MR. HAY’S POSITION AT TANGIER. 1858.
Affairs were in a critical state in 1858, and Mr. Hay, who had
applied for leave of absence, which was granted only to be immediately
cancelled, writes to his wife on May 12:—
Only fancy what a shell has burst on me, scattering all my plans,
especially as last week I received my four months leave in full
form! The fact is that affairs in Europe are in such a state that
Government wishes every man, I suppose, to be at his post, ready to
do his best in the moment of danger. Morocco is ticklish ground, and
it is here we might be exposed to a movement on the part of France,
which might prove a severe check to us in our naval preponderance
in the Mediterranean.
In a similar strain he writes again on his birthday:—
Here I am, again, all alone on the 1st of June. I miss you and the
children more than ever; but I know there are yearning hearts and
thoughts for me on this day, and that I am not forgotten.
By way of _amusing_ me, I have just received from Government a
dispatch telling me to report upon a bundle of false allegations made
against me by two discontented merchants of Mogador. I am put out,
and yet pleased, at having an opportunity to let Lord Malmesbury know
what I have done, in contradiction of what these folk accuse me of
not having done. I hear also of a virulent article, or letter, which
has appeared in the _Daily News_ against me. The Gibraltar merchants
are very angry at the attack upon me, and I daresay they will defend
me without my saying a word—at least, I flatter myself they will.
He was not mistaken in his hope that his conduct would find defenders
at Gibraltar. Three weeks later he writes:—
I think I have told you I received a very handsome letter from the
Gibraltar merchants, quoting a resolution, dated June 1, in which,
amongst other compliments, they resolved, ‘That this Committee
desires to express its strong disapproval of the tone in which
the letter in the _Daily News_ of April 24 is couched—casting
reflections upon Her Majesty’s Chargé d’Affaires, Mr. Drummond
Hay—and its dissent from the opinions expressed by the writer with
reference to the late Treaty with Morocco. . . . That this Committee
desires at once to place on record its most grateful appreciation of
Mr. Hay’s eminent public services in the protection and support
of British subjects in Morocco, and for his prompt and courteous
attention to the demands and complaints of British subjects.’
So you see the abuse of two men calls forth the praise of many others,
and I am the gainer.
He had the further satisfaction of knowing that the British
Government approved of his opinions with regard to Morocco
affairs. ‘Government,’ he says, ‘are carrying out all my
plans. My only fear is, if they attempt to do too much, the whole
crumbling fabric of Moorish Government will tumble about our
ears. Lord Malmesbury is now beginning to approve of all I do.’
At this time a mark of the Sultan’s appreciation of Mr. Hay was
shown by a curious gift.
The Sultan has just sent me a present of a most beautiful
leopard. Fat, sleek, and tame as a cat. He is chained up in the
stable. I shall give him to the Queen, or to the Zoo gardens, which
will be the same thing. I wish you and the children were here to
see the beautiful creature.
I am in high favour, they tell me, with the Sultan, so I get a
leopard. It is like the gift of the white elephant to the unruly
chiefs in India.
Of this leopard he tells the following story.
Sultan Mulai Abderahman, who was very fond of having wild animals
kept loose in the garden or courtyard of his palace, had a beautiful
tame leopard named ‘Maimon’ (the ‘trusty,’) nearly as large
as a Bengal tiger. It was very good-tempered and a great favourite
of His Majesty.
A young negro slave who swept the entrance of the palace happened
one day to find the leopard lying on a heap of dust, so he hit
the beast with his broom to make it move. This was resented by the
leopard striking the lad on the head with his paw, so that he fell
dead. H.M. on learning what had happened, ordered that the leopard
should be confined in a cage and sent as a gift to me at Tangier
and that a Jew should be dispatched to take charge of the animal.
I received a letter from the Uzir, making known the gift His Sherifian
Majesty had been pleased to send me and stating that the animal was
docile, but dangerous if struck. No mention, however, was made of
the death of the slave.
