TheProjectGutenbergEBookofMorocco,byS.L.Bensusan

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Title:Morocco

Author:S.L.Bensusan

Illustrator:A.S.Forrest

ReleaseDate:August13,2005[EBook#16526]

Language:English

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Cover

MOROCCO

PAINTEDBYA.S.FORREST

DESCRIBEDBYS.L.BENSUSAN

Transcriber'sNote:

Thefollowingapparentprinter'serrorswerechanged:fromappearoncetoappearance

fromeverthingtoeverythingfromkindgomtokingdomfrom"Tuesdaymarket.to

"Tuesdaymarket."Otherinconsistenciesinspellinghavebeenleftasintheoriginal.

INDJEDIDA

MOROCCO

PAINTEDBYA.S.FORREST

DESCRIBEDBYS.L.BENSUSAN

LONDONADAMANDCHARLES

BLACK

1904

"AsIhavefelt,soIhavewritten."

EŌTHEN.

PrefaceIthasbeenapleasanttasktorecall the little journey setout in the following pages,but the writer can hardlyescape the thought that thetitle of the book promisesmorethanhehasbeenabletoperform. While the realMorocco remains a half-

knownlandto-day,thisbookdoes not take the travellerfromthehighroad.Themereidler, the wayfarer to whomMoroccoisnomorethanoneof many places ofpilgrimage, must needs dealmodestlywith his task, eventhough modesty be anunfashionablevirtue;andthepainstaking folk who passthrough this world peltingone another with hard factswillfindherebutlittletoadd

totheirstoreofammunition.Thisappeal isofsetpurposea limited one, made to thefewwhoarecontenttotravelfor the sake of the pleasuresof the road, free from thecomforts that beset them athome,andfreealsofromthepopularbelief that theircity,religion, morals, and sociallaws are the best in theworld.Thequalificationsthatfitamantomakemoneyandacquire the means for

modern travel areoften fatalto proper appreciationof theunfamiliarworldheproposesto visit. To restore thebalance of things, travelagents and other far-seeingfolkshavecontrivedtoinflictupon most countries withinthe tourist's reach all themodern conveniences bywhich he lives and thrives.So soon as civilisingmissions and missionarieshavepeggedouttheirclaims,

even the desert is deemedincompletewithoutamodernhotel or two, fitted withelectric light, monstroustariff,andservedbyacrowdof debased guides. In thewake of these improvementsthe tourist follows, finds allthe essentials of the life heleft at home, and, knowingnothingofthelifehecametosee, has no regrets. So fromAlgiers, Tunis, Cairo—ay,even from Jerusalem itself,

all suggestion of greathistory has passed, and onehears among ruins, oncevenerable, the globe-trotter'scryofpraise."HailCook,"hecries, as he seizes thecoupons that unveil Isis andreadtheriddleoftheSphinx,"those about to tour salutethee."

But of the great processionthat steams past Gibraltar,heavilyarmedwithassurance

and circular tickets, fewfavour Morocco at all, andthemost of these few go nofarther than Tangier. Oncethere, they descend uponsome modern hotel, oftenwith no more than twenty-fourhoursinwhichtomasterthesecretsofSunsetLand.

After dinner a few of thebolderspiritsamongthementakecounselofaguide,wholeads them to the Moorish

coffee-house by the greatMosque.There they listen tothe music of ghaitah andgimbri,payapesetaforacupofindifferentcoffee,andbuyan unmusical instrument ortwo for many times theproper price.Thereafter theyretire to their hotel toconsider how fancy can bestembellish the bare facts ofthe evening's amusement,while the True Believers ofthe coffee-house (debased in

the eyes of all otherBelievers, and, somewhat,too,infact,byreasonoftheircontact with the Infidel)gather up the pesetas, cursethe Unbeliever and hisshameless relations, andpraise Allah the One who,even in these degeneratedays,sendsthemaprofit.

Onthefollowingmorningthetourists ride on mules ordonkeystotheshowplacesof

Tangier, followed by scoresof beggar boys. The ladiesareshownoversomehareemthat they would enter lesseagerlydidtheybutknowtheexactstatusoftheodalisqueshired tomeet them.Oneandall troop to the bazaars,where crafty men sit inreceiptofcustomandrelievethe Nazarene of the moneywhose value he does notknow. Lunch follows, andthen the ship's siren

summonsthetravellersawayfromMorocco, to speak andwrite with authority for alltime of the country and itsproblems.

With these facts well inmind, it seemed best formeto let thepicturessuffice forTangier, and to choose forthe text one road and onecity. For if the truth be toldthere is little more than asingle path to all the goals

that the undisguisedEuropeanmayreach.

Morocco does not changesave by compulsion, andthere is no area of Europeaninfluence below Tangier.Knowing one highway wellyou know something of all;consequently whether Fez,Mequinez, Wazzan, orMarrakesh be the objective,thetravelstorydoesnotvarygreatly. But to-day,

Marrakusha-al-Hamra, RedMarrakesh, is the mostAfrican of all cities inMorocco, and seemedtherefore best suited to thepurpose of this book.Moreover, at the time whenthis journey was made, BuHamara was holding theapproaches to Fez, andneither Mequinez norWazzan was in a mood toreceivestrangers.

Soitfallsoutthattherecordofsometwoorthreehundredmiles of inland travel is allthatawaitsthereaderhere.Intimetocome,whenMoroccohas been purged of itsoffences of simplicity andprimitiveness, the touristshall accomplish in forty-eight hours the journey thatdemandedmorethanamonthof last year's spring. ForSunset Land has no railwaylines, nor can it boast—

beyond the narrow limits ofTangier—telegraphs,telephones, electric light,modern hotels, or any of theotherdelightsuponwhichthepampered traveller depends.It is as a primeval forest inthe hour before the dawn.When the sun of Francepenetrates pacifically to allits hidden places, the forestwill wake to a new life.Strange birds of brightplumage, called in Europe

gens d'armes, will displacethe storks upon thebattlements of its ancienttowns, thecommis voyageurwill appear where wild boarand hyæna now travel incomparative peace, the wildcat (felis Throgmortonensis)will arise from allmineralised districts. Araband Berber will disappearslowly from the Moroccanforestas the lionshavedonebeforethem,andintheplace

oftheirdouarsandksorthereshallbeamultitudeofsmalltowns laid out withmathematical precision,reachedbyrail,afflictedwithmodern improvements, andpartly filledwithFrenchmenwho strive to drown in thecafé their sorrowatbeingsofarawayfromhome.TherealMorocco is so lacking in allthe conveniences that wouldcommend it to wealthytravellersthatthewriterfeels

some apology is due for theappearanceofhisshortstoryof an almost unknowncountry in so fine a setting.Surely a simple tale ofSunset Land was never seeninsuchsplendidguisebefore,and will not be seen againuntil,withpastredeemedandforgotten,futureassured,andcivilisation modernised,Moroccoceasestobewhatitisto-day.

S.L.BENSUSAN.

July1904.

Contents

CHAPTERI PAGE

BYCAPESPARTEL 3CHAPTERII

FROMTANGIERTODJEDIDA 21CHAPTERIII

ONTHEMOORISHROAD 41CHAPTERIV

TOTHEGATESOF

MARRAKESH 57CHAPTERV

INREDMARRAKESH 77CHAPTERVI

ROUNDABOUTMARRAKESH 101CHAPTERVII

THESLAVEMARKETATMARRAKESH

121

CHAPTERVIIIGREENTEAANDPOLITICS 139

CHAPTERIX

THROUGHASOUTHERNPROVINCE

159

CHAPTERX"SONSOFLIONS" 179

CHAPTERXIINTHEARGANFOREST 199

CHAPTERXIITOTHEGATEOFTHEPICTURECITY

217

ListofIllustrations

1. InDjedida FrontispieceFACINGPAGE

2. AShepherd,CapeSpartel 2

3.

TheCourtyardofthe 4

Lighthouse,CapeSpartel

4. AStreet,Tangier 6

5. InTangier 8

6. AStreetinTangier 10

7. AGuide,Tangier 12

8.TheRoadtotheKasbah,Tangier

14

Headofa

9. BoyfromMediunah

16

10.

TheGoatherdfromMediunah

18

11.OldBuildings,Tangier

20

12.MoorishHouse,CapeSpartel

22

13. APatriarch 2414.

PilgrimsonaSteamer 26

15. TheHourofSale 28

16. Evening,Magazan 30

17. SunsetofftheCoast 32

18. AVerandaatMagazan 34

A

19. Blacksmith'sShop

36

20.ASaint'sTomb 40

21.NearaWellintheCountry

42

22. NearaWellintheTown 44

23.MoorishWomanandChild

46

Eveningon

24. thePlains 48

25. TravellersbyNight 52

26. TheR'Kass 56

27. ATravelleronthePlains 58

28. TheMid-dayHalt 60

29. OnGuard 64

30. AVillageatDukala 68

31.TheApproachto 72

Marrakesh

32.DatePalmsnearMarrakesh

76

33.OntheRoadtoMarrakesh

80

34. AMinstrel 84

35. OneoftheCityGates 86

36. ABlindBeggar 90

37.AWanderingMinstrel

94

38.TheRoofsofMarrakesh

100

39. AGateway,Marrakesh 104

40.ACourtyard,Marrakesh

108

41. AWellin 112

Marrakesh42. ABazaar,Marrakesh 114

43.ABrickfield,Marrakesh

116

44. AMosque,Marrakesh 120

45.AWaterSeller,Marrakesh

124

46.OntheRoadtotheSôkel 126

Abeed47. TheSlaveMarket 128

48.DilalsintheSlaveMarket

132

49.OntheHouse-top,Marrakesh

138

50.AHouseInterior,Marrakesh

142

AGlimpse

51. oftheAtlasMountains

14652. AMarrakshi 150

53. StreetinMarrakesh 154

54. AnArabSteed 158

55. AYoungMarrakshi 162

56.FruitMarket,Marrakesh

164

57. Inthe 166

Fandak58. TheJama'aEffina 170

59. EveninginCamp 178

60. PreparingSupper 182

61. AGoatherd 186

62.

ComingfromtheMosque,Hanchen

190

63. Eveningat 198

Hanchen

64.OntheRoadtoArganForest

202

65. TheSnakeCharmer

204

66. InCamp 206

67. ACountryman 208

68. Moonlight 212

69. AMoorishGirl 216

ANarrow

70. StreetinMogador

218

71. NightScene,Mogador 220

72. HouseTops,Mogador

222

73.SellingGraininMogador

224

74. SellingOranges 226

TheIllustrationsinthis

volumehavebeenengravedinEnglandbytheHentschel

ColourtypeProcess.

BYCAPESPARTEL

ASHEPHERD

CHAPTERI

BYCAPESPARTEL

Overthemeadowsthatblossomandwither

Ringsbutthenoteofasea-bird'ssong,

Onlythesunandtheraincomehither

Allyearlong.

TheDesertedGarden.

BeforeustheAtlanticrollstothe verge of the "tideless,dolorous inland sea." In thelittle bay lying betweenMorocco'ssolitarylighthouseand the famous Caves ofSpartel, the waters shine incoloursthatrecallinturntheemerald, the sapphire, and

theopal.Thereisjustenoughbreezetoraiseafinesprayasthe baby waves reach therocks, and to fill the sailsofone or two tiny vesselsspeeding toward the coast ofSpain. There is just enoughsuntowarmthewater in thepools to a point that makesbathing the most desirablemid-day pastime, and overland and sea a solemn senseof peace is brooding. Fromwhere the tents are set no

other human habitation is insight. A great spur of rock,with thegreenandscarletofcactus sprawling over it atwill,shutsofflighthouseandtelegraph station, while thetoweringhillsabovehidethevillageofMediunah,whenceoursuppliesarebroughteachdayatdawnandsun-setting.

Two fishermen, clinging tothe steep side of the rock,casttheirlinesintothewater.

They are from the hills, andas far removed from ourtwentieth century as theirprototypes who were fishingin the sparkling blue not sovery far away when, theworld being young,Theocritus passed and gavethem immortality. In thevalley to the right, theatmosphere of the SicilianIdylls is preserved by twohalf-cladgoatherdswhohavebroughttheirflocktopasture

from hillside Mediunah, inwhosepenstheyarekeptsafefrom thieves at night. Asthough he were areincarnation of Daphnis orMenalcas, oneof thebrown-skinned boys leans over alittlepromontoryandplaysatuneless ghaitah, while hiscompanion, a younger lad,gives his eyes to the flockandhisearstothemusic.Thelast rains of this favouredland's brief winter have

passed; beyond the plateauthesunhascalled flowers tolife in every nook andcranny. Soon the light willgrowtoostrongandblinding,theflowerswillfadebeneathit,theshepherdswillseektheshade, but in these gladMarch days there is nosuggestion of the intolerableheattocome.

THECOURT-YARDOFTHELIGHTHOUSE

On the plot of level groundthatNatureherselfhasset inpositionforacamp,thetentsare pitched. Two hold theimpedimentaoftravel;inthethirdSalamandhisassistantwork in leisurely fashion, asbefits the time and place.Tangier lies no more thantwelve miles away, over aroad that must be deemed

uncommonly good forMorocco, but I have chosentoliveincampforaweekortwo in this remote place, inpreparation for a journey tothesoutherncountry.Atfirstthe tents were the cynosureof native eyes. Mediunahcamedown from its fastnessamong the hilltops toinvestigate discreetly fromsecure corners, prepared forflight so soon as occasiondemanded it, if not before.

HappilySalam's keen glancepierced the cover of theadvance-guard and reassuredone and all. Confidenceestablished, the villageagreed after much solemndebate to supply eggs,chickens, milk, andvegetablesatpricesdoubtlessin excess of thoseprevailingin the country markets, butquite low enough forEuropeans.

This little corner of theworld, close to the meetingof the Atlantic andMediterranean waters,epitomises in its own quietfashionthestoryoftheland'sdecay. Now it is a place ofwildbeesandwilderbirds,offlowers and bushes that livefragrant untended lives, seenby few and appreciated bynone. It is a spot so farremoved from human carethat Ihaveseen,a fewyards

from the tents, fresh tracksmadeby thewildboar as hehas rooted o' nights; andonce, as I sat looking outover thewaterwhen the restof the camp was asleep, adarkshadowpassed,notfiftyyards distant, going head towindup thehill, and I knewit for "tusker" wending hisway to the village gardens,wherethemaizewasgreen.

Yet the district has not

always been solitary. Wherenow the tents are pitched,therewasanorangegroveinthe dayswhenMulaiAbd erRahman ruled at Fez andMarrakesh, and thenMediunah boasted quite athriving connection with thecoastsofPortugalandSpain.The littlebaywhereinone isaccustomedtoswimorplashabout at noonday, thensheltered furtive sailing-boatsfromthesleepyeyesof

Moorish authority, and aprofitable smugglingconnection was maintainedwith the Spanish villagesbetweenAlgecirasandTarifaPoint. Beyond the rockycaverns, where patientcountrymen still quarry formillstones, a bare coast-lineleads to the spot wherelegendplaces theGardensofthe Hesperides; indeed, themillstonequarriesaresaidtobe the original Caves of

Hercules,andthegoldenfruitthe hero won flourished, weare assured, not far away.Small wonder then that theplace has an indefinablequality of enchantment thateven the twentieth centurycannotquiteefface.

Life in camp is exquisitelysimple.Werisewiththesun.Ifintherawmorninghoursadonkey brays, the men arevery much perturbed, fortheyknowthatthepoorbeasthas seen a djin. They willremain ill-at-ease until,somewhere in the heightswhereMediunahispreparingfor another day, a cock

crows. This is a satisfactoryomen, atoning for thedonkey's performance. Acock only crows when hesees an angel, and, if thereare angels abroad, the illintentionsofthedjinoonwillbe upset. When I wastravelling in the countrysome few years ago, itchanced one night that theheavenswerefullofshootingstars. My camp attendantsceased work at once. Satan

and all his host wereassailingParadise, they said,and we were spectators ofheaven's artillery makingcounter-attack upon thedjinoon.[1] The wanderingmeteors passed, the fixedstars shone out with such asplendour as we may nothope to see in thesewesternislands, and the followers ofthe great CamelDriver gavethanks and praise to His

Master Allah, who hadconquered the powers ofdarknessonceagain.

While I enjoy a morningstroll over the hills, or aplunge in the sea, Salam,squatting at the edge of thecooking tent behind twosmallcharcoalfires,preparesthebreakfast.Hehasthetruewayfarer'sgift thatenablesaman to cook his food indefianceofwindorweather.

Some wisps of straw andcharcoal are arranged in alittleholescoopedoutof theground,amatchisstruck,thebellows are called into play,and the fire is anaccomplishedfact.Thekettlesings as cheerfully as thecicadasinthetreetops,eggsare made into what Salamcallsa"marmalade," inspiteofmyoft-repeatedassurancethat he means omelette,porridge is cooked and

served with new milk thathas been carefully strainedand boiled. For bread wehavetheflatbrownloavesofMediunah, and they arebetter than they look—ill-madeindeed,butvastlymorenutritious than the prettyemasculated products of ourmodernbakeries.

Bargain and sale areconcluded before themorning walk is over. The

villagefolksendadeputationcarrying baskets of eggs andcharcoal,withearthenjarsofmilk or butter, freshvegetables,andlivechickens.I stayed one morning towatchtheprocedure.

The eldest of the party, awoman who seems to beeighty and is probably stillon the sunny side of fifty,comes slowly forward towhere Salam sits aloof,

dignified and difficult toapproach. He has beenwatching her out of onecorner of an eye, but feignsto be quite unconscious ofher presence. He and sheknow that we want suppliesandmusthavethemfromthevillage, but the facts of thecasehavenothing todowiththeconventionsof trading inSunsetLand.

"ThePeaceofthePropheton

all True Believers. I havebrought food fromMediunah," says the elderlyadvance-guard, by way ofopeningthecampaign.

"Allah is indeedmerciful, Omy Aunt," responds Salamwith lofty irrelevance. Thenfollows a prolonged pause,somewhat trying, Iapprehend, to Aunt, andstrugglingwithayawnSalamsays at length, "I will see

whatyouwouldsell."

She beckons the others, andthey lay their goods at oursteward's feet. Salam turnshis head away meanwhile,and looks out across theAtlanticasthoughanxioustoassurehimselfaboutthestateof agriculture in Spain. Atlast he wheels about, andwith a rapid glance full ofcontempt surveys the villageproduce.Hehasacheapening

eye.

"How much?" he askssternly.

INTANGIER

Item by item the old dameprices the goods. The littlegroup of young marriedwomen,withbabiestiedinabundle behind them,or half-naked children clinging totheir loin-cloths, nodsapproval.ButSalam'sfaceisa study. In place ofcontemptuous indifferencethere is now rising anger,

terrible tobehold.Hisbrowsare knitted, his eyes flame,his beard seems to bristlewith rage. The tale of pricesis hardly told before, with aseries of rapid movements,he has tied every bundle up,and is thrusting the goodthingsbackintothehandsoftheir owners.His vocabularyis strained to its fullestextent;hestandsup,andwithoutspread hands denouncesMediunah and all its ways.

The men of the village arecowards; thewomenhavenoshame. Their parents wereoutcasts. They have no fearoftheProphetwhobadeTrueBelieversdealfairlywiththestrangerwithintheirgates.Ina year at most, perhapssooner, "Our Master theSultan" will assuredly beamong these people whoshame Al Moghreb,[2] hewill eat them up, dogs will

make merry among theirgraves, and their souls willgo down to the pit. In short,everythingistoodear.

Only the little children arefrightened by this outburst,which is no more than aprelude to bargaining. Thewomen extol and Salamdecries the goods on offer;both praise Allah. Salamassuresthemthatthecountryof the "Ingliz" would be

ruined if its inhabitants hadtopaythepricestheyaskforsuch goods as they have tosell. He will see his masterstarvebyinches,hewillurgehim to return toTangier andeat there at a fair price,before he will agree tosacrificeshithertounheardofin Sunset Land. Thisbargaining proceeds for aquarter of an hour withoutintermission,andbythenthenatives have brought their

prices down and Salam hasbrought his up. Finally themoney is paid in Spanishpesetas or Moorish quarters,and carefully examined bythesimplefolk,whoretiretotheir ancestral hills, oncemore praising Allah whosendscustom.Salam,histaskaccomplished,complainsthatthe villagers have robbed usshamefully, but a fainttwinkle in his eye suggeststhat he means less than he

says.

Breakfast over, I seek ahillsidecavewherethereisadouble gift of shade and awonderful view, content towatch the pageantry of themorning hours and dreamofhard work. Only thegoatherds and their chargessuggest that the district isinhabited,unlesssomevesselpassingonitswaytoorfromthe southern coast can be

seencommunicatingwiththesignalstationroundthebendof the rocks. There a kindlyold Scot lives, with hisSpanish wife and littlechildren, in comparativeisolation,fromthebeginningtotheendoftheyear.

"I've almost forgotten myown tongue," he said to meone evening when he camedown to the camp to smokethe pipe of peace and tell of

the fur and feather that passin winter time. It was on aday when a great flight ofwild geese had been seenwinging its way to theunknown South, and theprocession had fired thesportinginstinct inoneofusatleast.

Mid-day, or a little later,finds Salam in charge of alight meal, and, thatdiscussed, one may idle intheshadeuntilthesuniswellonthewaytotheWest.Thenbooks and papers are laidaside.Wesetoutforatramp,orsaddle thehorsesandridefor an hour or so in thedirectionofthemountain,an

unexplored Riviera ofbewildering and variedloveliness. The way liesthrough an avenue of corktrees, past which the greathills slope seaward, clothedwith evergreen oak andheath, and a species ofsundew, with here and thereyellow broom, gum cistus,and an unfamiliar plantwithblue flowers. Trees andshrubsfightforlightandair,thefittestsurviveandthrive,

sheltering little birds fromthe keen-eyed, quiveringhawks above them.The roadmakes me think of what theFrenchMediterraneanlittoralmusthavebeenbeforeitwasdotted over with countlessvulgar villas, covered withtrees and shrubs that are notindigenous to the soil, andtortured into trim gardensthatmighthavestrayedfroma prosperous suburb ofLondon or Paris. Save a few

charcoal burners, or straywomen bent almost doublebeneath the load of woodthey have gathered for somevillage on the hills, we seenobody. These evening ridesare made into a country asdeserted as the plateau thatholds the camp, for themountain houses of wealthyresidents are half a dozenmilesnearerTangier.[3]

On other evenings the road

chosenliesinthedirectionoftheCavesofHercules,wherethe samphire growsneglected, and wild fernsthriveinunexpectedplaces.Irememberoncescaringnoisyseabirds from what seemedto be a corpse, and howangrily the gorged, reluctantcreatures rose from whatproved to be the body of astranded porpoise, thattainted theair for fiftyyardsaround.Onanothereveninga

storm broke suddenly.Somewhereinthecentreroseasandcolumnthatseemedtotell, in its brief moment ofexistence, the secret of theorigin of the djinoon thatroamatwill throughEasternlegendarylore.

Itisalwaysnecessarytokeepa careful eye upon the sunduring these excursions pastthecaves.Thelightfailswiththe rapidity associated with

all the African countries,tropical and semi-tropicalalike. A sudden sinking, asthough the sun had fallenovertheedgeoftheworld,abrief after-glow, a changefrom gold to violet, andviolet to grey, a chill in theair, and the night has fallen.Then there is a hurriedscamper across sand, overrocks and past boulders,beforethepaththatstretchesinafaintfadinglinebecomes

whollyobliterated. In such aplace as this one mightwander for hours within aquarter of a mile of camp,and then only find the roadby lucky accident,particularly if the senseshave been blunted by verylongresidenceintheheartofEuropeancivilisation.

AGUIDE,TANGIER

I thinkthatdinnerbringsthemost enjoyable hour of theday.Workisover, thesightsof sea and shore have beenenjoyed, we have takenexerciseinplenty.Salamandhishelpershavingdined, thekitchen tent becomes thescene of an animatedconversation that one hearswithout understanding. Two

orthreeoldheadmen,findingtheir way in the dark likecats, have come down fromMediunahtochatwithSalamand the town Moor. Thesocial instinct pervadesMorocco. On the plains ofR'hamna, where fandaks areunknown and even then'zalas[4] are few and farbetween; in the fertile landsof Dukala, Shiadma, andHaha; in M'touga, on whose

broad plains the finestArabhorses are reared and thrive,—I have found this instinctpredominant.As soon as theevening meal is over, theheadmen of the nearestvillage come to the edge ofthe tent, remove theirslippers,praiseGod,andaskfor news of the worldwithout. It may be that theyaregoingtorobthestrangersinthepriceoffoodformulesand horses, or even over the

tent supplies. It may be thattheywouldcut thethroatsofall foreign wayfarers quitecheerfully,ifthejobcouldbeaccomplishedwithoutfearofreprisals. It is certain thatthey despise them forUnbelievers,i.e. Christiansor Jews, condemned to thepit; but in spite of allconsiderations they musthavenewsoftheouterworld.

When the moon comes out

and the Great Bearconstellationisshiningaboveour heads as though its soleduty in heavenwere to lightthe camp, there is a strongtemptation to ramble. I amalways sure that I can findthe track, or that Salamwillbe within hail should it belost. How quickly the tentspassoutofsight.Thepathtothehills liesbywayof littlepoolswhere thefrogshaveacroaking chorus that

Aristophanes might haveenvied. On the approach ofstrange footsteps they hurryofftheflatrocksbythepool,andonehearsamusicalplashas they reach water. Verysoon the silence is resumed,and presently becomes sooppressive that it is a reliefto turn again and see ourmodest lights twinkling asthoughinwelcome.

Itishopelesstowaitforwild

boarnow.Oneor twopariahdogs, hailing from nowhere,have been attracted to thecamp,Salamhasgiven themthewastefood,andtheyhaveinstalled themselves as ourprotectors, whether out of afeeling of gratitude or inhope of favours to come Icannot tell, but probablyfrom a mixture of wisemotives. They are alert,savagebeasts,ofahopelesslymixed breed, but no wild

boar will come rooting nearthe camp now, nor will anythief, however light-footed,yield to the temptation ourtentsafford.

THEROADTOTHEKASBAH

Wehavebutonevisitorafterthe last curtain has beendrawn, a strange bird with aharsh yet melancholy note,thatremindsmeofthenight-jar of the fen lands in ourowncountry.Thehillsmakeasemicircleroundthecamp,and the visitor seems toarrive at the corner nearestSpartel about one o'clock in

the morning. It criespersistently awhile, and thenflies to the middle of thesemicircle,justatthebackofthe tents, where the note isvery weird and distinct.Finally it goes to the otherhorn of the crescent andresumes the call—this time,happily, a much moresubdued affair. What is it?Why does it come tocomplaintothesilencenightafter night? One of the men

saysitisadjin,andwantstogo back to Tangier, butSalam, whose loyaltyoutweighs his fears, declaresthateventhoughitbeindeeda devil and eager to devourus,itcannotcomewithinthecharmed range of myrevolver. Hence its regret,expressed so unpleasantly. IhavehadtoconfesstoSalamthatIhavenoproofthatheiswrong.

Now and again in theafternoon the tribesmen callto one another from the hilltops. They possess anextraordinary power ofcarrying their voices over aspacethatnoEuropeancouldspan. I wonder whether thereal secret of the powersascribed to the half-civilisedtribesofAfricahasitsoriginin this gift.Certain it is thatnews passes from village tovillage across the hills, and

thatnocouriercankeeppacewith it. In this way rumoursof great events travel fromone end of the DarkContinenttotheother,andifthe tales told me of thepassage of news from Southto North Africa during therecent war were not soextravagant as they seem atfirst hearing, I would setthemdownhere,wellassuredthattheywouldstartleiftheycould not convince. In the

southofMorocco,duringthelatter days of my journey,men spoke with quietconviction of the doings ofSultan and Pretender in theNorth, just as thoughMoroccopossessedatrainortelegraphservice,oranativenewspaper. It does not seemunreasonable that, while thedeserts and great rollingplains have extended men'svisiontoapointquiteoutsidethe comprehension of

Europe, other sensesmay beatleastequallystimulatedbya life we Europeans shall:never know intimately.Perhaps thefearofbelievingtoo readilymakes us undulysceptical, and inclined toforget that our philosophycannot compass one of themany mysteries that lie atourdoor.

If any proof were requiredthat Morocco in all its

internal disputes is strictlytribal,oursaferesidenceherewould supply one. On theothersideofTangier,overinthe direction of Tetuan, thetribes are out and the roadsare impassable. Europeansare forbidden to ridebywayofAngera toTetuan. Even aMinister, the representativeof a great European Power,was warned by old HadjMohammed Torres, theresident Secretary for

Foreign Affairs, that theMoorish Administrationwould not hold itselfresponsible for his safety ifhe persisted in his intentionto go hunting among thehills. And here we remainunmolested day after day,while the headmen of theMediunah tribe discuss withperfecttranquillitythefutureof the Pretender's rebellion,or allude cheerfully to thetime when, the Jehad (Holy

War) being proclaimed, theMoslemswillbepermittedtocut the throats of all theUnbelievers who trouble theMoghreb. In the fatalism ofour neighbours lies oursafety. If Allah so wills,neveraNazarenewillescapethe more painful road toeternal fire; if it is writtenotherwise, Nazarene tormentwillbeposthumous.Theydonotknow,nor,intimeswhenthelandispreparingforearly

harvest,dotheygreatlycare,whatorwhentheendmaybe.Your wise Moor waits togather in his corn and see itsafely hoarded in the clay-linedandcoveredpits calledmat'moras. That work over,he is ready andwilling, nay,he is even anxious, to fight,and if no cause of quarrel istobefoundhewillmakeone.

HEADOFABOYFROMMEDIUNA

Everyyearor twoapartyoftravellers settles on thisplateau,says theheadmanofMediunah. From him I hearof a fellow writer fromEngland who was campedhere six years ago.[5]Travellers stay sometimesfor three or four days,sometimes for as manyweeks, and he has been told

bymenwhohavecomemanymiles from distant markets,that the Nazarenes are to befound here and therethroughout the Moroccanhighlands towards the closeof the season of the winterrains.Clearly their own landis not a very desirableabiding place, or they havesinned against the law, ortheir Sultan has confiscatedtheirworldlygoods, remarksthe headman.My suggestion

that other causes than thesemay have been at work,yields no more than anassertion that all things arepossible,ifAllahwillsthem.It is his polite method ofexpressing reluctance tobelieveeverythingheistold.

From time to time,whenweare taking our meals in theopen air, I see the shepherdboys staring at us from arespectful distance. To them

wemustseemnobetter thansavages.Inthefirstplace,wesit on chairs and not on theground. We cut our bread,which, as every TrueBeliever knows, is a wickedact and defies Providence,sincebreadisfromAllahandmaybebrokenwiththehandbut never touched with aknife. Thenwe do not knowhow to eat with our fingers,butuseknivesand forksandspoons that, after mere

washing, are commonproperty. We do not havewater poured out over ourfingers before the mealbegins,—the preliminarywash in the tent is invisibleanddoesnotcount,—andwedonotsay"Bismillah"beforewe start eating. We are justheathens, they must say tothemselves. Our dailybathingseemstopuzzlethemgreatly. I do not notice thatlittle Larbi or his brother

Kasemever tempt the sea towash or drown them. Yetthey look healthy enough,and are full of dignity.Youmay offer them fruit orsweetmeats or anythingtempting thatmay be on thetable,andtheywillrefuseit.I fancy they regard theinvitation to partake ofNazarene'sfoodasapieceofimpertinence,onlyexcusablebecauseNazarenesaremad.

Thedays slip away from theplateau below Mediunah.March has yielded place toApril. To-morrow the pack-muleswillbehereatsunrise.In the afternoon, when thecool hours approach, campwill be struck, and we shallridedowntheavenueofcorktrees for the last timeon theway to "Tanjah of theNazarenes," whence, at theweekend,theboatwillcarryus to some Atlantic port,

there to begin a longerjourney.

THEGOATHERDFROMMEDIUNA

FOOTNOTES:

"Moreover, we havedecked the lower heavenwithlamps,andhavemadethem for pelting thedevils."—Al Koran; Sura,"TheKingdom."

"TheFarWest",thenativenameforMorocco.

Oneof themost charmingof these houses is"Aidonia," belonging toMr.IonPerdicaris.HewasseizedtherebythebrigandRaisUliinMaylast.

Shelters provided by theGovernmentfortravellers.

A.J.Dawson,whosenovelsdealing withMorocco arefull of rare charm anddistinction.

FROMTANGIERTODJEDIDA

OLDBUILDINGS

CHAPTERII

FROMTANGIERTODJEDIDA

WhanthatAprillewithhisshouressooteThedroghteofMarchhathpercedtotheroote✢✢✢✢✢Thannelongenfolkto

goononpilgrimages.

TheCanterburyTales.

We have rounded the north-west corner of Africa,exchanged farewell signalswith our friend on Lloyd'sstation,—who must nowreturn to his Spanish andArabicorliveasilentlife,—and I have taken a last lookthrough field-glasses at theplateau that held our little

camp. Since then we haveraced the light for aglimpseof El Araish, where theGardens of the Hesperideswere set by people of oldtime. The sun was too swiftin its decline; one caughtlittlemorethananoutlineofthe white city, with theminarets of itsmosques thatseemedtopiercethesky,andflags flying in the breeze onthe flat roofs of its Consuls'houses. The river Lekkus

showed up whitely on theeastern side, a rising windhaving whipped its watersinto foam, and driven thelight coasting vessels out tosea.SomuchIsawfromthegood shipZweena's upperdeck, and then evening fell,as though to hide from methe secret of the gardenswhere the Golden Applesgrew.

Alas,thatmodernknowledge

should have destroyed allfaith in old legend! Thefabled fruits of theHesperidesturntoorangesinthe hands of our wise men,the death-dealing dragonbecomes Wad Lekkus itself,soreadyevento-daytosnarlandroaratthebiddingofthewindthatcomesupoutofthesouth-west, and the duskymaidens of surpassingloveliness are no more thansimple Berber girls, who,

whilst doubtless dusky, andpossibly maidenly as ever,have not inherited much ofthe storied beauty of theirforbears. In spite of thismodernperversionoftheoldtaleIfindthattheorangesofthedining-table have a quiterarecharmformeto-night,—such an attraction as theyhavehadhithertoonlywhenIhave picked them in thegardens of Andalusia, or inthe groves that perfume the

ancient town of Jaffa at thefar eastern end of theMediterranean. Now I haveone more impression tocherish, and the scent of ablossoming orange tree willrecall for me ElAraish as Isaw it at the moment whenthe shroud of evening madethe mosques and the kasbahof Mulai al Yazeed melt,with the great white spacesbetween them, intoablurredpearly mass without salient

feature.

You shall still enjoy thesense of being in touchwithpast times and forgottenpeople, if you will walk thedeck of a ship late at night.Your fellow-passengers areabed, the watch, if watchthere be, is invisible, thesteady throbbing movementof the screw resolves itselfinto a pleasing rhythmic

melody.So far as the sensescan tell, the world is yourcloset,asilentpleasaunceforyour waking dreams. Thecoast-line has no lights, noris any other vessel passingover thewaterswithin rangeof eyeorglass.Thehostsofheaven beam down upon asilent universe in which youaretheonlywakingsoul.Onasuddeneightbellsringsoutsharply from the forecastlehead, and you spring back

from yourworld of fancy ashurriedly as Cinderellareturned to her rags whenlong-shoremidnight chimed.The officer of the middlewatch and a hand for thewheel come aft to relievetheir companions, theillusion has passed, and yougo below to turn in, feelinguncomfortablysurethatyourpretty thoughts will appearfoolish and commonplaceenoughwhenregarded in the

matter-of-fact light of thecomingday.

