WAR WITH SPAIN
“It was written that there should be war between Silvestre and myself,”
said Raisuli. “We had tried to escape the fate that was intended for us,
but at last (in January, 1913) he came to see me at Azeila. I was
annoyed, for I did not wish to receive him and he had given me no
warning. He waited below in the hall of my house, and he would not sit
down, but paced up and down, up and down, like a beast which is caged. I
sent my wakil to him that he might not be alone and worried by his own
thoughts, but he pushed the man aside and tried to mount the stair-case.
My slaves stopped him and I heard loud voices arguing. Then I said to
myself, ‘It is the will of Allah. Let him come up.’ I greeted him
restrainedly and wished him peace, but he did not even answer my
salutations. ‘I want to see the prison,’ he said. ‘Let us go at once. I
have no time to waste.’ I took no notice of his words, for certainly one
does not talk business in this fashion at the beginning of an interview.
I led him into the gallery, where there were mattresses and carpets, but
he would not rest. ‘I have heard so much of your cruelty,’ he said, ‘so
many complaints have come to me—I must see with my own eyes.’ ‘Justice
is not cruelty,’ I answered, ‘and the eyes of a European are not a good
judge of our ways.’ ‘Let us go at once,’ he interrupted sharply. I was
surprised at his manner, for, though impatient, he was generally
courteous.
“I sent for tea, hoping to calm him and make him see reason. It was long
in coming and we sat in silence, but all the time the Spaniard fidgeted
and at last, when the trays came, I thought he would throw the glasses
across the room. My secretary was making the tea, and the slave had
forgotten the mint, so there was another wait.—Yes, Sayeda, you have
guessed right. It is possible that this was done on purpose, for I did
not want him to see the prisons and I wished to wear out his patience so
that, in the end, he would leave me in anger.—After the first cup had
been drunk he said, ‘I will taste no more until I have seen your
prisoners,’ and the slaves looked at him, surprised at these new ways.
He had been two hours, perhaps three, in the palace, and I could
restrain him no longer. I said, ‘Today is not a suitable day, for
tomorrow they will be fed and ready for your visit,’ but he went out of
the room without answering, and stood outside the door, saying, ‘I am
waiting. Are you ready?’
“A host is always under the orders of his guest, and it is not
hospitality to sit while he stands, so I got up and went with him. In
silence we went out of the house and walked towards the prison, he
hastening in front, I slowly following, returning the salutations of
those who came forward to kiss my sleeves.
“At the door there was no gaoler, and while the man was being found, I
said, ‘You know best if what you have done is good or bad, but it is not
thus in my country that matters are dealt with among the great,’ and he
answered nothing. The gaolers came with the keys, and we went in. It had
been cold outside, but here the air was fœtid and the heavy smell was
like a blow to Silvestre, who grew pale on the threshold.
“‘Come in,’ I said. ‘It is your wish,’ but he stood there, staring as if
his eyes were on sticks which pushed them out of his head. ‘Dios! are
all the men in the country criminals?’ he asked. It was a small place,
not much bigger than this tent, so it looked crowded, for there were
nearly 100 prisoners there. To make room, half of them had been fastened
to the same chain, and one or two were perhaps dead, for the gaolers are
always careless, and perchance there was no smith to break open the
irons. It was very dark, and nothing could be seen clearly. The eyes of
the men were like green lamps. Do you know when you look into a hole
and, unexpectedly, you see twin points of light, and it is a face
watching you? So the prisoners watched without moving. Some of them were
almost naked and shivering. Others were so thin that their bones tore
the rags which were on them. Truly the will of Allah is strange. The
pleasure of crime is momentary and its punishment eternal.
“Silvestre would have spoken to them, but the smell caught him in the
throat and drove him out. He held something across his face. ‘This is
horrible; inhuman! I will not stand it in a country which is under our
protection! How dare you do it? Are you not afraid of the consequences?’
