Tomb of Síd Ahmed ben Ali—Megalithic remains at Mzorah—“Lab el
barôd”—“Mona”—Extortion by Europeans—“Matamors”—Sharíf of
Wazan—Boar-hunt—Camp servants.
_Camp, Síd el Yemáni, 6th April 1880._
The morning clouds at Hadd el Gharbía, though low and threatening,
luckily did not develop into rain, but served rather to intensify the
rays of the sun, which for the first time “nipped” one uncomfortably.
The camp was in motion at 8.30, and after traversing a beautiful plain,
many miles in extent, rich in pasture and barley crops, we crossed the
River Aïsha, and ascending a slight incline halted near the tomb of a
saint, Síd Ahmed ben Ali. The tomb, in passing which the standard-bearer
reverently lowered his flag, is said to be tended with great care, and
to be highly finished inside; it is in a thick grove of olive trees, but
into those sacred precincts of the holy man’s last resting place, we
were, of course, not allowed to penetrate. The luncheon-tent had been
pitched half a mile farther on, on the top of a bare hill, the only good
point in the situation selected being a glorious view; as, however, this
would not have compensated for the discomfort of remaining three or four
hours under a blazing sun, with nothing but a sheet of canvas between us
and it, we had the carpets and cushions brought back to a clump of trees
near the olive grove, where, with the aid of books, papers, &c., we made
a pleasant and cool halt. The photographer had, in the meantime,
unperceived by us, stolen off and taken a picture of the scene, in which
we, unconsciously, formed the foreground. It is difficult to get a Moor
to sit for his portrait, the laws of the Koran strictly forbidding it;
but in this picture poor Hamído, the Moorish boy, is caught with his
back towards the camera, washing up dishes in an attitude, the
ungracefulness of which will, I fear, be displeasing to the Prophet. At
three P.M. the word “To horse” was given, and we continued the march. A
short way on we made a slight _détour_ from the track to visit some
remains attributed to ancient sun-worshippers. The style of these
extraordinary monoliths is somewhat similar to those of Stonehenge, and
they belong, possibly, to the same period. Only one large stone remains
standing, the others lie around like fallen giants—strange and
inexplicable remnants of a prehistoric age. I did not count the number
of those on the ground, but in 1831 Sir Arthur Brooke tells us he found
ninety of various sizes.[8] Of course since then many of the smaller
have been removed for building, and the rapid growth of the underwood
may have concealed others. The upright one is of great height—over
twenty feet, I should say—as may be seen by comparison with the figure
of the Moor who is innocently standing at the base. A much larger block
than this is lying on the ground, where, to judge by appearance, it must
have rested a long time. The natives do not attempt any explanation of
the presence of these marvellous relics of an early creed, but they look
upon the place with a kind of religious awe—as a sort of “burning
bush”—and for the second or third time to-day our flag was reverently
lowered as we approached the spot. Rohlfs, the plucky German renegade
who made such an extraordinary tour through the country, erroneously
describes the place as two leagues from Wazan, instead of about ten, as
it really is; though this error would be lessened if it is German
leagues that are meant. He states, too, that the villagers made
considerable objections to his going near the spot at all. In our
inspection we found no difficulty, but doubtless a strong party of six
or eight Europeans with an escort of fifty cavalry would go far to allay
their religious prejudices. The native name of the place is El Úted, or
Mzorah, the former word signifying a peg or column, the latter a place
of worship.
[Illustration: MONOLITHIC REMAINS AT MZORAH.]
Yesterday, for the first time since we started, we were received with
military honours[9]—lab el barôd, &c.; and aided by the nature of the
ground, the scene was striking and picturesque in the extreme. On the
top of a hill, a few miles from here, we found the brother of the
Governor of Azîla awaiting us with a body of about sixty horsemen. They
were drawn up in two ranks on our left hand, armed with long guns,
which, in the distance, had all the appearance of lances. After the
Governor had exchanged courteous greetings with Sir John and our kaïd
the two escorts mingled together in our rear, and we rode on till the
ground in front opened out into a valley with smooth turf at the bottom
and low hills on either side. Here the “powder play” began; the
spectators, consisting of ourselves and part of the escorts, rode slowly
along one side of the slope; while the remainder, together with a number
of villagers who had come out to see the fun, moved parallel with us on
the opposite side. Over the flat ground between us thunder the five or
six horsemen who take part in the performance; in perfect line they
move, twirling their long guns in graceful movements round their heads,
often throwing them high in the air and catching them again as they come
down. Usually the rider in the centre holds his up horizontally, as if
for the others, to use a military term, to “dress by.” At a given signal
the guns are all discharged, or ought to be, as the riders dash past the
individual they specially wish to honour. On this occasion, for some
reason or other, most of them missed fire, so to those of us to whom the
performance was new it was less effective than it might have been. The
most striking part of the “lab el barôd,” however, is the utter
recklessness and _abandon_ which the riders display. With their loose
and graceful robes flowing far behind them in the breeze, they tear
along at the fullest speed they can extract from their unfortunate
horses, whose gory sides betoken the means taken to urge them to it.