Dár el Baida, most Moorishofseaports,receivedusintheearlymorning.Thewindhadfallen, and the heavy surf-boats of the port could landus easily.Wewent on shorepast the water-gate and thecustom-house that stands onthe site of the stores erectedbythesocietyoftheGremiosMajores when Charles V.

ruled Spain. Dár el Baidaseemed to have straggledover as much ground asTangier,butthegrounditselfwas flat and full of refuse.The streets were muddy andunpaved, cobble stonesstrove ineffectually todisguise drains, and one feltthat the sea breezes alonestood between the city andsome such virulent epidemicas that which smote Tangierless than ten years ago. But

withal there was a certainpicturesquequalityaboutDárelBaidathatatonedformoreobvious faults, and themarket-place afforded apictureasEasterninitsmainfeaturesas the tiredWesterneye could seek. Camelcaravans had come in fromthe interior for the Mondaymarket. They had trampedfrom thevillagesof theZairand the Beni Hassan tribes,bringing ripebarley for sale,

thoughthespringmonthshadnot yet passed. From placesnearathandthehusbandmenhad brought all thevegetables that flourish afterthe March rains,—peas andbeans and lettuces;pumpkins, carrots andturnips,andthetenderleavesof the date-palm. The firstfruits of the year and thedried roses of a forgottenseason were sold by weight,and charcoal was set in tiny

piles at prices within thereach of the poorestcustomers.

Wealthy merchants hadbrought their horses withinthe shadow of the sok's[6]high walls and loosened themany-clothedsaddles.Slaveswalked behind their mastersor trafficked on their behalf.The snake-charmer, thestory-teller, the beggar, thewater-carrier, the incense

seller,whosetaskinlifeistofumigate True Believers, allwho go to make the typicalMoorish crowd, were to beseen indolently plying theirtrade. But inquiries formules, horses, and servantsfor the inland journey metwith no ready response. Dárel Baida, I was assured, hadnothing to offer; Djedida,lower down along the coast,mightserve,orSaffi,ifAllahshouldsendweatherofasort

thatwouldpermittheboattoland.

APATRIARCH

As it happened,Djedidawasthe steamer's next port ofcall, so we made haste toreturn to her hospitabledecks. I carried with me avivid impression of Dár elBaida, of the market-placewithitsvariedgoods,andyetmorevariedpeople,thewhiteArabs, the darker Berbers,the black slaves from the

Soudan and the Draa.Noticeable in the marketwere the sweet stores,whereevery man sat behind hisgoods armed with a featherbrush, and waged ceaselesswar with the flies, while acornerofhiseyewaskeptforsmall boys, who were wellnigh as dangerous. Iremember the gardens, oneparticularly well. It belongstotheFrenchConsul,andhasbananasgrowingonthetrees

that face the road; frombeyondthehedgeonecaughtdelightfulglimpsesofcolourandfaintbreathsofexquisiteperfume.

Iremember, too, thecoveredshedcontaining themill thatgrindstheflourforthetown,and the curious littlebakehouse to which Dár elBaida takes its flat loaves,giving the master of theestablishmentoneloafinten

by way of payment. I recallthesaleofhorses,atwhichafine raking mare with herfoalatfootfetchedfifty-fourdollars in Moorish silver, asum less than nine Englishpounds.

AndIseemtosee,evennowas I write, the Spanishwoman with cruel paintedface, sitting at the opencasement of an old housenear the Spanish church,

thrumming her guitar, andbeneathher,by the roadside,a beggar clad, like thepatriarchofold,inagarmentof many colours, that madehis black face seem blackerthan any I have seen inAfrica. Then Dár el Baidasinks behind the water-portgate, the strong Moorishrowers bend to their oars,their boat laps through thedark-blue water, and we arebackaboardtheshipagain,in

another atmosphere, anotherworld.Passengersaretalkingas it might be they had justreturnedfromtheirfirstvisittoaZoologicalGarden.Mostof them have seen no morethan the dirt and ugliness—their vision noted no otheraspect—of the old-worldport. The life that has notaltered for centuries, thethings that make it worthlivingtoallthefolkweleavebehind,—thesearemattersin

which casual visitors toMorocco have no concern.They resent suggestion thatthe affairs of "niggers" cancallforseriousconsideration,far less for appreciation orinterestofanysort.

Happily Djedida is not faraway. At daybreak we aresecurely anchored before thetown whose possession bythePortugueseisrecordedtothis hour by the fine

fortificationsandwallsroundthe port. We slip over thesmooth water in haste, thatwemaylandbeforethesunistoohigh in theheavens. It isnot without a thrill ofpleasurethatIheartheship'sshrill summons and see therest of the passengersreturning.

By this time it is afternoon,but the intervening hourshavenotbeenwasted.IhavefoundtheMaalem,masterofa bakehouse, a short, olive-skinned,wild,andwiry littleman, whose yellowed eyesand contracting pupils tell atale of haschisch and kiefthat his twitching fingersconfirm. But he knows the

great track stretching somehundred and twenty milesinto the interior up to RedMarrakesh; he is "the fatherand mother" of mules andhorses, animals thatbrightenthefaceofmanbyreasonoftheir superlative qualities,and he is prepared toundertake the charge of allmatters pertaining to ajourney over this roadlesscountry.Hisbeasts are fit tojourney to Tindouf in the

countryoftheDraa,sofineistheir condition; their saddlesand accoutrements woulddelight the Sultan's ownministers. By Allah, theinland journey will be apicnic!Quitegravely, Ihaveprofessed to believe all hesays, and my reservations,thoughmany,areallmental.

In the days that precededeparture—and in Moroccothey are always apt to be

numerous—I seek to enterinto the life of Djedida.Sometimes we stroll to thecustom-house, where graveanddignifiedMoorssitinthebare, barnlike office thatopensuponthewastegroundbeyond the port. There theydeliver my shot guns afterlong anddubious scrutinyofthe order from the BritishConsulate at Tangier. Theyalso pass certain boxes ofstores upon production of a

certificatetestifyingthattheypaid duty on arrival at theDiplomatic Capital. Thesematters,trivialenoughtotheWesternmind, are ofweightand moment here, not to besettled lightly or withoutmuchconsultation.

Rotting in the stores of thissame custom-house are twogrand pianos and an electricomnibus.TheSultanorderedthem, the country paid for

them,—so much wasachieved by the commercialenergy of the infidel,—andnativeenergysufficedtolandthem;itwasexhaustedbytheeffort. If MulaiAbd-el-Azizwants his dearly purchasedtreasure, the ordering andexistence of which he hasprobably forgotten, he mustcometoMazaganforit,Iamafraid, and unless he makeshaste it will not be worthmuch. But there are many

moresuchshipmentsinotherports, not to mention theunopened and forgottenpackingcasesatCourt.

The Basha of Djedida is alittle old man, very richindeed, and the terror of theentireDukalaprovince.Iliketo watch him as he sits daybydayunder thewall of theKasbah by the side of hisown palace, administeringwhat he is pleased to calljustice. Soldiers and slavesstandbytoenforcehisdecree

if need be, plaintiff anddefendantlieliketombstonesor advertisements of patentmedicines,ortelegramsfromtheseatofwar,butnosignofan emotion lights the oldman's face. He tempersjustice with—let us say,diplomacy. The otherafternoon a French-protectedsubject was charged withsheep-stealing, and Iwent tothe trial. Salam acted asinterpreter for me. The case

was simple enough. Thedefendanthadreceivedsomehundred sheep fromplaintifftofeedandtendatanagreedprice. From time to time hesentplaintiffthesadnewsofthe death of certain rams,always among the finest inthe flock. Plaintiff, a farmerin good circumstances,testifiedtotheUnityofAllahand was content to pray forbetter luck, until news wasbrought to him that most of

thesheepreporteddeadwereto be seen in the Fridaymarket fetching good prices.The news proved true, thereport of their death was nomore than the defendant'sintelligent anticipation ofevents, and the action aroseout of it. To be sure, theplaintiffhadpresentedafinesheep to the Basha, but thedefendant was a Frenchsubjectbyprotection,andtheVice-Consul of his adopted

nation was there to see fairplay. Under thesecircumstances the defendantlied with an assurance thatmusthavehelpedtoconvincehimself; his friends arrivedin the full number requiredbythelaw,andtestifiedwithcheerful mendacity in theircompanion's favour. TheBasha listenedwithattentionwhile the litigants sworestrange oaths and abusedeach other very thoroughly.

Thenhesilencedbothpartieswith a word, and gavejudgment for the defendant.Therewasnoappeal,though,had the defendant been anunprotected subject, theplaintiff'sknifehadassuredlyentered into the finalsettlement of this littlematter.Buttheplaintiffknewthat an attack upon aFrenchprotégé would lead to hisown indefinite imprisonmentandoccasionaltorture,tothe

confiscation of his goods,andtosundryotherpenaltiesthat may be left unrecorded,as they would not look wellin cold print. He knew,moreover, that everything ispredestined,thatnomanmayavoid Allah's decree. Thesematters of faith are real, notpale abstractions, inMorocco. So he was lessdiscontented with thedecision than one of hisEuropean brethren would

have been in similar case—and far more philosophicregardingit.

EVENING

Quite slowly we completedour outfit for the inlandjourney. Heaven aid themisguided Nazarene whoseeks to accomplish suchmattersswiftlyinthislandofeternalafternoon.Iboughtanextraordinary assortment ofwhat our American friendscall "dry-goods" in theJewish stores, from the very

business-like gentlemen incharge of them. These allworeblackgaberdines,blackslippers, stockings that wereonce white, and black skull-caps over suspiciouslyshining love-locks. Most ofthe Jewish men seemed tohave had smallpox; in theirspeech they relied upon avery base Arabic, togetherwith worse Spanish or quitebarbarous French. Djedidahaving no Mellah, as the

Moorish ghetto is called,they were free to trade allover the town,andfor ratherless than a pound sterling Ibought quite an imposingcollection of cutlery, plate,and dishes for use on theroad. It is true, as Idiscoveredsubsequently,thatthe spoons and forks mightbecrushedoutofshapewithone hand, that the kniveswould cut nothing rougherthanDanishbutter, andwere

importedfromGermanywitha Sheffieldmark on them todeceive the natives, and thatthe plates and dishes werenot too good to go with thecutlery.Butnothinghadbeenboughtwithoutbargainingofa more or less exciting andinteresting sort, and for thebargaining no extra chargewhatever was made. Thelittle boxlike shops, withflaps that served as shutters,were ill-adapted for private

purchase; therewasno roomfor more than the ownerinside, and before we hadbeen at one for fiveminutesthe roadway becameimpassable.Alltheidlersandbeggars in that districtgathered to watch thestrangers, and the Maalemwas the only one who couldkeep them at bay. Salamwouldmerelythreatentocuffan importunate rogue whopestered us, but theMaalem

would curse him so fluentlyand comprehensively, andextendtheanathemasofarineither direction, fromforgottenancestorstounborndescendants, that no nativecould stand up for longagainst the flashing eye, thequiveringforefinger,thefouland bitter tongue of him.There were times, then andlater on, when the Maalemseemed to be someMoorishconnection of Captain

Kettle's family, and afterreflecting upon myexperience among hard-swearing men of manynations, seafarers, land-sharks, beach-combers andtherest,IawardtheMaalemprideofplace.Youwill findhim to-day in Djedida,bakinghisbreadwiththeaidof the small apprentice wholooksafter theshopwhenhegoes abroad, or enjoying thedreamsofthehaschischeater

whenhisworkisdone.Heisno man's enemy, and thepenalty of his shortcomingswill probably fall upon nobodyorsoulsavehisown.Apicturesque figure,passionateyet aphilosopher,patiently tolerantofblindingheat, bad roads,uncomfortable sleepingquarters and short commons,theMaalemwillremainaliveand real inmymemory longafter the kaids and wazeers

and other high dignitaries ofhiscountryarenomorethandimly splendid shadows,lacking altogether inindividuality.

IlearnedtoenjoyDjedidabynight. Then the town wasalmost as silent asour campbelow Mediunah had been.The ramparts left by thePortuguese and the whitewalls of the city itselfbecame all of a piece,

indistinct and mysterious asthe darkness blended them.Late camels coming into thetown to seek the security ofsome fandak would padnoiselessly past me; weirdcreatures from the under-worldtheyseemed,onwhomthe ghostlike Arabs in theirwhite djellabaswere orderedtoattend.Childrenwouldflitto and fro like shadows,strangely quiet, as thoughheld in thrall even in the

season of their play by thesolemn aspect of thesurroundings. The market-placeandroadtothelanding-stage would be deserted, thegates of the city barred, andtherewasnevera light tobeseen save where somewealthy Moor attended bylantern-bearingslavespassedto and from his house. OnenightbytheKasbahthevoiceof a watchman broke uponthe city's silence, at a time

when the mueddin was atrest, and it was notincumbent upon the faithfulto pray. "Be vigilant, Oguardians," he cried,—"bevigilant and do not sleep."Below, by my side, on theground, the guardians,wrapped warm in theirdjellabas, dreamed on, allundisturbed.

By night, too, the pariahdogs, scavengers of all

Mohammedan cities, roamedat their ease and leisurethrough Djedida, so hungryand so free from daintinessthatnogarbagewouldbelefton the morrow. Moorishhouses have no windowsfronting the road—decencyforbids, and though theremight havebeen ample lightwithin, thebarewallshelpedtodarkenthepathway,anditwaswise towalkwarily lestoneshouldtumbleoversome

beggarasleepontheground.

On nights like these andthrough streets not greatlydifferent, Harun al Raschidfaredabroad inBaghdadandlighted upon the wonderfulfolkwho live for all time inthe pages of theArabianNights. Doubtless I passedsome twentieth-centurydescendants of the fisher-folk, the Calendars, the

slaves, and the merchantswhomoveintheirwonderfulpageantryalongtheglitteringroadofthe"ThousandNightsand a Night,"—the type ismarvellously unchanging inAl Moghreb; but, alas, theyspoke, if at all, to deaf ears,and Salam was ever moreanxious to see me safelyhome than to set out insearchofadventure.BydayIknew that Djedida had littleofthecharmassociatedeven

inthisyearofgracewiththefamous city on the Tigris,but, all over the world thatproclaims the inspiration ofMohammed, the old timescomebackbynight,andthen"a thousand years are but asyesterday."

Happilywewererightbelowthe area of rebellion. In thenorth, round Fez and Taza,there was severe fighting,spreading thence to the Riff

country.Here, people did nomore than curse thePretender in public or theSultan in private, accordingto the state of their personalfeelings. Communicationwith the south, said theMaalem, was uninterrupted;only in the north were thesons of the Illegitimate, therebels against Allah,troubling Our Lord theSultan. From Djedida downto the Atlas the tribes were

peaceful, and would remainat rest unless Our Mastershould attempt to collect histaxes, inwhichcase,withoutdoubt, there would betrouble.

Hewas a busyman in thesedays,wastheMaalem.Whenhe was not baking bread orsmokingkiefhewassecuringmules andbringing them forour inspection. To Mr. T.Spinney, son of the BritishVice-Consul inMazagan,weowedoursalvation.Amasterof Moghrebbin Arabic, onintimate terms with the

Moors, and thoroughlyconversantwith theroadandits requirements, he stoodbetween me and the fiery-tongued Maalem. This mulewasrejected, thatsaddlewasreturned, stirrups tied withstring were disqualified, thelittleman'sclaimtohaveall"themoney in thehand"wasoverruled, and the Maalem,red-hotsputteringironinmyhands, was as wax in Mr.Spinney's. My good friend

and host also found KaidM'Barak,[7] the soldier, atall, scorched, imperturbablewarrior, who rode a bravehorse,andcarriedagundoneup in a very tattered, old,flannel case tied with half adozen pieces of string. Thekaid's business was to striketerror into the hearts of evilmen in return for aMoorishdollaraday,andtohelpwithtent setting and striking, or

anything else that might berequired, in return for hisfood. He was a lean, gaunt,taciturn man, to whomtwelve hours in the saddlebrought no discomfort, andthoughhestroveearnestlytorob me, it was only at thejourney's end, when he haddone hiswork faithfully andwell.Hisgunseemedtobeaconstant source of danger tosomebody,forhecarrieditatright angles to his horse

across the saddle, and oftenon the road I would start toconsciousness that the kaidwascoveringmewithhisbe-frockedweapon.Afteratimeone grew accustomed andindifferent to thedanger,butwhen I went shooting in theArganforestIlefttheblessedone in camp. He wasconvinced thathecarriedhisgun in proper fashion, andthat his duty was well done.Andreallyhemayhavebeen

right,foruponaday,whenahint of possible dangerthreatened, I learned to myamusementandreliefthatthevaliant man carried noammunition of any sort, andthatthebarrelofhisgunwasstuffedfullofredcalico.

Our inland tramp over, hetook one day's rest atMogador, then gathered thewell-earned store of dollarsintohisbeltandstartedoffto

followthecoastroadbacktoDjedida.Perhapsbynow theBashahashadhisdollars,orthe Sultan has summonedhimtohelpfightBuHamara.In any case I like to thinkthat his few weeks with uswillrankamongthepleasanttimes of his life, for heproved a patient, enduringman,andthoughsilent,anotunedifyingcompanion.

Among the strange stories I

heard in Djedida whilepreparingforthejourneywasone relating to the thenWarMinister, Kaid Mahedi elMenebhi, some-time envoytotheCourtofSt.James's.Inhis early days Menebhi,thoughamemberofthegreatAtlas Kabyle of that name,had been a poor lad runningaboutDjedida'sstreets,readyandwillingtoearnahandfulo ffloos[8] by hard work of

any description. Then he setupinbusinessasamenderofold shoes and becamenotorious,notbecauseofhisskill as a cobbler, but onaccount of his quickwit andclever ideas. In allMohammedan countries aBeliever may rise withoutany handicap on account oflowly origin, and so it fellout that the late GrandWazeer,BaAhmad,duringavisit toDjedida heard of the

young cobbler's gifts, andstraightwaygavehimaplacein his household. Thereafterpromotion was rapid andeasyforMenebhi,andtheladwho had loafed about thestreets with the outcasts ofthe city became, under theSultan, the first man inMorocco. "To-day,"concludedmyinformant,"hehas palaces and slaves and agreat hareem, he is a ChiefWazeer and head of the

Sultan's forces, but he stillowes a merchant in Djedidasome fewdollars on accountof leatherhehadboughtandforgot to pay for when BaAhmad took him toMarrakesh."[9]

In the R'hamna country, onthe way to the southerncapital, we pitched our tentsone night in a Governmentn'zala, or guarded camping-ground,oneofmanythatarespread about the country forthe safety of travellers. Theprice of corn, eggs, andchickens was amazinglyhigh, and the Maalem

explained that then'zalawaskept by some of theimmediate familyofMahediel Menebhi, who had putthem there, presumably tomakewhatprofit theycould.Ilookedverycarefullyatourgreedy hosts. They were arough unprepossessingcrowd, but their wealth insheep and goats alone wasremarkable, and their stockwas safe from molestation,for they were known to be

relativesoftheSultan'schiefminister,amanwhosearmislong and hard-hitting. Sincelast autumn Menebhi hasresigned his high office,reduced his household,manumittedmanyslaves,andgoneon thegreatpilgrimageto Mecca, so it may bepresumedthathisrelativesinthe forsaken R'hamnacountry have lowered theirprices.Yet, 'tis something tohave a great wazeer for

relative even though, for thetimebeing,lossoffavourhasgiven him leisure for piousobservances.

At length the evening came,when the last mule wasselected, the last packagemade up, and nothing laybetween us and the openroad.Sleepwashardtowoo.I woke before daylight, andwas in the patio before thefirst animal arrived, or the

sleepyporterhad fumbledatthe door of the warehousewhere the luggage wasstacked.

MorninthewhitewakeofthemorningstarCamefurrowingalltheorientintogold,

andgavetothetopsofwallsandbattlementsamomentarytinge of rose colour, a sightwell worth the effort

demanded by early rising.Sparrow-hawks and pigeonswere fluttering over theirnests on the desertedbattlements, a storkeyedmewith solemn curiosity fromtheminaretofanearmosque,and only the earliestwayfarers were astir. Howslowlythemenseemedtodotheir work, and how rapidlythemorning wore on. Ropesandpalmettobaskets refusedtofitatthelastmoment,two

muleswererestiveuntiltheir"father," the Maalem, verywide awake and energetic,cursed their religion, andreminded them that theywere the children of assesrenowned throughout theMoghreb for baseness andimmorality. One animal wasfound at the last moment tobe saddle-galled, and wasrejected summarily, despiteits "father's" frenziedassurances. Though I had

been astir shortly beforethree,andatworksoonafterfour, it was nearly seveno'clockwhenthelastcrookedway had beenmade straight,thelastshwarri[10]balanced,and the luggage mules weremovingtotheDukalagate.

The crowd of curiousonlookers then gave way,somefewwishinguswellonthe journey. I daresay thereweremanyamongthem,tied

by their daily toil to thetown, who thought withlonging of the pleasant roadbefore us, through fertilelands where all the orchardswere aflower and thepeasants were gathering theripebarley,thoughAprilhadyet some days to revel in.Small boys waved theirhandstous,thewater-carriercarrying his tight goat-skinfromthewellssethiscupsa-tinkling,asthoughbywayof

a God-speed, and thenM'Barak touched his horsewith the spur to induce thebraveryofacaracole,andledusawayfromDjedida.Idrewalongbreathofpleasureandrelief; we were upon theroad.

FOOTNOTES:

The sok is the market-place.

Kaid is a complimentarytitle—he was a commonsoldier. M'Barak means"the blessed one," and isone of the names usuallysetapartforslaves.

Base copper coins, ofwhich a penny willpurchaseascore.

It is fair tosay that this isnomorethanoneofmanystoriesrelatingtothegreatWazeer's early days.Another says that hestarted life as a soldier.

Thereisnodoubtthatheisa man of extraordinarytalent.

A pannier made ofpalmetto.

ONTHEMOORISHROAD

CHAPTERIII

ONTHEMOORISHROAD

WiththebriefgladnessofthePalms,thattowerandswayo'erseethingplain,Fraughtwiththethoughtsofrustling

shade,andwellingspring,andrushingrain;'Tistheir'stopasswithjoyandhope,whosesoulsshalleverthrillandfillDreamsoftheBirthplaceandtheTomb,—visionsofAllah'sHolyHill.

TheKasidah.

We travel slowly, for theMaalem"father"ofthepack-mules—guide, philosopher,andtrustedcompanion—saysthat haste kills strong men,and often repeats a Moorishproverb which tells us thatwalking is better thanrunning,andthatofallthingssitting still is best. If Salamand I, reaching a piece oflevel sward by the side ofsome orchard or arable landwhen theheatof thedayhas

passed,venture to indulge ina brisk canter, theMaalem'sfacegrowsblackashiseyes.

"Haveacare,"hesaid tomeoneevening,"forthisplaceispeopled by djinoon, and ifthey are disturbed they willat least kill the horses andmules, and leaveus to everyrobber among the hills."Doubtless the Maalemprophesiedworsethingsthanthis, but I have no Arabic

worth mention, and Salam,who acts as interpreter,possessesavery fair amountof tact. I own to a vulgarcuriositythaturgesmetoseea djin if I can, so, after thiswarning, Salam and I gocantering every lateafternoon when the Enemy,as someMoors call the sun,is moving down towards thewest,andtheairgetsitsfirstfaint touch of evening cool.Fortunately or unfortunately,

the evil spirits never appearhowever,unlessunnoticedbyme in the harmless forms ofstorks, stock-doves, orsparrow-hawks.

NEARAWELLINTHECOUNTRY

InthisfertileprovinceoftheDukala, in the little-knownkingdom of the victoriousSultan, Mulai Abd-el-Aziz,there are delightful stretchesof level country, and thehusbandman's simplest toilsuffices to bring about anabundant harvest. Unhappilyagreatpartoftheprovinceisnot in permanent cultivation

at all. For miles and miles,often as far as the eye cansee, the land lies fallow,nevera farmhouseorvillagetobeseen,nothingsavesomezowia or saint's tomb, withwhite dome rising withinfour white walls to stareundaunted at the fierceAfricansun,whilethesaint'sdescendants in the shelter ofthe house live by beggingfrom pious visitors. Awayfrom the fertility that marks

the neighbourhood of thedouars,onefindsafewsparebushes, suddra, retam, orcolocynth, a few lizardsdarting here and there, andover all a supreme silencethatmaybe felt, evenas thedarkness that troubled Egyptin days of old. The maintrack, not to be dignified bythe name of road, is alwaysto be discerned clearlyenough, at least theMaalemis never in doubtwhen stray

paths, leading from nowhereto the back of beyond,intersectit.

At long intervals we pass an'zala, a square empty spacesurrounded by a zariba ofthorn and prickly pear. Thevillage, a few wattled hutswithconical roofs, standsbyits side. Every n'zala is aGovernment shelter fortravellers; you may pitchyour tent within the four

walls,andevenifyouremainoutside and hire guards theowners of the huts areresponsible for your safety,with their worldly goods,perhaps with their lives. Ihave tried the interior of theMoorish n'zalas, where alltoo frequently you must lieon unimagined filth, oftenalmost within reach ofcamel-drivers andmuleteers,who are so godly that theyhavenotimetobeclean,and

I have concluded that thedrawbacks outweigh theadvantages. Now I pitch mytent on some cleaner spot,and pay guards from thevillage to stretch theirblanketsunder its leeandgoto sleep. If there are thievesabroad the zariba will notkeep them out, and if thereare no thieves a tiredtraveller may forget hisfatigue.

On the road we meet fewwayfarers, and those weencounter are full ofsuspicion.Nowandagainwepass some country kaid orkhalifa out on business. Asmany as a dozenwell-armedslaves and retainers mayfollowhim,and,asarule,herides a well-fed Barbwith afine crimson saddle andmanysaddlecloths.Overhiswhite djellaba is a blueselham that came probably

fromManchester;hisstirrupsare silver or plated. Hetravels unarmed and seldomusesspurs—apackingneedleserves as an effectivesubstitute.Whenhehasspursthey are simply spear-heads—sharp prongs withoutrowels. The presence ofUnbelieversinthecountryofthe True Faith is clearlydispleasing to him, but he isnearly always diplomatenoughtoreturnmylaboured

greeting,thoughdoubtlesshecurses me heartily enoughunder his breath. His roadlies from village to village,his duty to watch theprogress of the harvest forhisoverlord.Eventhelocustsare kinder than the countrykaids.Butsosoonasthekaidhas amassed sufficientwealth, the governor of hisprovince, or one of the highwazeers in the Sultan'scapital,will despoil himand

sell his place to the highestbidder, and in the fulness oftime theSultanwillsendforthatwazeer or governor, andtreat him in similar fashion."Mektub," it is written, andwhoshallavoiddestiny?[11]

NEARAWELLINTHETOWN

Whenthewayislongandthesun hot, pack and saddleanimals come together,keepingalevelpaceofsomefive miles an hour, andSalam or the Maalembeguiles the tedium of thewaywithsongorlegend.TheMaalem has a song thatwastaught him by one of hisgrandfather's slaves, in the

far-off days when MulaiMohammed reigned in RedMarrakesh. In this chant,with its weird monotonousrefrain, the slaves sing oftheir journey from the landsof the South, the terrors oftheway,thelackoffoodandwater. It is a dismal affairenough,buttheMaalemlikesit, andSalam, ridingunderahugeTetuanhat,carryingmyshot gun, in case some freshmeatshouldcomealong,and

keeping watchful eye on themules, joins lustily in therefrain.Salamhasfewsongsofhisown,anddoesnotcareto sing them, lest hisimportance should suffer inthe native eyes, but hepossesses a stockofArabianNights' legends, and quotesthem as though they werepartofAlKoran.

Now and again, in some ofthe waste and stony places

beyond Dukala's boundaries,we come across a well,literally awell in the desert,with husbandmen gatheredaboutitanddrawingwaterintheir goat-skin buckets, thatare tied to long palmettoropesmadebythemenoftheneighbouring villages. Thewater is poured into flat,puddled troughs, and thethirstyflocksandherdsdrinkin turn, before they marchaway tohunt forsuchscanty

herbage as the land affords.The scene round these wellsiswonderfullyreminiscentofearliest Bible times,particularly so where thewandering Bedouins bringtheirflockstowaterfromtheinhospitable territory of theWad Nun and deserts belowtheSus.

I note with pleasure thesurprising dignity of theherdsmen,whomakefarless

comment upon theappearanceofthestrangerinthese wild places than weshould make upon theappearance of a Moor orBerberinaLondonstreet.

The most unmistakabletribute to the value of thewaterispaidbytheskeletonsof camels, mules, sheep andgoats that mark the road tothewell.TheytellthetaleofanimalsbeatenbytheEnemy

in their last stride. It is noteasyforaEuropeantorealisethe suffering these strangelands must see when thesummer drought is upon theface of the earth. Perhapsthey are lessened among thehuman sufferers by the veryrealfatalismthatacceptsevilas it accepts good, withoutgrief and without gladness,but always with philosophiccalm;at leastweshouldcallitphilosophicinaEuropean;

superstitious fatalism, ofcourse,inaMoor.

MOORISHWOMANANDCHILD

The earliest and latest hoursof our daily journey are, Ithink, the best. Whenafternoon turns towardevening in the fertile lands,and the great heat begins topass, countless larks resumetheir song,while from everyorchard one hears thesubduedmurmurofdovesorthe mellow notes of the

nightingale. Storks sweep inwide circles overhead orteach their awkward youngthe arts of flight, or wadesolemnly insearchofsupperto some marsh where thebull-frogs betray theirpresence by croaking asloudly as they can. Thedecline of the sun is quiterapid—very often theafterglow lights us to ourdestination. It is part of theMaalem's duty to decide

upontheplaceofournightlysojourn, and so to regulatethetimeofstarting,thepace,and themid-dayrest, thathemaybringustothevillageorn'zala in time to get the tentupbeforedarknesshasfallen.The little man is master ofevery turn in the road, andhas only failed once—whenhe brought us to a largevillage,wherethebulkoftheinhabitants of outlyingdouars had attacked the

Governor's house, with verylittlesuccess,onthepreviousday, and were now about tobe attacked in their turn bythe Governor and hisbodyguard. There had beenmuch firing and moreshouting, but nobody wasbadly hurt. Prudencedemandedthatthejourneyberesumed forthwith, and forthreehours theMaalemkepthis eyes upon the stars andcursed the disturbers of the

land's peace. Then wereached the desired haven,andpassedunscathedthroughtheattacksofthenativedogsthatguardeditsapproaches.

The procedure when weapproach a n'zala in theeveningishighlyinteresting.Some aged headman, whohas seen our little companyapproaching, stands by theedgeoftheroadanddeclareswe are welcome.[12] Salam

or theMaalem responds andpresentsme,atravellerfromthe far countryof the Ingliz,carrying letters to the greatsheikhs of the South. Theheadman repeats hiswelcome and is closelyquestioned concerning theexisting supplies of water,corn,milk,eggs,andpoultry.These points being settled,Salam asks abouts guards.The strangers would sleepoutside the n'zala: Can they

have guards at a fair price?Three are promised for apaymentofaboutsevenpenceapiece,andthentheheadmanprecedesusandweturnfromthemaintracktotheplaceofshelter.

Instantly the village is astir.The dogs are driven off.Every wattled hut yields itsquota of men, women, andchildren, spectral in theirwhite djellabas and all eager

toseethestrangersandtheirequipment. The men collectin one group and talkseriously of the visit, wellassured that it has somesignificance, probablyunpleasant; the women,nervous by nature andtraining, do not venture farfromtheirhomesandremainveiled to the eyes. But thechildren—dark, picturesque,half-naked boys and girls—are nearly free from fear if

not from doubt. The tattoomarks on their chins keepthem safe from the evil eye;sotheydonotrunmuchriskfromchanceencounterwithaEuropean.Theyapproachinaconstantly shifting group, nodetailoftheunpackingislostto them, they are delightedwith the tent and amazed atthe number of articlesrequired to furnish it, theyrefuse biscuits and sugar,though Salam assures them

thatbotharegoodtoeat,andindeed sugar is one of thefew luxuries of their simplelives.

By the headman's directionour wants are supplied. Thepatriarch,withhislongwhitebeard and clear far-seeingeyes,receivestherespectandobedience of all the village,settles all disputes, and ispersonally responsible to thekaid of the district for theorderandsafetyofthen'zala.Three men come from the

well,eachbearingabigclayamphora of water that mustbeboiledbeforewedrink it.Onebringsanamplemeasureof barley, costing about fourshillings or a little more inEnglish money, anotherbends under a great load ofstraw.Closely-veiledwomencarry small jars ofmilk andhand them to their lord,whobringsthemuptoSalamandstates the price demanded.Milk is dear throughout

Morocco in the late springand summer, for, herbagebeing scanty, cowsare smalland poor. Eggs, on the otherhand,arecheap;wecanbuyadozen for twopence or itsequivalent in Spanish orMoorish money, andchickens cost aboutfivepence apiece. If Salam,M'Barak and the Maalemwere travelling alone theywould pay less, but aEuropean is rarely seen, and

his visit must be madememorable.

Provisions purchased, thetent up, mules and horsestetheredtogetherinfullviewofthetent,agreatpeacefallsupon our little party. I ampermittedtolieatfulllengthonahorserugandstareupatthe dark, star-spangled sky;Salamhasdugalittleholeinthe ground,made a charcoalfire, and begun to prepare

soup and boil the water forcoffee. The Maalem smokeskief in furtive manner, asthough orthodox enough tobe ashamed of the practice,while M'Barak preparesplates and dishes for theevening meal. Around, in asemicircle, some ten yardsaway, the men and boys ofthe village sit observing ussolemnly.Theyhave little tosay, but their surprise andinterest are expressed quite

adequately by their keenunfailing regard. Theafterglow passes andcharcoal fires are lighted attheedgeofmostofthenativehuts, in preparation for theevening meal, for the youngshepherds have come fromthe fields and the flocks aresafely penned. In thegathering dusk the nativewomen, passing through thesmoke or by the flame oftheir fire, present a most

weird picture, as itmight bethey were participating in aWitches' Sabbath. Darknessenvelops all the surroundingcountry, hiding the road bywhich we came, sealing upthe trackwe have to follow,striking a note of lonelinessthat is awesome withoutbeing unpleasant.With whatwe call civilisation hundredsof miles away, in a countrywherelawandorderaretoberegardedmoreasnamesthan

facts, one has a great joy inmere living, intensifieddoubtlessbylonghoursspentin the saddle, by occasionalhardworkandcurtailed rest,andby thedaily sight of therisingsun.

Theeveningmealisasimpleaffairofsoup,achicken,andsome coffee to follow, andwhen it is over I make myway to the kitchen tent,where themen have supped,

and send M'Barak with aninvitationtotheheadmanandhis sons. The blessed onemakes his way to theheadman's hut, while Salamclears up the debris of themeal, and the Maalem,conscious thatnomoreworkwill be expected of him,devotes his leisure to thecombustion of hemp, openlyand unashamed. With manycompliments the headmanarrives, and I stand up to

greetandbidhimwelcome—an effort that makes heavycall uponmy scanty storeofArabic. The visitors removetheir slippersandsit at ease,whileSalammakesasavourymess of green tea, heavilysweetenedandflavouredwithmint. My visitors are toosimply pious to smoke, andregard the Maalem withdispleasure and surprise, buthe is quite beyond the reachof their reproaches now.His

eyes are staring glassily, hislips have a curious ashencolour, his hands aretwitching—thehempgodhashimbythethroat.Thevillagemen turn their backs uponthis degraded Believer, andreturn thanks to Allah theOne for sending an infidelwhogives them tea.Broadlyspeaking, it is only coastMoors, who have sufferedwhat is to them thecontamination of European

influences, that smoke inMorocco.

Like the Walrus and theCarpenter, we talk of manythings, Salam acting asinterpreter. The interests ofmy guests are simple: goodharvests, abundant rain, andopen roads are all theydesire.TheyhaveneverseentheseaorevenabigMoorishtown,but theyhaveheardofthese things from travellers

and traderswho have passedtheir nights in the n'zala intimes recent or remote, andsometimestheyappealtometo say if these tales are true.Are there great waters ofwhich no man may drink—waters thatareneveratrest?Do houses with devils (?steamengines)inthemgotoandfrouponthefaceofthesewaters?Aretheregreatcitiessobigthatamancannotwalkfrom end to end in half a

day? I testify to the truth ofthese things, and theheadman praises Allah, whohas done what seemed goodtohiminlandsbothnearandfar. It is, I fear, theheadman's polite way ofsayingthatSaulisamongtheprophets. My revolver,carefullyunloaded, ispassedfrom hand to hand, its usesand capacities are knowneven to these wild people,andtheweaponcreatesmore

interest than the tent and allits varied equipment.Naturallyenough,itturnsthetalktowarandslaughter,andIlearnthatthelocalkaidhasan endless appetite forthievesandotherchildrenofshameless women, that gunsare fired very often withinhis jurisdiction, and basketsfull of heads have beencollectedafter apurely localfight.All this is said with aquiet dignity, as though to

remindme that Ihave fallenamong people of somedistinction, and the effect isonly spoilt by therecollectionthatnearlyeveryheadmanhasthesametaletotell. Sultans, pretenders,wazeers, and high courtfunctionaries are passed incritical review, their faultsand failings noted. I cannotavoid theconclusion that thepopular respect is for thestrong hand—that civilised

government would take longto clear itself of theimputationofcowardice.Thelocalkaid isalwaysa tyrant,but he is above all things aman, keen-witted,adventurous, prompt tostrike, and determined tobleed his subjects white. Sothemenof thevillage,whilesuffering so keenly from hisarbitrarymethods, look withfear and wonder at theirmaster, respect him secretly,

and hope the day will comewhen by Allah's grace theytoo will be allowed to havemastery over their fellowsand to punish others as theyhavebeenpunished.Strengthisthefirstandgreatestofallvirtues, so far as they cansee,andcunningandferocityare necessary gifts in a landwhere every man's hand isagainsthisneighbour.

