SIR JOHN HAY’S HOME AT TANGIER. 1862.
The British Legation at Tangier was, until 1891, situated in the
town, within a few minutes walk of the shore. In 1862 it still
commanded a full view of the bay and of the surrounding country;
for houses before that time were built only one story high, with
the exception of the residences of the Foreign Representatives,
then all within the town walls.
Erected in 1791, when James Mario Matra was Consul, the old Legation
was designed and built by an English architect. The narrow street,
leading to it from the beach, passed the principal mosque, which,
in the reign of Charles II, when Tangier was a British possession,
was known as the English cathedral.
A short distance beyond the mosque the street passed under an archway
from which the Legation was entered by large double doors. Inside
these was the deep porch where the kavasses sat, and adjoining was a
small room where one of them slept at night as guard and porter. The
entrance led to a paved court surrounded by the dwelling-house and the
public offices. On entering the house a great stuffed hyena, grinning
round the angle of the staircase, greeted the new comer—frequently
to the dismay of a native, who took it to be a living beast.
A balcony, or rather verandah, from which could be seen the bay
and the opposite coast of Spain, ran the whole length of the house
on the upper floor, in front of the drawing-room windows, and
overhung the little garden, a walled enclosure in which the trees
and flowering shrubs had grown to such a size that flowers could no
longer be cultivated beneath their shade, and which was therefore
only used for various pets. Here was kept the tame leopard in 1858,
and later several mouflons and gazelles; here, too, young wild boar
and porcupines had their day.
In his little book, _In Spain_, Hans Christian Andersen, the Danish
poet and writer of fairy tales, who was one of Sir John’s guests
in November, 1862, wrote of the old Legation:—
We were here in an old flat-roofed building with a balcony hanging
over the garden surrounded by high walls. Within all was so pleasantly
and well arranged. The stairs and corridors were adorned with skins
of wild animals, collections of Moorish pottery, spears, sabres,
and other weapons, together with rich saddles and horse-trappings,
presents which Sir John had received on his visits to the Emperor
of Morocco.
In the usual sitting-room—which was adjacent to a not insignificant
library—there were, among many paintings and engravings, more than
one well-known place and portrait belonging to my Danish home. The
splendid silver vase, a gift from the Swedish King Oscar, stood in
one corner, and in another a magnificent porcelain vase, presented
to Sir John by the Danish King Christian VIII. Every window-blind
was of Copenhagen manufacture, with painted views of the palaces
of Fredensborg, Frederiksberg, and Rosenberg. I might have fancied
myself in a Danish room—in Denmark—and yet I was in another
quarter of the globe.
In this house there was every English convenience, even to
a fireplace; and from the balcony we looked out upon the little
garden where oleander bloomed amidst the variegated bell-flowers I
had seen in the churchyard at Gibraltar. A large palm-tree raised
its lofty head in the clear moonlit air, and imparted to the view
its foreign appearance.
The sea, with its white-crested waves, was rolling near; and the
lighthouse at Tarifa glimmered upon us from the coast of Europe as
we sat, a happy circle, in the handsomely-furnished, comfortable
room. Sir John told us about the country and the people; he told us
also about his journey to Morocco (Marákesh), and of his residence
in Constantinople.
The room used by Sir John as an office during the last twenty years
of his life was on the opposite side of the court to that occupied
by the dwelling-house. Outside it was a little railed balcony whence
he was wont to interview the peasants and poor petitioners who came
to see him. They would come to entreat his intercession in cases
of cruelty or extortion on the part of the Moorish officials, and,
even more frequently, his friendly arbitration was sought, sometimes
by individuals, but not seldom by rival villages or even tribes who
desired an impartial judgment on their differences. His decision in
such cases was accepted as just and final, for his keen sympathy with
the peasantry and his love for an open-air life were among the many
ties that bound him to the people he had learnt to love and who held
him in such high respect. The country-folk knew that in him they had
a kindly friend, always ready in bad times to lend them small sums
of money, to be repaid when the harvest was gathered—and rarely
did they fail to refund such loans.
