Romans and Portuguese—Fording the Wad el Kús—El Ma
Bared—Chess-playing—Land tortoises—Changing escorts—Kaïd
of Ben Aouda—Quail shooting—Entertainment at
Habassi—Poison—Kuskussú—Solitude of plains—Thunder-storm—Irregular
protection.
_Kariya el Habassi,
Sunday, 11th April 1880._
We left Alcazar on Friday morning, halting a night at Kariya ben Aouda,
and arriving yesterday at this place, where we have been detained by the
heavy rains.
The immediate neighbourhood of Alcazar must be the last resting-place of
many holy men, judging from the fact that the standard of Marocco never
once raised its head till we were well away from the precincts of the
city. One síd house or Kúbba[17] in particular, at the foot of the slope
where we encamped, was noticeable both for its unusual size and the care
bestowed upon its exterior. From the town to the place where we forded
the Wad el Kús, about one mile, there is a broad paved road, the only
one I have seen in the country. It is said to have been made by the
Portuguese; but, as the Moors aver that Alcazar never fell into their
hands, I do not see how this could be, unless it was the work of
Portuguese prisoners, who may have been captured by Moors during some of
the incursions made by the former while in possession of Azîla. This
theory, too (“a poor thing, but mine own”), would account for many of
the ruins near Alcazar, which have the appearance of Roman remains, but
are in too good repair to have formed part of the _Oppidum Novum_ of the
ancients. M. Tissot, whose small but useful pamphlet[18] is never out of
our hands, says the town itself is partly built by stones which had been
used by the Romans, and this opinion also tends to confirm my theory.
Half an hour’s ride brought us to the banks of the Wad el Kús, the Lixus
of the ancients, a stream which the survivors of the expedition will
meet again at El Araish on the return journey. It is a wide, sluggish
river, and reached about up to our horses’ girths in fording it. The
banks on either side were high and steep, and the scene afforded by the
procession crossing was bright and picturesque in the extreme. The
narrow line of horsemen, preceded by the dark-red ensign, descended the
bank one by one, till, on reaching the river, they scattered out and
widened to six or eight abreast, then narrowed again into single file in
their ascent of the other bank, each one a perfect picture by himself,
forming a mass of colour, the contrast of which against the dusky banks
and sombre waters of the river was in a high degree striking and unique.
El Ma Bared (_Anglicé_, Cool Spring) was the name of the place at which
we halted for luncheon on Friday. The tent was pitched at the top of a
hill, the El Araish escort being picketed below, while our kaïd and his
troopers came up with us. I used to dislike these long mid-day halts;
but their convenience is manifest, as while we are resting, the whole
camp passes on, and, barring accidents, we find it ready pitched and
settled at about 4 P.M., when we arrive on the new ground. At first,
too, we had not got into the swing of the thing, and could devise no
method but food and sleep by which to while away the time; now, with the
assistance of “books, and work, and healthful play,” the hours pass
pleasantly by. Old Kaïd Ali, the commander of our permanent Fez escort,
often comes in to play chess with Haynes, and though unable to speak a
word of anything but Arabic, is an adept at the game. During our halt at
El Ma Bared he dropped in, attended by his son, who belongs to the
troop, and, I fancy, is a sort of aide-de-camp to his father. He was
exceedingly friendly and _prévenant_, going the round of every one in
the tent, and insisting on shaking hands; he then sat down beside his
military superior, to whom he offered advice at intervals during the
game. There seem to be one or two differences between the kaïd’s play
and ours, but I am not clear that he did not try a little
sleight-of-hand occasionally, and when detected attribute it to the
eccentricities of the Moorish method.[19] His arrival was shortly
followed by that of his servant, bearing a dish of hot meat and some
bread intended for our consumption. Although it wanted only an hour to
our own mid-day meal, His Excellency sternly insisted on our all
partaking of it, which operation was effected by the simple process of
dipping in our finger and thumb, and with the aid of a piece of bread
extracting a morsel of the savoury mess. As soon as the Envoy thought we
had taken sufficient to strengthen the friendly relations between
England and Marocco, the rest was sent out to the servants (native), and
a few cups of the kaïd’s Moorish tea washed down what we had taken, and
prepared our interiors for our own luncheon.
While strolling about to get up an appetite for the latter meal I came
upon a tortoise, of which there are a great many about, and intending to
present it to Judico, the cook, to try his art upon, turned it on its
back to await my return. In this, however, I was disappointed, as when I
came back it had decamped, thereby depriving us of a dish of terrapin,
and upsetting at the same time my ideas on the customs and habits of the
tortoise. I fancy, however, that the ones we see in such quantities are
of the genus _Testudo_, and not of that of the edible _Emydæ_, which
latter are found chiefly in North America, and are there considered a
great dainty.