TRAVELLERSBYNIGHT

Thelastcupofgreenteahasbeen taken, the charcoal, nolonger refreshed by thebellows, has ceased to glow,aroundusthenativefiresareout. The hour of repose isupon thenight,and thegreatathleticvillagersrise,resumetheir slippers, and pass withcivil salutation to theirhomes. Beyond the tent our

guards are sleeping soundlyin their blankets; thesurrounding silence isoverwhelming. The graveitself could hardly be morestill. Even the hobbledanimals are at rest, and weenter into the envelopingsilence for five or sixdreamlesshours.

Thehorsesstirandwakeme;I open the tent and call themen. Our guards rousethemselvesandretiretotheirhuts.TheMaalem,noworse,to outward seeming, for thenight's debauch, lights thecharcoal.Itisabouthalf-pastthree, the darkness has pastbutthesunhasnotrisen,thelandseemsplunged inheavysleep, the air is damp andchill.Fewpleasuresattachtothis early rising, but it is

necessary to be on the roadbeforesixo'clockinordertomake good progress beforethe vertical rays of the sunbid us pause and seek whatshelter we can find. Twohours is not a long time inwhichtostriketents,preparebreakfast,—a solid affair ofporridge, omelette, coffee,marmalade and biscuits,—packeverything,andloadthemules.Wemustworkwithawill, or the multi-coloured

pageant in the eastern skywill have passed before weareontheroadagain.

Earlyasitiswearenotastirmuch before the village.Almost as soon as I amdressed the shepherd boysandgirls are abroad, playingon their reed flutes as theydrive the flocks to pasturefrom the pens towhich theywere brought at sundown.Theygofarafieldforfoodif

not for water, but eveningmustseetheiranimalssafelysecuredoncemore,forifleftout overnight the nearestpredatory tribesmen wouldcarry them off. There is nosecurity outside the village,and no village is safe fromattackwhenthereisunrestintheprovince.Acattle raid isa favourite form ofamusement among thewarliketribesoftheMoorishcountry, being profitable,

exciting, and calculated toprovokeasmallfight.

A group of interestedobservers assembles oncemore, reinforced by thesmallest children, who weretoo frightened toventureoutof doors last night. Nothingdisturbs the little companybefore we leave the camp.The headman, grave anddignified as ever, receivespayment for corn, straw,

chickens, milk, eggs, water,andguards,amatterofaboutten shillings in Englishmoney,andaverylargesumindeedforsuchatinyvillagetoreceive.Thelastburdenisfastened on the patientmules, girths and straps andbelts are examined, and wepass down the incline to themain road and turn thehorses' heads to the AtlasMountains.

FOOTNOTES:

"There happeneth nomisfortuneon theearthorto yourselves, but it iswrittenintheBookbeforewecreatedit:verilythatiseasytoAllah."—AlKoran;Sura,"TheTree."

This courtesy is trulyEastern, and has manyvariants. I remembermeeting two aged rabbiswhowereseatedonstones

bytheroadsidehalfamilefrom the city of TiberiasontheSeaofGalilee.Theyrose as I approached, andsaid in Hebrew, "Blessedbehewhocometh."

TOTHEGATESOF

MARRAKESH

CHAPTERIV

TOTHEGATESOFMARRAKESH

Inhawthorn-timetheheartgrowsbright,Theworldissweetinsoundandsight,Gladthoughtsandbirdstakeflowerandflight,

Theheatherkindlestowardthelight,Thewhinisfrankincenseandflame.

TheTaleofBalen.

If youwould savour the truesenseofMorocco,andenjoyglimpses of a life thatbelongsproperlytotheeraofGenesis, journey throughDukala,Shiadma,orHaha in

April. Rise early, faresimply,andtravelfarenoughtoappreciatewhateveroffersfor a camping-ground,thoughitbenomorethanthegrudgingshadowofawallatmid-day, or a n'zala notoverclean, when from north,south, east, and west theshepherd boys and girls areherdingtheirflocksalongthehomewardway.Youwillfindthenativeskindand leisuredenough to take interest in

your progress, and, theirconfidence gained, you shallgather, if you will, someknowledge of the curious,alluring point of view thatbelongs to fatalists. I havebeen struck by the dignity,the patience, and theendurance of the Moor, bywhom Imean here theArabwho lives in Morocco, andnot the aboriginalBerber, orthe man with black bloodpreponderating in his veins.

To the Moor all is for thebest.HeknowsthatAllahhasbound the fate of each manabout his neck, so hemovesfearlesslyandwithdignitytohis appointed end, consciousthat hisGod has allotted thepalace or the prison for hisportion, and that fellow-mencan no more than fulfil thedivine decree. Here lies thesecret of the bravery that,when disciplined, may yetshake the foundations of

Western civilisation. Howmany men pass me on theroad bound on missions oflife or death, yet serene andplacidasthemediævalsaintswho stand in their niches insome cathedral at home. Letme recall a few fellow-wayfarersandpassalong theroadless way in theircompanyonceagain.

Firstandforemoststandsouta khalifa, lieutenant of agreat country kaid, metmidmost Dukala, in a placeoflevelbarleyfieldsnewcutwiththemedialuna.Brilliantpoppiesandirisesstainedthemeadows on all sides, andorchards whose cactushedges, planted for defence,werenowaflamewithblood-

red flowers, became a girdleofbeautyaswellasstrength.The khalifa rode a swiftly-ambling mule, a beast ofprice, his yellow slipperswereostentatiouslynew, andhis ample girth proclaimedthe wealthy man in a landwhere all the poor are thin."Peace,"washissalutationtoM'Barak, who led the way,and when he reached us heagain invoked the Peace ofAllah upon Our Lord

Mohammed and the Faithfulof the Prophet's House,thereby and with maliceaforethought excluding theinfidel. Like others of hisclass who passed us he wasbut ill-pleased to see thestranger in the land; unliketheresthedidnotconcealhisconvictions. Behind himcame three black slaves,sleek, armed, proud in thepride of their lord, and withthis simple retinue the

khalifa was on his way totithe the newly-harvestedproduce of the farmers wholived in that district.Dangerous work, I thought,to venture thus within thecircle of the native douarsand claim the lion's share ofthe hard-won produce of thehusbandmen.Heandhislittlecompany would beoutnumbered in theproportion of thirty or fortyto one, they had nomilitary

following, and yet wentboldly forth to rob on thekaid's behalf. I rememberedhow, beyond Tangier, themenofthehillsroundAnjerahad risen against anunpopular khalifa, hadtortured him in atrociousfashion, and left him blindandhideouslymaimed, tobea warning to all tyrants.Doubtless our prosperousfellow-traveller knew allaboutit,doubtlessherealised

that the Sultan's authoritywas only nominal, but heknew that his immediatemaster, the Basha, still heldhis people in an iron gripwhile, above and beyond allelse, he knew by the livingfaith that directed his everystepinlife,thathisownfate,whether good or evil, wasalready assigned to him. Iheard the faint echo of thegreeting offered by the dogsofthegreatdouarintowhich

he passed, and felt wellassured that the protests ofthe village folk, if theyventured to protest, wouldmove him no more than thebarkingofthosepariahs.Thehawks we saw poised in theblue above our heads whensmall birds sang atsunsetting, were not morecheerfully devoid ofsentiment than our khalifa,though it may be they hadmoreexcusethanhe.

On another afternoonwe satat lunch in the gratefulsombre shade of a fig-tree.Beyond the little stone dykethatcutthemeadowfromthearablelandanegroploughedwithanoxandanass,inflatdefiance of Biblicalinjunction. The beasts wereweary or lazy, or both, andtheslavecursedthemwithanenergy that was wonderfulforthetimeofday.Eventhebirds had ceased to sing, the

cicadasweresilentinthetreetops, and when one of themules rolled on the groundand scattered its pack uponallsides,theMaalemwastooexhausted to do more thancallitthe"sonofaChristianandaJew."

THEMID

Down the track we hadfollowedcameafairman,ofslight build, riding a goodmule. He dismounted by thetree to adjust his saddle,tighten a stirrup thong, andsay a brief prayer. Then,indifferent to the heat, hehurried on, and Salam, whohadheld short conversewithhim, announced that he was

an emissary of Bu Hamarathe Pretender, speedingsouthward to preach therising to theAtlas tribes.Hecarried his life in his handsthrough the indifferentlyloyal southern country, butthe burden was not heavyenough to trouble him. BuHamara, the man no bulletscould injure, the divinelydirected one, who could callthe dead from their pavilionin Paradise to encourage the

living,hadbadehimgorousethesleepingsoutherners,andso he went, riding fearlesslyinto the strong glare thatwraptandhidhim.Hisworkwas for faith or for love: itwas not for gain. If hesucceeded he would not berewarded, if he failed hewouldbeforgotten.

Veryoften,atmorning,noon,and sunset, we would meetthe r'kass or native letter-

carrier, awiryman from theSuscountry,moreoftenthannot, with naked legs andarms. In his hand he wouldcarry the long pole thatserved as an aid to his tiredlimbs when he passed itbehind his shoulders, and atother times helped him tofordriversordefendhimselfagainst thieves. An eager,hurrying fellow was ther'kass, with rarely enoughbreath to respond to a

salutationashepassedalong,his letters tiedinaparcelonhisback,alampathisgirdleto guide him through thenight, and in his wallet alittle bread or parched flour,a tiny pipe, and some kief.Only if travelling in ourdirection would he talk,repaying himself for theexpenditure of breath byholdingthestirrupofmuleorhorse. Resting for three tofivehoursinthetwenty-four,

sustaininghimselfmorewithkief than with bread,hardened to a point ofendurancewe cannot realise,ther'kassistobemetwithonevery Moorish road thatleads to a big city—asolitary, brave, industriousman,whorunsmanyrisksforlittle pay. His lettersdelivered, he goes to thenearest house of publicservice, there tosleep, toeatsparingly and smoke

incessantly, until he issummonedtotheroadagain.Nomatterifthetribesareouton the warpath, so that thecaravans andmerchantsmaynot pass,—no matter if thepowder "speaks" from everyhill,—ther'kassslipsthroughwith his precious charge,passing lightly as a cloudover a summer meadow,often within a few yards ofangry tribesmen who wouldshoot him at sight for the

mere pleasure of killing. Ifthe luck is against him hemust pay the heaviestpenalty, but this seldomoccurs unless the wholecountry-side is aflame. Atother times, when there ispeaceintheland,andthewetseason has made theunbridged rivers impassable,whole companies oftravellerscamponeithersideof some river—a silverthread in the dry season, a

rushing torrent now. But ther'kassknowseveryford,and,his long pole aiding him,manages to reach hisdestination.It ishisbusinessto defy Nature if necessary,just as he defies man in thepursuit of his task. He is aliving proof of the capacityand dogged endurance stillsurvivinginaraceEuropeansaffecttodespise.

We met slaves-dealers too

from time to time, carryingwomen and children onmules, while themen slaveswalkedalongatagoodpace.Andthedealersbynomeanswore the villainous aspectthat conventional observerslook to see, butwereplainlymen bent upon business,travelling to make money.They regarded the slaves asmerchandise, to be kept intolerably fair condition forthe sake of good sales, and

unlessRuskinwasrightwhenhe said that all who are notactivelykindarecruel, thereseemed small ground onwhich to condemn them. Tobe sure, they were takingslaves from market tomarket, and not bringingSoudanese captives from theextremeSouth,sowesawnotrace of the trouble thatcomesofforcedtravelinthedesert, but even that isequallysharedbydealersand

slavealike.

The villages ofMorocco areno more than collections ofconicalhutsbuiltofmudandwattle and palmetto, or goatand camel skins. These hutsaresetinacircleallopeningtothecentre,wherethelive-stock and agriculturalimplementsarekeptatnight.The furniture of a tent issimple enough. Handloomand handmill, earthenware

jars, clay lamps, a mattress,andperhapsatea-kettlefulfilallrequirements.

A dazzling, white-domedsaint's shrine within foursquare walls lights thelandscapehereandthere,andgives to some douar suchgloryasaholymancanyieldwhen he has been dead solong that none can tell thespecialdirectionhisholinesstook. The zowia serves

several useful purposes. Thestorks love to build upon it,and perhaps the influence ofits rightful owner hassomething to do with thegood character of theinteresting young birds thatwe see plashing about in themarshes, and trying to catchfish or frogswith somethingof their parents' skill. Then,again, the zowia shelters thedescendantsoftheholyman,whopreyuponpassersinthe

name of Allah and of thedeparted.

Beyond one of the villagesgraced with the shrine of aforgotten saint, I chanceduponapoorMoorishwomanwashing clothes at the edgeof a pool. She used a nativegrass-seed in place of soap,and made the linen verywhite with it. On a greatstoneby thewater's edgesata very old and very black

slave, and I tried withSalam'saidtochatwithhim.Buthehadnomorethanonesentence. "I have seenmanySultans,"hecriedfeebly,andto every question heresponded with these samewords.Twotinyvillageboysstood hand in hand beforehim and repeated his words,wondering. It was a curiouspicture and set in strikingcolour, for the fields allrounduswere full of rioting

irises, poppies, andconvolvuli; the sun thatgilded them was blazingdown upon the old fellow'sunprotectedhead.Gnatswereassailing him in legions,singing their flattering songas they sought to draw hisblood.[13]Beforeusonahilltwomeadowsawaystoodthedouar, its conical hutsthatchedwithblackstrawandstriped palmetto, its zowia

with minaret points at eachcorner of the protectingwalls,andastorkononelegin theforeground. Itcostmesome effort to tear myselfawayfromtheplace,andasIremounted and prepared toride off the veteran criedonce more, "I have seenmany Sultans." Then thestork left his perch on thezowia'swalls, and settled bythe marsh, clapping hismandibles as though to

confirm the old man'sstatement,andthelittleboystookupthecry,notknowingwhat they said. He had seenmany Sultans. The Praise toAllah,sohadnotI.

By another douar, this timeon the outskirts of theR'hamna country, we pausedfor a mid-day rest, andentered the village in searchofmilkandeggs.Allthemensaveonewereatworkontheland,andhe, theguardianofthevillage,anoldfellowandfeeble, stood on a sandymoundwithin the zariba.He

carried a very antiquatedflint-lock, that may havebeen own brother to KaidM'Barak's trusted weapon. Iam sure he could not havehadthestrengthtofire,evenhad he enjoyed theknowledgeandpossessedthematerialtoloadit.Itwashisbusinesstomountguardoverthe village treasure. Themoundhe stooduponwas atonce the mat'mora that hidthe corn store, and the bank

that sheltered the silverdollars for whose protectionevery man of the villagewould have risked his lifecheerfully. The veteran tookno notice of our arrival: hadwe been thieves he couldhave offered no resistance.He remained silent andstationary, unconscious thatthe years in which he mighthave fulfilled his trust hadgone for ever.All along theway theboundariesofarable

land were marked by littlepiles of stones and I lookedanxiously for some sign ofthe curious festival thatgreetsthecomingofthenewcorn, a ceremony inwhich afigureismadeforworshipbyday and sacrifice by night;we were just too late for it.For the origin of thissacrificetheinquirermustgoback to the time of natureworship. It was an oldpractice, of course, in the

heyday of Greciancivilisation, and might havebeen seen in England, Ibelieve, little more thantwentyyearsago.

Claims for protection aremade very frequently upontheroad.Therearefewofthedramaticmomentsinwhichaman rushes up, seizes yourstirrup and puts himself"beneath the hem of yourgarment," but there are

numerous claims forprotectionofanothersort. InMorocco all the Powers thatsigned the Treaty ofMadridare empowered to grant theprivilege. France hasprotected subjects by thethousand.Theypaynotaxes,they are not to be punishedbythenativeauthoritiesuntiltheir Vice-Consul has beencited to appear in theirdefence, and, in short, theyareputabovethelawoftheir

own country and enabled toamass considerable wealth.The fact that the foreignerwhoprotects them isoften aknave and a thief is a draw-back, but the popularity ofprotection is immense, forthe protector may possiblynotcombinecunningwithhisgreed,whilethenativeBashaorhiskhalifaquiteinvariablydoes. British subjects maynotgiveprotection,—happilythe British ideals of justice

and fair-play have forbiddenthe much-abused practice,—andthemosttheEnglishmancan do is to enter into atrading partnership with aMoor and secure for him acertificate of limitedprotectioncalled"mukhalat,"from thenameof thepersonwho holds it. Great Britainhas never abused theProtection system, and therearefewerprotectedMoorsinthe service or partnership of

Britons throughout allMorocco than France has inany single town ofimportance.

If I had held the power andthewill to give protection, Imighthavebeen inMoroccoto-day,masterofahouseandahousehold,drawinghalftheproduce of many fields andhalf the price of flocks ofsheep and herds of goats.Fewmorningspassedwithout

bringing some persecutedfarmertothecamp,generallyin the heat of the day,whenwe rested on his land. Hewould be a tall, vigorousman,burntbrownbythesun,and he would point to hisfields and flocks, "I have somany sheep and goats, somanyoxenfortheplough,somany mules and horses, somuch grain unharvested, somuch in store. Give meprotection, that I may live

without fearofmykaid,andhalf of all I own shall beyours."ThenIhadtoexplainthrough Salam that I had nopower to help him, that myGovernment would do nomorethanprotectme.Itwashard for the applicants tolearn that they must gounaided. The harvest wasnewly gathered, it hadsurvived rain and blight andlocusts, andnow theyhad towait the arrival of their kaid

or his khalifa, who wouldseize all they could notconceal,—hawk, locust, andblightinone.

Atthevillagecalledafter itspatron saint, Sidi B'noor, alittledeputationoftribesmenbrought grievances for anairing. We sat in the scantyshade of the zowia wall.M'Barak, wise man,remained by the side of alittlepoolbornof thewinter

rains; he had tethered hishorse and was sleepingpatiently in the shadow castby this long-sufferinganimal. The headman, whohad seen my sporting guns,introduced himself bysending a polite message tobeg that none of the birdsthat fluttered or brooded bythe shrinemightbe shot, forthat they were all sacred.Needless perhaps to say thatthe idea of shooting at

noonday in SouthernMorocco was far enoughfrommythoughts,andIsentback an assurance thatbrought half a dozen of thevillage notables round us assoon as lunch was over.Strangely enough, theywanted protection—but itwassoughtonaccountoftheSultan's protected subjects."The men who haveprotectionbetweenthisplaceand Djedida," declared their

spokesman, sorrowfully,"havenofearofAllahorHisProphet. They brawl in ourmarkets and rob us of ourgoods. They insult ourhouses,[14] they are withoutshame, and because of theirprotection our lives havebecomeverybitter."

"Have you been to yourBasha?"Iaskedtheheadman.

"Iwent bearing a gift inmy

hand, O Highly Favoured,"repliedtheheadman,"andheanswered me, 'Foolishfarmer, shall I bring theSultan to visit me byinterfering with these rebelsagainstAllahwhohavetakenthe protection fromNazarenes?' And then hecursed me and drove meforth from his presence. Butifyouwillgiveprotectiontous also we will face thesemisbegotten ones, and there

shall be none to comebetweenus."

I could do no more thandeliver messages ofconsolation to the poortribesmen, who sat in asemicircle, patient in thequiveringheat.Theoldstoryofgoodwillandinabilityhadtobe told again, and I neversaw men more dejected. Atthe moment of leave-taking,however, I remembered that

wehadsomeemptymineral-water bottles and a largecollection of gunmaker'scirculars, that had been usedas padding for a case ofcartridges. So I distributedthe circulars and emptybottles among the protectionhunters, and they receivedthem with wonder anddelight. When I turned totake a last look round, thepages that had pictures ofguns were being passed

reverently from hand tohand;tooutwardseemingthefarmers had forgotten theirtrouble. Thus easily maykindnesses be wroughtamong the truly simple ofthisworld.

ThemarketofSidiB'noor isfamousforitssalesofslavesand horses,[15] but Iremember it best by itsswarm of blue rock-pigeonsand sparrow-hawks, that

seemedtolivesidebysideinthe walls surrounding thesaint's white tomb. Forreasons best known tothemselves they livedwithout quarrelling, perhapsbecause the saintwas amanof peace. Surely a sparrow-hawkinourislandwouldnotbuild his nest and live inperfect amity with pigeons.But, as is well known, theinfluence of the saintlyenduresafter thefleshof the

sainthasreturnedtothedustwhenceitcame.

The difference betweenDukala and R'hamna, twoadjacent provinces, is verymarked. All that the firstenjoys the second lacks.Weleftthefertilelandsforgreatstony plains, wind-swept,bare and dry. Skeletons ofcamels, mules, and donkeystold their story of pastsufferings, and the water

supply was as scanty as theherbage upon which theR'hamna flocks fare sopoorly. In place ofprosperous douars, set inorchards amid rich arableland, therewereGovernmentn'zalas at long intervals inthewaste,withwattled huts,and lean, hungry tribesmen,whose poverty was as plainto see as their ribs. NeitherBasha nor Kaid could wellgrowfatnowinsuchaplace,

and yet there was a timewhenR'hamnawasathrivingprovinceafteritskind.Butithad a warlike people andfierce, to whom thetemptation of plundering thecaravansthatmadetheirwayto the Southern capital wasirresistible. So the CourtElevated by Allah, takingadvantage of a brief intervalof peace, turned its forcesloose against R'hamna earlyin the last decade of the

nineteenthcentury.Fromendto end of its plains thepowder "spoke," and theburning douars lighted theroads that their owners hadplundered so often. Neitherold nor young were spared,and great basketsful ofhuman heads were sent toRedMarrakesh, to be spikedupon the wall by the J'maaEffina. When the desolationwas complete from end toend of the province, the

Shareefian troops werewithdrawn, the fewremaining folk of R'hamnawere sent north and south toother provinces, the n'zalaswere established in place ofthe forgottendouars, and theElevated Court knew thatthere would be no morecomplaints. That was MulaielHassan'smethodof ruling—may Allah have pardonedhim—andhisgrandwazeer'safter him. It is perhaps the

only method that is trulyunderstood by the people inMorocco. R'hamna remindedme of the wildest andbleakest parts of Palestine,and when the Maalem saidsolemnly it was tenanted bydjinoon since theinsurrection, I felt he mustcertainlyberight.

One evening we met aninteresting procession. Anold farmer was making his

way from the jurisdiction ofthe local kaid. His "house"consisted of two wives andthree children. A camel,whose sneeringcontempt formankindwasverynoticeable,shuffled cumbrously beneatha very heavy load ofmattresses, looms, rugs,copperkettles,sacksofcorn,and other impedimenta. Thewives, veiled to the eyes,rodeonmules,eachcarryingayoungchild;thethirdchild,

aboy,walkedbyhis father'sside. The barley harvest hadnotbeengoodintheirpartofthe country, so after sellingwhat he could, the old manhad packed his goods on tothe camel's back and wasflying from the tax-gatherer.To be sure, he might meetrobbers on the way to theprovince of M'touga, whichwas his destination, but theywould do no more than thekaidofhisowndistrict;they

might even do less. He hadbeen many days upon theroad, and was quaintlyhopeful. I could not helpthinking of prosperous menone meets at home, whodeclare, in the intervals of acostly dinner, that theIncomeTax is an impositionthat justifies the strongestprotest, even to the point ofrepudiating the Governmentthatputsitupbytwopenceinthepound.Hadanybodybeen

able to assure this oldwanderer that his kaid orkhalifawouldbecontentwithhalf the produce of his land,how cheerfully would hehave returned to his nativedouar, how readily hewouldhave—devisedplanstoavoidpayment. A little later thetrack would be trodden byother families, moving, likethe true Bedouins, in searchof fresh pasture. It is thehabit of the country to leave

landtoliefallowwhenithasyieldedafewcrops.

There were days when themirage did for the plain theworkthatmanhadneglected.Itsetgreatcitiesonthewasteland as though for our solebenefit. I saw walls andbattlements,statelymosques,cool gardens, and riverswhere caravans of camelshalted for rest and water.Several times we were

deceivedandhurriedon,onlyto find that the wonder city,like theignis fatuus of ourown marshlands, receded aswe approached and finallymeltedawayaltogether.Thenthe Maalem, after takingrefugewithAllahfromSatanthe Stoned, who set falsecitiesbeforetheeyesoftiredtravellers, would revile themulesandhorsesforneedingamiragetourgethemontheway;hewouldinsult thefair

fame of their mothers andswear that their sires weresuch beasts as no Believerwould bestride. It is a factthatwhentheMaalemlashedour animals with his tonguethey made haste to improvetheir pace, if only for a fewminutes,andSalam,listeningwith an expression of someconcern at the sad familyhistoryofthebeasts—hehada stinging tongue for oathshimself—assured me that

their sense of shame hurriedthem on. Certainly no senseof shame, or duty, or evencompassion, ever moved theMaalem. By night he wouldrepairtothekitchententandsmoke kief or eat haschisch,but the troubles of preparingbeds and supper did notworryhim.

THEAPPROACHTOMARRAKESH

"Until the feast is prepared,why summon the guest," hesaid on a night when theworthyM'Barak,openinghislips for once, remonstratedwith him. That evening thefeast consistedof somesoupmade frommeat tablets, andtwo chickens purchased forelevenpence the pair, of amarketwomanwemetonthe

road. Yet if it was not thefeast the Maalem's fancypainted it, our long hours inthe open air had served tomake it more pleasant thanmanyamoreelaboratemeal.

We rode one morningthrough the valley of theLittle Hills, once a place ofunrestnotoriousbyreasonofseveral murders committedthere, and deserted now byeverything save a few birds

of prey. There were gloomyrocksonallsides,thedrybedofaforgottenriverofferedusan uncomfortable and oftenperilouspath, andwepassedseveral cairns of smallstones. The Maalem left hismule in order to pick upstones and add one to eachcairn, and as he did so hecursed Satan with greatfluency.[16]

Itwas a great relief to leave

the Little Hills and emergeon to the plains of Hillreelibeyond.Wehadnotfartogothen before the view openedout, the haze in the fardistancetookfaintshapeofacitysurroundedbyaforestofpalms on thewestern side, agreat townwith theminaretsofmanymosquesrisingfromit.At this first view of RedMarrakesh, Salam, theMaalem, and M'Barakextolled Allah, who had

renewed to themthesightofYusuf ibn Tachfin'sthousand-year-old city. Thenthey praised Sidi belAbbas,the city's patron saint, whoby reason of his love forrighteousdeedsstoodononeleg for forty years, prayingdiligentlyallthetime.

We each and all renderedpraise and thanks after ourseparate fashions, and forme, I lit my last cigarette,

careless of the future andwellpleased.

FOOTNOTES:

Asthegnatsettleshecries,"Ha b i b i , "i.e. "O mybeloved."His,onefears,isbutacarnalaffection.

I.e.Wivesandchildren,towhom no Moor refers byname.

It is said to be the largestmarket in the Sultan'sdominions. As many astwo thousandcamelshavebeencountedatoneoftheweeklygatheringshere.

The cairns are metfrequently in Morocco.Somemarktheplacefromwhich the traveller mayobtain his first view of anearcity;othersareraisedto show where a murderwascommitted.ThecairnsintheLittleHillsareofthe

formerkind.

INREDMARRAKESH

DATEPALMSNEARMARRAKESH

CHAPTERV

INREDMARRAKESH

Think,inthisbatter'dCaravanserai,WhoseportalsarealternateNightandDay,HowSultánafter

SultánwithhispompAbodehisdestinedhourandwenthisway.

TheRubáiyátofOmarKhayyám.

There are certain cities thatcannotbeapproachedforthefirsttimebyanysympathetictraveller without a sense ofsolemnityand reverence thatisnotfarremovedfromawe.Athens, Rome,

Constantinople, Damascus,and Jerusalem may be citedasexamples;each in its turnhas filled me with greatwonderanddeepjoy.Butallof these are to be reachednowadaysbytherailway,thatgreat modern purge ofsensibility.EvenJerusalemisnot exempt. A single linestretches from Jaffa by thesea to the very gates of theHolyCity, playing hide-and-seekamongthemountainsof

Judæa by the way, becausethe Turk was too poor totunneladirectpath.

In Morocco, on the otherhand, the railway is stillunknown. Hewho seeks anyof the country's inland citiesmust take horse or mule,camelordonkey,or,asalastresource, be content with astaff to aid him, and walk.Whether he fare to Fez, thecity of Mulai Idrees, in

which, an old writer assuresus, "all the beauties of theearth are united"; or toMequinez,wheregreatMulaiIsmail kept a stream ofhuman blood flowingconstantly from his palacethatallmightknowheruled;or to Red Marrakesh, whichYusuf ibnTachfin built ninehundredyearsago,—hisownexertion must convoy him.There must be days andnightsofscantfareandsmall

comfort, with all thosehundred and one happeningsof the road that make forpleasantmemories.SofarasIhavebeenable togather inthe nine years that havepassed since I first visitedMorocco, one road is likeanotherroad,unlessyouhavethe Moghrebbin Arabic atyour command and can gooff the beaten track inMoorish dress. WalterHarris, the resourceful

traveller andTimescorrespondent, did thiswhenhe sought the oases ofTafilalt, so also, in hisfashion, did R.B.Cunninghame Graham whenhe tried in vain to reachTarudant, and set out therecordofhisfailureinoneofthe most fascinating travelbooks published sinceEothen.[17]

Fortherankandfileofusthe

Government roads and theharmless necessary soldiermust suffice, until theGordian knot of Morocco'sfuturehasbeenuntiedorcut.Then perhaps, as a result ofFrench pacific penetration,flying railway trains loadedwith tourists, guide-book inhandandcameraattheready,will pierce the secret placesof the land, and men willspeakof"doing"Morocco,asthey "do" other countries in

their rush across the world,seeing all the stereotypedsightsandappreciatingnone.For the present, by Allah'sgrace, matters are quiteotherwise.

Marrakesh unfolded itsbeautiestousslowlyandoneby one as we pushed horsesandmules into a canteroverthe level plains of Hillreeli.Forests of date-palm tookdefinite shape; certain

mosques, those of Sidi benYusufandBabDukala,stoodoutclearlybeforeuswithoutthe aid of glasses, but theLibrary mosque dominatedthe landscape by reason oftheKutubiatowerbyitsside.The Atlas Mountains cameout of the clouds andrevealed the snows thatwould soon melt and setevery southern river aflood,and then the town began toshow limits to the east and

westwhere,atfirst,therewasnothingbuthaze.Oneortwocaravans passed us,northward bound, theirleaders hoping against hopethat the Pretender, the "dog-descended," as a Susi tradercalled him, would not standbetween them and theSultan's camp, where theprofitsofthejourneylay.BythistimewecouldseetheoldgreywallofMarrakeshmoreplainly,withtowershereand

there, ruinous as the wallitself,andstorks'nestsonthebattlements, their red-leggedinhabitantsfulfillingthedutyof sentries. To the right,beyond the town, the greatrock of Djebel Geelezsuggested infinitepossibilitiesindaystocome,when some conqueror armedwith modern weapons and apacific mission should wishto bombard the walls in thesacred cause of civilisation.

Thentheviewwaslostinthedate-palm forest, throughwhich tiny tributaries of theTensiftrunbabblingoverthered earth, while thekingfisher or dragon-fly, "aray of living light," flashesover the shallow water, andyoung storks take their firstlessons in the art of lookingafterthemselves.

When a Moor has amassedwealthhepraisesGod,builds

apalace,andplantsagarden;or, is suspected, accused—despotic authority is notparticular—and cast intoprison! In and roundMarrakeshmanyMoorshavegained richesandsomehaveheld them. The gardensstretch for miles. There arethe far-spreading Augdalplantations of the Sultans ofMorocco, in part public andelsewhere so private that tointrude would be to court

death. The name signifies"theMaze,"andtheyaresaidto justify it. In the outer orpublic grounds of this vastpleasaunce the fruit is soldby auction to the merchantsof the city in late spring,when blossoming time isover, and, after the sale,buyersmustwatchandguardthe trees until harvest bringsthemtheirreward.

ONTHEROADTOMARRAKESH

Werodepast the low-walledgardens, where pomegranateand apricot trees wereflowering,andstrangebirdsIdidnotknowsanginthedeepshade. Doves flitted frombranch to branch, bee-eatersdartedaboutamongmulberryand almond trees.Therewasan overpowering fragrancefrom the orange groves,

where blossom andunplucked fruit showed sidebyside;thejessaminebusheswere scarcely less fragrant.Spreading fig-trees calledevery passer to enjoy theirshade, and the little rivulets,born of the Tensift's winterfloods tosparkle through thespring and die in June,werefringed with willows. It wasdelightful to draw rein andlistentotheplashingofwaterand the cooing of doves,

while trying in vain torecognise themost exquisiteamongmanysweetscents.

Underoneof the fig-trees ina garden three Moors sat attea.Acarpetwasspread,andI caught a glimpse of thecopper kettle, the squatcharcoal brazier tended by aslave, the quaint little cofferfilled no doubt with finegreen tea, the porcelain dishof cakes. It was a quite

pleasing picture, at which,had courtesy permitted, Iwould have enjoyed morethanabriefglance.

TheclaimoftheMoorsuponoursympathyandadmirationismadegreaterby reasonoftheir love for gardens. As amatteroffact, theirdevotionmay be due in part to theprofit yielded by the fruit,butonecouldaffordtoforgetthat fact for the time being,

when Nature seemed to begivingpraisetotheMasterofall seasons for the goodlygiftsofthespring.

WecrossedtheTensiftbythebridge,oneoftheveryfewtobe found in SouthernMorocco. Ithasnearly thirtyarches, all dilapidated as thecity walls themselves, yetpossessing their curious giftof endurance. Even thenatives realise that their

bridge is crumbling intouselessness, after nearlyeightcenturiesofservice,butthey do no more than shrugtheir shoulders, as though tocast off the burden ofresponsibility and give it todestiny. On the outskirts ofthe town,where gardens endandopenmarket-squaresleadtothegates,asmallgroupofchildren gathered to watchthestrangerswithaninterestinwhichfearplayeditspart.

We waited now to see thebaggage animals before us,andthenM'Barakledthewaypastthemosqueatthesideofthe Bab el Khamees andthrough the brass-covereddoors that were brought bythe Moors from Spain.Within the Khamees gate,narrow streets withwindowless walls frowningon either side shut out allview, save that which layimmediatelybeforeus.

AMINSTREL

No untrained eye can followthe winding maze of streetsinMarrakesh, and it is fromthe Moors we learn that thetown, like ancient Gaul ofCæsar ' sCommentaries, hasthree well defined divisions.The Kasbah is the officialquarter, where the soldiersand governing officials havetheir home, and the prison

called Hib Misbah receivesall evil-doers, and menwhose luck is ill. TheMadinah is the generalMoorish quarter, andembraces the Kaisariyah orbazaar district, where thestreets are parallel, wellcleaned, thatched with palmand palmetto against thelight,andbarredwithachainat either end to keep theanimals from entering. TheMellah (literally "salted

place") is the third greatdivisionofMarrakesh,andisthe Jewish quarter. In thisdistrict,orjustbeyondit,area few streets that seemreserved to the descendantsof Mulai Ismail's blackguards,fromwhomourword"blackguard" should havecome to us, but did not.Within these divisionsstreets, irregular andwithouta name, turn and twist inmanner most bewildering,

until none saveold residentsmayhope toknow theirwayabout. Pavements areunknown, drainage is in itsmost dangerous infancy, therainy season piles mud inevery direction, and, asthough to test the principleembodied in thehomoeopathic theory, theMarrakshisheap rubbishandrefuse in every street, whereit decomposes until theenlightened authorities who

dwell in theKasbah think togive orders for its removal.Thencertainmensetoutwithdonkeys and carry thesweepings of the guttersbeyond the gates.[18] ThisworkistakenseriouslyintheMadinah,butintheMellahitis shamefully neglected, andI have ridden throughwholestreets in the last-namedquartersearchingvainlyforaplacecleanenoughtopermit

of dismounting. Happily, orunhappily, as you will, theinhabitants are inured frombirth toastateof things thatmust cause the weaklings topay heavy toll to Death, theLordwhorulesevenSultans.