‘It is a weak man who fears what will arise out of his actions. I fear
nothing but Allah.’ ‘Do you feed them?’ he asked. ‘They do not expect
food in prison. It is not right that evil should fatten at the expense
of the virtuous; but their friends bring them food, and few die of
starvation.’ ‘But what have they done?’ he insisted. ‘They have broken
the law, and my justice is exact.’ ‘Is there a register of their
crimes?’ ‘Perhaps the Qadi has one. Have you seen enough?’ But here all
the prisoners began to protest, moaning and crying out that they were
innocent. ‘Do not listen to them,’ I said, ‘for they have become like
dogs. A good Moslem never complains against the will of Allah.’ ‘It is
_your_ will only—’ interrupted Silvestre, but I put up my hand to stop
him. ‘I have no will but Allah’s,’ I said.
“Silvestre would not return to my house. He went straight to his office
and sent messengers to bring him the register of the prison, but none
could be found. The Qadi was busy and said, ‘Come tomorrow. Imsha-Allah
I may have it then.’ Other officials were in the mosque, for it was now
sunset and the day’s work was finished. ‘Later on,’ they said, ‘we will
do as you wish, but this is not the time.’ Certain ‘mesqueen’[48] of the
town, having heard of the affair and ready to fill their sails with his
new wind, went to Silvestre and complained that their relations had been
put in prison without cause, or because they refused me the money
necessary for my houses at Tazrut and Zinat. Certainly I had to rebuild
the last one, for it had been destroyed by the guns of Mulai Abdul Aziz,
but I took only the presents which were my due and the labour which is
always at the service of a Governor. It is the custom.
“Silvestre came again to my house and, standing at the door like a
beggar, insisted that I should see him. Was it right that the
representative of a great country should behave in this way? My servants
told him that I was praying, but he said, ‘It is an excuse not to
receive me,’ and he pushed past them and opened the door. My steward
came to him in the hall and said, ‘The Sherif is in the Mosque. Listen;
you can hear the prayers, but Silvestre was unbelieving, and he came and
stood at the door of the room where I prayed. I took no notice of him
and went on with the prescribed Raqua-at.
“At the end, and when I had finished my meditation, I turned and saw him
still waiting. I gave him no greeting, but said, ‘Come,’ and led him
upstairs, making him enter the room before me and sit in the place of
honour. He was not long in speaking. ‘I have come to end this matter,
for there has been too much delay. No register has been shown me, and
certainly your prisoners have committed no greater crime than failure to
satisfy your greed. You have extorted all they have, and, because they
could not pay more, you have condemned them to a living death. Spain
will not permit this to be done under the shadow of her flag. These men
must be released today.’ Then I spoke to him. ‘Spain has other and
greater purposes than to interfere with our justice. The Sherif law
permits my actions, no, insists on them. You should uphold my authority,
not weaken it, as has been your purpose for a long time. Spain swore to
support our religion and our law. You misunderstand your mission. You
have no more right to meddle with our traditions and our customs than I
have to tell you the food you eat is unclean. To each country its laws!’
But he would not listen. He ordered my slaves to bring some of the
prisoners before him. The man looked at me questioningly. ‘My house is
at the service of Spain,’ I said. ‘Do as he wishes.’
“There was silence between us, but, while I contemplated the breadth of
wisdom that is in Islam, Silvestre fidgeted and moved first one foot,
then another, hitting his boot with a stick. At last they brought three
men into the room, and something had been done to cover their nakedness
and their sores, but they were dreadful to look at. Silvestre said to
them, ‘What crime have you committed? Why are you in prison?’ and one
answered, ‘By Allah, I am innocent of all intention to offend,’ and
another, ‘I could not pay the money demanded by the soldiers of the
Sherif, for the harvest was bad and I had no grain to sell.’ Then
Silvestre turned to me and asked loudly, ‘Do you hear that? What have
you to say?’ I answered, ‘My justice is true and there is no further
appeal.’ He insisted, ‘But don’t you understand of what they accuse
you?’ I pitied him at that moment, for it was he who did not understand.
‘It is not I who am accused,’ I said, ‘and words are the least valuable
of a man’s merchandise. It is well not to trust them too implicitly.’
