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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


THINGS   SEEN  IN   MOROCCO 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

The  Atheneeum  of  6th  December  1902  : — 

"  It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  Mr  Dawson's  latest  story  does  for  the 
Moors  what  Morier's  Hajji  Baba  did  for  the  Persians.  At  anyrate  we  find 
here  what  few  books  in  the  world,  and  certainly  no  other  work  of  fiction  in 
English,  can  boast  of — a  deep  and  accurate  knowledge  of  Moorish  life, 
manners,  and  ways  of  thinking.  .  .  .  Such  intimate  knowledge  is  rarely 
combined  with  the  skill  to  impart  and  the  imagination  to  vivify  it.  Mr 
Dawson  has  both.  .  .  .  Indeed  the  Oriental  atmosphere  is  rendered  so 
admirably  that  future  translators  of  the  Arabian  Nights  could  scarcely 
choose  a  better  model." 


DANIEL  WHYTE 

JOSEPH  KHASSAN  :  HALF-CASTE 

HIDDEN  MANNA 

AFRICAN  NIGHTS'  ENTERTAINMENT 

BISMILLAH 

THE  STORY  OF   RONALD   KESTREL 
IN  THE  BIGHT  OF  BENIN 
GOD'S   FOUNDLING 


THE  SULTAN  OF   MOROCCO:  MOULAI    AHI)    KL  AZIZ   IV 


THINGS    SEEN   IN 
MOROCCO 

BEING  A  BUNDLE  OF  JOTTINGS,  NOTES,  IMPRESSIONS, 
TALES,  AND  TRIBUTES 

BY 

A.   J.   DAWSON 


WITH  SEVENTEEN  ILLUSTRATIONS 


METHUEN   &   CO. 

36    ESSEX    STREET    W.C. 

LONDON 

1904 


TO 

SIR  ARTHUR  NICOLSON,  BART. 
K.C.B.,K.C.I.E.,  C.M.G., 

HIS  BRITANNIC  MAJESTY'S    ENVOY-EXTRAORDINARY 

AND   MINISTER-PLENIPOTENTIARY   IN  MOROCCO, 

THESE  NOTES  AND  SKETCHES  FROM 

MOROCCO     ARE     DEDICATED,     WITH 

ASSURANCES      OF      THE      AUTHOR'S 

SINCERE  APPRECIATION,  GRATITUDE 

AND   RESPECT 


Vll 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

B'fsM  ILLAH  !  ....  i 

PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION n 

EAST  AND  WEST 27 

THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY 35 

UNDER  THE  PARASOL  .  .  53 

THE  BEACHCOMBERS    .  63 

UNDER  THE  RED  FLAG       .  90 

MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH    .  .  .95 

BELOW  THE  SALT  .        .         .         .       113 

THE  PALM  OIL  CURSE  117 

BELOW  THE  SURFACE 121 

THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND 128 

His  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE 146 

THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  GREAT  NORTHERN          .         .        .163 
THE  ROYAL  NAVY  OF  MOROCCO  .        .        .        .179 

THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SHEEP 186 

THE  OPEN  ROAD 194 

!  A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO 229 

MOROCCO,  THE  MOORS  AND  THE  POWERS  .  .       245 

A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO 275 

THE  DIPLOMATIC  CORPS  IN  MOROCCO        ....       292 

|  THE  SULTAN  OF  MOROCCO,         .  .299 

I  THE  MOORISH  PRETENDER,  .        .        .      306 

;  THE  PRESENT  SITUATION,  .        .  .        .        .        -317 

ACHMET'S  CHARM 334 


n/i 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Sultan  of  Morocco,  Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz  IV.   .  Frontispiece 

Within  a  Few  Hours'  Journey  of  Gibraltar — Tangier 

from  the  Bay  .  .  .   To  face  page    n 

The  Main  Street  of  Tangier  „           39 

The  Entrance  to  a  Palace  Garden  in  Marrakish     .  „           68 

At  the  City  Gates — Marrakish        .             .             .  „           81 

Where  the  Basha  of  Tangier  holds  his  Court          .  „         103 

The  Moorish  Soldier — from  Life  :  an  Elderly  but 

Average  Specimen       .             .  ,,132 

The  Moorish  Soldier — as  Depicted  by  an  Artist 

of  the  Nazarenes        .  ,,132 

Wayside   Entertainers   in   Morocco — A  Very  Old 

Hand  at  the  Gimbri    .             .             .  „         161 

Food           ...  „         195 

Prayer         .                                                   .  „         195 

A  Fountain  near  "  That  Far-off  Court "  at  Marrakish  „         207 

Town-gate  Idlers — Al  Ksar  el  Kebeer        ,             .  „         226 

The  White  Roofs  of  the  First  and  Last  Town  seen 

by  the  Visitor  to  Morocco — Tangier   .             .  ,,         250 

Kaid  Meheddi  el  Mennebhi  ex-Minister   of  War 

and  Favourite  Wazeer              .             .             .  ,,299 

The  Rogui's  Letter            .             .             .             .  ,,314 

The  Author  in  Moorish  Guise  „         350 


XI 


B'lSM   ILLAH! 

ONE  has  read  of  an  age  of  exquisites  ;  it  is  not 
the  age  we  live  in.  Ours  is  the  day  of  the 
specialist.  Less  pleasing,  you  say?  And  that  is 
quite  possible.  More  widely  informed,  however,  one 
may  suppose,  if  not  more  really  understanding.  One 
thing  your  exquisites  and  specialists  seem  to  have  in 
common.  It  is  a  good  thing,  but,  like  every  other 
flower  in  the  garden  of  our  life,  it  is  not  without  its 
own  peculiar  thorns.  They  are  all  for  form  and  detail, 
these  tremendously  able  fellows,  and,  peering  so  far 
beneath  the  surface  in  their  own  especial  claims,  they 
are  apt  to  miss  the  general  contour  of  hill  and 
valley  round  and  about  them.  The  painting  is  a  big 
affair,  but,  by  your  leave,  the  picture  is  a  bigger. 
"Workmanship,  give  us  perfect  workmanship  on 
perfectly  prepared  backgrounds,  and  —  hang  the 
ensemble  / "  Your  specialist  is  rather  apt  to  get  like 
that.  Which  is  really  a  pity,  for,  as  we  ignorant 
outsiders  would  point  out,  the  finished  presentment  is, 
after  all,  the  end  and  aim  of  even  the  most  perfect 
craftsmanship.  The  experts  forget  that,  and  are  given 
to  sniffing  if  reminded  by  the  contemplative  Philistine. 
One  of  the  results  is  that  many  authors  can  take  no 
pleasure  in  the  printed  page,  few  painters  can  be  happy 
in  a  picture-gallery,  and  the  majority  of  musicians  avoid 
concerts  as  they  would  the  plague  or  a  barrel-organ. 


2  MOROCCO 

Scientific  exactitude  is  a  fine  thing,  in  science.  But 
depend  on  it,  Mr  Gradgrind  missed  the  choicest 
flavours,  the  richest  morsels  in  life's  feast. 

Moghreb  al-Acksa,  the  country  we  call  Morocco, 
is  a  land  of  phantasy  which  has  eluded  the  all- 
apportioning  specialist  as  successfully  as  it  has  evaded 
the  outstretched,  forthright  hand  of  European  civilisa- 
tion, the  coaxing  digits  of  Exeter  Hall,  the  solemn, 
record-gleaning  studies  of  tape  and  camera-armed 
would-be  historians,  and  the  levelling,  empire-building 
tactics  of  Christian  statesmen. 

The  Richard  Burtons  of  this  life  are  not  numerous  ; 
they  scarcely  belong  to  an  age  of  specialists.  Mr 
Cunninghame  Graham  deserves  well  of  his  readers, 
by  token  that  he  has  been  too  wise  to  attempt  scientific 
exploitation,  or  historical  portrayal,  of  Sunset  Land, 
and  too  keen  of  vision  to  miss  its  essential  beauty. 
Another  modern  writer  has  made  the  attempt,  and 
England  is  in  his  debt  for  a  prodigious,  a  really  wonder- 
ful budget  of  very  useful  facts  and  figures  in  connection 
with  the  Land  of  the  Moors.  But  for  flesh  and  blood 
pictures  thereof — eheu !  As  well  might  one  delve  in 
Buckle's  Civilization  for  the  spirit  and  essence  of  the 
Arthurian  legends. 

To  be  sure,  the  much-besmirched  artist  tempera- 
ment is,  one  must  suppose,  an  essential  qualification 
for  the  right  presentation  of  pictures,  in  prose  or 
poetry,  music  or  painting,  and  lacking  it  no  armament 
of  knowledge,  however  elaborate,  will  serve.  But 
even  granted  the  requisite  gift  of  artistry,  there  is 
danger  in  the  specialising  tendency  and  a  certain 
barrenness  which  comes  with  the  prolonged  pursuit 
of  exactitude  and  laboriously-finished  completeness. 
Compare  Browning's  Englishman  in  Italy  with  his 


MOROCCO  3 

Italian  in  England.  Both  are  good,  but  when 
compared,  how  generously  vivid  and  instantly  pictorial 
is  the  first,  and  how  palely  inadequate  the  second ! 
Certain  kinds  of  knowledge  do  positively  hamper 
artistic  intuition,  and  for  a  mental  view  of  some 
beautiful  foreign  place  which  I  desired  to  possess  and 
carry  in  my  heart  to  look  at  during  foggy  afternoons 
in  London — a  picture,  in  fine — I  would  go,  from 
choice,  to  a  man  of  art  fresh  from  spending  his  first 
week  in  that  particular  spot.  For  commercial  intelli- 
gence there  are  the  consular  reports.  Baedeker  and 
Whittaker,  each  in  his  walk,  is  admirably  useful.  For 
historical  records  and  exact  information  turn  we  to 
the  historians,  and,  if  possible,  to  those  among  them 
who  lived  in  the  place  of  which  they  wrote.  For  my 
picture,  my  live,  warm  picture,  give  me  a  quiet  half- 
hour  with  that  man  of  art  (painter  and  writer  both,  if 
I  am  to  be  given  perfection)  whose  mind  still  tingles 
and  glows  from  the  vividness  of  its  first  fleeting  im- 
pact with  its  subject.  When  he  has  spent  years  in 
the  land,  and  become  an  authority,  he  is  above 
noticing  the  tints  I  want  preserved  ;  he  knows  too 
much  of  the  internal  complexities  to  condescend  to 
the  drawing  of  the  very  outlines  my  mind's  eye 
demands.  And  if  the  foreign  place  be  any  such  weird, 
elusive  and  mysterious  land  as  Morocco,  then  I  know 
he  will  present  me  with  an  admirable  sketch  of  its 
rugged  body  corporate,  and  leave  me  entirely  lack- 
ing where  its  strange  spirit  and  essence,  the  cloudy 
fascination  that  is  Morocco,  is  concerned. 

Oh,  those  first  impressions,  their  heart-throbbing 
intensity,  their  wet-eyed  distinctness ;  never  to  be 
forgotten,  rarely  recorded,  yet  more  rarely  actually 
conveyed  to  others  !  It  is  grievous  that  man,  bustling 


4  MOROCCO 

on  in  the  vulgar  race  for  facts — classified  bones — 
should  brush  aside,  lose  and  ignore  the  living  beauty 
of  these  early  visions  which,  in  the  dazzling  actuality 
of  their  colouring,  the  outstanding  vividness  of  their 
lines,  partake  of  the  supernatural,  of  something  per- 
taining to  a  Fourth  Dimension. 

But  there  are  commonplace  books,  you  say.  Yes. 
But  do  those  who  fill  them  see  visions  ?  Or  are  the 
impressions,  thus  neatly  stored  and  laid  away,  for  the 
most  part  like  their  pigeon-hole,  commonplace? 
B'ism  Illah! 

And  I  who  write  these  lines  am  forced  to 
admit  here  that  I  have  read  some  books  which 
purported  to  deal  with  Morocco  and  were  written 
soon  enough  in  all  conscience  after  the  author's 
first  glimpses  of  the  country,  from  hotel  windows 
and  the  like.  And  they  were  wildly  bad,  those 
books,  madly,  stupidly  and  everything  else  short 
of  humorously  bad,  for  the  reason  that  they  con- 
veyed nothing ;  certainly  not  atmosphere,  assuredly 
not  facts.  I  hold  no  brief  for  ignorance,  God  wot 
(unless  it  be  my  own),  but  I  will  say  that  it  was  not 
alone  the  writers'  ignorance  of  their  subject  that  made 
these  books  worthless ;  it  was  not  that  they  had  not 
seen  enough  of  Morocco  ;  it  was  that  they  had  seen 
nothing,  and  never  would,  lacking,  it  seemed,  the 
vision  that  shows  men  life  with  sufficient  vividness  to 
enable  them  to  convey  the  same  upon  the  written 
page.  There  was  another  book — the  most  vivid  it 
may  be  that  ever  had  Morocco  for  its  subject — a  book 
that  truly  gave  one  the  hot,  mysterious  atmosphere  of 
the  country,  and  that  book  did  but  tell  the  story  of 
a  failure,  of  an  unsuccessfully-attempted  journey  of 
not  the  slightest  importance.  In  the  letter  it  was 


MOROCCO  5 

sufficiently  inaccurate  in  places,  for  its  writer  was  no 
old  traveller  or  established  authority  on  Morocco ; 
but  as  I  live  that  book  contained  more  of  the  essential 
spirit  of  Sunset  Land  than  do  the  score  of  standard 
tomes  on  the  subject  which  face  me  as  I  write.  It 
was  called,  as  Moors  call  the  country,  Moghreb  al- 
Acksa. 

Sensible  traders,  however,  do  not  decry  their  own 
wares,  but  rather  extol  these,  belittling  only  the 
oddments  which  they  are  unable  to  stock.  First 
impressions  are  as  flashingly  elusive  as  summer 
lightning.  Men  and  women  of  to-day  are  mostly 
sensible  traders. 

"  Rafael  made  a  century  of  sonnets. 

You  and  I  would  rather  read  that  volume 

(Taken  to  his  beating  bosom  by  it), 
Lean  and  list  the  bosom-beats  of  Rafael, 
Would  we  not  ?  than  wonder  at  Madonnas. 

Dante  once  prepared  to  paint  an  angel : 
Whom  to  please?    You  whisper  'Beatrice.' 
•  •  • 

You  and  I  would  rather  see  that  angel, 
Painted  by  the  tenderness  of  Dante, 
Would  we  not ?  than  read  a  fresh  Inferno" 

Asked  to  give  a  name  to  that  characteristic  of 
Morocco  which  most  clearly  distinguishes  it  from 
other  semi-savage  lands,  a  well-known  traveller,  quite 
fairly,  if  uninformingly,  replied,  "  Its  distinctiveness." 
Its  inherent  impressionistic  force  does  distinguish  the 
Land  of  the  Afternoon.  Its  power  of  vividly  and 
instantly  impressing  its  image  upon  a  receptive  and 
understanding  mind  is  very  remarkable.  The 
Eastern  traveller  would  be  apt  to  curl  his  travelled 
lip  if  he  heard  a  man  speak  of  the  Eastern  picturesque- 


6  MOROCCO 

ness  of  Morocco.  He  would  be  wrong.  There  again, 
a  man  would  have  been  misled  by  the  too  eager 
pursuit  of  special  knowledge.  There  is  as  much  of 
the  storied  East  in  Morocco  of  to-day  as  you  shall 
find  in  the  whole  of  British  India.  There  is  more, 
far  more,  that  is  essentially  Oriental  about  country 
life  and  travel  in  the  foot-hills  of  the  Atlas  than  the 
inquiring  globe-trotter  will  ever  discover  between 
Point  de  Galle  and  Kandahar. 

That  is  it.  In  Morocco  there  is  very  much  of  the 
essential,  the  undisturbed  fibre,  the  uninfluenced 
spirit  of  place  and  of  people.  It  is  Moghreb  al- 
Acksa,  the  extreme  north-west ;  it  is  nearer  to  Pall 
Mall  than  is  any  other  point  in  the  Orient.  And  it 
is  farther,  ay,  immeasurably  farther,  in  every  other 
sense  of  the  word  than  the  geographical  specialist's, 
as  any  man  who  knows  both  India  and  Pall  Mall 
may  be  made  to  feel  by  journeying  due  south  from 
his  hotel  in  Gibraltar  for,  say,  one  week. 

And  this  distinguishing  feature  of  Morocco,  whilst 
sufficiently  remarkable,  is  not  so  surprising  as  at 
first  blush  it  may  appear. 

A  thousand  years  before  Christ,  Hanno  graved 
upon  a  stone,  in  the  temple  of  Saturn  at  Carthage, 
some  account  of  his  adventure  to  the  beyond-land, 
past  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  with  sixty  galleys  of 
fifty  oars  each.  The  records  of  the  twentieth  century 
after  Christ  contain  no  suggestion  that  any  change 
has  crept  over  the  province  of  Sus  or  the  manner  of 
those  that  dwell  therein  since  Hanno's  venturesome 
outsetting.  A  thousand  years  after  Hanno's  voyage 
Procopius  Csesarea  wrote  that  two  white  pillars  of 
stone  stood  beside  a  spring  near  Tangier,  and  that 
upon  them  he  read  inscribed,  in  Phoenician  script, 


MOROCCO  7 

these  words :  "  We  have  fled  before  the  face  of 
Joshua  the  robber,  son  of  Nun."  Within  twenty  years 
of  Annus  Hegirae  the  Arabs,  pouring  through  the 
Nile  delta  like  ants,  had  reached  the  extreme  north- 
west. There  they  were  held  awhile  in  check  by  the 
original  occupants,  the  present  people  of  the  hills, 
who  then  were  bitterly  and  savagely  resenting  the 
proximity  of  Roman  influence,  as  the  other  day 
they  were  resenting  the  intrusion  of  Major  Spillbury 
of  the  Globe  Venture  Syndicate.  But  the  Arabs 
brought  craft  to  bear  upon  the  hardy,  irreconcilable 
Berbers.  It  was  not,  "We  desire  your  lands  for 
ourselves,"  but  rather,  "  Permit  us  to  assist  you  in 
removing  the  accursed  infidel  from  your  neigh- 
bourhood ! " 

Directed  by  Arab  skill,  Berber  strength  did  snap 
the  Roman  yoke  ;  only  to  discover,  within  a  score  of 
years,  that  the  existence  of  the  Berbers  as  an  inde- 
pendent nation  was  gone  for  ever.  As  a  nation. 
But  to  this  day  they  have  preserved  themselves,  their 
mountain  homes,  their  language,  their  hardy  customs 
and  savage  methods,  absolutely  and  entirely  intact, 
as  any  Christian  (who  rates  his  life  lightly)  may 
discover  for  himself  by  stepping  across  their  frontiers 
— say  a  fortnight's  journey  from  London. 

For  thirteen  hundred  years,  then,  the  descendants 
of  Mohammed's  followers,  ruled  always  (nominally 
if  not  actually)  by  Shareefs,  whose  sway  over  their 
subjects  has  rested  solely  upon  their  assumed  descent 
from  members  of  the  Prophet's  family,  have  occupied 
Morocco,  or  Mauretania,  as  its  Roman  invaders  named 
it.  Its  history  has  been  a  chequered  one,  blood- 
stained for  the  most  part,  barbarous  always,  accord- 
ing to  Christian  standards,  and  distinguished  by  an 


MOROCCO 

invincible  conservatism.  By  force  of  Berber  endur- 
ance and  Arab  craft  and  daring,  the  Moors  conquered 
and  occupied  Spain,  and  terrorised  Europe  right 
down  to  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  at 
which  late  day  tributes  reached  Moorish  coffers  each 
year  from  all  the  principal  European  centres,  by  way 
of  bribes  to  ensure  against  piracy  and  the  capture  and 
enslavement  of  European  travellers  and  sailors. 
During  the  past  century  the  decadence  of  the  Moorish 
nation  and  people  has  been  undeviating  and  all- 
embracing.  And  now  the  day  of  Morocco's  final 
disintegration  is  undoubtedly  at  hand ;  she  has  truly 
earned  her  pathetic  name  of  Sunset  Land.  Across 
her  south-eastern  boundary  the  perfectly-equipped 
armies  of  a  great  European  power  lie  waiting 
(occasionally  urging)  the  fall  of  the  over-ripe  fruit. 
Germany  has  made  every  preparation  to  reap  com- 
mercial benefit  by  this  last  act  of  an  Empire.  Britain, 
once  the  holder  of  the  most  valuable  strategic  vantage 
point  in  Morocco,  if  not  in  the  whole  of  North  Africa, 
exhibits  all  the  signs  of  truly  British  aloofness,  or 
indifference ;  whilst  it  must  be  admitted  her  hands 
are  very  fully  occupied  in  other  parts  of  Africa  and 
elsewhere.  The  end  is  near.  It  may  be  next  year, 
or  it  may  be  next  decade ;  but  the  end  is  near,  and 
the  Sick  Man  of  Africa  will  never  rise  from  the 
couch  of  his  decline. 