An hour’s ride, still over gently undulating country, brought us to the
confines of the province of El Araish, a fact which was brought to our
notice by hearing a gun fired some little distance ahead and out of
sight. At this signal our provincial escort formed themselves in order
of battle, throwing out flank files, and advancing to meet an imaginary
foe. When the two tribes providing the escorts are not on good terms,
this mimic warfare is dispensed with, the old escort retiring before
coming in contact with the new. As soon as the two troops sighted each
other the lab el barôd began, small parties galloping out from either
side, discharging their guns into each other’s faces, and then retiring
to rejoin their own side. As soon as the red standard hove in sight with
the Envoy on his white Arab close behind, the two escorts formed into a
long line in two ranks on the left of the road, the old one nearest us
on the right, the new one supplied by the Province of Seffian on the
left. The kaïd of the latter then rode out and saluted Sir John, shaking
hands cordially, and repeating over and over again the words, “Marhaba
bík, marhaba bík, Bashador” (Welcome, welcome, Ambassador). His
Excellency then turning round to the El Araish escort, bade their kaïd
and his officers farewell, and we continued our march under the wing of
our new protectors, who wheeled up out of line and fell in behind us. As
we stopped to look at some of the new-comers beginning the usual lab el
barôd, I happened to turn round to see whether the old escort were going
away; but lo and behold! not a man of them was to be seen. As I
understand this habit of mysteriously disappearing into the earth is
peculiar to these people, I shall keep my eyes open on the next occasion
of our changing escort; and if this manœuvre is repeated, shall inform
the kaïd, through the medium of Tweedledee, that I consider such
practices far more closely connected with the Evil One[20] than the
science of Heliography, which I am about to assist in introducing into
Marocco.
Our encampment at Ben Aouda was a very picturesque one, on a rising
ground near a small village, with a curious grass plot, about an acre in
extent, closely hedged in by the highest prickly pears I ever saw. Below
us, to our front, lay the immense plain we had been traversing, the part
nearest to us being sown with rice and barley, the chirping of the quail
amongst which induced some of us to take a stroll after them with our
guns, but our exertions were poorly rewarded.
It seems that the kaïd of the escort which met us between Alcazar and
Ben Aouda was not the governor of Ben Aouda himself, as that potentate
is away fighting near Wazan; and I am sorry not to have seen him, as he
is said to be _par excellence_ the greatest tyrant and scoundrel amongst
all the governors in these parts. He extorts more money from his people
than any of them, and by crueller means; and it is whispered that a
hundred prisoners are rotting in some disused _matamors_ in the side of
the hill not two miles from where we were encamped.
The rain pattering down on the tent within a foot of my nose awoke me
yesterday in our Ben Aouda camp, where, as the spot was a pretty one and
promised sport, we had hoped for a halt on account of the change of
weather. Beyond, however, giving us half an hour’s law for breakfast, no
advantage accrued therefrom. Even had the rain not delayed us here a
second night, a halt would have been necessary before we got to Fez;
because, at our present rate of travelling, we should have reached that
city on Friday, which the Sultan would not have allowed, as that day is
kept, to a certain extent, holy, as the Mussulman Sabbath.
It was so cool and pleasant as we left Ben Aouda that White and I took
our guns and pursued quail and duck on foot, while the rest of the
cavalcade proceeded on their way here. Two little boys from a hut close
by accompanied us part of the way, and were very useful in picking up
our dead birds, which they did with as much accuracy as a well-trained
retriever, being amply rewarded for their labours by the gift of our
empty cartridge cases. Part of the forenoon we followed the course of a
tributary of the Méda, the water of which was deep, with overhanging
banks. Our horses were led behind us by the grooms, and W.’s man taking
his too near the edge, the ground gave way, and the horse, falling on
his back in the river, had to swim some distance before he could get
out. A few minutes after this episode one of us shot a duck, which fell
on the opposite bank. We were rather at a loss how to get him; but my
groom, quietly removing his only garment, swam across, retrieved the
duck, and brought it to us. Just as we had expended our last cartridges,
the rain, which had held off till then, came down in torrents,
accompanied by such blasts of wind, that we could hardly stand against
it. We got on our horses, but mine positively declined to advance till
the storm had somewhat abated, turning his back to the weather, from
which position neither whip nor spur would move him.