Allowing the reins to lie perfectly loose upon the animals’ necks, they
pick them up when the charge is over, and wheel round to join their
comrades again. There is often some delay in the start, and the final
signal is never given till the starter has got them away well together.
A single horseman is sometimes left behind, but this, it seems, is not
the result of accident, but because his horse is either too fast or too
slow for his comrades, and would consequently spoil the order of
advance; this cavalier, however, makes up for his tardy start by
following at full speed, and going through the wildest contortions as he
tears along in rear of the others; now he is aiming his long gun at a
foe in front; now he turns right round in his saddle, and points it at
one behind; lastly, with a loud yell of “Allah,” he discharges it into
the ground, and reining up his panting steed, rejoins the others, while
another set take their place, and the sport is continued.
Just in front of our tents there is a flat piece of ground, and on it
the performance was carried on till dusk, much to the delight of the
camp-followers and natives, and to the extreme delectation of my own and
Sir John’s English servants.
About five P.M. a deputation of the inhabitants of the village waited on
His Excellency, bringing with them the “mona,” or supply of food, &c.,
which the inhabitants of each district through which we pass are bound
to provide daily for the camp. The word “mona” is given in the
dictionary as “provision,” but is almost solely used to express this
involuntary offering of the villagers, which has to be made not only to
magnates like ourselves, but to every native official travelling through
the country.
Yesterday it consisted of eight sheep, about one hundred eggs, a lot of
poultry, candles, sugar, and sundries.
In the case, too, of private individuals, or foreigners travelling with
the authority and under the protection of the Sultan, this custom is
always observed. It is a heavy tax on the wretched people, and on the
present occasion His Excellency fought hard against it, asking to be
allowed to frank himself and the members of his party by paying for the
supplies provided. This proposal, however, the Moorish authorities would
not entertain, the utmost concession they would make being that only
what was absolutely required for consumption should be furnished, and
that the cost of the amount to the natives should be deducted from the
taxes levied this year upon the districts in question—a liberal decree,
which, though it may no doubt be issued by the Sultan, is not likely to
benefit any of his subjects except the heads of districts whose business
it is to levy the taxes. Strict measures have been taken by Sir John to
prevent oppression and peculation on the part of his own native headmen
and servants, and he has therefore reduced to a minimum the usual
plundering of the villagers _en route_ by these worthies, who would
render the march through the country of so large a party more like the
advance of a horde of licensed robbers than the peaceable progress of
the Mission of a friendly power. Well would it be for European prestige
in this Empire of Marocco if such humane and thoughtful precautions were
enforced by representatives of other nations who visit the court of the
Sultan; our ears would not then be made to tingle by tales of violence
and extortion, consonant enough with Moorish ideas, but hardly to be
expected from the delegate of a nation which boasts a high rank in the
civilised world. On a late occasion, between this and Tangier, not only
was a “mona” of much larger amount than necessary extorted from the
people, the surplus being sold or sent back to Tangier to stock the
larder of those left behind, but money also was demanded from the poor
villagers by these pioneers of European civilisation, under the threat
of reporting the headmen unfavourably to the Marocco Government. Such,
at all events, are the stories,[10] supported by evidence which seems
disagreeably strong, told us about our fellow Christians; so one can
hardly complain that the people hate the sight even of a European, or
that the term Nasráni (Christian) continues to be the vilest word of
abuse in the Moorish vocabulary.
I wish I had been actively inclined last night, and had sat down to
write before turning in to bed, an operation performed with extra gusto
through knowing that this article of furniture would still be in the
same place to-night owing to our two days’ halt. Having got as far as
this, however, I may as well record how we spent our “day of _rest_”
here, though my nerves are at this moment a good deal shaken by the
chorus of dogs outside, who, by the row they are making, seem determined
to take the camp by storm.