I had little thought to sparefor such matters as we rodeinto Marrakesh for the firsttime. The spell of the citywas overmastering. It iscertainly the most African

city in Morocco to-day,almost the last survivor ofthechangesthatbeganinthelatter half of the nineteenthcentury,andhavebroughttheDark Continent from end toend within the sphere ofEuropean influence. Fez andMequinez are cities of fairmen, while here on everyside one recognised theinfluence of the Soudan andthe countrybeyond thegreatdesert. Not only have the

wives and concubinesbrought from beyond thegreat sand sea darkened theskinofthepresentgenerationof the Marrakshis, but theyhave given tomost if not toall a suggestion ofrelationship to the negroracesthatisnottobeseeninanyotherMoorishcityIhavevisited.Itisnotasuggestionof fanaticism or intolerance.By their action as well astheir appearance one knew

most of the passers forfriends rather than enemies.They would gratify theircuriosity at our expense aswe gratified ours at theirs,convinced that allEuropeansareharmless,uncivilisedfolkfromafarland,wherepeoplesmoke tobacco, drink wine,suffertheirwomen-folktogounveiled,andlivewithouttheTrueFaith.

Marrakesh, like all other

inlandcitiesofMorocco,hasneitherhotelnorguest-house.Itboastssomelargefandaks,notably that of Hadj Larbi,where the caravans from thedesertsendtheirmerchandiseand chief merchants, but nosaneEuropeanwillchoosetoseek shelter in a fandak inMorocco unless there is nobetter place available. Thereare clean fandaks in SunsetLand, but they are few andyou must travel far to find

them. I had letters to thechief civilian resident ofMarrakesh, Sidi Boubikir,British Political Agent,millionaire, land-owner,financier, builder of palaces,politician, statesman, andfriendofallEnglishmenwhoarewellrecommendedtohiscare.Ihadheardmuchoftheclever old Moor, who wasborn in very poorsurroundings,startedlifeasacameldriver, and is now the

wealthiestandmostpowerfulunofficial resident inSouthern Morocco, if not inall the Moghreb, so I badeM'Barak find him withoutdelay. The first personquestioneddirectedustooneofBoubikir'sfandaks,andbyits gate, in a narrow lane,where camels jostled thecamp-mulesuntiltheynearlyfoundered in the underlyingfilth,wefoundthecelebratedmansittingwithintheporch,

onanoldpacking-case.

He looked up for a briefmoment when the kaiddismounted and handed himmy letter, and I saw a long,closely-shaven face, lightedby a pair of grey eyes thatseemed much younger thanthe head inwhich theywereset,andperfectlyinscrutable.Hereadtheletter,whichwasin Arabic, from end to end,and then gave me stately

greeting.

"You are very welcome," hesaid. "My house and all itholdsareyours."

I replied that we wantednothing more than a modestshelter for the days of oursojourn in the city. Henodded.

"Hadyouadvisedmeofyourvisit in time," he said, "mybest house should have been

prepared. Now I will sendwith you my steward, whohas the keys of all myhouses. Choose which youwillhave."Ithankedhim,thesteward appeared, a stout,well-favoured man, whosedjellaba was finer than hismaster's. Sidi Boubikirpointed to certain keys, andat a word several servantsgathered about us. The oldman said that he rejoiced toserve the friend of his

friends, and would lookforward to seeingme duringour stay. Then we followedintoanill-seeminglane,nowgrowingdarkwiththefallofevening.

We turned down an alleymoremuddythantheonejustleft behind, passed under anarch by a fruit stall with acoveringoftatteredpalmetto,caught a brief glimpse of amosque minaret, and heard

the mueddin calling theFaithfultoeveningprayer.Intheshadowofthemosque,atthecornerofthehigh-walledlane, there was a heavymetal-studded door. Thesteward thrust a key into itslock,turnedit,andwepasseddownapassage intoanopenpatio. It was a silent place,beyondthereachofthestreetechoes; there were fourrooms built round the patioonthegroundfloor,andthree

orfourabove.Onesideofthetower of the minaret wasvisible from the courtyard,butapart from that theplacewas nowhere overlooked. Tobesure,itwasverydirty,butIhadanideathatthestewardhad brought hismen out forbusiness, not for an eveningstroll,soIbadeSalamassurehimthatthisplace,knowntothe Marrakshis as Dar alKasdir,[19] would serve our

purposes.

A thundering knock at thegateannouncedavisitor,oneofSidiBoubikir'seldersons,acivil,kindly-lookingMoor,whose face inspiredconfidence. Advised of ourchoice he suggested weshouldtakeastrollwhilethemencleanedandpreparedthepatio and the rooms openingupon it. Then the mules,resting for the time in his

father's fandak, would bringtheir burdens home, and wecould enjoy our well-earnedrest.

ONEOFTHECITYGATES

We took this good counsel,and on our return an hourlater, a very completetransformation had beeneffected. Palmetto brooms,and water brought from anadjacent well, had made thefloor look clean and clear.The warmth of the air haddried everything, the pack-mules had been relieved of

their load and sent back tothe stable.Two littleearthenbraziersfullofcharcoalwereglowing merrily under theinfluenceof thebellows thatM'Barak wielded skilfully,andtwoearthenjarsofwaterwith palm leaves for corkshad been brought in by ourhost's servants. In anotherhour the camp beds wereunpackedandmadeup,arugwassetonthebedroomfloor,andthelittletableandchairs

wereputinthemiddleofthepatio.FromthealcovewhereSalam squatted behind thetwin fires came the pleasantscentofsupper;M'Barak,hiswell-belovedgunathis side,sat silent and thoughtful inanother corner, and the tinyclay bowl of the Maalem'slong wooden kief pipe wascomfortablyaglow.

There was a timid knock atthe door, the soldier opened

itandadmittedtheshareef.Ido not know his name norwhence he came, but hewalked up to Salam, greetedhim affectionately, andofferedhisserviceswhilewewere in the city. Twentyyears old perhaps, at anoutside estimate, very talland thinandpoorlyclad, theshareef was not the leastinteresting figure I met inMarrakesh. A shareef is asaint inMoroccoas inevery

other country of Islam, andhistitleimpliesdescentfromMohammed.Hemaybeverypoor indeed, but he is moreorlessholy,devoutmenkissthe hem of his djellaba, nomatterhowdirtyorraggeditmaybe, andnonemaycursea shareef's ancestors, for theProphetwasoneofthem.Hisyouthful holiness had knownSalaminFez,andhadcaughtsight of him by Boubikir'sfandakintheearlyafternoon.

Salam,himselfachief inhisown land, though fallen onevil days then and on worseones since, welcomed thenewcomer and brought hisoffer to me, adding thesignificant information thatthe young shareef, who wastoo proud to beg, had nottasted food in thepast forty-eight hours. He had thenowed ameal to someMoor,who,followingawell-knowncustom, had set a bowl of

food outside his house toconciliate devils. I acceptedtheprofferedservice,andhadno occasion to regret myaction.TheyoungMoorwasnever in the way and neverout of the way, he wentcheerfully on errands to allpartsof thecity, fetchedandcarried without complaint,and yet never lost thesplendid dignity that seemedto justify his claim tosaintship.

So we took our ease in theopen patio, and the shareef'slongfastwasbroken,andthestars came to the aid of ourlanterns, and when supperwas over I was well contentto sit and smoke, whileSalam, M'Barak, theMaalem, and the shareef satsilent round the glowingcharcoal,perhapstootiredtotalk. It was very pleasant tofeel at home after two orthree weeks under canvas

below Mediunah and alongthesouthernroad.

The Maalem rose at last,somewhat unsteadily afterhis debauch of kief. Hemoved to where ourprovisions were stocked andtook oil and bread from thestore. Then he sought thecorner of the wall by thedoorway and poured out alittle oil and scatteredcrumbs, repeating the

performanceatthefarendofthepatio.Thisdutydone,hebade Salam tell me that itwas a peace-offering to thesoulsofthedepartedwhohadinhabited this house beforewe came to it. I apprehendtheymighthaveresented thepresence of the Infidel hadtheynotbeensoothedby theMaalem's little attention.Hewas ever a firm believer indjinoon, and exorcised themwithunfailingregularity.The

abuse he heaped on Satanmust have added largely tothe burden of sorrows underwhich we are assured thefallen angel carries out hisappointedwork.Hehadbeenprofuse in his prayers andcurses when we entered thebarren pathway of the LittleHills behind the plains ofHillreeli, and there weretimes when I had felt quitesorry for Satan. Oblationoffered to the house spirits,

the Maalem asked for hismoney, the half due at thejourney's end, sober enough,despite thekief, tocount thedollars carefully, and makehis farewell with courteouseloquence. Ipartedwithhimwithnolittleregret,andlookforwardwithkeenpleasuretothedaywhenIshallsummonhim once again from thebakehouse of Djedida tobringhismulesandguidemeover the open road,

perchance to somedestination more remote. Ithinkhewillcomewillingly,andthatthejourneywillbeahappyone.The shareefdrewthe heavy bolt behind theMaalem, and we sought ourbeds.

Itwasabriefnight'srest.Thevoice of the mueddin,chanting the call to prayerand the Shehad,[20] rousedme again, refreshed. The

night was passing; even asthe sonorous voice of theunseen chanted his inspiring"Allah Akbar," it wasyielding place to themoments when "the Wolf-tail[21] sweeps the palingeast."

I looked out of my littleroom that opened on to thepatio.Thearchofheavenwasswept and garnished, andfrom "depths blown clear of

cloud" great stars wereshining whitely. The breezeof early morning stirred,penetrating our barred outergates, and bringing a subtlefragrance from thebeflowered groves that liebeyond the city. It had afreshness that demandedfrom one, in tones tooseductive for denial, promptaction. Moreover, we hadbeen rising before daylightfor some days past in order

that we might cover arespectable distance beforethe Enemy should begin toblaze intolerably above ourheads, commanding us toseek the shade of somechance fig-tree or saint'stomb.

So I roused Salam, andtogether we drew thecreaking bolts, bringing thekaid tohis feetwith a jump.Therewasplentyof timefor

explanation, because healways carried his gun, atbest a harmless weapon, inthe old flannel case securedby half a dozen pieces ofstring,withknots thatdefiedhaste.Hewarnedusnottogoout, since the djinoon werealways abroad in the streetsbefore daylight; but, seeingour minds set, he bolted thedoor upon us, as though tokeep them from the Dar alKasdir, and probably

returnedtohisslumbers.

ABLINDBEGGAR

Beyond the house, in a faintglow thatwasalreadypalingthe stars, the African city,well-nigh a thousand yearsold, assumed its mostmysterious aspect. The highwalls on either side of theroads, innocentof casementsas of glass, seemed, in theuncertain light, to be tintedwith violet amid their dull

grey. The silence wascompleteandweird.Neveracry from man or beastremoved the first impressionthat this was a city of thedead. The entrances of thebazaars in theKaisariyah, towhichweturned,werebarredand bolted, their guardianssat motionless, covered inwhite djellabas, that lookedlikeshrouds.Thecity'ssevengates were fast closed,though doubtless there were

long files of camels andmarketmenwaitingpatientlywithout. The great mansionsofthewazeersandthegreen-tiledpalaceofMulaiAbd-el-Aziz—OurVictoriousMasterthe Sultan—seemedunsubstantialasoneof thosecitiesthatthemiragehadsetbefore us in the heart of theR'hamna plains. Salam, theuntutored man from the farRiffcountry,feltthespellofthe silent morning hour. It

was a primitive appeal, towhichherespondedinstantly,moving quietly by my sidewithoutaword.

"Omymasters,givecharity;Allahhelpshelpers!"Ablindbeggar, sitting by the gate,likeBartimæusofold, thrusthiswitheredhandbeforeme.Lightly though we hadwalked, his keen ear hadknown the difference insound between the native

slipper and the Europeanboot.Ithadrousedhimfromhis slumbers, and he hadcalculated the distance sonicely that the hand,suddenly shot out, was wellwithinreachofmine.Salam,my almoner, gave him ahandfulofthecoppermoney,calledfloos,ofwhichascoremaybeworthapenny,andhesank back in his uneasy seatwith voluble thanks, not tous,buttoAllahtheOne,who

hadbeenpleased tomoveusto work his will. To me nothanks were due. I was nomore than Allah's unworthymedium, condemned to burnin fires seven times heated,forunbelief.

From their home on the flathouse-tops two storks rosesuddenly,asthoughtoheraldthe dawn; the sun becamevisibleabovethecity's time-worn walls, and turned their

colouringfromviolettogold.Weheardtheguardsdrawingthe bars of the gate that iscalled Bab al Khamees, andknew that the daily life ofMarrakesh had begun. Thegreatbirdsmighthavegiventhesignalthatwokethetowntoactivity.

Straightway men and beastsmade their way through thenarrow cobbled lanes.Sneering camels, so bulked

out by their burdens that afoot-passenger must shrinkagainst the wall to avoid abadbruising;well-fedhorses,carrying some early-risingMoor of rank on the top ofseven saddle-cloths; half-starved donkeys, all soresandbruises;oneencounteredevery variety of Moorishtraffic here, and thethoroughfare, that had beendeserted a moment before,was soon thronged. In

addition to the Moors andSusitraders,thereweremanyslaves,blackascoal,broughtin times past from theSoudan. From garden andorchard beyond the city thefruit and flowers andvegetableswerebeingcarriedintotheirrespectivemarkets,and as they passed the airgrew suddenly fragrant witha scent that was almostintoxicating. The garbagethat lay strewn over the

cobbles had no more powerto offend, and the freshscents added in some queerfashion of their own to theunrealityofthewholescene.

Toavoidthecrushweturnedtoanotherquarterofthecity,noting that the gates of thebazaars were opened, andthatonlythechainswereleftacross the entrance. But thetiny shops, mere overgrownpacking-cases, were still

locked up; the merchants,who are of higher rank thanthe dealers in food-stuffs,seldomappearbeforethedayis aired, and their busiesthours are in the afternoon,when the auction is held."CustomisfromAllah,"theysay,and,stronginthisbelief,they hold that time is onlyvaluableasleisure.And,Godwot, theymaywell bewiserhereinthanweare.

A demented countryman,respectedasasaintbyreasonof his madness, a thing ofragsandtattersandwoefullyunkempt hair, a quite wildcreature, more than six feethigh, and gaunt as alightning-smitten pine, camedown the deserted bazaar ofthebrass-workers.Hecarrieda long staff in one hand, abright tin bowl in the other.The sight of a Europeanheightened his usual frenzy

—

Acrosshisseaofmind

Athoughtcamestreaminglikeablazingship

Uponamightywind.

Isawthesinewsstandoutonthebarearmthatgrippedthestaff, and his bright eyeswere soon fixed upon me.

"You do not say words tohim, sir," whispered Salam;"he do'n knowwhat he do—heveryholyman."

The madman spat on myshadow, and cursedprofoundly,whilehispassionwas mastering him. I notedwith interest in thatuncomfortable moment theclear signs of his epileptictendencies, the twitching ofthe thumb that grasped the

stick,therigidityofthebody,the curious working ofcertain facial muscles. Istood perfectly still, thoughmy right hand involuntarilysoughtthepocketofmycoatwhere my revolver lay, theuse of which save in direstnecessityhadbeenamadandwicked act; and then twopeace-loving Moors, whoseblue selhams of fineManchesterclothproclaimedtheir wealth and station,

came forward and drew thefrenzied creature away, verygently and persuasively. He,poor wretch, did not knowwhat was taking place, butmovedhelplesslytothedoorof the bazaar and then fell,hisfituponhim.Ihurriedon.Moors are kindly, aswell asrespectful, to those afflictedofAllah.

WepassedonourwaytotheBab Dukala, the gate that

opens out upon Elhara, theleper quarter. There wecaught our morning view ofthe forest of date-palm thatgirdles the town. Moors saythat in centuries long pastMarrakesh was besieged bythe men of Tafilalt, whobrought dates for food, andcastthestonesontheground.The rain buried them, theTensift nourished them, andto-day they crowd round IbnTachfin's ruinous city, 'their

feet inwater and their headsin fire.' 'Tis an agreeablelegend.

AWANDERINGMINSTREL

Market men, half naked andvery lean, were coming infromTamsloht andAmsmiz,guiding their heavy-ladendonkeys past the crumblingwalls and the steep valleythat separates Elhara fromthe town. Some scores oflepershadleft theirquarters,a few hiding terribledisfigurement under great

straw hats, others quitecareless of their deplorabledisease. Beggars all, theywere going on their dailyjourney to the shrine of Sidibel Abbas, patron of thedestitute, tosit therebeneaththezowia'samplewalls,hidetheirheads in their rags,andcry upon the passers toremember them for the sakeof the saint who had theirwelfare so much at heart.And with the closing of the

daytheywouldbedrivenoutof the city, and back intowalledElhara, tosuchof themud huts as they calledhome. Long acquaintancewith misery had made themcareless of it. They shuffledalong as though they weregoing to work, but frommyshadedcorner,whereIcouldsee without being seen, Inoted no sign of conversebetweenthem,andeveryfacethat could be studied was

stampedwith the impress ofunendingmisery.

The scene around us wasexquisite. Far away one sawthesnow-cappedpeaksoftheAtlas; hawks and swallowssailed to and from Elhara'swalls; doves were cooing inthe orchards, bee-eatersflitted lightly amid thepalms. I found myselfwondering if the lepers everthoughttocontrasttheirlives

withtheirsurroundings,andItrusted they did not. Somefew, probably, had not beenlepers, but criminals, whopreferredthehorridlibertyofElhara to the chance ofdetectionandthelivingdeathof the Hib Misbah. Otherbeggars were not reallylepers,butsufferedfromoneor other of the kindreddiseasesthatwasteMorocco.In Marrakesh the nativedoctorsarenotonany terms

with skilled diagnosis, andonce a man ventures intoElhara, he acquires areputation for leprosy thatserves his purpose. Iremember inquiring of aMoorishdoctorthetreatmentof a certain native's case."Who shall arrest Allah'sdecree?" he beganmodestly.And he went on to say thatthebestwaytotreatanopenwound was to put powderedsulphur upon it, and apply a

light.[22] Horrible as thisremedy seems, the worthydoctorbelievedinit,andhadsentmanyaTrueBelieverto—Paradise, I hope—bytreating him on these lines.Meanwhile his profoundconfidence in himself,together with his knowledgeand free use of the Koran,kept hostile criticism atbay.[23]

Weturnedbackintothecity,

to see it in another aspect.Therapidriseofthesunhadcalled the poorer workers totheirdailytasks;buyerswerecongregating round themarketstallsofthedealersinmeat, bread, vegetables, andfruit.WithperpetualgracetoAllah for his gift of custom,thestall-keeperswerepartingwiththeirwaresatpricesfarbelow anything that ruleseveninthecoasttownsoftheSultan'scountry.Theabsence

ofmyLordAbd-el-Aziz andhiscourthadtendedtolowerrates considerably. It washard to realise that, whilefoodcostsolittle,therewerehundreds of men, women,and children within the cityto whom one good meal aday was something almostunknown. Yet this wascertainlythecase.

Towering above the otherbuyers were the trusted

slaves of the wazeers inresidence—tall negroes fromthe far South for the mostpart—hideous men, whoseblack faces were made themore black by contrast withtheir white robes. Theymovedwithacertainsenseofdignityandpridethroughtheranks of the hungry freemenround them; clearly theywere well contented withtheir lot—a curiouscommentary upon the

European notions of slavery—based, to be sure, uponEuropean methods in regardto it. The whole formed amarvellous picture, and howthe pink roses, the fresh,green mint and thyme, theorange flowers and otherblossoms, sweetened thenarrowways,garbage-strewnunder foot and roofedoverheadwithdriedleavesofthepalm!

FOOTNOTES:

"Moghreb-al-Acksa."

Streetcleanersarepaidoutof the proceeds of a taxderivedfromtheslaughterof cattle, and the tax isknown to Moorishbutchers by a termsignifying "floos of thethroat."

I.e.TheTinHouse.

DeclarationofFaith.

Thefalsedawn.

The SultanMulaz-Abd-el-Aziz was once treated forpersistent headache by aMoorish practitioner. Thewise man's medicineexploded suddenly, andHisMajesty had a narrowescape. I do not knowwhether the practitionerwasequallyfortunate.

Thedoctorsandmagiciansof Morocco have alwaysbeen famous throughoutthe East. Nearly all the

medicine men of theThousand Nights and aNight including the uncleof Aladdin, are from theMoghreb.

ROUNDABOUT

MARRAKESH

CHAPTERVI

ROUNDABOUTMARRAKESH

"Speaking of theecomforts me, andthinking of thee makesmeglad."

—RâodelKartas.

The charm of Marrakeshcomesslowlytothetraveller,but itstayswithhimalways,and colours his impressionsof such other cities as mayattract his wanderingfootsteps. So soon as he hasleft the plains behind on hisway to the coast, the town'sdefects are relegated to thebackgroundofthepicturehismemory paints. He forgetsthe dirty lanes that serve forroads, the heaps of refuse at

every corner, thepariah cursthathowledorsnappedathishorse's heels when he rodeabroad, the roughness anddiscomfort of theaccommodation, the povertyand disease that everywherewent hand in hand aroundhim.

But he remembers andalways will remember thecity in its picturesqueaspects. How can he forget

Moorish hospitality, solavishly exercised in patioswhere the hands of architectand gardener meet—thosedelightful gatherings offriends whose surroundingsare recalled when he sees,evenintheworldoftheWest—

Groupsunderthedreaminggardentrees,Andthefullmoon,andthewhiteeveningstar.

He will never forget theKutubia tower flanking themosque of the Library, withits three glittering balls thatare solidgold, ifyoucare tobelieve the Moors (and whoshouldknowbetter!), thoughthe European authoritiesdeclare they are but gildedcopper. He will hear, acrossallinterveningseaandlands,the sonorous voices of thethree blind mueddins whocallTrueBelievers toprayer

from the adjacent minarets.Bythesideofthetower,thatis a landmark almost fromR'hamna's far corner to theAtlas Mountains, Yusuf ibnTachfin, who builtMarrakesh, enjoys his long,last sleep in a graveunnoticedandunhonouredbythe crowds of men fromstrange, far-off lands, whopass it everyday.Yet, if theconquerorofFezandtroublerofSpaincouldrisefromnine

centuries of rest, he wouldfind but little change in thecityhesetontheredplainintheshadowofthemountains.The walls of his creationremain: even the brokenbridge over the river dates,men say, from his time, andcertainly the faithandworksofthepeoplehavenotalteredgreatly. Caravans still fetchand carry from Fez in thenorth to Timbuctoo and thebanks of the Niger, or reach

the Bab-er-rubb with goldandivoryandslavesfromtheeasternoases,thatFrancehasalmost sealedup.The saints'housesare therestill, thoughthe old have yielded to thenew.Storksareprivileged,asfrom earliest times, to buildon the flat roofs of the cityhouses, and, therefore, arestill besought by amorousnatives to carry love'sgreeting to the women whotake their airing on the

house-tops in the afternoon.Berber from the highlands;black man from the Draa;wiry, lean, enduring traderfrom Tarudant and othercities of the Sus; patientfrugalSaharowifromtheseaofsand,—nooneofthemhasalteredgreatlysincethedaysof the renownedYusuf.Andwho but he among the menwhobuiltgreatcitiesindaysbefore Saxon and NormanhadmetatSenlac,couldlook

to find his work so littlescarredbytime,ordisguisedby change? Twelve miles oframpart surround the citystill, if we include the wallsthat guard the Sultan's mazegarden, and seven of themanygatesIbnTachfinkneware swung open to the dawnofeachdaynow.

After the Library mosque,with its commanding towerand modest yet memorable

tomb, the travellerremembers the Sultan'spalace, white-walled, green-tiled,vast,imposing;andthelesser mosque of Sidi belAbbas, towhom the beggarspray,foritissaidofhimthathe knew God. The city'shospital stands beside thisgood man's grave.And hereonepaystributealsotogreatMulaiAbd elKader Ijjilalli,yetanothersaintwhosenameis very piously invoked

amongthepoor.ThemosquebytheDukalagateisworthyof note, and earns thesalutationofallwhocomebyway of R'hamna toMarrakesh. The Kaisariyahlingers in the memory, andon hot days in the plains,whenshadeisfartoseek,onerecalls a fine fountain withthe legend "drink andadmire," where the water-carriers fill their goat-skinsand all beggars congregate

duringthehoursoffire.

The Mellah, in which thetownJewslive,isreachedbywayoftheOliveGarden.Itisthe dirtiest part ofMarrakesh, and, all thingsconsidered, the leastinteresting. The lanes thatrun between its high wallsarefullofindescribablefilth;comparisonwiththemmakesthe streets of Madinah andKasbah almost clean. One

result of the dirt is seen inthe prevalence of a veryvirulent ophthalmia, fromwhichthreeoutoffouroftheMellah's inhabitants seem tosuffer, slightly or seriously.Few adults appear to takeexercise, unless they arecalled abroad to trade, andwhen business is in a badway the misery is very realindeed.Askilledworkmanispleased to earn the nativeequivalent of fourteenpence

for a day's labour, beginningat sunrise, and on thismiserable pittance he cansupport a wife and family.Low wages and poor living,added to centuries ofoppression, have made theMorocco Jew of the towns apitiable creature; but on thehills, particularly among theAtlas villages, the People ofthe Book are healthy,athletic,andresourceful,abletousehandsaswellashead,

and the trusted intermediarybetween Berber hillman andtownMoor.

AGATEWAY

Being of the ancient racemyself, I was received inseveraloftheshow-housesofthe Mellah—places whosesplendidinteriorswerenotatall suggested by the squalidsurroundings in which theywere set. This is typical tosome extent of all houses inMorocco, even in the coasttowns, and greatly misleads

theglobe-trotter.Therewasafinecarvingandcolouringinmany rooms, but theEuropean furniture was, forthemost part,wrongly used,andatbestgrotesquelyoutofplace. Hygiene has notpassed within the Mellah'swalls,butacertainamountofWestern tawdriness has.Patriarchal Jews of goodstature and commandingpresence had their dignityhopelessly spoilt by the big

blue spotted handkerchiefworn over the head and tiedunder the chin; Jewesses inrich apparel seemed quitecontent with the finenesswithin their houses, andindifferent tothemireof thestreets.

I visited three synagogues,one in a private house. Theapproaches were in everycase disgusting, but thesynagogues themselves were

well kept, very old, anddecorated with rare andcurious memorial lamps,kept alight for the deadthrough the year ofmourning.The bencheswereofwood,withstrawmatsforcover;therewasnoplaceforwomen, and the seatsthemselves seemed to be setdown without attempt atarrangement. The brassworkwas old and fine, the scrollsoftheLawwereveryancient,

but there was no sign ofwealth, and little decoration.In the courtyard of the chiefsynagogue I found school-work in progress. Half ahundred intelligentyoungsters were repeatingthe master's words, just asMohammedan boys weredoing in the Madinah, buteven among these little onesophthalmia was playinghavoc, and doubtless thedisease would pass from the

unsound to the sound.Cleanlinesswould stampoutthis trouble in a very littletime, and preserve healthychildren from infection.Unfortunately, theadministrationofthisMellahisexceedinglybad,andthereisnoreasontobelievethatitwillimprove.

When the Elevated Court isatMarrakeshthedemandforworkhelpstheJewishquarter

tothrive,butsincetheSultanwent toFez theheadsof theMellah seem to be reluctantto lay out even a fewshillings daily to have theplace kept clean. There areno statistics to tell the pricethatispaidinhumanlifeforthis shocking neglect of theelementary decencies, but itmustbeaheavyone.

Business premises seemclean enough, though the

approach to them couldhardly be less inviting. Youenterabigcourtyard,and, ifwise, remain on your horseuntilwell clearof the street.The courtyard is wide andcaredfor,anenlargededitionof a patio, with big store-rooms on either side andstabling or a granary. Herealsoisabureau,inwhichthemaster sits in receipt ofcustom, and deals in greenteathathascomefromIndia

viaEngland,andwhitesugarinbigloaves,andcoffeeandother merchandise. He isbuyerandselleratonce,nowdealing with a native whowants tea, and now with anAtlasJewwhohasanouadadskin or a rug to sell; nowtalking Shilha, the languageof the Berbers, now theMoghrebbin Arabic of theMoors, and again debasedSpanish or Hebrew with hisown brethren. He has a

watchful eye for all thedevelopments that the daymay bring, and whileattending to buyer or sellercan take note of all hisservants are doing at thestores,andwhat isgoingoutorcomingin.Yourmerchantof the better class hascommercial relations withManchester or Liverpool; hehas visited England andFrance; perhaps some olive-skinned, black-eyed boy of

his has been sent to anEnglish school to get thewiderviewsoflifeandfaith,and return to the Mellah toshock his father with both,and tobeshocked in turnbymuch in the home life thatpassed uncriticised before.Thesethingsleadtodomestictragedies at times, and yetneithersonnorfatherisquitetoblame.

The best class of Jew in the

Mellah has ideas and ideals,butoutsidetheconductofhisbusiness he lacks initiative.He believes most firmly inthefutureoftheJewishrace,the ultimate return toPalestine, the advent of theMessiah. Immersed in thesebeliefs, he does not see dirtcollecting in the streets andkillinglittlechildrenwiththediseases it engenders.Gradually the grime settlesonhisfaithtoo,andheloses

sight of everything savecommercial ends and theobservances that orthodoxydemands.His,onefears, isaquite hopeless case. Theattention of philanthropymight well turn to the littleones,however.Fortheirsakesomeofthematerialbenefitsofmodernknowledgeshouldbe brought to Jewry inMarrakesh. Schools areexcellent,butchildrencannotlivebyschoollearningalone.

Going from the Mellah onemorning I saw a strangesight.By the entrance to thesalted place there is a pieceof bare ground stretching tothe wall. Here sundry youngJewsinblackdjellabassatattheir ease, their long haircurled over their ears, andblack caps on their heads inplace of the handkerchiefsfavouredbytheeldersof thecommunity. One or twowomen were coming from

the Jewish market, theirbrightdressesanduncoveredfaces a pleasing contrast tothe white robes andfeatureless aspect of theMoorish women. A littleMoorish boy, seeing meregard them with interest,remarked solemnly, "Theregothosewhowillneverlookupon the face of God'sprophet," and then a shareef,whose portion in Paradisewas of course reserved to

him by reason of his highdescent, rode into the openground from the Madinah. Iregret to record the fact thatthe holy man was drunk,whether upon haschisch orthe strong waters of theinfidel,Iknownot,andtoalloutwardseeminghisholinessalonesufficedtokeephimonthebackofthespiritedhorsehe bestrode. He went verynear to upsetting a store offreshvegetablesbelongingto

a True Believer, and thennearly crushed an old managainst the wall. He raisedhisvoice,butnottopray,andthepeopleroundhimwereinsore perplexity. He was tooholy to removeby force andtoodrunktopersuade,sothecrowd, realising that he wasdivinely directed, raised asudden shout. This served.Thehot-bloodedBarbmadearushforthearcadeleadingtotheMadinah and carried the

drunken saint with him,cursing at the top of hisvoice, but sticking to hisunwieldy saddle in mannerthatwas admirable and trulyMoorish. If he had not beenholyhewouldhavebeentornfromhishorse,and,innativespeech, would have "eatenthestick,"fordrunkennessisa grave offence in orthodoxMorocco.

ACOURTYARD

They have a short way withoffendersinMoorishcities.Iremember seeing a manbrought to the Kasbah of anortherntownonachargeofusing false measures. Thecasewas held proven by thekhalifa; the culprit wasstripped to the waist,mounted on a lame donkey,and driven through the

streets, while two stalwartsoldiers, armed with sticks,beathimuntil hedropped totheground.Hewaspickedupmore dead than alive, andthrownintoprison.

Therearetwosortsofmarketin Marrakesh—the openmarketoutsidethewalls,andthe auction market in theKaisariyah. The latter opensin the afternoon, by whichtimeeverylittleboxlikeshop

is tenanted by its proprietor.Howheclimbsintohisplacewithout upsetting his stores,and how, arrived there, hecan sit for hours withoutcramp, are questions I havenever been able to answer,though I have watched himscores of times. He comeslate in the day to his shop,letsdownoneofthecoveringflaps, and takes his seat bythe step inside it. The otherflap has been raised and is

kept up by a stick. Seatedcomfortably, he looks withdispassionate eye upon thegathering stream of lifebefore him, and waitscontentedly until it shallpleaseAllah theOne tosendcustom. Sometimes heoccupieshis timeby readingin the Perspicuous Book; onrare occasions he will leavehis little nest and makedignifiedway to the shop ofanadoolorscribe,whoreads

pious writings to a selectcompanyofdevotees. In thisway themorningpasses, andin the afternoon the martbecomes crowded, countryMoors riding right up to theentrance chains, and leavingtheir mules in the charge ofslaves who haveaccompanied them on foot.Town buyers and countrybuyers,withamiscellaneousgathering of tribesmen fromfar-off districts, fill the

bazaar, and then themerchantshandcertaingoodsto dilals, as the auctioneersarecalled.Thecrowddivideson either side of the bazaar,leaving a narrow lane downthecentre,andthedilalsrushup and down with theirwares,—linen, cotton andsilk goods, carpets, skins orbrassware, native daggersand pistols, saddles andsaddle-cloths. The goodsvary in every bazaar. The

dilalannouncesthelastpriceoffered;amanwhowishestobuymustraiseit,and,ifnonewillgobetter,hesecuresthebargain.Acommissiononallgoods sold is taken at thedoor of the market by themunicipal authorities. Inotice on these afternoonsthe different aspects of thethree classes represented inthe bazaar. Shopkeepers andthe officials by the gatedisplay no interest at all in

the proceedings: they mightbe miles from the scene, sofarastheirattitudeisaclue.Thedilals,ontheotherhand,are in furious earnest. Theyrun up and down the narrowgangwayproclaimingthelastprice at the top of theirvoices, thrusting the goodseagerly into the hands ofpossible purchasers, andalwaysrememberingthefaceandpositionof themanwhomadethelastbid.Theyhave

a small commission on thepriceofeverything sold, andassuredly they earn theirwage. In contrast with theattitudesofbothshopkeepersand auctioneers, the generalpublic is inclined to regardthe bazaar as a place ofentertainment. Beggar lads,whose scanty rags constitutetheir sole possession, chaffthe excited dilals, keepingcarefully out of harm's waythe while. Three-fourths of

the people present are thereto idle the afternoon hours,withnointentionofmakingapurchase unless someunexpected bargain crossestheir path. I notice that thedilalssecureseveralof thesedoubtful purchasers by dintof fluent and eloquentappeals.Whenthelastarticlehas been sold and the crowdis dispersing, merchantsarise,praiseAllah,whoinhiswisdomsendsgooddaysand

bad,stepoutoftheirshop,letdown one flap and raise theother, lock the two with ahuge key and retire to theirhomes.

IrememberaskingaMoortoexplainwhytheJewsweresoill-treated and despised allover Morocco. The worthymanexplainedthattheKorandeclares that no TrueBeliever might take Jew orChristian to be his friend,

that theVeraciousBookalsoassurestheFaithfulthatJewswill be turned to pigs ormonkeys for their unbelief,and that the metamorphosiswill be painful. "Moreover,"said the True Believer, whodidnotknowthatIwasofthedespised race, "do you notknowthatoneofthesecursedpeople tried to seize thethrone in the time of thegreatTafilatta?"

Ipleadedignorance.

"Do you not know the Feastof Scribes, that is held inMarrakesh and Fez?" heasked.

Again I had to makeconfessionthat, thoughIhadheard about the Feast, I hadneverwitnessedit.

"Only Allah is omniscient,"he said by way ofconsolation."Doubtlessthere

are some small mattersknown to Nazarenes andwithheld from us—strangethough thatmay seem to thethoughtful.

