maroc and mazagan :7

No phase of the city's life lacked fascination, nor was the interest
abated when life and death moved side by side. A Moorish funeral wound
slowly along the road in the path of a morning's ride. First came a crowd
of ragged fellows on foot singing the praises of Allah, who gives one
life to his servants here and an eternity of bliss in Paradise at the end
of their day's work. The body of the deceased followed, wrapped in a
knotted shroud and partially covered with what looked like a coloured
shawl, but was, I think, the flag from a saint's shrine. Four bearers
carried the open bier, and following came men of high class on mules. The
contrast between the living and the dead was accentuated by the freshness
of the day, the life that thronged the streets, the absence of a coffin,
the weird, sonorous chaunting of the mourners. The deceased must have been
a man of mark, for the crowd preceding the bier was composed largely of
beggars, on their way to the cemetery, where a gift of food would be
distributed. Following their master's remains came two slaves, newly
manumitted, their certificates of freedom borne aloft in cleft sticks to
testify before all men to the generosity of the loudly lamented. Doubtless
the shroud of the dead had been sprinkled with water brought from the well
Zem Zem, which is by the mosque of Mecca, and is said to have been
miraculously provided for Hagar, when Ishmael, then a little boy, was like
to die of thirst in the wilderness.

I watched the procession wind its way out of sight to the burial-ground by
the mosque, whose mueddin would greet its arrival with the cry, "May Allah
have mercy upon him." Then the dead man would be carried to the cemetery,
laid on his right side looking towards Mecca, and the shroud would be
untied, that there may be no awkwardness or delay upon the day of the
Resurrection. And the Kadi or f'K'hay[44] would say, "O Allah, if he did
good, over-estimate his goodness; and if he did evil, forget his evil
deeds; and of Thy Mercy grant that he may experience Thine Acceptance; and
spare him the trials and troubles of the grave.... Of Thy Mercy grant him
freedom from torment until Thou send him to Paradise, O Thou Most Pitiful
of the pitying.... Pardon us, and him, and all Moslems, O Lord of
Creation."

[Illustration: A YOUNG MARRAKSHI]

On the three following mornings the men of the deceased's house would
attend by the newly-made grave, in company with the tolba, and would
distribute bread and fruit to the poor, and when their task was over and
the way clear, the veiled women would bring flowers, with myrtle, willows,
and young leaves of the palm, and lay them on the grave, and over these
the water-carrier would empty his goat-skin. I knew that the dead man
would have gone without flinching to his appointed end, not as one who
fears, but rather as he who sets out joyfully to a feast prepared in his
honour. His faith had kept all doubts at bay, and even if he had been an
ill liver the charitable deeds wrought in his name by surviving relatives
would enable him to face the two angels who descend to the grave on the
night following a man's burial and sit in judgment upon his soul. This one
who passed me on his last journey would tell the angels of the men who
were slaves but yesterday and were now free, he would speak of the hungry
who had been fed, and of the intercession of the righteous and learned.
These facts and his faith, the greatest fact of all, would assuredly
satisfy Munkir and Nakir.[45] Small wonder if no manner of life, however
vile, stamps ill-livers in Morocco with the seal we learn to recognise in
the Western world. For the Moslem death has no sting, and hell no victory.
Faith, whether it be in One God, in a Trinity, in Christ, Mohammed, or
Buddha, is surely the most precious of all possessions, so it be as virile
and living a thing as it is in Sunset Land.

Writing of religion, I needs must set down a word in this place of the men
and women who work for the Southern Morocco Mission in Marrakesh. The
beauty of the city has long ceased to hold any fresh surprises for them,
their labour is among the people who "walk in noonday as in the night." It
is not necessary to be of their faith to admire the steadfast devotion to
high ideals that keeps Mr. Nairn and his companions in Marrakesh. I do not
think that they make converts in the sense that they desire, the faith of
Islam suits Morocco and the Moors, and it will not suffer successful
invasion, but the work of the Mission has been effective in many ways. If
the few Europeans who visit the city are free to wander unchallenged,
unmolested through its every street, let them thank the missionaries; if
the news that men from the West are straight-dealing, honourable, and
slaves to truth, has gone from the villages on the hither side of Atlas
down to the far cities of the Sus, let the missionaries be praised. And if
a European woman can go unveiled yet uninsulted through Marrakesh, the
credit is due to the ladies of the Mission. It may be said without mental
reservation that the Southern Morocco Mission accomplishes a great work,
and is most successful in its apparent failure. It does not make
professing Christians out of Moors, but it teaches the Moors to live finer
lives within the limits of their own faith, and if they are kinder and
cleaner and more honourable by reason of their intercourse with the
"tabibs" and "tabibas," the world gains and Morocco is well served. When
the Sultan was in difficulties towards the end of 1902, and the star of Bu
Hamara was in the ascendant, Sir Arthur Nicolson, our Minister in Tangier,
ordered all British subjects to leave the inland towns for the coast. As
soon as the news reached the Marrakshis, the houses of the missionaries
were besieged by eager crowds of Moors and Berbers, offering to defend the
well-beloved tabibs against all comers, and begging them not to go away.
Very reluctantly Mr. Nairn and his companions obeyed the orders sent from
Tangier, but, having seen their wives and children safely housed in
Djedida, they returned to their work.

[Illustration: FRUIT MARKET, MARRAKESH]

The Elhara or leper quarter is just outside one of the city gates, and
after some effort of will, I conquered my repugnance and rode within its
gate. The place proved to be a collection of poverty-stricken hovels built
in a circle, of the native tapia, which was crumbling to pieces through
age and neglect. Most of the inhabitants were begging in the city, where
they are at liberty to remain until the gates are closed, but there were a
few left at home, and I had some difficulty in restraining the keeper
of Elhara, who wished to parade the unfortunate creatures before me that I
might not miss any detail of their sufferings. Leper women peeped out from
corners, as Boubikir's "house" had done; little leper children played
merrily enough on the dry sandy ground, a few donkeys, covered with scars
and half starved, stood in the scanty shade. In a deep cleft below the
outer wall women and girls, very scantily clad, were washing clothes in a
pool that is reserved apparently for the use of the stricken village. I
was glad to leave the place behind me, after giving the unctuous keeper a
gift for the sufferers that doubtless never reached them. They tell me
that no sustained attempt is made to deal medically with the disease,
though many nasty concoctions are taken by a few True Believers, whose
faith, I fear, has not made them whole.[46]

When it became necessary for us to leave Marrakesh the young shareef went
to the city's fandaks and inquired if they held muleteers bound for
Mogador. The Maalem had taken his team home along the northern road, our
path lay to the south, through the province of the Son of Lions (Oulad bou
Sba), and thence through Shiadma and Haha to the coast. We were fortunate
in finding the men we sought without any delay. A certain kaid of the Sus
country, none other than El Arbi bel Hadj ben Haida, who rules over
Tiensiert, had sent six muleteers to Marrakesh to sell his oil, in what is
the best southern market, and he had worked out their expenses on a scale
that could hardly be expected to satisfy anybody but himself.