“Silvestre got up in anger and ordered all the prisoners to be released,
but, before he could leave, I took him to a window and showed him a man
sitting in the court. ‘Do you see that Faqih?’ I asked. ‘He has been
sitting there for three days, and he has not eaten nor moved, except his
lips for prayer. Do you understand that man’s mind? for he is content,’
and he answered, ‘No.’ Then I showed him a row of Sheikhs gathered in
the shade of the wall. ‘These men have waited six days to see me, and
they have not complained. They are content following the shade from wall
to wall, and life is good for them. Do you understand their patience?’
Once again he said, ‘No.’ Lastly, I pointed across the roofs to a barred
window very high up, and I said, ‘Behind that grille are women who have
never seen the day. They live in one room, where they sleep and eat and
bear children. They never leave the house until they go out to be
buried; yet they are content. Do you understand their lives?’ ‘No’ he
answered. ‘Then do not be so sure that you can judge our laws and our
customs, for ignorance is a steep hill, with perilous rocks at the
bottom,’ I said. And he went.”
There was a pause, and the Sherif looked at me gravely. “You, too, are
wondering,” he said, “but purposely, I have made this affair neither
black nor white, for you know something of the ways of the East. When I
told you of my imprisonment at Mogador, you said, ‘How could you bear
it? I should have died in three days,’ but it was not true. Death is in
the hands of Allah, and it comes only by his will. What it is written
that a man shall endure, that is his portion and he cannot get away from
it. You trouble yourselves with much rebellion, and you eat up your
years the quicker, but we do not fight against that which is sent us,
and that is why we can endure.”
It is impossible to express the heavy fatality of his voice, unhurried
and devoid of emotion. I wanted to argue, but it would have been to
fling oneself against something as hard as granite and as immovable. The
words died breathless in my throat and I felt as if they had been
crushed by a great weight. “Patience is the only thing left us,” said
the Sherif. “Once our race was great, and you learned your science and
philosophy at our feet. Our armies conquered the West and Islam was
invincible, but we were not a productive people, for the mind of an Arab
is always more agile than his fingers. You took our knowledge and
manipulated it to your purpose. Our strength was expanded, and the East
fell before your vigour. Now it is your turn to teach, and we are slow
to learn, for there is with us yet the memory of greater things than you
ever knew, but it is dim. Perhaps we must lose it altogether, before we
can meet you in the open and wrest back our sovereignty. Do you see that
man at the well, and how he draws the water? When one bucket empties,
the other fills. It is so with the world. At present you are full of
power, but you are spilling it slowly and wastefully, and Islam is
lapping up the drops as they fall from your bucket. Some day, when we
have profited by your schools and your factories, we shall retake what
is ours, but it will not be in our lifetime nor yet in that of our
children’s children. So Allah has given us patience.” There was another
pause.
“Before Silvestre returned to Larache, he ordered his men to see that
the prisoners were released—so there was war between us. My people came
to me and said, ‘Why do you permit this thing? There are enough rifles
to turn the Spaniards out of the country.’ But I answered, ‘The time is
not yet come.’ Nevertheless I began sending rifles and ammunition to the
mountains where they would be safe. Every tribesman who came into the
market with his sheep went out with the panniers of his mules stuffed
with cartridges. Many carpets were bought in the town those days, and
each roll hid a bundle of rifles. There were many ways of doing these
things. Women going out to work in the fields carried ammunition packed
in their skirts, for no man may look under their haiks, and truly, in
those days, the stature of women swelled till all went to their work
with hips so heavy that they could scarcely walk. In time this was
reported to Silvestre, for, wherever there are strangers in a country,
there also are traitors. Scum rises to the surface when the water is
stirred. Hamdulillah, most of my stores were already in the hills, for
the tribesmen brought in great bundles of thatch for the roof, and other
villagers chose to buy it in the town, instead of procuring their own
from the countryside, and this straw covered the journey of many guns.
When the Spaniards put a guard on the maghsen,[49] more than the half
was gone, but still they took possession of many thousand cartridges and
quantities of rifles of all kinds.”