"In the name of the MostMerciful—know that therewas a ruler in Taza beforeMulai Ismail—Prince of theFaithful,hewhoovercameinthenameofGod—reignedinthe land. Now this ruler[24]had a Jew forwazeer.When

it pleased Allah to take theSultan and set him in thepavilion of Mother of Pearlappointed for him inParadise, in the shadow ofthe Tuba tree, this Jew hidhis death from the peopleuntil he could seize thethrone of Taza for himselfand ride out under theM'dhal.[25] Then MulaiIsmail protested to thepeople, and the Tolba

(scribes) arranged to removethe reproach from the land.So they collected forty oftheirbravestmenandpackedtheminboxes—onemaninabox.Theyputtwoboxesonamule and drove the twentymulestothecourtyardofthepalacethattheJewhadtakenfor himself. The man inchargeof themulesdeclaredhe had a present for theSultan, and the Unbeliever,whose grave was to be the

meeting-placeofallthedogsofTaza,gaveorders that theboxes should be brought inandsetbeforehim.Thiswasdone, and the cursed Jewprepared to gloat over richtreasure.Butaseachboxwasopenedatalibrosesuddenly,a naked sword in his hand,and falling bravely upon theunbelievingone,cuthisbodyto pieces, while Shaitanhurried his soul to thefurnace that is seven times

heatedandshallnevercool.

WELLINMARRAKESH

"Then the Father of theFaithful, the EverVictorious," continued theTrue Believer, "decreed thatthe tolba should have afestival.Andeveryyeartheymeet in Marrakesh and Fez,and choose a talibwho is torule over them. The post isput up to auction; he whobids highest is Sultan for a

week. He rides abroad on afine horse or mule, under aM'dhal, as though he wereindeedMyLordAbd-el-Azizhimself. Black slaves oneither side brush away theflieswiththeirwhiteclothes,soldiers await to do hisbidding, he is permitted tomake a request to the trueSultan, and our Master hasopenearandfullhandforthetolba,whokept theMoghrebfrom the Unbelievers, the

inheritorsoftheFire,againstwhomSidnaMohammedhasturnedhisface."

I arrived in Marrakesh justtoo late to witness the reignof the talib, but I heard thatthe successful candidate hadpaidthirty-twodollarsforthepost—a trifle less than fivepounds in ourmoney, at therateofexchangethencurrent.Thismoneyhadbeendividedamong the tolba. The

governor of Marrakesh hadgiven the lucky king onehundred dollars in cash,thirty sheep, twenty-fivecones of sugar, forty jars ofbutter, and several sacks offlour. This procedure ispeculiar to the Southerncapital.InFezthetolbakingscollect taxes in person fromeveryhouseholder.

The talib's petition to theSultanhadbeen framedona

very liberal scale. He askedfor a home in Saffi,exemption from taxes, and aplace in the custom-house.TheSultanhadnotrespondedtothepetitionwhenIleftthecity; he was closelybeleaguered in Fez, and BuHamarawasoccupyingTaza,the ancient city where thedeed of the tolba had firstinstituted the quaint custom.Myinformantsaid therewaslittle doubt but that his

Shareefian majesty wouldgrant all the requests, so thetalib's investment of thirty-two dollars must be deemedhighly profitable. At thesame time I cannot find thestoryIwastoldconfirmedbyMoorish historians. Norecord to which I have hadaccess tells of a Jewish kingof Taza, though there was aHebrew in high favour therein the time of Rasheed II.The details of the story told

me are, as the Americanscribe said, probablyattributable toMr.BenjaminTrovato.

When the attractions ofKaisariyah palled, themarkets beyond the wallsneverfailedtoreviveinterestin the city's life. TheThursdaymarket outside theBab al Khamees broughttogether a very wonderfulcrowdofmenandgoods.All

the city's trade in horses,camels, and cattle was donehere. The caravan tradersboughtorhiredtheircamels,and there were fine animalsforsalewithoneforeandonehind leg hobbled, to keepthem from straying. Thecamelswerealwaysthemostinteresting beasts on view.For the most part theirattendants were Saharowi,who could control themseemingly by voice or

movementof thehand;butacamel needs no little care,particularly at feeding time,whenheisapttoturnspitefulif precedence be given to ananimalhedoesnotlike.Theyare marvellously touchy andfastidious creatures—quitechildlike in many of theirpeculiarities.

ABAZAAR,MARRAKESH

The desert caravan trade isnot what it was since theFrench occupied TimbuctooandclosedtheoasesofTuat;but I saw some caravansarrivefromtheinterior—oneof them from the sandyregionwhereMons.Lebaudyhassetuphiskingdom.Howhappy men and beastsseemed to be. I never saw

camelslookingsocontented:the customary sneer hadpassed from their faces—oraccumulateddusthadblottedit out. On the day when themarket is held in the openplace beyond the Bab alKhamees,thereisanotherbiggathering within the citywalls by the Jamáa Effina.Here acrobats and snake-charmers and story-tellersplytheirtrade,andneverfailto find an audience. The

acrobatscomefromTarudantand another large city of theSusthatisnotmarkedintheBritish War Office Map ofMorocco dated 1889!Occasionally one of theseclevertumblersfindshiswaytoLondon,andisseenatthemusichallsthere.

I remember calling on oneHadjAbdullahwhenIwasintheNorth,andtomysurprisehetoldmehespokeEnglish,

French, German, Spanish,Turkish,MoghrebbinArabic,and Shilha. "I know Londonwell," he said; "I have anengagement to bring mytroupe of acrobats to theCanterburyand theOxford. Iam a member of a MasonicLodge in Camberwell."Commonplace enough allthis, but when you haveriddenoutof town toa littleMoorishhouseonthehillsideoverlooking the

Mediterranean, and aredrinking green tea flavouredwith mint, on a diwan thatmust be used with crossedlegs, you hardly expect thediscussion to be turned toLondonmusic-halls.

Snake-charmers make astrong appeal to theuntutored Moorish crowd.Black cobras and spottedleffasnakesfromtheSusareused for the performance.

Whenthecharmerallowsthesnakestodartathimorevento bite, the onlookers puttheirhandstotheirforeheadsand praise Sidi benAissa, asaintwho lived inMequinezwhen Mulai Ismail ruled, apiousmagicianwhosepowerstands even to-day betweensnake-charmers and suddendeath. The musician whoaccompanies the chiefperformer, and collects thefloos offered by spectators,

works his companion into acondition of frenzy until hedoes not seem to feel theteeth of the snakes; but aspeople who should be wellinformed declare that thepoison bags are alwaysremoved before the snakesare used for exhibition, it ishardforthemereUnbelieverto render to Sidi ben Aissathe exact amount of creditthatmaybeduetohim.

ABRICKFIELD

The story-teller, whoselegendsaretobefoundinthe"Thousand Nights and aNight," is generally a merryrogue with ready wit. Histalesaretoldwithawealthofdetail thatwould place themupontheindexexpurgatoriusof the Western world, butmen, women, and childrencrowd round to hear them,

and if his tale lacks theingredientsmostdesiredtheydonothesitatetotellhimso,whereuponhewillrespondatonce to his critics, and addlove or war in accordancewith their instructions. Onehas heard of something likethis in the serial market athome. His reward is scanty,like that of his fellow-workers, the acrobat and thesnake charmer, but he hasquite a professional manner,

andstopsatthemostexcitingpointsinhisnarrativeforhiscompaniontomakeatourofthecircletocollectfees.Thequality of the adventures heretails is settled always bythepricepaidforthem.

It is a strange sight, andunpleasant to the European,who believes that hismorality,likehisfaith,istheonly genuine article, to seeyounggirlswithantimonyon

their eyelids and henna ontheir nails, listening tostories that only the late SirRichard Burton dared torender literally into theEnglish tongue. While thesechildren are young andimpressionable they areallowedtorunwild,butfromthe day when they becomeself-conscious they arestrictlysecluded.

Throughout Marrakesh one

notesaspiritofindustry.Ifamanhaswork,heseemstobehappyandwellcontent.Mosttraders are very courteousand gentle in their dealings,and many have a sense ofhumour that cannot fail toplease. While in the city Iordered one or two lampsfrom a workman who had alittle shop in the Madinah.Heasked for threedays, andon the evening of the thirdday Iwent to fetch them, in

company with Salam. Theworkman, who had madethemhimself,drewthelampsone by one from a darkcorner,andSalam,whohasahawk's eye, noticed that theglass of one was slightlycracked.

"Have a care, O Father ofLamps," he said; "theEnglishman will not take acrackedglass."

"What is this," cried theLamps'Fatheringreatanger,"whosellscracked lamps?Ifthere is a flaw in one ofmine, ask me for twodollars."

Salam held the lamp withcracked glass up against thelight. "Two dollars," he saidbriefly.The tradesman's facefell. He put his tongue outand smote it with his openhand.

"Ah," he said mournfully,whenhehadadmonished theunrulymember,"whocansetacurbuponthetongue?"[26]

FOOTNOTES:

MulaiRashedII.

Theroyalumbrella.

Cf. James iii. 8. But for amere matter of dates, onewouldimaginethatLuther

detected the taintof IslaminJameswhenherejectedhisEpistle.

THESLAVEMARKETATMARRAKESH

AMOSQUE,MARRAKESH

CHAPTERVII

THESLAVEMARKETATMARRAKESH

As to your slaves, seethat ye feed them withsuch food as ye eatyourselves, and clothe

them with the stuff yewear. And if theycommitafaultwhichyeare not willing toforgive, then sell them,fortheyaretheservantsofAllah, and are not tobetormented.

—Mohammed's lastAddress.

In the bazaars of the brass-workersanddealersincotton

goods, in the bazaars of thesaddlers and of the leather-sellers,—inshort,throughoutthe Kaisariyah, where themost important trade ofMarrakesh is carried on,—theauctionsof theafternoonare drawing to a close. Thedilals have carried goods toand fro in a narrow pathbetween two lines of TrueBelievers, obtaining the bestprices possible on behalf ofthedignifiedmerchants,who

sit gravely in their boxlikeshops beyond the reach oftoil. No merchant seekscustom: he leaves theauctioneerstosellforhimoncommission,while he sits atease, a stranger to elation ordisappointment, in theknowledgethatthesuccessorfailureof theday'smarket isdecreed. Many articles havechanged hands, but there isnow a greater attraction formenwithmoney outside the

limited area of theKaisariyah, and I think thetraffic here passes before itstime.

Thehourofthesunsetprayerisapproaching.Thewealthiermembers of the communityleave many attractivebargains unpursued, and,heedless of the dilals'frenziedcries,setoutfortheSok el Abeed. Wool marketinthemorningandafternoon,

it becomes the slave marketonthreedaysoftheweek,inthe two hours that precedethesettingofthesunandtheclosingofthecitygates;thisis the rule that holds in RedMarrakesh.

I follow thebusiness leadersthrough a very labyrinth ofnarrow, unpaved streets,roofed here and there withfrayedandtatteredpalmetto-leaves that offer some

protection, albeit a scantyone, against the blazing sun.At one of the corners wherethe beggars congregate andcall for alms in the name ofMulaiAbdelKaderIjjilalli,Icatch a glimpse of the greatKutubia tower, with pigeonscircling round its glitteringdome, and then the maze ofstreets,shuttingouttheview,claimsmeagain.Thepathisby way of shops containingevery sort of merchandise

knowntoMoors,andofstallsof fruit and vegetables,grateful "as water-grass toherds in the Junedays."Pasta turning in the crowdedthoroughfare, where manySouthern tribesmen areassembled,andheavily-ladencamelscompelpedestrianstogo warily, the gate of theslave market loomsportentous.

A crowd of penniless idlers,

to whom admittance isdenied, clamours outside theheavy door, while the cityurchinsfightfortheprivilegeof holding the mules ofwealthy Moors, who arearriving in large numbers inresponsetothereportthatthehouseholdof a greatwazeer,recently disgraced, will beoffered for sale. One seesportly men of the citywearing the blue clothselhams thatbespeakwealth,

country Moors who boastlesscostlygarments,butridemulesofeasypaceandheavyprice, and one or two highofficials of the Dar elMakhzan. All classes of thewealthy are arriving rapidly,for the sale will open in aquarterofanhour.

The portals passed,unchallenged, the marketstands revealed—an openspace of bare, dry ground,

hemmed round with tapiawalls, dust-coloured,crumbling, ruinous.Something like an arcadestretchesacrossthecentreofthe ground from one side tothe other of the market.Roofless now and brokendown, as is the outer wallitself, and the sheds, likecattle pens, that are built allround, it was doubtless animposingstructureindaysofold. Behind the outer walls

the town risesoneveryside.I see mules and donkeysfeeding, apparently on theramparts, but really in afandak overlooking themarket. The minaret of amosque rises nobly besidethe mules' feeding-ground,andbeyondthereisthewhitetombofasaint,withswayingpalm trees round it.Doubtless this zowia givesthe Sok el Abeed a sanctitythat no procedure within its

walls can besmirch; and, tobe sure, the laws of thesaint's religion are not somuchoutragedhereasinthedaily life of many placesmore sanctified by popularopinion.

Ontheground,bythesideofthe human cattle pens, thewealthy patrons of themarket seat themselves attheir ease, arrange theirdjellabas and selhams in

leisurely fashion, and beginto chat, as though the placewere the smoking-room of aclub. Water-carriers—lean,half-nakedmenfromtheSus—sprinklethethirstyground,that the tramp of slaves andauctioneersmaynotraisetoomuchdust.Watchingthemasthey go about their work,with the apathy born ofcustom and experience, Ihave a sudden reminder ofthe Spanish bull-ring, to

whichtheslavemarketbearssome remote resemblance.The gathering of spectators,the watering of the ground,the sense of excitement, allstrengthen the impression.There are no bulls in thetorils,but thereareslaves inthe pens. It may be that thebulls have the better time.Their sufferings in life arecertainly brief, and theircareless days are very longdrawn out. But I would not

give the impression that thespectatorshereareassembledfor amusement, or that myview of some of theirproceedings would becomprehensible to them.However I may feel, theotheroccupantsof thisplaceare here in the ordinarycourse of business, and arecertainly animated by nosuch fierce passions as thrillthrough theairof aplazadetoros.IamintheEastbutof

the West, and "never thetwainshallmeet."

Withintheirshedstheslavesare huddled together. Theywill not face the light untilthe market opens. I catch aglimpse of bright colouringnow and again, as somewomanorchildmovesinthedim recesses of the retreats,but there is no suggestionofthe number or quality of thepenned.

Two storks sail leisurelyfromtheirneston thesaint'stomb,andalittlecompanyofwhiteospreyspassesovertheburning market-place withsuch a wild, free flight, thatthe contrast between thebirds and the human beingsforces itself upon me. Now,however,thereisnotimeforsuch thoughts; the crowd attheentrancepartstotherightand left, to admit twelvegrave men wearing white

turbans and spotlessdjellabas.Theyarethedilals,inwhosehandsistheconductofthesale.

Slowly and impressivelythese men advance in a linealmost to the centre of theslave market, within two orthree yards of the arcade,where thewealthybuyers sitexpectant. Then the headauctioneer lifts up his voice,and prays, with downcast

eyesandoutspreadhands.HerecitesthegloryofAllah,theOne, who made the heavenabove and the earth beneath,theseaandallthatistherein;his brethren and the buyerssay Amen. He thanks Allahfor his mercy to men insending Mohammed theProphet,whogave theworldtheTrueBelief,andhecursesShaitan, who wages waragainst Allah and hischildren. Then he calls upon

Sidi bel Abbas, patron saintof Marrakesh, friend ofbuyers and sellers, whopraisedAllah so assiduouslyin days remote, and asks thesaint tobless themarketandallwhobuyand sell therein,granting themprosperityandlength of days.And to theseprayers, uttered with anintensity of devotion quiteMohammedan, all thelisteners sayAmen. Only toUnbelievers likemyself,—to

menwho have never known,or knowing, have rejectedIslam,—is there aughtrepellent in the approachingbusiness; and Unbelieversmay well pass unnoticed. InlifethemanwhohastheTrueFaithdespisesthem;indeaththey become children of theFire.Isitnotsosetdown?

Throughout this strangeceremonyofprayerIseemtoseethebull-ringagain,andin

place of the dilals thecuadrillas of the Matadorscoming out to salute, beforethe alguazils open the gatesof the toril and the slayingbegins. The dramaticintensity of either sceneconnects for me this slavemarketinMarrakeshwiththeplazade toros in the shadowof the Giralda tower inSevilla.Strangetoremembernow and here, that the manwho built the Kutubia tower

for this thousand-year-old-city of Yusuf ben Tachfin,gave the Giralda toAndalusia.

Prayers are over—the lastAmen is said. The dilalsseparate, each one going tothe pens he presides over,andcallingupontheirtenantsto come forth. These sellingmenmovewithadignitythatisquiteEastern,andspeakincalm and impressive tones.

Theylackthefrenziedenergyof their brethren who trafficinthebazaars.

Obedient to the summons,the slaves face the light, thesheds yield up their freight,and there are a few noisymoments, bewildering to thenovice, in which theauctioneersplacetheirgoodsin line, rearrange dresses,givechildrentothechargeofadults, sort out men andwomenaccordingtotheirage

andvalue,andprepareforthepromenade. The slaves willmarch round and round thecircle of the buyers, led bythe auctioneers, who willproclaim the latest bid andhand over any one of theircharges to an intendingpurchaser, thathemaymakehis examination beforeraising the price. In theprocession now forming forthe first parade, five, if notsix,ofthesevenagessetout

bythemelancholyJaquesarerepresented. There are menand women who can nolongerwalkupright,howeverthedilalmayinsist;thereareothers of middle age, withyearsofactiveservicebeforethem; there are young menfull of vigour and youth, fitfor the fields, and youngwomen, moving for onceunveiled yet unrebuked,whowill pass at once to thehareem. And there are

children of every age, frombabieswhowillbesoldwiththeir mothers to girls andboys upon the threshold ofmanhood and womanhood.All are dressed in brightcolours and displayed to thebest advantage, that thehearts of bidders may bemoved and their pursesopenedwidely.

"It will be a fine sale," saysmy neighbour, a handsome

middle-agedMoor from oneoftheAtlasvillages,whohadchosen his place before Ireached the market. "Theremust be well nigh fortyslaves, and this is good,seeing that the ElevatedCourt isatFez. It isbecauseourMaster—Allah send himmore victories!—has beenpleased to 'visit' SidiAbdeslam, and send him tothe prison of Mequinez. Allthe wealth he has extorted

has been taken away fromhim by our Master, and hewill see no more light.Twenty or more of thesewomenareofhishouse."

Noweachdilalhashispeoplesortedout,andtheprocessionbegins. Followed by theirbargains the dilals marchround and round themarket,and I understand why thedust was laid before theprocessioncommenced.

Most of the slaves areabsolutelyfreefromemotionofanysort:theymoveroundasstolidlyastheblind-foldedhorses that work the water-wheelsingardensbeyondthetown,orthecornmillswithinitsgates.Ithinkthesensitiveones—and there are a few—must come from thehousehold of the unfortunateSidi Abdeslam, who wasreputed tobe agoodmaster.Smallwonder if theyounger

women shrink, and if theblackvisageseemstotakeona tint of ashen grey, when abuyer,whosefaceisanopendefiance of the tencommandments, calls uponthedilaltohalt,and,pickingone out as though she hadbeenoneofaflockofsheep,handles her as a butcherwould, examining teeth andmuscles,andquestioningherand the dilal very closelyabout past history and

present health. And yet theEuropean observer mustbeware lest he read intoincidents of this kindsomething that neither buyernor seller would recognise.Novelty may create anemotion that facts andcustomcannotjustify.

"Ah, Tsamanni," says mygossip from theAtlas to thebigdilalwholedtheprayers,andisinspecialchargeofthechildren for sale, "I willspeak to this one," andTsamannipushesatinylittlegirl into his arms. The childkissesthespeaker'shand.Notat all unkindly the Moortakeshis critical survey, and

Tsamanni enlarges upon hermerits.

"Shedoesnotcomefromthetown at all," he says glibly,"but from Timbuctoo. It ismore difficult than ever toget children from there. Theaccursed Nazarenes havetakenthetown,andtheslavemarket droops. But this oneis desirable: she understandsneedlework, she will be acompanion for your house,

and thirty-five dollars is thelastpricebid."

"Onemoredollar,Tsamanni.She is not ill-favoured, butshe is poor and thin.Nevertheless say one dollarmore,"saystheMoor.

"The praise to Allah, whomade the world," says thedilal piously, and hurriesround the ring, saying thattheprice of the child is now

thirty-sixdollars,andcallinguponthebuyerstogohigher.

I learn that the dilal'scommissionistwoandahalfper cent on the purchaseprice, and there is aGovernment tax of five percent.Slavesare soldunderawarranty, and are returned ifthey are not properlydescribed by the auctioneer.Bids must not be advancedbylessthanaMoorishdollar

(about three shillings) at atime, and when a sale isconcluded a depositmust bepaidatonce,andthebalanceon or shortly after thefollowing day. Thin slaveswillnotfetchasmuchmoneyasfatones,forcorpulenceisregarded as the outward andvisiblesignofhealthaswellaswealthbytheMoor.

"I have a son ofmy house,"says the Moor from the

Atlas, with a burst ofconfidence quite surprising."Heismyonlyone,andmusthave a playfellow, so I amhere to buy. In these days itis not easy to get what onewants. Everywhere theFrench. The caravans comeno longer from Tuat—because of the French. FromTimbuctoo it is the samething.SurelyAllahwillburnthesepeopleinafireofmorethan ordinary heat—a

furnacethatshallnevercool.Ah, listentotheprices,"Thelittle girl's market-value hasgone to forty-four dollars—say seven pounds tenshillingsinEnglishmoneyatthe current rate of exchange.It has risen two dollars at atime, and Tsamanni cannotquite cover his satisfaction.One girl, aged fourteen, hasbeen sold for no less thanninety dollars after spiritedbidding from two country

kaids; another, two yearsolder, has gone for seventy-six.

"There is no moderation inallthis,"saystheAtlasMoor,angrily. "But priceswill riseuntil our Lord the Sultanceases to listen to theNazarenes, and purges theland. Because of theirBashadors we can no longerhavethemarketsatthetownson the coasts. Ifwe do have

one there, it must be heldsecretly,andaslavemustbecarried in the darkness fromhouse to house. This isshamefulforanunconqueredpeople."

I am only faintly consciousof my companion's talk andaction, as he bids for childafter child, never goingbeyondfortydollars.Interestcentres in the diminishingcrowd of slaves who still

follow the dilals round themarket in monotonousprocession.

The attractive women andstrong men have been sold,and have realised goodprices.Theoldpeopleare inlittle or no demand; but theauctioneers will persist untilclosing time. Up and downtramp the people nobodywants,burdenstothemselvesandtheirowners,theuseless,

or nearly useless men andwomen whose lives havebeen slavery for so long astheycanremember.Eventhewater-carrier from the Suscountry, who has beenjingling his bright bowlstogether since the marketopened, is moved tocompassion, for while twoold women are standingbehind their dilal, who istalkingtoaclientabouttheirreserveprice, I seehimgive

themafreedraughtfromhisgoat-skin water-barrel, andthis kind action seems to dosomething to freshen theplace,justasthemintandtheroses of the gardenersfreshen the alleys near theKaisariyahintheheartofthecity. To me, this journeyround and round the marketseemstobethesaddestoftheslaves' lives—worse thantheir pilgrimage across thedeserts of the Wad Nun, or

the Draa, in the days whenthey were carried captivefrom their homes, packed inpanniers upon mules, forcedto travel by night, and halfstarved.Forthenatleasttheywere valued and had theirlives before them, now theyare counted as little morethan the broken-down mulesanddonkeyslefttorotbytheroadside. And yet this, ofcourse, is a purely Westernopinion, and must be

discountedaccordingly.

It is fair to say thatauctioneers and buyers treattheslavesinamannerthatisnot unkind. They handlethem just as though theywere animals with a marketvalue that ill-treatment willdiminish, and a few of thewomenarebrazen,shamelesscreatures—obviously, andperhaps not unwisely,determined to do the best

they can for themselves inany surroundings. Thesewomen are the first to findpurchasers.Theunsoldadultsand little children seempainfully tired; some of thelatter can hardly keep pacewith the auctioneer, until hetakes them by the hand andleads them along with him.Moors, as a people, arewonderfullykindtochildren.

The procedure never varies.

As a client beckons andpoints out a slave, the oneselected is pushed forwardfor inspection, the history isbriefly told, and if thebidding is raised theauctioneer, thanking Allah,who sends good prices,hurriesonhiswaytofindonewhowillbidalittlemore.Onapproaching an intendingpurchaser the slave seizesand kisses his hand, thenreleases it and stands still,

generally indifferent to therestoftheproceedings.

DILALSINTHESLAVEMARKET

"It is well for the slaves,"says the Atlas Moor, ratherbitterly,for thefifthandlastgirlchildhasgoneupbeyondhis limit. "In the Mellah orthe Madinah you can getlabour for nothing, now theSultan is in Fez. There ishunger inmanyahouse,andit is hard for a free man tofindfood.Butslavesarewell

fed. In times of famine andwar freemen die; slaves arein comfort.Why thendo theNazarenes talk of freeingslaves, as though they wereprisoners, and seek to putbarriers against the market,until at last the pricesbecome foolish?Has not theProphet said, 'He whobehavethilltohisslaveshallnotenterintoParadise'?Doesthat not suffice believingpeople? Clearly it was

written, that my littleMohammed, my first born,my only one, shall have noplaymate this day. No,Tsamanni: I will bid nomore. Have I such store ofdollarsthatIcanbuyachildforitsweightinsilver?"

The crowd is thinning now.Less than ten slaves remainto be sold, and I do not liketothinkhowmanytimestheymusthavetrampedroundthe

market. Men and women—bold, brazen, merry,indifferent—have passed totheir severalmasters; all thechildren have gone; theremaining oldsters moveround and round, theirshufflinggait,downcasteyes,and melancholy looks inpitiful contrast to the brightclothes in which they aredressed for the sale, inorderthat their own rags may notprejudicepurchasers.

Once again the storks fromthesaint'stombpassoverthemarket in large wide flight,as though to tell the storyofthe joy of freedom. It is thetime of the eveningpromenade. The sun issettingrapidlyandthesaleisnearlyatanend.

"Forty-one dollars—forty-one,"criesthedilalatwhoseheels the one young andpretty woman who has not

found a buyer limpspainfully. She is from theWesternSoudan,andherbigeyeshavealookthatremindsme of the hare that was rundown by the hounds a fewyards from me on themarshes at home in thecoursingseason.

"Why is theprice so low?" Iask.

"She is sick," said theMoor

coolly: "she cannot work—perhaps she will not live.Whowillgivemoreinsuchacase? She is of kaidAbdeslam's household,though he bought her a fewweeksbeforehisfall,andshemust be sold. But the dilalcan give no warranty, fornobody knows her sickness.She isoneof theslaveswhoareboughtbythedealersfortherocksaltofElDjouf."

Happily the woman seemstoodullor too ill to feelherown position. She moves asthough in a dream—adreamundisturbed, for the buyershavealmostceasedtoregardher. Finally she is sold forforty-three dollars to a veryoldandinfirmman.

"No slaves, no slaves," saysthe Atlas Moor impatiently:"and in the town they areslowtoraisethem."Iwantan

explanation of this strangecomplaint.

"What do you mean whenyousaytheyareslowtoraisethem,"Iask.

"In Marrakesh now," heexplains, "dealers buy thehealthiest slaves they canfind, and raise as manychildren by them as ispossible.Then,sosoonasthechildren are old enough to

sell, theyare sold, andwhenthe mothers grow old andhave no more children, theytoo are sold, but theydonotfetchmuchthen."

This statement takes allwords from me, but myinformant sees nothingstartling in the case, andcontinuesgravely:"Fromsixyearsold theyare sold tobecompanions,andfromtwelvethey go to the hareems.

Prices are good—too highindeed; fifty-four dollars Imusthavepaidthisafternoonto purchase one, and whenMulai Mohammed reignedthe price would have beentwenty, or less, and for thatone would have bought fatslaves. Where there is onecaravan now, there were tenofoldtimes."

Only three slaves now, andthey must go back to their

masters to be sent to themarket on another day, forthesunisbelowthehorizon,themarketalmostempty,andthe guards will be gatheringat the city gates. Two dilalsmake a last despairingpromenade, while theircompanions are busyrecording prices and otherdetailsinconnectionwiththeafternoon's business. Thepurchased slaves, theauctioneer's gaudy clothing

changed for their own, arebeing taken to the houses oftheir masters. We who livewithin the city walls musthasten now, for the time ofgate-closing is upon us, andonemaynotstayoutside.

Ithasbeenagreatday.Manyrich men have attendedpersonally,orbytheiragents,to compete for the bestfavoured women of thehouseholdof the fallenkaid,

and prices in one or twospecial cases ran beyondforty pounds (Englishmoney), so brisk was thebidding.

Outside the market-place acountry Moor of the middleclass is in charge of fouryoung boy slaves, and istelling a friendwhat he paidfor them. I learn that theirpriceaveragedelevenpoundsapiece inEnglishcurrency—

two hundred and eightydollarsaltogetherinMoorishmoney, that they were allbred in Marrakesh by adealer who keeps a largeestablishment of slaves, asone inEnglandmightkeepastud farm, and sells thechildrenastheygrowup.Thepurchaser of the quartette isgoing to take them to theNorth. He will pass thecomingnightinafandak,andleave as soon after daybreak

as the gates are opened.Sometendays'travelonfootwill bring him to a certaincity, where his merchandiseshould fetch four hundreddollars.Theladsdonotseemtobedisturbedbythesale,orby thoughts of their future,andthedealerhimselfseemstobeasnearanapproachtoacommercial traveller as Ihave seen in Morocco. Tohim thewhole transaction isonaparwithsellingeggsor

fruit, and while he does notresent my interest, he doesnotpretendtounderstandit.

From the minaret thatoverlooks the mosque themueddincallsfortheeveningprayer; from the side of theKutubia Tower and theminaretofSidibelAbbas,asfrom all the lessermosques,the cry is taken up. Leperspass out of the city on theirway to Elhara; beggars

shuffle off to their dens;storks standing on the flathouse-tops survey thefamiliar scene gravely butwith interest. Doubtless thedilals and all who sent theirslaves to the market to besold this afternoon willrespond to the mueddins'summons with gratefulhearts, and Sidi bel Abbas,patron saint of RedMarrakesh, will hardly gounthanked.

GREENTEAANDPOLITICS

ONTHEHOUSE

CHAPTERVIII

GREENTEAANDPOLITICS

WhitherresortingfromthevernalHeatShallOldAcquaintanceOldAcquaintancegreet,

UndertheBranch

thatleansabovetheWall

ToshedhisBlossomoverheadandfeet.

TheRubáiyátofOmarKhayyám.

He was a grave personableMoorofmiddleage,andfullof the dignity that wouldseem to be the birthright ofhisrace.Hisofficialpositiongave him a certain

knowledge of politicaldevelopments withoutaffecting his serene outlookupon life. Whether he satoutside the Kasbah of hisnativetownandadministeredthe law according to hislights, or, summoned to thecapital, rode attended so farastheDarelMakhzan, thereto take his part in a councilof the Sultan's advisers, orwhether, removed for a timefrom cares of office, he

rested at ease among hiscushions as he was doingnow, this Moorishgentleman's placid andunruffledfeatureswouldleadthe Western observer tosuppose that he was a verysimplepersonwithnosortofinterest in affairs. I hadoccasion to know him,however, for a statesman,after theMoorishfashion—akeen if resigned observer ofthe tragic-comedy of his

country'spolitics,andapiousmanwithal, who had visitedMecca in the month that iscalled Shawall, and had caststones on the hill ofArafat,as thecustomisamongTrueBelievers. Some years hadpassed since our firstmeeting, when I was thebearer of a letter ofintroduction written by ahigh official in the intricateArabic character. It began:"Praise be to God! The

blessingofAllahonourLordMohammed, and his peaceuponFriendsandFollowers."Irrelevant perhaps all this,but the letterhadopened theportals of his house to me,and had let loose for mybenefit thoughts not lightlytobeexpressed.

Now we sat side by side oncushions in his patio, partlyshaded by a rose tree thatclimbedovertrellis-workand

rioted in bud and blossom.Wedrankgreenteaflavouredwith mint from tiny glassesthat were floridly embossedin gilt. Beyond the patiothere was a glimpse ofgarden ablaze with colour;wecouldhear slaves singingby the great Persian water-wheel, and the cooing ofdoves from the shaded heartof trees that screened agranary.

"SinceMulaielHasandied,"said the Hadj quietly, "sincethatPrinceofBelieverswentto his Pavilion in Paradise,set among rivers in anorchardofnever-failingfruit,as is explained in the MostPerspicuous Book,[27]troubleshavesweptoverthisland, even as El Jerad, thelocust, comes upon it beforethe west wind has risen toblowhimouttosea."

Hemused awhile, as thoughthe music of the gardenpleasedhim.

"Evenbefore the timeofmyLord el Hasan," he went on,"there had been troublesenough. I can remember thewarwithSpain,thoughIwasbut a boy. My father wasamongthosewhofellatWadRason theway toTanjahoftheNazarenes.Butthenyourcountry would not permit

these Spanish dogs to stealour land, and even lent themoney to satisfy and keepthemaway.Thiswasakindlydeed,andMulaiMohammed,our Victorious Master,opened his heart to yourBashador[28]andtookhimtohisinnermostcouncils.AndIcan remember that greatBashador of yours when hecame to this city and wasreceivedinthesquarebythe

Augdal gardens. Our Masterthe Sultan came before himonawhitehorse[29]tospeakgracious words under theM'dhal,thatshadestherulingHouse.

"A strong man was ourMaster the Sultan, and helistened carefully to all yourBashador said, still knowingin his heart that this countryis not as the land of theNazarenes, and could not be

made like it in haste. Hiswazeers feared change, theUlema[30] opposed it so faras they dared, and that youknowisveryfar,andnothingcould be done rapidly afterthe fashion of theWest.MyLordunderstoodthiswell.

"Then that King of the AgeandPrinceofTrueBelieversfulfilledhisdestinyanddied,and my Lord el Hasan, whowas in the South, reigned in

his stead.[31] And thetroubles that now cover theland began to grow andspread."

He sippedhis teawithgravepleasure. Two female slaveswere peering at the Infidelthrough the branches of alemon tree, just beyond thepatio, but when their masterdropped his voice the headsdisappeared suddenly, asthough his words had kept

them in place. In the depthsof the garden close, Oom elHasan, the nightingale,awoke and trilled softly.Welistened awhile to hear thenotes "ring like a goldenjeweldownagoldenstair."

AHOUSEINTERIOR

"My Lord el Hasan,"continued the Hadj, "wasever on horseback;with himthe powder was alwaysspeaking. First Fez rejectedhim, and he carried fire andsword to that rebelliouscity.Then Er-Riff refused to paytribute and he enforced it—Allah make his kingdometernal. Then this ungrateful

city rebelled against his ruleandthearmycamesouthandfedthespikesofthecitygatewith the heads of theunfaithful. Before he hadrested,Fezwasinsolentonceagain, and on the road northour Master, the EverVictorious,was(sotosay,asthe irreligious see it)defeated by the Illegitimatemen from Ghaita, rebelsagainst Allah, all, and his

house[32] was carried away.There were more campaignsintheNorthandintheSouth,and the Shareefian army ateuptheland,sothattherewasafaminemorefatalthanwar.After that came morefighting, and again morefighting. My lord soughtsoldiers from your peopleand from the French, and hewent south to the Sus andsmote the rebellious kaids

fromTarudant toHigh.So itfell out that my Lord wasnever at peace with hisservants, but the countrywent on as before, withfighting in the north and thesouth and the east and thewest. The devil ships of theNazarenenationscameagainand again to the bay ofTanjahtoseeifthePrinceofthe Faithful were indeeddead, as rumour so oftenstated.Buthewasstrong,my

Lord el Hasan, and not easytokill. In the timeofabriefsickness that visited him theFrench took the oases ofTuat, which belongs to thecountryjustsosurelyasdoesthis our Marrakesh. Theyhavebeenfromtimesremotea place of resting for thecamels, like Tindouf in theSus. But our Masterrecovered his lordship withhis health, and the Frenchwent back from our land.