[Illustration: IN THE FANDAK]

"From Tiensiert to Marrakesh is three days journey," he had said, and,
though it is five, no man contradicted him, perhaps because five is
regarded as an unfortunate number, not to be mentioned in polite or
religious society. "Three days will serve to sell the oil and rest the
mules," he had continued, "and three days more will bring you home." Then
he gave each man three dollars for travelling money, about nine shillings
English, and out of it the mules were to be fed, the charges of n'zala and
fandak to be met, and if there was anything over the men might buy food
for themselves. They dared not protest, for El Arbi bel Hadj ben Haida had
every man's house in his keeping, and if the muleteers had failed him he
would have had compensation in a manner no father of a family would care
to think about. The oil was sold, and the muleteers were preparing to
return to their master, when Salam offered them a price considerably in
excess of what they had received for the whole journey to take us to
Mogador. Needless to say they were not disposed to let the chance go by,
for it would not take them two days out of their way, so I went to the
fandak to see mules and men, and complete the bargain. There had been a
heavy shower some days before, and the streets were more than usually
miry, but in the fandak, whose owner had no marked taste for
cleanliness, the accumulated dirt of all the rainy season had been
stirred, with results I have no wish to record. A few donkeys in the last
stages of starvation had been sent in to gather strength by resting, one
at least was too far gone to eat. Even the mules of the Susi tribesmen
were not in a very promising condition. It was an easy task to count their
ribs, and they were badly in need of rest and a few square meals. Tied in
the covered cloisters of the fandak there was some respite for them from
the attack of mosquitoes, but the donkeys, being cheap and of no
importance, were left to all the torments that were bound to be associated
with the place.

Only one human being faced the glare of the light and trod fearlessly
through the mire that lay eight or ten inches deep on the ground, and he
was a madman, well-nigh as tattered and torn as the one I had angered in
the Kaisariyah on the morning after my arrival in the city. This man's
madness took a milder turn. He went from one donkey to another, whispering
in its ear, a message of consolation I hope and believe, though I had no
means of finding out. When I entered the fandak he came running up to me
in a style suggestive of the gambols of a playful dog, and I was
exceedingly annoyed by a thought that he might not know any difference
between me and his other friends. There was no need to be uneasy, for he
drew himself up to his full height, made a hissing noise in his throat,
and spat fiercely at my shadow. Then he returned to the stricken donkeys,
and the keeper of the fandak, coming out to welcome me, saw his more
worthy visitor. Turning from me with "Marhababik" ("You are welcome") just
off his lips, he ran forward and kissed the hem of the madman's djellaba.

A madman is very often an object of veneration in Morocco, for his brain
is in divine keeping, while his body is on the earth. And yet the Moor is
not altogether logical in his attitude to the "afflicted of Allah." While
so much liberty is granted to the majority of the insane that feigned
madness is quite common among criminals in the country, less fortunate men
who have really become mentally afflicted, but are not recognised as
insane, are kept chained to the walls of the Marstan--half hospital, half
prison--that is attached to the most great mosques. I have been assured
that they suffer considerably at the hands of most gaoler-doctors, whose
medicine is almost invariably the stick, but I have not been able to
verify the story, which is quite opposed to Moorish tradition. The mad
visitor to the fandak did not disturb the conversation with the keeper and
the Susi muleteers, but he turned the head of a donkey in our direction
and talked eagerly to the poor animal, pointing at me with outstretched
finger the while. The keeper of the fandak, kind man, made uneasy by this
demonstration, signed to me quietly to stretch out my hand, with palm
open, and directed to the spot where the madman stood, for only in that
way could I hope to avert the evil eye.

The chief muleteer was a thin and wiry little fellow, a total stranger to
the soap and water beloved of Unbelievers. He could not have been more
than five feet high, and he was burnt brown. His dark outer garment of
coarse native wool had the curious yellow patch on the back that all
Berbers seem to favour, though none can explain its origin or purpose, and
he carried his slippers in his hand, probably deeming them less capable of
withstanding hard wear than his naked feet. He had no Arabic, but spoke
only "Shilha," the language of the Berbers, so it took some time to make
all arrangements, including the stipulation that a proper meal for all the
mules was to be given under the superintendence of M'Barak. That worthy
representative of Shareefian authority was having a regal time, drawing a
dollar a day, together with three meals and a ration for his horse, in
return for sitting at ease in the courtyard of the Tin House.

Arrangements concluded, it was time to say good-bye to Sidi Boubikir. I
asked delicately to be allowed to pay rent for the use of the house, but
the hospitable old man would not hear of it. "Allah forbid that I should
take any money," he remarked piously. "Had you told me you were going I
would have asked you to dine with me again before you started." We sat in
the well-remembered room, where green tea and mint were served in a
beautiful set of china-and-gold filagree cups, presented to him by the
British Government nearly ten years ago. He spoke at length of the places
that should be visited, including the house of his near relative, Mulai el
Hadj of Tamsloht, to whom he offered to send me with letters and an
escort. Moreover, he offered an escort to see us out of the city and on
the road to the coast, but I judged it better to decline both offers, and,
with many high-flown compliments, left him by the entrance to his great
house, and groped back through the mud to put the finishing touches to
packing.

The young shareef accepted a parting gift with grave dignity, and assured
me of his esteem for all time and his willing service when and where I
should need it. I had said good-bye to the "tabibs" and "tabibas," so
nothing remained but to rearrange our goods, that nearly everything should
be ready for the mules when they arrived before daybreak. Knowing that the
first day's ride was a long one, some forty miles over an indifferent road
and with second-rate animals, I was anxious to leave the city as soon as
the gates were opened.

