A day or two after settling into the fonda we were asked to our first

entertainment in a Moorish house. Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli wanted Mr. Bewicke

and ourselves to "tea" with him.

As in the case of "the Duke's" house, so here, all the womenkind were

hidden away on account of the Consul. Mohammedans are jealous and

suspicious of their wives and daughters to a degree, and strongly resent,

if not prevent, an Englishman's going up on to the flat roof, lest he

have a view of fair occupants beyond or below. Nevertheless, the wives

always contrive to peep out of some loophole and see all there is to be

seen.

Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli received us all three alone, as a matter of course,

and led us upstairs to his best room. Like many others among the better

class of Moors, our host had a shop and himself sold groceries. At the

same time his sister is the wife of one of the Ministers; and as there is

no respect of persons in Morocco, Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli might be called

upon himself any day to fill a high official position, and be obliged to

go, raising money, if he had not wherewithal to support the post, which,

if a lucrative one, would soon repay the outlay.

Trade at Tetuan, and apparently everywhere else over Morocco, is not what

it once was: the old flintlocks, inlaid with silver wire and lumps of

pink coral, are unknown since the last gun-maker died; snuff-nuts, even

slippers, do but a small business. Living is more expensive than it was:

it cost Hadj Mukhtar three shillings a day to feed himself and the whole

household, he said.

The room into which we went--our host leaving his yellow slippers in the

doorway, and motioning us all to sit down on the divans round the

walls--was hung with a silk dado, tiled in mosaic, and overlooked a

good-sized patio with a running fountain.

Our dirty boots compared unfavourably with the Hadj's clean, bare feet,

which, as he sat down cross-legged on the white and embroidered cushions,

were hidden underneath his voluminous garments; whereas ours, not to the

manner born, contracted cramp, unless stuck out in an ungainly way.

A gorgeously upholstered bed filled up one corner of the room; a gun hung

on the wall. There was nothing else.

Three little sons of the house and Mr. Bewicke's soldier-servant having

followed us in and seated themselves, preparations for tea--already

waiting, arranged in front of the divans on four brass trays, standing on

four low tables a few inches high--began.

Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli, sitting on his heels in front of his tea-table,

making tea with his thin brown hands, and presiding over it all with true

Oriental dignity, was a veritable Moses or Aaron reincarnated. Women and

men alike mature rapidly in this country, putting on flesh and becoming

matronly and aldermanic without at the same time growing lined or aged: a

wealthy man of twenty-five is portly and slow of movement--the result of

Eastern habits coupled with the climate.

Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli, barely forty years old by his own account, had a

white beard and moustache, no wrinkles, eyes of mild blue and benign

expression, equally guileless and unfathomable.

Talking in Arabic to Mr. Bewicke, he drew the tray close to the low divan

in front of him, saw that his sons provided cushions for our backs, and

proceeded to wash the green tea in a bright nickel pear-shaped teapot,

with water from the great brass urn which stood over a charcoal-burner:

the washed tea was then transferred into a twin teapot, which the Hadj

generously filled with immense lumps of sugar out of a glass dish

standing on a tray by itself, stacked high with great blocks split off

the cone with a hatchet. Heavy with lump sugar, a handful of mint and bay

leaves was also crammed into the little remaining space in the teapot,

the boiling water out of the urn was turned on over all, filling up every

chink, the lid shut down upon the steaming fragrant brew, and the teapot

set back upon the brass tray, the centre of a ring of tiny gilt and

painted glasses.

The eldest son--a boy of fourteen, dressed in red, and wearing a leather

belt embroidered with blue, and a fez-bag fastened thereto to match,

whose head had evidently had its weekly shave that afternoon--lit a lamp

underneath a little incense-burner, filling it with sticks of

sweet-scented wood, till an odoriferous blue smoke rose from it. With

much care he carried the burner to us, and put it inside our coats,

thoroughly impregnating every thickness with warmth and odours of

cedar-wood. It was taken last of all to Mr. Bewicke's soldier, who

manipulated it correctly as a Moor, putting it inside his flowing

apparel, and sitting down with every fold closed in round him like a

miniature tent, the burner smoking away inside. A scent-spray was then

handed, with which we anointed ourselves in Moorish fashion, inside our

hats, up our sleeves, and round our necks.

Meanwhile, Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli poured out tea with a great elevation of

the teapot, raising his arm and showing greens and blues mixed to

perfection underneath his _k`sa_--a white woollen or silk robe worn only

by gentlemen--which, semi-transparent and gauze-like, fell in white waves

over his shoulders on to the divan. Under the k`sa was a long garment

with wide sleeves and buttoned all down the front--a _kaftan_--of

sea-green cloth, embroidered with gold. The kaftan just revealed a

waistcoat of a shade of blue, with gold and green buttons and embroidery.

Underneath this, and above his white cotton shirt and drawers, he

probably wore a woollen jacket. But greens and blues and gold were alone

visible. Sometimes several kaftans or several jellabs are worn one on top

of the other, all colours mixed, particularly if the owner is travelling.

Moors are a wool-clad people for the most part, due to the wet winter

climate: the men's brown woollen hooded jellabs keep out the rain more or

less, and the women's white woollen haiks answer the same purpose.

The Hadj turned up his sleeves as he made tea, the underside of them

being embroidered for this purpose. It was ready by this time, and

brought us on a brass tray by the eldest son. Though the little glasses

are not capable of holding much, the violent sweetness and the flavour of

mint prevent the uninitiated from doing justice to the regulation three

cups which courtesy demands should be drunk. But it grows, even upon the

European, that steaming golden-brown beverage, fresh and fragrant with

sweet thymes, while something in the climate of Morocco tends to make

sugar acceptable after a few weeks. We supplied ourselves with sponge

cake, pounds of which were piled on a brass tray in front of us: sweet

biscuits, toasted nuts, almonds, and raisins abounded on the same lavish

scale; while a wicker basket, like a large waste-paper basket, was full

of thirty or forty round cakes of bread, several sizes larger than a Bath

bun, made of the finest semolina flour, flavoured with aniseed and baked

a warm biscuit colour.

The Hadj pressed third cups upon us, but with the innate breeding of

every Moor understood the limited capacity born of early days in Morocco.

A Moor is nothing if not courteous, and, whatever his real feelings,

conceals them under polite speeches. He will, as somebody has said, "cut

your throat _most politely, most politely_," or with profound urbanity

offer you a cup of poison.

Our host had sipped a first cup before allowing the tea to be handed

round--a custom observed to assure the guest that the teapot was free

from poison, and that no deadly drink was offered us, containing seeds

which should propagate a horrible disease in the intestines, destroying

life sooner or later. Poisoning is only too common among the Moors

themselves, cases occurring almost every day in the country.

Once, when Sir John Hay was having an angry discussion with a

governor--Mokhta--coffee was brought in. Mokhta, as usual, took the cup

intended for the Englishman, and put it to his lips, making a noise as

though sipping it, but which sounded suspiciously like blowing into it,

and then offering it to Sir John. Not fancying the bubbled coffee, he

declined, saying to Mokhta, "I could not drink before you. Pray keep that

cup yourself," and helping himself at the same time to the second cup,

which he drank. Mokhta put down the cup which he had offered Sir John,

and did not drink it.

Some one in Tetuan dies every year of poisoning. Wives frequently kill

their husbands. No two brothers, both in ministerial offices at Court,

would dream of sitting down and eating together without precautions

beforehand, on account of _the marked pieces_ in the dish. One brother,

as he dines, may invite the other, who happens to enter, to join him in

the meal; but he will reply, "I have already dined." _He dare not._

Meanwhile, Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli talked away in Arabic to Mr. Bewicke, who

translated for us. He said that Menebbi, the Minister of War who went

over to England with the last embassy, and who is practically Prime

Minister, lost a considerable amount of influence during the short two

months he was away, but that he was rapidly gaining ground, and might be

said to be completely restored to favour again. Menebbi is the only one

of the Sultan's Ministers who is likely to help him to reform the

Government of Morocco. A clever, crafty brain, the whole Court under his

thumb, it yet needed but an absence of eight weeks to generate in that

hotbed of Eastern intrigue such a tissue of false evidence and lies as

nearly cost Menebbi his position, if not his life. His enemies possessed

the Sultan's ear; every Menebbi had been removed from the army; he had

probably not a single friend left in Morocco. With the fickleness of

their race, his name was cursed at every street corner; and when spoken

of, the people said, "There _is_ no Menebbi." Hurrying back from England,

the tidings of his fall reached Menebbi when he landed at Mazagan: he was

to be arrested. But the man they had to deal with was one of those few

who make a full use of every opportunity life ever offers. From Mazagan

to Morocco City, where the Court was, a distance of a hundred and forty

miles, he had a relay of mules and horses posted, and he rode without

stopping. There were dead and sorry beasts left on the road that day.

Menebbi rode up to the cannon's mouth, so to speak: he need never have

gone to Morocco City, but that would have meant his sinking into private

life and his banishment from Court; he preferred to "play to the

uttermost," and he staked life and fortune on the card he held. Things in

Morocco City hung on an eyelash: the great man galloped in from Mazagan,

went straight to the palace, never paused a moment, straight to the

Sultan's private door, straight into the presence itself. And who shall

say what Menebbi said to the Sultan through that night which he passed

with him--what false accusations he refuted, what diplomacy he used? Next

day Menebbi was not at prayers; he was "sick": in other words, he had

tidings of a plot to kill him on his way to the mosque. However, in time

he righted himself: now his enemies are under his heel, and Menebbi

breathes again.

The Hadj spoke of the great wish the Sultan has to visit England--an

impossibility, for in the eyes of his fanatical subjects he would be

countenancing the unbelievers, and his throne would be handed over to a

successor: the throne to which he succeeded, for the first time in the

history of Morocco, without having to fight his way to it--a fact owed to

the Wazeer's sagacity. Keeping the death of the old Sultan secret for a

few days, the Wazeer meantime bribed and forced the Ministers to accept

the young heir as Sultan, hurried to Fez, summoned every citizen to the

mosque, had the doors locked, proclaimed the news of the Sultan's death,

and surprised or forced the whole mosqueful into swearing allegiance to

the present ruler.

So far the Sultan knows only two or three places in his whole kingdom,

and has practically spent his life at one--Morocco City, or _Marrakesh_,

as the Moors call it. Nor would his journeys be reckoned blessings by the

unfortunate country through which he passed. Only able to move with an

army, that army, without any commissariat or transport, feeding itself

upon its march, wipes corn and food off the face of the land as a sponge

wipes a slate. "Where the Sultan's horse treads the corn ceases to grow."

He seldom travels with less than thirty thousand followers; and,

supposing he is passing through a turbulent tribe, fights his way as he

goes, leaving ruin and desolation behind. "They make a desert, and they

call it peace."

Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli had travelled considerably farther afield than his

sovereign; he knew Genoa, Marseilles, Egypt, and of course Mecca. The

Mussulman pilgrims passing through Constantinople on their way to Mecca

this year are, he told us, very numerous, the Sultan having ordered the

fares on the Massousieh Company's steamers to be reduced one-half for

them. He thought that about two thousand Moors would be leaving Tangier

in the early spring for the pilgrimage, returning some three months

later. Neither the Hadj's sons nor Mr. Bewicke's soldier joined in the

conversation, but continued steadily to consume tea, all eyes and ears.

At last the trays were removed; and there being no co-religious eye to

shock, Hadj Mukhtar indulged in a cigarette, while we puzzled him with a

few tricks of balance and reach, which pleased him quite as much as his

boys: everybody tried their hands, and finally the Hadj sent his eldest

son for an old, heavy sword, and, squatting on the floor, showed us a

clever piece of leverage with it and his thumb, which it was in vain to

try and imitate.

Watching our failures, he produced a snuff-box, a small cocoanut-shell,

ornamented with little silver and coral knobs, with a narrow ivory

mouthpiece, a stopper, and an ivory pin fastened to the cocoanut-shell to

stir up the snuff inside--Tetuan snuff--noted for its pungent flavour.

Hadj Mukhtar jerked the grains through the narrow mouthpiece into the

hollow of the back of his thumb, where all Moors lay it, then lifted his

hand up to his nose.

Near the door hung his rosary of ninety-nine beads, reminding the pious

Mussulman of the ninety-nine attributes of God. Each of the ninety-nine

beads corresponds to the name of some holy man, and as the bead is passed

along with the hand the saint's name is murmured. Curious that the use of

rosaries in the Spanish Church is said to have been borrowed first of all

from the Spanish Moors.