Finding the leopard very good-natured, I dismissed the Jew keeper
and took charge of it myself. In the daytime the leopard was allowed
to run loose in the little garden of the Legation, for my family
were absent in England; but I had it fastened, when visitors came
to see it, by a long chain to a palm tree in the garden. I fed
the leopard myself, and he gambolled about like a cat, purring and
rubbing himself against my legs when I caressed him. If I happened
on such occasions not to take sufficient notice, he would strike me
heavily with a soft paw.
One day the leopard, finding that the door leading from the
dining-room into the garden was open, entered, and passing along a
lobby discovered the laundry, and an old Irishwoman ironing there. On
seeing the beast glaring at her over the table where she was engaged,
she boldly advanced with a hot iron in hand, with the courage of
her race, exclaiming, ‘Get out ye dhirty baste.’ The leopard,
much offended, withdrew with a dignified gait and passed on to a
courtyard near the kitchen, where a Moorish woman, squatted on a
mat, was sifting flour. With friendly intentions and hoping to be
caressed, the leopard put his head into the old dame’s bosom,
but she, thinking this was the preliminary step to being devoured,
swooned dead away.
A man-servant, passing, saw the leopard and woman in this compromising
position; but, being afraid to interfere, rushed, pale with alarm,
to the room where I was writing, to announce that the leopard had
killed ‘Titam,’ and was about to eat her.
Running to the rescue, I found ‘Maimon’ covered with flour,
purring and rubbing himself in a loving manner against the reclining
form of poor Titam, who was still in a swoon, but otherwise
uninjured. I told ‘Maimon’ his conduct was most unbecoming, not
to say improper, so he left poor Titam, and bestowed his attentions
on me, covering me with flour.
At dusk I was in the habit of accompanying the leopard across the
street to his cell in the stable-yard. One evening when leading him,
he lay down in the street and refused to move. In vain I coaxed
the beast. The road was thus blocked; for those who wished to pass,
viewing a huge leopard crouching loose in the street, hurriedly turned
back. I sent for a piece of meat, and walking with this bribe into
the stable, the leopard deigned at length to follow me.
When my family was expected, thinking there was a risk that he
might attack them as strangers, I sent the leopard as a gift to the
Zoological Gardens. Eight months afterwards, when I was in London on
leave of absence, I visited the Gardens, and there I saw ‘Maimon’
lying in a cage. I requested the keeper to allow me to pass the
bar in front of the cage to pat the leopard. He replied it was not
permitted; but, on telling him I was the donor, he allowed me to
cross the barrier, warning me, however, that though the animal was
docile, it showed sometimes a surly temper. I approached the cage
where the leopard was lying listless in a corner; ‘Ya Maimon,
ya habibi, busni.’ ‘Oh, beloved Maimon,’ I cried in Arabic,
‘come and embrace me.’ The animal sprang up and came to the side
of the cage, and no doubt would have embraced me if the bars had not
stopped him. I put in my hand and stroked his back, whilst he rubbed
against the bars of the cage, making a low purring noise. Then I
scratched his head, when to my horror he suddenly took my hand in
his mouth; but the friendly beast only mumbled, without hurting it,
and then let my hand go. A crowd had collected outside to witness the
exhibition, so I thought it was time to leave, though I might have
gone round with my hat to beg alms for the prisoner. As I left the
cage, the leopard watched me with eager eyes, and when some way off I
turned to look again, the beast was standing up with his paws on an
upper bar, his bright eyes fixed anxiously upon me. During my long
life loving eyes have often watched my departure, but none brighter
or more anxious than those of my four-footed friend. So we parted,
never to meet again, for the leopard was dead when I revisited the
Zoological Gardens, after a two years’ absence.
As another instance of this Sultan’s fondness for wild animals
Mr. Hay told the following story.
The Master of the Horse at the Moorish Court related to me, that
Sultan Mulai Abderahman happened one day to pass through the Court
of the palace, mounted on a magnificent white charger, when a lion
which H.M. was accustomed to stop and caress, sprang up the side of
his horse and placed its paws on the knee of the Sultan. H.M. reined
in his steed, which snorted and reared. The Sultan showed no alarm
and did not, said the Master of the Horse, change a muscle of his
countenance, but turning to the Kaid-el-Meshwa, or Chief Officer of
the Court, and putting his hand on the head of the lion to stroke it,
inquired ‘How many pounds of meat are given to the lion daily?’