[Illustration: THE JAMA'A EFFINA]

Right above my head the mueddin in the minaret overlooking the Tin House
called the sleeping city to its earliest prayer.[47] I rose and waked the
others, and we dressed by a candle-light that soon became superfluous.
When the mueddin began the chant that sounded so impressive and so
mournful as it was echoed from every minaret in the city, the first
approach of light would have been visible in the east, and in these
latitudes day comes and goes upon winged feet. Before the beds were
taken to pieces and Salam had the porridge and his "marmalade" ready, with
steaming coffee, for early breakfast, we heard the mules clattering down
the stony street. Within half an hour the packing comedy had commenced.
The Susi muleteer, who was accompanied by a boy and four men, one a slave,
and all quite as frowzy, unwashed, and picturesque as himself, swore that
we did not need four pack-mules but eight. Salam, his eyes flaming, and
each separate hair of his beard standing on end, cursed the shameless
women who gave such men as the Susi muleteer and his fellows to the
kingdom of my Lord Abd-el-Aziz, threw the _shwarris_ on the ground,
rejected the ropes, and declared that with proper fittings the mules, if
these were mules at all, and he had his very serious doubts about the
matter, could run to Mogador in three days. Clearly Salam intended to be
master from the start, and when I came to know something more about our
company, the wisdom of the procedure was plain. Happily for one and all
Mr. Nairn came along at this moment. It was not five o'clock, but the hope
of serving us had brought him into the cold morning air, and his thorough
knowledge of the Shilha tongue worked wonders. He was able to send for
proper ropes at an hour when we could have found no trader to supply them,
and if we reached the city gate that looks out towards the south almost as
soon as the camel caravan that had waited without all night, the
accomplishment was due to my kind friend who, with Mr. Alan Lennox, had
done so much to make the stay in Marrakesh happily memorable.

It was just half-past six when the last pack-mule passed the gate, whose
keeper said graciously, "Allah prosper the journey," and, though the sun
was up, the morning was cool, with a delightfully fresh breeze from the
west, where the Atlas Mountains stretched beyond range of sight in all
their unexplored grandeur. They seemed very close to us in that clear
atmosphere, but their foot hills lay a day's ride away, and the natives
would be prompt to resent the visit of a stranger who did not come to them
with the authority of a kaid or governor whose power and will to punish
promptly were indisputable. With no little regret I turned, when we had
been half an hour on the road, for a last look at Ibn Tachfin's city.
Distance had already given it the indefinite attraction that comes when
the traveller sees some city of old time in a light that suggests every
charm and defines none. I realised that I had never entered an Eastern
city with greater pleasure, or left one with more sincere regret, and that
if time and circumstance had been my servants I would not have been so
soon upon the road.

The road from Marrakesh to Mogador is as pleasant as traveller could wish,
lying for a great part of the way through fertile land, but it is seldom
followed, because of the two unbridged rivers N'fiss and Sheshoua. If
either is in flood (and both are fed by the melting snows from the Atlas
Mountains), you must camp on the banks for days together, until it shall
please Allah to abate the waters. Our lucky star was in the ascendant; we
reached Wad N'fiss at eleven o'clock to find its waters low and clear. On
the far side of the banks we stayed to lunch by the border of a thick belt
of sedge and bulrushes, a marshy place stretching over two or three acres,
and glowing with the rich colour that comes to southern lands in April and
in May. It recalled to me the passage in one of the stately choruses of
Mr. Swinburne's _Atalanta in Calydon_, that tells how "blossom by blossom
the spring begins."

The intoxication that lies in colour and sound has ever had more
fascination for me than the finest wine could bring: the colour of the
vintage is more pleasing than the taste of the grape. In this forgotten
corner the eye and ear were assailed and must needs surrender. Many tiny
birds of the warbler family sang among the reeds, where I set up what I
took to be a Numidian crane, and, just beyond the river growths, some
splendid oleanders gave an effective splash of scarlet to the surrounding
greens and greys. In the waters of the marsh the bullfrogs kept up a loud
sustained croak, as though they were True Believers disturbed by the
presence of the Infidels. The N'fiss is a fascinating river from every
point of view. Though comparatively small, few Europeans have reached the
source, and it passes through parts of the country where a white man's
presence would be resented effectively. The spurs of the Atlas were still
clearly visible on our left hand, and needless to say we had the place to
ourselves. There was not so much as a tent in sight.

At last M'Barak, who had resumed his place at the head of our little
company, and now realised that we had prolonged our stay beyond proper
limits, mounted his horse rather ostentatiously, and the journey was
resumed over level land that was very scantily covered with grass or
clumps of irises. The mountains seemed to recede and the plain to spread
out; neither eye nor glass revealed a village; we were apparently riding
towards the edge of the plains. The muleteer and his companions strode
along at a round pace, supporting themselves with sticks and singing
melancholy Shilha love-songs. Their mules, recollection of their good meal
of the previous evening being forgotten, dropped to a pace of something
less than four miles an hour, and as the gait of our company had to be
regulated by the speed of its slowest member, it is not surprising that
night caught us up on the open and shut out a view of the billowy plain
that seemingly held no resting-place. How I missed the little Maalem,
whose tongue would have been a spur to the stumbling beasts! But as
wishing would bring nothing, we dismounted and walked by the side of our
animals, the kaid alone remaining in the saddle. Six o'clock became seven,
and seven became eight, and then I found it sweet to hear the watch-dog's
honest bark. Of course it was not a "deep-mouthed welcome:" it was no more
than a cry of warning and defiance raised by the colony of pariah dogs
that guarded Ain el Baidah, our destination.

In the darkness, that had a pleasing touch of purple colouring lent it by
the stars, Ain el Baidah's headman loomed very large and imposing. "Praise
to Allah that you have come and in health," he remarked, as though we
were old friends. He assured me of my welcome, and said his village had a
guest-house that would serve instead of the tent. Methought he protested
too much, but knowing that men and mules were dead beat, and that we had a
long way to go, I told Salam that the guest-house would serve, and the
headman lead the way to a tapia building that would be called a very small
barn, or a large fowl-house, in England. A tiny clay lamp, in which a
cotton wick consumed some mutton fat, revealed a corner of the darkness
and the dirt, and when our own lamps banished the one, they left the other
very clearly to be seen. But we were too tired to utter a complaint. I saw
the mules brought within the zariba, helped to set up my camp bed, took
the cartridges out of my shot gun, and, telling Salam to say when supper
was ready, fell asleep at once. Eighteen busy hours had passed since the
mueddin called to "feyer" from the minaret above the Tin House, but my
long-sought rest was destined to be brief.

