Return of Síd Búbakr—His house in Marocco—Precautions when from
home—Mehdía—Portuguese defeat—Râs ed Dúra—Whited sepulchres—Arab
girl—Chamomile and Borage—Cork woods—El Araish—Well-to-do
Jews—Passage of Wad el Kús—Remains of Moorish fleet—Insect
life—Azîla—Irregular protection—Fording tidal rivers—_Lex talionis_.
_Camp, on the Râs ed Dúra,
Thursday, 20th May 1880._
“Síd Búbakr arrived; Sultan d—d if he will reform.” Such, I see, is the
concluding note of my diary of Tuesday night, which was brought to a
sudden termination by my candle being extinguished and knocked over by
an errant beetle. But the words, though terse, express the situation
admirably, as the faithful Síd did in fact turn up that afternoon from
Fez, but without the Sultan’s much-hoped-for signature to certain
papers. His Excellency is greatly annoyed, but a special courier has
been sent off to the Court, and the documents may yet be forwarded
straight to Tangier. In the meantime Síd Búbakr has left for Marocco,
where he lives, and where his wife and her attendants await him,
securely locked into the house during his absence, the key being in his
own possession. His house is large and commodious, but the top of the
patio is grated with iron bars, and no one can get at the fair
prisoners, with whom, however, he leaves a sufficient supply of food,
&c. This habit of the Síd’s was once nearly proving awkward to Mrs. B.,
for having been detained by floods some days longer than he expected, he
found his wife, who is enormously fat, had been improvident in her
management, and was reduced to a skeleton. On this occasion, too, the
door was not only locked, but built up with bricks and mortar.
Our march from Sla to Mehdía, where we hit off the Sebú again, was a
pleasant one, the road taking us along the top of the cliffs overlooking
the sea. Far away on our right lay the Mamora forest, and close to our
camp at Mehdía were two small lakes, with palm-trees between them. In
maps of the last century the place is generally given as Mahmora, a name
by which it is now unknown, while that of Mehdiya appears as far back as
1154 in the book of El-Bekri, and was doubtless given to the town by the
Sultan Abd-el-Moumen “en souvenir de son maitre Ibn Toumert el Mehdi.”
By Hanno and Scylax it is called Thymiateria, though it obtains little
mention from ancient writers, standing as it does at some distance from
the road from Tingis (Tangier) to the Sala Colonia. It is now almost
entirely in ruins, but must once have been a place of great strength,
having been built, according to some writers, in the twelfth century, as
a defence to the mouth of the Sebú, since when it has changed hands many
times. In the “yeere of the Hegira 921,” _i.e._ about A.D. 1540, it was
made famous by the “slaughter of the Portugals, whose bloud dyed the sea
three days, blushing to see the barbarous barbarian shed so much
Christian bloud.” A historian of that period, who was a witness of this
battle, estimates the slain Christians at ten thousand. The quantity of
storks, young and old, to be seen in Mehdía is astonishing, and their
being held sacred by the Moors renders them very tame.
[Illustration: PASSAGE OF THE WAD EL SEBU AT MEHDIA.]
The crossing of the Sebú lasted from 5 A.M. till 10 A.M. It is about a
quarter of a mile wide where we crossed, and twice that distance from
the sea. From the hill, about 400 feet high, on which the town stands,
we had a good view of Rabât and the camp of the Udaiah, near the Mamora
forest. From the north side of the Sebú Mehdía has a most imposing
aspect, as its ruined state is not apparent; and the strong sea-wall,
about 300 yards in length, finished off by a small circular fort at the
extremity, gives the place a look of great strength and solidity. In the
fort were a lot of copper guns, and two long iron ones, half-buried, lay
longitudinally across the entrance to the town. It is said that large
granaries once existed behind the sea-wall, and that great quantities of
corn were exported. We marched in an easterly direction along the right
bank of the Sebú, and from our mid-day halting-place saw Kontra about
five miles off. Lying about in the grass there were a number of rusty
cannon-balls—about nine to sixteen pounds—probably relics of Portuguese
and Spanish invasions in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. At Síd
Muhammed ben el Kheir, where we camped yesterday, we got into the
district of Habassi once more, and an escort under the shy youth, whose
acquaintance we made _en route_ to Fez, arrived to protect us.