So  much  for  the  political  maze,  the  seductive 
quagmire  of  prophecy.  Remains  the  fact  that,  up  to 
the  present,  the  realm  of  which  Abd  el  Aziz  IV.,  by 
Allah's  mercy,  is  the  ceremonial  head,  the  infinitely 
bewildered  sovereign,  continues  the  only  independent 
and  unexploited  state  in  the  whole  of  Northern 
Africa.  Curiously,  it  is  also  the  only  portion  of  the 


MOROCCO  9 

continent  that  is  within  range  of  the  naked  eye  from 
Europe,  and  practically  within  modern  big  gun  range. 
Traces  of  its  influence  are  writ  large  over  southern 
Europe.  Itself  remains  most  singularly  impervious  to 
any  sort  of  outside  influence.  Its  life  to-day,  within 
a  few  hours'  journey  of  British  Gibraltar,  with  its 
parochialism  and  its  twentieth-century  scientific 
appliances,  is  an  exact  replica  of  the  life  of  which  one 
reads  in  Genesis.  Historians  aver  that  the  Berbers 
are  the  descendants  of  those  who  gave  place  to  the 
children  of  Israel  in  Canaan.  Granting  this,  and  that 
Scripture  presents  a  faithful  picture  of  the  lives  and 
customs  of  those  Canaanites,  it  is  not  less  than 
marvellous  that  one  should  be  able  to  see  that  picture, 
unchanged  and  in  the  living,  within  a  few  miles  of 
Europe,  and  in  the  twentieth  century. 

It  is  this  marvel,  principally,  and  kindred  features 
of  Morocco's  sphinx-like  face,  which  give  it  its 
distinction  among  Oriental  countries ;  its  wonderful 
impressiveness,  its  instant  power  to  burn  an  indelible 
picture  into  the  mind  of  an  open-eyed  traveller,  subtly, 
with  a  force  and  power  of  fascination  which  may  not 
be  denied. 

"  Quite  vulgar  souls  are  made  to  feel  it,"  said  a 
Morocco  traveller  to  the  present  writer  last  year. 
"  It  bewilders  them.  They  don't  understand,  of 
course,  but — m'sha  Allah  !  they  come  back  to  it  as 
certain  sure  as  dates  have  stones.  Did  you  hear  of 
the  beginning  of  things  here  with  Phillip  Frobisher, 
the  Manchester  man?  Not  that  he  was  a  vulgar 
soul.  But  his  soul  had  mostly  lived  in  a  rather  vulgar 
sort  of  body." 

I  had  not  heard,  so  I  said  nothing,  but  listened,  for 
j  my  informant  was  a  man  to  be  listened  to  where  Al 


10  MOROCCO 

Moghreb  is  concerned.  No  rule  of  record  "  authority  " 
he,  but  a  man  who  has  sought  the  strange,  savage 
spirit  of  the  land,  and  wooed  Morocco  in  her  most 
hidden  places.  So,  too,  I  give  the  story  here  for 
what  it  is  worth,  by  way  of  illustration,  and  without 
any  pretence  at  apology.  What  can't  be  endured 
must  be  skipped,  say  the  cynical  specialists  of 
criticism. 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION 

AT  the  time  of  the  story  Phillip  Frobisher  had 
just  ceased  to  be  "young  Mr  Phillip,"  or 
"  Phillip  Frobisher,  Junior,"  and  had  attained  the  solid 
dignity  of  "  Mr  Phillip  Frobisher  of  Messrs  Frobisher 
Bros.,"  the  well-known  Manchester  spinning  firm.  His 
Spanish-born  mother,  a  landscape  painter  whose  work 
had  brought  her  credit  in  Paris  and  London,  he  had  lost 
during  childhood.  The  grave,  shrewd,  self-contained 
father,  whose  recent  death  had  made  of  Phillip  a  full 
partner  in  the  business,  had  systematically  and  con- 
sistently schooled  his  only  son  in  the  traditions  of  the 
"  house."  Phillip  Frobisher  had  been  brought  up 
not  so  much  as  an  independent  human  entity  as 
a  future  partner  in  Frobisher  Bros.  The  other 
two  members  of  the  firm  were  slightly  reduced  re- 
productions, rather  paler  in  tone  than  the  original,  of 
Phillip's  father. 

Phillip  was  a  tall,  personable  fellow,  grave  like 
his  father,  rather  less  shrewd  and  more  sanguine, 
darker  of  skin,  and  more  smooth  and  fleshy  in  outline, 
but  otherwise  the  same  solid,  steady-gaited,  level- 
headed sort  of  person.  Any  display  of  emotion  had 
been  impossible  in  the  presence  of  the  father.  Phillip 
had  grown  up  without  inclination  toward  this  or  any 
other  sort  of  display.  The  traditions  of  the  house  did 
not  demand  such  things.  They  demanded  calm, 
grave,  courteous  concentration  during  business  hours, 

ii 


12  MOROCCO 

and  sober,  decent  restfulness,  with  study  of  the 
Economist,  at  other  seasons.  Lunching  or  dining 
with  a  member  of  the  firm  was  not  an  undertaking  to 
enter  upon  carelessly,  or  with  a  mind  frivolously 
unprepared.  You  might  be  sure  of  excellent  food 
and  sound  wines ;  but  the  whole  thing  was  rather 
suggestive  of  a  Cabinet  Council  or  a  whist-party  of 
early  Victorian  days.  And  now,  at  twenty-eight, 
prosperous  Phillip  Frobisher  had  no  conception  of 
any  less  solid,  four-square  attitude  in  life  than  this. 

The  death  of  his  father,  after  three  weeks  of 
uneventful  illness,  rather  disturbed  the  young  man. 
It  was  an  out-of-the-ordinary  sort  of  happening  to 
which  routine  arrangements  did  not  apply.  Phillip 
found  concentration  of  his  thoughts  at  the  office  a 
matter  less  simple  and  natural  than  usual.  He  even 
dreamed  of  a  night  more  than  once,  and  each  time  of 
the  dark-faced,  alert-looking  mother,  whose  portrait, 
showing  her  at  work  before  an  easel,  faced  his  father's 
in  the  vandyke-brown  dining-room  of  their  sub- 
stantial Manchester  home. 

"The  boy  had  better  take  a  change,"  said 
Thomas  to  Samuel  Frobisher,  as  one  might  recom- 
mend a  dose  of  Gregory's  powder  for  a  child. 
"  Why  not  let  him  arrange  this  transfer  of  agents 
in  Morocco  for  us?  A  fortnight  in  Tangier  and  a 
fortnight's  travelling  would  set  him  up." 

So  it  was  decided,  with  grave  thought  for  the 
young  man's  physical  welfare  and  an  eye  to  the  firm's 
interests.  And  as  to  Kismet  (Destiny,  Fate,  or 
what  do  you  call  it  ? ),  Frobisher  Brothers  were  far 
too  business-like  to  waste  consideration  upon  such 
intangibilities.  And  so  Phillip  Frobisher,  wearing 
the  tall  hat  and  frock  coat  of  his  daily  life,  started 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION     13 

from  Liverpool  aboard  a  Papayanni  boat  bound  for 
Tangier,  and  his  Uncle  Samuel,  much  preoccupied 
with  a  sleek  note-book  and  final  instructions,  was 
there  to  bid  his  nephew  bon  voyage. 

Now,  as  Kismet,  or  what  you  may  call  it,  decided, 
the  Papayanni  boat  called  at  Cadiz  on  her  way  out, 
and,  in  order  that  engineers  might  doctor  some  small 
flaw  in  her  machinery,  remained  there  for  three  days. 
Phillip  Frobisher  left  her  side  in  a  boat  manned  by 
swarthy,  swearing,  laughing  rascals,  natives  of  the 
port,  and  proceeded,  clad  in  sober  morning  coat  and 
bowler  hat,  to  present  a  letter  of  recommendation  to 
a  distant  connection  of  his  own  on  his  mother's  side 
of  the  family.  It  was  intended  that  he  should  have 
made  a  week-end  trip  from  Tangier  for  this  purpose, 
but  the  gods  who  direct  the  affairs  of  Manchester 
business  gentlemen,  advised  possibly  by  those  of  the 
scented  South,  disposed  matters  otherwise.  The 
Southern  gods  are  incorrigibly  romantic  and 
dramatic — theatrical  if  you  will.  Their  climate 
justifies,  nay,  demands,  a  certain  measure  of  what 
Northerners  might  call  gaudiness.  Phillip  landed 
then  at  one  of  the  wickedest  ports  in  Spain. 

The  Custom-house  officials  annoyed  the  Man- 
chester man  a  good  deal.  Their  attitude  toward 
porters  and  passengers  struck  him  as  undignified, 
unbusiness-like,  almost  indecent.  From  shrill  vi- 
tuperation and  pictorial  blasphemy  to  exaggerated 
bows,  suave  phrases  and  hat  raising  —  and  back 
again — within  a  few  minutes ;  this  sort  of  thing 
embarrassed  Mr  Frobisher,  and  left  him  uncertain  as 
to  whether  mutely  raising  two  stiff  fingers  to  the  brim 
of  one's  bowler  hat  were  not  too  effusive  a  response 
to  the  bare-headed,  hand-upon-heart,  low  bow  of 


14  MOROCCO 

an  ornately  gilded,  white-gloved  superintendent. 
"  They  are  wanting  in  method  and  in  sense  of  pro- 
portion," he  thought,  as  he  named  his  destination, 
with  laborious  incorrectness,  to  a  be-sashed  and  be- 
scarred  pirate,  who  drove  a  typical  bull-ring  nag 
in  a  carriage  which  apparently  was  held  together  by 
fragments  of  palmetto  cord  and  sardine  boxes. 

The  Englishman's  Spanish  relative  was  not  in 
Cadiz,  but  that  worthy's  twenty-year-old  son  was; 
as  dapper  and  world-worn  a  personification  of  latter- 
day  Spanish  decadence  as  a  man  might  wish  to  see. 
Juan  Guiterrez  was  the  young  man's  name,  his 
manners  were  delightful,  his  English  fair,  and  his 
inmost  feeling  toward  Phillip  Frobisher  that  of  an 
elderly  and  blase  satyr  good-humouredly  bent  upon 
hospitality  toward  some  innocent  lout  of  a  school- 
boy. His  own  idea  of  his  attitude  was  that  it  was 
that  of  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world,  a  gallant, 
bound  by  courtesy  to  the  initiation  and  entertain- 
ment of  a  singularly  gauche  and  woolly  Boeotian. 
Frobisher's  view  of  Guiterrez,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  that  the  young  gentleman  was  a  graceful  and 
plausible  youth,  well-intentioned  but  unnecessarily 
deferential,  and  too  showily  attired.  From  stand- 
points so  antithetical  to  our  own  do  others  see 
us.  As  a  fact,  Juan  was  not  at  all  a  bad  fellow 
as  young  men  go.  But  his  workaday  code  of 
morality,  had  he  given  it  words,  would  have  rendered 
any  respectable  Briton  speechless  from  excess  of 
horror,  by  reason  that  it  was  a  little  less  restrained 
than  the  code  the  Briton  keeps  for  actual  use,  and  a 
violent  outrage  upon  that  which  we  preserve  as  an 
ornament  and  for  the  judging  of  our  neighbours. 

But,  judged  by  any  standards  you  choose,  Cadiz 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION     15 

is  rather  a  wicked  city,  and  not  over-picturesque, 
when  you  compare  it  with  other  Spanish  towns  of 
similar  importance.  That,  however,  was  the  very 
thing  that  our  Manchester  man  could  not  manage. 
He  could  not  compare,  and  so  his  picture  lacked 
perspective. 

After  dinner,  Guiterrez  steered  his  guest  among 
the  cafes,  places  of  casual  entertainment,  in  which 
the  very  air  was  heady  and  redolent  of  the  full- 
bodied  wines  of  Andalusia  and  of  picadura  smoke,  and 
alive  with  sibilant  sounds  of  gossip  in  a  musical 
tongue.  They  supped  gaily,  though  frugally,  in  one 
among  a  score  of  brightly-painted  cubicles,  at  a  vault- 
like  restaurant,  walled  in  by  generous  barrels  of  wine. 
And,  after  the  meal,  a  word  from  world -worn 
Guiterrez  brought  a  nut-coloured  lady  of  the 
establishment,  who  for  the  delectation  of  the  pair 
danced  three  separate  measures  upon  the  little  table 
at  which  they  sat.  Frobisher  maintained  his  gravity 
and  his  reserve  until  the  lady  flung  him  her  over- 
scented  handkerchief,  with  an  ogle  pronounced 
enough  to  have  moved  mountains.  Then  he  lost 
both,  remembered  the  traditions  of  the  Manchester 
house,  and  insisted  upon  a  swift,  undignified  adjourn- 
ment. Guiterrez  shrugged  his^  graceful  shoulders, 
that  in  the  senorita's  eyes  he  might  be  disassociated 
from  his  crude  companion,  and  shortly  afterwards 
they  parted  for  the  night. 

Despite  much  bewilderment  and  a  good  deal  of 
such  small  embarrassment  as  that  described,  Phillip 
Frobisher  was  enjoying  himself,  unaccountably. 
The  last  word  represents  his  own  view  of  his  enjoy- 
ment. A  daylight  visit,  picnic  fashion,  to  a  vinedo 
upon  the  Jerez  road,  that  was  owned  by  a  member 


16  MOROCCO 

of  the  Guiterrez  family,  was  endured  by  Juan  some- 
what more  gracefully  than  a  'Varsity  undergraduate 
might  suffer  a  Methodist  tea-meeting,  and  was  unre- 
servedly enjoyed  by  Frobisher.  Withal  it  was  by 
way  of  being  a  revelation  to  him — a  revelation  which 
did  not  jar. 

It  may  be  that  his  three  days  in  Spain  planted  no 
new  growth  in  the  mind  of  Phillip  Frobisher.  It  is  a 
fact  that  the  experience,  as  it  were,  ploughed  and 
harrowed  the  fallow  mind  of  the  Manchester  man,  leav- 
ing it  porous,  and  open  to  the  seed  of  impressionism  as 
it  had  never  been  before.  It  did  not  furnish  him  with 
new  desires  and  a  fresh  outlook  upon  life,  but  it  stirred 
into  sentient  being  all  kinds  of  rudimentary  unsus- 
pected attributes  of  his  nature,  and  stretched  and 
loosened  into  pliancy  the  trim  and  rigid  loopholes  of 
his  schooled  vision.  He  heard  his  dead  artist 
mother  lovingly  spoken  of  by  these  her  warm- 
blooded compatriots.  Somewhere  in  the  red  centre 
of  his  calmly  pulsing  veins  the  blood  of  the  mother 
that  bore  him  may  have  stirred  faintly.  He  was  an 
open-eyed,  almost  impressionable,  man  of  business 
who  landed  in  Tangier  a  few  days  later  from  the 
Papayanni  boat. 

But  in  Tangier  business  awaited  the  man  from 
Manchester,  and,  his  traditions  rallying  about  him,  he 
concentrated  his  mind  exclusively  upon  that  business 
until  it  was  finished.  A  holiday  task  it  was  the 
partners  had  chosen  for  him,  and  thirty-six  hours 
after  landing  Phillip  Frobisher  signed  the  necessary 
papers,  made  the  necessary  terse,  grave  report  for 
Manchester,  posted  it,  and  turned  about  to  open  his 
new-ploughed  mind  to  Tangier — to  Morocco  he 
would  have  said,  unaware  as  yet  that  Christian- 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION     17 

ridden,  infidel-polluted  Tangier,  biblically  Eastern  as  is 
its  every  aspect,  is  yet  one  of  the  few  spots  in  Sunset 
Land  which  to  the  end  of  the  chapter  must  remain 
anathema  to  every  true  Moor. 

Exactly  what  curious  process  then  set  to  work  in 
the  mind  and  heart  of  Phillip  Frobisher  must  needs 
remain  a  secret  between  the  man  and  whatever  god 
or  gods  became  his.  Possibly  the  said  god  or  gods 
alone  know.  The  rest  of  us  can  no  more  than  follow 
the  outward  and  visible  signs,  drawing  therefrom 
whatsoever  conclusions  our  particular  gods  may  incline 
us  to.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  simply  what  Phillip 
Frobisher  told  my  friend,  upon  a  certain  moonlight 
night,  sitting  beside  a  tent's  mouth  near  a  village 
called  El  Mousa,  in  the  Gharb,  just  seven  months 
after  he  landed  in  Morocco.  He  was  squatting  on  a 
mattress  at  the  time.  His  beard  was  six  inches  long, 
his  head  shaven,  his  skin  tanned  to  a  rich  saddle- 
brown,  and  his  dress,  to  the  very  drawers,  kaftan, 
yellow  riding-boots,  and  white  Wazanni  djellab,  that 
of  a  Moor  of  the  richer  sort.  Upon  his  right  lounged 
Yusef  Seydic,  the  Syrian  who  lived  with  him,  at  first 
(as  interpreter,  and  then  as  his  instructor  in  Arabic. 
On  his  left  was  Hamadi  ben  Ibn,  the  Ribati  Moor, 
who,  with  his  smattering  of  English  and  Spanish, 
had  accompanied  the  Manchester  man  upon  his  first 
journey  in  Morocco.  Near  by  the  mules  and  horses 
were  tethered,  contentedly  munching  their  barley. 
Upon  a  great  brass  tray  between  them  a  German- 
silver  teapot  sprouted  green  mint.  Each  man  held 
before  him  his  little  glass  of  syrupy  green  tea.  Hadj 
Mohammed  Drawi,  who  was  superintending  the  build- 
ing of  Frobisher's  white  house  near  Arzila,  sat  a  little 
;|removed  from  the  rest,  fingering  a  rosary. 


18  MOROCCO 

"  Why  did  I  remain?"  said  Frobisher,  reflectively 
chewing  the  words  of  the  question  he  repeated,  and 
gazing  dreamily  out  past  the  questioner  into  the 
violet  heart  of  the  valley,  where  a  little  stream,  in- 
visible in  this  twilight  hour,  murmured  and  gurgled 
over  the  flat  stones  on  its  way  down  from  the  springs 
among  the  olive  hills.  "  What  drew  me,  you  say  ? 
But  is  not  that  to  ask  a  mere  man  to  explain  the  in- 
wardness of  the  workings  of  Allah  the  One  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  So  you  were  drawn  as  far  as  Mohammed- 
anism too,  were  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  said  that." 

a  No  ;  you  must  forgive  me.  But  I  wish  you  could 
tell  me  of  the  beginning  ;  how  it  came  about,  your 
cutting  the  old  life  so  entirely  for  one  you  had  never 
known  before." 