After thatmyLord elHasanwent to Tafilalt over theAtlas,never sparinghimself.Andwhenhereturnedtothiscity,weary and very sick, atthe head of an army thatlacked even food andclothing, the Spaniards wereat the gates of Er-Riff oncemore,andthetribeswereoutlikea fireof thornsover thenorthern roads. But becausethe span allotted him bydestiny was fulfilled, and

alsobecausehewaswornoutandwouldnot rest,myLordHasan died near Tadla; andBaAhmad,hischiefwazeer,hid his death from thesoldiersuntilhissonAbd-el-Azizwasproclaimed."

There was a pause here, asthough my host wereoverwhelmed withreflections and was harddriventogivesequencetohisnarrative. "Our present Lord

was young," he continued atlast thoughtfully; "he was avery young man, and so BaAhmad spoke for him andactedforhim,andthrewintoprison all who might havestood before his face. Also,as was natural, he piled upgreatstoresofgold,andtookto his hareem thewomen hedesired, and oppressed thepoor and the rich, so thatmany men cursed himprivately.But for all thatBa

Ahmad was a wise man andvery strong. He saw themight of the French in theEast, and of the Bashadorswho pollute Tanjah in theNorth; he remembered theshipsthatcametothewatersintheWest,andheknewthatthe men of these ships wanttoseizealltheforeignlands,until at last they rule theearth even as they rule thesea.Againstallthewisemenof the Nazarenes who dwell

in Tanjah the wazeer foughtinthenameoftheExaltedofGod,[33] so that no one ofthemcouldsettleonthislandto take it for himself andbreak into the bowels of theearth.Tobesure, inWazzanandfarintheEasterncountrythe accursed French grew instrengthandininfluence,fortheygaveprotection,robbingthe Sultan of his subjects.Buttheytooklittleland,they

sentfewtoCourt,thecountrywasoursuntilthewazeerhadfulfilledhisdestinyanddied.Allahpardonhim,forhewasaman,andruledthiscountry,as his Master before him,witharodofverysteel."

"But," I objected, "you toldme formerly that while helived no man's life ortreasure was safe, that heextortedmoneyfromall,thathe ground the faces of the

rich and the poor, thatwhenhe died in this city, theMarrakshis said 'A dog isdead.'Hownowcanyoufindwordstopraisehim?"

"The people cry out,"explained the Hadj calmly;"they complain, but theyobey.IntheMoghrebitisforthepeopletoberuledasitisfortherulerstogovern.Shallthe hammers cease to strikebecause the anvil cries out?

TrulytheprisonsofmyLordAbd-el-Aziz were full whileBaAhmadruled,butallwhoremained outside obeyed thelaw. No man can avoid hisfate,evenmyLordelHasan,a fighter all the days of hislife, loved peace and hatedwar. But his destiny wasappointedwithhisbirth, andhe, the peaceful one, drovemenyokedneckandneck tofight for him, even a wholetribe of the rebellious, as

these eyes have seen. WhileBa Ahmad ruled fromMarrakesh all the Moghrebtrembled, but the roadsweresafe,as in thedaysofMulaiIsmail,—may God havepardoned him,—the landknewquietseasonsofsowingand reaping, the expeditionswerebutfew,andit isbetterfor a country like ours thatmanyshould suffer than thatnoneshouldbeatrest."

I remained silent, consciousthat I could not hope to seelife through my host'smedium.Itwasasthoughwelooked at his garden throughglasses of different colour.And perhaps neither of ussaw the real truth of theproblem underlyingwhatweare pleased to call theMoorishQuestion.

"WhenthedaysoftheGrandWazeer were fulfilled," theHadj continued gravely, "hisenemies came into power.HisbrothertheWarMinisterand his brother theChamberlain died suddenly,andhe followed themwithinthe week. No wise mansought too particularly toknow the cause of their

death.ChristianscametotheCourtElevatedbyAllah,andsaidtomyLordAbd-el-Aziz,'Be as the Sultans of theWest.'Andtheybroughthimtheir abominations, thewheeledthingsthatfallifleftalone,butsupportamanwhomountsthem,asIsuppose,inthe name of Shaitan; thepicture boxes that multiplyimages of True Believersand, being as the work of

painters,[34] are wiselyforbidden by the Far SeeingBook; carriages drawn byinvisible djinoon, whoscream and struggle in theirfiery prison but must stayand work, small sprites thatdance and sing.[35] TheChristiansknewthatmyLordwasbutayoungman,andsothey brought these things,and Abd-el-Aziz gave themof the country's riches, and

conversed with themfamiliarly, as though theyhad been of the house of aGrandShareef.Butinthefareast of the Moghreb theFrench closed the oases ofTuat and Tidikelt withoutrebuke, and burnt Ksor anddestroyed the Faithful withguns containing greendevils,[36] and said, 'We doall this that wemay ventureabroad without fear of

robbers.' Thenmy Lord sentthe War Minister, the kaidMaheddi el Menebhi, toLondon, and he saw yourSultanfacetoface.AndyourSultan'swazeerssaidtohim,'TelltheLordoftheMoghrebto rule as we rule, to gatherhis taxes peaceably andwithout force, to open hisports,tofeedhisprisoners,tofollow the wisdom of theWest. If he will do this,assuredly his kingdom shall

never be moved.' Thereafteryour Sultan's great menwelcomed the kaid yetmorekindly, and showed him allthatAllahtheOnehadgiventhem in his mercy, theirpalaces, their workplaces,their devil ships that movewithoutsailsoverthefaceofthewaters,andtheirunveiledwomen who pass withoutshame before the faces ofmen. And though the kaidsaidnothing,heremembered

allthesethings.

"When he returned, and bytheaidofyourownBashadorin Tanjah prevailed over theenemies who had set snaresin his path while he faredabroad, he stood up beforemyLordand toldhimallhehadseen.ThereuponmyLordAbd-el-Aziz sought tochange that which had gonebefore,tomakeanewlandasquickly as the father of the

red legs[37] builds a newnest,or theboarof theAtlaswhom the hunter hasdisturbed finds a new lair.And the landgrewconfused.ItwasnomoretheMoghreb,but it assuredly was not asthelandsoftheWest.

"In the beginning of theseason of change the Frenchwere angry. 'All men shallpay an equal tax throughoutmyland,'saidtheKingofthe

Age,andtheBashadoroftheFrench said, 'Our protectedsubjects shall not yield evenahandfulofgreencorntothegatherer.' Now when thepeople saw that the tax-gatherers did not travel asthey were wont to travel,armedandreadytokill,theyhardened their hearts andsaid,'Wewillpaynotaxesatall, for these men cannotovercome us.' So the tributewas not yielded, and the

French Bashador said to theSultan, 'Thouseestthatthesepeople will not pay, but weout of our abundant wealthwill give all the money thatis needed. Only sign thesewritings that set forth ourright to the money that isbrought by Nazarenes to theseaports, andeverythingwillbewell.'

"So the Sultan set his sealupon all that was brought

before him, and the Frenchsent gold to his treasury andmoreFrench traderscame tohisCourt,andmyLordgavethem the money that hadcome to him from theircountry, for more of thefoolish and wicked thingsthey brought. Then he leftMarrakesh and went to Fez;and the Rogui, BuHamara,[38] rose up andwagedwaragainsthim."

TheHadj sighed deeply, andpaused while fresh tea wasbrought by a coal-blackwoman slave, whose colourwas accentuated by thescarletrida upon her head,and the broad silver ankletsaboutherfeet.Whenshehadretiredandwewereleftaloneonce more, my hostcontinued:—

"You know what happenedafter. My Lord Abd-el-Aziz

madenoheadwayagainsttheRogui,whoissurelyassistedbydevilsoftheairandbythedevils of France. North andsouth, east and west, theMoors flocked to him, forthey said, 'The Sultan hasbecomeaChristian.'And to-day my Lord has no moremoney, and no strength tofight the Infidel, and theFrench come forward, andthe land is troubledeverywhere. But this is

clearly the decree of Allahthe All Wise, and if it iswritten that the days of theFilaliShareefsarenumbered,evenmyLordwillnotavoidhisfate."

Isaidnothing,forIhadseenthe latter part of Morocco'shistory working itself out,and knew that the improvedrelations between GreatBritain and France had theirfoundation in the change of

front that kept our ForeignOffice from doing forMoroccowhatithasdoneforother states divided againstthemselves, and what it hadpromised Morocco, withoutwords, very clearly. Then,again, it was obvious tome,though I could not hope toexplainittomyhost,thattheMoor, having served histime,had togounderbeforethe wave of Westerncivilisation. Morocco has

held out longer than anyotherkingdomofAfrica,notbyreasonofitsownstrength,but because the rulers ofEurope could not afford tosee the Mediterraneanbalance of power seriouslydisturbed. Just as MulaiIsmailpraisedAllahpubliclytwo centuries ago for givinghimstrength todriveout theInfidel, when the Britishvoluntarilyrelinquishedtheirhold upon Tangier, so

successive Moorish Sultanshave thought that they haveheldMorocco for theMoorsbytheirownpower.Andyet,invery sober truth,Moroccohasbeennomorethanoneofthe pawns in the diplomaticgamethesemanyyearspast.

We who know and love thecountry, finding in itspatriarchal simplicity somuch that contrastsfavourablywith the hopeless

vulgarity of our owncivilisation, must recogniseinjusticethegreatgulflyingbetweenacountry'saspectinthe eyes of the traveller andinthemindofthepolitician.

Before we parted, the Hadj,prefacing his remark withrenewed assurance of hispersonalesteem,toldmethatthe country's error had beenits admission of strangers.Poor man, his large simplemind could not realise thatno power his master heldcouldhavekeptthemout.Hetoldme on another occasion

that the great wazeers whohad opposed the Sultan'sreforms were influenced byfear, lest Western ideasshould alter the status oftheir womenkind. They hadheardfromalltheirenvoystoEurope how great ameasureof liberty is accorded towomen,andwerepreparedtorebelagainstanyreformthatmight lead to compulsoryalteration of the systemunder which women live—

too often as slaves andplaythings—inMorocco.Myfriend's summary of hiscountry'srecenthistoryisbyno means complete, and, ifhecouldreviseitherewoulddoubtless have far moreinterest. But it seemedadvisable to get theMoorishpoint of view, and, havingsecured the curious elusivething,torecorditasnearlyasmightbe.

Sidi Boubikir seldomdiscussed politics. "I am inthe South and the trouble isin the North," said he."Alhamdolillah,[39] I am allformyLordAbd-el-Aziz. InthereignofhisgrandfatherImademoney,whenmyLordhis father ruled—upon himthe Peace—I made money,and now to-day I makemoney.Shall I listen then toPretenders and other evil

men? The Sultan may havehalfmyfortune."

IdidnotsuggestwhatIknewto be true, that the Sultanwould have been more thandelighted to take him at hisword, for I remembered theincident of the lampmaker'swager. A considerableknowledge of MoghrebbinArabic, in combination withhypnoticskillofahighorder,would have been required to

draw from Boubikir his realopinions of the outlook. NotfornothingwasheappointedBritish political agent inSouth Morocco. The sphinxisnotmoreinscrutable.

OnenighthissoncametotheDaralKasdirandbroughtmean invitation from SidiBoubikirtodinewithhimonthe following afternoon.Arrivedbeforethegateofhispalaceat the timeappointed,

twoo'clock,wefoundtheolddiplomatwaitingtowelcomeus. He wore a fine linendjellaba of dazzlingwhiteness, and carried ascarletgeraniuminhishand."You are welcome," he saidgravely, and led the waythrough a long corridor,crying aloud as he went,"Make way, make way," forwe were entering the houseitself, and it is not seemlythat a Moorish woman,

whether she be wife orconcubine, should look upona stranger's face. Yet somefewlightsofthehareemwerenot disposed to beextinguished altogether byconsiderations of etiquette,and passed hurriedly along,asthoughbentuponavoidingusanduncertainofourexactdirection. The women-servants satisfied theircuriosity openly until myhost suddenly commented

upon the questionable moralstatus of their mothers, andthen they made haste todisappear, only to return amomentlaterandpeeproundcorners and doorways, andgiggle and scream—as ifthey had been Europeans ofthesameclass.

Sidi Boubikir passed fromroom to room of his greatestablishment and showedsome of its treasures. There

were great piles of carpetsand vast quantities offurniture that must havelooked out at one time intheirhistoryuponthecrowdsthat throng the TottenhamCourt Road; I saw chairs,sofas, bedsteads, clocks, andsideboards, all of Englishmake. Brought on camelsthroughDukalaandR'hamnatoMarrakesh, theywere lefttofillupthecountlessroomswithout careor arrangement,

though their owner's housemust hold more than fiftywomen, without countingservants.Probablywhentheywerenotquarrellingordyingtheirfingernails,orpaintingtheir faces after a fashionthat is far from pleasing toEuropean eyes, the ladies ofthehareempassed theirdayslying on cushions, playingthe gimbri[40] or eatingsweetmeats.

In one room on the ground-floor there was a greatcollection of mechanicaltoys.SidiBoubikirexplainedthat the French CommercialAttaché had brought a largenumber to the Sultan'spalace, and that my LordAbd-el-Azizhad rejected theones before us. With thecurious childish simplicitythat is foundsooftenamongthe Moors of high position,Boubikir insisted upon

winding up the clock-workapparatus of nearly all thetoys. Then one doll danced,another played a drum, athirdwentthroughgymnasticexercises, and the toyorchestra played theMarseillaise, while fromevery adjacent room veiledfigures stole out cautiously,as though this room in aMoorish house were a stageand the shrouded visitorswere the chorus entering

mysteriously fromunexpected places. The oldman's merriment was veryreal and hearty, so genuine,infact,thathedidnotnoticehow his women-folk wereintruding until the last notesounded. Then he turnedround and the swathedfigures disappeared suddenlyasghostsatcockcrow.

ThoughitwasclearthatSidiBoubikirseldomsawhalfthe

rooms through which wehurried, the passion forbuilding, that seizes all richMoors,heldhimfast.Hewasaddingwingafterwingtohisvast premises, and woulddoubtless order morefurniturefromLondontofillthe new rooms. No Moorknowswhenitistimetocalla halt and deem his housecomplete,andso thecountryis full of palaces begun bymenwho fell frompower or

died leaving the workunfinished. The GrandWazeer Ba Ahmad left apalace nearly as big as theDar el Makhzan itself, andsince he died the storks thatbuildupontheflatroofshavebeenitsonlyoccupants.Soitis with the gardens, whosemanybeautieshedidnotlivetoenjoy.Irodepastthemonemorning,notedallmanneroffruit trees blossoming, heardbirds singing in their

branches, and saw youngstorks fishing in the littlepoolsthattherainsofwinterhad left. But there was notonegardenertheretotendtheground once so highlycultivated,andIwasassuredthattheterrorofthewazeer'sname kept even the hungrybeggars from the fruit inharvesttime.

The home and itsappointments duly exhibited,SidiBoubikir led theway toa diwan in a well-cushionedroom that opened on to thegarden.Heclappedhishandsand a small regiment ofwomen-servants, black andfor the most part uncomely,arrived to prepare dinner.One brought a ewer, another

a basin, a third a towel, andwater was poured out overour hands. Then a largeearthenware bowl encased instrong basketwork wasbrought by a fourth servant,and a tray of flat loaves offinewheatbyafifth,andwebroke bread and said the"Bismillah,"[41]whichstandsfor grace. The bowl wasuncovered and revealed asavourystewofchickenwith

sweet lemon and olives, averypleasingsighttoallwhoappreciate Eastern cooking.The use of knives being acrime against the Faith, andthe use of forks and spoonsunknown, we plunged thefingersoftherighthandintothe bowl and sought whatpleased us best, using thebread from time to time todeal with the sauce of thestew.Itwasreallyadeliciousdish, and when later in the

afternoonIaskedmyhostforthe recipe he said he wouldgive it to me if I would fillthe bowl with Bank ofEngland notes. I had toexplainthat,inmyignoranceof the full resources ofMoorish cooking, I had notcome out with sufficientmoney.

So soon as the charm of thefirstbowlpalled,itwastakenaway and others followed in

quick succession, variousmeats and eggsbeing servedwith olives and spices andthe delicate vegetables thatcometoSouthernMoroccoinearlyspring.Itwasarelieftocometotheendofourdutiesand, our hands washed oncemore,todigestthemealwiththeaidofgreenteaflavouredwithmint.Strongdrinkbeingforbidden to the TrueBeliever, water only wasservedwiththedinner,andas

it was brought direct fromtheTensiftRiver,andwasofrichredcolour, therewasnotemptation to touch it. SidiBoubikir was in excellentspirits,andtoldmanystoriesof his earlier days, of hisdealings with Bashadors, hisquarrel with the great kaidBen Daoud, the siege of thecity by certain Illegitimatemen—enemies of Allah andthe Sultan—his journey toGibraltar, and how he met

one of the Rothschilds thereandtriedtodobusinesswithhim. He spoke of hisinvestments in consols andthe poor return they broughthim,andmanyothermattersofequalmoment.

Itwasnoteasytorealisethatthe man who spoke sobrightly and lightly abouttrivial affairs had one of thekeenest intellects in thecountry, that he had the

secret history of its politicalintriguesathis fingers'ends,thathewas the trustedagentof the British Government,and lived and throvesurrounded by enemies. Asfar as was consistent withcourtesy I tried to direct hisreminiscences towardspolitics,buthekepttopurelypersonal matters, andincluded in them a story ofhisattempttobribeaBritish

Minister,[42] to whom, upontheoccasionofthearrivalofa British Mission inMarrakesh, he went leadingtwomules ladenwith silver."And when I came to him,"saidtheoldman,"Isaid,'ByAllah's grace I am rich, so Ihavebroughtyousomeshareofmywealth.'But hewouldnot even count the bags. Hecalled with a loud voice forhis wife, and cried to her,

'See now what this son ofshame would do to me. Hewouldgivemehismiserablemoney.' And then in verygreatangerhedrovemefromhis presence and bade menever come near him againbearingagift.What shallbesaid of a man like that, towhom Allah had given thewisdom to become aBashadorandthefoolishnessto reject a present? Twomules, remember, and each

one with as many bags ofSpanish dollars as it couldcarry.TrulythewaysofyourBashadors are past belief." Iagreed heartily with SidiBoubikir; a day's discoursehadnotmadeclearanyotheraspectofthecase.

FOOTNOTES:

"In Paradise are rivers ofincorruptible water; and

rivers of milk, the tastewhereof changes not; andrivers of wine, pleasantuntothosewhodrink;andrivers of clarified honey;andinParadisethefaithfulshall have all kinds offruits, and pardon fromtheir God."—Al Koran;Sura47,"Mohammed."

The late Sir JohnDrummond Hay, whosename is honourablyremembered to this daythroughouttheMoghreb.

When a Sultan appears inpubliconawhitehorse, itis for sign that he ispleased; ablackhorse,ontheotherhand,isominoustothemthatunderstand.

Literally "Learned Ones,"a theological cabinet, thenumberofwhosemembersis known to no man, theweightofwhosedecisionsis felt throughoutMorocco.

1873-94.

Hareem.

One of the titles of aSultan. The "Lofty Portal"("Sublime Porte") and the"Sublime Presence" areamongtheothers.

Mohammed said: "EverypainterisinHellFire,andAllahwillappointapersonat thedayofResurrectionto punish him for everypicture he shall havedrawn, and he shall bepunishedinHell.So, ifyemustmake pictures, make

them of trees and thingswithoutsouls."

The reader will recognisethe Hadj's reference tobicycles, cameras, motor-cars,andothermechanicaltoys.

Meliniteshells.

Thestork.

Literally, "Father of theshe-ass," the Pretenderwho conducted asuccessful campaign

against theSultan in1902and 1903, and is still anactive enemy of the Filalidynasty.

"ThePraisetoAllah."

AMoorishlute.

Literally, "In the name ofGod."

ThelateSirWilliamKirbyGreen.

THROUGHASOUTHERNPROVINCE

CHAPTERIX

THROUGHASOUTHERNPROVINCE

Thefullstreamsfeedonflowerofrushes,

Ripegrassestrammela

travellingfoot;Thefaintfreshflameoftheyoungyearflushes

Fromleaftoflower,andflowertofruit.

AtalantainCalydon.

Even in these fugitiverecords of my last journeyinto the "Extreme West," Ifind it hard to turn fromMarrakesh. Just as the city

heldmewithinitsgatesuntilfurther sojourn wasimpossible, so its memoriescrowd upon me now, and Irecallwith an interest Imayscarcely hope tocommunicate the varied andcompelling appeals it madeto me at every hour of theday.Yet I believe, at least Ihope, that most of the menand women who strive togather for themselves somepicture of the world's

unfamiliar aspects willunderstand the fascination towhich I refer, despite myfailure to give it fittingexpression. Sevilla inAndalusia held me in thesamewaywhen Iwent fromCadiz to spend a week-endthere, and the three daysbecame as many weeks, andwouldhavebecomeasmanymonths or years had I beenmyownmaster—whichtobesure we none of us are. The

handoftheMoorisclearlytobe seen in Sevilla to-day,notably in the Alcazar andthe Giralda tower, fashionedbythebuilderoftheKutubiathat stands like a statelylighthouse in the Blad alHamra.

So, with the fascination ofthecityforexcuse,IlingeredinMarrakesh andwent dailyto thebazaars tomakesmallpurchases. The dealers were

patient, friendly folk, andfound no trouble too much,so that therewasprospectofa sale at the end of it.Mostof themhadacollapsiblesetofvaluesfortheirwares,butthe dealer who had the bestshare of my Moorish orSpanish dollars was an oldman in the bazaar of thebrass-workers, who used tosay proudly, "Behold in methy servant, Abd el

Kerim,[43] the man of oneprice."

Thebrassandcopperworkershad most of their metalbroughttothemfromtheSuscountry,andsoldtheirgoodsbyweight.Woetothedealerdiscovered with false scales.The gunsmiths, who seemedto do quite a big trade inflint-lock guns, worked withtheir feet as well as theirhands, their dexterity being

almost Japanese. Nearlyevery master had anapprentice or two, and ifthere are idle apprentices inthe southern capital of myLordAbd-el-Aziz, I was notfatedtoseeone.

No phase of the city's lifelacked fascination, nor wasthe interest abatedwhen lifeand death moved side byside. A Moorish funeralwoundslowlyalong theroad

in the path of a morning'sride. First came a crowd ofragged fellows on footsinging the praises ofAllah,who gives one life to hisservantshereandaneternityofblissinParadiseattheendoftheirday'swork.Thebodyof the deceased followed,wrapped in a knotted shroudand partially covered withwhat looked like a colouredshawl, but was, I think, theflag from a saint's shrine.

Fourbearerscarriedtheopenbier, and following camemen of high class onmules.The contrast between theliving and the dead wasaccentuated by the freshnessof the day, the life thatthronged the streets, theabsence of a coffin, theweird,sonorouschauntingofthe mourners. The deceasedmust have been a man ofmark, for the crowdpreceding the bier was

composedlargelyofbeggars,ontheirwaytothecemetery,whereagiftoffoodwouldbedistributed. Following theirmaster's remains came twoslaves, newly manumitted,their certificates of freedomborne aloft in cleft sticks totestify before all men to thegenerosity of the loudlylamented. Doubtless theshroud of the dead had beensprinkledwithwaterbroughtfrom the well Zem Zem,

which is by the mosque ofMecca, and is said to havebeen miraculously providedfor Hagar, when Ishmael,then a little boy,was like todie of thirst in thewilderness.

I watched the processionwind its way out of sight tothe burial-ground by themosque, whose mueddinwould greet its arrival withthe cry, "May Allah have

mercy upon him." Then thedeadmanwouldbecarriedtothe cemetery, laid on hisright side looking towardsMecca,andtheshroudwouldbe untied, that theremay beno awkwardness or delayupon the day of theResurrection. And the Kadior f'K'hay[44] would say, "OAllah, if he did good, over-estimatehisgoodness;andifhe did evil, forget his evil

deeds; and of Thy MercygrantthathemayexperienceThineAcceptance; and sparehimthetrialsandtroublesofthe grave.... Of Thy Mercygrant him freedom fromtormentuntilThousendhimto Paradise, O Thou MostPitiful of the pitying....Pardon us, and him, and allMoslems, O Lord ofCreation."

AYOUNGMARRAKSHI

On the three followingmornings the men of thedeceased's house wouldattend by the newly-madegrave, in company with thetolba, and would distributebread and fruit to the poor,andwhentheirtaskwasoverand thewayclear, theveiledwomenwould bring flowers,with myrtle, willows, and

young leaves of the palm,and lay them on the grave,and over these the water-carrierwouldemptyhisgoat-skin. I knew that the deadman would have gonewithout flinching to hisappointed end, not as onewho fears, but rather as hewho sets out joyfully to afeast prepared in his honour.His faithhadkept all doubtsat bay, and even if he hadbeen an ill liver the

charitable deeds wrought inhis name by survivingrelativeswouldenablehimtoface the two angels whodescend to the grave on thenight following a man'sburial and sit in judgmentupon his soul. This onewhopassedmeonhislastjourneywould tell the angels of themen who were slaves butyesterdayandwerenowfree,hewouldspeakofthehungrywhohadbeenfed,andofthe

intercession of the righteousand learned. These facts andhis faith, the greatest fact ofall, would assuredly satisfyMunkir andNakir.[45] Smallwonder if nomanner of life,however vile, stamps ill-livers in Morocco with thesealwe learn to recognise inthe Western world. For theMoslem death has no sting,and hell no victory. Faith,whether itbe inOneGod, in

a Trinity, in Christ,Mohammed, or Buddha, issurely the most precious ofall possessions, so it be asvirileandlivinga thingas itisinSunsetLand.

Writing of religion, I needsmustsetdownawordinthisplaceof themenandwomenwho work for the SouthernMorocco Mission inMarrakesh.Thebeautyofthecity has long ceased to hold

any fresh surprises for them,their labour is among thepeoplewho"walkinnoondayas in the night." It is notnecessary tobeof their faithto admire the steadfastdevotion to high ideals thatkeeps Mr. Nairn and hiscompanions in Marrakesh. Ido not think that they makeconverts in the sense thattheydesire,thefaithofIslamsuits Morocco and theMoors, and itwill not suffer

successful invasion, but theworkoftheMissionhasbeeneffective in many ways. Ifthe fewEuropeanswho visitthe city are free to wanderunchallenged, unmolestedthrough its every street, letthem thank themissionaries;ifthenewsthatmenfromtheWest are straight-dealing,honourable, and slaves totruth, has gone from thevillageson thehithersideofAtlasdowntothefarcitiesof

the Sus, let the missionariesbepraised.AndifaEuropeanwoman can go unveiled yetuninsulted throughMarrakesh, the credit is dueto the ladies of theMission.It may be said withoutmental reservation that theSouthern Morocco Missionaccomplishes a great work,and ismost successful in itsapparent failure. It does notmake professing Christiansout ofMoors, but it teaches

theMoors to live finer liveswithinthelimitsoftheirownfaith, and if they are kinderand cleaner and morehonourablebyreasonoftheirintercourse with the "tabibs"and "tabibas," the worldgains and Morocco is wellserved.When theSultanwasin difficulties towards theend of 1902, and the star ofBu Hamara was in theascendant, Sir ArthurNicolson, our Minister in

Tangier, ordered all Britishsubjects to leave the inlandtowns for the coast.As soonas the news reached theMarrakshis,thehousesofthemissionaries were besiegedby eager crowds of Moorsand Berbers, offering todefend the well-belovedtabibsagainstallcomers,andbeggingthemnottogoaway.Very reluctantly Mr. Nairnand his companions obeyedtheorderssentfromTangier,

but, having seen their wivesandchildrensafelyhousedinDjedida, they returned totheirwork.

TheElharaorleperquarterisjust outside one of the citygates, and after some effortof will, I conquered myrepugnance and rode withinitsgate.Theplaceproved tobe a collection of poverty-stricken hovels built in acircle, of the native tapia,which was crumbling topieces through age and

neglect. Most of theinhabitants were begging inthe city, where they are atliberty to remain until thegates are closed, but therewereafewleftathome,andIhad some difficulty inrestraining the keeper ofElhara,whowishedtoparadethe unfortunate creaturesbefore me that I might notmiss any detail of theirsufferings. Leper womenpeeped out from corners, as

Boubikir's"house"haddone;little leper children playedmerrily enough on the drysandyground,afewdonkeys,covered with scars and halfstarved, stood in the scantyshade. In a deep cleft belowthe outer wall women andgirls,veryscantilyclad,werewashingclothesinapoolthatisreservedapparentlyfortheuse of the stricken village. Iwas glad to leave the placebehind me, after giving the

unctuouskeeperagiftforthesufferersthatdoubtlessneverreached them. They tell methat no sustained attempt ismade to dealmedicallywiththe disease, though manynasty concoctions are takenby a few True Believers,whose faith, I fear, has notmadethemwhole.[46]

When it became necessaryforustoleaveMarrakeshtheyoung shareef went to the

city'sfandaksandinquiredifthey held muleteers boundfor Mogador. The Maalemhad taken his team homealong the northern road, ourpathlaytothesouth,throughthe province of the Son ofLions (Oulad bou Sba), andthence through Shiadma andHaha to the coast. We werefortunate in finding themenwesoughtwithoutanydelay.A certain kaid of the Suscountry, none other than El

ArbibelHadjbenHaida,whorulesoverTiensiert,hadsentsix muleteers to Marrakeshto sell his oil, inwhat is thebest southernmarket, andhehad worked out theirexpenses on a scale thatcould hardly be expected tosatisfyanybodybuthimself.

"From Tiensiert toMarrakesh is three daysjourney," he had said, and,though it is five, no mancontradicted him, perhapsbecausefiveisregardedasanunfortunatenumber,nottobementioned in polite orreligioussociety."Threedayswill serve to sell the oil andrest the mules," he had

continued, "and three daysmore will bring you home."Thenhegaveeachmanthreedollars for travellingmoney,about nine shillings English,andout of it themuleswereto be fed, the charges ofn'zala and fandak to bemet,and if there was anythingoverthemenmightbuyfoodfor themselves. They darednot protest, for El Arbi belHadj ben Haida had everyman's house in his keeping,

and if the muleteers hadfailedhimhewouldhavehadcompensationinamannernofatherofafamilywouldcareto think about. The oil wassold, and themuleteerswerepreparing to return to theirmaster, when Salam offeredthem a price considerably inexcess of what they hadreceived for the wholejourney to take us toMogador. Needless to saytheywerenotdisposedtolet

thechancegoby,foritwouldnottakethemtwodaysoutoftheir way, so I went to thefandaktoseemulesandmen,and complete the bargain.There had been a heavyshower some days before,and the streets were morethanusuallymiry, but in thefandak,whose owner had nomarked taste for cleanliness,the accumulated dirt of allthe rainy season had beenstirred,withresultsIhaveno

wish to record. A fewdonkeys in the last stages ofstarvationhadbeensentintogather strength by resting,oneat leastwastoofargonetoeat.EventhemulesoftheSusi tribesmenwerenot inavery promising condition. Itwas an easy task to counttheir ribs, and they werebadly in need of rest and afewsquaremeals.Tiedinthecovered cloisters of thefandak there was some

respite for them from theattackofmosquitoes,butthedonkeys, being cheap and ofno importance, were left toall the torments that werebound to be associated withtheplace.

Onlyonehumanbeing facedtheglareofthelightandtrodfearlessly through the mirethat lay eight or ten inchesdeep on the ground, and hewas amadman,well-nigh as

tatteredandtornastheoneIhadangeredintheKaisariyahon the morning after myarrivalinthecity.Thisman'smadness took a milder turn.Hewent fromonedonkey toanother,whisperinginitsear,a message of consolation Ihope and believe, though Ihadnomeansoffindingout.WhenIenteredthefandakhecame running up to me in astyle suggestive of thegambolsofaplayfuldog,and

I was exceedingly annoyedby a thought that he mightnot know any differencebetween me and his otherfriends.Therewasnoneedtobe uneasy, for he drewhimselfup tohis fullheight,made a hissing noise in histhroat, and spat fiercely atmyshadow.Thenhereturnedto the stricken donkeys, andthe keeper of the fandak,coming out to welcome me,sawhismoreworthyvisitor.

Turning from me with"Marhababik" ("You arewelcome") just off his lips,heranforwardandkissedthehem of the madman'sdjellaba.

A madman is very often anobject of veneration inMorocco, for his brain is indivine keeping, while hisbodyisontheearth.Andyetthe Moor is not altogetherlogical in his attitude to the

"afflictedofAllah."Whilesomuchlibertyisgrantedtothemajority of the insane thatfeigned madness is quitecommon among criminals inthe country, less fortunatemenwhohavereallybecomementally afflicted, but arenot recognisedas insane, arekept chained to the walls ofthe Marstan—half hospital,half prison—that is attachedto themostgreatmosques. Ihave been assured that they

suffer considerably at thehandsofmostgaoler-doctors,whose medicine is almostinvariably the stick, but Ihave not been able to verifythe story, which is quiteopposedtoMoorishtradition.Themadvisitortothefandakdid not disturb theconversationwith the keeperand the Susi muleteers, buthe turned the head of adonkey in our direction andtalked eagerly to the poor

animal, pointing at me withoutstretchedfingerthewhile.The keeper of the fandak,kind man, made uneasy bythisdemonstration,signed tomequietly to stretchoutmyhand, with palm open, anddirectedtothespotwherethemadman stood, for only inthatwaycouldIhopetoaverttheevileye.

Thechiefmuleteerwasathinandwirylittlefellow,a total

stranger to the soap andwater beloved ofUnbelievers. He could nothavebeenmorethanfivefeethigh, and he was burntbrown. His dark outergarment of coarse nativewool had the curious yellowpatch on the back that allBerbers seem to favour,though none can explain itsorigin or purpose, and hecarried his slippers in hishand,probablydeemingthem

less capable of withstandinghard wear than his nakedfeet. He had no Arabic, butspoke only "Shilha," thelanguageoftheBerbers,soittook some time to make allarrangements, including thestipulationthatapropermealfor all the mules was to begiven under thesuperintendence of M'Barak.ThatworthyrepresentativeofShareefian authority washavinga regal time,drawing

a dollar a day, togetherwiththree meals and a ration forhishorse,inreturnforsittingateaseinthecourtyardoftheTinHouse.

Arrangements concluded, itwas time to say good-bye toSidi Boubikir. I askeddelicately to be allowed topay rent for the use of thehouse,but thehospitableoldman would not hear of it."Allah forbid that I should

take any money," heremarked piously. "Had youtold me you were going Iwouldhaveaskedyoutodinewith me again before youstarted."We sat in thewell-remembered room, wheregreen tea and mint wereserved in a beautiful set ofchina-and-goldfilagreecups,presented to him by theBritish Government nearlyten years ago. He spoke atlength of the places that

should be visited, includingthehouseofhisnearrelative,Mulai el Hadj of Tamsloht,to whom he offered to sendmewithlettersandanescort.Moreover, he offered anescort to see us out of thecity and on the road to thecoast,butIjudgeditbettertodeclinebothoffers,and,withmany high-flowncompliments,lefthimbytheentrance to his great house,and groped back through the

mud to put the finishingtouchestopacking.

Theyoungshareefacceptedaparting gift with gravedignity, and assured me ofhis esteem for all time andhiswilling servicewhen andwhereIshouldneedit. Ihadsaidgood-byetothe"tabibs"and "tabibas," so nothingremainedbuttorearrangeourgoods,thatnearlyeverythingshouldbereadyforthemules

when they arrived beforedaybreak. Knowing that thefirst day's ride was a longone,somefortymilesoveranindifferent road and withsecond-rate animals, I wasanxious to leave the city assoon as the gates wereopened.