Our road now lies parallel to the sea, and about a mile and a half from
it. Between us and the shore is a low range of hills, and on our right
hand a large marsh, which occasionally develops into a succession of
lakes, known by the general name of Râs ed Dúra, and in winter forming
one big sheet of water. This appears to have been laid down by Pliny as
the original mouth of the Sebú, but the configuration of the land is
incompatible with such a hypothesis, and his arguments, though adopted
by some geographers, are successfully refuted by Tissot.[85] The Saint
houses—or kúbbe—are thickly dotted over this country; occasionally they
are built of red brick, but are usually the regulation “whited
sepulchre.” One of each pattern was near where we halted for luncheon
to-day; the white one had three domes in good repair, and is erected to
the memory of one Síd Hamed ben Mansor. I always try to make out the
names of these buildings, as they would be one’s chief landmark and
guide if revisiting the country, but oftener than not I hear different
names for the same place, and Tweedledee, who is always willing to cater
for information, cannot find out whether the red brick kúbba is “Síd
Muhammed ben el Kheir” or “Síd Abd-er-Rahman ben Drís.” The labours of a
geographer here must certainly resemble those of Sisyphus.
While strolling near the luncheon tent I found Lady and Miss Hay talking
to a pretty little Arab girl about twelve years old. We brought her to
the tent, but her dread of the soldiers was intense, and she clung to
Miss Hay for protection, looking round every moment as if she would
escape. Her awe of the Bashador was great, and she knelt down before him
very reverently, but soon gained confidence, and was delighted with his
watch, and still more with a whistle which he gave her. She was
evidently the belle of the little camp where she lived, and was covered
with pretty jewellery. I rather coveted a necklace and brooch she wore,
which she said I might have if her mother would allow it. That lady
appeared presently with some milk and other offerings, and Hadj
Abdullah, a servant of Sir John’s, having valued the article, I paid the
mother for it, and it was handed to me by little Rahmah, who carried off
a silk handkerchief of Miss Hay’s, a knife of mine, and several other
souvenirs of her visit.
The weather is much improved, and to-night is still and warm. No
habitation of any kind is within miles of us, except two or three Arab
tents, near which the young kaïd of Habassi has pitched his. The lake of
the Râs ed Dúra, calm and beautiful, lies stretched out before us, and
from its shores comes the roaring of myriads of frogs, whose
conversation becomes more boisterous as night advances. A Saint house on
the borders of the lake bears the ponderous title of Dár Síd
Abd-el-Káder ben bú Kaïb,—at least so Mr. Náhum informs me; but I
believe he invented the name to check further enquiry.
The lake is full of eels, which the Moors catch in traps very like what
are used in England for that purpose. They have canoes (_ma’día_), or
rather rafts, made of rushes, upon which they punt themselves about to
different parts of the lake; the prow sticks straight out of the water
like that of an ancient trireme, and helps to counteract the weight of
the occupant, who uses his long pole standing on the stern. About a mile
from this lake is a smaller one, El Zerga. They are said by some
geographers to communicate, but from the lie of the land I should say
this was impossible, even during heavy floods. The smaller and more
northerly of the two seems to have a narrow channel through into the
sea; at least this was my impression, but there was not time to ride
round and make a close inspection. This channel, if existing, must
interrupt the coast line, which would otherwise be the best route,
though Rohlfs, who travelled that way in 1861, mentions no such
obstacle. It is curious how partial the distribution of flowers and
shrubs has again become in these plains; for two days they were white
with chamomile flowers, which, with wild oats ten feet high, entirely
obliterated the path; at other times, the whole country round is covered
with borage, giving one the impression that the earth was reflecting the
deep blue colour of the sky. If these two plants could be utilised, the
prosperity of Marocco would be ensured; but as the cattle will not eat
chamomile, and the Koran forbids the use of claret cup or other mediums
for the consumption of borage, His Majesty’s treasury is no way enriched
by either.
[Illustration: EL ARAISH.]
_Camp, el Araish, Saturday, 22d May 1880._
Yesterday we crossed a river, the Wad el Dráder, at a ford called
Meshráa el Háder, where there was also a bad marsh to be encountered,
and close to our camp at Soueir, last night, another stream, the Wad el
Soueir. We have been travelling since we left Rabât as if the avenger of
blood were behind,—no time to take notes, photographs, or collect one’s
ideas in any way,—and the state at which the unfortunate mules and
ponies with sore backs have arrived is horrible.