The eldest son of our host was, his father told us, looking forward to

beginning the Fast of Rámadhan this year--fasting, as he was only a

novice, for half the day instead of the whole of it: evidently as much

importance and excitement were attached to the prospect as later on would

attend the boy's marriage. This same boy of fourteen is learning to

write in Latin characters, for a Moor a most unusual and advanced step:

at present he was only wearing a little red fez cap, not having reached

the age of turbans, with all their dignified symmetry. The Kor[=a]n was

all the literature the boy would ever know. Strange that a strong and

sober people should have for ages confined their studies to the Kor[=a]n,

an occasional Arab poet, and a sacred treatise or two. There is, as I

have already said, no literature, no art, no science, in Morocco, and no

architecture--the Kor[=a]n forbidding, it is said, research or study in

any line except that of religion. Geography is entirely unknown. Like

Moors in general, Hadj Mukhtar may have heard of London and Paris, and

might know the names Germany and Russia, besides Mecca; but none of the

former would have any connection or "place" in his mind, and Morocco must

be, he is confident, the finest country under the sun. If it were brought

home to him that his country is in a decadent condition, he would reply

that at least it is good enough for him as it is; and that if Europeans

were allowed to exploit it and to settle therein, the end would be

prosperity for the Western civilization, and a knuckling-under on the

part of the Moorish--which is true.

We talked on upon one and another subject till it grew late, but before

we left our host took R. and myself to see his wife, downstairs, in a

smaller room. Five wives are allowed by Mohammed, but few Moors in Tetuan

were rich enough to afford as many, and contented themselves with slaves.

We were not impressed by the very plain, sallow-faced lady, with a black

fringe and hard brown eyes, who shook hands with us, and from her

likeness to the eldest boy was probably his mother. The second son was

evidently by a slave: there was no mistaking that likeness--a fat, happy

individual, the greatest contrast to another slave, who, though well

dressed, was pale and miserable-looking. Two or three other corpulent,

smiling blackamoors made up the sum-total of the party in the downstairs

room--most comfortable, lounging on the cushions, they looked, no mean

advertisements of Hadj Mukhtar's "table." The principal and favourite

wife possessed a noisy sewing-machine, which she proudly displayed.

Every Moor's establishment has its slaves--so many, according to his

income: in Tetuan they are sold privately, and frequently exchanged one

for the other, while the wives are as easily divorced. Every year

something like three thousand slaves come into Morocco, chiefly from the

Soudan: a few are stolen from Moorish tribes; the rest are brought in by

Moorish traders, who catch them in various ways, such as scattering

sweetmeats, or in hard times corn, round the villages, up to neighbouring

coverts, just as a poacher at home entices pheasants with raisins, then

pouncing out and carrying them off.

As there are no such things as Moorish women-servants, negresses and

slaves of various types step into the gap, and the evil of this influx of

black blood is seen in the deterioration of a fine race, and the increase

of the type which tends towards thick lips, low foreheads, and sensual

tastes. The slavery of Christians in Morocco, once common, has been by

treaty abolished since the day when the savage Sultan Mulai Ismael had

eleven thousand Christian slaves in Mequinez employed in building his

walls, whose bodies, when they succumbed, were mixed in with the stones

and mud of the buildings. Slaves are not ill treated in the present day,

though now and again one may be flogged to death as the result of fault

or the malice and slander of a jealous fellow-slave: as a rule they live

happily; and if a female slave bears a male child to her master, by a law

in the Kor[=a]n both mother and son are _ipso facto_ freed, though they

continue to live on in the same house.

The last thing Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli showed us was his hummum, cunningly

arranged to flank the kitchen fire at the back. A tiny room; but four of

his wives and slaves could, he explained, take their bath in it at once.

There was a small stone slab inside as a seat, and hot air came in by

means of a pipe in one corner. The _hummum_, or Turkish bath, is partly

enjoined by the Kor[=a]n and partly taken for its own enjoyment; it is a

feature of every Moorish house of any pretension, and largely used by men

and women.

The evening was a dark one, and we picked our way back to the fonda by

the light of lanterns: it is impossible to go out at night in Tetuan

without carrying one; the streets are wholly unlit, and the refuse-heaps

and central gutters unpleasant traps.

Next morning R. and I strolled out of the city in the direction of Ceuta

by way of the _Báb-el-M`kabar_ (the Gate of the Tombs). Just beyond this

gateway congregates in the road _el doollah_ (the drove)--that is to say,

the mules and donkeys belonging to any one in Tetuan who has no work for

them on that particular day. They are all left by their owners at this

spot in the care of a tall, tattered Moor, whose business in life is to

look after them; and there they lie in the sandy road or lean up against

the hot wall or each other, one of the saddest sights on God's earth,

some of them infant two-year-olds, all of them overworked and starved.

About midday the drover drives his charges off to the nearest grass--such

as it is--and the ragged squad troops along the stony track without

bridles and without spirit to abuse its freedom. They have none of them

packs or saddles, unless their sore backs are too deeply aggravated to

allow of exposure to the flies and dust; and in due time, one by one, the

old or the dying drop tacitly out of the ranks; a couple of days--the

scavenging dogs' work is done--and only a tangled knot of bones is kicked

away from the roadside by the feet of the living generation, which have

picked up the scantiest feed, and are straying back citywards again in

the late afternoon, to be called for outside the Báb-el-M`kabar each by

its owner.

El doollah had not started; and leaving them all in the road below us, we

passed the little knots of countrywomen who sit by the Báb-el-M`kabar

selling myrtle for laying upon the graves, and wound our way uphill

through the old Mussulman cemetery, with its quaint domed tombs and

toothed, arched doorways, cracked, decayed, and yellow with lichen, half

hidden among the tangle of bushes and wild flowers on the rough slope.

The older of the tombs are probably those of the first Moors who fled

from Spain in the days of that great _trek_ back to Morocco: a much later

and very conspicuous dome belongs to a brave lady, who, not a hundred

years ago, did her best to defend Tetuan against the Spaniards, fighting

side by side with the Moorish troops, and, in the course of the siege,

accounting for half a dozen Spaniards, thereby earning for herself in due

course a Joan of Arc reputation and a public sepulchre.

[Illustration: A MOHAMMEDAN CEMETERY.

[_To face p. 80._]

The cemetery was overgrown with _ayerna_ root, one of the commonest weeds

in Morocco, poisonous when it is eaten raw, though it is possible, after

boiling the root for ten or twelve hours, spreading it out to dry in the

sun, and grinding it in a mill, to make a sort of bitter bread out of the

flour, and to subsist upon that. This the poor do to a great extent,

whenever corn runs short and they have nothing but roots and grasses to

fall back upon: their pale yellow faces and emaciated bodies tell a tale

of the ayerna root. We grubbed some up with a little difficulty in the

stiff clay soil with nothing but sticks to help. Fifteen inches down we

found the root, a small whitish bulb, the size of a bluebell root.

There is much desolation about the old cemetery, with its crumbling

ruins; but the sun struck a key-note of splendour, and turned the

lichened stones into nuggets of gold.

A black raven sat on a grey rock above us and croaked; below lay the

white city--white beyond all English ideas of whiteness. Two tall

minarets, with simple straight lines, only a mosaic of green tiling let

into their flat faces, cut the peaks of the mountains beyond. At a

quarter past twelve a little white flag slowly mounted to the top of each

mosque; an infinitesimally small black figure appeared against the sky;

then leaning over the parapet and looking down upon the humming city, a

cry broke from the figure, and was carried over to us upon the wind--a

cry which rose and fell, most musical, most sonorous: "Allah Ho

Akbar--Allah Ho Akbar." The black dot moved round the parapet, and east

and west and north and south chanted the great summons to the Faithful to

prayer. And then the little white flag was hauled down.

On the other side of the river the neutral-coloured villages could be

picked out by their white saint-houses. Morocco is stuck as full of

saints' tombs--fuller--than England of dissenting chapels. They stud the

land. Moors rid themselves of much valuable energy in the erection, by

countless thousands, of tombs to the memory of the eccentric or pious

dead; and distances are measured, tracks marked, not from church to

church as in Spain, nor from village to village as in England, but from

saint-house to saint-house, each of which is village-green, club, or

public-house rolled into one, where the men gossip, the pious read,

travellers halt, offerings are brought the dead saint, and sick children

arrive to be healed--all at a little whitewashed building with a dome

like an oven outside, and a horse-shoe arch, an olive- or a fig- or a

palm-tree, a flag-staff hung with morsels of rag, and often a spring of

water. At four cross-tracks, instead of sign-posts, heaps of stones,

cairns, are to be found, placed in such a way as to indicate the

direction in which the next saint's tomb lies.

A saint-house or two spot the green plain below the cemetery, which

merges into the seven miles of flats stretching from the city to the sea,

the haunt of wild duck, plover, and snipe, among wastes of coarse grass,

marsh, and red tangle. Coils of grey river lie upon the flats: the very

flatness over which the stream snakes is at once most strong--serene.

As we walked down the hillside, a brown figure upon a flat-topped tomb

was silhouetted against the plain: he raised himself, and then again

prostrated his body to the earth, his face set to the distant belt of

blue sea, worshipping towards Mecca.

That afternoon we visited Semsar, a village two or three hours' ride from

Tetuan, up in the mountains to the west. R. had a sedate brown mule with

no idea of exerting himself: my mount was a clever little grey, nervous

and rather handy with his heels, nearly kicking me more than once when I

dismounted or mounted carelessly. We rode, as usual, on the high-peaked

Moorish saddles, covered with scarlet cloth, such as every Moor uses--the

stirrup-leathers of twisted scarlet silk, several thick saddle-cloths

underneath, the girths never drawn, the saddle only kept from slipping

over head or tail by scarlet britching and breastplate. It is impossible

to mount unless the stirrup is held. After repeating the sacramental word

"B`ism Allah" (a Moor mounts and dismounts in the name of God), with a

man at his stirrups, he sinks without an effort into his saddle, amidst a

furbelow of white robes, which he has afterwards arranged carefully for

him. Possibly for this reason he gets on and off as seldom as possible,

hugging the convenient maxim, common among the Moors, that mounting and

dismounting fatigue an animal more than carrying a burden. He rides with

his knees up to his chin: he is a natural horseman, and looks at home in

his practically girthless and quite shapeless saddle, which must have

given him a pang, if ever he galloped for his life in front of his

enemies, and reflected that his safety was dependent upon the

breastplate. A man, before now, has, as he rode, unwound his waistcloth,

and twisted it round his horse's neck, for further security against the

saddle's slipping back.

Mr. Bewicke and his soldier rode with us: the latter a dark, lean-faced,

unwholesome-looking man, unable, like so many of his countrymen, to grow

any hair on his face--an obsequious individual too, inspiring little

trust; below his long blue cloak he wore brown riding-boots, embroidered

with orange, and fastening up the back with orange-thread buttons.

My little grey bustled along; but once or twice, when the road fell away

into a steep drop, his weak hind legs gave under him, and he "sat down":

we soon learnt the effect which merely shaking the feet in the great

angular stirrups has on mules whose sides have often been in touch with

the sharp points, and jogged forward wherever the bad road allowed.

We had left the city by another of its six gates--the _Báb-el-Toot_

(Mulberry Gate), the old name pointing back to an energetic past, when

mulberries, silk-worms, and silk-weaving flourished around Tetuan--when

the cultivation of sugar-cane, cotton, and rice in Morocco was more than

a memory.

Following for a time the road to Tangier, we branched off to the right,

and took a rough path winding upwards, passing a spring where women wash

clothes, three parts walled in, to prevent their being seen.

A little higher up and one of the countless saints' tombs came in

sight--better known in this case as the Robbers' Tower, where brigands

congregate at sunset, and from an excellent coign of vantage keep a

look-out on the Tangier road, to drop on any unfortunate so foolhardy as

to be on it late in the day. After dark no Moor from Tetuan would walk

near this saint-house.

Only a few weeks after this very ride a man was murdered on the Tangier

road, why or wherefore no one knew, except that his body was found,

brought into Tetuan, and buried without further investigation, since his

relatives were neither rich nor powerful enough to institute a search and

demand compensation.

Robbery in Morocco is almost sanctioned by Providence; it is made so

simple. The lonely tracks, the absence of police, the inconveniences of

travelling, and the innumerable wells scattered over the country, almost

sunk for the reception of inconvenient bodies--one and all tempt a man to

turn brigand; and yet Europeans are seldom attacked, in view of the fine

imposed upon the tribe in whose territory a crime is committed.

