the coast they may

have to endure a wearisome time of waiting for a steamer. It is while

they are thus learning a lesson of patience at one of the Moorish

ports that I will invite you for a stroll round their encampment on

the market-place.

This consists of scores of low, makeshift tents, with here and there

a better-class round one dotted amongst them. The prevailing shape of

the majority is a modified edition of the dwelling of the nomad Arab,

to which class doubtless belongs a fair proportion of their occupants.

Across the top of two poles about five feet high, before and behind,

a ridge-piece is placed, and over this is stretched to the ground on

either side a long piece of palmetto or goat-hair cloth, or perhaps

one of the long woollen blankets worn by men and women alike, called

haïks, which will again be used for its original purpose on board the

vessel. The back is formed of another piece of some sort of cloth

stretched out at the bottom to form a semi-circle, and so give more

room inside. Those who have a bit of rug or a light mattress, spread

it on the floor, and pile their various other belongings around its

edge.

The straits to which many of these poor people are put to get a

covering of any kind to shelter them from sun, rain, and wind, are

often very severe, to judge from some of the specimens of tents--if

they deserve the name--constructed of all sorts of odds and ends,

almost anything, it would seem, that will cover a few square inches.

There is one such to be seen on this busy market which deserves

special attention as a remarkable example of this style of

architecture. Let us examine it. The materials of which it is composed

include hair-cloth, woollen-cloth, a cotton shirt, a woollen cloak,

and some sacking; goat skin, sheep's fleece, straw, and palmetto cord;

rush mats, a palmetto mat, split-cane baskets and wicker baskets; bits

of wood, a piece of cork, bark and sticks; petroleum tins flattened

out, sheet iron, zinc, and jam and other tins; an earthenware dish and

a stone bottle, with bits of crockery, stones, and a cow's horn to

weight some of the other items down. Now, if any one can make anything

of this, which is an exact inventory of such of the materials as are

visible on the outside, he must be a born architect. Yet here this

extraordinary construction stands, as it has stood for several months,

and its occupant looks the jolliest fellow out. Let us pay him a

visit.

Stooping down to look under the flap which serves as a door, and

raising it with my stick, I greet him with the customary salutation

of "Peace be with you." "With you be peace," is the cheery reply, to

which is added, "Welcome to thee; make thyself at home." Although

invited to enter, I feel quite enough at home on the outside of his

dwelling, so reply that I have no time to stay, as I only "looked in"

to have the pleasure of making his acquaintance and examining his

"palace." At the last word one or two bystanders who have gathered

round indulge in a little chuckle to themselves, overhearing which I

turn round and make the most flattering remarks I can think of as to

its beauty, elegance, comfort, and admirable system of ventilation,

which sets the whole company, tenant included, into a roar of

laughter. Mine host is busy cleaning fish, and now presses us to stay

and share his evening meal with him, but our appetites are not quite

equal to _that_ yet, though it is beyond doubt that the morsel he

would offer us would be as savoury and well cooked as could be

supplied by any restaurant in Piccadilly.

Inquiries elicit the fact that our friend is hoping to leave for Mekka

by the first steamer, and that meanwhile he supports himself as a

water-carrier, proudly showing us his goat-skin "bottle" lying on

the floor, with the leather flap he wears between it and his side to

protect him from the damp. Here, too, are his chain and bell, with the

bright brass and tin cups. In fact, he is quite a "swell" in his way,

and, in spite of his uncouth-looking surroundings, manages to enjoy

life by looking on the bright side of things.

"What will you do with your palace when you leave it?" we ask, seeing

that it could not be moved unless the whole were jumbled up in a sack,

when it would be impossible to reconstruct it.

"Oh, I'd let it to some one else."

"For how much?"

"Well, that I'd leave to God."

A glance round the interior of this strange abode shows that there are

still many materials employed in its construction which might have

been enumerated. One or two bundles, a box and a basket round the

sides, serve to support the roof, and from the ridge-pole hangs a

bundle which we are informed contains semolina. I once saw such a

bundle suspended from a beam in a village mosque in which I had passed

the night in the guise of a pious Muslim, and, observing its dusty

condition, inquired how it came there.

"A traveller left it there about a year and a half ago, and has not

yet come for it," was the reply; to judge from which it might remain

till Doomsday--a fact which spoke well for the honesty of the country

folk in that respect at least, although I learned that they were

notorious highwaymen.

Though the roof admits daylight every few inches, the occupier remarks

that it keeps the sun and rain off fairly well, and seems to think

none the worse of it for its transparent faults. A sick woman lying in

a native hut with a thatched roof hardly in better condition than this

one, remarked when a visitor observed a big hole just above her pallet

bed--

"Oh, it's so nice in the summer time; it lets the breeze in so

delightfully!"

It was then the depth of winter, and she had had to shift her position

once or twice to avoid the rain which came through that hole. What

a lesson in making the best of things did not that ignorant invalid

teach!