We have now come into the country of cork woods once more, and halted
to-day for some hours in one near here, arriving outside this town at 4
P.M. We are camped on the side of a hill, from which, if the rain comes
on again, we shall be inevitably washed into the Atlantic, over which we
have a glorious view. The shore below is strewn with huge boulders
rounded off by the action of the waves, and looking like projectiles on
a battlefield of giants. The market-place in the town is worth seeing,
being surrounded by an arcade prettily supported on red sandstone
pillars, the work, probably, of Christian, not of Moorish hands; for,
like most other Morescan ports, this one has had a chequered career, and
served many masters in its time. It was for long a Spanish possession,
and still savours more of an Andalusian than a Moorish town, but was
recovered from them by the famous—and infamous—Mulai Ismael in 1689.
In 1765 the French fleet advanced too far up the Wad el Kús, on which
the town is situated, when “they were surrounded by superior numbers,
and fell victims to their own impetuosity.” At the mouth of this
river—the Lixus of the Romans—is said to have been the site of the
island which contained the beautiful gardens of the Hesperides; but
there is no trace now of any such place, except a small sandbank visible
at low tide, and the configuration of the coast must have greatly
changed since those times.
The Jews, of whom the place is full, are all in their Saturday’s best,
and, luxuriating in the twofold comfort of wearing shoes and riding
mules, present a great contrast to their barefooted and black-robed
compatriots in Fez and Mequinez. One or two Moors who have taken
advantage of our escort to travel this way for the first time, are much
astonished at this license, and young Hassan, the khalífa’s new valet,
has already assaulted two Israelitish boys, to the effusion of blood,
for presuming to appear in coloured garments and slippers near our camp.
_Camp, Azîla, 24th May 1880._
We were ferried across the Wad el Kús at 9 A.M. yesterday, a large
concourse of the people of El Araish assembling to witness the
operation. While waiting on the bank, a woman burst through the crowd,
and rushing up to Lady Hay, implored her intercession for her son, who
was in prison. One of the soldiers seizing hold of her, said, “Are you
mad to speak to the Señora?” “Yes,” replied the poor woman, still
kneeling beside the litter, “I am mad because my son is chained in the
prison, and I cannot see him.” His Excellency enquired into the case,
and the Italian Vice-Consul, who had himself been robbed by the youth in
question, promised to ask the authorities to deal gently with him.
There was a strong flood-tide running up as we and old Kaïd Ali, who
always prays without ceasing on these occasions—and probably not without
reason—crossed in a big flat-bottomed boat, from the bow of which waved
the red flag of Marocco. The kaïd of the harbour—a fine-looking old
fellow, dressed completely in red—superintended the crossing, and had
provided rugs to sit on, and an awning, now become very necessary to
keep the sun off. From the north side we had a good view of the town and
its strong fort, which is built on the extremity of the rock at the
river’s mouth. In addition to this are several stone batteries and other
defences, all of which, however, would be useless against an attack by
ironclads, which, in good weather, could bring up outside the bar and
knock the place to pieces. From the fact, however, of the town standing
high, and not being commanded by hills within range, a better defence
might be made on the land side. We saw the last remnants of the fleet of
Marocco, which was destroyed by the Austrians in 1829, in the form of
some ribs of sunken ships sticking out from among the sand on the river
bank,—a ghastly relic of a more prosperous and enterprising period. The
country immediately to the north of El Araish was so flat that the Wad
el Kús almost forms a figure of 8 as it winds away to the east. Leaving
it behind us, our path took us across a succession of low sandy hills,
among which the heat of the sun was excessive, and made us look with
longing eyes at the snow-capped mountains far away towards the Rif
country. Some of the party went off in search of the site of the ancient
Phœnician colony of Lixus; but whether from the great heat overcoming
them, or from some other cause, I have my doubts if they ever found the
ruins in question; at all events, the addition they brought back to our
store of archæological information was infinitesimal. Before getting to
Sebt, our road lay through a wood of small cork trees, half-way up the
stems of which there was a thick undergrowth of yellow cistus. This
lasted some miles, after which we descended through a dense grove of
lentisk into the valley below; it was difficult work making our way
along, and some miles from camp we came on one of my mules which had
tumbled down, with Norton waiting beside it for assistance to get it up.