Thus the borders, where several tribes meet, are always unsafe country,

one tribe disposing of bodies which they have done to death by

depositing them in the territory of the next tribe. But even in

"Christian-ridden" Tangier a German was knifed three years ago walking

home, as was his custom, at dusk. He happened to have no money on him.

His murderer was given up to justice--that is, the basha of Tangier said

some one must die, and together with the fine the tribe outside Tangier

produced a man, who was duly executed, though whether he was the

murderer. . . . . .

Meanwhile, we were leaving the millet-fields behind us--stubbles, an

occasional stalk three feet high, no lying for birds--and were in a

country of wild lavender and stunted bushes: these consisted chiefly of

cistus or else palmetto, a little dwarf palm, the fruit of which is eaten

by goats, and the root by natives as a vegetable, while its fibrous

leaves make rope and baskets and a hundred things. A bleak undulating

country, which ran up into rocky blue gorges and grey peaks on the right

hand. The path was almost blocked at one point by an immense cairn on the

top of a ridge--a holy pile, upon which the devout Moor in passing casts

a stone, because from this spot the mountain can be made out on which the

venerated shrine of Mulai Abdesalam lies, in Beni Anos, the goal of

thousands of pilgrims each year. Though it is within a day's ride of

Tangier, the country for miles around is forbidden to any European, and

two Englishmen only have penetrated into the sacred city of Shesháwan,

which lies in the same district. Mr. Walter B. Harris and Mr. Somers, at

different times, got inside, but only at sunset, and after lying in

hiding all night had to flee for their lives at dawn.

Gradually we reached wilder and more rocky country, recalling Scotland as

far as the open moorland went. If fir-trees were planted on the sheltered

slopes, the fir-pins should, in conjunction with the natural soil, form

land capable of growing vines--an idle dream in the Morocco of to-day.

Between two hills in front of us towered a cliff of rocky red limestone,

which might once have formed the bed of some vast stream. Semsar lay

where the waters should have struck the rock beneath as they fell: a more

sheltered village could not be, facing south-east. The cliff above is

still riddled with the remains of an old silver-mine, worked years ago by

the Portuguese: the ladders and scaffolding inside have fallen to pieces,

and after penetrating along dark tunnels on hands and knees for a certain

distance an open shaft intervenes, and further exploration is impossible.

Semsar, nestled into its crevice, takes more or less the local brown; but

among the thatched huts, rising one above the other like an uneven pile

of mud terraces, a few walls were whitewashed, and of course a white

village mosque stood guard over all on the top of a hillock. There is

something a trifle "animal" in these villages, rough clusters of

bee's-comb or ant-heaps or beavers' lodgings as they might be, assuming

exactly the shade of their surroundings, as nests the colour of their

hiding-places, or as the kh[=a]ki-coloured sand-lizard, desert-lark, and

sand-grouse of the great Sahara take on the yellow-ochre tone of that

desert.

A friend belonging to Mr. Bewicke's soldier had ridden out behind us. He

owned a garden at hand, and asked if we would go in and look at it. We

stooped low under a white stone doorway, an imposing structure,

invariably the entrance to every garden: the door generally painted

Reckitt's blue, and kept locked with a key eight inches long, while on

each side of the gateway the cane fence is tumbling to pieces and

offering useful gaps to marauders--a curious inversion of the rule in

Spain, where to this day they bar the window heavily and leave the door

open.

Though to all appearance the owner was a hard-working Moor, the garden at

any rate bore no great signs of expenditure of labour. We found ourselves

in an overgrown wilderness of orange-trees, peaches, pears, figs, plums,

damsons, cherries, white mulberries, quinces, jasmine, all overgrown and

stabbed by the interloping prickly pear--a good fruit, too, in its way,

and a "useful beast" as a hedge.

Half of his oranges were always stolen, the owner said; the remaining

half brought him in from sixty to ninety shillings a year, selling

perhaps at a shilling or two the thousand. He had evidently not the

capital to get the half of what such fruitful soil could give with

Gibraltar at hand for export, nor the means of securing to himself any

money he made; and it is poor work putting money into the hands of the

nearest extortionate sheikh. Yet his garden was, and is to every Moor, a

source of great satisfaction and content: truly a field of the slothful,

a garden where the mystic finds rest and heart's ease, and the two things

which appeal most to sun-baked men--shade and water. It is enough in such

a spot to drowse away the sunny hours amidst the hum of bees, the rattle

of the tree-beetle; to muse upon some book of whose drift only a faint

idea is intelligible, content to leave its problems in the limbo of the

insoluble, where most of life's questions seethe harmlessly enough; then,

turning, give thanks to Allah, who has made gardens for mankind, and doze

again.

Farther on the path led us across streams banked with maiden-hair fern

like rank grass. Water had worn the rock into grotesque shapes, a

cavernous arch in one place, the banks, like a tunnel, almost meeting

over our heads in another. Immense blocks of stone barred the way; it

was not easy riding, but the mules climbed up and down rocky staircases

with much tact, while we sat holding our breath.

Over one of these obstructions the breastplate of my saddle, which had

only been fastened to begin with by three stitches of string, burst, and

I found myself almost over the grey's tail: such a common occurrence that

no Moor goes out without string and packing-needle handy; but this was

past mending on the road, and I changed on to the soldier's mule, whose

top-heavy saddle was no fit at all, and, shifting all over its back,

required careful balance on the rider's part.

The road was only a few feet wide, and so overgrown that, as we jogged

one after the other, trying to dodge grey arms of fig-trees, lying on the

mules' necks under dark masses of foliage which shut out half the light,

hatless, the stiffest bullfinch at home would have been ears of corn

compared with what we went through.

At last, however, it came to an end, and the trail opened out into the

village of Semsar. Nobody was to be seen; dogs barked as usual; some kids

bleated inside a hut. We rode by the crazy hovels; a woman carrying water

emerged, and a boy with a baby. Beyond the last brown erection we came to

a saint's tomb. This meant the village green without any "green." Two or

three country people sat in the usual meeting-place among trodden-down

weeds, talking and smoking their long pipes, congregated round one busy

man, who was chopping a log into a plough with an axe. Around the tomb

was a group of olive-trees, preserved leaf and stick and all, not a

branch even of dead wood off the ground removed, by reason of the

sanctity of the spot. However small a grove, it would otherwise have been

cut down, as affording cover to robbers and _ginns_ (evil spirits).

Thanks to saints' tombs the traveller in Morocco still meets with clumps

and occasional woods of olives. The sunshine glowed on their hoary

twisted branches, and flecked the gnarled trunks; the grey foliage cast

patches of dense shadow on the brown earth under the mammoths, whose

broken lines and odd elbows supported such masses of quiet colour and

solemn shade. We wound our way to the left among the huts. Of any road

between them there was none; the mules could barely climb over some of

the boulders among the refuse.

Once quit of the "green," we saw no one again, and got much mixed as to

direction. Finally, we struck a path with a descent into a pool and below

a fig tree, which, having made ourselves small, we circumvented, and

discovered that it meandered in time to the outside of the village.

Following, we wound southwards by a gorge along a rocky stream, which has

the reputation of rising suddenly after rain, and not long ago drowned

three mules.

Stepping-stones are not provided in Morocco, and it is generally a case

of plunging through a stream to reach the opposite side. Near a city with

good fortune a Jew may pass, the chance may be worth waiting for; but no

Mohammedan Moor would carry an infidel across on his superior back.

In time a different path led us back to Tetuan, and we rode in by the

Mulberry Gate at sunset, as the mueddzin was calling upon true believers

to worship.

On fine days we made many such excursions, and exploited the country for

miles round. Showery and doubtful days were devoted to the city and

shopping.

Shopping in a foreign city tends towards the accumulation of white

elephants, which, safely landed in England, work havoc in an English

home. Long flint guns from the Riff, and old blue dishes from Fez, and

orange-striped rugs from Rabat look strangely out of place with

wall-papers and oil paintings. The East will never sit down with the

West, and the adjuncts of either are bound to "fight." And yet we

shopped.

There are fewer more interesting ways of studying the outside life of the

people; a little gossip and less reliable information are all thrown in

to the bargain. The little Tetuan shops are a species of club, for each

Moor has certain shops at which he habitually sits and may be found with

more or less certainty. While the owner and his goods remain inside the

shop, there is room for two people outside on the sill or doorstep, and a

couple of fat leather cushions are provided for them. Even Mr. Bewicke

was in the habit of sitting every day at Hadj Mukhtar Hilalli's shop and

hearing the news, between four and seven o'clock every evening.

[Illustration: OUT SHOPPING.

[_To face p. 90._]

He interpreted for us in our early days. We spent a whole morning buying

_humbells_ (striped carpets) at a shop where the owner was sitting on the

floor playing chess with a friend and drinking green tea. All over Tetuan

draughts and chess are played constantly on little boards, either on the

doorstep or inside the shop. The game had its origin, like bridge and

polo, eastwards of England, and was introduced into Europe after the

Crusades, together with baths and other civilized habits. Our shopman

looked exceedingly bored at the interruption. However, after much

bargaining, we bought a humbell, having to point to everything we wished

to buy, for no Moor likes a Christian to come inside his shop, because of

his dirty boots. A Moor is either in a pair of clean yellow slippers, or

else they are on the doorsill, and his feet are bare: he tosses all his

silks, towels, embroideries, carpets, on the floor, and sits among

them, while the purchaser stands outside, points to the shelves and heap,

and trusts to the owner's divining which particular silk handkerchief is

wanted.

In another shop we found a second humbell, chiefly black and orange, the

property of a taciturn individual in a snow-white _selham_ (hooded

cloak), a turban to match, with scarlet peak, a dark blue garment

underneath the selham, and a complexion like cream and roses. He lay at

full length on a pile of many carpets. We stopped in front of the shop.

Neither rising, bowing, nor bustling about to show off his goods, the

white figure lay still, looking dreamily through and beyond us. We were

bores. In reply to a question of price, a long sum was murmured. At last

we expressed a decided wish to inspect the humbell, and, slowly rising,

he condescended to lift it from a shelf, his looks suggesting that he

would prefer being left alone. Again we asked his lowest price.

Twenty-one shillings. We offered sixteen. Without deigning to answer, he

solemnly folded up the humbell and put it away, then folded one by one

the goods which littered the floor, and stacked them above the humbell on

the same shelf. Still standing in front of the shop, we repeated our

offer of sixteen shillings. He shook his head decidedly, made a

deprecating gesture, and prepared to sink again on his couch. Mr. Bewicke

forbade us to offer more; we walked away. A voice said in Arabic, "It is

yours," and the humbell was thrown after us; the sixteen shillings were

received with a sigh as the shopkeeper resumed his couch.

Tetuan makes many artistic "towels," which form the ordinary dress of the

countrywomen underneath their old enfolding yellowish-white woollen

haiks; but for quite the majority a towel as skirt and a towel as cape

are sufficient for all purposes. There is the rare addition of a pair of

cotton drawers.

The strong substance and fast scarlet dyes make these towels no mean

substitutes for curtains, except that, like native goods in general, they

seldom quite match, and distract the soul which demands "pairs" in all

and everything.

A Jew we visited in the Jews' Quarter had a fine carpet for sale, made

farther south, something like a Persian, the ground whitish, with

harmonious reds and greens. For a long time we sat and tried to bargain

in his odd little den up a dilapidated staircase and nearly pitch dark:

he wanted £5. The pattern was a little small. We came away without it.

Some of the old _kaftans_ (robes of coloured cloth or satin or silk

brocade, embroidered with gold or silver, buttoned down the front and

with wide sleeves) were well worth buying: none are made like them

nowadays, for common material is used; unfortunately the best are often

in tatters.

We visited the Slipper Market, and, sitting on the doorstep of one of the

shops, gave directions for two pairs--blue velvet embroidered with gold,

and milk-coloured leather embroidered with green. Size, price, and colour

were duly discussed; rain came on, we sat on the doorsill sheltering, and

the basha--Tetuan's governor--was criticised. The slipper-maker had not a

good word for him. To begin with, it seems he has no money, is of no

family, and aristocratic Tetuan refuses to "hob-nob" with him. He

dislikes Tetuan after Fez, whence he was transferred, and where he made

more money. The other day a neighbouring tribe sent him a present of so

many dollars. At the same time they owed him certain taxes, in lieu of

which he accepted the money, but pointed out that the present must follow

in due course. None ever arrived, and the basha sent his brother-in-law

and a soldier to the tribesmen to ask an explanation of its

non-appearance. The brother-in-law was tactless, incensed the tribesmen,

and provoked them to bastinado him, whereupon the soldier lost his head,

and fired his gun off into the air. He was promptly disembowelled.