Residence in the town in summer-time, though not so unhealthy
then as now, was very trying for delicate persons and young
children. Consequently, for many years, Sir John sent his wife and
little girls to England to spend there the summer months: his son
being then a schoolboy at Eton. When the girls were older, and better
able to withstand the climate, several summers were spent at a villa
which had formerly belonged to Mr. Carstensen, Lady Hay’s father,
by whom the surrounding grounds had been beautifully laid out. But
in 1848, when Sir John bought the villa, the garden had fallen into a
neglected state. It had never recovered from the ravages committed in
1844, when the French bombardment destroyed the greenhouses and the
tribes completed the work of destruction by despoiling and wrecking
both house and garden. Still, it was a lovely spot. The house was
originally a small Moorish building consisting of a vine-covered
courtyard surrounded on three sides by long, low rooms. To these
Mr. Carstensen added several bedrooms and a large studio. Near the
villa stood, and still stands, a tower, constructed, it is said,
by Basha Hamed, the original owner of the garden, and one of the
warrior saints who fought against the English and is buried on the
hill of the ‘Mujáhidin.’
This garden Sir John had named ‘The Wilderness,’ for such it
was when he bought it. But to the Moors it was known as ‘Senya
el Hashti,’ or Spring of Hashti, from the water, which, rising in
the garden, is conducted through it by an ancient aqueduct. Charming
though this garden was, the irrigation necessary in the dry season
for the groves of orange and lemon trees rendered it unhealthy as a
summer residence. Sir John therefore decided on building himself a
house on Jebel Kebír, known to-day to residents as the ‘Hill.’
For this purpose he bought a piece of ground from a former American
Consul, to which however he later added largely. The site of the
house was pitched upon by a lucky chance. Sir John was hunting on
the ‘Hill’ with the gun, and an old boar being brought to bay
in a cave under an overhanging rock, he crawled into the thicket and
dispatched the beast where it stood fighting the dogs, and afterwards
clambered round to the top of the cliff which overhung the cave. Much
struck with the position and the view this spot commanded, extending
from Trafalgar to Gibraltar and along the African coast to Jebel
Musa, he determined, if possible, to establish his summer residence
there. There, in 1861, he built ‘Ravensrock,’ naming it from a
rock standing above the house which is known to the country people
as ‘Hajara el Ghaghab,’ or, ‘rock of ravens,’ because these
birds assemble there at certain seasons before flying to their
roosting-place in the trees below the house.
The plan of spending the hot season only three miles from Tangier, but
at a height of 500 feet above the sea, and with a northern exposure,
answered so well that for some years Sir John and his family only
left Tangier every second or third year to go home on leave or to
travel on the Continent. Here came many an invalid from Gibraltar to
endeavour to shake off the obstinate Rock fever. Here also gathered
the friends who joined in hunting or shooting expeditions, which,
in the hot season, were undertaken at a very early hour, so that
the sportsmen might rest throughout the heat of the day in some
shady spot and resume their sport in the cool of the evening before
riding home late at night. Sometimes, perhaps, they would sit out by
night in the grounds, or in the adjoining woods by the melon-patch
of a villager, to watch for boar in hopes of shooting one, and thus
saving him from an ignominious death in a trap or noose set by the
peasants to protect their crops from the greedy ravages of the pig.
When, in winter, the family returned to reside in the Legation,
Ravensrock was left unguarded (until quite recently, when it became
necessary to leave a man in charge); and for many years, for the
convenience of visitors a French window was left on the latch to
ensure easy entry, and not a single article, valuable or otherwise,
was ever missed.
A review of Hans Christian Andersen’s book, _In Spain_, published
in the _Spectator_ of February 26, 1864, says:—
Among the prettiest sketches of the book is the description of the
author’s trip from Gibraltar to the African coast, whither he went
by invitation from Sir John Drummond Hay.
The family of Sir John, consisting of his wife (a daughter of the
late Danish Consul-General in Morocco, Monsieur Carstensen) and
two daughters, were living in an Oriental villa close to the sea,
which existence seemed to the poet like one of the wonders of the
_Thousand and One Nights’_ tales. The English comfort and luxury
within the house; the tropical vegetation in the garden and terraces;
the howling of the jackals, with an occasional real lion within
a stone’s throw of all this European art and elegance, strongly
impressed the traveller from the North. ‘I lived as in a dream,’
he exclaims, ‘through golden days and nights never to be forgotten,
adding a new and rich leaf to the wonderful legend of my life!’