This was rendered by the standard-bearer and some soldiers; but some of
the other baggage did not arrive till seven o’clock, and the mona having
been sent by mistake to Síd el Yemáni, some miles off, there was no food
for the horses, though fortunately, except bread, we had enough for
ourselves. Our camp at Sebt was a really lovely spot—a small plain shut
in by hills covered with lentisk and other shrubs, and the whole of the
level ground, on which our tents had been pitched, thickly carpeted with
a deep purple bugloss (_Echium angustifolium_), the wonderful richness
of the colouring being varied and intensified by the red glow of the
sun, which was just setting behind the hills as we arrived. We have got
rather to dread that orb in these latter days of our wanderings, not so
much on account of our complexions, which, indeed, are a thing of the
past, but from the fact that the intense heat after the rain has called
into existence all manner of insect life, and creeping things
innumerable. This morning when I awoke there was a huge grasshopper,
couchant, regarding me with curious eyes from the side of the tent just
above my head; while a spider of fabulous dimensions sat on the ground
close by, as if ready to catch him should he miss his spring. The
caterpillars, too, are of a size and colour which augur well for the
beauty and proportions of the butterflies which follow.
A little way from this place we were met by the Governor’s brother—the
same man whose striking appearance attracted my attention at Síd el
Yemáni six weeks ago. The two Beni Shittim also, _père et fils_, came
out to welcome us back again. Some of us paid a visit to their house,
and had a look at the town, the ancient Zilia of the Carthaginians,
which, in its fortifications and the curious windows of its ruined
buildings, shows many traces of Christian occupation. About 1000 years
ago it is said to have been an _English_ possession!—after which the
Moors and Portuguese alternately held it till the middle of the
sixteenth century, when it passed finally into the keeping of its
rightful owners. Throughout the length of the little town runs a broad
“Calle réal;” no Melha is to be found in it, Jew and Gentile all pigging
it together; but the Christian element is not represented. Outside the
gate and close to our camp is a small kúbba, quite a gem of its sort, of
which a successful photograph was taken. We are now within twenty-five
miles of Tangier, the light of Cape Spartel is once more visible from my
tent door, and civilisation stares us in the face.
[Illustration: KÚBBA NEAR AGILA.]
Returning as we have done by the sea-coast, I have been often struck by
the difference in the comportment of the Jews in the seaports from what
is observable in the sacred cities of the interior. Here in these towns
the Moorish Jew may carry his head as high as he likes, and clothe his
feet in whatever _chaussure_ suits him best. The protection extended to
him in these parts by the foreign representatives is unlimited, and, if
not restricted, the Government of the Sultan in these towns will lapse
into the hands of a few foreigners representing the different European
Powers. What the Sultan very justly complains of is that the treaty
rights, which restrict protection to the persons and families of people
in the actual service of ministers and consuls, are altogether perverted
from their original intention. Now, trading agents are appointed in the
interior, who again enter into partnership with others, whether Jews or
Moors; and thus a numerous class is formed of intriguing and too often
unprincipled persons, who, scorning all native authority, rob, pillage,
and oppress in the name and under the protection of the Government whose
adopted children they are. It is absurd to urge in defence of this
system that these offenders will be dealt with and punished by the
consul of the Power which happens to protect them; for, living as some
of them do far in the interior, they are entirely beyond the ken or
control of the consular authorities on the coast, and except in the
seaport towns such authorities do not exist. Suppose, for instance, that
a protected subject in the interior, agent of some firm, commits a
murder or a robbery, the mere distance between the scene of the crime
and the court by which it has to be investigated makes justice difficult
of attainment, and the consul obviously cannot leave his duties to hunt
up outlying cases of crime and injustice. No doubt, cases occur of
cruelty and tyranny exercised upon the Jews in the interior by their
Moorish fellow-subjects. It must be remembered, however, that the spirit
of ill-will and hostility which manifests itself against the Jewish
population is partly caused, and much increased, by the unfair and
irregular character of the protection accorded. The fact is, that only
some eighteen hundred of them are under the protection of Christian
Governments, and these eighteen hundred do not consist of the poor and
the oppressed, but of the more wealthy members of the community, who are
willing to pay—and without doubt in many cases do pay—for the
accommodation. It is from the reports furnished by these persons that
the various societies for the protection of the Jews in London and
elsewhere are instructed, and it needs but little perception to see what
powerful motives they must have to give a pretty strong colouring to
their reports. The question now before the Conference at Madrid is not
the “Abolition of Protection,” as the cry of the Hebrew states it to be,
but the restriction of protection within its legitimate and treaty
dimensions. The 200,000 odd Jews in Marocco gain nothing by the
protection of the favoured few, but, as shown above, rather lose by it,
as they bear the burthen of the unpopularity of their more favoured
co-religionists. The Sultan of Marocco is willing enough to introduce
reforms in this matter, but he can hardly be expected to take the
initiative until the present abuse of irregular protection is redressed.