The brother-in-law returned to the basha, stiff, but alive; and the

country people give it as their verdict that the basha is a rapacious

man. They threaten that they will no longer bring their produce into

Tetuan to market, but will hold their own markets at some place chosen by

themselves out in the country, and Tetuan shall come out to buy. Such a

proceeding would be most inconvenient; for Tetuan is dependent for all

its supplies on the country people, who hold their markets on Sundays,

Wednesdays, and Fridays in the feddan, where they sit upon the ground

packed in hundreds, their chickens, eggs, butter, and produce in general

in their laps and at their feet. Their beef and mutton are but

second-rate, and the shapeless lumps of lean, tough meat take double as

long as an English joint to cook, and make but a poor show in the end,

hacked by the unskilful butchers past all recognition. Goat and fish are

to be had, sometimes partridges, hares, and rabbits, occasionally a

haunch of wild boar. Fish came in on certain days when the wind was

favourable: there was then a rush on the fish market, and almost a free

fight over the great panniers full of shining silvery sardines, and over

the bodies of the sellers seated on the ground. The successful carried

off a handful each, and the cafés and fish shops were soon frying

sardines for dear life, while the little streets were thick with the

steam of native oil and butter. Some big fish, four and five feet long,

came into market sometimes, and a small boy would be hired by a purchaser

to carry one home across his shoulder, its great head hanging down

behind, and underneath a pair of thin brown legs like little sticks

hurrying along the street.

Bread in Morocco is "passing heavy," flavoured with aniseed and full of

grit. Vegetables are to be had in abundance.

The slippers, which had been promised in three days, appeared in three

weeks. Whenever we passed the shop we asked after them: always the same

answer--_M[=a]nana_ (To-morrow). "No, there was no butter to be had

to-day, but _m[=a]nana_." "No, the pillows were not finished yet, but

_m[=a]nana_." "The boots left to be soled were not ready, but

_m[=a]nana_." Tetuan lives upon _m[=a]nana_: it is the reincarnation of

JAM YESTERDAY, AND JAM TO-MORROW, BUT NEVER JAM TO-DAY.

Equally exasperating was the habit of every shopkeeper of locking up his

shop and going off to pray or eat or chat. If a shop had to be revisited

and purchases exchanged, the owner was invariably out, and the door

fastened with lock and key. At 12.15 p.m. nobody could ever be found, but

was presumably at the mosque. Again and again we visited the same shop:

one day the owner was at a friend's shop, the next at home, and so on. We

gave him up, to see his sleek cross-legged figure seated inside the

little cupboard the very next time we passed.

[Illustration: SHOPS IN TETUAN.

[_To face p. 94._]

Walking by a saint-house on the outskirts of the city, devout and

impoverished women were often to be seen there, visiting the shrine and

carrying with them small vessels of food, which they placed on the ground

for the spirit of the holy man to eat. The window of the shrine was tied

with a hundred scraps of rag and dead flowers, bits of wood, and paper

and oddments of all sorts. Empty earthenware bowls later on, and pariah

dogs skulking around, licking their lips, told a tale; but if asked if

they really thought their saint would come up out of his grave and eat

the food prepared for him, it was open to the Mussulman to answer the

Christian, "And do you really believe that your dead friends come and

smell the flowers you plant on their graves?"

Small-pox kills a great many Moors, and an incredible number are marked

by the disease. It is looked upon much as measles are in England: cases

are never isolated, and children are all expected to have it. Each year

it is prevalent, and people may be passed in the street with it out upon

them; but every four years it breaks out seriously, and a large

percentage of the population dies.

Last of all, in our shopping days a few things we bought by auction. No

auctioneer is employed as in European countries, but the owner and seller

himself perambulates the street or courtyard with his goods--a mule, or a

frying-pan, or a carpet--calling out each successive bid which he

receives on his article, pushing his way and jostling the motley mob of

market people, peasants and loungers, silks and rags, until he has got

his price, and hands over to its new owner his late possession.

CHAPTER IV

THE FAST OF RÁMADHAN--MOHAMMED--HIS LIFE AND INFLUENCE--THE FLOOD AT

SAFFI--A WALK OUTSIDE TETUAN--THE FRENCH CONSUL'S GARDEN-HOUSE--JEWS IN

MOROCCO--EUROPEAN PROTECTION.

CHAPTER IV

Manage with bread and butter till God brings the jam.

_Old Moorish proverb._

WE had not been long at the fonda before the Fast of Rámadhan began.

Rámadhan, ordained by Mohammed, takes place in the ninth month of every

Mohammedan year, and lasts for twenty-eight days, during which time the

Faithful fast from dawn, when it is light enough to distinguish between a

black and white thread, to sunset. It alters by a few days every year

according to the moon, and when it falls during summer in scorching hot

countries the agonies of thirst endured mean a penance indeed.

Rámadhan begins when the new moon is first seen. Tidings were sent from

Tangier to say that it had been observed there, which tidings Tetuan

handed on to the farthest mountain villages: a gun was fired from the

Kasbah at sunset, horns were sounded, and Rámadhan began. It sometimes

happens that Tetuan does not see the new moon till the day after Tangier

has seen it at the beginning of the fast, in which case the Tetuan people

are guilty of "eating the head of Rámadhan": this year it was not so.

During the twenty-eight days of the fast, every night, or rather every

early morning at 2 a.m., the householder was awakened by the crashing of

his knocker on his door and a shout bidding him "Rise and eat": the

mueddzin at the same time from the top of the mosque called the hour of

prayer, and long brass horns brayed to the same effect.

The month was almost over before we had learnt to sleep through it all.

As the fonda was in the Moorish Quarter our door was not exempt. Far away

up the street the knockers clanked, nearer and nearer every moment, then

the man's footsteps, then our own knocker sounded like a sledge-hammer,

and "Rise and eat" followed: the man went on to the next door, and back

again shortly up the opposite side of the street. And every Mussulman

arose in the dark and had a large meal. Again at sunrise the big gun

boomed from the Kasbah, the concussion shaking our ill-built room, and we

woke once more.

[Illustration: A CLUSTER OF COUNTRY WOMEN.

[_To face p. 100._]

No doubt the original motive of fasting and abstinence in the Old

Testament was the promotion of sanitary conditions. It is not good to eat

pig in hot countries: thus pork was "unclean," and is to-day in Morocco.

Nor is the consumption of much spirituous liquor wise when the

thermometer marks a hundred and one: hence the Kor[=a]n forbids the use

of strong drinks. The same motive underlies the fast, which rests and

relieves systems over-fattened and little exercised. But the "all or

nothing" theory which governs the uneducated and knows no moderation runs

a benefit into an abuse. Rámadhan had its disadvantages. Tetuan was

revelling at night and in a sodden sleep through the day; work was

slipshod and at sixes and sevens; men were irritable and quarrelsome;

every one looked indisposed; and the excuse for it all was always

Rámadhan. Worst of all, the countrywomen still tramped four and five

hours into market with loads, and children a month old, only half

nourished at the time of the fast.

But Rámadhan came to an end at last: Morocco breathed again. The day

before the fast was over everybody was smiling, and Tetuan had but one

hope, that the new moon would be seen that night, and thus the month of

penance come to an end. After the letter from Tangier had been received

next morning, which said that the new moon had been seen there, the gun

from the fort thundered, the basha went in gorgeous state to the

_Jama-el-Kebeer_ (Big Mosque) on a white mule, all caparisoned in blue,

and read aloud the letter, the city was uproarious, and the mountains

echoed again, for soldiers were sent post-haste up the valleys, and fired

all day at intervals to notify to the fathermost villages that Rámadhan

was over.

And the next day! The first day of the _Aid-el-Sereer_ (Little Feast)!

Everybody was in shining white, if not new, apparel, and all Tetuan was

abroad. That among a people clad so largely in white and in gorgeous

colours means a great deal, and the streets of Tetuan might have competed

with the Park on the Sunday before Ascot. The Moorish crowd was almost

entirely a male one, dressed like peacocks: satins embroidered with gold

and silver prevailed.

And if the snowy haiks and turbans and the resplendent shades of the

kaftans were the first point about the feast, the sweetmeat stalls were

the second. A Moor is a born sweet-tooth, and at every corner of the

streets a board was stacked with creamy mixtures in which walnuts were

embedded, with generously browned toffee full of almonds, with

carmine-coloured sticks, with magenta squares of sweet peppermint, with

blocks of nougat inches thick. And the joys of the feast seemed amply to

compensate for the fast.

Mohammed ordained many minor feasts and fasts. Rámadhan stands out chief

of the one: _Aid-el-Kebeer_ (Great Feast), falling two months and six

days afterwards, is chief of the other.

The three reforms which Mohammed instituted were temperance, cleanliness,

and monotheism, at a time when reform was badly needed. He was born in

Mecca five hundred and seventy years after Christ, an Arab of the tribe

of Beni Has`sim. Christianity was not unknown around him in his day.

Always somewhat of a visionary and introspective turn of mind, when he

was about forty years old he became deeply interested in the subject of

religion. Living in the imaginative East, in a hotbed of mysticism and

superstition, it was easy for him to conceive himself a chosen vessel of

the Almighty, and to assume by degrees the rôle of prophet, in the honest

belief that the words he uttered came direct from that God whose

mouthpiece he conceived himself to be. A small band of followers by

degrees collected round him, and in the ordinary course of events his end

would have been that of a saint with a tombstone white; but, added to the

saint's fanaticisms, Mohammed possessed the talents of a leader, and the

ambition which accompanies those talents.

Men and more men were attracted to him; he instituted among them a

ceremonial of prayer, feasts, and fasts, and built a mosque at Medina, in

which they worshipped. Persecution from their fellow-countrymen followed

as a matter of course, and Mohammed's disciples, who began to call

themselves Mohammedans, turned to him as their chief. The one "able man,"

he naturally assumed the position of a theocratic ruler, and led them

against their enemies; while the words he spoke were committed to memory,

constituting later on the Kor[=a]n.

As a general Mohammed was successful: battle after battle was fought and

won, reverses were amply compensated for, and men flocked to his

standard, while deputations from surrounding tribes poured in upon him,

acknowledging his supremacy, and asking for instruction in his creed.

That creed was admirably adapted to suit the manners, opinions, and vices

of the East: it was extraordinarily simple, it proposed but few truths in

which belief was necessary, and it laid no severe restraints upon the

natural desires of men; above all, its warlike tendencies captivated the

men of its day, and war, which at first had been necessary in

self-defence, was still carried on, and gradually came to be looked upon

by Mohammed and his followers as a lawful means towards spreading their

religion. In the name of a _Holy War_ the conquerors offered their

defeated enemies the option of death or embracing the new religion, while

the women and children taken in battle were sold as slaves, after the

manner of the time.

And the Prophet's influence deepened and extended. Meanwhile, his

sayings, or "the Kor[=a]n," were written down from time to time by one or

other of his followers, on palm leaves, on stone tablets, on the

shoulder-plates of goats and camels, and even tattooed on men's breasts;

while his ritual was strictly carried out--prayer with absolution,

frequent washing, fasting, almsgiving, the pilgrimage to Mecca, and the

recital of the formula "There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his

prophet."

Prayer was offered up five times a day, as now, by every true

believer--at sunrise, at midday, at three in the afternoon, at sunset,

and two hours after sunset: the _adzan_ (call to prayers) was chanted at

each time by the mueddzin from the minarets of the mosques. The first

thing in the morning at sunrise the call ran, "God is great; God is

great. Mohammed is his prophet. Prayer is better than sleep. Come to

prayer; come to prayer." The believer, obeying the summons, washes,

enters the mosque, and repeats from four to eight short prayers, with

genuflections between each.

Mohammed strictly obeyed the forms of his doctrine, and himself performed

the yearly pilgrimage to Mecca and the ceremonies round the K[=a]aba. He

was familiar with at least part of the Gospels, but his knowledge was

possibly scant and distorted: he was unfriendly towards Christians. For

the Old Testament he had a profound respect.