Eventually we got on the track, and, passing through a collection of
wretched huts, where the inhabitants turned out and pelted us with mud,
arrived wet and cold at the luncheon-tent, which the rest of the party
had reached just before the rain commenced, and, dry and comfortable,
remonstrated in vain at the introduction of our dripping persons among
them. The people of the village near brought us an offering of milk and
honey—a large jar of each—also a great dish of steaming hot cakes, large
round confections of flour and water, like “scones,” but covered with
grease of some description. If eaten hot, with the addition of some
honey, they are excessively good. The milk, which forms part of the
daily _mona_, is excellent, and the butter fresh and good, but rather
tasteless; the latter quality is a great fault in the eyes of native
epicures, who like a strong flavour in all articles of food, and for
this purpose place the butter in earthen pots and bury it for months,
and even years, by which process it becomes “fit for use.”
Kariya el Habassi, near to which we are encamped, is the only collection
of habitations we have yet seen worthy the name of village. I give, as
is due, the title of town to Alcazar; it consists of several windowless
houses of the usual staring white Moorish style, besides a considerable
number of tents and huts. Among the former is the kaïd’s house, to which
we were all bidden yesterday afternoon to tea. The kaïd himself is away
fighting, and as his son is too young and too shy to assume the
government, a nephew of the great man reigns in his stead. By this
functionary we were received in the village and conducted through his
garden gate, which was then closed to keep out the little crowd which
had gathered round and followed us. Our host led us through some
whitewashed courts, up a few steps, on to the terrace on which the house
was built, and into an airy apartment looking on to a grove of
orange-trees in full blossom. The side through which we entered was
almost wholly taken up by a large Moorish archway of the invariable
horseshoe form, without doors, but with a thick curtain, or _portière_,
which could be drawn across in cold weather. Opposite the entrance was a
retired alcove, raised a step above the floor, and reaching to the
ceiling; in it was spread a mattress covered with some light-coloured
material, and the floor of the room all round the sides was similarly
furnished. Here the members of the Mission reclined, not in the graceful
cross-legged fashion of our entertainers, but in the more constrained
and undignified positions in which Europeans are wont to take their
ease. On a chair in the centre sat His Excellency, and at his feet the
nephew and representative of the absentee governor. He is an immensely
stout youth, with a massive though not unintelligent face, and a loud
and rather harsh voice, which became a little fatiguing in the two
hours’ conversation which he had with Sir John, and not a word of which
we could understand. The monotony of the _séance_ was, however, broken
by the appearance of a slave with a brass tray, on which were a pretty
set of French teacups, and a few small tumblers to supplement their
number. He was followed by another, bringing in two silver teapots, some
enormous lumps of sugar, and a box of tea. This apparatus being placed
in front of the young kaïd, he proceeded to brew the national beverage
as follows:—Of the tea—a fine green kind, for which they pay up to four
dollars a pound—he put a large handful into each teapot, then added, for
the purpose of washing it, a little hot water, which was immediately
poured out and thrown away; several of the big lumps of sugar were then
put in, the teapot filled up with boiling water, and the mixture was
ready. Our host, having tasted a little himself (to show it was not
poisoned), filled all the cups, which were handed round by slaves, while
others brought trays of biscuits and sweetmeats, which they offered us
between their finger and thumb. The second and third brews were varied,
respectively, by freshly gathered leaves of wild thyme and verbena. The
flavour is rather pleasant, and grows upon one—a merciful dispensation
of Providence, as the operation is one which will have to be frequently
undergone before we set foot again in Europe. Neither milk nor cream is
ever used, and, in fact, would form a very nasty addition, as I found
out by experiment. It is not thought good manners to strike work before
the third cup is disposed of, after which the wretched Christian may
relapse into a spectator, the Moors continuing _ad libitum_. The custom
of putting poison in tea, and so getting rid of an enemy, has been and
is said to be still so common in Marocco, that this practice of tasting
to which I alluded is never by any chance omitted—at all events, in the
higher circles of society. The idea of poison seems, in fact, always
present to their mind. The late Grand Vizier, Síd Músa, who died last
year, carried his scruples even farther, and when any guest of eminence
took tea with him, he not only tasted it, as usual, beforehand, but only
allowed his guest to drink half a cup at a time, finishing the rest
himself.