FOOTNOTES:

[43] Literally, "Slave of the Merciful."

[44] Priest attached to the Mosque.

[45] The Angels of Judgment.

[46] So many lepers come from the Argan Forest provinces of Haha and
Shiadma that leprosy is believed by many Moors to result from the free use
of Argan oil. There is no proper foundation for this belief.

[47] This is the most important of the five supplications. The Sura of Al
Koran called "The Night Journey" says, "To the prayer of daybreak the
Angels themselves bear witness."




"SONS OF LIONS" AND OTHER TRUE BELIEVERS




[Illustration: EVENING IN CAMP]




CHAPTER X

"SONS OF LIONS" AND OTHER TRUE BELIEVERS

    FALSTAFF--"Four rogues in buckram let drive at me."

    _King Henry IV._, Act II. Scene 4.


By the time Salam had roused me from a dream in which I was being torn
limb from limb in a Roman amphitheatre, whose terraced seats held
countless Moors all hugely enjoying my dismemberment, I realised that a
night in that guest-house would be impossible. The place was already
over-populated.

A brief meal was taken in the open, and we sat with our feet thrust to the
edge of the nearest charcoal fire, for the night was cold. Our animals,
tethered and watered, stood anxiously waiting for the barley the chief
muleteer had gone to buy. Supper over, I sat on a chair in the open, and
disposed myself for sleep as well as the conditions permitted. Round me,
on the bare ground, the men and the boy from the Sus lay wrapped in their
haiks--the dead could not have slept more soundly than they. The two fires
were glimmering very faintly now, M'Barak was stretching a blanket for
himself, while Salam collected the tin plates and dishes, his last task
before retiring. Somewhere in the far outer darkness I heard the wail of
a hyaena, and a light cold breeze sighed over the plain. Half asleep and
half awake I saw the village headman approaching from out the darkness; a
big bag of barley was on his shoulder, and he was followed closely by the
muleteer. They came into the little circle of the fast falling light; I
was nodding drowsily toward unconsciousness, and wondering, with a vague
resentment that exhausted all my remaining capacity to think, why the
headman should be speaking so loudly. Suddenly, I saw the muleteer go to
earth as if he had been pole-axed, and in that instant I was wide awake
and on my feet. So was Salam.

The headman delivered himself of a few incisive rasping sentences. The
muleteer rose slowly and wiped a little blood from his face.

Salam explained: his capacity for fathoming a crisis was ever remarkable.
"Headman he charge three dollars for barley and he don't worth more than
one. Muleteer he speaks for that, and headman 'e knock him down."

"Ask him how he dares interfere with our people," I said. "Tell him his
kaid shall hear of it."

The headman replied haughtily to Salam's questions and strode away. "He
say," said Salam, beginning to get angry, "Pay first and talk
afterwards--to Allah, if you will. He say he wait long time for man like
muleteer an' cut 'im throat. What he's bin done that be nothing. What he's
goin' to do, that all Moors is goin' to see. He come back soon, sir."

Then Salam slipped noiselessly into the guest-house and fetched my
repeating shot gun, from which I had previously drawn all cartridges. He
sat down outside with the weapon across his knees, and the bruised
muleteer safely behind him. I coaxed the charcoal to a further effort and
returned to my chair, wondering whether trouble that had been so long in
coming had arrived at last. Some five minutes later we heard a sound of
approaching footsteps, and I could not help noting how Salam brightened.
He was spoiling for a fight. I watched dim figures coming into the area of
light, they took shape and showed Ain al Baidah's chief and two of his
men--tall, sturdy fellows, armed with thick sticks. Seeing Salam sitting
with gun levelled full on them they came to a sudden halt, and listened
while he told them, in a voice that shook and sometimes broke with rage,
their character, their characteristics, the moral standing of their
parents and grandparents, the probable fate of their sons, and the certain
and shameful destiny of their daughters. He invited them, with finger on
trigger, to advance one step and meet the death that should enable him to
give their ill-favoured bodies one by one to the pariahs and the hawks,
before he proceeded to sack Ain al Baidah and overcome single-handed the
whole of its fighting men. And, absurd though his rodomontade may sound to
Europeans, who read it in cold print, it was a vastly different matter
there in the dark of the Plain, when Salam stood, believing he held a
loaded gun in his hand, and allowed his fierce temper rein. The headman
and his two attendants slunk off like whipped curs, and we proceeded to
feed our animals, replenish both fires, and sleep with one eye open.

[Illustration: PREPARING SUPPER]

Morning came over the hills to Ain al Baidah in cold and cheerless guise.
The villagers crowded round to stare at us in the familiar fashion. But
there were grim looks and dark scowls among them, and, failing the
truculent and determined bearing of Salam and the presence of the kaid we
should have had a lively quarter of an hour. As it was, we were not ready
to leave before eight o'clock, and then Salam went, money in hand, to
where the thieving headman stood. The broken night's rest had not made my
companion more pleased with Ain al Baidah's chief. He threw the dollars
that had been demanded on to the ground before the rogue's feet, and then
his left hand flew up and outward. With one swift, irresistible movement
he had caught his foe by the beard, drawn down the shrinking, vicious face
to within a few inches of his own, and so holding him, spoke earnestly for
half a minute, of what the Prophet has said about hospitality to
travellers, and the shocking fate that awaits headmen who rob those who
come seeking shelter, and beat them when they complain. Ain al Baidah's
chief could not but listen, and listening
and listening, he could not but shudder. So it
fell out that, when Salam's harangue was finished, we left a speechless,
irresolute, disgraced headman, and rode away slowly, that none might say
we knew fear. If the village had any inclination to assist its chief, the
sight of the blessed one's weapon, in its fierce red cloth covering, must
have awed them. Some days later, in Mogador, I was told that the Ain al
Baidah man is a terror to travellers and a notorious robber, but I made no
complaint to our Consul. If the headman's overlord had been told to punish
him, the method chosen would assuredly have been to rob every man in the
douar, and if they resisted, burn their huts over their heads. It seemed
better to trust that the memory of Salam will lead Ain al Baidah's chief
to lessen his proud looks.