As far as can be gathered he was a sober and meditative man: he sought

neither state nor riches for himself, when either might have been his for

the asking. He looked upon women from a point of view not unlike the

characters in the Old Testament--a distinctly Eastern one. He possessed

five wives, and probably concubines--bondwomen in much the same position

as Hagar of old.

Mohammed instituted the veiling of women, with corresponding restrictions

on domestic intercourse, as a check upon undue sexual licence--the curse

of hot climates.

There is no reason to believe that Mohammed was not honest in the

conviction that his mission was divine, and that, if he countenanced

vindictive revenge, rapine, and lust as a means towards the furtherance

of his teaching, he justified the act in his own mind by what he believed

to be revelations from a spirit other than his own.

A great character has perforce its great faults, and the courage and

ambition which made so mighty a leader were naturally enough the rock

upon which that leader split, blinding his eyes and distorting his point

of view, leading him into compromise and error. But though self-deceived

and fanatical, it is improbable that Mohammed was insincere. By the

spirit of his day he must be judged. His day believed in him.

He died early in the seventh century, sixty-three years old, saying,

"Verily I have fulfilled my mission. I have left that amongst you, a

plain command, the Book of God, and manifest ordinances, which, if ye

hold fast, ye shall never go astray." Within two years of his death the

Mohammedan armies had overrun Syria; Egypt was in their possession, and

the whole northern coast of Africa.

The scraps which contained in writing the sayings of the dead Prophet

were all collected by his chief amanuensis: his followers appointed three

judges to overlook the work. The new collection was written in Mohammed's

own pure Meccan dialect, and every spurious copy was burnt. So carefully

was this done that there is but one and the same Kor[=a]n throughout the

vast Mohammedan world.

Mohammedanism satisfied the East for two reasons: first, because it was a

warlike religion, and therefore appealed to warlike tribes; secondly,

because, deeply underlying it, was the strong, calm spirit of fatalism,

that world-old foundation-stone on which many a man has come to anchor.

The very word Mussulman means, "One who has surrendered himself and his

will to God."

ISLAM is the belief in one God,

one Prophet (Mohammed),

the immortality of the soul,

the resurrection of the dead,

the day of judgment,

angels,

a devil.

There are no subtle intricacies in such a creed, no mysterious

contradictions to puzzle the uneducated mind; it amply satisfies a simple

people; and probably no other dogma makes so many converts.

In Morocco to-day the Mohammedan religion is interwoven with the whole

fabric of life. To the Moor Allah is always present, is behind every

decree of the Sultan, and enters into the smallest detail of his own

private life to such a degree that barely a single action is performed

without invoking the sacred name. Religion is, according to the temper of

the individual Moor, "a passion, or a persuasion, or an excuse, but never

a check": for a man may commit any sin under heaven, and "Allah is

merciful; Mohammed is his prophet; all will be forgiven." And this is not

hypocritical: the larger soul includes the smaller--that is all.

It follows as a natural sequence that, because Allah is as much part of a

Moor's life as the air he breathes, he is forgotten. The repetition of

words bulks so largely in Mohammedanism, that, as with the Jews of old,

the letter of the law has killed the spirit. The evil of Mohammed's

religion lies in its essential antagonism towards progress and

civilization: scientific investigation is forbidden; a proverb runs,

"Only fools and the very young speak the truth." Thus Mohammedanism will

never advance or regenerate Morocco; for these tenets are Government

policy.

At the same time there is in Mohammedan society a certain negative virtue

which contrasts strongly with the gross immorality existing in Christian

countries. The conditions of what is lawful for a Mohammedan are wide

enough to content, and extremes offer no temptation. Polygamy, divorce,

and slavery are all allowed, and war upon unbelievers is enjoined as a

duty. And yet "social evils" and the lowest depths to which humanity

falls are almost unknown in Morocco; while what is held to be sin is

rigorously punished--adultery by stoning (a father has no hesitation in

shooting his daughter himself), robbery by mutilation, and so on.

Unlike many Christian churches, a Moorish mosque is never closed: the

sanctuary is always open. It is council-chamber, meeting-place, and for

travellers at night resting-place. There are no priests in the European

sense; but the _basha_ (governor) or the _kadi_ (judge) reads prayers on

Fridays, a sermon follows, and letters or decrees from the Sultan are

given out in the mosque after service.

The treatment of Mohammedan women, against which so much has been

written, is after all Oriental, and nothing more. The Kor[=a]n speaks of

woman as an inferior being, an incomplete creation, needing no education,

to be rigorously and jealously guarded all her life, and who after death

may or may not be admitted into the Mohammedan heaven. Her function, if

rich, is to bear children, and to be treated like a petted lap-dog: if

poor, to work as a labourer. But interrogate the wife of a rich Moor on

the subject, and she will not have the slightest wish to educate herself,

but will affirm emphatically, "We have children and enough to eat. Why

should we want to learn anything?"

It is manifestly absurd to compare Mohammedanism with Christianity, which

are each the outcome of a distinct race, divided by that greatest

barrier--a racial gulf.

Christianity, it must be confessed, bearing in mind the Christian

renegades with whom the Moor has traded, is looked upon by him for the

most part as a thing beneath contempt. It had five hundred years, before

Mohammed was born, in which to impress itself on the East. It signally

failed. And yet only a few years after Mohammed's death his religion had

taken by storm Egypt, Turkey, Arabia, Persia, Turkestan, parts of India,

the Malay Peninsula, the north coast of Africa, and parts of China,

introducing monotheism, and impressing temperance and cleanliness on

uncivilized millions, but never advancing beyond that point. It is borne

in upon one that, in spite of missionary effort, Morocco will change its

religion for that of Christianity when, as its own proverb says, "The

charcoal takes root and the salt buds." The East, when it adopts other

tenets, will exchange its own for a wider and a more universal cult than

that which modern sects and parties are endeavouring and failing to

introduce to-day.

While we were in our small quarters at the fonda, the weather by no means

came up to the high standard it is said to reach in December. A few sunny

days, when we could bask out of doors, were grudgingly sandwiched between

many wet ones, and again and again the Rámadhan sunrise gun awoke us to

gouts of almost tropical rain, a fiery sunrise followed by an hour's

brilliant sunshine, the herald of a shamelessly distorted April day. The

little gutters down the middle of the streets ran like torrents, carrying

off chickens' heads and cabbage-stalks; hail scoured the pebbles; outside

the city "the dry land was over your boots"; the road to the sea was

impassable, and the rivers between Tangier and Tetuan were unfordable;

snow lay in patches on the mountains; half the vale was inundated; the

river could be heard a mile away; both our windows leaked; and down in

the little patio, where the family sat, the waters were out.

[Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier._]

A TYPICAL MOORISH STREET.

[_To face p. 108._]

From the west coast at Saffi terrible reports arrived of the havoc the

weather had made of the city. The lowest barometer ever seen had preceded

sheets of rain, and a solid _hamla_ (flood) had entered the gates from

the valley above, filling the narrow streets in a few moments to a depth

of seven and eight feet, and carrying everything before it: men, women,

children, and cattle were swept in a torrent through the water-gate out

to sea, sometimes a hand stretched out above the eddies. Then the gate

became blocked with floating _debris_ and bodies, and the flood rose to

ten feet in the principal street. The townspeople who survived took

refuge on their roofs. The vice-governor was drowned. Houses, shops,

mills, and mosques were gutted as if by fire; furniture and household

goods were ruined; the Saffi shopkeepers were beggared. For many weeks

after the survivors starved upon roots, in spite of a subscription raised

in Tangier to relieve them.

The rain apparently was something like a waterspout. Happily Tetuan was

exempt from waterspouts, and on days when the rain gave over for a time

we rode, or, picking our way along the muddy streets, drank tea with some

Moor.

One dull afternoon we sampled the state of the roads outside, R. on a

donkey, and Mr. Bewicke and myself on foot. Walking out by the Gate of

the Tombs, we bore to the left, and dived into the narrowest of narrow

lanes, shut in with tall cane fences and high mud-banks crowned with

prickly pear, the shape of whose fat, fleshy leaves recalls moles' paws.

The donkey was an unusually large one, and its pack rolled more than

packs in general: before we saw the last of Tetuan its rider had many a

fall off her unsteady perch; and if there is truth in the Moorish saying

that "one does not become a horseman till one is broken," R. may claim to

have qualified. It shied and bucked and came on its nose over rocks; but

this time Mr. Bewicke's boy, Mohr, directed its ways, and thoroughly

enjoyed cudgelling it along with a stick, helped by its rider's switch,

cut from a quince-tree, which often as not hit Mohr instead of the ass.

By-and-by we met a countryman, his wife, and a donkey. The woman, who

wore little except two striped towels, and a handkerchief round her head,

staggered along under a great load of faggots. She was stunted and

wrinkled, removed mentally but few degrees from the three-year-old

weather-beaten donkey which minced along in front of her, also loaded

with faggots. The woman had strips of rough leather bandaged round her

legs to protect them from thorns. Her feet were bare. Her husband

sauntered last of all, presumably looking after the donkey: he had no

load. Another time the donkey also might be exempt, while the woman was

still burdened; and the man, when asked why, if he would not carry the

load himself, he did not at least put it upon the donkey, would reply,

"Because it is too heavy for the ass."

A little farther on and a magnificent Riffi passed us, walking along at a

smart pace into the city, his face "old oak" colour, framed in a turban

of dark red-brown strings of wool. He wore a chocolate-coloured jellab,

embroidered at the edge with white, and sewn with tufts of red, violet,

yellow, and green-coloured silks: a tall, wiry fellow, with a back like a

ram-rod, a thin face, and keen, defiant eyes. The light glittered on his

long, brass-plated Riffi gun: a red leather pouch full of bullets hung at

his side. He was a great contrast to the labourer who passed us

afterwards, also bound for the city--an old and grizzled monkey-faced

man, with his head tied round with a ragged red cloth gun-case. His

jellab hung in tatters, but he also carried a gun, and by a string a

brace of partridges and a wild duck, which "bag," after some bargaining,

became ours for the sum of one-and-sixpence.

Among the brown jellabs and varied turbans European clothes were forcibly

out of their place: a people like the Moors, childlike, patriarchal,

whose lives embody one of the oldest and perhaps best ideas of a simple

existence, may well hate the sight, on the face of their select country,

of prosaic tailoring and hideous head-gear. The traveller in his boots,

where boots are things unknown, passes the muffled women with their

silent gait, the picturesque ruffians with their swinging stride, and is

unable to help feeling not at home and something of a blot on the

landscape.

The lane we wandered up had been, and was still in places, a watercourse,

and we struggled along the steep chasms gouged out of the soft soil, and

clambered over rocks which had withstood the torrent.

By-and-by a red door intervened on our left, fitted into an imposing

whitewashed arched gateway, with a mounting-block on each side, and the

great brass ring-shaped knocker in the middle of the door which the Moors

have left all over Spain--the garden-house of the French Consul. In

another four months, when all aristocratic Tetuan would migrate in a body

into their "summer-houses," and by their mutual presence reassure each

other as to their safety, the Consul would move out of the city: at

present he would look on such a step as sheer madness.

An old negro slave, with a beard like cotton-wool, was at work in the

garden, and, opening the door, let us in to look round. A wide gravel

path led up to the dazzling walls of the house, spotless as a sheet of

glazed cream-laid note-paper, the window-frames and door picked out with

Reckitt's blue. A white railing in front edged the terrace, the steps of

which were tanned by the damp salt air a fine rusty ochre. The house

inside was built on the invariable Moorish lines--kitchen and inferior

rooms on the ground floor, one great lofty room above, and the flat roof

over all. A garden-room flanked the house on the south-east, the front

open to the garden, pillared and arched with the old white plastered

"horse-shoe." In underneath the arches were shade and cool tiling, and

outside more tiled ground suggested steaming brews of fragrant green tea,

tiny glasses, low tables, and long divans spread under the sky.

It was a grey day, and height beyond height on into the Riff country was

cloud-capped, while _shar d'jebel_ (the hair of the mountain, as the

Moors call snow) whitened a few furrowed peaks. The flats lay below to

the left, and a horizontal blue pencil line was scored beyond them.

Cow-birds stalked about the garden among some new vines which the old

negro was putting in.

We sat down on the terrace, looking at the view, and the silence of the

place was above all things most striking. A cavalcade of mules tailed

away in the distance in single file along the faint track to the sea; the

packed white city lay to the right, but no voices reached us; here

cart-wheels, railway-trains, threshing-machines, and busy farm life were

not. It would have been hard to age and wrinkle in such a spot--Adam and

Eve might have felt at home.