A far more trying form of hospitality than tea-drinking is having to
partake to excess of the native dish called _kuskussú_, which is made up
of very coarse-grained flour, boiled, underneath which is some stewed or
roasted meat. It has been in vogue here for centuries, and is described
by Leo, about A.D. 1500, as “made of a lump of Dow, first set upon the
fire in a vessel full of holes, and afterwards tempered with butter and
Pottage.” The preparation is by no means a bad one, though embarrassing
when it has to be eaten with fingers instead of forks, and is all very
well if one is hungry; but as it forms an inevitable accompaniment to a
visit of ceremony at any Moorish house, it is difficult sometimes to get
up an appetite equal to the occasion. Yesterday, at the kaïd’s, we
flattered ourselves we had escaped, but just as we got up to go away, in
came the attendants with a large wooden tray in the form of a sieve,
upon which, hot and savoury, and covered by a tall conical erection,
like a bee-hive, was the dish of kuskussú. His Excellency, reading the
looks of despair depicted on our faces, came generously to the rescue.
He saw that we were unequal to the task, and, bringing into play that
talent for diplomacy for which he is justly renowned, explained to the
kaïd that British stomachs were not as Moorish ones, and that having
largely partaken of the hospitality of the villagers where we halted for
luncheon, not to mention that our evening meal awaited us in camp, we
could not, without much personal inconvenience, and even absolute risk,
do justice to the good things set before us. To our great relief the
kaïd accepted the apology like a true gentleman, and the dish being
removed, was placed, at His Excellency’s request, before the guests in
the verandah, who, though comprising the headmen of the village, and old
Kaïd Ali, the commander of our permanent escort, were not considered
eligible, unless at the special request of the ambassador, to sit in the
same room with Her Majesty’s representative.
Throughout the whole interview I was specially struck with the perfectly
natural and unembarrassed demeanour of our host, who dispensed his
hospitalities, and kept up a lively conversation with Sir John, as if
the entertainment of a party of Europeans—of whom he admitted he had
seen very few before—was an everyday occurrence. It was the first time I
had been brought into close contact with any of the upper ten of
Marocco; but on all subsequent occasions—and they have been many—the
above peculiarity was always brought pleasantly before one; and
uncivilised as doubtless they are, according to our acceptation of the
term, I will always maintain that a Moor of the higher ranks is as good
a specimen of one of “nature’s gentlemen” as one can wish to see.
Before we took leave of our host, he asked Sir John if the doctor would
mind seeing and prescribing for an old friend of his, who had some
affection of the eyes, from which he had been suffering for some years;
our good-natured Esculapius having expressed his willingness to do what
he could, the patient was brought in, and the doctor, after looking at
him, conveyed to the kaïd—His Excellency acting as interpreter—his
opinion of the case. It was painful to observe the keen and anxious
expression of the old man’s face, as, fixing his almost sightless eyes
on the ambassador, he leant eagerly forward, waiting for the doctor’s
verdict. “Can the Nazarene cure me? When shall I be well?” he asked,
with querulous and shaking voice. “If you follow the doctor’s advice,”
said Sir John, “after some months your sight may improve.” The old man
was by no means satisfied, and feeling sure, as they all do, that the
doctor could cure him then and there if he chose, complained bitterly of
the hardship of his case, to which His Excellency replied, “Our religion
teaches us that it is the wisdom of God which deprives us one by one of
our senses and enjoyments as we get on in years, so that at last we hail
the approach of death as the advent of a friend.”
I do not know if the individual to whom this discourse was addressed,
and who must have touched the threescore-and-ten period, though he
seemed tough for his years, much liked His Excellency’s logic; but it
entirely commended itself to the young kaïd, who looks as if he enjoyed
life, and who told Sir John that the precepts he had been advocating
were entirely in accordance with the maxims of the Prophet as laid down
in the Koran.
[Illustration: CAMP AT HABASSI. A “DAY OF REST.”]
The clouds had come very low down over our camp by the time we got back,
and distant claps of thunder and violent gusts of wind betokened the
coming storm; a heavy shower was falling as our impromptu gong—a
frying-pan belaboured with an iron spoon—summoned us to dinner, causing
us to bolt from our own to the dining-room tent like rabbits into a
warren. Trenches were dug round all the tents in the evening, pegs and
ropes looked to, and every preparation made for the deluge which came
down on us later on.