The poet, after his departure, wrote from Seville a letter to Lady
Hay of which the translation follows. It is very characteristic of
the gentle unaffected being who brought pleasure to so many homes
and accepted his small share of the good things of life with such
modesty and gratitude.
How shall I express all my thanks for the great hospitality and
kindness you and your husband showed to me and Collin? The eight days
in your home is still for us the flower of our whole journey. We were
so happy! We felt that we were welcome, and all around us was so new,
so strange. Yes, I am conscious that if I live to return to Denmark,
I shall take with me a fresh and many-coloured poetical blossom
which I shall owe to you.
The steamer brought us to Cadiz in the early morning. Still, in
the night I had a slight alarm, for in the Straits we grounded on
a sand-bank, but we soon were clear and the weather was favourable.
Cadiz was for me a most uninteresting town. It is clean, as if
in its Sunday best, but has no characteristic features. Seville,
on the contrary, is full of life, like Rossini’s music. And what
treasures are to be seen here—the Alcasar, the cathedral with its
glorious Murillos! But it is cold here like a chilly October day at
home. I am dressed in quite winter clothing, and in the streets the
men wear their cloaks thrown round them so as to cover their mouths.
I dread the journey to Madrid. To travel twenty-one hours at this
time of the year will not be pleasant. Very happy should I be if I
could hear at the Danish Minister’s at Madrid how everything is
passing in my African home. Yes! you and your husband must allow me
to call your happy dwelling by that name. Give my thanks and greeting
to your husband and bairns; also to Mr. Green. I regret that I did
not manage to take leave of him when I left.
I hope we may meet again next summer in Denmark.
In Denmark I will plant the melon seeds I got from African soil,
and I hope they will thrive, blossom, and bear fruit.
God give you and yours blessings and happiness.
Your grateful and devoted
H. C. ANDERSEN.
It has been said that the native peasantry resorted to the British
Legation for sympathy, and assistance in time of need, from the
man they looked on as a kindly friend. In Sir John the victims of
injustice, greed, and oppression found a ready advocate and powerful
defender. The favour which he was known to enjoy with the Sultan added
weight to his remonstrances with petty tyrants, and with officials
who, even if not themselves guilty, readily connived at tyranny or
oppression. The authorities dreaded lest they should be reported at
Court for acts of misgovernment—reported, as they well knew, from a
desire for justice and not from personal motives—and this wholesome
fear drove many a venal Moorish official along the straight path. Thus
it was that Sir John obtained so great an influence in Morocco.
The following story illustrates the way in which an act of kindness
done by Sir John was remembered and bore fruit after many years. It
was told by a Moorish soldier who accompanied an intrepid English
traveller into the interior. This attendant had been recommended by
Sir John, and on his return to Tangier came at once to report himself
and give some account of the journey. He related that having arrived
at a certain stage of the journey they were detained. The tribesmen
who occupied the district through which it was necessary to pass,
refused to recognise the authority of the Sultan, whose troops they
had lately defeated. Declaring their belief that the Christian
traveller was a French engineer come to spy out their land, they
said they would have none of him. The officer of the escort sent by
the Sultan dared not proceed, and there was thus every prospect that
this, the first, attempt on the part of a European to penetrate into
this part of Morocco, would have to be abandoned.
At this juncture there appeared on the scene the Sheikh of the tribe
occupying the district adjacent to that of the rebels.
In the words of the narrator of the story:—‘This Sheikh rode up to
the tents and inquired of me whether the Christian was a Frenchman, or
whether there was any truth in the report, which had just reached him,
that the traveller was the son of the English “Bashador.” I told
him that he was not the son, but a friend, of the Bashador, who wished
to pass through that part of the country, and to whom the Bashador
had given letters recommending him to the good offices of the Uzir,
in consequence of which an escort had been sent by the Government
to take him as far as possible in the direction he desired to go,
and that now the officer of the escort dared proceed no further.
‘“Where are you from?” queried the Sheikh.
‘“From Tangier.”
‘“Do you know the Bashador?”