We made slow progress to Sheshoua, where the river that might have barred
our road to the coast was as friendly as the N'fiss had been on the
previous day. The track to its banks had been flat and uninteresting
enough; what good work the winter rains had done by way of weaving a
flower carpet on the plains, the summer sun had destroyed. There was a
considerable depression in the plain, though we could not notice it at the
slow pace forced upon us, and this accounted for the absence of water
between the rivers, and for the great extent of the calcareous gravel, in
which few plants could thrive. Only the _zizyphus lotus_, from whose
branches little white snails hung like flowers, seemed to find real
nourishment in the dry ground, though colocynth and wild lavender were to
be seen now and again. But by the Sheshoua River the change was very
sudden and grateful to the eye.

A considerable olive grove, whose grey-green leaves shone like silver in
the light breeze, offered shade and shelter to a large colony of doves.
There was a thriving village, with a saint's tomb for chief attraction,
and solid walls to suggest that the place does not enjoy perennial
tranquillity. But even though there are strangers who trouble these good
folk, their home could not have looked more charmingly a haunt of peace
than it did. All round the village one saw orchards of figs, apricots, and
pomegranate trees; the first with the leaves untouched by the summer heat,
the apricots just at the end of their blossoming, and the pomegranates
still in flower. In place of the dry, hard soil that was so trying to the
feet of man and beast, there were here meadows in plenty, from which the
irises had only lately died. I saw the common English dandelion growing
within stone's throw of a clump of feathery palms.

Tired after the vigil of the previous night and the long hours that had
led up to it, we reclined at our ease under the olives, determined to
spend the night at Sidi el Muktar, some fifteen or twenty miles away. From
there one can hunt the great bustard, and I had hoped to do so until I saw
the animals that were to take us to the coast. Neither the bustard nor the
gazelle, that sometimes roams Sidi el Muktar's plains, had anything to
fear from those noble creatures. The kaid alone might have pursued bird or
beast, but as his gun was innocent of powder and shot there would have
been nothing but exercise to seek.

After a two-hours' rest, given in one case more to sleep than lunch, we
moved on towards the village of Sidi el Muktar, passing some curious
flat-topped hills called by the natives Haunk Ijjimmal.[48] The oasis had
ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the road became as uninteresting
as was our own crawling gait. I noticed that the Susi muleteers were
travelling very sadly, that they had not among them an echo of the songs
that had sounded so strangely on the previous day, and I bade Salam find
the cause of the depression, and ask whether the young lad whose features
had become pinched and drawn felt ill. Within a few moments the truth was
out. The six men had eaten nothing save a little of the mules' barley
since they left Marrakesh, and as they had been on short rations between
Tiensiert and the Southern capital, their strength was beginning to give
out. It was no part of my business to feed them; they had received
"something in the hand" before they left the city, and could well have
bought supplies for the road, but they had preferred to trust Providence,
and hoped to live on a small part of the mules' barley and the daily gift
of tea that had been promised. Under the circumstances, and though I had
found reason to believe that they were lazy, feckless rogues enough, who
really needed an iron-handed kaid to rule over them, I told Salam to pass
word round that their wants would be supplied at the day's end. Then they
picked up their old stride, and one by one resumed the love-songs of
yesterday as we moved slowly over the plains to where, in the far
distance, Sidi el Muktar stood between us and the fast setting sun, placed
near to the junction of three provinces--Oulad bou Sba, through which we
travelled, M'touga, famous for fleet horses, and Shiadma, where our road
lay.

But we were to find no rest in the shade of Sidi el Muktar's stately
zowia. The "Sons of Lions" had raided the place on the previous day,
hoping to terminate alike the rule and the existence of a kaid whose hand
had rested too heavily upon them. Some friend of the kaid having given him
due notice of the raiders' intentions--treachery is a painfully common
feature of these forays--he had been well prepared to meet these godless
men. Powder had spoken, and was to speak again, for the kaid, having
driven off the raiders, was going to carry war into the enemy's country,
and was busy preparing to start on the morrow at daybreak. At such a time
as this it had not been wise to pitch tent within sound or sight of men
with the killing lust upon them. Very reluctantly we rode on for another
two hours and then Ain Umast, a douar that is famous for its possession of
a well of pure water, received us with nightfall. There our troubles were
over, for though the place was more than commonly dirty, the inhabitants
were peaceable and disposed to be friendly. A few crops were raised on the
surrounding fields, and small herds of sheep and goats managed to pick up
some sort of a living on the surrounding lands, but poverty reigned there,
and Ain Umast is of small account by the side of Sidi el Muktar, which is
the burial-place of a saint, whose miracles are still acknowledged by all
the faithful who happen to have met with good luck of any sort.

[Illustration: A GOATHERD]

Bread, butter, and eggs were brought for the muleteers, and I was
greatly surprised by the cleanliness of the men. Before they broke an egg
for the omelette they washed it with greatest care. They themselves stood
far more in need of a washing than the eggs did, but perhaps they could
not be expected to think of everything. Barley was bought, at half the
price charged at Ain el Baidah, and I noticed that the cunning Susi hid
some of it in the long bag they kept at the bottom of one of the
_shwarris_. Clearly they intended to make the supply we paid for serve to
take them all the way to Tiensiert. This was annoying, since one of the
objects of ordering a good supply each night was to enable the
long-suffering beasts to compass a better speed on the following day.

That evening there was great excitement in the douar. The elders came
round our fire after supper and sought to know if it were true that the
"Sons of Lions" had blotted out Sidi el Muktar, and put all its
inhabitants to the sword. When we declared that the little town was still
where it had stood since they were born, they appeared distinctly
surprised, and gave the praise and credit to the patron saint. They said
the kaid's hand was a very heavy one, that his men went to the Wednesday
market and were the terror of the country folks who came to buy and sell.
The absence of the Court Elevated by Allah was to be deplored, for had my
Lord Abd-el-Aziz been in residence at Marrakesh some other kaid would have
made him a bid for the place of the ruler of Sidi el Muktar, basing his
offer upon the fact that the present governor could not keep order. A
change might have been for the better--it could hardly have been for the
worse. One or two of the men of Ain Umast spoke Shilha, and the Susi men,
hearing the cruelties of Sidi el Muktar's ruler discussed, claimed to have
a far better specimen of the genus kaid in Tiensiert. He was a man indeed,
ready with fire and sword at the shortest notice; his subjects called him
Father of Locusts, so thoroughly did he deal with all things that could be
eaten up.