Having bid the amiable water-carrier "à Dieu,"--literally as well as

figuratively--we turn towards a group of tents further up, whence a

white-robed form has been beckoning us. After the usual salutations

have been exchanged, the eager inquiry is made, "Is there a steamer

yet?"

"No; I've nothing to do with steamers--but there's sure to be one

soon."

A man who evidently disbelieves me calls out, "I've got my money for

the passage, and I'll hire a place with you, only bring the ship

quickly."

Since their arrival in Tangier they have learnt to call a steamer,

which they have never seen before,--or even the sea,--a "bábor," a

corruption of the Spanish "vapor," for Arabic knows neither "v" nor

"p."

Another now comes forward to know if there is an eye-doctor in the

place, for there is a mist before his eyes, as he is well-advanced in

the decline of life. The sound of the word "doctor" brings up a few

more of the bystanders, who ask if I am one, and as I reply in the

negative, they ask who can cure their ears, legs, stomachs, and what

not. I explain where they may find an excellent doctor, who will be

glad to do all he can for them gratis--whereat they open their eyes

incredulously,--and that for God's sake, in the name of Seyïdná Aïsa

("Our Lord Jesus"), which they appreciate at once with murmurs of

satisfaction, though they are not quite satisfied until they have

ascertained by further questioning that he receives no support from

his own or any other government. Hearing the name of Seyïdná Aïsa,

one of the group breaks out into "El hamdu l'Illah, el hamdu l'Illah"

("Praise be to God"), a snatch of a missionary hymn to a "Moody and

Sankey" tune, barely recognizable as he renders it. He has only been

here a fortnight, and disclaims all further knowledge of the hymn or

where he heard it.

Before another tent hard by sits a native barber, bleeding a youth

from a vein in the arm, for which the fee is about five farthings.

As one or two come round to look on, he remarks, in an off-hand

way--probably with a view to increasing his practice--that "all the

pilgrims are having this done; it's good for the internals."

As we turn round to pass between two of the tents to the row beyond,

our progress is stayed by a cord from the ridge of one to that of

another, on which are strung strips of what appear at first sight to

be leather, but on a closer inspection are found to be pieces of

meat, tripe, and apparently chitterlings, hung out to dry in a sun

temperature of from 90° to 100° Fahrenheit. Thus is prepared a staple

article of diet for winter consumption when fresh meat is dear, or for

use on journeys, and this is all the meat these pilgrims will taste

till they reach Mekka, or perhaps till they return. Big jars of it,

with the interstices filled up with butter, are stowed away in the

tents "among the stuff." It is called "khalia," and is much esteemed

for its tasty and reputed aphrodisiac qualities--two ideals in Morocco

cookery,--so that it commands a relatively good price in the market.

The inmates of the next tent we look into are a woman and two men,

lying down curled up asleep in their blankets, while a couple more of

the latter squat at the door. Having noticed our curious glances at

their khalia, they, with the expressive motion of the closed fist

which in native gesture-parlance signifies first-rate, endeavour

to impress us with a sense of its excellence, which we do not feel

inclined to dispute after all we have eaten on former occasions. This

brings us to inquire what else these wanderers provide for the journey

of thirteen or fourteen days one way. As bread is not to be obtained

on board, at the door of the tent a tray-full of pieces are being

converted into sun-dried rusks. Others are provided with a kind of

very hard doughnut called "fikáks." These are flavoured with anise and

carraway seeds, and are very acceptable to a hungry traveller when

bread is scarce, though fearfully searching to hollow teeth.

Then there is a goodly supply of the national food, kesk'soo or

siksoo, better known by its Spanish name of couscoussoo. This forms

an appetizing and lordly dish, provocative of abundant eructations--a

sign of good breeding in these parts, wound up with a long-drawn

"Praise be to God"--at the close of a regular "tuck in" with Nature's

spoon, the fist. A similar preparation is hand-rolled vermicelli,

cooked in broth or milk, if obtainable. A bag of semolina and another

of zummeetah--parched flour--which only needs enough moisture to

form it into a paste to prepare it for consumption, are two other

well-patronized items.

A quaint story comes to mind _à propos_ of the latter, which formed

part of our stock of provisions during a journey through the province

of Dukkála when the incident in question occurred. A tin of insect

powder was also among our goods, and by an odd coincidence both were

relegated to the pail hanging from one of our packs. Under a spreading

fig-tree near the village of Smeerah, at lunch, some travelling

companions offered us a cup of tea, and among other dainties placed

at their disposal in return was the bag of zummeetah, of which one of

them made a good meal. Later on in the day, as we rested again, he

complained of fearful internal gripings, which were easily explained

by the discovery of the fact that the lid of the "flea's zummeetah,"

as one of our men styled it, had been left open, and a hole in the

sack of "man's zummeetah" had allowed the two to mix in the bottom of

the pail in nearly equal proportions. When this had been explained, no

one entered more heartily into the joke than its victim, which spoke

very well for his good temper, considering how seriously he had been

affected.