It was also a weedy one, this Paradise: a tangle of greenery spread

underneath the oranges, hanging like yellow trimming on a green fabric,

choking the vines and a few scarlet geraniums. Labour, in such indolent

and self-possessed acres, was a crude and gauche idea.

The greybeard with the marmoset face and leathern apron let us out at the

red door: he had a history. His master, a prosperous Moor, once offered

to free him: the old slave refused the offer, on the score that he was

quite content as he was. However, his master urged him to accept, and he

was eventually given his freedom. But later on the master lost all his

money, and ruin was before him. His old slave came back. "See here, my

master; here am I. Take me; sell me"; and he finally persuaded the man to

sell him. He seemed contented enough as the property of the French

Consul, who is a Moor.

We passed a party of closely veiled women, as we strolled citywards,

taking advantage of a break in the wet weather to visit their gardens,

carrying a great key, and accompanied by two or three ink-black slaves,

fine upstanding women, well fed and clothed, looking good-tempered to a

fault, whose children, by the same husband and master, would rank equally

with those of the wives.

Mohammedan women, though veiled and supervised, have at least their

gardens to saunter out to and visit when the tracks allow. Jewesses in

Morocco deserve infinitely more pity. Their one recreation seemed to

consist in walking as far as the Jewish cemetery, ten minutes outside the

Gate of the Tombs, and attending to the gravestones of their friends.

The cemetery is gradually absorbing one side of a rough red-earthed hill;

it has no fence of any description round it, and the flat pale-blue and

white tombstones spread over the ground look in the distance like so much

washing out to dry. The stones are all alike, oblong lozenges, inscribed

in Hebrew.

Here, especially on Fridays, the women's day, Jewesses congregate,

flocking along the cemetery road--the mourners in ponderous black skirts,

vast breadths of crimson silk let into the fronts and embroidered with

gold, white shawls over head and forehead, a yellow sash-end edged with

red appearing behind, and completing their mourning. Some of the shawls

are family heirlooms, and only parted with for five-pound notes.

Loud checks and gaudy colours adorn the Rahels, Donahs, Zulicas, and

Miriams not in mourning, as well as the white shawls; and the procession

troops to the cemetery, sallow, sad-eyed daughters of Jacob, talking a

mixture of Arabic and Spanish, with a few English and Shillah words

thrown in.

Of all life's unfortunates, the Jew in Morocco was once, next to the

negro in the West Indies, the most persecuted and degraded of God's

creatures.

In Tangier and the seaport towns, where the Christian representatives

countenance and support him, the Jew, subject to certain restrictions, is

in the present day a flourishing member of the community; but in the

interior his fate is still a hard one.

There is a Jewish tradition that when Shalmaneser, King of Assyria,

conquered the Israelites, the tribe of Naphthali took refuge in the

interior of Africa, and spread to Morocco. Jewish tombstones are

certainly to be found dating as far back as twelve hundred years, and one

synagogue possesses fragments of the Old Testament written on parchment,

while there is a population of from four to five thousand Jews in the

Atlas Mountains who have lived there since time immemorial.

Perhaps the wandering Jew merely drifted into Morocco just as he drifts

all over the universe, and he would have taken refuge in North Africa

more particularly when Spanish persecution became intolerable.

Once in Morocco, the Moors permitted the Jews to remain because they were

useful to them; but upon certain conditions. They are confined to a

certain quarter of the city--the Jews' Quarter, the Ghetto in

fact--which is shut and locked by a gate at sunset, barring them from the

outer world. In their own quarter they may do as they like, except ride a

horse; the horse is considered too noble an animal to be ridden by the

Jew: outside they may not ride at all, not even a mule, but are obliged

to trudge barefoot through the slush of the rest of the city, summer and

winter. They are compelled to wear one costume--a long black gabardine

and a black skull-cap. Few Jewesses care to leave their quarters by

themselves, for fear of insult. No synagogues or public places of worship

are allowed them, and they must address Moors as _Sidi_, or "My lord."

But these customs are fast dying out. There is one which universally

obtains: the Jews' Quarter is known as the _Mellah_; Mellah means "salt"

in Arabic,--the Jews are compelled to salt the heads of conquered tribes

killed in battle, and of criminals, which are afterwards nailed on the

city walls as trophies and warnings.

In Tetuan the Jews are influential and well treated: many of them wear

European clothes. On Saturday--the Jewish Sabbath--a young masher (a

Mordejai, or Baruch, or Isaac) would boast a pair of brand-new yellow

shoes and white socks, but wear at the same time a dove-coloured

gabardine down to his heels and a mauve sash round his waist.

Claret-coloured gabardines were fashionable, and a black skull-cap

inevitable.

Though Tetuan was lax and liberal in its treatment of the Israelites,

wealthy families of whom it possessed, the Mellah was at once the

noisiest and filthiest quarter of the city, teeming with children (unlike

the Moorish quarters, where there are few), who played and fought,

laughed and cried, by fifties down the three principal arteries of the

quarter, whose few feet of walking-space were lined with small and dirty

greengrocers' and butchers' shops, their stock-in-trade encrusted with

flies. On hot days the Mellah stank; on wet it was deep in black slime.

Once upon a time it ran close to the Jama-el-Kebeer; and when a hundred

years ago the Sultan who had built the big mosque sent his envoy to

examine it, all was approved of except the proximity of the Jews'

Quarter. "Can a mosque be admired near Jews?" was speedily answered by

the Tetuanites, who turned the Israelites neck and crop out of house and

home, giving them another piece of ground walled in and sufficiently

removed.

The sons of Abraham are only tolerated all the world over. As a nation,

Moors loathe them. To a pig, which they count "unclean," they give the

epithet of _jew_: out pig-sticking, when the pig breaks, the beaters

shout, "The jew! the jew!" To begin with, having forced his presence on

an unwilling people, the Jew retains his own exclusiveness, neither

marries a Moor nor eats with a Moor, nor treats him as anything else

except unclean. Not only this, but by unscrupulous cunning Jews contrive

to exercise a maddening oppression over a people with whom they have

chosen to cast in their lot, swindling, extorting money, and playing a

hundred low tricks upon the very race on the produce of whose labour they

live: at the same time their exasperating patience and cringing humility,

court contempt and insult.

[Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier._]

A STREET IN THE JEWS' QUARTER, TETUAN.

[_To face p. 116._]

The poorest Moor in Tetuan is a gentleman: the richest Jew is not. But he

has his good points: a great sense of brotherhood, a strong bond of

freemasonry among the Jewish nation, undaunted energy, and an unshaken

faith in their religion are all admirable points in themselves. Energy in

Tetuan was concentrated in the Mellah. The best workmen were all Jews. A

hundred things were sold by them which no Moor made.

Thus in their Ghetto live the Chosen People, the Separate People, of

strange and ancient customs,--leaving the hair uncut for a year after a

relative's death, sitting on the floor, and not on a chair, for a week

after; twisting a pocket-handkerchief round the waist on the Sabbath in

order to save "the work" of carrying it; slitting the button-hole of the

waistcoat in time of distress instead of "rending the garment"; eating

_adafina_ on the Sabbath, an indigestible dish of hard-boiled eggs, meat,

and potatoes prepared overnight and left on the fire till next morning.

There is no end to ceremonials throughout a Jew's life: the first at his

circumcision, the next when his hair is cut for the first time, the next

when he goes to the synagogue for the first time, and so on.

When a Jew was buried in Tetuan, the uncoffined body, wrapped in sheets

on a wooden bier, might only be borne out of the city by the

_Báb-el-Je'f_, literally the Gate of the Unclean Dead--that is, the Jews'

Gate.

The mourners howled and the male relatives cried aloud; friends followed,

talking and smoking cigarettes. It happened sometimes that the grave was

not ready when the cortège reached the cemetery, and that the party would

sit down on the hillside while it was lengthened and deepened; from time

to time the body would be measured with a walking-stick, and the result

compared with the grave.

It is impossible to write about the Jews and omit one certain point.

Before the traveller has lived a week in Morocco he begins to hear of

_protection_, and he carries with him vague words--"protected Jews" and

"protected Moors"--which one sentence can explain. _Protection_ means

that a European living in Morocco, a Portuguese, a Frenchman, an

Englishman--it matters not--has it in his power to make the Jew or the

Moor desiring protection a nominal citizen of that country, Portugal or

France or what not, and can allow him the rights of a citizen and the

protection of the same; while it follows that the Sultan and the Moorish

Government have no more power to touch him than they have to touch a

French or an English subject, the protected Jew or Moor being outside

their jurisdiction, and only answerable to the consul of that country

which has given him protection, whether Germany, France, or any other.

The advantage of protection is to guarantee thereby the safety of

property. It was instituted a hundred years and more ago, to obviate the

difficulties and dangers incurred by Europeans in trading with Jews and

Moors in a country so badly governed as Morocco. Supposing that a

European went into partnership and traded with a Jew or a Moor who was

unprotected, in course of time, when the Jew or Moor became rich, the

Moorish Government would hear of it, and set to work systematically to

bleed him. Naturally the European partner would lose money in the general

robbery. Therefore _protection_.

There is scarcely a Jew of property in Morocco who is not protected, and

there are hundreds and hundreds of protected Moors; but though many Moors

have enjoyed security for themselves and their belongings by this means,

others less fortunate, more especially some years ago, have only escaped

the talons of Moorish despotism to fall into the clutches of European

swindlers, adventurers who have dared--themselves somewhat beyond the

reach of their own home government--to fleece the unsuspecting

Mohammedan, bribing some basha to imprison him for the rest of his days.

A European consul has before now "sold" his Moorish protected

partner--that is, he tells him that, if he does not produce so much

money within a certain time, protection will be withdrawn. The wiser

course for the Moor is to pay the sum. If protection is withdrawn, the

Moorish Government and the European blackleg will divide his worldly

goods between them.

Such risks are minimized every year, and protection is greatly sought

after by Moors and Jews. From the French they get it easily enough. The

system is a bad one: that it prevails at all is a proof of the corruption

of the Moorish Government.

CHAPTER V

PLANS FOR CHRISTMAS AT GIBRALTAR--A ROUGH NIGHT--THE STEAMER WHICH WOULD

NOT WAIT--AN IGNOMINIOUS RETURN TO TETUAN--A RASCALLY JEW--THE ABORIGINES

AND THE PRESENT OCCUPANTS OF MOROCCO--THE SULTAN, COURT, GOVERNMENT, AND

MOORISH ARMY.

CHAPTER V

Why curse? _Mektub._ (It is written.)

IN spite of the attentions of Amanda, as December drew on and the weather

showed no signs of clearing, we began to hanker after a week at

Gibraltar, which should combine Christmas and the purchase of camp outfit

for use when the rains passed over. It was not difficult to tear

ourselves away from the fonda; for it became less easy to tolerate the

proximity of the old Spanish band-master, with his bad tobacco and

long-winded stories; nor were our landlady and family over-refined. We

had not come to Morocco to live amongst the scum of Spain: could Tetuan

be swept clean of the Spanish element, it were better for it. In fine,

amusing and even interesting though our quarters had been for the time,

circumstances pointed towards a move into others, the interval being

spent in a run across to Gibraltar.

The steamers which call at Martine, down on the seashore, and bring goods

to be carted up to Tetuan, six miles inland, are as mysterious as they

are rare. One is supposed to call on alternate Tuesdays, weather

permitting; another occasionally calls in the intervening weeks; none

come direct from Gibraltar, though all are supposed to go straight back

there after touching at Ceuta. But there are many buts. Worst of all, the

river at Martine has formed a bar, and Martine is a "bar port": this

prevents landing in a strong wind.

We pinned our faith upon the Tuesday boat, not realizing its uncertainty;

for if the boat had not enough cargo on board to make it worth while her

calling, or if she had too much and time was short, or if the weather was

bad, she had no hesitation in missing Martine and Tetuan out of that

fortnight's round altogether.

We did not want to ride forty-four miles to Tangier with the "roads" in

the state they were, even if it had been practicable; nor almost as far

and a worse track to Ceuta: either would have meant sleeping a night in

the fondâk up in the hills, or in a Spanish lodging-house of doubtful

repute: therefore we planned to go by boat from Martine, engaged rooms

for a week in Gibraltar beforehand, and, with the optimism born of

ignorance, doubted not but that we should get away on the steamer.