It was a curious but instructive attitude. These miserable men were quite
proud to think that the tyranny of their kaid, the great El Arbi bel Hadj
ben Haida, was not to be rivalled by anything Shiadma could show. They
instanced his treatment of them and pointed to the young boy who was of
their company. His father had been kaid in years past, but the late Grand
Wazeer Ba Ahmad sold his office to El Arbi, who threw the man into prison
and kept him there until he died. To show his might, El Arbi had sent the
boy with them, that all men might know how the social scales of Tiensiert
held the kaid on one side and the rest of the people on the other. The
black slave who accompanied them had been brought up by the late kaid's
father, and was devoted to the boy. In his mercy El Arbi allowed him to
live with the lad and work a small farm, the harvest of which was strictly
tithed by Tiensiert's chief--who took a full nine-tenths. Before the
evening was over the elders of Ain Umast had acknowledged, rather
regretfully I thought, that the tyrant of Sidi el Muktar must hide a
diminished head before his brother of the Sus. The triumph of the grimy
men from Tiensiert was then complete.

They were a sorry set of fellows enough, to outward seeming, but how shall
a European judge them fairly? Stevenson says in one of his Essays,
"Justice is not done to the versatility and the unplumbed childishness of
man's imagination. His life from without may seem but a rude mound of mud;
there will be some golden chamber at the heart of it, in which he dwells
delighted; and for as dark as his pathway seems to the observer, he will
have some kind of bull's-eye at his belt." So, doubtless, had I had the
eyes that see below the surface, these hardy traders, the best of whose
hopes and actions were hidden from me, would have been no less interesting
than the Maalem or the young shareef.

In view of the disturbed state of the country I thought of having a few
extra guards, but finding the two already engaged sleeping peacefully
before our tent was closed, it seemed likely that a couple of sleeping men
would be as useful as four. I fear they had a troubled night, for though
the "Sons of Lions" did not trouble us, a short, sharp shower came with
the small hours and woke the poor fellows, who asked for extra money in
the morning by way of consolation for their broken rest. By five o'clock
we were astir, and soon after we were on the road again, bound for the
village of Hanchen, where a small Sok Thalata[49] is held. After a brief
mid-day rest we reached the outskirts of the Argan Forest.

This great forest is quite the distinctive feature of Southern Morocco.
The argan tree, that gives a name to it, is the indigenous olive of the
country, and is found only in the zone between the Tensift river and the
river Sus. Argan wood is exceedingly hard and slow growing, thus differing
materially from the olive, to which it seems so nearly related. The trunk
divides low down, sometimes within six feet of the roots, and the branches
grow horizontally. If the Moors are right, the age of the elders of the
forest is to be counted in centuries, and the wood can defy the attacks of
insects that make short-work of other trees. The leaves of the argan
recall those of the olive, but have even a lighter silvery aspect on the
underside; the fruit is like the olive, but considerably larger, and is
sought after by many animals. Goats climb among the branches in search of
the best nuts. Camels and cows will not pass an argan tree if given the
slightest chance to linger. The animals that eat the nuts reject their
kernels, and the Moors collect these in order to extract the oil, which is
used in cooking, for lighting purposes, and as medicine. After extraction
the pulp is eagerly accepted by cattle, so no part of the valued fruit is
wasted. One of the giants of the forest, said to be four hundred years
old, has before now given shade to a regiment of soldiers; I saw for
myself that the circumference of its branches was more than two hundred
feet.

[Illustration: COMING FROM THE MOSQUE, HANCHEN]

But it must not be thought that the Argan Forest is composed entirely of
these trees. The argan dominates the forest but does not account for
its beauty. The r'tam is almost as plentiful, and lends far more to the
wood's colour scheme, for its light branches are stirred by every breeze.
Dwarf-palm is to be found on all sides, together with the arar or citrus,
and the double-thorned lotus. The juniper, wild pear, and cork trees are
to be met with now and again, and the ground is for the most part a sea of
flowers almost unknown to me, though I could recognise wild thyme,
asphodel, and lavender amid the tamarisk and myrtle undergrowth. At
intervals the forest opens, showing some large douar that was built
probably on the site of a well, and there industrious village folks have
reclaimed the land, raised crops, and planted orchards. Olive, fig, and
pomegranate seem to be the most popular trees, and corn is grown in the
orchards too, possibly in order that it may have the benefit of the trees'
shade. The soil that can raise corn and fruit trees together must have
exceptional vitality and richness, particularly in view of the fact that
it is in no way fed, and is rather scraped or scratched than truly
ploughed.

The village of Hanchen, known for miles round as "Sok Thalata" by reason
of its weekly gathering, might well serve to justify a halt. It straggles
over a hill surrounded on all sides by the forest, it has a saint's shrine
of fair size and imposing aspect, a good supply of water, and very
peaceful inhabitants. At the base of the slope, some fifty yards from the
broad track leading to the coast, there was an orchard of more than common
beauty, even for Southern Morocco. The pomegranates, aflower above the
ripening corn, had finer blossoms than any I had seen before, the
fig-trees were Biblical in their glossy splendour. Mules were footsore,
the Susi men were tired, the weather was perfect, time was our own for a
day or two, and I was aching to take my gun down the long glades that
seemed to stretch to the horizon. So we off-saddled, and pitched our tent
in the shadow of a patriarchal fig-tree. Then the mules were eased of
their burdens and fed liberally, Salam standing between the poor beasts
and the muleteers, who would have impounded a portion of their hard-earned
meal.

The heat of the afternoon was passing; I loaded my gun and started out. At
first sight of the weapon some score of lads from the village--athletic,
vigorous boys, ready to go anywhere and do anything--made signs that they
would come and beat for me. With Salam's help I gave them proper
instructions; my idea was to shoot enough of fur and feather to give the
muleteers a good supper.