"My  friend,  I  fear  I  cannot  explain.  But  from 
this  distance  it  does  appear  to  me  that  I  cut  the  old 
lifelessness  for  new  life,  which  one  must  know  for  life 
at  a  glance ;  instead  of,  as  you  say,  cutting  the  old 
life  for  one  I  did  not  know.  As  for  what  wakened 
me,  as  I  said,  that  is  the  sort  of  question  which  a 
man  may  not  answer  from  his  own  knowledge.  The 
Manchester  business  man  you  knew  did  not  inherit 
the  bat-eyed  sordidness  you  found  him  wrapped  in 
from  both  parents.  Spanish  blood  came  to  me  from 
my  mother,  who  was  an  artist.  She  must  have  seen 
things  themselves  and  not  merely  the  market  value 
of  things.  Some  gift  of  hers  to  me,  long  neglected,, 
may  have  brightened  into  consciousness  under  these 
warm  skies.  '  Whose  hand  shall  measure  God's 
span?'  You  know  the  Moorish  saying.  But  it  wad 
wonderful,  wonderful — in  one  day  !  " 

And  now  there  were  stories  and  to  spare  in  the 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION     19 

man's  eyes  as  he  gazed  in  silence  out  into  the  evening 
haze  of  the  valley  below ;  stories  and  to  spare,  for 
who  could  read  them. 

"  On  the  morning  of  the  Qth  October,"  he  began, 
speaking  in  as  low  and  expressionless  a  voice  as  that 
affected  in  conversation  by  a  Moorish  aristocrat,  "  in 
infidel-afflicted  Tangier,  I  concluded  the  last  task  I 
performed  in  the  vexatious  vanity  which  is  called 
business.  Outside  that  futile  pursuit  it  seems  I  had 
never  done  anything  in  all  my  life.  Poor,  starved 
creature  that  I  was,  I  believe  I  had  never  thought 
anything  outside  business.  That  morning  I  finished 
business — el  hamdu  1'Illah  ! x  It  happened  that  this  was 
the  first  day  of  an  important  Moorish  wedding  in 
Tangier,  and  during  the  afternoon  the  great  Sok2  was 
an  Arabian  Nights  picture  such  as  you  know  well. 
Powder  plays  were  unceasing,  the  horsemanship  being 
wonderfully  dashing  and  fine.  Story-tellers  and 
snake-charmers  drove  a  thriving  trade.  The  Sok  was 
absolutely  thronged,  the  men  in  new  slippers,  fresh 
lemon-coloured,  the  crooning  women  muffled  in  snowy 
haiiks,  the  children  clad  in  all  the  colours  of  the  rain- 
bow, and  others  devised  of  men.  Ghaitah,  shibbabah, 
and  t'bal,3  filled  the  hiving  air  with  sound,  if  not  with 
music.  The  jangling  bells  of  the  water-carriers  with 
their  dripping,  laden  skins,  and  the  nasal  cries  of  the 
sweetmeat  pedlars  pierced  the  mass  of  other  sound 
shrilly,  and  presently  the  call  to  evening  prayer  over- 
rode all  else  and  brought  momentary  calm. 

"  Jostled  here  and  there  among  the  throng,  I 
wandered,  like  a  man  walking  in  his  sleep,  half 
stupefied,  yet  more,  far  more  receptive  than  ever  in 

1  The  praise  to  Allah  !  2  Market-place. 

3  Flute,  reed  and  drum. 


20  MOROCCO 

my  life  before,  and  drinking  in  the  strange,  wild 
Eastern  beauty  of  it  all  at  every  pore  in  my  body. 
It  seemed  this  was  no  trance.  The  men  who  brushed 
past  me  were  real  enough.  All  my  life  before  was 
the  trance  then,  and  this  rich,  primitive  glamour,  the 
only  hint  of  which  that  had  ever  reached  me  having 
come  by  way  of  childish  studies  in  a  great  illuminated 
family  Bible,  this  was  the  real  thing  ;  this  was  life, 
and  here  was  I  in  the  heart  of  it. 

"  Owing  to  some  foolish  misunderstanding,  the 
true  significance  of  which  I  never  learned,  I,  the  quite 
purposeless  observer,  became  the  central  figure  of  a 
squabble.  I  had  peered  into  the  veiled  face  of  some 
Shareefa1  from  Anjerra,  it  seemed.  But  the  trouble 
among  the  excited  knot  of  her  followers  had  its  root, 
no  doubt,  in  my  complete  lack  of  understanding.  It 
was  quite  a  scene — for  Christian-influenced  Tangier. 
Drawn  daggers  figured  in  it,  and  the  Kaffir,  son  of  a 
Kaffir,  who  tells  you  this  was  like  to  receive  more 
than  hard  names  it  appeared,  when  the  good — " 

"  Nay,  it  was  nothing  ;  I  did  but  speak,"  broke  in 
Hamadi  ben  Ibn,  the  Ribati  servant  and  follower  of 
Frobisher,  speaking,  deprecatingly,  in  the  Moghrebin. 

"As  he  says,"  continued  Frobisher,  "he  did 
but  speak.  Understanding  was  all  that  was  needed,  j 
My  extreme  innocence  made  apparent,  the  —  the 
incident  was  closed,  and,  escorted  by  Hamadi  here, 
I  reached  my  hotel,  in  an  admiring  maze  of  wonder- 
ment, and  safely.  But  all  this  is  simply  Tangier  Sok, 
you  say ;  a  thing  seen  and  to  be  seen  by  any  tourist, 
who  returns  at  the  week's  end  to  Camberwell  or  Man- 
chester, and — no  bones  about  it.  Just  so,  just  so  ! 

1  The  wife  of  a  Shareef,  or  one  claiming  descent  from  the  Prophet's 
family. 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION    21 

"  That  night,  after  dinner,  sitting  upon  a  balcony 
which  overlooked  that  wondrous  market-place,  the 
twinkling  lights  of  its  tiny  coffee-shops  whispering 
through  space  to  me  of  the  unchanging  East,  the 
primitive  youth  of  the  world,  as  the  family  Bible  had 
pictured  it  for  me,  I  was  introduced  to  a  strange 
young  English-speaking  man,  Christian  or  Nazarene, 
as  the  Moors  would  have  called  him,  intensely  interest- 
ing pagan,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  who  had  been  born  in 
this  Biblical  land  of  European  parents,  and  lived  in  it 
a  sort  of  petted  outlaw  in  Christian  eyes,  a  foreign 
devil-god  more  respected  than  disliked  by  Moors. 
This  swarthy  young  athlete  spoke  to  me  of  his  life 
inland,  half  -  native  and  half  -  European,  wholly 
picturesque  and  curious.  Some  two  or  three  of  his 
Moorish  followers  squatted  near  by  while  he  talked, 
motionless,  dignified  figures,  sheeted  and  hooded  in 
all-covering  white.  He  was  leaving  Tangier  for 
his  home  in  the  interior  next  day.  He  left  me,  at 
length,  in  a  dream  of  patriarchal  orientalism,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  moon  showed  me  his  commanding 
figure  before  Bab  el  Fas,  the  city  gate,  which  was 
opened  to  him,  with  many  creakings  and  complainings, 
by  a  sleepy  guard,  who  undoubtedly  saw  the  Israelites 
enter  Canaan.  Rose  then  from  out  the  shadow  cast 
by  the  eaves  of  a  cupboard-shop  Joshua  the  son  of 
Nun — or  it  may  have  been  Jethro,  the  father-in-law 
of  Moses — with  a  bleating,  black-avised  ram  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  obtained  entry  to  the  city  in  the  wake 
of  my  new  friend.  The  great  gate  clanged  to  and  its 
yard-long  bolt  was  shot.  A  nightingale  sang 
1  Come ! '  in  a  garden  on  my  right,  and  from  an 
oleander  below  me  his  mate  trilled  response. 
Beyond,  the  bay  glistened  like  molten  lead  under  a 


22  MOROCCO 

half-moon,  and  close  at  hand  a  sleepless  wight 
strummed  languidly  at  his  gimbri,  and  murmured  of 
the  one  God,  and  of  gazelle-eyed  loves  of  his  own  in 
Beni  Aroos.  When  I  stumbled  into  my  bedroom,  as 
the  daybreak  call  to  prayer  was  booming  across 
drowsy  Tangier  from  its  emerald-sided  minarets, 
Hamadi  here  lay  across  its  entrance,  far  gone  in  sleep. 
Dear  life,  how  far  was  I  already  from  the  counting- 
house  in  Manchester ! " 

"  '  You  had  better  ride  with  me  to-day  ;  I  shall 
make  a  short  stage  of  it.  This  rascal  here  can  come 
along,  too,  to  see  you  safely  back  to-morrow.  You 
had  better  come  and  have  a  taste  of  camping  out.' 

"  'But  how  shall  I  find  a  horse?'  I  asked.  He 
turned  to  'this  rascal,'  my  Hamadi  here,  and  bade 
him  go  find  horses  for  us  both.  And  so,  without 
thought,  the  thing  was  done.  It — was — done  ;  and 
— and  I  remained  ;  and — that  is  all !  " 

"  But — but,  my  dear  fellow,  that  accounts  for  a 
day's  journey.  You  have  been  seven  months  in  the 
country.  They  tell  me  you  have  sold  out  from  your 
firm  at  home.  You  have  a  house  building  ;  you — 
well,  look  at  you  !  " 

But  Frobisher  was  looking  fixedly,  dreamily  out 
into  the  soft  heart  of  the  young  night.  However,  he 
may  have  seen  the  picture  of  himself,  his  reincarnation, 
there,  for  he  resumed  gravely, — 

"  Well,  we  set  out  after  mid-day  breakfast,  Hamadi 
and  myself,  with  my  picturesque  new  acquaintance 
and  his  little  caravan  of  four  men  and  three  times 
that  number  of  mules  and  horses.  Just  so  and  not 
otherwise  did  men  set  out  when  Abraham's  flocks 
grazed  over  virgin  hills  in  those  glad,  dim  springtides 
of  the  earth's  youth.  And  so,  you  would  say,  a  greasy 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION     23 

Barbary  Jew  sets  out  on  a  blood-sucking  journey  of 
extortion  among  his  oppressed  and  swindled  Moorish 
debtors.  Oh,  I  grant  all  that  freely  enough.  Only — 
I  am  trying  to  tell  you  why  I  remained  ;  the  thing  as 
it  was,  that  is  the  thing  as  I  saw  it.  As  I  see  it.  I 
had  lived  in  Manchester.  I  had  perversely  looked 
long  enough  at  the  sordid  side  of  the  shield.  Why 
should  I  choose  to  look  at  usurious  money-lenders  in 
a  land  which  furnishes  forth  living  pictures  of  the 
stateliest  themes  and  characters  of  the  Scriptures  and 
the  Thousand  and  One  Nights? 

"  I  say  we  journeyed,  then,  as  men  journeyed  in 
the  days  of  Abraham,  across  land  the  very  shape  of 
which,  with  its  sugar-loaf  hills,  and  its  rounded 
hillocks,  against  the  sky-line,  over  which  camels  and 
laden  asses,  driven  by  hooded  footmen,  appeared  cut 
out ;  illustrations  to  legends  of  genii,  necromancy  and 
the  flashing,  passionate  romance  of  the  desert,  of  the 
nomadic  East.  And  before  the  sun  sank  behind  that 
boulder-strewn  haunt  of  wandering  robbers  called  the 
Red  Hill,  we  came  to  a  halt  beside  a  little  camp 
prepared  by  men  who  had  left  Tangier  that  morning. 
Fifty  yards  from  the  camp,  upon  one  side,  was  an 
oleander-skirted  pool  fed  by  a  spring.  Upon  the 
other  side  was  the  road,  the  Open  Road,  in  itself  a 
romance  of  old  time  and  of  all  time.  A  hundred 
twining  snakes  lying  side  by  side  and  melting  one  into 
another  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see  ;  hollows  beaten 
out  of  the  sun-baked  earth  by  the  feet  of  countless 
thousands  of  horses,  mules,  asses,  oxen,  sheep,  camels 
and  men  ;  men  spurred  forward  by  love,  by  fear,  by 
hate,  by  ambition,  revenge,  greed,  and  by  that  in- 
eradicable wandering  instinct  which  was  as  quick- 
silver to  the  heels  of  Arabs,  or  ever  Mohammed 


24  MOROCCO 

brought  word  of  the  One  to  earth,  and  will  be  till  the 
last  Arab  in  the  world  falls,  gun  in  hand,  athwart  the 
scarlet  fore-peak  of  his  saddle,  calling  upon  Death  to 
witness  his  unswerving  faith  in  the  singleness  of 
God. 

"  To  me,  with  my  new-opened  eyes,  it  was  all  very 
beautiful,  very  fragrant  of  the  earth's  young  days. 
But  the  talk  of  my  host  rather  jarred  upon  me.  He 
aimed,  I  fancy,  at  the  tone  of  a  sporting  club's  smoking- 
room,  and  that  purely  upon  my  behalf.  Also,  he  was 
over  generous  in  the  matter  of  his  Rioja ;  a  c  take  no 
denial'  host.  I  agreed  readily  when  the  proposal 
came  to  turn  in.  My  host  had,  without  assist- 
ance, emptied  one  bottle  and  the  half  of  another  of 
the  Rioja.  I  fell  at  once  into  a  light  doze.  An  hour 
later  I  woke  and  saw  that  my  friend  lay  on  the  broad 
of  his  back,  reading  by  the  light  of  a  guttering  inch  of 
candle  stuck  in  the  mouth  of  a  wine-bottle.  Curiosity 
moved  me  and  I  glanced  at  the  cover  of  his  book.  It 
was  a  battered  copy  of  Nuttall's  Standard  Dictionary. 
Picture  it — and  in  those  surroundings. 

"  'Yes,'  he  said  with  a  not  over-jovial  laugh,  '  I'm 
not  altogether  a  savage,  you  see.  I  never  hear  any- 
thing but  Arabic,  except  when  I  come  to  Tangier.  I 
think  and  dream  in  it.  So  I  peg  away  at  this 
occasionally,  just  to  keep  the  words  in  my  mind. 
And — it's  not  such  bad  reading  as  you  might  think, 
either ! ' 

"  When  next  I  woke  it  seemed  the  whole  world 
was  sleeping  most  profoundly,  and  that  in  the  most 
singularly  beautiful  pearly  violet  light  the  mind  of  an 
artist  could  conceive,  or  unavailingly  strive  to  repro- 
duce. It  was  that  traveller's  snare,  the  false  dawn,  as 
I  know  now.  It  might  have  been  the  coming  of  the 


PHILLIP  FROBISHER'S  IMPRESSION     25 

Kingdom  of  God  for  all  I  knew  then.  I  slid  out 
quietly  from  under  my  blanket,  stepped  across  my 
host,  where  he  lay  asleep  beside  the  tent's  mouth,  and 
tip-toed  out  into  the  open.  I  walked  toward  the 
oleander-sheltered  pool,  and  then  sat  me  down  on  a 
flat  stone,  for  the  reason,  upon  my  life,  that  I  could 
stand  no  more.  The  strange,  sad,  ghostly  beauty  of 
it  all  possessed  me  as  a  palsy  might,  and  my  joints 
were  become  as  water  under  me.  I  am  conscious  of 
having  wept,  sitting  there  on  that  stone,  as  a  child 
having  won  from  loneliness  and  danger  to  its  mother's 
lap.  It  seemed  the  whole  world,  kamari*  was  before 
my  eyes,  an  unending,  beautiful  array  of  smooth  hills 
and  dewy  valleys,  soaked  in  that  marvellous  mother- 
!  o'-pearl  light  in  which  I  felt  the  first  of  men  must  have 
seen  the  earth.  The  morning  star  gazed  down  upon 
me  serenely  radiant.  Creation  was  at  my  hand,  an 
intimate  revelation  of  beauty.  I  could  see  the  spheres 
slowly  revolving  in  their  appointed  paths.  Under  the 
lee  of  my  friend's  little  tent  I  could  see  the  shrouded 
white  forms  of  the  sleeping  Moors.  Near  by, 
tethered  to  stakes,  the  animals  munched  straw.  I 
gazed  down  the  beaten  highway  of  a  hundred  trails, 
and  presently  a  dim,  white  figure  approached  along 
that  highway,  smoothly,  silently,  swiftly  drawing  near 
from  out  the  heart  of  the  dawn.  It  was  a  man, 
loping  along  like  a  pariah  dog,  a  stick  upthrust 
between  his  neck  and  his  kaftan,  his  few  garments 
kilted  above  the  knee,  his  waist  tightly  girdled,  a 
palmetto  bag  swinging  beside  him,  his  slippers  firmly 
grasped  in  his  left  hand.  He  melted  past  our  little 
camp  and  out  into  the  dimness  of  the  valley  beyond, 
without  a  sound  ;  the  courier  from  Fez. 
1  Moon-coloured. 


26  MOROCCO 

"  Here  comes  the  day,  I  told  myself,  for  the  eastern 
cheek  of  heaven's  face  whitened  suddenly.  A  minute 
later  and  night  ruled.  I  had  seen  the  false  dawn. 
So  I  sat  on,  thinking,  to  see  the  real  dawn.  I  was 
seeing  so  much — so  very  much.  By  Allah  and  His 
Prophet,  I  was  seeing  the  dawning  of  my  own  life ! 

"And  so  when  day  came  I  decided  to  ride  on  with 
my  host.  He  made  me  very  welcome  in  his  strange 
half-native  home.  I  stayed  there  a  month.  And 
then — and  that  is  how  I  came  to  remain." 

My  friend  could  glean  no  more  from  Phillip 
Frobisher.  He  has  certainly  "  remained  "  ever  since, 
save  for  a  few  brief  journeys  in  Southern  Europe.  It 
is  a  simple,  fascinatingly  simple  and  patriarchal  life 
that  he  leads  in  his  great  white  house,  with  its  colony 
of  dependants,  its  stream-thridded  garden,  its  peacocks 
and  its  orange-shaded  courtyard,  near  Arzila. 

As  for  Messrs  Frobisher  Bros,  of  Manchester,  they 
passed  from  astonished  solicitude  to  disgusted  con- 
tempt. But  they  made  a  handsome  thing  out  of 
Phillip's  retirement.  It  was  little  he  cared. 


EAST  AND  WEST 

MOROCCO  is  a  land  of  tyranny,  oppression 
and  corruption.  To  deny  that  were  to 
mnounce  oneself  a  poor,  unobservant  student  and  no 
rue  lover  of  Sunset  Land.  But  the  casual  observer 
s  far  less  likely  to  deny  than  he  is  to  exaggerate,  and 
be  error  of  judgment  into  which,  of  all  others,  he  is 
nost  apt  to  stumble,  is  one  of  a  kind  so  fundamental 
bat  it  will  distort  and  disguise  his  whole  future  field 
)f  observation  for  him  if  not  soon  corrected.  This 
nisjudgment  has  its  origin  in  lack  of  catholicity,  and 
s  fostered  by  Europe's  physical  nearness  to  the  land 
>f  the  Moors.  Briefly  it  lies  in  the  application  of  the 
norals  of  Christendom  and  the  ethical  standards  of 
nodern  Europe,  in  one's  estimate  of  a  Muslim  com- 
nunity,  dwelling  in  a  land  as  actually  remote  from 
lurope  as  Tierra  del  Fuego.  No  less  lacking  in 
ruth  and  symmetry  is  this  sort  of  view  of  Morocco 
ban  would  be  a  man's  view  of  a  harvest  scene  in 
ural  England  if  the  fixed  standard  of  comparison 
ind  judgment  carried  in  that  man's  mind  were  derived 
rom  the  study  of  the  Matterhorn  in  January.  Near 
is  Morocco  lies  to  the  shores  of  Europe,  no  country 
)n  earth  is  more  entirely  beyond  and  outside  the 
Durview  of  European  tastes  and  standards.  And 
oso  permits  this  truth  to  escape  him  need  never 
lope  for  real  insight,  either  into  what  newspapers  call 
;he  "  Situation  in  Morocco,"  or  into  the  true  inward- 
less  of  Moorish  life. 