The officer stated the quantity.
‘Let the lion have ten more pounds,’ said His Majesty. The
lion’s petition being granted, it quietly dropped off H.M.’s
horse and lay down quite pacified.
‘These animals,’ observed the Master of the Horse, ‘understand
what is spoken, though they have not the power of speech to tell
what they want.’
‘Mashallah!’ I gravely replied.
Many interesting and distinguished persons visited Tangier during
Mr. Hay’s long residence there. Amongst these may be mentioned,
in 1858, three Royal guests—the Prince of Wales, Prince Alfred
and the late Duc d’Orléans. In favour of the Prince of Wales
an extraordinary exception was made, and he was admitted to the
Basha’s house and there received by the ladies.
Louis Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, was accompanied by his tutor. After
introducing H.R.H. to the sights of Tangier, Mr. Hay arranged
a boar hunt for him on the Hill. The sport was good; but the
object of the hunt was unsuccessful, as the Prince never fired a
shot—principally through the mistaken zeal of one of his suite,
who, on seeing a pig coming in the direction of the Royal guest,
stepped forward and removing his hat exclaimed ‘Mon Prince, voilà
le sanglier!’—with the natural result that the pig turned and
broke back!
Riding down the rough mountain path afterwards, with Mr. Hay leading
the way, the Prince, who was mounted on Mr. Hay’s best pony, soon
outstripped with his guide the rest of the party, Mr. Hay’s horses
being always selected as good walkers. Commenting on the roughness
of the track, the Prince was somewhat astonished to hear Mr. Hay
say that he frequently, when out late, cantered down the hills,
and H.R.H. inquired eagerly whether the pony he was riding could
be trusted to go fast down the broken road, and if so would Mr. Hay
gallop down _now_ with him?
Mr. Hay, after a little demur (aware that the sure-footed little Barb,
who had often performed the feat, could be trusted), consented:
and leading the way, he and the young Prince tore madly down the
steep rough path, to the great enjoyment of the latter—though
rather to the bewilderment of his worthy tutor, who did not catch
sight of his pupil again till they met in the town an hour later.
Afterwards in a letter to Mr. Hay—the Duc d’Orléans, alluding to
an accident which had lately happened to him while hunting, wrote:—
Je ne montais pas alors le fameux petit cheval gris, sur lequel
je suis revenu de la chasse avec vous si bon train sans que jamais
il bronchât!
Les souvenirs de Tanger, de cette chasse que vous m’avez fait
faire avec les chasseurs à demi-sauvages de la montagne, resteront
toujours le meilleur souvenir de mon voyage, et je n’oublierai pas
tout le soin, tout l’empressement que vous avez mis à me faire
connaître un pays si nouveau, si curieux pour moi.
C’est à vous que je dois d’avoir pu profiter comme je l’ai
fait du peu de jours que j’y ai passés, et toutes les fois que
je veux faire un rêve agréable, je me figure prêt à repartir
pour le Maroc. . . .
Les événements actuels de l’Europe seraient bien de nature
à m’y pousser si les voyages ne m’étaient impossibles
à un pareil moment, car, lorsqu’on voit à quoi les nations
civilisées se laissent entraîner, on est bien tenté d’aller
oublier l’Europe chez des sauvages, au milieu desquels on sent du
moins la supériorité de notre civilisation sans en voir les maux.
Je vous demande pardon, Monsieur, de vous avoir écrit une lettre
aussi longue, mais, du moment que je pouvais écrire, je ne voulais
pas me refuser le plaisir de vous dire toute ma reconnaissance pour
le charmant accueil que vous m’avez fait. En attendant que je
puisse le faire de vive voix, croyez-moi toujours, je vous prie,
Votre bien affectionné,
LOUIS PHILIPPE D’ORLÉANS.