‘“For years I was his servant.”
‘“Is the Bashador he that lived at Senya el Hashti?”
‘“The same.”
‘“Is he well? And his son and household, are they well?”
‘“He is well, they are all well.”
‘“Do you know the hunters of Suanni and their Sheikh Hadj Hamed
and Hadj Ali and Alarbi and Abd-el-Kerim?”
‘“I know them all. Abd-el-Kerim—God’s peace be with him—was
my father.”
‘“And the Bashador, you say, is well and his son and his
household. Alhamdulillah! He it was who procured my release when I
was imprisoned at Tangier. I have worked in his garden, at Senya
el Hashti: I have eaten and drank in his house. His friend is my
friend. On my head be it to carry out the Bashador’s wishes. This
Nazarene, you say, is a friend of the Bashador who wishes him to be
helped on his journey. It is well. I will see him safely through. On
my head be it. This tribe will assuredly not grant free passage to
the Christian, nor to the Sultan’s escort, but I will arrange that,
‘enshallah,’ the Bashador’s wishes be carried out. Even now
will I dispatch a speedy messenger to my brother, telling him what
is required. By sunset the escort my brother will send should be
here, and after resting till the prayer of the ‘Asha’ is called
(about nine p.m.), we will start, ‘enshallah.’ See to it that the
Nazarene be then ready to go with us. Through the night will we ride
and shortly after sunrise we shall, with God’s help, be out of the
district inhabited by this rebellious tribe. The country immediately
beyond is now infested by bands of robbers, and the Sultan’s
authorities have fled, but before sundown, ‘enshallah,’ I will
hand you all over in safety to the Governor of the next district.”
‘The Sheikh’s men arrived about sunset, some hundred men, mostly
mounted and all well armed. Shortly after the hour of the ‘Asha’
prayer we started, our party riding in the centre of this escort. As
we travelled we found other parties of the Sheikh’s men waiting
for us at intervals; these, as we met them, joining and continuing
with us until—as daylight showed—the escort amounted to some
three hundred armed men.
‘In the morning, shortly after crossing a river which formed the
boundary of the hostile tribe, we rested for one hour. Then the
Sheikh ordered most of his men to return home; he himself, with some
twenty-five followers, escorting us to the dwelling of the Governor
of the next province, where we arrived before sundown.’
On the other hand Sir John occasionally made such bitter enemies
amongst the ill-disposed and the criminal classes that his life
was endangered. One of the most notable of these was a native of
the village of Zinats between Tangier and Tetuan, a man named Aisa
(Anglicé Jesus).
A brother of Aisa’s had been ill and applied for medical relief
to a doctor, an Austrian Jew, resident at Tetuan. The doctor did all
in his power to relieve the man, but without avail, and the patient
died. Aisa chose to consider that his brother had been poisoned,
and, vowing vengeance against the doctor and all Jews, soon after
murdered an inoffensive Israelite pedlar, travelling between Tetuan
and Tangier.
Sir John insisted that the authorities should seize and punish the
criminal; but this was extremely difficult to accomplish, as he
hid amongst the rocky slopes of the hills near Zinats, and thence
continued to threaten the Jews, who, in terror of their lives, dared
not travel from Tangier to Tetuan, except under safe convoy. He
also sent a written message to the effect that, in revenge for
these persistent efforts to have him arrested, he intended taking
Sir John’s life and—failing other opportunity—would force his
way into the latter’s house and kill him there.
To these threats Sir John paid no attention. He rode about as usual,
unattended and unarmed, and even shot partridge over the district of
Zinats, the murderer’s haunt, while still urging the authorities
in his pursuit. The villagers in that part of the country seem to
have shared somewhat in Aisa’s view of the cause of his brother’s
death. They sheltered, fed, and hid him. It was only when a fine was
levied on the district, when some of the Sheikhs were imprisoned
as hostages, and when a whole village which was supposed to have
sheltered the murderer had been burnt to the ground, that they
deserted the criminal. He was finally traced to a cave where he had
taken refuge. The soldiers tried to smoke him out of his lair; but
he fired on them and then, seeing escape to be hopeless, shot himself.
[Illustration: SENYA EL HASHTI]