But this is rather a digression from our catalogue of the pilgrim's

stock of provisions. Rancid butter melted down in pots, honey, dates,

figs, raisins, and one or two similar items form the remainder. Water

is carried in goat-skins or in pots made of the dried rind of a gourd,

by far the most convenient for a journey, owing to their light weight

and the absence of the prevailing taste of pitch imparted by the

leather contrivances. Several of these latter are to be seen before

the tents hanging on tripods. One of the Moors informs us that for the

first day on board they have to provide their own water, after which

it is found for them, but everything else they take with them. An

ebony-hued son of Ham, seated by a neighbouring tent, replies to

our query as to what he is providing, "I take nothing," pointing

heavenward to indicate his reliance on Divine providence.

And so they travel. The group before us has come from the Sáhara, a

month's long journey overland, on foot! Yet their travels have only

commenced. Can they have realized what it all means?

[Illustration: _Cavilla, Photo., Tangier._

WAITING FOR THE STEAMER.]

XXIV

RETURNING HOME

"He lengthened absence, and returned unwelcomed."

_Moorish Proverb._

Evening is about to fall--for fall it does in these south latitudes,

with hardly any twilight--and the setting sun has lit the sky with

a refulgent glow that must be gazed at to be understood--the arc of

heaven overspread with glorious colour, in its turn reflected by the

heaving sea. One sound alone is heard as I wend my way along the sandy

shore; it is the heavy thud and aftersplash of each gigantic wave,

as it breaks on the beach, and hurls itself on its retreating

predecessor, each climbing one step higher than the last.

There, in the distance, stands a motley group--men, women,

children--straining wearied eyes to recognize the forms which crowd

a cargo lighter slowly nearing land. Away in the direction of their

looks I dimly see the outline of the pilgrim ship, a Cardiff coaler,

which has brought close on a thousand Hájes from Port Saïd or

Alexandria--men chiefly, but among them wives and children--who have

paid that toilsome pilgrimage to Mekka.

The last rays of the sun alone remain as the boat strikes the shore,

and as the darkness falls apace a score of dusky forms make a wild

rush into the surging waters, while an equal number rise up eager in

the boat to greet their friends. So soon as they are near enough to be

distinguished one from another, each watcher on the beach shouts the

name of the friend he is awaiting, proud to affix, for the first time,

the title Háj--Pilgrim--to his name. As only some twenty or

thirty have yet landed from among so many hundreds, the number of

disappointed ones who have to turn back and bide their time is

proportionately large.

"Háj Mohammed! Háj Abd es-Slám! Háj el Arbi! Háj boo Sháïb! Ah, Háj

Drees!" and many such ejaculations burst from their lips, together

with inquiries as to whether So-and-so may be on board. One by one the

weary travellers once more step upon the land which is their home, and

with assistance from their friends unload their luggage.

Now a touching scene ensues. Strong men fall on one another's necks

like girls, kissing and embracing with true joy, each uttering

a perfect volley of inquiries, compliments, congratulations, or

condolence. Then, with child-like simplicity, the stayer-at-home leads

his welcome relative or friend by the hand to the spot where his

luggage has been deposited, and seating themselves thereon they soon

get deep into a conversation which renders them oblivious to all

around, as the one relates the wonders of his journeyings, the other

the news of home.

Poor creatures! Some months ago they started, full of hope, on an

especially trying voyage of several weeks, cramped more closely than

emigrants, exposed both to sun and rain, with hardly a change of

clothing, and only the food they had brought with them. Arrived

at their destination, a weary march across country began, and was

repeated after they had visited the various points, and performed the

various rites prescribed by the Korán or custom, finally returning as

they went, but not all, as the sorrow-stricken faces of some among the

waiters on the beach had told, and the muttered exclamation, "It is

written--_Mektoob_."

Meanwhile the night has come. The Creator's loving Hand has caused

a myriad stars to shine forth from the darkness, in some measure to

replace the light of day, while as each new boat-load is set down the

same scenes are enacted, and the crowd grows greater and greater, the

din of voices keeping pace therewith.

Donkey-men having appeared on the scene with their patient beasts,

they clamour for employment, and those who can afford it avail

themselves of their services to get their goods transported to the

city. What goods they are, too! All sorts of products of the East done

up in boxes of the most varied forms and colours, bundles, rolls, and

bales. The owners are apparently mere bundles of rags themselves, but

they seem no less happy for that.

Seated on an eminence at one side are several customs officers who

have been delegated to inspect these goods; their flowing garments and

generally superior attire afford a striking contrast to the state of

the returning pilgrims, or even to that of the friends come to meet

them. These officials have their guards marching up and down between

and round about the groups, to see that nothing is carried off without

inspection.

Little by little the crowd disperses; those whose friends have landed

escort them to their homes, leaving those who will have to continue

their journey overland alone, making hasty preparations for their

evening meal. The better class speedily have tents erected, but the

majority will have to spend the night in the open air, probably in the

rain, for it is beginning to spatter already. Fires are lit in all

directions, throwing a lurid light upon the interesting picture, and

I turn my horse's head towards home with a feeling of sadness, but

at the same time one of thankfulness that my lot was not cast where

theirs is.