Packing up overnight and breakfasting at eight, we were soon ready to

mount our mules and ride down to the shore to catch our boat. It was a

matter of two and a half hours from Tetuan down to Martine: the track

need not be described--this speaks for itself. Our luggage, tied with

complicated rope-knots, was judiciously balanced upon one mule, and we

had said good-bye to Amanda and family when a message arrived from the

steamships agency to say that the steamer was not in.

After taking counsel, however, the luggage was dispatched down to

Martine; a muleteer badly marked with small-pox climbed on the top of our

worldly goods, and the mule jogged off: we would follow when the steamer

was sighted.

[Illustration: REFUSE GOING OUT OF TETUAN.

[_To face p. 124._]

Walking into the feddan in search of information about her, every Moor or

Jew only replied with shrugged shoulders and extended palms. Who could

tell? She might come in at eleven, she might not. "Ift shallah" (Allah

will show). As she had two hundred and forty tons of cargo to unload, the

agents thought she might stay till the following day before starting for

Gibraltar: on the other hand, the previous night had been a rough one,

and it was quite possible she had passed Martine altogether, and did not

intend to call for another fortnight.

It was a sunny morning: there was nothing to be said but "Mektub" (It is

written), and nothing to be done except sit in the sun and await events,

after the fashion of the brown figures in jellabs also sitting in the sun

against the south wall of the feddan where it is highest and nearly

always dusty.

Wandering up and down, Spaniards were to be seen in one café shuffling

filthy cards and drinking spirits, while in another, behind a great vine

which held in its arms a rustic trellis porch and seats, Moors lay on

their elbows, tumblers of tea swimming in mint in front of them and long

kif-pipes. A Riffi sat on a stool in the sun, leaning against the vine,

nursing his gun; his single long black lock fell down by his ear, glossy

and tied in a knot at the end. Next door a gunsmith was at work in his

little shop sand-papering a gun-stock: a sheep was penned inside against

the Great Feast, and more sheep in the grocer's beyond. On the opposite

side of the great square a Jew was selling enamel ware to one of the five

lady missionaries. Then meat came hurrying by, just killed outside the

Mulberry Gate and still warm. Red-and-white shapeless carcases were

balanced on a donkey's back, kept steady by a sanguinary Moor who sloped

along behind: the donkey knew its own way well, across the wide feddan,

down a narrow street, and into the meat market. Thither hurried the lady

missionary to buy a joint. If cooked before it has time to get cold the

meat is tender, otherwise it must be hung.

It did not seem long before the bell on the top of the Spanish Consulate

rang out twelve o'clock. There was no sign of any steamer--the steamships

agent had given her up; and not wishing our luggage to lie on the beach

all night--for gumption was not one of the characteristics written on our

pock-marked boy's face--we sent a messenger off on the two hours and a

half ride down to Martine to summon him back.

About one o'clock, just as we were sitting down to lunch in Mr. Bewicke's

room, the news arrived that the steamer was signalled. All doubt was at

an end: we lunched complacently, allowed time for coffee and a

button-hole out of the garden, mounted the mules, Mr. Bewicke his white

pony; the gardener, Madunnah, following behind on foot, carrying our

sticks and umbrellas, which burden was increased half-way through the

city by a bracket, but lately coloured in garish tones, vermilion

prevailing--it bled somewhat, but was to serve as a Christmas present at

Gibraltar.

Over the cobbles, under the Gate of Wisdom, out on to the sandy track,

and along the sea road we rode, the mules refusing at first to pass some

sacks of grain which lay in the middle of the path waiting to go down to

the beach. There is a gate tax on every loaded animal which passes under

the Gate of Wisdom, to avoid which the sacks are carried just out of the

city on men's backs, set down, and picked up in time by mules.

The first mile or so was not worse going than usual. Coming from the

right by a trail which led across the river, a string of women bore

towards us, bringing wood into the city from villages miles away--scrub

off the mountain-side. Their rough heads were bound round with

weather-stained coloured handkerchiefs: listless eyes looked straight out

from under lined foreheads. On each side of their doubled-up backs

protruded rough wood-ends--these kept in place by a rope over the

shoulder, grasped in knotted hands above copper-coloured muscular arms.

The bit of towelling round the loins, brushed by the wind, left bare a

species of knees and legs, carved by two thousand years of toil into

humanized Norman piers, buttressed with muscle, in which ankles have no

lot nor part, which have carried and still carry unreasonable loads from

childhood to the grave. These women walked in single file, as do the

mules and donkeys. And this is partly due to the space which the wide

bundles take up on each side, partly to bad paths, and partly to entire

lack of initiative. Why should they strike out a line of their own, these

"cattle" and "beasts of burden," as they call themselves? The old way

comes easier.

Thus life has moved across Morocco, without deviation, down immeasurable

years, and moves so to-day, along innumerable trails worn afresh by bare

feet after every rain-storm, footprint into footprint, padded hard and

smooth, narrow and polished.

The flats, after so much wet weather, were under water, and the lower

down the road dropped, the deeper the country grew. Our mules struggled

along at a slow walk, and we constantly diverged off the track, circling

to this side or the other whenever a field looked an improvement upon our

muddy quagmire, generally to find that it was very little better and

sometimes worse.

About half-way we met our luggage and messenger. The pock-marked boy had

taken our effects to the shore, had found no steamer, waited a short

time, then calculated that he would be late getting back to the city,

and ran risks of robbers, to say nothing of _ginns_ (spirits) lurking in

the wells by the road, so turned his face homewards.

We were in total ignorance, and so of course was he, all this time as to

the movements of the steamer: once out of the city, the level of the road

is such that nothing can be seen of the sea until a couple of hours'

riding, lands people right on the beach itself. With every hope that she

still lay at anchor, we turned our "pock-mark" round, and the poor mule

faced the bad road down to Martine for the second time that day.

Madunnah handed over the bracket to crown our baggage, and plodded

bravely on, often well up to his bare knees in mud and water. A brace of

duck forged across the sky above our heads; some plover called and called

again mournfully, wheeling above the irresponsive marshes and brown

fallows; a string of mules moved like mites over a cheese in the sandy

distance. We passed the Wad-el-Martine in heavy flood, its yellow yeasty

depths swirling between the soft red banks.

At last a couple of stone bridges came into sight, isolated in a waste of

water, remnants of the old Portuguese road, and in normal times affording

a dry path over two dykes. We plunged through unseen holes and among

stony pitfalls up to the lonely landmarks and dry ground for a few yards;

then more floods; but after that the last mile or two became easy enough,

the land rose, and dry sandy dunes, with tough bents flattened in the

wind, conduced towards a jog, almost a canter. Goats, picking up a bare

living, scattered as we hurried along, past the white Customs House and

an old wharf on the river, away to the beach. Behind us the mountains

were black and purple, heavy rain-clouds were gathering, and directly we

topped the crest of the sandy shore a strong east wind met us full in

the teeth straight off the sea. But there as large as life lay the

steamer, a long way out, on account of the bar and the wind, with a

choppy sea running between.

A cargo-boat was vainly trying to cross the bar, towed by a long green

boat which six Moors were rowing. She made no headway, shipped water

which deluged the cargo, and seemed half aground on the bar. No other

boat or boatmen seemed to be available: the steamer was not within hail.

Certainly there were three more cargo-boats lying in shelter in a corner

of the river-estuary a little way off the land, but some men in one of

them seemed half asleep--at any rate, they were out of our reach, and

deaf to our shouts and gesticulations to the effect that we wanted to be

rowed on board the steamer.

We waited and waited; Madunnah yelled himself hoarse; but the cargo-boat

still rolled on the bar, lashed by the waves, and the men still strained

at their oars and paid no heed to our cries. Twice we thought they meant

coming to our signals, but each time they were only trying fresh

manoeuvres.

Rain came on, a sharp easterly scud; the pock-marked boy drew his jellab

over his head; the mules turned their backs to the squall; but Madunnah

still stood at the edge of the waves, gesticulating wildly with our

sticks and umbrellas at the impassive rowers. Sunset was upon us. At a

fire of driftwood on the beach a short distance off R. and I tried to

warm ourselves.

Suddenly the long green boat left the cargo and pulled towards us: the

sea was rising, and looked anything but encouraging; breakers were

showing their white teeth on the bar; but the green boat drew nearer and

came in at last, or nearly so--for she stopped short off the shore, and,

half aground, lost her rudder. Still none of the crew paid the faintest

attention as we hailed them in Arabic, English, and Spanish across the

few yards of water which put them just out of our reach. They had

something else to do except attend to three mad Britishers--let them

rave.

The cargo-boat, deserted by the long green boat, had stuck worse than

ever: darkness was coming on, and she was in a bad case. The men in the

"long green" roused the half-sleeping Moors in the companion boat, and it

was evident that both meant going out together to tow the belated cargo

in.

Our voices carried less as the wind rose, and it was evident even to

Madunnah that words were wasted. The rain drove in torrents; it was

bitterly cold, and growing darker every moment; as the two boats turned

their heads towards the wave-swept cargo we realized that it was night,

that all chance of getting on board was at an end for that day at least,

and we set our backs to the sea.

There still remained one alternative and a last chance of getting to

Gibraltar for Christmas Day: the steamer might not leave till the

following morning, and, taking shelter for the night in the Customs House

on the beach, we ought to be able to get on board at daybreak. We turned

off to the left through blinding gushes of rain, and headed for this

refuge.

[Illustration: A MOORISH PRISON GATE.

[_To face p. 130._]

The Customs House was much like a caravanserai: an open space in the

middle was enclosed by sheds for mules and asses; a rough stair led to

the living-rooms, above the sheds, which opened on to a flat white roof.

We stumbled up on to the roof; then in under a low doorway into a little

wooden lean-to, where an old Jew caretaker was living. The rest of the

place was given over to a family of Israelites, who had come down to

"the seaside" from Tetuan for change of air.

Much to our relief, the old Jew caretaker assured us that the steamer

would be landing cargo till noon on the following day: he offered us

everything he had in his power for that night, and promised to see us off

in a boat the next day. Committing us to his care, Mr. Bewicke left us

and rode back to Tetuan with the mules and Madunnah; our baggage was

stowed away under shelter; and the old Jew, finding a light and

improvising two seats out of boxes and matting, sat us down at his little

table, with a bit of frayed linoleum on it and a glass.

The roof leaked and the rain beat on to the linoleum, but we were in snug

quarters after the beach, and our friendly host began boiling up a great

black kettle in a tiny inner room, assisted by a Moor. He was very

rheumatic, the old man, also very deaf, and Martine must have been a damp

spot for him (the river and marshes close at hand, and east or west wind,

both of them heavy with moisture--nothing would dry, hung out in the air

at Tetuan); nor were his quarters rain-proof.

He hobbled backwards and forwards, muffled up in a worn grey

handkerchief, with a fortnight's white stubble on his chin, and an aged

greenish overcoat down to his slippers.

From the recesses of a bunk in the next shelter, where he slept, he

produced some pink china cups; then returned with a plate of bread,

hardened to the consistency of biscuit, and smelling strongly of aniseed.

After that he made tea in a little brown earthenware teapot--sweet green

tea with mint--and we soon thawed under a succession of cups. Still he

stumbled about, hunting out of a cupboard a small basket of eggs, and in

the next room a great stirring and beating-up followed.

By-and-by the Moor who had been assisting him appeared with an omelette;

it was dark brown, mixed thick with aniseed, chopped ham, and parsley;

nor was it easy to dispose of it.

Our kind host ended up by pressing gin on us.

Warmed and fed, but unfortunately unable to sustain a conversation with

him either in Arabic or Spanish, and having exhausted the few words at

our command, the next best thing was to make ourselves comfortable for

the night. Lighting a candle, the old Jew paddled across the wet roof,

and we followed him, dimly distinguishing beasts feeding in the stalls

down below, to a small room on the far side, where some sort of

preparation had been made for us: a rug was spread on the stone floor,

and a bedstead had a blanket laid upon it, while our baggage was piled in

a corner. Putting on overcoats and rugs, we sat down on one of our

trunks--it is unwise to place confidence in unknown beds in Morocco; but

when, driven by sheer weariness, we lay down as we were on the blanket,

we slept unmolested.

A Jew on the other side of a thin partition which did not reach the

ceiling, snored heavily and awoke us at intervals. About six next

morning, what sounded very like the steamer's whistle blew repeatedly,

but we paid little attention to it, the old Jew and Mr. Bewicke having

both assured us the boat would leave about twelve o'clock. Morning had

dawned when we burst open the wooden shutters of a little window much

swelled with damp, and looked out across the sand-dunes at the sea.