Spanish writers state that on this occasion they took 501 rifles,
Martini and Gras, and 133,000 cartridges. They place the number of
prisoners released as 98 or 91, and insist that nearly half of this
number were Sheikhs who had refused to pay the tribute demanded by
Raisuli. The Sherif’s story continued: “I have told you before that, as
Governor, I was an official of the Sultan, so this action of Spain was
an insult to his authority. Among the prisoners who were released were
many thieves who had stolen even the jewellery of women and cut off
their breasts when they struggled. There were also murderers, two of
whom were notorious throughout the country. It had taken my soldiers six
months to catch them, for they lived among the trees of the mountains
like apes, and existed on the fruit and the herbs. The tortures they had
inflicted on people are beyond my telling, and they took boys from their
homes and tortured them as is forbidden by Islam.
“These men were let loose, and two lions could not have done a tithe of
the harm which was laid at their door. In place of these scoundrels, the
Spaniards imprisoned my friends and the teacher of my son, because he
was loyal to me and would not tell where certain of my papers were kept.
They took also the gaoler of the prison, el Hiffa, whom they made
responsible for the condition of the prisoners, saying that food sent by
their friends never reached them, but was given by this man to his
family. Some of the prisoners died, and there was more trouble; but I
had left at once for Tangier to report the matter to the Legation.
“The Minister received me well, and wrote hastily to Silvestre, saying
that he had been too overbearing in his actions, considering the
necessity of maintaining good relations with the Sultan’s Government.
Ullah, there were many words wasted in letters, but the harm was done. I
had the intention of never returning to Azeila, but Silvestre, guessing
this, put sentries at the doors of my house and allowed no one to go in
or out. My son was there, whom you know, and all my women, and there was
one whom I wished to have with me. I should not even have been told of
Silvestre’s action, but for the wit of a slave, who was carried out of
my house in a bundle of rugs which the servants said they must beat in
the street, for there was much dust in them. The soldiers would not let
them go out without permission of his officer, so the bundle was put
down beside the door, and no one noticed it while the argument
proceeded.
“How many hours the slave lay there, half stifled among the wool, Ullah,
I know not, but at last, when the attention of the guard was distracted,
he slipped out and hid in the house of a friend, for he was well known
as one of my favourites. The friend dressed him in women’s garments and
put on him a haik and the handkerchief that is tied across the face,
and, above that, the big hat which the peasants wear in the field. Then
he put a rope of onions round his neck, as if he had just come from the
market, and, in this way, my servant escaped from Azeila and came to me.
I asked him, ‘What news?’ and he answered, ‘The news is bad. Allah
forgive me for bringing it.’ I said, ‘The darkest day is better than the
night. You are free, whatever your news,’ and he told me that my mother
was ill and wished to see me before she went.
[Illustration: Raisuli’s house at Tazrut during Spanish occupation]
[Illustration: Raisuli’s qubba at Tazrut during Spanish occupation]
“I did not desire war, but, if attacked, only a coward does not defend
himself, so I took counsel with el Arbi, and sent him to Wadi Ras to
warn the tribes to prepare. I wrote also to Zellal and asked him to
prepare the flags of Beni Mesauer, so many men to each flag, and each
from a different section of the tribe. I had a few hundred men waiting
for my orders in the mountains, for I was unprepared for the struggle.
These I sent out among the tribes, distributing rifles from my store and
ordering them to be ready. There was a great meeting of the mountaineers
at Jebel Habib, the home of the Bakalis, and the Sheikhs of Wadi Ras,
Beni Mesauer, Beni Ider, Sumata and others consulted together as to how
the flags (companies) should be arranged. Mohamed es Siba was appointed
chief of the loyal men of Beni Aros, with the Sumata, Beni Gorfet, and
Ahl Serif.