27 


28  MOROCCO 

Take,  for  example,  the  matter  of  slavery  in  Morocco. 
A  certain  type  of  European  visitor  shudders  when  he 
hears  the  word,  and,  should  he  pursue  the  beaten 
track  to  Marrakish,  will  be  sure  to  tell  you  afterwards, 
with  gusto,  and  before  mention  of  anything  else,  of  the  ' 
slave-market  he  saw  there.  "  Sold  as  chattels  in  open 
market,  I  assure  you.  Oh,  it  is  an  abominable 
country  !  " 

Well,  well,  and  so  it  may  appear  to  the  modern 
citizen  of  Christendom.  We  of  the  West  cannot 
justify  the  institution  of  slavery.  Perhaps  no  man 
truly  can.  Certainly  we  Christians  cannot,  but  the 
Mohammedan  is  not  in  the  same  case  at  all.  He  can 
justify  it.  His  religion  (which  is  a  more  real  thing  to 
him  than  religion  and  temporal  law  together  to  the 
average  Christian)  recognises  the  institution  and  lays 
down  wise  and  humane  laws  for  its  regulation.  The 
Western  reader  is  hereby  recommended  to  the  per- 
usal of  those  laws  in  Al  Koran.  Slavery  among 
white  men  undoubtedly  involved  a  great  deal  of, 
cruelty  and  barbarity.  Domestic  slavery  among  j 
Mussulmans,  in  Morocco,  for  example,  involves 
nothing  of  the  sort.  To  our  shame  be  it  said, 
the  thing  that  makes  English-speaking  men  de- 
termined in  their  hatred  of  slavery  is  the  fact  that 
English-speaking  men  horrified  the  world  by  their 
barbarity  when  they  dealt  in  slaves.  Not  so  the 
Muslim.  The  average  slave  in  Morocco  has  at  least 
as  good  a  life  as  the  average  poor  man  in  England. 
He  not  only  is  not  ill-treated  because  he  is  a  slave, 
but  he  is  not  looked  down  upon  for  the  same  reason. 
He  is,  upon  the  whole,  a  very  well-treated  dependant 
at  the  worst.  At  the  best  he  is  the  favoured  "  com- 
panion of  the  right  hand  "  of  men  of  power  and  wealth  ; 


EAST  AND  WEST  29 

he  holds  high  office  and  is  humbly  deferred  to  by 
his  less  fortunate  fellows  among  freemen.  No,  the 
slave  in  Morocco  is  by  no  means  a  persecuted  and 
pitiable  chattel,  but  a  well-cared-for  household  de- 
pendant, whose  life  is  full  of  possibilities,  and  who 
may  die  a  Grand  Wazeer.  But,  as  has  been  said,  the 
casual  Western  visitor  to  Morocco  shudders  at 
;  mention  of  slavery. 

Let  us  use  a  parable,  as  the  Moorish  wont  is. 
Mr  Blank  of  Brixton  Hill,  "  educated  up  to  the  nines  " 
|(to  use  the  phrase  I  heard  used  by  one  enlightened 
tourist  to  describe  another  in  Gibraltar  last  year),  is 
observantly  parading  the  main  street  of  Tangier. 
He  is  taken  in  tow  by  some  picturesque  nondescript 
of  a  resident,  in  whose  veins  are  traces  of  half  the 
nationalities  of  the  Mediterranean's  shores,  and 
shown  the  sights.  As  a  matter  of  course  he  is  taken 
to  the  prison.  Your  Tangerine  nondescript  soon 
learns  that  horrors  appeal  most  strongly  to  the  in- 
quiring stranger  from  the  hotel.  He  looks  through  a 
grating  into  a  sufficiently  unpleasant  dungeon,  as 
unlike  the  modern  white-washed  cell  of  Wormwood 
Scrubbs  as  anything  could  be.  England  has  possessed 
nothing  like  it  for  at  least  eighty  years.  One 
prisoner  attracts  his  attention.  He  pushes  inquiry 
regarding  this  prisoner,  and  feels  the  while  like  a 
philanthropic  M.P.  or  a  Royal  Commissioner.  He 
learns  :  (i)  The  prisoner  has  occupied  his  present 
quarters  for  just  six  days.  (2)  He  is  the  head  man  of 
such  and  such  a  village,  near  the  Red  Hill.  (3) 
Some  travellers  were  robbed  outside  that  village  a 
month  ago,  and  the  order  went  thence  from  Tangier 
that  the  thieves  be  handed  over  to  justice,  and 
with  them  a  fine  of  $400.  (4)  No ;  $400  had 


30  MOROCCO 

not  been  stolen  from  the  travellers,  but  200  had.  (5) 
The  thieves  were  duly  handed  over,  and  were  in 
prison.  (6)  No ;  this  head  man  was  not  one  of 
them.  (7)  Yes  ;  oh,  yes,  he  was  quite  innocent  of 
the  robbery.  As  yet  only  $220  of  the  $400  de- 
manded from  this  village  had  been  received  by  the 
Basha  of  Tangier. 

"  But  what  of  that  ?  "  cries  Mr  Blank.  "  Here's  a 
man  innocent  on  your  own  confession,  suffering 
imprisonment  in  this  noisome  hole  for  a  robbery  of 
which  he  knows  nothing !  Why,  you  might  as  well 
imprison  me!  Horrible  injustice!  And  when  will 
this  poor  fellow  be  set  at  liberty  ?  " 

c<  Ah !    who   shall   say  ?     Such    things    are   from 
Allah.     Probably   when    his   relatives   bring   in   th< 
remainder  of  that  $400." 

"  Horrible    corruption !     How   much    is    that   ii 
English  money  ?  " 

"  The  $ 1 80  ?     About  twenty-seven  pounds." 

"  And  if  it  is  not  paid  ?  " 

"  Hadj  Mohammed  will  remain  if  Allah  wills  it." 

"  What,  always  ?  " 

"  If  it  be  so  written." 

"Good  Heavens!" 

"  Truly,  there  is  but  one    God,  in  whose   ham 
are  all  things." 

"  Shameful  1 "   exclaims     Mr     Blank,    and    wall 
away   to   regard    Morocco   as    a   sink   of    barbarous 
iniquity  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

And  without  doubt  the  system  does  fall  short  of 
perfection,  even  more  markedly,  perhaps,  than  do  the 
systems  of  party  government,  trial  by  jury,  correction 
by  means  of  solitary  confinement,  warfare  upon  a 
humanitarian  basis,  and  other  shining  trade-marks  of 


EAST  AND  WEST  31 

European  enlightenment.     But  as  to  how  far  short 
the  system  falls  Mr  Blank  is  a  poor  judge  (in  much 
the  same  way  that  the  average  juryman  is  a  mighty 
poor  judge   of  conflicting   evidence  cleverly   spread 
before  him  by  opposing  counsel),  for  the  reason  that 
he  regards  it,  or  rather  the  examples  of  its  outworking 
upon   which   he   happens,    from   a   purely    European 
standpoint.     He,  as  it  were,  mentally  sets  the  case  in 
the  Old  Bailey,  imagining  the  robbery  in  question  as 
ja  burglary  in  Tooting,  and  the  imprisoned  headman 
as  a  sort  of  chairman  of  the  Tooting  vestry,  who, 
when  at  liberty,  administers  a  prosperous  linen-draping 
establishment.     Now,  granting  the  Tooting  burglary, 
the  Old  Bailey  setting  were  well  enough ;  and  in  the 
lease    of    the   linen-draping   vestryman,    Mr    Blank's 
deductions  would  be  admirably  just.     But  in  Tangier, 
ou   see,   it  is    not  only  the   prison   and   the   pallid 
wretches   there    incarcerated    that    are    such   a    big 
remove    from    the    Old     Bailey    and      Wormwood 
Scrubbs.     The    crimes    are    different   in   detail   and 
n  essence  ;  the  people,  traditions,  laws,  customs,  code, 
point  of  view,  powers  of  endurance,  values — all  are 
wholly  and  entirely  different.     Naturally,  then,  when 
Mr  Blank,   escorted  by  his  nondescript  guide,  peers 
through  the  prison  grating  in  Tangier's  Kasbah,  he 
ees  something  totally  different  there  also.     If  Hadj 
Mohammed,    the    imprisoned     headman,     with    his 
cigarette  between  his  fingers,  were  allowed  to  peer 
into  an   English   prison   yard  when   a   hanging  was 
toward,  he  would  be  at  least  as  horrified,  believe  you 
me,  as  Mr  Blank  could  be  at  any  sight  the  Tangier 
Kasbah  has  to  show.     Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  a  week's  "solitary  "  in  an  English  penal  establish- 
ment   would    set    Mohammed    craving  for   the  fetid 


32  MOROCCO 

atmosphere    of    the    Tangier   prison — with    its   kief 
and  tobacco  smoke  and  free  gossip. 

In  the  robbery  case  instanced,  the  amount  claimed 
by  the  persons  robbed  was  $200.  The  amount  de- 
manded by  the  Tangier  Basha,  from  the  village 
upon  the  outskirts  of  which  the  robbery  took  place, 
was  $400.  Corruption  at  the  outset,  you  say.  Why, 
yes,  from  our  standpoint.  Several  persons  pocket 
fees  in  connection  with  crimes  committed,  even  in 
England.  I n  the  ordinary  course  $400  being  demanded 
from  a  village,  the  m'koddem,  or  headman  thereof,  would 
at  once  bustle  about  and  collect  $500,  pocketing  $100, 
even  as  his  superior  would  pocket  $200,  and  the 
Grand  Vizier  (if  the  case  were  one  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  be  heard  of  in  court)  a  similar  or  a 
greater  proportion. 

"  Then  it  comes  to  this,"  you  would  say,  "  that  the 
villagers  themselves  are  the  only  sufferers/'  That  is 
pretty  nearly  so.  And  it  is  as  well  to  remember  that 
the  actual  robbers  are  probably  among  the  villagers, 
and  known  to  them.  It  is  also  probable  that  their 
plunder  was  really  no  more  than  half  the  amount 
stated  by  their  victims — say  $100.  So  that  the  village 
actually  loses  $400,  innocent  and  guilty  in  it  suffering 
alike.  And  that  is  an  outrageous  piece  of  injustice, 
in  English  eyes.  It  is  not  so  in  Moorish  eyes, 
however,  which,  after  all,  is  more  to  the  point.  The 
average  Moor  had  far  rather  run  the  risk  of  such  occa- 
sional injustice  than  the  inevitable  quarterly  payment 
of  so  much  from  his  small  earnings  towards  the  main- 
tenance of  a  police  system  for  the  protection  of  the 
innocent.  The  villagers  are  each  and  all  police  in  the 
interests  of  their  own  village.  They  have  little  or  no 
ethical  objection  to  robbery  as  a  profession,  and 


EAST  AND  WEST  33 

generally  find  the  proximity  of  a  really  clever  robber 
something  of  an  acquisition  to  the  community.  If 
perchance  a  man  has  accumulated  wealth,  great  or 
small,  experience  teaches  him  to  fear  greedy  officials 
far  more  than  outlaws. 

In  short,  the  existing  system,  an  exemplar 
of  which  so  horrified  Mr  Blank,  suits  the  men  who 
live  under  it  a  deal  better  than  would  the  system  to 
which  Mr  Blank  is  accustomed. 

And  all  this,  by  your  leave,  is  not  at  all  a  defence 
of  the  Moorish  system  of  internal  administration 
(which  is  about  as  poor  a  thing  in  the  way  of  ad- 
ministrations as  may  be  conceived),  but  merely  a  little 
parable  meant  to  illustrate  the  futility  of  judging 
Moorish  affairs  by  European  standards.  The  East 
is  not  the  West,  and  never  will  be,  any  more  than 
earth  is  heaven  or  hell.  And  what  is  sauce  for  the 
one  will  always  be  an  emetic  for  the  other,  while 
the  two  great  groups  of  the  human  family  exist. 
The  theories,  beliefs,  tastes,  and,  above  all,  the  point 
of  view  of  the  one,  cannot  be  truly  adopted  and 
assimilated  by  the  other,  no  matter  what  clever  pranks 
may  be  played  in  the  way  of  skin-grafting  and  surface 
amalgamation.  And  for  these  things,  as  for  all  things 
that  are,  let  each  branch  of  the  Family  render  praise 
to  its  Triune  God,  the  "  One  Incomprehensible"  and 
Merciful,  or  its  One  God,  "  Lonely  and  Merciful,"  as 
the  case  may  be ;  for  the  world  were  a  dreary  place 
indeed  if  all  its  sons  and  daughters  were  as  like  as 
peas  in  the  one  pod. 

No  white  man  who  knows  Morocco  (even  though 
he  be  a  missionary)  will  deny  that  the  one  kind  of 
Moor  who  is  never  to  be  trusted  is  the  foreign-speak- 
ing Moor  who  has  been  brought  a  good  deal  into 
c 


34  MOROCCO 

contact  with  Christians  on  the  coast.  His  moral 
fibre,  such  as  it  is  (rate  it  high  or  low  as  you  choose), 
is  invariably  sapped  from  the  native  by  familiar  inter- 
course with  Europeans,  and  he  takes  nothing  from 
us  in  place  of  it,  save  a  liberal  assortment  of  our 
vices.  And  by  the  same  token,  what  of  our  Western 
morality,  our  Christian  virtues  of  temperateness  and 
self-control,  once  we  slide  far  enough  into  the  life 
and  customs  of  the  East  ?  And  that  question  re- 
minds me  that  I  have  the  story  of  poor  Pat  Derry. 
It  shall  be  given  here  for  the  point  it  illustrates,  and 
for  what  it  is  worth. 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY 

"  T  GUIDE!     I  guide!     Ihyeh— I  guide!" 

_L  The  too-persistent  wight  who  thus  chanted 
his  claim  upon  public  attention  sat  crouched  beside 
the  hotel's  front  steps,  a  blurred,  picturesque  break 
in  the  moonlit  emptiness  of  a  sea-fronting  terrace. 
In  that  light  the  bay  beyond  was  a  crescent  of 
molten  lead,  its  two  horns,  the  gun-mounted  port 
arsenal  (impressive  till  you  learned  that  the  guns 
were  fitted  for  no  tougher  work  than  that  of  saluting), 
and  the  old  tower  which  links  decadent  modern 
Morocco  to  the  Mauretania  of  Roman  occupation. 
In  the  crescent's  shimmering  centre  the  Sultan's 
navy  rode  at  anchor ;  an  old  merchant  steamer,  pur- 
chased from  the  infidels  and  used,  when  not  engaged 
in  the  transport  of  pickled  rebels'  heads,  chiefly  for 
the  purpose  of  carrying  grain  for  his  Shareefian 
Majesty's  troops  from  one  port  to  another. 

Inside  the  white  hotel  was  electric  light  and 
silence.  Hotel  and  electricity  both  were  spawn  of 
the  infidels,  and  established  there  on  Moorish  terri- 
tory, because  that  the  Sultan,  when  wearied  by  the 
giving  of  many  refusals,  had  given  his  consent.  In  the 
little  hall  office,  the  maestro,  scanning  figures,  sipped 
his  evening  coffee.  In  the  bend  of  the  marble  stair- 
way a  sloe-eyed  Spanish  chambermaid  sat  chewing 
nougat.  In  the  passage  between  kitchen  and  dining- 

35 


36  MOROCCO 

hall,  two  Moors,  waiters,  squatted  on  their  heels, 
smoking  kief.  In  the  drawing-room,  the  Spanish 
widow  resident  ogled  provocatively  a  middle-aged 
English  tourist,  who  drank  champagne  at  thirty-two 
pesetas  a  bottle,  and  shared  the  same  with  his  neigh- 
bour at  the  table  tfhote.  In  this  way,  then,  the  widow 
paid  for  her  wine.  She  was  scrupulously  honour- 
able. She  postponed  her  serious  evening  rendezvous 
with  the  young  gentleman  from  the  Italian  Legation 
by  exactly  thirty  minutes  each  night,  to  permit  of  the 
just  settlement  of  this  wine  and  ogle  barter. 

As  for  me,  I  lounged  in  the  entrance  way,  looking 
out  over  the  terrace  at  the  moonlit  bay  beyond ; 
marvelling  at  the  blackness  of  the  Hill  of  Apes, 
picturing  to  myself  the  doings  of  the  crooked,  yard- 
wide  streets  of  the  city  behind  me,  wondering  how  it 
could  be  that  I  had  stayed  away  from  the  glamour 
and  fascination  of  this  bloody  but  beautiful  Morocco 
for  so  long  a  stretch  as  eleven  years.  I  had  landed 
no  longer  ago  than  the  afternoon  of  that  very  day. 
And  the  epicure  in  me  had  bade  me  land  as  a  tourist, 
telling  no  one  of  my  coming,  seeking  out  no  old 
friends,  and  allowing  myself  to  be  borne  off  to  the 
hotel  by  a  jabbering  donkey-man.  "Thus,"  the 
epicure  had  said,  confident  in  its  undying  foolishness, 
"shall  you  taste  again  the  savoury  sting  of  first  im- 
pressions ;  so  shall  you  lend  subtle  bouquet  to  your 
pleasure/' 

"I  guide!  I  guide!  O,  N'zrani,  b'Allah !  I 
guide.  Naddil!  Jirri!"  (I  will  arrange!  Haste 
thou !) 

The  discordant  wretch  beside  the  steps  was  mazy 
with  hasheesh,  as  I  had  seen  at  a  glance.  His 
head  far  back  in  a  dingy  djellab-hood,  he  had  crooned 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          37 

over  his  "I  guide!"  till  recollection  of  his  objective 
had  left  the  man.  Suddenly  he  had  been  wakened 
to  realities,  probably  by  hunger  for  food,  or  for 
opiates.  Hence  his  exclamations,  and  the  boldness 
which  made  him  pluck  at  my  coat.  This  clouded  my 
charmed  vista;  it  interfered  with  my  enjoyment  of 
the  moon-washed  scene. 

"  Seer  fi-halak-um  !  "  (Get  hence  !)  I  snapped, 
forgetting  that  the  use  of  Arabic  was  out  of  keeping 
with  my  role  as  tourist. 

The  Moor  started  dreamily  to  his  feet.  His 
obedience  cuffed  me  to  repentance.  Was  I  not  a 
tourist  and  fair  game  ? 

"All  right,"  I  said  in  English.     "  Go  ahead  !     I 


come." 


And  with  a  gesture  I  explained  myself,  accepted 
the  would-be  guide's  services,  and  assured  to  him  the 
kief  and  coffee  money  which  his  soul  desired.  He 
grunted,  as  though  his  unaffected  satisfaction  required 
explanation,  and  forged  ahead  of  me  on  the  sands, 
bound  apparently  for  the  city  gate. 

At  least  the  tattered  rascal  no  longer  worried  me, 
for  he  had  no  other  English  than  the  brief  lie  that 
introduced  as  guide  a  beggar  who  lived  idly  upon 
bounty,  and  had  never  thought  of  playing  guide  until 
that  evening,  when  an  empty  kief-pipe  and  an 
empty  belly  combined  to  inspire  an  effort  of  some 
sort.  So  much  I  gathered  from  the  mutterings  which 
reached  me  from  out  the  djellab-hood  of  my  escort. 

We  reached  that  corner  whence  one  advances 
either  to  the  city  gate,  or,  by  the  hill  road,  to 
Tangier's  great  outer  Sok.  The  would-be  guide 
hesitated.  The  business  was  strange  and  distasteful 
to  him. 


38  MOROCCO 

"  Nay,"  I  heard  him  muttering  in  Arabic. 
"Others  may  show  Tanjah  to  the  Nazarene  to- 
morrow. I  will  take  him  to  the  Fool's  Fandak, 
where  I  shall  be  fed  and  he  shall  give  me  money  to 
buy  hasheesh  from  some  traveller  withal — im  sha5 
Allah!"  (By  God's  grace!) 