There lay the black hull of the steamer at anchor: the wind of the night

before had dropped; a flaring sunrise and stormy sky lowered behind the

Riff Mountains, which were black.

Dressing was short work. The Moor handed us in at the door a tin basin

of water, and in a short time we were ready for the next move. At that

point R. craned up to look out of the high window. When she spoke, I

could hardly believe her words. . . . _The steamer had weighed anchor and

was moving._

There was no mistaking it: the black hull had swung round, and was making

for the open sea, with a flag of smoke trailing behind her; and away she

went to Gibraltar.

We rushed out upon the flat roof and up a rotten ladder minus three

rungs--all unheeding--which gave access to the roof above our room,

gaining nothing thereby except a panoramic view, with the departing boat

in the middle distance. Already she stood well out to sea: the Customs

House was a quarter of a mile from the beach: there was nothing to be

done: to blame our kind old host would have been as ungrateful as it was

useless, and regrets were equally unavailing. True it is that the wise

man fends for himself and makes no arrangements second-hand in Morocco,

where every one is _casual_ and every plan is _casual_. Had we found out

when the ship's papers were going on board, and arranged with the agent

to call us and take us in his boat, we should have eaten plum pudding in

Gibraltar. Apparently the steamer had been signalling for the last hour

to the effect that she was going, that the weather was bad and the sea

rough outside, and that she would not venture to stay and dispatch her

cargo--none of which facts the deaf and decrepit old Jew had grasped. He

hobbled out, and would hardly believe his eyes.

We sat down to some weak green tea and the same dry aniseed-flavoured

bread as the night before, and, thus fortified, reviewed our course of

action, which had few complications, there being no other steamer before

Christmas, and the ride to Ceuta or Tangier barred by reason of the

flooded streams and general state of the country. The "open road" pointed

towards Tetuan and our old quarters in the Spanish fonda, of which we had

taken only the day before such joyful leave. It was inevitable, that next

move; and should be made quickly, to judge by the look of the

weather--the clouds were growing lower and blacker every half-hour.

Animals were a difficulty--our mules had gone back to the city the night

before; but it would have been hard work wading across the flooded acres

for seven miles; and there was our luggage.

Eventually we raised a seedy little rat of a pony, which R. rode; a

ragged donkey, on which half our goods was balanced; while the other half

went on a mule, with me on the top of all. We turned our backs on the

hospitable white Customs House and the ill-favoured sea with a muttered

imprecation.

In Tetuan a wealthy man was building a house. It was at a standstill for

want of plaster. The plaster had already come in on the steamer _three_

times, and three times she had gone away without unloading it. The boat

we had lost had made a fourth endeavour, and we learnt afterwards that

Mr. N----'s ill-fated plaster had formed the cargo in the wave-washed

boat of the evening before. Wet through, it set as hard as a stone in the

sacks, and was useless: it lay like rocks on the beach. The bar at

Martine has been tolerated for unknown ages: there is no reason to think

that the Moor will rouse himself into making an effort and trying to

facilitate the landing of passengers and cargo.

We left upon our right as we rode along, some hundreds of yards from the

sea, the remains of what years upon years ago was a fort, built somewhat

as forts will be built in the near future--with a view to concealment.

The outside wall facing the Mediterranean was crescent-shaped, and but

four feet high at most, the sand sloping up nearly to the top, and

overgrown with vegetation, so that little or no fort showed at all. There

were a few loop-holes, through which men could shoot from the inside

lying down; there was a well in the centre of the fort, and a small

bomb-proof building, with an arched roof many feet thick, where powder

had been kept. A primitive construction, this harmless-looking little

crescent facing the sea--once upon a time bristling with dare-devil Moors

and their long guns.

Half-way to Tetuan we passed _the_ cart, the first and last I saw in the

place: its antediluvian body was set on two demented wheels, which rolled

out of the upright like a tipsy sailor. The cart was Government property:

five mules of different sizes, drew it up in a string from the sea to the

city, through the quagmire, laden with flour and kerosene oil and stores

of all descriptions, a couple of Moors toiling alongside.

R.'s "rat" was not too surefooted, and some of the floods were deep: once

it came on its nose, but a second time sat down in a hole in the middle

of a sheet of water, leaving nothing for its rider but to slip off and

wade out, walking afterwards wherever the track allowed, to raise a

little circulation underneath drenched clothes. A certain melancholy

possessed the flats as well as our vexed selves that stormy and

ill-fortuned morning. In places the tops of the grass-blades alone showed

in a green watery waste, except where tall dark rushes made a heavier

mass, or where the tufts of red-brown tangle lay in warm lines. The sea

behind us was an angry purple; the Riff Mountains were steel-blue; the

nearer hills now black, now gold in fitful sun-gleams, now crossed by a

rainbow. Only in the north there was a great break, and a light like

brass, behind Ape's Hill. Tradition has it that a subterranean passage

leads thence underneath the Straits to the Rock of Gibraltar, and is used

by the monkeys as a means of transit from Africa to Europe.

Our miserable beasts were several hours toiling up to Tetuan: the rain

came on, and with the wind straight off the snows it was as cold a ride

as I remember.

The next morning we went to the French Steamship Company's office for the

purpose of recovering our passage money from the agent, who had insisted

upon our buying tickets beforehand. This fat, greasy Tangier Jew, of no

chin, and flabby, suet-pudding face, flatly refused in plausible French

to return us our cash, gesticulating, contradicting himself, pretending

to misunderstand us, all in the same breath, and needing nothing so much

as a good kicking. Since the money would only go into his own pocket, we

fought the point, and, after being most insolent, he was obliged to

promise that if the French Consular Agent in Tetuan judged it right, he

would hand over the money.

To the French Consular Agent we went: a Moor, whose office was in the

French Post Office--a solemn, dignified man in a flowing blue jellab,

over the same in white, both hoods drawn up over his head, showing a long

olive face of the true Arab type, black eyes, black beard and moustache.

He wore white socks and yellow slippers--a most courteous individual. On

hearing our case, he simply sent for the Steamships Company Agent, and

told him to hand over the money. We sat and waited with Mr. Bewicke, who

was interpreting for us. Presently a step, and, much out of breath, the

plausible Jew himself arrived, in a long great coat and billy-cock. He

took a seat, and stated his case in Arabic to the French Consular Agent.

There could have been no greater contrast than between the vulgar excited

Israelite and the stately Mohammedan. The Moor sat with folded arms:

occasionally he raised one hand to emphasize a quiet monosyllable. But

alas for the steadfastness of his race! Perhaps he disliked being mixed

up in the matter. At any rate, having said that the money was to be

refunded, he allowed the Jew to argue the point, and, we gathered, was

telling him finally that the whole question had better be referred to the

company itself--a dim and visionary Steamships Company on the other side

of the Mediterranean: it augured badly for us.

But at this point R. spoke in French, and reminded the Jew that he had

promised to refund the money if the French Consul so judged, that the

Consul had given judgment, and that if the Jew still refused he was no

longer a man of his word. Strange to say, this quickened a dormant

conscience underneath all the dishonesty, or it pricked the Jew's pride;

at any rate, after a torrent of protestations, from his tight

waistcoat-pocket he produced a pile of dollars, and handed them over to

us. The money had taken an hour to draw: as far as actual value went it

was not worth it.

The French Consular Agent, the dignified Moor, had to all intents and

purposes failed us at the critical moment, since he would not exert his

lawful authority over a French-protected Jew. But a Moor's faults may be

summed up in one word--_weak_. As in the above instance, refusing to face

circumstances or to follow one definite line of action to the end, he

invariably acts on the principle of "going roundabout." In the course of

time evasion has come to appear to him the best line to pursue, and he

has sunk like a stone into a slough of compromise, a tarn of apathy.

Such weakness, incompatible with Moorish fanaticism and courage, is due

probably to tyranny.

Living under a tyrannical government and religion, both of which, welded

together, form the one dominant factor of his life, the Moor is afraid of

each, and stands in dread of the ruin it is in their power to work in his

life. Not only this, but he lives in fear of his countrymen and their

long guns, of his wives and their poisons, of evil spirits.

Morocco, as has been said, accepted Mohammedanism of necessity, not from

choice, at the hands of the conquering Arabs, and it is accepted to-day,

as the corrupt Government is accepted, with a shrug of the shoulders and

"What God wills cannot but be." Weakened by blind submission, and at the

same time holding nothing for which they have fought or wrought--no

truths made adamant in the furnace of persecution, no Magna Charta won on

the sword-point of patriotism, all of which are so much tonic and

discipline to a nation, breeding grit, developing backbone--the Moorish

people are paralyzed by a despotism which allows no originality of

thought and action; they are no longer capable of "running straight,"

but, suave and polite to a fault, lack that species of courage which

conduces towards plain-speaking.

After all, who and what are to blame except the people themselves? One

writer curses the religion, another curses the Government. _Cui bono?_

Climate and the fertility of soil may have influenced the races called

Moorish, but the Moor himself is alone responsible for his Government and

his religion.

[Illustration: _Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier._]

A PEEP OF TETUAN.

[_To face p. 138._]

Historians from time to time have had something to say about these

tribes, and tradition boasts a legion tales respecting them; but the most

able writer upon Morocco in old times was Leo Africanus, a Moor himself,

who, when all his countrymen were expelled from Spain in 1492, fled to

Fez.

Twenty-five years later he was captured by Christian pirates and taken to

Rome. He became a Christian, and he published his great and reliable

history about the time that Henry VIII. was successful in Flanders and

Scotland, when Wolsey obtained a cardinal's hat, and Catherine of Arragon

had not been ousted by Anne Boleyn.

The aborigines of Morocco were without doubt Berbers, and to-day Berbers

occupy four-fifths of the country, in spite of the invasions of other

nations. First on the list of the invaders came the Phoenicians, the

earliest civilizing agency. The Romans followed eighty years after Cæsar

had landed in Britain, and annexed Morocco, Christianizing its people.

Next to invade the country were the Vandals, who turned out the Romans,

remained among the Berbers for over a hundred years, leaving red hair and

blue eyes behind them. Then six hundred and ninety-eight years after the

birth of Christ the deluge of Mohammedan conquest burst over Morocco, and

hordes of Arabs, burning with a fanatical missionary spirit, swept over

the land. At the end of eleven years the resistance of the Berbers was

overcome, and they adopted Mohammedanism as lightly as they had adopted

Christianity under the Roman rule.

About two years afterwards a body of them crossed over into Spain under

the one-eyed chieftain Tarik, and laid the foundation of the Moorish

supremacy in Europe. Thither this band of pioneer Berbers was followed by

the Arabs: the two races mingled and built up together an empire in Spain

said to surpass all its contemporaries in learning and refinement. The

Spanish named them indiscriminately _Mauros_, and _Moors_ they have been

ever since; but the name Moor can be traced back as far as 23 A.D., when

Pliny and Strabo speak of the _Maurusii_ and _Mauri_.

A reflection of their empire's greatness shone even in Morocco itself:

libraries and universities were founded in Fez and Morocco City. But at

the same time the benighted country knew no settled peace; it was torn

with civil war between the Arab and Berber tribes, until the Berbers

finally mastered the Arabs, and forced them to confine themselves to

certain districts.

Meanwhile, in Spain the Moorish Empire, which for seven hundred years had

remained firmly established, keeping alive Greek philosophy, building the

Alhambra and making an indelible impression upon the Spanish nation,

crumbled and fell, or, more properly speaking, was expelled from Spain

after a year of bitter persecution. Thousands of Moorish refugees flocked

back across the Straits to the land of their progenitors, and settled in

Tetuan, Tangier, and the cities on the coast, buoyed up with the

lingering hope of returning, when fickle Fortune smiled again, to the

glories of their old houses in Granada, and to that land which had chosen

to cast them out.

As may be imagined, the government of Morocco soon fell into their more

capable hands: they amalgamated more or less with the Arabs and

Berbers--their own kith and kin--and the country became known to Europe

as Morocco.

In due time a certain Moor, a _Shar[=i]f_--that is, a direct descendant

of the Prophet Mohammed--as head of the Mohammedan Church, gradually

united under himself Arabs and Berbers alike, and was acknowledged as

their Feudal Lord, Religious Chief, and Sultan. The present Sultan is of

the same holy line: hence his title of _Shar[=i]fian Majesty_.