At the outset a sorry accident befell. A fat pigeon came sailing overhead,
so well fed that it was hard to believe he was a pigeon at all. This being
the sort of bird that suits hungry men, I fired and was well pleased to
note the swift direct fall, and to hear the thud that tells of a clean
kill. To my surprise the beaters remained where they were, none offering
to pick up the bird. There were glum and serious looks on every side. I
motioned one lad to go forward, and, to my amazement, he made the sign
that is intended to avert the evil eye, and declared that he took refuge
from me with Allah.

I sent for Salam, and, as he approached, a chorus of explanations came to
him from all sides. The pigeon came from the zowia of El Hanchen. It was
sacred--that is why it was so fat. This was a bad beginning, and a matter
that demanded careful handling. So I sent M'Barak, representing official
Morocco, to express to El Hanchen's headman my extreme sorrow and sincere
regret. The blessed one was instructed to assure the village that I had no
suspicion of the bird's holiness, and that it was my rule in life to
respect everything that other men respected. It seemed courteous to await
the kaid's return before resuming operations, and he came back in half an
hour with word that the headman, while deeply regretting the incident,
recognised the absence of bad intention. He asked that the sacred slain
might not be eaten. I sent back word thanking him for his courteous
acceptance of my explanations, and promising that the fat pigeon should
receive decent burial. A small hole was dug on the sunny side of the
fig-tree, and there the sacred bird was interred. I hope that the worms
proved as particular as we had been.

Duty done, we went off to the woods, the beaters, now quite reassured,
driving stock-doves over in quantities that left no reason to fear about
the muleteers' supper. While birds were the quarry the lads worked well,
but now and again a hare would start from her form, and every boy would
join in the headlong, hopeless chase that ensued. It was impossible to
check them, and equally impossible to shoot at the hare. While she was
within gunshot the lads were close on her heels, and by the time she had
distanced them or dashed into the long grasses and scrub she was out of
range or out of sight. In vain I waved them back and complained when they
returned panting; as soon as another hare got up they went after her in
the same way, until at last, taking advantage of a wild chase that had
carried them rather a longer distance than usual, I took a sharp turn and
strolled away quite by myself. I heard the excited cries die away in the
distance, and then for some few moments the forest silence was broken only
by the rustle of the breeze through the grass, and the sudden scream of a
startled jay. Doves went happily from tree to tree and I never put my gun
up. I had heard a very familiar sound, and wanted to be assured that my
ears were not deceived. No, I was right; I could hear the cuckoo, calling
through the depth of the forest, as though it were my favourite Essex
copse at home. It was pleasant, indeed, to hear the homely notes so far
from any other object, even remotely, connected with England.

I strolled for an hour or more, listening to the "wandering voice,"
heedless of what passed me by, at peace with all the world, and resolved
to shoot no more. Alas, for good intentions! Coming suddenly into a great
clearing girdled by argan trees, I flushed two large birds some forty
yards away. The first was missed, the second came down and proved to be a
Lesser Bustard or _boozerat_--quite a prize. Well content, I emptied the
gun to avoid temptation and walked back to the camp, where there was
quite a fair bag.

"Tell the muleteers, Salam," I said, "that they may have these birds for
their supper, and that I hope they will enjoy themselves."

Salam wore a rather troubled expression, I thought, as he went to the head
muleteer and pointed to the spoils. Then he came back and explained to me
that their dietary laws did not allow the Susi to eat anything that had
not been killed by bleeding in the orthodox fashion. Had they been with
me, to turn wounded birds to the East and cut their throats in the name of
Allah, all would have been well, but birds shot dead were an abomination
to the righteous Susi. They scorned to avail themselves of the excuse
afforded by their needs.[50] So my labour had been in vain, and I did not
know what to do with the spoil. But I left the slain in a little heap out
of the way of insects and flies, and when we rose in the morning the
unorthodox among Hanchen's inhabitants had apparently solved the problem.

FOOTNOTES:

[48] The Camel's Jaw.

[49] "Tuesday market."

[50] "I find not in that which hath been revealed to me anything forbidden
unto the eater ... except it be that which dieth of itself ... or that
which is profane, having been slain in the name of some other than God.
But whoso shall be compelled of necessity to eat these things, not lusting
nor wilfully transgressing, verily thy Lord will be gracious unto him and
merciful."--Al Koran, Sura, "Cattle."




IN THE ARGAN FOREST




[Illustration: EVENING AT HANCHEN]




CHAPTER XI

IN THE ARGAN FOREST

    Life, even at its greatest and best, may be compared to a froward
    child, who must be humoured and played with till he falls asleep, and
    then the care is over.

    --_Goldsmith._


Early morning found the Tuesday market in full swing, and the town of
Hanchen already astir in honour of the occasion. To realise the importance
of the weekly gathering, it is well to remember that a market in the
country here is the only substitute for the bazaar of the towns. Every
douar within a ten-mile radius of Hanchen sends men and women to the
Tuesday market to buy and sell. So it befell that the hillside slope,
which was bare on the previous afternoon, hummed now like a hive, and was
well nigh as crowded. Rough tents of goats' or camels'-hair cloth
sheltered everything likely to appeal to the native mind and
resources,--tea, sugar, woollen and cotton goods, pottery, sieves,
padlocks, and nails being to all appearance the goods most sought after by
the country Moor. Quite a brisk demand for candles prevailed; they were
highly-coloured things, thick at the base and tapering to the wick. There
was a good sale too for native butter, that needed careful straining
before it could be eaten with comfort, and there were eggs in plenty,
fetching from twopence to threepence the dozen, a high price for Morocco,
and brought about by the export trade that has developed so rapidly in the
last few years. For the most part the traders seemed to be Berbers or of
evident Berber extraction, being darker and smaller than the Arabs, and in
some cases wearing the dark woollen outer garment, with its distinctive
orange-coloured mark on the back. Women and little children took no small
part in the market, but were perhaps most concerned with the sale of the
chickens that they brought from their homes, tied by the legs in bundles
without regard to the suffering entailed. The women did rather more than a
fair share of porters' work too. Very few camels were to be seen, but I
noticed one group of half a dozen being carefully fed on a cloth, because,
like all their supercilious breed, they were too dainty to eat from the
ground. They gurgled quite angrily over the question of precedence. A
little way from the tents in which hardware was exposed for sale, bread
was being baked in covered pans over a charcoal fire fanned by bellows,
while at the bottom of the hill a butcher had put up the rough tripod of
wooden poles, from which meat is suspended. The slaughter of sheep was
proceeding briskly. A very old Moor was the official slaughter-man, and he
sat in the shade of a wall, a bloody knife in hand, and conversed gravely
with villagers of his own age. When the butcher's assistants had brought
up three or four fresh sheep and stretched them on the ground, the old man
would rise to his feet with considerable effort, cut the throats that
were waiting for him very cleanly and expeditiously, and return to his
place in the shade, while another assistant spread clean earth over the
reeking ground. Some of the sheep after being dressed were barbecued.