“It was circulated among the Jebala that the women of my household had
been killed at Azeila and that all my property had been looted. I did
not deny the rumour, for it was as wine in the throat of an unbeliever,
and great oaths were sworn in the mosques. It would have been a bad day
for the Christians if I had loosed the leash. In peace, an Arab will say
of the Europeans, ‘The word of the English is good,’ of the Frenchman
that ‘he is brave,’ of the Spaniard that ‘he has a good heart,’ but, in
war, he recognises no nationality. They are all Christians, and he is a
Moslem. So it was now, and to add fuel to the fires which blazed from
mountain to mountain, came the news that the Sherif was a prisoner at
Tangier. It was already known that the arms and ammunition of the
Maghsen had been confiscated at Azeila, and each man who had hoped to
find his fingers on a new trigger vowed vengeance for the theft.
“There was a secret meeting in Beni Aros—down among those hills which
you can see. Do you remember a wadi where the flowers (pink oleanders)
grow over your head and the partridges call from thickets that even the
hunter may not penetrate? It was there that each man came with his gun.
Many of them were of the race of Jebel Alan, whose sons I shall always
have at my back. Each mountaineer brought his food, and those who had
horses left them where they would be ready for the march. ‘Praise to the
Prophet—the messenger of God’ was whispered from mouth to mouth, while
under the starlight the Kaid spoke to them in many words and told them,
‘It is your duty to protect the descendants of the Prophet, and the
country that is yours. Life under the heel of the Nasrani[50] is hard,
but death is an easy gate to paradise.’ So eloquent was his speech that
they would have started at once for Azeila to exact vengeance for the
blood of women.
“We do not treat our women as you do, but, if a tribesman lays his hand
on the family of another, a gun will be hid for him behind every rock
till the last of his men-folk is dead. I remember in Beni Aros, a woman
ran away with a man of Beni Gorfet, and, her husband being killed in the
raid that followed, there was only left her brother, whose face was as
smooth as yours, and he had no gun, for it was a poor family. So he sold
himself for so many years’ labour as the price of a rifle, and he went
out stealthily and lay hidden behind stones and trees, waiting for the
men of Gorfet. He had great patience, and, one by one, he killed them
and, before he himself was slain, he had shot seven and also cut the
throat of his sister. . . .
“Surely Azeila would have had short mercy before the weapons of Beni
Aros, but this was not my purpose, for I still hoped for peace by means
of the Ministry at Tangier. I sent other messengers to the hills to hold
the people in check, telling them that, when the time was ready, I
myself would lead them to victory. There was indecision among the
Spaniards, for some wanted to make peace with me, believing that this
was to the benefit of both our countries, while Silvestre longed to
occupy Zinat. My house there was rebuilt with strong walls and gates,
and the people believed that any who attacked me would go blind, for
they said, ‘Disaster has overtaken all his enemies, but he remains
strong.’ The Government was afraid of the newspapers, which for long
were my best friends. Ullah, you are surprised, but it is true. All
through the war it was like this. My strongest allies were in Madrid,
and they were worth more to me than all my guns and cartridges. There
would be a battle, and perhaps many of my men would be killed, and only
a few of yours, but, immediately, the Spanish newspapers would begin
their cry: ‘Mothers, why do you send yours sons to die in a country that
is not theirs? Sisters, why sacrifice your brothers in a cause which is
sterile and unprofitable?’ I cannot remember all the words, but they
were read to me at the time. Truly, my heaviest cannon came into action
after the battle was over, and the echo of their firing could be heard
in the conferences at Tangier.
“It was difficult for the Government, for, on one side, the Spanish
people feared they were fighting to no purpose, since the country is not
rich and it is only for her honour and the protection of her coast that
Spain would remain here. On the other, the soldiers, led by Silvestre,
urged that the land must be taken by force, and in order to do this
Raisuli must be imprisoned in Tangier. Perhaps even my life was
uncertain, but Allah guarded it from all snares.
“When there is no leader, destruction forgets its purpose. So it was in
Morocco. Men were killed in the suqs and on the highroads, whether they
had arms or were without protection. The tribesmen attacked Tetuan by
night and many were killed within the walls. A Jew had his throat cut,
almost within sight of the Tabor at Ain Yerida, and the police would not
interfere, for they did not know which side was strongest. The tribes
themselves were waiting, but whenever there is war, there are evil men,
thieves, murderers and brigands, who hang about on the edge of the
armies and commit many crimes which are attributed wrongly to those who
are fighting.