In the first place, we were threatened with a 6.30 A.M. breakfast, which
mercifully resolved itself into a pretty liberal 7.30 ditto; and
secondly, the hunting-ground, within two miles of which our camp ought
to have been pitched, turned out to be a good twelve. This mistake of
Hadj Hamed’s, the man in charge of our camping arrangements, seemed
inexplicable to the authorities, to whom it did not occur that the
gentle Moor might have friends in the village of Síd el Yemáni, whereas
he could have none among the unclean animals near to whose haunts we had
hoped to find ourselves located. However, there was very little sun, the
ride was a pretty one, and as our breakfasts began to shake down, our
tempers improved. Before we had got very far, by-the-bye, both my temper
and breakfast narrowly escaped two most severe shakings. The first was
on this wise:—I had lagged behind, and got a little way off the track
for the purpose of botanising (we are trying to assist Miss Hay in
collecting for Sir Joseph Hooker),[11] when suddenly, on the hillside, I
found myself among some mysterious holes of apparently great depth, and
cut in a regular manner. The diameter of the orifices was only about two
feet; but, on looking down into them, they seemed of considerable depth
and extent below the surface, and there was water at the bottom. They
were cut too near each other to admit of turning with safety, so I had
to push on. My horse was rather frightened, as was also his rider; but,
threading our way between the pitfalls, we emerged safe on the farther
side. Shortly after this delivery from the danger of being buried alive
with my horse in the hollowed hillside, I was riding along a path
overhanging a watercourse about twenty feet below, when, the ground
being rotten, it gave way under the animal’s hind-feet, and he was left
clinging, like a bat to a wall, by his forelegs. Before, however, I had
had time to consider how to extricate myself from this fresh peril, he
recovered himself, climbing up in an agile and cat-like manner, and for
the next few hours death ceased to stare me in the face.
On enquiry into the use of the holes which cost me such a _mauvais quart
d’heure_, I learned that they were granaries, or “matamors,” where these
unsophisticated people store their grain, covering over the top with
grass, &c., so as to conceal its whereabouts from robbers, or from too
great curiosity on the part of the State collectors. In the meantime it
invariably rots or throws out sprouts, in either case becoming
unserviceable—a clear case of wrapping their talent in a napkin, and, in
this instance, in a style of napkin wholly unsuited to the preservation
of such a talent. Of course the unsettled state of the country, and the
cost of carriage, throw difficulties in the way of selling large
quantities of grain; but their indolence of disposition, and the fact of
their ancestors having carried on this practice for the last thousand
years, are in reality at the bottom of the continuance of this custom.
The advantage which would accrue to the State from the establishment of
a proper system of communication between the chief towns was
practically, but vainly, exemplified during the late famine; for while
barley in Tangier was selling at 85 “ounces” per mond (about equal to
one and three-fifths of an English bushel), and in Marocco at 50, the
cost in Fez was only 15 “ounces;” if, then, roads and wheeled vehicles
had existed, prices throughout the country would have been equalized.
The hunting-ground, where we arrived at last, was a very
promising-looking covert, quite rideable for those of us who were
provided with spears, and was covered with low myrtle and lentisk
bushes. The latter, soaked with dew, and then scorched with the heat of
the morning sun, seemed to give out even more than their usual strong
aromatic scent, which resembles that of a bruised leaf of the true
pistachio, and which resemblance has probably procured for its congener,
the lentiscus, the appellation of “wild pistachio.”
The Sharíf of Wazan, who passed us at our last camp, had come out in two
marches from Tangier to join the hunt, and was already on the ground. In
Marocco, and all along the north coast of Africa, this personage is as
well known as is the Pope in Rome; but as at home his very existence is
almost unknown, I may as well mention a few facts concerning him.
He is one of the true Sharífs, or direct descendants of the Prophet, and
the position he occupies here is second only to that of the Sultan. Some
years ago he married an Englishwoman resident in Tangier, by whom he has
two pretty little boys, one of whom will probably succeed him in office.
This heretical alliance, which at first rather startled the weak nerves
of the faithful, has, wonderful to say, done little or nothing to shake
permanently the allegiance of his flock, over whom his influence and
power are paramount. His father, the late Sharíf of Wazan, was a
remarkable old man in his way, and enjoyed a great reputation for
sanctity. On one occasion, when water was very scarce in the district,
and the land, dried up and parched, threatened the people with a failure
of their crops, he is said to have been equally fortunate with Moses of
old in producing water from a rock, and the stream that he evoked flows
to this day “to witness if I lie.” He had, among other wives, a dusky
consort from the interior, gifted with all the cunning of her race, who
was mother of the present Sharíf. When the old man on his death-bed was
asked, as is the custom, to nominate his successor, he replied, “That
son of mine who, at my death, which is close at hand, shall be found in
possession of my stick.” This remark, being overheard by the
above-mentioned lady, she secreted the stick among her son’s things,
where it was found on his father’s demise the following morning. As the
present Sharíf is in the enjoyment of excellent health, and as his
memoir hereafter will probably be written by an abler pen than mine, it
would be impertinent in me to dilate upon his virtues, or to dwell at
any length upon the characteristics of so eminent a person.