Right above my head themueddin in the minaretoverlooking the Tin Housecalledthesleepingcitytoitsearliestprayer.[47]Iroseandwaked the others, and wedressedbyacandle-lightthatsoon became superfluous.Whenthemueddinbeganthechant that sounded soimpressive and so mournful

as it was echoed from everyminaret in the city, the firstapproachoflightwouldhavebeen visible in the east, andin these latitudes day comesand goes upon winged feet.Beforethebedsweretakentopieces and Salam had theporridge and his"marmalade" ready, withsteaming coffee, for earlybreakfast,weheardthemulesclattering down the stonystreet. Within half an hour

the packing comedy hadcommenced. The Susimuleteer, who wasaccompanied by a boy andfourmen,oneaslave,andallquite as frowzy, unwashed,and picturesque as himself,swore that we did not needfour pack-mules but eight.Salam,hiseyes flaming,andeach separate hair of hisbeardstandingonend,cursedthe shameless women whogave such men as the Susi

muleteer and his fellows tothe kingdom of my LordAbd-el-Aziz, threw theshwarris on the ground,rejected the ropes, anddeclared that with properfittings the mules, if theseweremulesatall,andhehadhisveryseriousdoubtsaboutthe matter, could run toMogador in three days.ClearlySalamintendedtobemaster from the start, andwhen I came to know

something more about ourcompany, thewisdom of theprocedurewasplain.Happilyfor one and all Mr. Nairncame along at this moment.It was not five o'clock, butthe hope of serving us hadbrought him into the coldmorningair,andhisthoroughknowledge of the Shilhatongue worked wonders. Hewas able to send for properropes at an hour when wecouldhavefoundnotraderto

supply them, and if wereached the city gate thatlooks out towards the southalmost as soon as the camelcaravan that had waitedwithout all night, theaccomplishment was due tomykindfriendwho,withMr.Alan Lennox, had done somuch to make the stay inMarrakesh happilymemorable.

Itwasjusthalf-pastsixwhen

thelastpack-mulepassedthegate, whose keeper saidgraciously, "Allah prosperthejourney,"and, thoughthesunwasup,themorningwascool,withadelightfullyfreshbreeze from the west, wherethe Atlas Mountainsstretched beyond range ofsight in all their unexploredgrandeur. They seemed veryclose to us in that clearatmosphere, but their foothills lay a day's ride away,

and the natives would beprompttoresentthevisitofastrangerwhodidnotcometothemwith the authority of akaid or governor whosepower and will to punishpromptly were indisputable.WithnolittleregretIturned,when we had been half anhour on the road, for a lastlook at Ibn Tachfin's city.Distancehadalreadygivenitthe indefinite attraction thatcomes when the traveller

seessomecityofoldtimeina light that suggests everycharm and defines none. Irealised that I had neverentered an Eastern city withgreater pleasure, or left onewithmoresincereregret,andthatiftimeandcircumstancehadbeenmyservantsIwouldnot have been so soon upontheroad.

The road fromMarrakesh toMogador is as pleasant as

traveller could wish, lyingfor a great part of the waythrough fertile land,but it isseldom followed, because ofthe two unbridged riversN'fissandSheshoua.Ifeitheris in flood (and both are fedby the melting snows fromthe Atlas Mountains), youmust camp on the banks fordays together, until it shallplease Allah to abate thewaters.Ourluckystarwasinthe ascendant; we reached

WadN'fiss at eleven o'clockto find its waters low andclear. On the far side of thebankswe stayed to lunch bythe border of a thick belt ofsedge and bulrushes, amarshyplace stretchingovertwo or three acres, andglowingwith the rich colourthat comes to southern landsin April and in May. ItrecalledtomethepassageinoneofthestatelychorusesofMr. Swinburne'sAtalanta in

Calydon, that tells how"blossom by blossom thespringbegins."

The intoxication that lies incolour and sound has everhadmore fascination formethan the finest wine couldbring: the colour of thevintageismorepleasingthanthetasteofthegrape.Inthisforgotten corner the eye andear were assailed and mustneeds surrender. Many tiny

birds of the warbler familysangamong thereeds,whereI set up what I took to be aNumidian crane, and, justbeyond the river growths,some splendid oleandersgave an effective splash ofscarlet to the surroundinggreens and greys. In thewaters of the marsh thebullfrogs kept up a loudsustained croak, as thoughthey were True Believersdisturbed by the presence of

the Infidels. The N'fiss is afascinating river from everypoint of view. Thoughcomparatively small, fewEuropeans have reached thesource,and itpasses throughparts of the countrywhere awhite man's presence wouldbe resented effectively. Thespurs of theAtlas were stillclearly visible on our lefthand,andneedlesstosaywehad the place to ourselves.Therewas not somuch as a

tentinsight.

At last M'Barak, who hadresumedhisplaceattheheadof our little company, andnow realised that we hadprolonged our stay beyondproper limits, mounted hishorse rather ostentatiously,andthejourneywasresumedoverlevellandthatwasveryscantily covered with grassor clumps of irises. Themountains seemed to recede

and the plain to spread out;neithereyenorglassrevealedavillage;wewereapparentlyriding towards the edge ofthe plains. Themuleteer andhis companions strode alongat a round pace, supportingthemselves with sticks andsinging melancholy Shilhalove-songs. Their mules,recollection of their goodmealofthepreviouseveningbeingforgotten,droppedtoapace of something less than

fourmilesanhour,andasthegait of our company had tobe regulated by the speed ofits slowestmember, it is notsurprising that night caughtus up on the open and shutout a view of the billowyplain that seemingly held noresting-place. How I missedthe little Maalem, whosetongue would have been aspurtothestumblingbeasts!But as wishing would bringnothing, we dismounted and

walked by the side of ouranimals, the kaid aloneremaining in the saddle. Sixo'clock became seven, andsevenbecameeight,andthenI found it sweet to hear thewatch-dog's honest bark. Ofcourse it was not a "deep-mouthedwelcome:"itwasnomore than a cry of warningand defiance raised by thecolony of pariah dogs thatguarded Ain el Baidah, ourdestination.

In the darkness, that had apleasing touch of purplecolouringlentitbythestars,Ain el Baidah's headmanloomed very large andimposing. "Praise to Allahthat you have come and inhealth," he remarked, asthough we were old friends.He assured me of mywelcome,andsaidhisvillagehadaguest-housethatwouldserve instead of the tent.Methought he protested too

much, but knowing thatmenand mules were dead beat,andthatwehadalongwaytogo, I told Salam that theguest-housewouldserve,andtheheadman lead theway toatapiabuildingthatwouldbecalledaverysmallbarn,oralargefowl-house,inEngland.Atinyclay lamp, inwhichacotton wick consumed somemuttonfat,revealedacornerof the darkness and the dirt,and when our own lamps

banished the one, they leftthe other very clearly to beseen.Butweweretootiredtoutter a complaint. I saw themules brought within thezariba, helped to set up mycampbed,tookthecartridgesout of my shot gun, and,telling Salam to say whensupperwasready, fellasleepatonce.Eighteenbusyhourshadpassedsincethemueddincalled to "feyer" from theminaretabovetheTinHouse,

butmy long-sought restwasdestinedtobebrief.

FOOTNOTES:

Literally, "Slave of theMerciful."

Priest attached to theMosque.

TheAngelsofJudgment.

SomanyleperscomefromtheArganForestprovincesofHaha andShiadma thatleprosy is believed bymanyMoorstoresultfrom

[43]

[44]

[45]

[46]

the free use ofArgan oil.There is no properfoundationforthisbelief.

This is themost importantof the five supplications.The Sura of Al Korancalled "The NightJourney" says, "To theprayer of daybreak theAngels themselves bearwitness."

"SONSOFLIONS"ANDOTHERTRUEBELIEVERS

EVENINGINCAMP

CHAPTERX

"SONSOFLIONS"ANDOTHERTRUE

BELIEVERS

FALSTAFF—"Fourroguesinbuckramletdriveatme."

KingHenryIV.,ActII.Scene4.

By the time Salam hadroused me from a dream inwhich Iwas being torn limbfrom limb in a Romanamphitheatre,whoseterracedseats held countless Moorsall hugely enjoying mydismemberment, I realisedthat a night in that guest-house would be impossible.The place was already over-

populated.

Abriefmealwastakenintheopen, and we sat with ourfeet thrust to theedgeof thenearest charcoal fire, for thenightwascold.Ouranimals,tethered and watered, stoodanxiously waiting for thebarleythechiefmuleteerhadgone to buy. Supper over, Isatonachairintheopen,anddisposedmyself for sleep aswell as the conditions

permitted.Roundme, on thebareground,themenandtheboy from the Sus laywrapped in their haiks—thedead could not have sleptmore soundly than they.Thetwo fires were glimmeringvery faintly now, M'Barakwas stretching a blanket forhimself, while Salamcollected the tin plates anddishes, his last task beforeretiring. Somewhere in thefarouterdarknessIheardthe

wail of a hyæna, and a lightcold breeze sighed over theplain. Half asleep and halfawake I saw the villageheadman approaching fromoutthedarkness;abigbagofbarley was on his shoulder,and he was followed closelyby the muleteer. They cameinto the little circle of thefast falling light; I wasnodding drowsily towardunconsciousness, andwondering, with a vague

resentmentthatexhaustedallmy remaining capacity tothink, why the headmanshouldbespeakingsoloudly.Suddenly,Isawthemuleteergo toearthas ifhehadbeenpole-axed,andinthatinstantIwaswideawakeandonmyfeet.SowasSalam.

The headman deliveredhimself of a few incisiverasping sentences. Themuleteer rose slowly and

wipeda littlebloodfromhisface.

Salam explained: hiscapacity for fathoming acrisis was ever remarkable."Headman he charge threedollars for barley and hedon't worth more than one.Muleteer he speaks for that,and headman 'e knock himdown."

"Ask him how he dares

interfere with our people," Isaid."Tellhimhiskaidshallhearofit."

The headman repliedhaughtily to Salam'squestions and strode away."He say," said Salam,beginning to get angry, "Payfirst and talk afterwards—toAllah, ifyouwill.Hesayhewait long time for man likemuleteer an' cut 'im throat.What he's bin done that be

nothing. What he's goin' todo, thatallMoors isgoin' tosee.Hecomebacksoon,sir."

Then Salam slippednoiselessly into the guest-house and fetched myrepeating shot gun, fromwhichIhadpreviouslydrawnall cartridges. He sat downoutside with the weaponacross his knees, and thebruised muleteer safelybehind him. I coaxed the

charcoal to a further effortand returned to my chair,wondering whether troublethat had been so long incoming had arrived at last.Some five minutes later weheardasoundofapproachingfootsteps, and I could nothelp noting how Salambrightened. He was spoilingfor a fight. I watched dimfigures coming into the areaof light, they tookshapeandshowedAinalBaidah'schief

and two of his men—tall,sturdy fellows, armed withthick sticks. Seeing Salamsittingwithgun levelled fullon them they came to asudden halt, and listenedwhilehetoldthem,inavoicethat shook and sometimesbroke with rage, theircharacter, theircharacteristics, the moralstandingof their parents andgrandparents, the probablefate of their sons, and the

certain and shameful destinyoftheirdaughters.Heinvitedthem,with finger on trigger,toadvanceonestepandmeetthe death that should enablehimtogivetheirill-favouredbodies one by one to thepariahsandthehawks,beforehe proceeded to sackAin alBaidahandovercomesingle-handed the whole of itsfighting men. And, absurdthoughhisrodomontademaysound to Europeans, who

readit incoldprint, itwasavastly different matter thereinthedarkofthePlain,whenSalam stood, believing heheldaloadedguninhishand,andallowedhisfiercetemperrein. The headman and histwo attendants slunkoff likewhipped curs, and weproceeded to feed ouranimals,replenishbothfires,andsleepwithoneeyeopen.

PREPARINGSUPPER

Morning came over the hillstoAinalBaidah in coldandcheerlessguise.Thevillagerscrowded round to stare at usin the familiar fashion. Butthere were grim looks anddark scowls among them,and,failingthetruculentanddeterminedbearingofSalamand the presence of the kaidwe should have had a lively

quarterofanhour.Asitwas,we were not ready to leavebeforeeighto'clock,andthenSalamwent,money in hand,to where the thievingheadman stood. The brokennight'sresthadnotmademycompanion more pleasedwith Ain al Baidah's chief.Hethrewthedollarsthathadbeen demanded on to theground before the rogue'sfeet, and then his left handflew up and outward. With

one swift, irresistiblemovement hehad caught hisfoebythebeard,drawndowntheshrinking,viciousfacetowithin a few inches of hisown, and so holding him,spoke earnestly for half aminute, of what the Prophethas said about hospitality totravellers, and the shockingfatethatawaitsheadmenwhorob thosewho come seekingshelter, and beat them whenthey complain. Ain al

Baidah's chief could not butlisten,andlistening,hecouldnotbutshudder.Soitfelloutthat, when Salam's haranguewas finished, we left aspeechless, irresolute,disgracedheadman,androdeawayslowly,thatnonemightsay we knew fear. If thevillagehadanyinclinationtoassist its chief, the sight ofthe blessed one's weapon, inits fierce red cloth covering,must have awed them.Some

dayslater,inMogador,Iwastold that the Ain al Baidahman is a terror to travellersandanotorious robber,but Imade no complaint to ourConsul. If the headman'soverlord had been told topunish him, the methodchosenwouldassuredlyhavebeentorobeverymaninthedouar, and if they resisted,burn their huts over theirheads. It seemed better totrust that the memory of

Salam will lead Ain alBaidah's chief to lessen hisproudlooks.

We made slow progress toSheshoua, where the riverthat might have barred ourroad to the coast was asfriendly as the N'fiss hadbeen on the previous day.The track to its banks hadbeen flat and uninterestingenough;what goodwork thewinterrainshaddonebyway

ofweavingaflowercarpetonthe plains, the summer sunhad destroyed. There was aconsiderable depression inthe plain, though we couldnotnoticeitattheslowpaceforced upon us, and thisaccounted for the absenceofwaterbetweentherivers,andfor the great extent of thecalcareous gravel, in whichfewplantscouldthrive.Onlyt h ezizyphus lotus, fromwhose branches little white

snails hung like flowers,seemed to find realnourishment in the dryground,thoughcolocynthandwildlavenderweretobeseennow and again. But by theSheshoua River the changewasverysuddenandgratefultotheeye.

A considerable olive grove,whose grey-green leavesshone like silver in the lightbreeze, offered shade and

shelter to a large colony ofdoves. There was a thrivingvillage, with a saint's tombforchiefattraction,andsolidwalls to suggest that theplace does not enjoyperennial tranquillity. Buteven though there arestrangers who trouble thesegood folk, their home couldnot have looked morecharmingly a haunt of peacethan it did. All round thevillage one saw orchards of

figs, apricots, andpomegranate trees; the firstwiththeleavesuntouchedbythesummerheat,theapricotsjust at the end of theirblossoming, and thepomegranates still in flower.Inplaceof thedry,hardsoilthatwassotryingto thefeetofmanandbeast, therewerehere meadows in plenty,from which the irises hadonly lately died. I saw thecommon English dandelion

growingwithinstone's throwofaclumpoffeatherypalms.

Tired after the vigil of theprevious night and the longhoursthathadleduptoit,wereclinedatoureaseundertheolives, determined to spendthe night at Sidi el Muktar,somefifteenor twentymilesaway. From there one canhunt the great bustard, and Ihad hoped to do so until Isaw theanimals thatwere to

take us to the coast. Neitherthe bustard nor the gazelle,thatsometimesroamsSidielMuktar'splains,hadanythingto fear from those noblecreatures. The kaid alonemight have pursued bird orbeast, but as his gun wasinnocent of powder and shotthere would have beennothingbutexercisetoseek.

Afteratwo-hours'rest,givenin one case more to sleep

than lunch, we moved ontowardsthevillageofSidielMuktar, passing somecurious flat-topped hillscalled by the natives HaunkIjjimmal.[48] The oasis hadceased as suddenly as it hadbegun, and the road becameas uninteresting as was ourown crawling gait. I noticedthat the Susimuleteersweretravelling very sadly, thattheyhadnot among theman

echo of the songs that hadsounded so strangely on theprevious day, and I badeSalam find the cause of thedepression, and ask whethertheyoungladwhosefeatureshad become pinched anddrawn felt ill. Within a fewmoments the truth was out.The six men had eatennothing save a little of themules' barley since they leftMarrakesh, and as they hadbeenonshortrationsbetween

Tiensiert and the Southerncapital, their strength wasbeginning togiveout. Itwasno part of my business tofeedthem;theyhadreceived"something in the hand"before they left the city, andcould well have boughtsupplies for the road, butthey had preferred to trustProvidence,andhopedtoliveonasmallpartof themules'barley and the daily gift oftea that had been promised.

Underthecircumstances,andthoughIhadfoundreasontobelieve that they were lazy,feckless rogues enough,whoreallyneededan iron-handedkaidtoruleoverthem,ItoldSalam to pass word roundthat their wants would besupplied at the day's end.Thentheypickeduptheiroldstride, and one by oneresumed the love-songs ofyesterday as we movedslowly over the plains to

where, in the far distance,SidielMuktarstoodbetweenus and the fast setting sun,placedneartothejunctionofthree provinces—Oulad bouSba, through which wetravelled, M'touga, famousfor fleet horses, andShiadma,whereourroadlay.

ButweweretofindnorestintheshadeofSidielMuktar'sstately zowia. The "Sons ofLions" had raided the place

on the previous day, hopingto terminate alike the ruleand the existence of a kaidwhose hand had rested tooheavily upon them. Somefriend of the kaid havinggiven him due notice of theraiders'intentions—treacheryis a painfully commonfeature of these forays—hehad been well prepared tomeet these godless men.Powder had spoken, andwasto speak again, for the kaid,

havingdrivenofftheraiders,was going to carry war intotheenemy'scountry,andwasbusypreparingtostartonthemorrowatdaybreak.Atsuchatimeasthisithadnotbeenwise to pitch tent withinsound or sight of men withthe killing lust upon them.Very reluctantly we rode onfor another two hours andthenAinUmast,adouarthatis famous for its possessionof a well of pure water,

received us with nightfall.Thereourtroubleswereover,for though the place wasmore than commonly dirty,the inhabitants werepeaceableanddisposedtobefriendly. A few crops wereraised on the surroundingfields, and small herds ofsheep and goats managed topickupsomesortofalivingonthesurroundinglands,butpoverty reigned there, andAin Umast is of small

accountbythesideofSidielMuktar, which is the burial-place of a saint, whosemiracles are stillacknowledged by all thefaithful who happen to havemet with good luck of anysort.

Bread, butter, and eggswerebrought for the muleteers,and I was greatly surprisedbythecleanlinessofthemen.Beforetheybrokeaneggforthe omelette they washed itwith greatest care. Theythemselvesstoodfarmoreinneed of a washing than theeggs did, but perhaps theycould not be expected to

think of everything. Barleywasbought, at half thepricechargedatAinelBaidah,andI noticed that the cunningSusi hid some of it in thelong bag they kept at thebottom of one of theshwarris. Clearly theyintended tomake the supplywe paid for serve to takethemallthewaytoTiensiert.Thiswasannoying,sinceoneof the objects of ordering agood supply each night was

to enable the long-sufferingbeasts to compass a betterspeedonthefollowingday.

Thatevening therewasgreatexcitement in thedouar.Theelders came round our fireafter supper and sought toknow if itwere true that the"Sons of Lions" had blottedout Sidi el Muktar, and putall its inhabitants to thesword. When we declaredthat the little town was still

whereithadstoodsincetheywere born, they appeareddistinctlysurprised,andgavethe praise and credit to thepatron saint. They said thekaid'shandwasaveryheavyone,thathismenwenttotheWednesdaymarket andweretheterrorofthecountryfolkswho came to buy and sell.The absence of the CourtElevated byAllahwas to bedeplored, for had my LordAbd-el-Aziz been in

residenceatMarrakeshsomeother kaid would havemadehimabidfortheplaceoftheruler of Sidi el Muktar,basinghisofferuponthefactthat the present governorcould not keep order. Achange might have been forthe better—it could hardlyhavebeenfortheworse.Oneor two of the men of AinUmast spoke Shilha, and theSusi men, hearing thecruelties of Sidi el Muktar's

ruler discussed, claimed tohaveafarbetterspecimenofthe genus kaid in Tiensiert.Hewas aman indeed, readywith fire and sword at theshortest notice; his subjectscalledhimFatherofLocusts,so thoroughly did he dealwith all things that could beeatenup.

It was a curious butinstructive attitude. Thesemiserable men were quite

proud to think that thetyranny of their kaid, thegreat El Arbi bel Hadj benHaida,wasnot toberivalledby anything Shiadma couldshow. They instanced histreatment of them andpointedtotheyoungboywhowas of their company. Hisfatherhadbeenkaidinyearspast, but the late GrandWazeer Ba Ahmad sold hisoffice toElArbi,who threwtheman intoprisonandkept

him there until he died. Toshow hismight, ElArbi hadsent the boywith them, thatallmenmightknowhowthesocialscalesofTiensiertheldthe kaid on one side and therest of the people on theother. The black slave whoaccompanied them had beenbroughtupby the latekaid'sfather, and was devoted totheboy.InhismercyElArbiallowedhim to livewith thelad and work a small farm,

the harvest of which wasstrictly tithed by Tiensiert'schief—who took a full nine-tenths. Before the eveningwas over the elders of AinUmast had acknowledged,rather regretfully I thought,that the tyrant of Sidi elMuktar must hide adiminished head before hisbrother of the Sus. Thetriumph of the grimy menfrom Tiensiert was thencomplete.

They were a sorry set offellows enough, to outwardseeming, but how shall aEuropean judge them fairly?Stevenson says in one of hisEssays, "Justice is not doneto the versatility and theunplumbed childishness ofman's imagination. His lifefromwithoutmayseembutarude mound of mud; therewillbesomegoldenchamberattheheartofit,inwhichhedwells delighted; and for as

darkashispathwayseemstothe observer, he will havesomekindofbull's-eyeathisbelt."So,doubtless,hadIhadthe eyes that see below thesurface, these hardy traders,the best ofwhose hopes andactionswerehiddenfromme,would have been no lessinteresting than the Maalemortheyoungshareef.

Inviewofthedisturbedstateof the country I thought of

having a few extra guards,but finding the two alreadyengaged sleeping peacefullybeforeourtentwasclosed,itseemed likely that a coupleof sleepingmenwouldbeasusefulasfour.Ifeartheyhada troubled night, for thoughthe "Sons of Lions" did nottrouble us, a short, sharpshower came with the smallhours and woke the poorfellows,who asked for extramoney in the morning by

way of consolation for theirbroken rest. By five o'clockwewereastir,andsoonafterwe were on the road again,bound for the village ofHanchen,where a small SokThalata[49] is held. After abrief mid-day rest wereached the outskirts of theArganForest.

This great forest is quite thedistinctive feature ofSouthernMorocco.Theargan

tree, that gives a name to it,istheindigenousoliveofthecountry,andisfoundonlyinthezonebetween theTensiftriverandtheriverSus.Arganwoodisexceedinglyhardandslow growing, thus differingmaterially from the olive, towhich it seems so nearlyrelated. The trunk divideslowdown, sometimeswithinsix feet of the roots, and thebranches grow horizontally.If the Moors are right, the

ageoftheeldersoftheforestis tobecountedincenturies,and the wood can defy theattacks of insects that makeshort-work of other trees.Theleavesofthearganrecallthose of the olive, but haveeven a lighter silvery aspecton theunderside; the fruit islike the olive, butconsiderably larger, and issought after by manyanimals.Goats climb amongthebranches insearchof the

best nuts. Camels and cowswillnotpassanargantree ifgiven the slightest chance tolinger. The animals that eatthe nuts reject their kernels,and the Moors collect thesein order to extract the oil,whichisusedincooking,forlighting purposes, and asmedicine. After extractionthe pulp is eagerly acceptedby cattle, so no part of thevaluedfruitiswasted.Oneofthe giants of the forest, said

tobefourhundredyearsold,has before now given shadeto a regiment of soldiers; Isaw for myself that thecircumferenceofitsbrancheswas more than two hundredfeet.

But it must not be thoughtthat the Argan Forest iscomposed entirely of thesetrees. The argan dominatesthe forest but does notaccount for its beauty. Ther'tam is almost as plentiful,and lends far more to thewood'scolourscheme,foritslight branches are stirred byevery breeze. Dwarf-palm is

to be found on all sides,together with the arar orcitrus, and the double-thorned lotus. The juniper,wildpear, and cork trees areto be met with now andagain, and the ground is forthemostpartaseaofflowersalmost unknown to me,thoughIcouldrecognisewildthyme, asphodel, andlavender amid the tamariskand myrtle undergrowth. Atintervals the forest opens,

showing some large douarthatwasbuiltprobablyonthesite of a well, and thereindustriousvillagefolkshavereclaimed the land, raisedcrops, and planted orchards.Olive, fig, and pomegranateseem to be themost populartrees, and corn is grown inthe orchards too, possibly inorder that it may have thebenefit of the trees' shade.The soil that can raise cornand fruit trees togethermust

haveexceptionalvitality andrichness,particularlyinviewofthefactthatitisinnowayfed, and is rather scraped orscratched than trulyploughed.

The village of Hanchen,known for miles round as"Sok Thalata" by reason ofits weekly gathering, mightwellservetojustifyahalt.Itstraggles over a hillsurrounded on all sides by

the forest, it has a saint'sshrine of fair size andimposing aspect, a goodsupply of water, and verypeaceful inhabitants. At thebaseof the slope, some fiftyyards from the broad trackleading to the coast, therewasanorchardofmore thancommon beauty, even forSouthern Morocco. Thepomegranates,aflowerabovethe ripening corn, had finerblossomsthananyIhadseen

before, the fig-trees wereBiblical in their glossysplendour. Mules werefootsore, the Susi men weretired, the weather wasperfect,timewasourownfora day or two, and I wasaching to takemygun downthe long glades that seemedto stretch to the horizon. Sowe off-saddled, and pitchedour tent in the shadow of apatriarchal fig-tree.Then themules were eased of their

burdens and fed liberally,Salam standing between thepoor beasts and themuleteers, who would haveimpoundedaportionof theirhard-earnedmeal.

Theheatoftheafternoonwaspassing;Iloadedmygunandstarted out.At first sight ofthe weapon some score oflads from the village—athletic,vigorousboys,readyto go anywhere and do

anything—made signs thattheywouldcomeandbeatforme.WithSalam'shelpIgavethemproperinstructions;myideawas to shoot enough offur and feather to give themuleteersagoodsupper.

Attheoutsetasorryaccidentbefell. A fat pigeon camesailingoverhead, sowell fedthatitwashardtobelievehewas a pigeon at all. Thisbeing the sort of bird that

suitshungrymen,Ifiredandwaswell pleased to note theswift direct fall, and to hearthe thud that tells of a cleankill. To my surprise thebeaters remainedwhere theywere, none offering to pickupthebird.Therewereglumand serious looks on everyside.Imotionedoneladtogoforward, and, to myamazement,hemadethesignthat is intended to avert theevileye,anddeclaredthathe

took refuge from me withAllah.

I sent for Salam, and, as heapproached, a chorus ofexplanations came to himfrom all sides. The pigeoncame from the zowia of ElHanchen.Itwassacred—thatiswhyitwassofat.Thiswasabadbeginning,andamatterthat demanded carefulhandling.So I sentM'Barak,representing official

Morocco, to express to ElHanchen's headman myextreme sorrow and sincereregret. The blessed one wasinstructed to assure thevillage that I had nosuspicion of the bird'sholiness, and that it wasmyrule in life to respecteverything that other menrespected. It seemedcourteous to await the kaid'sreturn before resumingoperations,andhecameback

inhalfanhourwithwordthatthe headman, while deeplyregretting the incident,recognised the absence ofbad intention. He asked thatthesacredslainmightnotbeeaten. I sent back wordthanking him for hiscourteous acceptance of myexplanations, and promisingthat the fat pigeon shouldreceive decent burial. Asmall hole was dug on thesunny side of the fig-tree,

andtherethesacredbirdwasinterred. I hope that theworms proved as particularaswehadbeen.

Dutydone,wewentofftothewoods,thebeaters,nowquitereassured, driving stock-doves over in quantities thatleft no reason to fear aboutthemuleteers' supper.Whilebirdswerethequarrytheladsworked well, but now andagainaharewouldstartfrom

her form, and every boywould join in the headlong,hopelesschasethatensued.Itwas impossible to checkthem,andequallyimpossibleto shoot at the hare. Whileshe was within gunshot theladswerecloseonherheels,and by the time she haddistanced them or dashedinto the long grasses andscrubshewasoutofrangeoroutof sight. Invain Iwavedthem back and complained

when they returned panting;as soon as another hare gotup theywentafterher in thesame way, until at last,taking advantage of a wildchase that had carried themrather a longer distance thanusual,Itookasharpturnandstrolled away quite bymyself. I heard the excitedcries die away in thedistance, and then for somefew moments the forestsilence was broken only by

the rustle of the breezethrough the grass, and thesudden scream of a startledjay.Doveswenthappilyfromtree to tree and I never putmygunup.Ihadheardaveryfamiliarsound,andwantedtobeassuredthatmyearswerenotdeceived.No,Iwasright;I could hear the cuckoo,calling through the depth ofthe forest, as though it weremy favourite Essex copse athome. It was pleasant,

indeed, to hear the homelynotes so far from any otherobject, even remotely,connectedwithEngland.

I strolled for an hour ormore, listening to the"wandering voice," heedlessof what passed me by, atpeacewithalltheworld,andresolved to shoot no more.Alas, for good intentions!Comingsuddenlyintoagreatclearing girdled by argan

trees, I flushed two largebirdssomefortyyardsaway.The first was missed, thesecond came down andprovedtobeaLesserBustardo rboozerat—quite a prize.Well content, I emptied thegun to avoid temptation andwalked back to the camp,where there was quite a fairbag.

"Tellthemuleteers,Salam,"Isaid, "that they may have

these birds for their supper,and that I hope they willenjoythemselves."

Salamworearathertroubledexpression, I thought, as hewent to the head muleteerand pointed to the spoils.Then he came back andexplained to me that theirdietarylawsdidnotallowtheSusi toeatanything thathadnotbeenkilledbybleedinginthe orthodox fashion. Had

they been with me, to turnwounded birds to the Eastand cut their throats in thename of Allah, all wouldhavebeenwell,butbirdsshotdeadwereanabomination tothe righteous Susi. Theyscorned to avail themselvesof the excuse afforded bytheirneeds.[50]Somylabourhad been in vain, and I didnotknowwhattodowiththespoil.ButIlefttheslainina

little heap out of theway ofinsects and flies, and whenwe rose in the morning theunorthodoxamongHanchen'sinhabitants had apparentlysolvedtheproblem.

FOOTNOTES:

TheCamel'sJaw.

"Tuesdaymarket."

"I find not in that which

hath been revealed to meanything forbidden untothe eater ... except it bethatwhichdiethofitself...or that which is profane,having been slain in thename of some other thanGod. But whoso shall becompelled of necessity toeat these things, notlusting nor wilfullytransgressing, verily thyLordwillbegraciousuntohim and merciful."—AlKoran,Sura,"Cattle."

INTHEARGANFOREST

CHAPTERXI

INTHEARGANFOREST

Life,evenatitsgreatestand best, may becompared to a frowardchild, who must behumoured and playedwith till he falls asleep,

and then the care isover.

—Goldsmith.

Early morning found theTuesday market in fullswing, and the town ofHanchen already astir inhonour of the occasion. Torealise the importanceof theweeklygathering,itiswelltoremember that a market inthe country here is the only

substitute for the bazaar ofthe towns. Every douarwithin a ten-mile radius ofHanchen sends men andwomen to the Tuesdaymarket tobuyandsell.So itbefell that thehillside slope,which was bare on theprevious afternoon, hummednowlikeahive,andwaswellnighascrowded.Roughtentsofgoats'orcamels'-hairclothshelteredeverythinglikelytoappealtothenativemindand

resources,—tea, sugar,woollen and cotton goods,pottery,sieves,padlocks,andnails being to all appearancethe goods most sought afterbythecountryMoor.Quiteabrisk demand for candlesprevailed; they were highly-coloured things, thick at thebaseandtaperingtothewick.Therewasagoodsaletoofornative butter, that neededcareful straining before itcouldbeeatenwithcomfort,

and there were eggs inplenty, fetching fromtwopence to threepence thedozen, a high price forMorocco, and brought aboutby the export trade that hasdeveloped so rapidly in thelast few years. For the mostpartthetradersseemedtobeBerbers or of evidentBerberextraction, being darker andsmaller than the Arabs, andin some cases wearing thedark woollen outer garment,

with its distinctive orange-coloured mark on the back.Women and little childrentook no small part in themarket, but were perhapsmostconcernedwiththesaleof the chickens that theybrought from their homes,tied by the legs in bundleswithout regard to thesuffering entailed. Thewomen did rathermore thana fair share of porters' worktoo.Veryfewcamelswereto

be seen, but I noticed onegroup of half a dozen beingcarefully fed on a cloth,because, like all theirsuperciliousbreed,theyweretoo dainty to eat from theground. They gurgled quiteangrily over the question ofprecedence.Alittlewayfromthe tents in which hardwarewas exposed for sale, breadwas being baked in coveredpans over a charcoal firefanned by bellows, while at

the bottom of the hill abutcherhadputuptheroughtripodofwoodenpoles,fromwhich meat is suspended.The slaughter of sheep wasproceeding briskly. A veryold Moor was the officialslaughter-man, and he sat intheshadeofawall,abloodyknife inhand,andconversedgravely with villagers of hisownage.When thebutcher'sassistants had brought upthreeorfourfreshsheepand

stretchedthemontheground,theoldmanwouldrisetohisfeetwithconsiderableeffort,cut the throats that werewaiting for himvery cleanlyandexpeditiously,andreturnto his place in the shade,while another assistantspread clean earth over thereeking ground. Some of thesheep after being dressedwerebarbecued.

Isawmanywomenandgirls

bent under the weight ofbaskets of charcoal, orfirewood, or loads of hay,and some late arrivalscoming in heavily burdenedin this fashion wereaccompanied by theirhusband,whorodeateaseona donkey and abused themroundlybecause theydidnotgo quickly enough. Mulesand donkeys, with fore andhindleghobbled,wereleftinone corner of the market-

place, to make up in restwhat they lacked in food.Needless to say that themarketingwasverybrisk,butI noted with some interestthat very little moneychanged hands. Barter wasmore common than sale,partly because theGovernmenthaddegradeditsown currency until thenatives were fighting shy ofit, and partly because theowners of the sheep and

goatswereacompanyoftrueBedouins from the extremeSouth. These Bedouins werethe most interesting visitorsto theTuesdaymarket,andIwas delighted when one ofthem recognised Salam as afriend. The two had met inthe days when anadventurous Scot set up inbusiness atCape Juby in theextreme South, where Ibelieve hisMajestyLebaudytheFirstisnowking.

The Saharowi was anexceedingly thin man, ofwild aspect, with flowinghair and scanty beard. Hisskin was burnt deep brown,andhewasdressed inabluecotton garment of guineacloth made in simplestfashion.Hewasthechiefofalittle party that had beentravelling for two monthswith faces set toward theNorth.HeremindedSalamof

Sidi[51]Mackenzie, the Scotwho ruled Cape Juby, andhow the great manager,whosenamewasknownfromthe fort to Tindouf, hadnearly poisoned him bygivinghimbreadtoeatwhenhe was faint with hunger.These true Bedouins live onmilk and cheese, with anoccasional pieceof camel orgoatflesh,andararetasteofmutton.WhenSalam'sfriend

came starving to Cape Juby,Sidi Mackenzie had givenhim bread. The hungry manatesomeandatoncebecameviolently ill, his stomachcould not endure such solidfare. Having no milk in thefort, they managed to keephim alive on rice-water. Itwould appear that theSaharowi can easily live onmilk for a week, and withmilk and cheese can thriveindefinitely, as indeed could

mostotherfolk,iftheycaredtoforswearluxuryandtry.

ONTHEROADTOARGANFOREST

Thelittlepartywastravellingwithsomehundredsofsheepand goats,whichwere beingtendedalittlewayoffbythechildren, and, large thoughtheir flocks seemed, theywere in truth sadly reducedby the drought that haddriven one and all to theNorth. The Saharowiexplained to Salam that all

the wandering Arabs weretrekkingnorthwardsinsearchoflandthathadseentherain;and that their path wasstrewn with the skeletons ofanimals fallen by the way.These nomads carried theirwives and little ones,together with tents andhousehold impedimenta, onthe camels, and walked onfootwith thegrownchildrenin charge of the flocks. Thesheep they had sold to the

butcher were in faircondition, and fetched fromfour to five shillings inEnglish money, or theequivalent of this sum ingoods, for when a Saharowiapproachescivilisedlandsheis generally in need of someof the products ofcivilisation, or thinks he is,though, at need, hemanagesexcellently well withoutthem.