This  rather  interested  me,  and  I  followed  along 
the  hill  road  contentedly  enough.  The  city  might 
wait.  My  time  was  my  own,  B'ism  Illah ;  and  I 
needed  no  guide  in  those  familiar  intricate  alleys. 
Also,  I  desired  knowledge  as  to  what  and  where  the 
"  Fool's  Fandak "  might  be.  A  fandak,  you  must 
know,  is  a  place.  No  lesser  or  more  particular  word 
will  serve.  It  is  generally  an  enclosed  space  in  which 
beasts  are  tethered,  and  in  the  cloisters  about  which 
men  may  rest  and  eat  and  gossip.  Attached  to  your 
fandak  there  may  or  may  not  be  a  house  ;  there  will 
almost  certainly  be  a  smell,  biting,  acrid  and  far- 
reaching,  the  odour  of  congregated  men  and  beasts 
in  a  land  where  sanitation  is  not. 

As  we  bent  our  heads  to  escape  contact  with  the 
lamp  outside  Hadj  Absalaam's  little  Sok  coffee- 
house, a  breath  of  wind  from  the  sea — no  more  than 
a  careless  yawn,  an  out-puff  of  drowsy  Africa's  breath, 
so  to  say — lifted  my  escort's  djellab-hood  backward  to 
his  left  shoulder  and  showed  me  the  face  of  the  man. 
I  confess  to  starting  back  a  pace.  Morocco  is  full  of 
disfigured  faces,  but  you  might  almost  have  said  my 
guide  had  no  face  at  all.  It  was  just  a  flattened 
expanse  of  cross-seamed  skin ;  a  slanting  gash  for 
mouth,  two  fiery  eye-holes,  and — no  more ;  a  night- 
marish and  horrible  sight. 

"  Tortured  in  a  country  kasbah,  or  man-handled 
and  left  for  dead  in  some  mountain  gorge,'  I  told 


I  UK    MAIN    STKKKT   OF    TANUIKR 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          39 

myself ;  and  was  relieved  when  the  poor  wretch 
jerked  forward  the  mask-like  hood  of  his  djellab. 

We  crossed  the  Sok,  mounted  by  the  British 
Legation,  and  dipped  into  the  valley  beyond.  Just 
then  my  nostrils  became  aware  of  the  unmistakable 
proximity  of  a  fandak.  Sure  enough  we  halted  a 
minute  later  at  a  great  gateway  set  in  a  wall  of  aloe 
and  prickly  pears ;  and,  odours  apart,  I  heard  the 
stamping  of  heel-roped  animals  and  the  monotonous 
twanging  of  gimbri  strings ;  sounds  thridded  by  a 
weak,  unceasing  tootling  upon  a  wheezy  ghaitah 
or  flageolet. 

"  Give  a  little  money,  N'zrani !  "  exclaimed  my 
guide,  extending  his  right  hand,  scoop-wise,  before 
me,  and  speaking  in  his  own  tongue — the  only  one  he 
knew. 

"  A  nice  sort  of  guide,"  I  thought.  Had  I  been 
truly  a  tourist  and  strange  in  this  country  the  situation 
had  been  disconcerting  enough  without  doubt.  We 
were  some  distance  from  the  protecting  publicity  of 
Tangier's  lights.  "  For  what  purpose,  rascal,  should 
I  give  thee  money  ?  "  I  said  sharply,  and  in  my  best 
Moghrebin. 

"  That  I  may  have  hasheesh  and  kief,"  replied 
the  Moor,  with  no  inflection  of  surprise  in  his  voice. 

"  H'm  !  We  shall  see.  There  is  earning  to  be 
done  here  as  well  as  giving,  sir  guide.  If  this  be  thy 
1  Fool's  Fandak/  lead  on.  I  will  rest  here  awhile 
and  drink  a  glass  of  coffee." 

There  was  no  startling  the  fellow.  He  was  a 
most  singularly  imperturbable  dog.  It  may  be  that 
his  phlegm  was  born  of  hasheesh,  however,  or  that 
he  fancied  most  tourists  passed  their  evenings  in  this 
manner.  At  all  events,  with  a  sharp  tug  at  a 


40  MOROCCO 

palmetto  cord,  my  guide  lifted  the  stone  which  kept 
the  fandak  gate  latched,  and  we  entered  a  roomy 
courtyard  or  corral,  wherein  a  score  of  mules,  stallions 
and  donkeys  were  fidgeting  over  the  wispy  remains 
of  their  supper.  A  pool  of  light  in  one  of  the  farther 
corners  of  this  yard  indicated  the  opening  by  which 
one  reached  the  humanly-inhabited  part  of  the  fandak. 
This  corner  my  guide  steered  for,  I  after  him,  picking 
my  way  cautiously  among  miry  foot-ropes  and  loose 
cobbles. 

From  the  pool  of  light  we  passed  into  a  very 
spacious,  oblong  apartment,  ventilated  in  Moorish 
fashion  by  narrow  perpendicular  slits  in  its  walls 
close  to  the  raftered  roof,  and  by  the  ever-open  door- 
way. On  the  walls  two  great  wicks  floated  in 
Moorish  lamp-brackets  of  oil,  and  about  the  paved 
floor  stood  a  few  cheap  German  lamps.  Some  two 
score  men,  all  Moors,  lounged  about  the  room,  which 
had  no  other  furniture  than  mats,  rugs  and  half  a  dozen 
little  tables  each  about  six  inches  high.  Two  groups 
were  card-playing.  Two  men  were  strumming  at 
gimbris,  their  eyes  fixed  as  hemp  will  fix  a  man's 
eyes.  One  made  his  moan  listlessly  upon  a  ghaitah  ; 
and  the  rest,  lighting,  knocking  out  and  relighting 
long  kief-pipes,  gossiped,  or  lay  at  ease,  silent. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  apartment  a  man  sat  bolt 
upright,  scanning  a  newspaper  through  steel-framed 
spectacles.  His  dress  was  nondescript  and  negligent 
to  the  verge  of  indecency,  but  purely  Moorish.  Yet 
there  was  the  newspaper!  This  man  sat  upon  a 
mattress.  One  guessed  it  was  his  sleeping-place. 
Suddenly  he  turned  his  head  toward  the  door;  a 
movement  of  the  man  who  had  brought  me  to  this 
11  Fool's  Fandak  "  had  caught  his  ear.  The  light  fell 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          41 

across  his  unshaven  chin.  I  stared.  The  man 
moved  and  caught  light  upon  the  upper  part  of  his 
face.  I  started  forward. 

"  Good  God,  Derry !  What — what  do  you  here  ?  " 
I  cried,  and  strode  forward,  careless  of  my  booted  feet, 
and  scattering  a  row  of  slippers  by  the  door  as  I 
moved. 

"Eh?  Oh — hang  it!  Where  have  you  come 
from  ?  U'm  ?  Sit  down  !  " 

I  squatted  on  the  mattress  beside  him  when  our 
hands  had  met.  After  touching  my  hand  I  noticed 
that  he  mechanically  raised  his  own  fingers  to  his  lips, 
Moorish  fashion.  The  last  occasion  upon  which  I 
had  taken  this  man's  hand  had  been  somewhat  other- 
wise. It  was  eleven  years  before,  and  the  young 
Irishman  had  then  been  setting  out  upon  the  third  of 
his  adventurous  exploring  journeys  in  the  interior, 
disguised  as  his  custom  was  as  a  Moor,  at  the  head  of 
a  little  caravan  of  seven  beasts  and  four  men.  A 
week  later  I  had  left  the  country.  And  now — now  I 
sat  down  beside  Derry  on  his  mattress. 

"Well,  whose  is  this  Fool's  Fandak,  anyhow?"  I 
asked,  feeling  my  way  among  the  innumerable  ques- 
tions engendered  by  the  situation. 

"  Eh  ?     Heard  that,  then,  have  you  ?     It's  mine." 

"Well,  but— do  you— I  mean—" 

"Yes,  I  live  here;  it's  my  show.  It's  not 
exactly  a  business  ;  not  a  paying  concern,  you  know. 
But  it  doesn't  cost  much.  You  knew  that  I  had  a 
little  money  of  my  own.  Yes,  I  live  here.  I  wonder 
no  one's  told  you.  Of  course,  the  white  men  don't 
know  me — now,  you  know.  They'd  tell  you  I'd  gone 
Fantee  ;  lived  native,  or — something.  I  do,  in  a  way. 
The  clothes  ?  Oh,  yes  ;  one  picks  up  habits.  Yes,  I 


42  MOROCCO 

live  here  right  enough.     Let  me  see  ;  nine,  ten — over 
ten  years  now.     Have  a — er — won't  you  smoke  ?" 

Kief-pipes  lay  before  my  old  friend,  but  nothing 
nearer  a  white  man's  taste.  He  had  just  noticed  it. 
I  drew  cigarettes  from  my  pocket. 

"Look  here,  Deny,"  I  said,  whilst  taking  a  light 
from  him,  "  I  don't  want  to  pry,  you  know.  Chacun 
a  son  godt,  and — and  so  on ;  but  what  the  Dickens 
are  you  driving  at  anyway  ?  How  do  you  come  to 
be  living  in — living  here  ?  " 

He  regarded  me  heavily,  and  I  noted  with  regret 
the  yellow  cloudiness  of  his  eyes.  I  thought  he 
seemed  to  be  weighing  in  recollection's  scales  the 
quality  of  our  friendship  as  warranty  for  my  curiosity. 

"  Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "it's  a  queer,  beastly  sort 
of  story.  But  if  you  want  it,  and  wron't  repeat  it  to 
any  of  the  other  Christians  in  Tangier,  I'll  tell  it 
you." 

I  gave  my  word  and  waited. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  and  then  paused,  a  vaguely 
pained  look  flitting  over  his  thin  face.  "  By  the  way, 
ye  know,  you  mustn't  think  I  run  a  hasheesh  den. 
Nothing  of  that  sort.  By  God,  *  Fool's  Fandak '  it 
may  be,  but  it  is  a  genuine  fandak  for  travellers 
anyway.  No  women  here ;  no  dancing-boys,  or 
trash  of  that  sort.  Coffee  and  tea  I  give  'em,  and, 
mark  you,  I've  got  'em  to  take  the  English  tea  at 
that — the  black  sort,  I  mean ;  less  nerve-shattering 
than  their  green  truck,  ye  know.  The  hasheesh 
and  kief;  well,  you  know  what  Moors  are.  They 
will  have  it.  They  bring  it.  I  don't  supply  it.  I — \ 
er— " 

His  eyes  fell  on  the  kief-pipes  and  little  embossed | 
hasheesh  cup  beside  the  mattress,  rose  then  andi 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          43 

met  mine.  Then,  slowly,  colour  mounted  in  Berry's 
face,  and  a  silence  fell  between  us  while  the  Moors 
stared  incuriously  at  the  Fool  and  his  guest.  We  must 
be  frank,  I  thought. 

"  Hang  it,  old  man,  I  can  see  !  You  don't  suppose 
the  contracted  pupils  and  yellowness  mean  nothing  to 
me.  I  noticed  all  that  as  soon  as  I  saw  you." 

"Ah!  well,"  he  said,  " habits  fall  upon  one; 
grow  about  you  from  the  soil  you  live  in — hey  ?  I 
don't  take  much." 

I  sighed.     "  But  let  me  hear  the  yarn,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  when  I  last  saw  you  I  was  starting  for 
Tafilet ;  wasn't  that  it  ?  Yes.  Well,  it  was  a  devil 
of  a  bad  journey  in  every  possible  way ;  in  every 
possible  way  it  was  bad,  was  the  last  of  my  journeys. 
My  men  all  died  or  left  me  in  the  Atlas ;  and  I  was 
stranded  in  Ain  Tessa  with  lame  beasts,  and  not 
another  soul  but  old  Hamadi  the  cook.  One  day's 
journey  from  there — I  was  making  homeward  toward 
Fez  in  disgust — I  reached  a  big  fandak,  after  sundown 
and  in  a  howling  storm  of  rain  and  wind.  Oh,  but  it 
was  a  horrible  night !  Up  to  your  girths  in  mud,  no 
road,  lame  beasts,  and  poor  old  Hamadi  whining  like 
a  wounded  dog.  We  couldn't  possibly  have  pitched  a 
tent,  so  we  went  into  this  great  fandak,  thinking  to 
"make  sure  of  one  comfortable  night's  rest  after  a  very 
exhausting  week.  I  was  keen  about  it.  I  remember 
thinking  how  fine  it  would  be  to  roll  in  my  blankets 
on  a  dry  floor.  Man,  I  ran  at  it ;  b'Allah,  I  ran  into 
the  place ! " 

Derry  paused,  glaring  vacantly  over  my  right 
shoulder  toward  that  mouldering,  wind-swept  grey 
fandak  in  a  savage  Atlas  gorge ;  a  place  that  in  all 
human  probability  no  other  white  man  had  ever 


44  MOROCCO 

clapped  eyes  on.  I  had  tasted  something  of  the 
strenuous  delights  of  the  Open  Road  in  Morocco.  I 
knew  with  what  an  appetite  a  man  views  walls  and 
roofs,  be  they  ever  so  crumbling  and  weather-worn, 
after  a  dozen  hours  spent  in  a  high-peaked  Moorish 
saddle,  scrambling  over  rock-strewn  quagmires  in 
drenching  rain. 

"  But  it  was  an  uncanny  place,  that  fandak," 
hummed  Derry,  rolling  the  words  reminiscently  over 
his  tongue;  "a  howling,  god-forsaken  Stonehenge 
kind  of  a  place  it  was.  Had  been  a  mountain  kasbah 
of  sorts ;  big  as  a  village,  old  as  the  Flood,  and 
rottenly  decayed  in  every  stone  of  it.  We  tethered 
the  beasts  and  got  my  pack  into  one  of  the  two  rooms 
built  in  a  corner.  You  know  the  style.  One  a  sort 
of  store-room,  that  we  made  for  ;  the  other,  the  tea 
and  coffee-making  place,  and  headquarters  of  the 
fandak-keeper.  Most  of  the  travellers  slept  round 
about  the  roofed-in  sides  with  their  animals,  and  so 
paid  nothing  beyond  the  fee  for  stabling. 

"  You  remember  my  horse — old  Zemouri  ?  The 
most  gallant  beast,  the  bravest,  gamest  horse  ever 
lapped  in  hide." 

I  nodded.  Derry's  love  for  this  barb  had  been 
something  of  a  byword  in  Tangier  in  the  old  days. 
It  was  said  that  when  he  was  so  nearly  starved,  on 
the  Berber  trip,  Zemouri  munched  the  last  score  of 
Tafilet  dates  while  Derry  cinched  up  his  belt  a  hole 
or  two  and  comforted  himself  sucking  the  stones. 
Not  many  women  have  been  better  loved,  I  fancy. 

"  Well,  it  had  been  a  devil  of  a  day,  apart  from 
the  going  and  the  weather.  It  seemed  that  for  a 
week  we  had  passed  close  to  mares  at  least  once  an 
hour.  Now  you  remember  how  old  Zemouri  carried 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          45 

on  when  there  was  a  mare  in  the  case.  That  journey 
was  worse  than  ever.  By  the  Lord,  the  old  horse 
was  in  a  lather  before  ever  you  clapped  saddle  on  his 
Dack.  Mares — Heavens  and  earth,  he  could  scent 
them  miles  away!  He  travelled  in  a  tremble  on  his 
lind  legs,  and  near  wrenched  the  arms  out  o'  me,  on 
a  Mequinez  curb  that  would  have  broken  some  horses' 
aws  to  look  at.  Barley — b'Allah,  Zemouri  had  no 
time  to  eat;  it  stopped  his  neighing.  He  never 
closed  an  eye  at  night,  and  rarely  ate  a  mouthful,  if 
there  was  anything  feminine  within  sight.  Poor  old 
Zemouri !  He  grew  thin  as  a  rail,  and  yet  pranced 
all  day  like  a  two-year-old.  He  carried  me  where  no 
other  horse  could,  when  he  was  dying ;  and  he  did  it 
all  with  an  air,  bedad !  A  brave,  a  cavalier,  was 
Zemouri,  if  ever  there  was  one. 

"  Well,  of  course  I  had  found  him  the  best  place 
in  the  fandak;  the  corner  close  to  the  rooms,  with  no 
other  beast  within  twenty  yards  of  him.  The  horse 
was  utterly  worn  out,  but  glad  of  the  shelter,  and 
inclined  to  feed  and  rest,  I  thought.  So  we  went 
into  the  room  to  boil  tea  and  enjoy  our  precious 
comfort.  We  fed  and  rested,  listening  to  three  very 
decent  and  sociable  robbers,  who  were  for  making  an 
evening  of  it,  in  a  mild  sort  of  way,  in  the  little  coffee 
place.  Then  I  made  up  my  bed,  and  went  out  to  feed 
Zemouri,  reckoning  he'd  be  cooled  by  then.  He  was, 
and  I  was  mighty  pleased  with  the  idea  of  the  old 
horse  having  a  good  night.  Two  brimming  tumnies 
of  washed  barley  I  left  him,  and  then  I  went  in  and 
curled  up  under  my  blanket,  praising  St  Patrick. 

"  I  was  asleep  in  two  minutes,  and  in  five  I  was 
wakened     by    Zemouri's     neighing     and     stamping. 
Bless  the  old  fool,'  I  cried,  *  what's  wrong  with  him 


46  MOROCCO 

now?  '     I  climbed  over  Hamadi,  and  out  into  the  mire 
and  rain,  to  get  round  the  arch  sheltering  Zemouri. 
An   egg-pedlar   had    just    arrived   and   was   already 
chewing  black  bread,  while  his  raw-boned  skeleton  of 
a  mare  with  the  egg-pack  was  sidling  up  within  six 
paces  of  Zemouri,  and  never  so  much  as  a  string  t< 
her  fetlocks.     I  cursed  the  man  for  a  pig-eating  clown 
and  told  him  to  tether  his  ramshackle  mare  somewher 
the  far  side  of  Al  Hdtoma.     He  stared  and  grinnec 
like   an  idiot.     God  knows!     It  may  have  been  ha 
sheesh.     I    wasn't   so   used   to  that  stark  intolerabl 
phlegm  then.     However,  he  called  me  *  Sidi '  humbl; 
enough,  and  mumbled   something  about   moving  hi 
mare   and   seeing  that  my  lordship's   horse  was  no 
again  disturbed.     And  so,  as  he   led  his  poor  beas 
away,  and  Zemouri  quietened  down  quite  remarkably 
I  went  back  to  bed,  and  was  asleep  before  I  coul< 
cover  myself. 

"  Ten  minutes  later  Zemouri  was  neighing  wildly 
and  pawing  the  fandak  wall  like  a  mad  thing, 
tumbled  out,  swearing,  and  found  that  wretched  egg 
pedlar  lying  smoking  on  a  pack-saddle,  watching  hi< 
straying  mare  as  she  dodged  Zemouri's  heels  and 
squirmed  in  towards  my  barley.  The  man  gave  me 
his  insufferable  glassy  grin  again  when  I  spoke  to 
him.  I  didn't  lift  my  hand.  I  laid  hold  on  mysel 
properly.  I  gave  the  man  a  tumni  of  barley  and  a 
loaf  of  good  bread  for  himself,  and  I  bade  him  civilly 
— By  God,  I  begged  him  ! — go  and  hang  himself  and 
his  mare  on  the  other  side  of  the  fandak.  It  made 
me  sweat  to  see  his  grin.  I  coaxed  Zemouri,  and 
went  back  to  my  bed. 

"  But  I  didn't  get  to  sleep  so  quickly  this  time.     I 
was  over-tired,  I  was  worrying  horribly  about  poor  olc 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          47 

Zemouri,  and  all  my  nerves  seemed  in  a  listening 
strain,  shivering  like  harp-strings.  However,  I 
dropped  off  after  a  while  and  slept  a  few  minutes. 
Then  Zemouri  brought  me  out  in  one  bound,  my 
skin  all  pricking.  The  mare  was  browsing  about 
within  a  few  yards  of  my  horse,  and  the  pedlar,  back 
in  his  old  place,  chewing  my  bread  and  staring 
stupidly,  half  asleep,  at  his  beast.  I  was  angry.  Oh, 
yes,  too  angry  to  dare  say  much.  I  drove  the  pair 
out  as  a  man  shoos  poultry.  Zemouri  hadn't  eaten 
six  mouthfuls  and  seemed  to  be  treading  on  hot  irons. 
I  reckon  my  temperature  was  well  past  fever  point 
when  I  got  back  to  bed. 