We were all glad of the two days’ halt we have had here, though it might
have been made in a livelier spot than the middle of this dreary plain,
which, with the rain pouring down on it, more resembles the sea than dry
land. There is a small lake about three miles off, round which some of
us wandered with our guns to-day. The solitude of these vast tracts of
country is very impressive; we ride for miles and miles without seeing a
living soul, or any human habitation, except sometimes on the horizon a
brown mushroom-like excrescence, betokening the presence of an Arab
tent. There is a general absence, also, of animal life; for, owing to
the late famine and consequent destitution, the country-people have
either parted with or eaten all their stock. The absence of large game,
too, is surprising, and that it existed here formerly there is no doubt,
for we are told that “diuers noble romanes in Morisco used, in the
vacation season from warres, to hunt lions, liberdes, and such other
bestis fierce and sauage;” but, quaintly continues this writer, “All
myghty God be thanked in this realme (England) be no suche cruel bestis
to be pursued.”[21]
The night’s rest of some of the party was disturbed a good deal by the
thunder and lightning, the flashes illuminating one’s tent through the
wet canvas in a fitful, unpleasant manner, while the gale of wind which
accompanied them tried our tent-gear to the utmost, and made us
congratulate ourselves on the extra precautions we had taken overnight.
The morning was dark and gloomy, and the sheets of water descending at 9
A.M. made some of us late for breakfast. While standing in the tent door
watching the dismal prospect before us, the air suddenly became darkened
in a curious degree, and while we waited wonderingly to see what was
going to happen, a flash of fire which dazzled our eyes was accompanied
by so terrible a clap of thunder bursting over the camp, that we all
felt for the moment literally stunned. The sensation was of a heavily
shotted gun being discharged inside the tent behind us, both as regards
the sharpness and intensity of the report, and also on account of a kind
of concussion of the air and vibration of the ground which accompanied
the explosion. It was not only ourselves who were startled, for the
Moors who were squatting on the lee side of the tents for shelter came
running out, and the horses lying down where they were picketed jumped
to their feet with as puzzled an expression as their masters. It turned
out that neither man nor beast throughout the camp had suffered, except
from fright, but we all agreed that a few more such shocks would be the
ruin of our nervous systems.
It is lucky that the soil of this part of the plain of the Sebú is
sandy, or we should have suffered far greater discomfort from the two
days’ rain; as it is, we are well out of the picturesque but low-lying
camping-ground of last Friday at Ben Aouda, where we were anxious to
make a halt. The unfortunate night sentries are the most to be pitied;
huddled up in their white _jelábs_, and posted all round the camp, they
appeared, under the vivid flashes of lightning, like sacks deposited
here and there, from which emanated some monotonous song, by which they
strove to keep themselves awake through their weary watch. The sentries
were more numerous than usual, the people of the village knowing that if
any depredations should be made by the lawless tribe of Beni Hassan,
whose territory is just on the other side of the Sebú river, they would
be held responsible in purse and person for any loss we might sustain.
We have not passed any more roadside sacrifices since the one I
mentioned between El Hamáya and Alcazar, their absence being probably
due to the last one having remained unnoticed. The case to which it was
meant to draw attention was as follows, and seems another instance of
the evil of foreign protection, to which I before alluded:—A
French-protected Moor and an inhabitant of Alcazar were partners in
sheep-breeding. Their stock having increased to 600 head, the Sheikh of
the district ordered a tithe to be paid as taxes. This the protected
Moor declined to do, saying the whole of the sheep were his, and he was
not answerable to the Moorish authorities (whether his partner connived
or not at this arrangement did not appear); however, as the French, on
account of their high-handed tyranny, are held in great dread by the
Moors, no further action was taken; but when the Alcazári came to claim
his 300 sheep, of which he was willing to pay his tithe, the other,
denying the deed of partnership, refused to give them up. The Moorish
subject in vain applied for redress; his all had been taken from him,
and besides having nothing with which to propitiate the authorities, he
found them far too much afraid of the false representations which the
other threatened to make to his own Government to be inclined to take up
the case. Hence his silent appeal to the English Minister, who, even had
he taken up the matter, would hardly have been able to help the man in a
dispute with a subject of another power.
Lawless took a photograph of the camp, and also of the entrance to the
village. A number of children who gathered round the camera at once fled
when they heard from a soldier what was the nature of the instrument,
but Tweedledee, who was acting interpreter, having, with much composure,
told them the Christian was only making a picture of the sun, and that
if they sat very still they might watch the operation, they were
reassured, the result of which _finesse_ on Tweedledee’s part was that,
as they sat in a row, rapt in wonder, a very successful group was
executed.
The depressing effect of the wet we have undergone here was a little
dispelled by His Excellency producing some very good Chartreuse as a
_chasse café_ to-night after dinner, and under its cheering influence
finer weather is prognosticated for to-morrow.
[Illustration: GROUP OF ARABS AT HABASSI.]