“Silvestre doubled the guard at Azeila, but there was always someone who
brought me news. At first it was done by pigeons, for two or three
carriers were smuggled in among a basket of fowls, but this was found
out, and then it was more difficult; but walls have ears in Africa, and,
from the roofs, every eye watched for the Sherif.
“Some of the discontented Arabs went to Silvestre with their arms, and
offered to fight against me, but these were men of the plains who were
afraid of attacks from the mountaineers. The plainsman suffers in war,
for his country is the open road over which all armies pass. The
Legation in Tangier was still trying to make peace with me, but I
refused to return to Azeila and demanded that my family should be sent
to me in Tangier.”
The _modus vivendi_ proposed by Spain was that Raisuli should send his
brother, Mohamed, immediately to Azeila with full powers to act as his
Khalifa; that he should follow himself within three weeks, and remain
there until the appointment of Mulai ed Mehdi as Kaliph had been made
public, after which he could remain as Pasha of Azeila if he wished;
that his brother should take with him letters to the tribes confirming
him as Raisuli’s agent, letters to be opened and to be read by the
Spanish officer at Azeila before being sent on to their destination;
that the native troops should be under the orders of the Spanish
officers only, who would be responsible for keeping order throughout the
country, while the Sherif would have the civil administration in his
hands. In order to prevent a repetition of the horrors reported and
witnessed by Silvestre, a Spanish official was to have the right to
intervene if necessary. All orders were to be signed by Raisuli and, if
Spanish intervention occurred, it was to be arranged in such a manner
that the Sherif’s prestige should not suffer. Criers were to proclaim
throughout the towns and villages that an agreement had been signed
between the Spanish Government and Raisuli. As soon as Sidi Mohamed
arrived at Azeila, the Sherif’s friends who were in prison were to be
released, but nothing was arranged about his wives and family. Spain for
once held the strongest cards, and wisely refused to give them up.
Raisuli played for time. He had not, I believe, the slightest intention
of returning permanently to Azeila, but he wanted to secure the liberty
of his household, and he knew that, if he delayed long enough, the
friction between civil and military interests would serve his purpose.
“I knew my family were safe with the Spaniards,” he said, “but an Arab
without his son is as one who has lost a limb.[51] Also I did not trust
Dris ed Riffi, who was acting as my steward. At one time he was a very
loyal servant, knowing not the value of money and having no interests
but mine. Then he came under the influence of foreigners, and would have
asked a reward for his services, so I said to him, ‘The labour that is
paid is without confidence. Are you a slave that I should give you a
gift when you please me?’ He was angry and muttered, ‘Anyone can accept
service. It is only the great who serve.’
“Still I thought him faithful, till, one day, I sent him with my mehalla
to exact tribute from a certain village. He returned, saying, ‘There has
been a plague among their cattle and most of them are dead. Therefore
the money is short, for there is nothing wherewith they can pay it.’ I
knew then that he had been bribed by the Sheikh of the village, but I
said, ‘It is the will of Allah.’ Later, I sent messengers to the tribe
to find out exactly how much he had received, and this was not
difficult. I thought to myself, ‘He has been my friend. Perhaps shame
will drive the greed from his heart.’ So I sent for him and said, ‘It is
nearing the feast, and I have a present for you.’ He looked surprised,
but answered, ‘God make you strong.’ Then I made him sit down beside me,
and I sent a slave for some money. He brought a bag and counted it out
as I told him, and, when he reached the exact amount paid by the Sheikh,
douro for douro, he stopped and went away. ‘That is my gift,’ I said.
‘Take it, and the blessing be with you.’ But he was afraid, and asked,
‘Why have you done this, Sidi?’ ‘Ullah,’ I said to him, ‘it is a pity
that a man’s honour can be bought for so little, but I also have paid
the price.’ Then he got up and would have left the money between us, but
I said to him, ‘There is no need to fear. Take the money, for you must
surely have great need of it,’ and he went away.”