"  I  don't  know  if  you've  ever  been  placed  that 
way,  to  be  so  dog  tired  that  you  ache  with  it  in  every 
muscle,  and  yet  to  be  in  such  a  feverish  sweat  of 
irritation  that  you  can't  even  lie  still,  leave  alone 
sleep.  I  was  listening.  My  God,  how  I  listened ! 
That  was  the  trouble.  I  could  not  give  over  listening, 
with  every  hair  on  my  head  and  every  pore  in  my 
skin,  it  seemed.  It  was — " 

Derry  paused,  staring  over  my  shoulder  as  before. 

"Well,  to  cut  the  yarn  shorter  the  same  thing 
happened  seven  separate  times.  Seven  times  that 
poor  wretch  of  a  pedlar  grinned  and  stared  stupidly 
in  my  face,  when  fury  was  boiling  out  at  my  pores 
like  steam  at  a  safety-valve.  What  possessed  the 
pedlar,  heaven  knows.  The  devil  possessed  me.  I 
could  have  sat  down  and  cried  to  see  dear  old 
Zemouri  using  up  the  last  drops  of  his  vitality  so. 
But  I  was  too  red-hot  with  irritable  fury  and  aching 
weariness. 

"  The  seventh  time  came,  and  the  pedlar  grinned 
again.  I  still  think  he  had  no  right  to  grin  in  that 


48  MOROCCO 

maddening,  fat-headed  way  at  a  wretch  in  my  condi- 
tion. Poor  chap !  There  was  a  big  mallet  there, 
used  for  driving  in  tethering  stakes.  I  lifted  it  above 
my  head.  I  felt  myself  foaming  at  the  mouth.  I 
couldn't  speak  to  that  staring,  grinning  thing.  The 
muscles  in  my  arms  leapt  to  strike  him.  -I  smashed 
that  mallet  down  full  and  square  on  the  pedlar's  glassy 
face.  I  felt  the  thing  give — horrible!  I  swung  the 
mallet  again  and  again — all  over  him.  I  jumped  on 
him  with  both  feet.  I — and  then  men  came  running 
from  everywhere,  and  I  stopped.  I  knew  I  had  killed 
the  pedlar ;  I  had  murdered  a  defenceless  man.  I 
heard  the  people  hiss  at  me  like  serpents.  I  saw 
them  turn  the  body,  find  no  life  in  it,  and  turn  again 
to  me.  I  was  very  cold.  The  mallet  I  still  held.  I 
was  very  cold.  By  the  saints,  how  cold  and  still  I 
was,  who  had  been  so  hot ! " 

The  egg-pedlar  could  never  have  stared  more 
fixedly  than  poor  Derry  was  staring  over  my  shoulder 
now.  I  thought  I  should  not  get  another  word  out  of 
him.  But  presently  his  attitude  became  relaxed,  his 
figure,  as  it  were,  caved  in.  I  noticed  then  how  the 
last  decade  had  aged  and  broken  up  the  sinewy  young 
Irishman  I  had  known.  "  I  must  get  him  out  of  this 
hemp-chewing,  tea-sipping  death-trap  somehow,  if  he 
is  to  live  at  all,"  I  told  myself.  Then  he  went  on 
again,  speaking  very  listlessly,  and  with  a  slurring 
economy  of  words. 

"  I  don't  know  how  we  managed  to  oret  out  of  that 
place  alive,  Zemouri,  Hamadi  and  me.  If  they'd  've 
guessed  I  was  a  Christian  the  Moors  would  have  torn 
me  in  pieces.  As  it  was  I  kept  the  mallet  and  let  my 
gun  be  seen.  You  know  what  Moors  are — in  the 
country,  too.  A  man  more  or  less !  He  is  dead,  it 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          49 

was  written.  You  know  the  tone.  I  gave  the 
fandak-keeper  four  dollars  and  told  him  to  see  to  a 
burying.  Then  we  got  away  with  our  animals  before 
daylight.  But  I  had  to  live  with  myself,  you  see. 
You  might  think  I  had  left  that  dead  pedlar  behind, 
got  quit  of  him.  But  I  hadn't,  by  thunder!  He  rode 
on  my  back  that  day,  and  I've  never  been  free  of 
his  smashed  grinning  headpiece  since.  Eh  ?  " 

I  had  not  spoken. 

"  But  he  hasn't  worried  me  so  much  of  late.     I 

fancy  I've  pretty  near  worked  clear.     It's  odd,  you 

'know,  but  I've  an  idea  that  the  nearer  I  get  to  him — 

if  he  went  to  the  place  I'm  going  to  when  he  died — 

the  freer  I  get  of  him.     And  that's  queer,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  H'm !     But  how  about  this  place  and  your  living 
here?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see  that's  how  I'm  working  it  off? 
I  murdered  a  Moor  in  a  fandak;  and  a  pretty  bad 
fandak,  too.  Well !  This  is  a  pretty  good  fandak, 
don't  you  see  ?  And  Moors  come  and  go  here  as  they 
like,  and  never  a  bilyun  to  pay.  It's  all  free.  My 
little  two-fifty  a  year  was  for  life,  you  know.  Oh,  I'm 
working  it  off.  You'll  excuse  the  habit,  but  I  must 
have  a  pipe,"  he  said  with  a  dismal  sort  of  a  smile. 
And  he  filled  and  lighted  a  long  kief-pipe  with  an  ease 
of  familiarity  that  my  gorge  rose  to  see  in  a  white 
man. 

I  had  to  leave  him  at  last,  for  I  had  no  notion  of 
sleeping  in  that  kief-clouded  den.  He  took  ha- 
sheesh before  we  parted,  and  I  left  him  pretty 
rm.ddled.  A  strong  man  in  a  way,  I  thought,  and 
beyond  the  ordinary  true  to  an  active  conscience. 
Yet,  in  another  way,  how  pitiably  weak!  Perhaps  I 
did  not  rightly  understand  living  native  then,  I 


50  MOROCCO 

know  more  of  it  now.  And  I  have  never  met  a  man 
strong  enough  to  do  as  Derry  had  done,  and  still — 
and  yet  not  do  as  he  had  done  in  the  ways  of 
weakness. 

Next  morning  I  found  that  beggar-guide  crooning 
on  the  hotel  door-steps,  bemused  and  hasheesh- 
drunk.  He  asked  me  for  money,  and  remembering 
that  I  had  paid  him  nothing  the  night  before,  I  tossed 
the  wretch  a  few  reales  and  turned  to  leave  him. 

"You  talk  with  the  Nazarene  at  the  fandak.  He 
tell  you  everything,  eh  ?  "  said  the  beggar,  in  Arabic. 
"  Maybe  you  do  not  believe.  Christians  believe 
nothing.  But  it  is  all  true — true  as  Al  Koran.  Ihyeh, 
all  true  ;  all  true !  " 

I  wondered  why  the  man  chuckled,  and  how  he 
knew.  I  could  see  he  was  in  no  condition  to  weigh 
his  words. 

"What  is  true?"  I  asked  him.  "What  do  you 
know  about  it  ?  " 

"  What  does  old  Cassim  know?  Ha!  Ihyeh,  old 
Cassim  knows  many  things.  What  do  I  know? 
Look!  Here  is  the  face  the  Christian  smashed  with 
his  mallet  in  the  fandak  by  Ain  Tessa !  What  do  I 
know  ?  I  know  I  have  grown  fat  these  ten  years  in 
the  Fool's  Fandak.  Not  for  nothing  was  Cassim's 
face  smashed.  What  do  I  know? — Ihyeh!  But, 
Sidi !  the  white  lord  will  not  tell  his  Christian 
brother  of  these  things.  It  were  not  well  that  an  old 
man  should  lose  his  home.  I — I — Cassim  sayeth 
many  foolish  words,  meaning  nothing.  What  do  I 
know  ?  Ha  !  Ihyeh,  ihyeh  !  Give  a  little  more 
money,  Sidi!" 

He  had  lowered  his  hood  again,  so  that  I  no 
longer  had  the  featureless  horror  of  his  head  before 


THE  STORY  OF  PAT  DERRY          51 

me.  But  the  creature's  proximity  was  something 
more  than  I  could  stomach  just  then,  so  I  walked 
off  slowly,  thinking.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the 
truth  of  his  words,  I  thought.  He  was  the  egg-pedlar 
of  the  fandak.  And  my  old  friend  had  dragged 
through  ten  years  of  living  death,  with  murder  on  his 
soul,  for — this  ! 

In  my  ignorance  I  decided  I  could  make  up  for  all 
that  now.     I  had  a  horse  saddled,  and  rode  up  to  the 
Fool's  Fandak." 

Yellow,  frowsy,  cloudy  and  sad,  I  found  my  friend 
typical  picture  of  the  hemp  slave  in  morning  time. 
My  news  stirred  him  deeply,  but  not  as  a  free  man 
iad  been  stirred  by  it.  Rather  as  one  who,  relieved 
>f  an  aching  pain,  would  turn  upon  his  other  side  and 
leep,  there  in  the  bed  of  his  sickness. 

Three  full  days  I  was  kept  busy  before  I  finally 
lad  him  clothed  as  a  white  man  and  sitting  in  a  room 
lext  mine  at  the  hotel.     And  then,  in  the  garments  of 
is  own  people,  he  looked  a  strange,  shrunken  creature, 
ar  more  of  a  wreck  than  before  at  the  fandak.     He 
efused  to  see  other  white  men  ;  and,  after  a  few  days, 
he  hotel-keeper,  with  many  apologies,  complained  to 
me  of  the  kief  smoke  and  smell  of  hasheesh  in  the 
corridor  by  my  friend's  room. 

Silver  stopped  this  complaint.     But  within  a  day 
or  two  the  man  came  puling  to  me  about  Moors — 
4 disreputable    natives"    he    called    them — trapesing 
ibout    his    hotel   and   congregating    in    my   friend's 
'oom. 

I    did   what    I    could,    but    the    thing   was    dis- 
heartening. 

One  afternoon   I   was  surprised   to   find    Berry's 
'oom  empty.     I  waited  till  sundown,  but  he  did  not 


52  MOROCCO 

return.  I  had  my  suspicions,  but  barely  admittec 
them  to  myself.  After  dinner  I  rode  up  to  the 
fandak,  foisting  upon  myself  the  pretence  that  I 
wanted  to  take  another  look  at  the  wretched  place — 
that  monument  to  a  good  man's  fatally  wrong-headec 
devotion  to  a  very  honest  conscience. 

I  found  Derry  there,  as  I  knew  I  should,  sur- 
rounded by  flattering  Moors,  dressed  Moorish  fashion 
and  sipping  hasheesh  in  honey  from  a  gilt-flowerec 
mug. 

He  never  left  the  fandak  again,  for  four  days  later 
the  Moors  came  to  me  with  word  that  the  "  Fool "  was 
dead. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,  old  man,"  I  found  scrawled 
on  a  scrap  of  brown  paper  that  was  clenched  betwixt 
his  dead  fingers.  "You  don't  understand.  I  know 
how  kindly  you  meant.  But  it's  better  this  way, 
perhaps.  Anyhow,  I  think  I've  worked  it  off  now. 

"  PATRICK  DERRY." 


UNDER  THE  PARASOL 

'TPHE  highest  spiritual    authority   in  Morocco  is 
i       the  recognised  temporal  head  of  the  realm  ; 
at  this  present,  his  Shareefian  Majesty  Abdel  Aziz  IV., 
whom  may  Allah  direct. 

It  were  not  easy  to  define  the  exact  nature  of  the 
Sultan's  sway,  his  position  in  the  eyes  of  his  subjects. 
Loyalty  to  the  throne,  in  the  European  sense  of  the 
word,  is  absolutely  unknown,  uncomprehended  among 
Moors.  Mauldnd,  Our  Lord,  as  his  people  call  him, 
would  certainly  hold  no  sway  whatever  beyond  the 
confines  of  his  court,  and  very  little  there,  failing  his 
spiritual  rank  as  the  first  of  all  living  Shareefs ; 
descendants,  that  is,  of  the  Prophet.  Among  the 
wilder  hill  tribesmen  and  the  original  owners  of 
Morocco,  the  Berbers,  it  is  this  aspect  of  The  Lofty 
Portal's  greatness,  and  this  alone,  which  lends  weight 
to  his  decrees,  and  some  glamour  of  sacredness  to 
his  will  and  person.  But,  withal,  the  tax-collecting 
must  needs  be  performed  by  an  army  among  the 
mountain  Berbers,  who  will  never  carry  their 
reverence  for  Allah's  Anointed  so  far  as  voluntarily 
to  pay  him  tribute  in  cash  or  kind.  But  the  Berbers, 
it  must  be  remembered,  are  not  of  Arab  stock. 
Islam  swept  upon  them  at  the  points  of  the  invaders' 
lances.  Among  Moors  proper,  reverence  for  the 

53 


54  MOROCCO 

Sultan's  holy  descent,  and  respect  for  the  undoubted  j 
power  of  life  and  death  which  that  descent  and  its 
position  have  given,  are  proven  genuine,  if  only; 
by  the  historical  fact  that  even  royal  acts  of  the  most 
revolting  brutality  have  failed  to  cause  a  Sultan's' 
overthrow,  though  several  have  suffered  death  at  the 
hands  of  their  personal  guards,  or  among  their! 
women.  The  Moors  would  never  rebel  against  their  | 
Lord  by  reason  of  his  cruelty  or  injustice  ;  but  they 
would  dethrone  him  without  ceremony  or  compunction 
were  his  holy  descent  disproved,  or  proved  inferior 
to  those  of  some  other  royal  Shareef. 

The  Moorish  people,  as  a  mass,  have  silently 
endured,  and  even  now  would  submit  to  almost  any 
enormity  in  the  shape  of  oppression  from  an  acknow- 
ledged Sultan.  Yet  if,  at  the  instance  of  European 
ambassadors,  for  example,  a  measure  of  legislative 
reform  were  introduced  which  impinged  ever  so 
slightly  upon  religious  precedent  or  established 
tradition,  the  submissive  hive  of  toiling  humanity  that 
peoples  Morocco  would  rise  with  the  unanimity  of  a 
drilled  army  and  wipe  that  reform  out  of  existence. 
But  if  some  poor  half-crazed  f'keeh  dreamed  a  dream, 
journeyed  afoot  to  the  Court  in  far  Marrakish,  or  Fez, 
fell  upon  his  knees  before  the  Shadow  of  the  Sacred 
Parasol,  and  urged  the  same  measure  of  reform  as 
being  the  teaching  of  his  vision  (though  that  vision 
were  born  merely  of  an  empty  stomach  by  over- 
indulgence in  hasheesh),  the  reform  would  be 
universally  adopted  law  and  practice  throughout  the 
Far  West  before  a  dozen  moons  had  waxed  and 
waned. 

In  name  and  theory  all  Moorish  Sultans  are 
absolute  autocrats.  As  a  fact,  history  shows  that  as 


UNDER  THE  PARASOL  55 

with  Christian  monarchs  so  it  has  ever  been  with  rulers 
of  Islam  in  Morocco  and  elsewhere ;  when  a  strong 
man  succeeds  to  the  Parasol  he  becomes  actually  an 
autocrat ;  in  the  case  of  weaker  saints  the  autocracy 
is  only  nominal.  The  Moorish  Court  has  always  (and 
at  the  present  time  more  than  ever  before)  been  so 
constituted  that  only  a  very  strong  man  could 
dominate  it  and  bend  its  various  influences  to  fit  his 
own  will.  The  immediate  entourage  of  the  ruler  has 
generally  contained  one  minister  capable  of  driving 
his  master  under  pretence  of  slavishly  following  him. 

The  hareem  of  most  Sultans  has  provided  at  least 
one  dominating  personality,  and  is  always  a  power  to 
be  reckoned  with  by  those  whose  fate  it  may  be  to 
have  dealings  with  the  Moorish  Court.  The  Oriental 
predilection  for  the  society  and  companionship  of 
those  whose  position  is  practically,  and  often 
technically  as  well,  that  of  slaves,  is  particularly 
noticeable  in  Morocco,  both  at  court  and  in  all  great 
households.  Such  petted  companions  do  not  criticise 
one ;  they  flatter.  Their  very  presence  and  their 
bounty-fed  sleekness  is  a  sort  of  tribute,  pleasing  to 
the  Eastern  mind  as  are  the  misfortunes  of  his 
neighbours  to  the  Western  person  of  culture. 

But,  regarded  in  another  way,  there  is  no  master 
so  masterful  as  your  pampered  dependant.  Nazarene 
Bashadors,  in  their  official  wisdom,  may  not  always 
recognise  the  fact,  but  fact  it  is  that  the  Moorish 
Government  rarely  orders  a  new  supply  of  tents,  far 
less  signs  a  treaty,  without  the  approval  of  some 
power  behind  the  curtain,  some  stained  and  scented 
favourite  who  sits  rustling  her  silks,  jingling  her 
bangles,  sucking  confectionery,  and  playing  with 
human  destinies  in  the  eternal  twilight  of  the  hareem. 


56  MOROCCO 

The  women-kind  of  Moorish  Sultans  are  always 
a  large  and  varied  assortment,  embracing  beauty  in 
black  and  white,  and  all  the  shades  between. 
Martiniere,  who  should  know,  speaks  of  thirteen 
Frenchwomen  being  in  the  hareems  of  the  last  three 
sultans.  It  is  well-known  that  the  mother  of  the 
present  Sultan,  a  woman  who  was  always  consulted  by 
Moulai  Hassan  in  affairs  of  State,  and  who  no  doubt 
dictated  her  son's  policy  upon  his  real  accession  after 
the  death  of  "  Father"  Ahmad,  the  Regent- Wazeer, 
in  1900,  was  a  Circassian  bought  in  the  mart  at 
Constantinople  by  the  late  Hadj  Abd  es  Salam,  and 
presented  to  his  Shareefian  Master,  the  then  reigning 
monarch.  And  it  was  because  this  reputedly  beauti- 
ful Circassian  became  her  lord's  favourite  that  her 
offspring,  Abd  el  Aziz,  was  trained  for  the  Parasol, 
and  chosen  by  his  father  to  succeed  to  it,  whilst  some 
of  his  brothers,  or  step-brothers,  were  imprisoned, 
others  exiled  to  Tafilet,  and  others  buried  in  the 
obscurity  of  remote  governorships. 

In  view  of  these  things  it  will  readily  be  under- 
stood that  competition  for  entry  to  the  Shareefian 
hareem  is  keen.  Great  nobles  and  ambitious 
ministers  will  bribe  the  arifahs,  or  wise  women,  in 
charge  to  admit  their  pretty  daughters  and  press 
them  before  the  Sultan's  notice  at  suitable  seasons, 
such  as  on  a  Thursday  afternoon,  the  eve  of  Muslim 
Sabbath,  when  the  late  Sultan  always  had  his  women 
paraded  through  the  hareem  gardens,  in  order  that  he 
might  choose  two  or  three  to  bear  him  company 
during  Friday.  The  present  writer  knew  a  Moorish 
official  who,  fancying  his  position  was  a  little  shaky, 
decked  out  the  pearl  of  his  household,  his  favourite 
fourteen-year-old  daughter,  and  sent  her  as  an  offer- 


UNDER  THE  PARASOL  57 

ing  to  the  hareem  of  the  Elevated  of  Allah.  It 
delayed  his  downfall  by  precisely  twenty-one  days,  at 
the  end  of  which  time  he  was  flung  into  prison  and 
the  whole  of  his  property  confiscated  by  the  Sultan. 
It  may  have  been  that  the  daughter  was  found 
wanting,  or  that  his  Shareefian  Majesty  never  set 
eyes  upon  her  pearliness.  In  any  case,  it  was  written, 
and  the  profit  thereof,  to  the  Shareefian  coffers,  was 
considerable,  for  Hadj  Mohammed  had  been  ever  a 
great  "  eater-up  "  of  the  district  under  his  rule,  though 
a  good  fellow  enough  in  his  way,  at  liberty  now,  and, 
so  Fez  gossips  affirm,  creeping  into  favour  again. 
May  Allah  have  a  care  of  him  ;  his  was  a  most 
admirable  seat  upon  a  horse. 