In any united European action it is also highly desirable to bear in
mind the primitive and backward condition of the country, and the
necessity of proceeding with caution in coercing Mussulmans in any
matter which even distantly affects their religion. Are we not also
somewhat too apt to judge of these people by our English nineteenth
century standard, and, _à propos_ of the murder and burning of the Jew
lately in Fez, to forget that it was not so very long ago that innocent
people were burned _alive_ on charges of witchcraft in England?—while up
to within eighty years ago I should have been sorry to guarantee the
life of a Jew who had been caught in the act of outraging an
Englishwoman.[86] Better than any coercive measures to improve the
condition of these people will be the steady encouragement of trade and
civilisation generally in Marocco; and that these influences will surely
be felt in the fulness of time there can be no doubt.[87]
_Camp, near Kaa er Remel, 25th May 1880._
There being two tidal rivers to cross to-day, an early start was
necessary, and we were all roused shortly after 6 A.M. by the powerful
exhortations of His Excellency, who, aided in his designs by Hadj Hamed,
got us all up in time. With my servant’s assistance I am usually able to
keep that functionary and his freigíahs[88] at bay; but Zouche having a
less able auxiliary, they began striking the tent to-day over his very
lightly attired person, greatly exasperating that nobleman, but
affording us much gratification as we sat at breakfast, _al fresco_, on
the plain. The Wad el Aïsha, which we came to first, had a muddy bank,
and a shifting bottom of big stones, with water up to our horses’
girths, and here several mules and ponies came to grief; the second one,
the Wad el Kharrúb, was deeper, but we crossed it in a diagonal
direction with much success. The poor old Tálib,[89] on his brand new
mule, presented by the Sultan, tried a shorter cut, and both mule and
scribe were speedily engulphed. I came on him later in the day, standing
in buff behind some bushes, on which he was drying his kit.
We were joined two days ago by a son of Hadj Hamed, whose antecedents
interested me much. It seems that some time ago a French-protected Moor
quarrelled with and killed an uncle of this lad. The French authorities
being applied to, took no notice of the crime, so the nephew, in company
with a cousin of his, waited for and slew the man just inside the gate
of Tangier; they then fled to a sanctuary at the foot of the hills,
thirty miles off, and remained there till the two bereaved families
agreed to cry quits over the matter. Hadj Hamed then sent his son on a
pilgrimage to Mecca, from whence he has just returned purged from all
offence. He seems a cheery youth, with the same hearty laugh as his
father and two uncles, who have been with us during the expedition.
The place at which we are halting to-night is close to Kaa er Remel, our
first camp out of Tangier some seven weeks ago, and to-morrow will see
us back in sight of Europe once again. Our dinner party is already
reduced by one, the medico having taken his departure along with Mr.
Haïm Secsú, the interpreter, whose anxiety of late to clasp Mrs. H. S.
to his bosom once more has been most affecting to behold. Tweedledee,
however, still remains to us, and has just told me a touching story of
how he was “thleeping in a catele enclosure,” which is close by, “and a
littel foal come to me in the dark and thuck my ear; the foolish thing
think I am her mother.” I am sorry not to have preserved more of the
simple sayings of this Israelite, in whom, during all our intercourse
with him, we have failed to discover the least symptom of guile,—and the
more sorry as, to his shame be it spoken, the photographer has failed in
placing his portrait before the public.