Among the miscellaneousgathering that the Tuesdaymarket had attracted toHanchen I noticed a smallcompany of acrobats fromtheSus,andamedicinemanof fierce aspect, who sat byhimself under a rough tent,muttering charms andincantations, andwaiting forAllah to send victims. Thiswonder-worker had piercingeyes,thatseemedtoexaminethe back of your head, long

matted hair and a beard tomatch. He wore a whitedjellaba and a pair of newslippers, and was probablymore dangerous than anydiseaseheaidedandabetted.

For the amusement of thepeople who did not care foracrobatic feats and stood inno need of the primitivemethods of the physician,therewas a story-teller,whoaddressed a somewhat

attenuated circle ofphlegmatic listeners, and asnake-charmer who wassurrounded by children. Sidiben Aissa undoubtedly keptthe snakes—spotted leffasfrom the Sus—from hurtinghisfollower,butnoteventhesaint could drawfloos frompoor youngsters whose totalwealth would probably havefailed to yield threepence tothe strictest investigator.Happilyforthemthecharmer

was an artist in his way; heloved his work for its ownsake, and abated no part ofhis performance, althoughthe rewardwouldhardlybuyhim andhis assistant amealofmutton and bread at theirlabour's end. The boys ofHanchen were doing briskbusinessinthebrasscasesofcartridgesthathadbeenfiredon the previous day, andwithout a doubt the story ofthe wonders of a repeating

gun lost nothing in thetelling.

THESNAKE

Therewasnointervalforrestwhen the hours of greatestheat came round. Latearrivals who travelled in onmule- or donkey-backrenewed business when itslackened, and brought freshgoods to be sold orexchanged. The "Sons ofLions" had broken up themarket at Sidi elMuktar on

the previousFridaybefore itwas properly concluded, andmany natives, disappointedthere, had come out toHanchentodotheirbusiness,until there seemed to benothing in any stall thatlacked buyers. Even the oldmanwhohadaheapofscrap-ironwhenthemarketopenedhadsoldeverypieceof itbyfouro'clock, thoughitwouldhave puzzled a European tofindanyuseforsuchrubbish.

The itinerant mender ofslippers was hard at workwith three young lads, and Inever saw any one of thepartyidle.Hawksandcorbiesfluttered over the butcher'sground, and I noticed avulture in the deep vault ofthe sky. Pariah dogs wouldcleareverybitofrefusefromthe ground before anotherday dawned, and in theirnasty fashion would servetheircountry,fortheweather

was very hot and the odourswere overpowering. Fliescoveredallunprotectedmeatuntil it ceased to look red,and the stall of the seller ofsweetmeats was a study inblack andwhite: blackwhentheswarmssettled,andwhitefor a briefmoment when heswitched them off with hisfeathery bamboo brush.Yet,in spite of the manydifficultiesunderwhichtradewascarriedon,onecouldnot

help feeling that buyers andsellers alike were enjoyingthemselves hugely. Themarket did more than helpthemtomakealiving.Itwasat once their club, theirnewspaper, and their theatre,and supplied the onerecreation of lives that—perhaps only to Europeanseeming—were tedious as atwice-toldtale.

Here the village folk were

able to keep themselvesposted in the country'scontemporary history, fortraders had come from allpoints of the compass, andhadmetmenatothermarketswho, in their turn, broughtnews from places still moreremote. Consequently youmight learn in Hanchen'sTuesday market what theSultanwasdoinginFez,andhow theRoguiwasoccupiedin Er-Riff. French

penetration in the far-offdistricts of no man's landbeyond Tafilalt was well-known to these travellingmarket-folk; the Saharowihadspokenwiththeheadsofacaravanthathadcomewithslaves from Ghadames, byway of the Tuat, bound forMarrakesh. Resting by dayand travelling by night, theyhadpassedwithoutchallengethrough the French lines. Avisitor knowing Arabic and

Shilha, and able to discountthe stories properly, mighthavehadafaithfulpictureofMorocco as its own peoplesee it, had he been admittedto join the weather-worn,hardy traders who satcomplacently eyeing theirdiminished store towards theclose of day. Truth isnowhere highly esteemed inMorocco,[52] and thecolouringsuperimposedupon

most stories must havedestroyed their original hue,but it served to please theMoorsandBerberswho,likethe men of other countriesone knows, have small usefor unadorned facts. Perhapsthe troubles that werereported from every side ofthe doomed countryaccounted for theprofessional story-teller'sthinaudience.By thesideoftales that had some

connectionwith fact the saltofhislegendslostitssavour.

Towards evening the crowdmelted away silently, as ithad come. A few mulespassed along the road toMogador, the Bedouin andhis company moved off inthedirectionofSaffi,andthegreater part of the tradersturnedsouth-easttoM'touga,where there was a Thursdaymarketthatcouldbereached

in comfort. Hanchen retiredwithin itsboundaries, rich inthe proceeds of the sale offodder, which had been ingreat demand throughout theday. Small companies ofboys roamed over themarket-place,seekingtosnapup any trifles that had beenleft behind, just as Englishboys will at the CrystalPalace or Alexandra Park,after a fireworkdisplay.TheMoorishyoungstershadeven

less luck than their Englishbrethren, for in Morocco,wherelifeissimpleandmenneed and have little,everything has its use, and anative throws nothing away.The dogs, eager to forestallthe vultures, were stillfighting among themselvesfor the offal left by thebutcher, when the villagers,who had come to take a latecup of tea with Salam andM'Barak, resumed their

slippers, testified to theUnityofAllah,andturnedtoascendHanchen'ssteephill.

Among the stories circulatedin the Tuesday market wasone to the effect that a lionhad come down from theAtlas,andaftertakingtollofthe cattle belonging to thedouars on its road, had beenshotatthewesternendoftheforest.Thistalewastoldwithsomuchcircumstance that it

seemed worth inquiry, and Ifound in Mogador that agreat beast had indeed comefrom the hills and wroughtconsiderableharm;butitwasa leopard, not a lion. Itmaybedoubtedwhether lionsareto be found anywhere northof the Atlas to-day, thoughtheywerecommonenoughintimespast,andoneissaidtohave been shot close toTangier in themiddleof lastcentury.Iftheystillexistitis

inthefarthestAtlasrange,inthe country of the BeniM'gild, a district that cannotbeapproachedfromthewestat all, and in far landsbeyond, that have beenplaced under observationlately by the advance-columns of the FrenchAlgerian army, which doesnot suffer from scrupleswhere its neighbour'slandmarks are concerned.Mostof theoldwritersgave

the title of lion or tiger toleopards, panthers, andlemurs; indeed, the errorflourishesto-day.

ACOUNTRYMAN

On the road once again, Ifound myself wondering atthe way in which BritishsportsmenhaveneglectedtheArgan Forest. If they had toreachitaswedid,after longdays and nights in a countrythat affords little attractionforsportsmen,itwouldbenomatter for wonder that theystay away. But the outskirts

of the forest can be reachedfromMogadorattheexpenseofafive-milerideacrosstheminiatureSaharathatcutsoffSidiM'godol's city from thefertile lands, and Mogadorhas a weekly service ofsteamers comingdirect fromLondon by way of the otherMoorishports.Nopartoftheforest is preserved, gunlicenses are unknown, andthe woods teem with game.Stories about the ouadad or

moufflon may bedisregarded, for this animalisonlyfoundinthepassesofthe Atlas Mountains, milesbeyond the forest'sboundaries.But,ontheotherhand, the wild boar isplentiful, while lynx,porcupine,hyæna,jackal,andhare are by no means rare.Sand-grouse and partridgethrive in large quantities.There are parts of the forestthat recall the Highlands of

Scotland, though thevegetation is richer than anythat Scotland can show, andin these places, unknownsave to a very few, thestreamsare fullof trout,andtheottermaybehuntedalongthebanks.Thesmallquantityand poor quality of nativegunsmaybeheld toaccountfor thecontinualpresenceofbirds and beasts in a part oftheworldthatmaynotfairlybe deemed remote, and

where, save in times ofstress, a sportsmanwhowilltreat the natives withcourtesy and considerationmay be sure of a heartywelcome and all theassistance he deserves.Withal,nomanwhohasonceenjoyed a few days in theArgan Forest can sincerelyregretEurope's neglect of it:humannatureisnotunselfishenoughforthat.

Theridethroughthelastpartof the forestwasuneventful.Argan, kharob, and lotus,with thehelpofafewof the"arar"orgumsandaractrees,shutofftheviewtotherightand left. Below them dwarf-palm,aloe,cactus,andsweetbroom made a denseundergrowth, and where thewoodland opened suddenlythe ground was aflame withflowersthatrecalledEnglandas clearly as the cuckoo's

note. Pimpernel,convolvulus, mignonette,marigold, and pansy wereEnglish enough, and inaddition to these the ox-daisiesofourmeadowswerealmost as common here.Many companies of the trueBedouins passed us on theroad,heraldedbygreatflocksofsheepandgoats,thesheeppausingtoeatthetopsofthedwarf-palms, the goats toclimb the low-lying argan

trees, while their ownersstayedtoaskaboutthewatersupply and the state of thecountrybeyond.

Though we might considerourselves far removed fromcivilisation, these Bedouinsfelt that they were all toonear it. The change fromtheirdesertland,withitsfewand far-scattered oases, tothiscountrywhere therewasa douar at the end of every

day's journey, was like achange from the country tothe town. They could notview without concern a partof the world in which menwore several garments, atebread and vegetables, andsleptundercoverinawalledvillage, andonewild fellow,who carried a very old flint-lock musket, lamented thedroughtthathadforcedthemfrom their homes to a placeso full of men. So far as I

was able to observe thematter, theBerbermuleteersof El Arbi bel Hadj benHaidah looked with greatscorn upon these Bedouins,and their contempt wasreciprocated. In the eyes ofthe Berbers these men wereoutcastsand"eatersofsand,"and in the eyes of theBedouins themuleteerswerepuling, town-bred slaves,whodarednotsaytheirrighthandsweretheirown.

Perhaps the difficulty in theway of a properunderstanding was largelyphysical.TheBerbersbelievethey came to Morocco fromCanaan, forced out ofPalestinebythemovementofthe Jews under Joshua. Theysettled in the mountains ofthe "Far West," and havenever been absorbed ordriven out by their Arabconquerors. Strong, sturdy,temperate men, devoid of

imagination, and of theimpulse to create or developanartisticside to their lives,they can have nothing incommon with the slenderlybuilt, far-seeingArab of theplains, who dreams dreamsand sees visions all the daysof his life. Between Salamand the Bedouins, on theother hand, good feelingcame naturally. The poortravellers, whose worldlywealthwaseverintheirsight

—acamelortwo,atentwithscanty furniture, and a fewgoatsand sheep—hadall theunexplored places of theworld to wander in, and alltheheavensfortheircanopy.That is the life the Arabslove, and it had temptedSalam many hundreds ofmiles from his native place,thesacredcityofSheshawan,ontheborderofEr-Riff.Thewandering instinct is neververy far fromanyof uswho

have once passed east ofSuez, and learned that thehighestendandaimoflifeisnottoliveinatown,howeverlarge and ugly, and sufferwithout complaining theinevitable visits of the taxcollector.

Ourtentwassetforthenightinavalleythatwereachedbya path half-buried inundergrowthandknownonlytotheheadmuleteer.Itwasa

spot far removed from thebeaten tracks of thetravellers. In times past agreat southern kaid had sethis summer-house there: itsskeleton, changed from greyto pink in the rosy light ofsun-setting, stood before us,just across a tiny streamfringed by rushes, willows,and oleanders. When theCourt Elevated byAllah leftMarrakeshforthenorthsomeyears ago, the sorely-tried

natives had risen againsttheir master, they hadcaptured and plundered hishouse, and he had beenfortunate in getting awaywithawholeskin.Thereafterthe tribesmen had foughtamong themselves for thespoilsofwar, thedivisionofthe china and cutleryaccounting for severaldeaths.Allthelandroundourlittle camp had been agarden, a place famous for

rosesand jessamine,verbenaand the geraniums that growin bushes, together withcountless other flowers, thatmake the garden of SunsetLand suggest to Moors thebeauties of the paradise thatis to come.Now the flowersthat had been so carefullytended ran wild, the boarrooted among them, and theporcupine made a home intheir shade. As eveningclosed in, the wreck of the

great house became vagueandshadowy,athingwithoutoutline, the wraith of thehome that had been. Greyowls and spectral bats sailedor fluttered from the walls.They might have been pastowners or servitors who hadsufferedmetamorphosis.Thesight set me thinking of themutual suspicions of theBedouins and the Susitraders,theraidingofSidielMuktar, the other signs of

tribal fighting that had beenapparent on the road, thepersecution of the Moor byhisprotectedfellow-subjects,—in short, thewhole failureof the administration towhich the ruin that stoodbefore me seemed to givefittingexpression.Thishousehadnotstood,and,afterall,Ithought Morocco was but ahousedividedagainstitself.

In the face of all thedifficulties and dangers thatbeset the state, the Sultan'ssubjects are concerned onlywith their own privateanimosities. Berber cannotunitewithMoor,villagestillwars against village, eachprovince is as a separatekingdom, so far as theadjacent province is

concerned. As of old, thekaids are concerned onlywithfillingtheirpockets;thevillagers, when not fighting,are equally engrossed insavingsomesmallportionoftheir earnings and takingadvantage of the inability ofthe central Government tocollect taxes. They all knowthat the land is inconfusion,that the Europeans at theCourt are intriguing againstits independence. In camp

andmarket-placemenspreadthe news of the FrenchadvancefromtheEast.Yetifthe forces of the countrycouldbeorganised,—ifeveryofficialwouldbutrespondtotheneedsof theGovernmentand the people unite undertheir masters,—Moroccomight still hold Europe atbay, to the extent at least ofmaking its subjection toocostlyanddifficultataskforanyEuropeanGovernmentto

undertake. IfMorocco couldbut find itsAbdelKadr, theday of its partition mighteven yet be postponedindefinitely.Butnextyear,orthenext—whoshallsay?

My journey was well nighover. I had leisure now torecall all seen and heard inthe past few weeks andcontrast it with the mentalnotes I had made on theoccasion of previous visits.

And the truth was forcedupon me that Morocco wasnearer the brink ofdissolution than it had everbeen—that instability wasthe dominant note of socialand political life. I recalledmy glimpses of the Arabswho live in Algeria andTunisia, and even Egyptunder European rule, andthought of the servility anddependence of the lowerclasses and the gross,

unintelligentlivesoftherest.Morocco alone had held outagainst Europe, aided, to besure, by the accident of herposition at the corner of theMediterranean where no oneEuropeanPowercouldpermitanother to secure permanentfoothold. And with thechange, all the picturesquequalityoflifewouldgofromthe Moghreb, and thekingdom founded by MulaiIdrees a thousand years ago

would become as vulgar asAlgeriaitself.

There is something verysolemnaboutthepassingofagreat kingdom—andMorocco has been renownedthroughout Europe. It haspreserved for us the essenceof the life recorded in thePentateuch;ithaslivedinthelight of its own faith andenforced respect for itsprejudices upon one and all.

In days when men overruneverysquaremileofterritoryin the sacred name ofprogress, and the companypromoterinLondon,Paris,orBerlin acquires wealth hecannot estimate by jugglingwithmineralised landhehasnever seen, Morocco hasremained intact, and thoughhersoilteemswithevidencesof mineral wealth, no mandares disturb it. There issomething very fascinating

aboutthisdefianceofallthatthegreatPowersoftheworldholdmostdear.

One could not helpremembering, too, thecharmandcourtesy,thesimplefaithand chivalrous life, of themany who would beswallowed up in therelentless maw of Europeanprogress, deliberatelydegraded, turned literally ormorally intohewersofwood

and drawers of water—misunderstood, mademiserable and discontented.Andtoservewhatend?Onlythat the political andfinancial ambitions of arestless generation might begratified—thatnonemightbeabletosay,"Aweakracehasbeen allowed to follow itspathinpeace."

Salam disturbed mymeditations.

"Everything shut up, sir," hesaid. "I think you haveforgot: to-morrow we goearly to hunt the wild boar,sir."

So I left Morocco to lookafter its own business andturnedin.

FOOTNOTES:

SidiisaMoorishtitle,and

means"myLord."

It is related of one Sultanthat when a "Bashador"remonstratedwith him fornotfulfillingacontract,hereplied, "Am I then aNazarene, thatIshouldbeboundbymyword?"

TOTHEGATEOFTHE

PICTURECITY

AMOORISHGIRL

CHAPTERXII

TOTHEGATEOFTHEPICTURE

CITY

IsitPan'sbreath,fierceinthetremulousmaiden-hair,

Thatbidsfear

creepasasnakethroughthewoodlands,felt

Intheleavesthatitstirsnotyet,inthemutebrightair,

Inthestressofthesun?

ANympholept.

By the time the little campwas astir and the charcoalfires had done their duty to

eggs, coffee, and porridge,Pepe Ratto, accompanied bytwo of his Berber trackers,rode into the valley, anddismounted on the levelground where our tent waspitched. At first sight thesportsman stood revealed inour welcome visitor. Theman whose name will behanded down to futuregenerations in the annals ofMorocco's sport wouldattract attention anywhere.

Tall, straight, sunburnt,grizzled,withkeengreyeyesand an alert expression,suggesting the easy andinstantaneous change fromthoughttoaction,PepeRattois in every inch of him asportsman. Knowing SouthMorocco as few Europeansknow it, and having anacquaintance with the forestthat is scarcely exceeded byeither Moor or Berber, hegives as much of his life as

hecansparetothepursuitofthe boar, and he had riddenout with his hunters thismorning from his foresthome, the PalmTreeHouse,tomeetusbeforewelefttheArgans behind, so that wemight turn awhile on thetrackofa"solitaire"tusker.

So the mules were left toenjoy an unexpected restwhile their owners enjoyedan uninterrupted breakfast,

andthekaidwasgivenampletime in which to groom hishorse and prepare it andhimself for sufficientlyimposing entrance into thePictureCity[53]thatevening.Salamwasinstructedtopacktentsandboxesathisleisure,before he took one of mysporting guns and went topursue fur and feather inparts of the forestimmediately adjacent to the

camp.A straight shot and akeen sportsman, I knew thatSalam would not botherabout the hares that mightcross his path, or birds thatrose in sudden flight awayfrom it. His is the Moorishmethodofshooting,andheiswont to stalk his quarry andfire before it rises. Iprotested once that thisprocedure wasunsportsmanlike.

"Yes,sir,"herepliedsimply."IfIwaitforbirdtoflymaybe I miss him, an' wastecartridge."

ANARROWSTREETINMOGADOR

This argument was, ofcourse, unanswerable. Hewould follow birds slowlyand deliberately, takingadvantageofwindandcover,patient in pursuit anddeadlyin aim. Our points of viewwere different. I shot forsport,andhe,andallMoors,for the bag. In this I felt hewasmysuperior.But,barring

storks, all creatures weregame that came withinSalam'srange.

NoMoor will harm a stork.Even Moorish children,whose taste for destructionand slaughter is as highlydevelopedasanyEuropean's,will pick up a young storkthat has fallen from its nestand return it to the motherbirdif theycan.Storkssitatpeace among the women of

the hareem who come fortheir afternoon airing to theflat roof-tops of Moorishhouses.Moorishloversinthestreetsbelowtellthestoryoftheir hopes and fears to thefavoured bird,who,when heis chattering with hismandibles, is doing what hecan to convey the message.Every True Believer knowsthat the stork was once aSultan,oraGrandWazeeratleast, who, being vain and

irreligious, laughed in thebeards of theoldmenof hiscity on a sacred day whenthey came to pay theirrespects tohim.BysodoingherousedthewrathofAllah,whochangedhimsuddenlytohispresentform.Butinspiteofmisdeeds, theMoors lovethestatelybird,andtherearehospitals for storks in Fezand Marrakesh, where menwhose sanctity surpassestheir ignorance are paid to

minister to the wants of thesick or injured among them.Many a time Salam, inpursuit of birds, has passedwithin a few-yards of thefather of the red legs or hischildren, but it has neveroccurred to him to do themharm. Strange fact, butundeniable, that in greatcities of the East, whereMuslims and Christiansdwell, the storks will go tothequarteroccupiedbyTrue

Believers,andleavetheotherdistricts severely alone. Ihave been assured byMoorsthat the first of these birdshaving been a Muslim, thestorks recognise the TrueFaith, and wish to testify totheir preference for it. It ishard to persuade a Moor tocatch a stork or take an eggfrom the nest, though inpursuit of other birds andbeasts he is a stranger tocompunctioninanyform.

One of the trackers gavemehishorse,andPepeRattoledthewaydown the streamforashortdistanceandthenintothickscrubthatseemedtobepart of wild life's naturalsanctuary, so quiet it lay, sodense and undisturbed.Afterthe first five minutes I wasconscious of the forest in anaspect hitherto unknown tome; I was aware that only aman who knew the placeintimately could venture to

make a path throughuntrodden growths that wereleft in peace from year toyear. It was no haphazardway, though bushes requiredcarefulwatching,thedouble-thorned lotus being toocommonforcomfort.

Mycompanion's eye, trainedto the observation of thewoodlands in every aspect,noted the stories told by thebushes, the gravel, and thesandwitharapiditythatwasamazing. Twenty-five yearsoftirelesshuntinghavegivenPepe Ratto an instinct thatseems to supplement theordinaryhumangiftsofsight

andhearing.Our forefathers,who hunted for their living,must have had this gift sodeveloped, and while lyingdormantinEuropeans,whoserangeofsports iscompassedby the life of cities andlimited game preserves, itpersists among themenwhodevotethebestyearsoftheirlife to pitting theirintelligence against that ofthe brute creation. The oddsare of course very much in

favour of the human being,but we may not realisereadily the extreme cunningof hunted animals. The keensportsman, who rode by mysidepointingoutthetrackofboar or porcupine, showingwhere animals had beenfeeding, and judging howrecently they had passed bydifference in the marks toofaint for my eyes to see,confessed that he had spentmonths on the track of a

single animal, baffled overand over again, but gettingbacktohisquarrybecausehehadwithhimthemarkofthefeet as copied when hetrackeditforthefirsttime.

"No boar has four feetabsolutely identical withthose of another boar," hesaid,"sowhenonceyouhavethe prints the animal mustleave the forest altogetherand get off to the Atlas, or

youwillfindhimintheend.Hemaydoublerepeatedlyonhisowntracks,hemayjoinaherdandtravelwiththemfordays into the thick scrub,wherethedogsarebadlytornin followinghim,buthe cannever get away, and thehunter following his trackslearns to realise in thefrenzied changes andmanoeuvres of the beastpursued, itsconsciousnessofhispursuit." In thesematters

the trained and confirmedhunter's heart grows cold asthe physiologist's, while hissenses wax more and moreacute,andneartothelevelofthoseofhisprey.

Thatisbutasmallpartofthehunter'slore.Ashiseyesandearsdevelopapowerbeyondthereachofdwellersofcitieswith stunted sight andspoiled hearing, he growsconscious of the great forest

lawsthatrulethelifeofbirdsand beasts—laws yetunwritten in any language.He finds all living thingspursuing theirdestinyby thelight of customs that appealasstronglytothemasourstous, and learns to know thatthe order and dignity of thelower forms of life are notless remarkable in theirwaythan the phenomenaassociatedwithourown.

To me, the whirring of acovey of sand-grouse orpartridgescouldexpresslittlemore than the swift passageof birds to a place ofsecurity. To the man whogrew almost as a part of theforest, the movement wassomething well defined,clearlyinitiated,andthefirststep in a sequence that hecould trace withouthesitation. One part of theforest might be the same as

anothertothecasualrider,ormight at best vary in itspurely picturesque quality.To the long trained eye, ontheotherhand,itwasaplacethat would or would not bethehauntofcertainbeastsorbirds at certain hours of theday, by reason of its aspectwith regard to the sun, itssoil, cover, proximity to theriverorothersourceofwatersupply, its freedom fromcertain winds and

accessibility to others, itsdistance from any of thetracksthat ledtothecountrybeyond the forest and werefrequentedat certain seasonsof the year. The trainedhunter reads all this as in abook,but themostofuscando no more than recognisethewritingwhen it has beenpointedouttous.

So it happened that mymorning ride with the hardyhunter, whose achievementsbulknexttothoseofthelateSir John Drummond Hay inthehistoryofMoorishsport,had an interest that did notdepend altogether upon thewild forest paths throughwhichheledtheway.Hetoldmehowatdaybreakthepack

of cross-bred hounds camefrom garden, copse, andwoodland,racingtothestepsof thePalmTreeHouse,andgiving tongue lustily, asthough they knew there wassport afoot. One or twogrizzled huntsmen who hadfollowed every track in theArganForestwerewaitinginthe patio for his finalinstructions,andhetoldthemof hoof prints that hadrevealed to his practised eye

a "solitaire" boar of morethan ordinary size. He hadtrackeditformorethanthreehours on the previous day,past the valley where ourtentswereset,andknewnowwherethelairwaschosen.

"He has been lying under anargan tree,onestandingwellawayfromtherestatapointwhere the stream turnssharply, about a mile fromthe old kasbah in the wood,

and he has moved now tomakeanewlair.Ihavemadeanoteofhisfeetinmybook;he had been wallowing lessthan twenty-four hoursbeforewhenIfoundhim.To-morrow, when we hunt thebeast I hope to track to-day,the pack will follow inchargeofthehuntsmen.Theywill be taken through thewood all the way, for it isnecessary to avoid villagesand cattle pasture when you

have more than a score ofsavage dogs that have notbeen fed since three o'clockon the previous afternoon.Theyarebynomeansaversefromhelpingthemselvestoasheep or a goat at suchtimes."

We had ridden in single filethrough a part where thelotus,nowatreeinsteadofabush,snatchedatusoneitherside,andtheairwasfragrant

with broom, syringa, andlavender.Behind us the pathclosed and was hidden;before us itwas too thick tosee more than a few yardsahead. Here and there somebird would scold and slipaway, with a flutter offeathers and a quiver of theleaves throughwhich it fled;while ever present, thoughnever in sight, the cuckoofollowed us the whole daylong. Suddenly and abruptly

thepathendedbythesideofa stream where greatoleandersspreadtheirscarletblossoms to the light, andkingfishers darted across thepools that had held tiny fishin waters left by the rainyseason.Whenwepushedourhorsestothebrinkthebusheson either hand showereddown their blossoms asthough to greet the firstvisitors to the rivulet's bank.Involuntarilywedrewreinby

the water's edge,acknowledging thesplendourofthescenewithatributeofsilence. If you have been inthe Western Highlands ofScotland, and along theLevantine Riviera, and canimagineacombinationofthemost fascinating aspects ofbothdistricts,youhavebuttoadd to them the charm ofsilence and completeseclusion,thesenseofvirginsoil, and the joyof aperfect

day in early summer, andthensomefaintpictureofthescene may present itself. Itremainswithmealways,andthe mere mention of theArganForestbringsitback.

Pepe Ratto soon recoveredhimself.

SELLINGGRAININMOGADOR

"Yes,"hesaid,inreplytomyunspoken thoughts, "oneseldomseescountrylikethisanywhere else. But the boarwentthisway."

So saying, the hunteruppermostagain,hewheeledround, and we followed thestreamquiteslowlywhilehelooked on either hand forsignsofthelargetusker."We

must find where he hassettled," he continued. "Nowthe weather is getting sowarm hewill move to someplacethatissandyandmoist,within reach of the puddleshe has chosen to wallow in.Andhewon'tgofarfromthispart,becausethemaizeisnotyetripe."

"Do they growmaize in thisprovince?"Iasked.

"Yes," replied the hunter. "Igivethefarmerstheseedandtheyplant it, foraboar isasfondofgreenmaizeasafoxis of chickens." He pausedandshowedme themarksofa herd that had come to thewater within the past twodays to drink and wallow.While I could see themarksof many feet, he could tellme all about the herd, theapproximate numbers, theages, and the direction they

were taking. Several timeswe dismounted, and heexamined the banks verycarefully until, at the fourthor fifth attempt, tracks thatwere certainly larger thananywehadseenrevealedthelong-soughttusker.

We went through the wood,the hunter bending over atrail lying too faint on thegreencarpetof theforestforme to follow. We moved

over difficult ground, oftenunder the blaze of theAfricansun,and,intentuponthepursuit,notedneither theheat nor the flight of time.For some two miles of thedense scrub, the boar hadgone steadily enough untilthe ground opened into aclearing, where the soil wassandy and vegetationcorrespondingly light. Hereat last the track moved in acircle.

"See," said the hunter, asuspicion of enthusiasm inhis tone, "he has beencircling; that means he islooking for a lair. Stay here,if you will, with the horseswhile I follow him home."And in a minute he was outofsight.

Iwaitedpatientlyenoughforwhat seemed a long time,tryingtocatchtheundersongthat thrilled through the

forest, "the horns of elf-landfaintly blowing," the humsuch as bees at home makewhen late May sees thechestnuttreesinflower.Herethe song was a veritablepsalmoflife,inwhicheverytree, bird, bush, and insecthad its own part to play. Itmight have been a primevalforest; even the horses weregrazing quietly, as thoughtheir spirits had succumbedto the solemn influences

aroundus.ThegreatgodPanhimself could not have beenfar away, and I felt that hemighthave shownhimself—that itwas fitting indeed forhimtoappearinsuchaplaceandatsuchaseason.

The hunter came backsilentlyashehadgone.

"All's well," he said as heremounted; "he is a finefellow, andhashis lairmostcomfortablyplaced.Andyoushould have come with me,but your creaking Englishgaiterswould have disturbedhim, while my soft nativeones let me go within thirtyor forty yards of his newhome in safety." My

companion was wearing theMoorish gaiters of the sorthis trackers used—thingsmadeofpalmetto.Whentheyfollow on foot the trackerswear leather aprons too, inorder to deaden the soundmade by their passagethrough the resistingundergrowth.

Then we rode back byanother route, down pathsthatonlyanArabhorsecould

have hoped to negotiate,through densely woodedforesttracksthatshutoutthesun, but allowed itsbrightness to filter throughaleafy sieve and work apattern of dappled light andshadowon the grass, for ourdelectation.Most of thewayhad been made familiar inpursuit of some wild boarthat would not stand andfight but hurried into thewildest and most difficult

part of the forest, chargingthrougheverybush,howeverthick and thorny, in vainendeavour to shake off thepitiless pack. For mycompanion no corner of theforest lacked memories,some recent, some remote,but all concerned with thefamiliar trial of skill inwhich the boar had at lastyieldeduphispleasantlife.

We came quite suddenly

upon the stream and past ariot of green bamboo andrushes, saw thekaid's house,more than ever gaunt anddishevelledbydaylight,withtheshiningwaterinfront,thewild garden beyond, and onthe other bank the Susimuleteers sitting with theblack slave in pleasantcontemplation of the workSalam had done. KaidM'Barakdozedononeoftheboxes, nursing his beloved

gun, while the horse equallydeartohimstoodquietlyby,enjoying the lush grasses.Salam and the tracker werenot far away, a rendezvouswas appointed for the hunt,and Pepe Ratto, followed byhismen,canteredoff,leavingme to a delightful spell ofrest, while Salam persuadedthe muleteers to load theanimalsforthelastfewmilesof the road between us andMogador.

Then, not without regret, Ifollowed the pack-mules outof thevalley,alongthetrackleading to a broad path thathasbeenwornby the feetofcountless nomads, travellingwith their flocks and herds,fromtheheatanddroughtofthe extreme south to themarketsthatreceivethetradeof the country, or makinghaste from the turbulentnorth to escape the heavyhandoftheoppressor.

It was not pleasant to rideaway from the forest, to seethe great open spacesincreasing and the treesyielding slowlybut surely tothedwarfbushesthatare themost significant feature ofthesoutherncountry,outsidethe woodland and oases. Ithought of the seaport townwe were so soon to see—aplace where the civilisationwe had dispensed withhappily enough for some

weeks past would be forcedinto evidence once more,where the wild countrymenamongwhomwehadlivedatour easewould be seen onlyon market days, and thenative Moors would haveassimilated just enough oftheEuropeanlifeandthoughtto make them uninteresting,somewhat vicious, andwhollyill-content.

The forest was left behind,

thelandgrewbare,andfroma hill-top I saw theAtlanticsomefiveorsixmilesaway,a desert of sand stretchingbetween. We were soon onthese sands—light, shifting,and intensely hot—a Saharain miniature save for thepresence of the fragrantbroom in brief patches hereand there. It was difficultriding, and reduced the paceof the pack-mules tosomething under threemiles

an hour. As we ploughedacross the sand I saw Sueraitself,thePictureCityofSidiM'godol,asaintofmorethanordinaryrepute,whogavethecity the name bywhich it isknown to Europe. Suera orMogador is built on a littletongueofland,andthreatenssea and sandhills withimposing fortifications thatare quite worthless from asoldier's point of view.Though the sight of a town

broughtregretfulrecollectionthat the time of journeyingwas over, Mogador, it mustbe confessed, did much toatone for the inevitable. Itlookedlikeamiragecitythatthe sand and sun hadcombined to call into briefexistence—Moorish fromendtoend,dazzlingwhiteinthe strong sun of earlysummer, and offering somesuggestion of social life inthe flags thatwere fluttering

from the roof-tops ofConsuls' houses. Aprosperous city, one wouldhave thought, the emporiumfor the desert trade withEurope,andindeeditwasallthis for many years. Now ithas fallen from its highcommercial estate; Frenchenterprise has cut into anddiverted the caravan routes,seeking to turnall thedeserttraffic to Dakkar, the newBizerta in Senegal, or to the

Algeriancoast.

Salam and M'Barak praisedSidi M'godol, whose zowialay plainly to be seen belowtheMarrakeshgate; theSusimuleteers, the boy, and theslave renewed their Shilhasongs, thinking doubtless ofthe store of dollars awaitingthem;butIcouldnotconquermy regrets, though I wasproperly obliged to SidiM'godol for bringing me in

safety tohis longhome.JustbeforeusacaravanfromtheSouthwaspushingitswaytothe gates. The ungainlycamels, seeing a resting-place before them, hadplucked up their spirits andwere shuffling along at apace their drivers couldhardly have enforced on theprevious day. We caughtthem up, and the leadersexplained that they werecoming in from Tindouf in

the Draa country, a placeunexplored as yet byEuropeans.Theyhadsufferedbadly from lack of water onthe way, and confirmed thenews that the Bedouins hadbrought, of a droughtunparalleled in the memoryof living man. Sociablefellows all, full ofcontentment, pluck, andendurance,theylightenedthelasthouruponatediousroad.

At length we reached thestrip of herbage that dividesthe desert from the town, avegetable garden big enoughto supply the needs of thePicture City, and full ofartichokes, asparagus, eggplants, sage, and thyme.Thepatient labour of manygenerations had gone toreclaimthislittlepatchfromthesurroundingwaste.

We passed the graveyard of

theProtestantsandCatholics,a retired place that pleadedeloquentlyinitspeacefulnessfor the last long rest thatawaits all mortal travellers.Muchcarehadmadeitlessacemetery than a garden, anditliterallyglowedandblazedwith flowers—roses,geraniums, verbena, andnasturtiums being most inevidence.A kindly priest ofthe order of St. Francisinvited us to rest, and enjoy

the colour and fragrance ofhis lovingly-tended oasis.And while we rested, hetalked briefly of hiswork inthe town, and asked me ofour journey. The placereminded me strongly of agarden belonging to anotherBrotherhood of the RomanCatholic Church, and set atCapernaum on the Sea ofGalilee, where, a few yearsago, I saw the monkslabouring among their

flowers, with results no lesshappythanIfoundhere.

After a brief rest we rodealong the beach towards thecity gate. Just outside, thecamels had come to a haltand some town traders hadgathered round theBedouinsto inquire the price of thegoods brought from theinterior,inanticipationofthemorrow's market. Under thefrowning archway of the

water-port, where TrueBelieversoftheofficialclasssitinreceiptofcustom,Ifeltthe town's cobbled roadunder foot, and thebreathofthe trade-winds blowing infrom the Atlantic. Then Iknew that Sunset Land wasbehindme,my journeyatanend.

FOOTNOTES:

Mogador, called by theMoors "Suera,"i.e. "ThePicture."

THEENDPrintedbyR.&R.CLARK,

LIMITED,Edinburgh.

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