Putting  aside  intrigues  and  conspiracies,  which 
are  no  more  to  be  numbered  than  are  the  sands  of  the 
seashore,  or  the  sins  on  a  Wazeer's  conscience,  the 
Moorish  Court  is  generally  more  prolific  of  princes 
and  princesses,  shareefs  and  shareefas,  than  anything 
else.  Each  one  of  these  saintly  little  personages  is 
brought  up  in  an  isolated  sanctuary,  each  boy  among 
them  having  a  slave  of  his  own  age  told  off  as  his 
companion,  to  be  called  brother.  Disinterestedness 
is  rare  in  most  Oriental  countries.  By  this  method 
the  young  shareef  is  supposed  to  be  sure  of  one 
devoted  adherent  through  life,  and  all  things  con- 
sidered, he  is  perhaps  quite  as  safe  to  achieve  this  as 
the  average  European  is  likely  to  retain  the  disinter- 
ested attachment  through  life  of  his  god-parents,  for 
example,  or  any  other  of  his  relatives.  The  girls  are 
matrimonially  disposed  of  as  speedily  as  may  be,  and 
without  much  effort  or  ceremony.  They  inherit  no 
rank.  The  boys  are  married  off  at  State  functions 
directed  by  the  Sultan,  and  only  the  intended  heir 


58  MOROCCO 

(each  Sultan  appoints  and  chooses  his  own  successor) 
is  given  high  rank  and  brought  prominently  before 
the  public  as  the  Ruler's  son. 

So  much,  then,  for  the  greatest  of  all  checks  upon 
absolute  autocracy  in  Moorish  government — those 
that  may  be  called  domestic.  Then  there  is  the 
company  of  the  'Aoldma,  or  "the  Learned  Ones"; 
the  theologians  and  commentators,  who,  as  experts  in 
Mohammedan  custom  and  the  lore  of  Islam,  are 
supposed  to  advise  Majesty  at  all  points  as  to  what 
Alkoran  counsels  and  what  it  forbids.  It  must  not  be 
imagined  that  these  grave  and  reverend  seigneurs 
form  a  Parliament  or  an  episcopal  bench.  On  the 
contrary,  they  have  no  fixed  status,  and  the  very 
number  of  them  is  constantly  changing  and  never 
known.  One  may  only  say  of  these  f'keehs  that  they 
preserve  and  expound  religious  tradition,  which  in  the 
world  of  Islam  means  public  opinion  and  public 
morality.  Their  opinions  are  always  asked  in  every 
matter  of  moment,  because  at  the  last  analysis  it  will 
be  found  that  in  Morocco  all  progress,  movement, 
policy,  the  whole  life  of  the  nation,  hinges  upon  and  is 
moved  by  the  Mohammedan  faith.  Moorish  Sultans 
are  always  sufficiently  politic  to  seek  the  countenance 
of  the  'Aoldma,  because  whatever  the  'Aoldma 
approve  Morocco  will  swear  to  and  abide  by.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Elevated  Presence,  by  token  of 
his  descent  and  position,  is  himself  the  chief  of  all 
"wise  men,"  and  practically  holds  the  'Aoldma  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  Hence  its  members  invariably 
ascertain  the  tenor  of  the  Sultan's  wishes  (the  parents 
of  his  convictions)  before  themselves  expressing  an 
opinion.  And  should  the  Elevated  Presence  be  bent 
upon  a  course  that  is  clearly  contrary  to  Al  Koran's 


UNDER  THE  PARASOL  59 

teaching,  the  Aolama  are  apt  to  ponder  solemnly 
awhile,  and  then  announce  that  the  point  involved  is 
clearly  one  of  those  left  for  the  decision  of  Allah's 
Anointed,  who,  as  the  Father  of  Islam,  is  the  best 
judge  of  its  interests.  But,  natheless,  the  Aoldma  is 
a  slight  check  upon  the  Autocrats  of  all  the  Moors, 
and  a  very  present  refuge  in  negotiation  with  friends, 
and  in  the  fending  off  of  infidels  with  their  thirst  for 
"  improvements." 

Descending  the  scale  of  authority,  from  the  Lofty 
Portal's  own  sacred  person,  one  must  reckon  first  with 
the  prime  favourite  of  the  hour.  That  favourite  may 
be  a  woman  ;  that  is  an  unseen,  and  accordingly  the 
more  absolute,  power.  If  a  man,  the  favourite  will 
probably  be  Grand  Wazeer  (Wazeer  el  Kabeer)  and, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  active  ruler  of  the 
land,  having  control  over  all  monies  and  appointments, 
with  unlimited  power  for  oppression  and  imprisonment, 
and  practical  power  of  life  and  death.  If  an  able  and 
ambitious  man,  this  favourite  will  probably  unite  the 
position  of  Wazeer  el  Barrani,  or  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  with  that  of  Grand  Wazeer.  But,  in  Tangier, 
where  the  Ministers  of  the  European  Powers  reside  in 
their  Legations,  there  is  Hadj  Mohammed  Torres, 
Commissioner  for  Foreign  Affairs,  who  is  really  the 
only  Moorish  official  in  personal  touch  with  the 
Representatives  of  Western  civilisation,  and,  accord- 
ing to  the  Christian  estimate,  the  only  honourable 
and  straightforward  Moorish  official  living.  Hadj 
Mohammed  is  reputed  to  have  passed  his  eightieth 
year ;  his  position  is  one  rich  in  opportunities,  his  is  a 
country  in  which  official  salaries  are  practically  un- 
known and  official  rapacity  a  thing  looked  for  and 
expected,  yet,  to  his  lasting  credit  be  it  said,  this 


60  MOROCCO 

Commissioner  for  Foreign  Affairs  is  still  a  man  poor 
in  worldly  gear,  and  one  of  his  sons,  a  working  shoe- 
maker in  a  cabin  hard  by  the  official  residence,  has 
made  slippers  for  me,  while  his  brother  sold  candles 
in  a  cupboard  a  little  farther  on.  Hadj  Mohammed 
is  probably  the  only  office-holder  in  Morocco  who 
does  not  accept  bribes  as  a  matter  of  ordinary  routine. 
Be  it  noted,  as  an  instructive  fact,  that  he  is  far  from 
being  the  most  popular  of  officials  among  his  own 
countrymen. 

There  are  two  other  important  Ministers  in  the 
governmental  system  of  Sunset  Land,  those  of 
Finance  and  the  Interior;  and  the  latter  has  far 
more  to  do  with  money  than  the  former,  for  the 
Minister  of  the  Interior  has  the  nomination  of  pro- 
vincial governors  in  his  hands,  and  these  be  posts 
for  which  men  must  pay  heavily,  in  hard  coin,  in 
flocks  and  herds,  and  in  goods  and  chattels ;  where- 
as the  Mul  el  Mai  (he  of  Finance)  presides  over  an 
exchequer,  details  as  to  which  are  probably  known 
to  no  man — a  treasure  which  is  divided  between  the 
three  capitals,  Fez,  Mequinez  and  Marrakish,  and 
which,  it  is  said,  can  be  opened  only  by  agreement 
between  the  keepers,  the  governors  of  the  palaces,  the 
chief  eunuch,  and  the  wise  woman  in  charge  of  the 
hareem.1  Gentlemen  of  considerable  official  dignity 
and  influence  are  the  Bearer  of  the  Parasol  (mul  el  m' 
dal),  the  Fly-flicker  (mul  el  shtiash),  the  Master  of 
Ceremonies  (mul  el  meshwar),  the  Executioner — with 
the  gun — (mul  el  m'kahel),  the  Spear-bearer  (mul  el 
mzreag),  the  Headsman  (seeaf),  the  Flogger  (mul 
el  azfel),  the  Tea-maker,  Tent-layer,  Cushion  and 
Spur-bearers,  and  a  few  others  whose  strength  lies 
1  See  Meakin's  Moorish  Empire^  p.  206. 


UNDER  THE  PARASOL  61 

in  the  known  fact  of  their  personal  nearness  to  the 
Elevated  Presence.  All  these,  like  the  various 
Ministers,  like  Allah's  Anointed  himself,  expect  to 
be  approached  only  by  those  who  bring  "  something 
in  the  hand."  The  more  important  the  person,  the 
more  considerable  must  the  " something"  be,  and  if 
it  is  a  personage  of  highest  rank  whom  you  would 
interview,  then  must  a  list  of  your  intended  presents 
precede  you,  and  according  to  the  nature  of  that  list 
so  shall  your  reception  be,  cordial  or  brusque,  pleasant 
or  forbiddingly  cold. 

In  Morocco  the  Court  is  more  distinctly  the  centre 
of  all  light  and  authority  than  would  be  the  case  in 
any  Western  land,  and  this  for  the  reason  that  daily 
sight  of  his  Lord  is  the  only  gauge  by  which  an 
official  may  judge  of  the  safety  or  otherwise  of  his 
tenure  of  office,  of  his  life  and  liberty  even,  and  of 
his  freedom  to  prey  upon  his  less  highly-placed  fellow- 
man.  Also,  to  the  man  about  the  Court,  each  day 
brings  its  chances  of  gifts  in  store.  By  a  well-chosen 
present,  an  aptly-turned  phrase,  by  the  discovery  of 
a  fellow-courtier's  disloyal  scheming,  by  a  deft  touch 
of  flattery,  by  any  of  a  hundred  and  one  trivial  chances, 
a  sedulous  dependant  of  the  Court  elevated  by  Allah 
may  at  any  moment  be  raised  to  the  highest  pinnacle 
of  power,  rank  and  wealth,  in  place  of  some  un- 
fortunate wight,  who  is  stripped  of  these  gauds  and 
loaded  down  with  chains  in  some  rat-infested  old 
grain-well  or  other  dungeon — all  in  less  time  than 
Christians  take  to  obtain  a  summons  for  debt  or 
trespass. 

The  diplomatist  or  traveller  who  looks  to  find  a 
higher  code  of  honour  (as  such  matters  are  under- 
stood in  Christendom)  the  higher  he  goes  in  the 


62  MOROCCO 

Moorish  social  or  official  scale  is  foredoomed  to  dis- 
appointment. Some  of  the  most  brazen  liars  in 
Morocco  are  men  of  very  high  standing.  An 
English  Minister  once  tore  up  a  treaty  and  flung  it 
at  the  Sultan's  feet,  stung  to  fury  by  the  crude  dis- 
honesty of  the  men  he  dealt  with.  Needless  to  say 
he  gained  little  by  that.  Deceit  is  a  perfectly  legiti- 
mate weapon,  according  to  the  ethics  of  all  Oriental 
courts,  and  is  used  as  such.  In  the  courts  of 
Christendom  it  is  an  illegitimate  weapon,  and,  one 
gathers,  is  used  as  such.  The  Westerner  gains 
nothing  by  losing  his  temper  over  his  Oriental 
adversary's  use  of  cunning;  but  he  does  gain 
materially  by  the  use  of  judicious  firmness,  just  as 
he  loses  inevitably  when  he  persists  in  adopting 
toward  an  Eastern  potentate  the  same  attitude  and 
tactics  which  have  served  him  in  dealings  with  his 
own  race.  Upon  the  whole,  European  official  deal- 
ings with  the  Moorish  Court  are  colourless  and  unin- 
teresting, but  I  must  tell  here  the  tale  of  a  certain 
unofficial  transaction  between  Morocco  and  a 
Western  Power,  because  I  think  the  story  too  good 
to  be  missed. 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS 

H,  yes ! "  said  the  slighter  of  the  two  men  on 
the  beach,  speaking  with  the  last  extreme  of 
languid  bitterness.  "  So  long,  certainly  !  And  good 
luck — by  all  means,  if  you  can  place  any  value  on 
wishes  from  me.  God  knows  I've  no  further  use  for 
wishing  myself.  You've  more  grit  left  in  you  than  I 
have,  Jones!  " 

The  other  man  paused.  He  had  been  strolling 
off  along  the  sun-whitened  sands  toward  the  town. 
He  turned  now,  with  a  shrug  of  his  broad,  scarcely- 
clad  shoulders,  and  regarded  curiously  the  limp, 
recumbent  figure  of  the  man  he  was  leaving  — 
leaving  stretched  there  in  the  shadow  of  a  ruined 
fort,  a  crenellated  shell,  with  toothless,  half-buried 
cannon,  and  walls  which  glib  guides  dub  Roman. 

"I  told  you  my  real  name  yesterday,"  he  said, 
with  brusque  geniality. 

4 'But  I  didn't  reciprocate,"  rejoined  the  other, 
screwing  one  elbow  further  into  the  powdery  sand. 
"  Jones  is  a  good  enough  name  for  you,  isn't  it  ?  And 
I'd  just  as  soon  continue  as  Smith  till — till  the  only 
kind  of  luck  I  wish  myself  comes  ;  and  that's  death  !  " 

"  Rats !  One  square  meal  and  a  cigar  would  alter 
all  that,  sonny.  By  the  hokey,  a  good  fat  kesk'soo 
an'  a  cigarette  'ud  see  me  through.  An'  I'll 
worry  'em  out  o'  this  blooming  old  city  to-day,  too ; 
you  can  kiss  th'  Book  on  that,  Mister  Smith — since 
it's  Smith  an'  Jones  you  prefer.  So  long! " 

63 


64  MOROCCO 

Now  kesk'soo  is  a  purely  Moorish  dish,  and 
Jones  was  but  a  recent  arrival  in  Sunset  Land,  whilst 
the  other  man  had  spent  many  years  in  different 
corners  of  it.  Yet  Jones's  -mouth  watered  at 
mention  of  kesk'soo,  while  nothing  short  of  a 
European  hotel  meal,  with  napery  and  attendance, 
would  have  served  to  stir  Smith's  wearied  imagina- 
tion. That  was  the  loss  of  Smith  ;  or  perhaps,  as 
Jones  would  have  called  it,  "his  damned  gentlemanly 
way." 

By  exactly  what  manner  of  devious  and  down- 
ward-tending bypaths  a  man  having  such  a  way  with 
him  had  happened  upon  just  Smith's  present  level 
in  the  social  structure,  Jones  had  not  yet  learned. 
A  certain  indolent  reticence  was  part  of  the  slender 
man's  way.  As  for  Jones,  his  little  affair  was 
simplicity  itself.  He  had  killed  his  man  in  Gibraltar 
(though  himself  modestly  deprecated  the  distinction, 
saying,  "  An'  it  wasn't  a  man,  when  all's  said,  but 
only  a  snickering  Rock-scorp  pimp  ;  a  thing  in  patent- 
leather  boots  an'  a  pink-striped  shirt  ;  stunk  like  a 
polecat,  he  did,  o'  women's  scents — rot  him!")  aid 
served  two  years'  imprisonment  there  for  man- 
slaughter "  under  great  provocation."  An  English- 
Australian  sailor,  second  mate  of  a  tramp,  he  had 
been  judged  by  his  peers  on  the  Rock,  who  admitted 
that  the  creature  slain  only  missed  inclusion  in  the 
vermin  list  "for  lack  of  a  tail."  His  two  years 
served,  Jones  had  drifted  across  the  Straits,  "to  grow 
my  hair,"  and  in  Morocco,  unfortunately,  had  taken 
to  stone-face  gin  from  Hamburg — a  false  and  fiery 
friend  who  strews  all  the  world's  beaches,  and  its 
forsaken  guts  and  gullies,  with  the  stark  victims  of  its 
fierce  liaisons. 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  65 

Jones  had  become  a  feature  of  the  town,  even  as 
one  of  its  smells,  its  fountains,  its  city-gate  beggars, 
or  the  mad  f keen  of  the  camel  fandak.  So  had 
Smith,  slim,  languid  Smith,  whom  men  had  known 
by  another  name  in  Spain,  in  London,  in  Fez  and 
elsewhere.  But  this  difference  lay  between  the  two 
as  features  of  the  crooked,  hiving  streets  :  Jones  was 
grinned  at  good-humouredly  alike  by  Moors  and 
Christians,  and  that  even  when  cursed  by  the  latter 
sort  and  refused  the  drink  or  other  alms  he  sought ; 
but  Smith  was  cursed  and  sneered  at  without  smiles. 
A  man  mostly  reaps  as  he  sows,  after  all,  particu- 
larly in  primitive  or  barbaric  communities.  And 
Smith  dealt  openly  in  listless  contempt,  and  in  the 
snarls  of  stung  pride,  cracked  self-respect,  and  vanity 
scotched  and  mutilated,  albeit  breathing  and  bleeding 
still. 

"  And  to  think  it's  come  to  this,"  muttered  Smith 
in  his  sand-bed,  when  Jones's  retreating  figure  had 
dwindled  to  the  smallness  of  a  locust — a  locust  show- 
ing black,  not  yellow,  upon  that  sun-bleached  ribbon 
of  sand.  "  By  the  Lord,  I  couldn't  creep  much 
lower!  A  kind  of  partner  with  that — with  this  beggar  ; 
and — and  a  mighty  poor  partner  at  that ;  doing  less 
than  a  share  of  the  work.  Grrr !  Why  haven't  I 
ended  it  all  before  now  ?  Liquor !  Don't  I  know 
the  whole  miserable  round?  I  don't  even  hanker 
after  liquor.  By  Heaven!  I  desire  no  other  thing 
than  an  end  to  it  all." 

The  man  rose  in  sections,  cumbrously  as  a  four- 
footed  beast  leaves  the  litter  for  its  daily  toil.  Erect, 
he  shaded  his  lack-lustre  eyes  with  one  hand — a 
shapely  hand  shielding  a  face  by  no  means  unrefined 
or  ill-looking — and  gazed  out  over  the  sparkling 

£ 


66  MOROCCO 

water-rows  which  mark  the  Atlantic's  meeting  with 
the  Mediterranean. 

Then,  with  curious,  mechanical  deliberation,  he 
began  to  shed  his  few  garments,  his  sole  remaining 
badge  of  civilisation. 

"  Fine  weather  for  bathing,"  he  sneered  aloud  ; 
adding  then  an  inarticulate  jibe,  by  way  of  recognition 
of  the  feebleness  of  his  spoken  satire.  And  now, 
suddenly,  the  dignity  of  a  fixed  resolution  was 
furnished  forth  upon  the  face  of  the  man,  over-riding 
the  weakness  of  its  habitual  lassitude.  He  stepped 
on,  across  the  hot,  powdery  sand,  to  the  brown 
ribbon  that  won  its  colour  and  firmness  from  the 
action  of  the  uttermost  crest  of  the  innermost 
breaker,  the  last  of  an  unending  dozen.  The  beach 
shelved  steeply  here,  and  the  sea  sucked  hungrily 
to  draw  back  each  crisp  curl  of  foam  it  flung  upon  the 
sands. 

Smith  met  the  first  breaker  with  his  finger-tips,  and 
emerged  on  its  far  side,  swimming.  A  dozen  such 
short  dives  and  he  was  becalmed  in  placid  blue 
water  beyond  the  breaker  line.  The  thought  in  his 
mind  was,  "  Where's  the  sense  in  grinding  through 
the  breakers  all  this  way?  Why  not  have  finished 
back  there  among  them?  But  there's  time  enough. 
No  one  to  interrupt  one  here.  Last  thoughts,  last 
wishes,  regrets,  pros  and  cons — I  have  no  use  for  such. 
I've  done  all  that;  thought  everything  there  is  to 
think  about  the  thing.  Now  for  the  end ;  rest. 
Here  goes  for  the  bottom." 