I saw many women and girls bent under the weight of baskets of charcoal,
or firewood, or loads of hay, and some late arrivals coming in heavily
burdened in this fashion were accompanied by their husband, who rode at
ease on a donkey and abused them roundly because they did not go quickly
enough. Mules and donkeys, with fore and hind leg hobbled, were left in
one corner of the market-place, to make up in rest what they lacked in
food. Needless to say that the marketing was very brisk, but I noted with
some interest that very little money changed hands. Barter was more common
than sale, partly because the Government had degraded its own currency
until the natives were fighting shy of it, and partly because the owners
of the sheep and goats were a company of true Bedouins from the extreme
South. These Bedouins were the most interesting visitors to the Tuesday
market, and I was delighted when one of them recognised Salam as a friend.
The two had met in the days when an adventurous Scot set up in business at
Cape Juby in the extreme South, where I believe his Majesty Lebaudy the
First is now king.

The Saharowi was an exceedingly thin man, of wild aspect, with flowing
hair and scanty beard. His skin was burnt deep brown, and he was dressed
in a blue cotton garment of guinea cloth made in simplest fashion. He was
the chief of a little party that had been travelling for two months with
faces set toward the North. He reminded Salam of Sidi[51] Mackenzie, the
Scot who ruled Cape Juby, and how the great manager, whose name was known
from the fort to Tindouf, had nearly poisoned him by giving him bread to
eat when he was faint with hunger. These true Bedouins live on milk and
cheese, with an occasional piece of camel or goat flesh, and a rare taste
of mutton. When Salam's friend came starving to Cape Juby, Sidi Mackenzie
had given him bread. The hungry man ate some and at once became violently
ill, his stomach could not endure such solid fare. Having no milk in the
fort, they managed to keep him alive on rice-water. It would appear that
the Saharowi can easily live on milk for a week, and with milk and cheese
can thrive indefinitely, as indeed could most other folk, if they cared to
forswear luxury and try.

[Illustration: ON THE ROAD TO ARGAN FOREST]

The little party was travelling with some hundreds of sheep and goats,
which were being tended a little way off by the children, and, large
though their flocks seemed, they were in truth sadly reduced by the
drought that had driven one and all to the North. The Saharowi explained
to Salam that all the wandering Arabs were trekking northwards in search
of land that had seen the rain; and that their path was strewn with the
skeletons of animals fallen by the way. These nomads carried their wives
and little ones, together with tents and household impedimenta, on the
camels, and walked on foot with the grown children in charge of the
flocks. The sheep they had sold to the butcher were in fair condition, and
fetched from four to five shillings in English money, or the equivalent of
this sum in goods, for when a Saharowi approaches civilised lands he is
generally in need of some of the products of civilisation, or thinks he
is, though, at need, he manages excellently well without them.

Among the miscellaneous gathering that the Tuesday market had attracted to
Hanchen I noticed a small company of acrobats from the Sus, and a medicine
man of fierce aspect, who sat by himself under a rough tent, muttering
charms and incantations, and waiting for Allah to send victims. This
wonder-worker had piercing eyes, that seemed to examine the back of your
head, long matted hair and a beard to match. He wore a white djellaba and
a pair of new slippers, and was probably more dangerous than any disease
he aided and abetted.

For the amusement of the people who did not care for acrobatic feats and
stood in no need of the primitive methods of the physician, there was a
story-teller, who addressed a somewhat attenuated circle of phlegmatic
listeners, and a snake-charmer who was surrounded by children. Sidi ben
Aissa undoubtedly kept the snakes--spotted leffas from the Sus--from
hurting his follower, but not even the saint could draw _floos_ from poor
youngsters whose total wealth would probably have failed to yield
threepence to the strictest investigator. Happily for them the charmer was
an artist in his way; he loved his work for its own sake, and abated no
part of his performance, although the reward would hardly buy him and his
assistant a meal of mutton and bread at their labour's end. The boys of
Hanchen were doing brisk business in the brass cases of cartridges that
had been fired on the previous day, and without a doubt the story of the
wonders of a repeating gun lost nothing in the telling.

[Illustration: THE SNAKE-CHARMER]

There was no interval for rest when the hours of greatest heat came round.
Late arrivals who travelled in on mule- or donkey-back renewed business
when it slackened, and brought fresh goods to be sold or exchanged. The
"Sons of Lions" had broken up the market at Sidi el Muktar on the previous
Friday before it was properly concluded, and many natives, disappointed
there, had come out to Hanchen to do their business, until there seemed to
be nothing in any stall that lacked buyers. Even the old man who had a
heap of scrap-iron when the market opened had sold every piece of it by
four o'clock, though it would have puzzled a European to find any use for
such rubbish. The itinerant mender of slippers was hard at work with three
young lads, and I never saw any one of the party idle. Hawks and corbies
fluttered over the butcher's ground, and I noticed a vulture in the deep
vault of the sky. Pariah dogs would clear every bit of refuse from the
ground before another day dawned, and in their nasty fashion would serve
their country, for the weather was very hot and the odours were
overpowering. Flies covered all unprotected meat until it ceased to look
red, and the stall of the seller of sweetmeats was a study in black and
white: black when the swarms settled, and white for a brief moment when he
switched them off with his feathery bamboo brush. Yet, in spite of the
many difficulties under which trade was carried on, one could not help
feeling that buyers and sellers alike were enjoying themselves hugely. The
market did more than help them to make a living. It was at once their
club, their newspaper, and their theatre, and supplied the one recreation
of lives that--perhaps only to European seeming--were tedious as a
twice-told tale.

,