There were rather more than the usual number of Moors armed with long
guns, and at the first beat, on a boar being set on foot, the discharge
of firearms and whistling of bullets was alarming; the next beat was
tedious and badly arranged, so I dismounted and composed myself to sleep
under a lentisk bush. After this came luncheon—by far the best part of
the day’s sport—then two more uninteresting beats on the side of a
precipice where one could neither ride nor walk, and so home, about ten
weary miles, all of us more or less tired and out of humour. The natives
make capital beaters, which helps to keep up the excitement even on a
blank day. The “halúf,” or wild boar, is their hereditary foe; and
Addison, writing in 1671, tells us how the “Morocco gentry, when
disposed to sport, ... hunt and kill the wild boars, who are no rarity
in this diocese, the land affording habitations most suitable to such
unsociable beings.” I think these Moorish horses have some malformation
of the stomach, as my girths are always slipping out of place, rendering
the tenure of one’s saddle and one’s seat alike uncertain.
Unfortunately, too, I have no breastplate, and climbing up a steep bank
to-day the saddle slipped back over the animal’s hind-quarters, landing
me on my head. The horse bolted into the wood, and by the time they
caught him had kicked off a stirrup and my waterproof coat, which was
strapped on the saddle in front of me. The former was picked up, but the
latter is, alas! a thing of the past; unless, indeed, it is being
utilised to protect some native from the rain, which is at present
pouring in torrents.
We are likely to be well served during our pilgrimage, a circumstance
which adds greatly to one’s comfort on these occasions, and from Hadj
Hamed the “Quarter-Master-General” of the camp down to the “boy Hamído,”
who washes up the dishes, they all seem a willing and obliging lot. Most
of them belong to His Excellency’s private establishment, but one or two
outsiders have been hired for the occasion; among these is one
“Boomgheis,” who is a historical character, having accompanied Captain
and Mrs. Colvile in their adventurous tour, and having obtained
“honourable mention” from that gallant author. Some months ago, at the
British Legation, Tangier, Boomgheis had been called in as an extra
hand, the house being full, and one of His Excellency’s guests asked me
if I knew his antecedents, as the face seemed so familiar to him. I was
ignorant then of Boomgheis’s history, but, as we were passing the jail
one day, the shaggy head of a prisoner was thrust through the grating to
beg for money. “Now,” exclaimed my companion, “I remember where I made
Boomgheis’s acquaintance first;” and, sure enough, it was during his
incarceration there, on a charge of murder,[12] that the striking
features of his protruding head had fixed themselves on my friend’s
recollection. On occasions of emergency, masters and servants alike
shout for him, as he is always to the fore. He speaks an extraordinary
dialect intended for English, in which he carries on long conversations
with my servant, though the talk is all on his own side. I notice that
in calling to a Moor, it is usual to insert the interjection “Oh” or
“Wah” before his name; while, if he is a stranger, instead of “answering
to ‘Hi!’ or any loud cry,” as in England, he will always attend to you
if addressed as “Muhammed;” in fact, it stands a good chance of actually
being his name, as one child in each family, generally the eldest, is
called after the Prophet. Allarbi and Hadj Ali, both brothers of Hadj
Hamed, are important functionaries in camp, the former being a sort of
_aide-de-camp_ to his brother, and the latter, a murderous-looking
ruffian, is, with his son, Abd er Rahman, a handsome youth, the personal
superintendent of Lady Hay’s litter. There are also two “scorpions,” or
natives of Gibraltar, among our retinue, one of them filling the
important post of valet to Sir John’s _khalífa_.[13] When not employed
in cursing each other, they are usually singing Spanish songs of a
questionable character, or making night hideous with quaint oaths and
other expletives learned by contact with the British soldier. I at first
thought the title of khalífa more distinguished than it is; but finding
that the assistants of Judico, the cook, and Muhammed, the kaïd of the
muleteers, are both styled khalífa, I feel less respect for the
appellation.
[Illustration: ALLARBI, HADJ-ALI, HADJ-HAMED, AND ABD-ER-RAHMAN.]
My servant, Norton, who has a friend and companion in Sir John’s English
attendant, George, seems favourably impressed with the country, though a
little nervous at the prospect of falling in with lions, which Boomgheis
assures him we shall hear roaring a march or two farther inland. I only
hope the king of beasts will not be of the proportions described in the
account of this district in the sixteenth century by Leo Africanus, to
whom a friend writes that he “brought out of Barbarie a lyon’s skin,
which, from the snowte to the top of the taile, contayned one and
twentie feete in length.”[14] In addition to the above staff are Selám
Hajút, the butler, and the “boy Hamído,” who washes the dishes, and
rides on the camel that carries the luncheon. He does not hit it off
well with Boomgheis, and when we hear more yelling than usual at night,
we are told it is “Boomgheis flogging Hamído.” Lastly, I must mention
Miss Hay’s groom, Muhammed, an extraordinarily active youth, whom, from
his zeal in bringing in botanical specimens, we have honoured with the
patronymic of “Dr. Hooker.”