He  dived,  there  in  the  calm,  clear  water  of  the 
bay,  and  in  his  ignorance  believed  he  had  taken  his 
last  look  at  God's  green  earth,  the  world  of  which 
his  life  and  temper  had  so  sickened  him.  He  did  not 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  67 

realise  that  this  was  to  pit  the  desires  of  one  naked 
shred  of  humanity  against  great  and  unalterable 
forces  of  Nature. 

Presently  he  rose,  spluttering,  angry,  gasping  and 
humiliated,  to  the  sunny  surface.  He  floated  idly  for 
a  few  minutes.  As  the  good  air  filled  his  lungs 
again  it  seemed  turned  to  gall  and  despair. 

"  God !  Can't  I  do  even  this  thing  properly  ? "  he 
muttered.  "  I'll  do  it  among  the  breakers." 

So  he  headed  for  the  shore,  swimming  slowly, 
rocked  luxuriously  by  the  great,  unbroken  rollers, 
which  seemed  smoothest  and  most  peaceful  in  the 
moment  preceding  the  furious  crash  with  which  they 
broke,  and  careened  riotously  landward  in  boiling 
torrents  of  white  froth.  Smith  rose  with  delicious 
softness  and  ease  on  the  back  of  an  enormous  roller. 
For  one  instant  the  whole  ocean  seemed  at  rest,  the 
naked  human  floating  idly  high  above  it.  Then  the 
roller  crisped,  and  broke  thunderously,  turning  the 
wisp  of  humanity  completely  over  and  pounding  him 
under  hundreds  of  tons  of  white  foam. 

There  was  his  chance,  this  little  human  who 
desired  death.  Death  was  roaring  in  his  ears  now. 
So  different  from  diving  against  and  through  them 
is  attempting  to  swim  with  and  past  Atlantic 
breakers. 

Smith  emerged,  battered  and  gasping,  in  the  trough. 

"  Ough  !  Hough  !  "  He  could  no  more  keep  back 
the  gasping  cries  than  he  could  avoid  instinctively 
striking  out  now  upon  the  smooth  surface  of  the 
hollow.  Two  gasps,  and  with  a  prodigious  roar  the 
next  breaker  had  him  in  its  tumultuous  toils. 

The  man  had  no  thought  of  suicide  now ;  nor  life, 
death,  misery,  hope  or  any  other  consideration 


68  MOROCCO 

occupied  the  mind  of  him.  He  was  just  an  in- 
significant atom  of  unthinking  human  flesh  and  blood, 
beaten,  bruised  and  gasping,  struggling  blindly, 
desperately  to  reach  dry  land. 

And  at  the  last  of  it,  when  all  mental  consciousness 
had  departed  from  him,  though  he  still  struggled 
feebly,  Smith's  feet  touched  bottom,  and  he  staggered, 
panting  and  trembling,  to  the  line  of  dry  sand,  across 
which  he  fell  on  his  face,  helpless,  gasping,  with 
heaving  chest  and  an  unendurable  thudding  pain  in 
his  left  side. 

So  he  lay,  through  the  better  part  of  an  hour ;  and 
the  pitiless  white  sun  peeled  flakes  of  grey  skin  from 
off  his  shoulder-blades,  while  the  more  pitiless 
damnation  of  self-knowledge  bit  into  the  shaken  soul 
of  him.  He  was  moodily  drawing  on  his  trousers, 
when  the  man  he  called  Jones  appeared  from  the 
landward  side  of  the  old  fort. 

"He's  drunk,  noisily  drunk — fool!"  That  was 
Smith's  first  thought.  "  Gad !  he's  brought  liquor 
and  grub  for  me  at  all  events.  I  am  hungry."  That 
was  his  second  reflection  ;  and,  unlike  its  predecessor, 
this  second  surmise  was  correct. 

"You  see  me,  Smith?"  shouted  Jones.  "I've 
struck  oil.  I've  struck  gold — nuggets — the  real  thing. 
Here,  have  a  drink !  Come  along  into  the  old  humpy. 
I've  got  to  talk  an'  you've  got  to  listen  ;  and  we  may 
as  well  feed.  I  struck  old  Bensaquin  for  this  and  I'm 
goin'  to  strike  him  for  dollars  to-morrow.  Oh !  but 
I've  rung  the  bell  this  trip.  We  are  about  to  retire 
from  this  beach,  Mister  Smith — and  live  on  our  means." 

"  H'm !  I  tried  the  retiring  while  you  were  gone, 
too,  but—" 

"You  tried — what?     You  never  set  eyes  on  my 


THE   ENTRANCE   TO   A   PALACE   GARDEN    IN    MARRAKISH 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  69 

colour,  sonny;  you  couldn't.  It's  virgin  —  hey? 
Come  on  in,  an'  while  we  feed  I'll  stake  out  the 
claim/' 

Together  they  entered  the  old  fort,  and  sat  them 
down  in  the  embrasure  which  had  sheltered  them  for 
more  than  three  weeks  now ;  ever  since  their  first 
coming  together,  in  fact,  wanderers  from  the  poles  of 
respectability,  mutually  drawn,  it  seemed,  by  the 
magnet  of  vagabondage  existing  for  both  in  the 
tropical  no-man's  land  of  the  Beach.  The  beach  in 
this  case  happened  to  be  a  sea-shore.  The  Beach  is 
everywhere,  however,  south  and  east  of  Europe ; 
within  and  without  the  sound  of  breakers. 

They  had  Moorish  loaves,  fried  mincemeat  on 
skewers,  a  square-face  of  gin  and  an  earthen  jar  of 
spring  water,  with  a  greasy  copy  of  A I  Moghreb  al- 
Acksa  for  napery.  It  was  with  a  shrug  of  disgust, 
contemptuous  hatred  of  all  his  circumstances,  that  the 
smaller  man  fell  to  upon  the  coarse  food,  but  it  was 
none  the  less  a  fact  that  as  the  meal  progressed  this 
same  course  food  put  fibre  into  the  man's  voice  and 
movement,  and  light  where  vacancy  had  been  in  his 
eyes. 

"  So  you've  found  a  billet,  have  you  ? "  said 
Smith,  when,  raw  hunger  appeased,  he  began  hand- 
ling the  food  with  more  decent  deliberation. 

"  Found  a  billet?"  echoed  the  other  from  a  full 
mouth.  "  By  the  hokey,  I've  done  a  deal  more  than 
that.  What's  a  billet?  In  a  country  like  this,  too? 
No,  sir — I've  found  a  fortune.  That's  what's  the 
matter  with  me.  A  fortune  for  both  of  us.  Because 
you've  got  to  help  me  lift  it  ;  and,  anyway,  we're  pards, 
whack  and  whack  alike.  Yes,  sir !  What  d'ye  think  of 
a  cool  ten  thousand  sterling  apiece,  hey  ?  Cut  a  tidy 


70  MOROCCO 

dash  on  that,  even  in  the  old  country,  couldn't  you  ? 
My  oath !  I  shall  take  a  little  farm  and  breed  a  prad 
or  two.  Queer,"  he  hummed,  on  a  full-fed  reminis- 
cent sigh ;  "  but  the  sight  of  a  mare  an'  foal  always 
did  fetch  me,  even  back  home  in  th'  old  days,  at 
Shoalhaven.  That's  N.S.  W.,  you  know.  Ah,  h'm !  " 
"  You  haven't  been  drinking  at  all,  have  you, 
Jones?"  asked  Smith,  raising  the  square-face  to  his 
own  lips  as  he  spoke. 

"  Well,  I  haven't  much  chance  while  you're  about," 
grinned  the  other.  "  But  no ;  it's  not  jim-jams, 
sonny,  but  just  copper-bottomed,  hard-wood  cert,  and 
you  can  kiss  th*  Book  on  that.  And  now  we've  fed 
I'll  tell  you.  You  know  there's  a  new  American 
Consul-general  here;  came  last  month?" 
-Yes.  Well?" 

"  Well !  Now  this  afternoon  old  Bensaquin  met 
me  in  the  inner  Sok  an'  gave  me  a  letter  to  take  to 
the  American  Consul ;  to  be  given  into  his  own  hands. 
Up  I  goes  to  the  U.S.  Consulate,  like  any  gold- 
braided  Excellency,  and  asks  for  the  Consul-general. 
Engaged  with  th'  commander  of  the  United  States 
warship  lying  in  th'  bay  there.  I  could  sit  down  an' 
wait.  'All  right,'  says  I  ;  an'  just  strolls  out  on  that 
little  green  balcony  an'  squats  down  in  th1  shade. 
Next  minute  I'd  pricked  up  my  ears.  I  was  right 
under  th'  Consul-general's  window,  an'  th'  shutters 
were  open,  that  being  the  shady  side.  'Well, 
some  one  was  saying,  'what's  the  exact  amount  of 
our  claims  just  how  anyway  ? '  That  was  th' 
commander,  I  reckoned,  because  it  wasn't  th'  new 
Consul's  voice.  'Well,  I've  worried  it  down  a  bit 
from  the  original,'  says  th'  Consul,  'and  now  it's  a 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars — Moorish,  you 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  71 

know — an'   not    a    cent    less/     D'ye    see?      That's 
about  twenty  thousand  sterling,  isn't  it?" 

Smith  nodded,  with  a  fair  show  of  interest.  He 
was  fed  now,  and  smoking. 

"  '  H'm,'  says  th'  commander,  'an'  you  don't  want 
to  present  yourself  at  Court  before  next  year  ? '  '  Jes' 
so,'  says  th'  Consul.  *  An'  what's  more,  I  don't  want 
to  be  enforcing  claims  then,  but  making  myself 
agreeable  an'  getting  concessions.' 

"  They  kep'  quiet  for  a  bit,  an'  then  th'  commander 
took  a  fresh  light  for  his  cigar.  Yes,  they  were  as 
close  as  that  to  the  window.  '  Well,'  says  he, 
between  puffs,  *  by  what  I  can  make  of  it  you'd  best  let 
me  play  the  stern  and  unforgiving  partner,  like  that 
Jorkins  chap  in  Dickens,  you  know.  My  orders  were  to 
hang  about  here  while  I  could  be  of  any  use  in  settling 
our  outstanding  claims,  as  you  know.  Well,  now,  it 
don't  matter  a  cent  how  I  personally  stand  with  th' 
Sultan.  I've  no  particular  use  for  th'  old  chap's  good 
opinion.  And  I'd  rather  like  to  pay  another  visit  to 
the  Court  anyway.  I've  been  in  this  Moorish  racket 
before,  ye  know — before  you  were  out  o'  school-days. 
Tell  ye  what  I'll  do.  I'll  jes'  steam  along  as  far  as 
Mogador,  putting  in  at  the  little  ports  for  a  day,  just 
to  show  'em  our  guns.  You  send  a  courier  to  the 
Court  with  word  that  I  await  cash  settlement  of  our 
claims  at  Mogador.  Say  my  orders  from  Washington 
are  all-fired  peremptory.  Say  my  ship'll  wait  one 
month  on  th'  coast,  an'  that  you  fear  I  shall  then 
come  personally  for  settlement  at  Marrakish;  and 
that  failing  cash  up  then,  me  bein'  a  brutal  sailor  chap, 
I'm  likely  to  proceed  to  th'  bombardment  of  the  coast 
towns.  I  tell  you  that's  the  only  way  to  talk  to  these 
beggars.  You  can  rely  on  me.  I  know  this  country 


72  MOROCCO 

all  ends  up.  And  at  th5  month's  end,  off  I  go  with 
my  little  caravan  to  Marrakish.  You'd  better  say  a 
fortnight,  just  to  stir  'em.  But  I'll  wait  a  month 
really.  You  jes'  tell  th'  old  huckster,  in  the  name  of 
the  United  States,  he's  got  to  stump  up  to  th'  last 
cent  into  th'  hands  of  Commander  Hawkins.  I'll  do 
th'  rest.  How's  that?' 

"  Well,  they  palavered  a  bit  more,  an'  th'  Consul- 
general  he  reckoned  it  was  a  great  scheme.  *  That 
courier  shall  start  for  th'  Court  to-night,  captain/  says 
he.  And  so  they  settled  it ;  an'  presently  I  got  my 
letter  delivered  an'  cleared  off  to  old  Bensaquin  for 
backsheesh,  thinkin'  th'  thing  out  in  my  mind  as  I 
went  along.  *  Now,'  says  I  to  myself,  'here's  twenty 
thousand  pounds  as  good  as  goin'  a-beggin'.  Twenty 
thousand  isn't  here  nor  there  to  th'  U.S.  Government 
anyway.  But  it  'ud  be  th'  devil  an'  all  of  a  fine  thing 
for  Smith  an'  me — th'  makin'  of  us.  It's  lying  round 
kind  of  loose  in  this  old  Bible-story  country.'  Now 
what  do  I  want  to  get  th'  fingerin'  of  it?  I  want 
mighty  little.  There's  mighty  little  'twix  me  an' 
twenty  thousan'  notes.  I  want  a  partner;  a  gentle- 
manly sort  of  chap  who  knows  th'  native  gab  inside 
out.  That's  one  thing.  Then  I  want  just  enough 
money  to  take  me  an'  my  pard  down  to  Mogador,  in 
th'  wake  of  that  U.S.  warship  ;  to  let  us  land  as  though 
from  th'  warship,  one  of  us  in  some  sort  of  uniform, 
for  choice,  an'  get  together  half  a  dozen  Moors  an' 
animals,  with  a  little  grub,  an'  th'  loan  of  a  few  guns. 
An'  then,  hey  for  Marrakish,  me  an'  my  partner! — 
that  is  th'  secretary  an'  th'  U.S.  commander;  an' — 
an'  whose  goin'  to  stop  me  comin'  back  with  that 
twenty  thou'?  By  the  hokey,  sonny,  it's  just  the 
deadest  bird  that  ever  was — hey ! ' 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  73 

"  It's  a  most  ingenious  scheme,"  said  Smith,  slowly, 
"  a  most  ingenious  scheme ;  and  upon  my  soul,  I 
almost  wish  it  could  be  worked." 

"  Wish  it  could— what  ?  " 

"  Yes,  wish  we  could  have  worked  it.  The  money 
would  be  a  deal  more  good  to  us  than  to  the  States. 
But,  of  course,  it  can't  be  done.  You  don't  seriously 
think  it  could  be  done,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Seriously  think !  Why,  holy  smoke,  what  else 
d'ye  think  I've  bin  talking  for?  Think  it  could  be 
done!  Man,  th'  thing'll  do  itself.  Old  Bensaquin 
will  advance  th'  ready.  I'll  tell  him  th'  whole  thing, 
halving  th'  amount,  an'  we'll  promise  him  two  an'  a 
half  each.  Do  it — when  you've  got  th'  language  at 
your  fingers'-ends,  an*  I've  got  all  th'  particulars.  My 
colonial !  You  don't  seem  to  see  what  a  clipper- 
rigged  scheme  this  is.  Why,  what  in  blazes  is  there 
to  stop  us  doing  it  ?  " 

"The  thing's  on  your  nerves,  Jones,  that's  why 
you  don't  see  it.  It's  stealing,  my  dear  man; 
common  or  garden  theft." 

"  Oh,  rats !  Are  we  in  a  kid-glove  sort  of  a  posi- 
tion on  this  beach  ?  An'  who'd  lose  by  it,  anyway  ?  " 

"We  should.  Penal  servitude,  Jones;  a  long 
period." 

Smith  was  chewing  his  moustache  feverishly,  and 
his  thoughts,  with  maddening  persistence,  ran  upon 
pictures  of  himself  bowling  down  golden  Piccadilly  in 
a  hansom  to  open  a  bank  account  with  ten  thousand 
pounds.  Not  to  Fran£ois  Villon  himself  did  money 
ever  seem  more  sweetly  desirable  than  it  seemed  to 
this  plexus  of  irresolution  who,  a  few  hours  earlier, 
had  set  out  to  quit  this  world  for  one  in  which  money 
probably  is  not.  Yet  he  spoke  reasonably  and  with 


74  MOROCCO 

indifferent  wisdom,  you  see ;  and  habit  lent  an 
indolent  aloofness  to  his  words  which  chilled  Jones  to 
the  bone.  Poor  Jones,  with  his  cheery  muscularity, 
his  crudeness,  and  his  simple  desire  to  win  clear  of 
the  beach  and  acquire  a  competence! 

Jones  returned  to  the  attack  then,  chilled  and 
feeling  that  the  odds  were  against  him.  He  was  no 
thought-reader,  or  student  of  such  indicative  minutiae 
as  the  moustache-chewing  practice,  but  just  a  plain, 
kindly,  rather  gross  man,  full  to  the  throat  of  a 
scheme  of  golden  promise  that,  to  him,  seemed 
morally  legitimate  as  sea-fishing  or  smuggling — he 
ranked  such  things  as  equal — and  that  no  doubt  was 
as  morally  legitimate  as  the  commercial  cornering  of 
foodstuffs  on  change. 

"You've  lost  nerve,  Smith,"  he  said,  " and  that's 
what  spoils  your  eye  for  th'  colour  in  this  scheme.  It's 
not  the  scheme's  fault.  Th1  scheme'll  wash  every 
time,  an'  don't  you  forget  it.  But  this  forsaken  beach 
has  sapped  your  nerve,  an'  you're  just  seein'  things 
when  you  talk  of  penal  servitude.  Why,  man,  I 
could  carry  this  thing  through  with  both  hands  tied 
behind  me.  It's  binnacle-steering  work.  Penal 
servitude !  Penal  blazes !  Why — " 

He  talked  a  good  deal  in  that  strain  ;  and  at  the 
end  of  it  Smith  said  languidly,  "It's  simply  common 
theft,  just  robbery,  none  the  less." 

Then  Jones  rose,  shaking  fragments  of  food  from 
his  great  loose  frame  as  he  did  so,  and  strolled  out 
before  the  ruined  fort  in  time  to  see  the  moon  rising, 
slow  and  silvery,  from  behind  the  Hill  of  Apes.  He 
was  whistling  in  a  disjointed,  discordant  manner. 
But  Jones  lacked  his  companion's  training  in  indiffer- 
ence— the  training  that  comes  of  habit.  He  had 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  75 

really  risen  to  hide  the  fact  that  there  were  tears  of 
hot  disappointment  in  his  eyes.  And  he  had  not 
hidden  it.  Suddenly  a  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder 
lightly,  a  small  hand,  used  gently,  in  Smith's  "  damned 
gentlemanly  way." 

"Look  here,  Jones,  don't  grizzle!  I'll  do  it.  I'll 
go  with  you." 

"  You  will  ?  You'll  work  it  with  me  ?  God  bless 
you !  Give  us  your  hand  on  it !  " 

"Eh?  Oh,  that's  all  right.  I  daresay  it's  right 
enough.  As  well  one  thing  as  another,"  said  Smith, 
listless  as  ever  now  the  step  was  taken.  Jones  had 
not  heard  his  barefooted  approach,  but  had  swung 
violently  round  at  the  touch  of  Smith's  hand.  And 
so  the  thing  was  settled. 

"  Ye  see,  I  never  could've  attempted  it  without 
you,"  explained  the  now  jubilant  Jones.  "  Even  the 
Sultan  wouldn't  be  such  a  Juggins  as  to  take  me  for  a 
naval  swell ;  whereas  you,  Smith,  dashed  if  I  shouldn't 
take  you  for  something  tony  in  th'  gold-laced,  Govern- 
ment House  line  myself." 

"  Would  you  ? "  murmured  Smith,  as  a  bored 
man  acquiesces  in  a  tea-table  comment  on  the 
weather. 

"And  then  there's  th'  lingo,  you  see.  You'll  be 
able  to  do  the  talking." 

"  Yes  ;  I  shall  be  able  to  do  the  talking,  certainly. 
Do  you  know,  I  think  I'll  go  to  sleep  now." 

"  Sleep !  Oh,  well,  all  right,  old  man  ;  as  you  like. 
I  shall  get  into  the  city  and  tackle  old  Bensaquin. 
There's  no  time  to  lose." 

"Just  so.  I'll  say  good-night,  then.  I  wouldn't 
give  the  show  away  more  than  I  could  help.  Your 
Barbary  Jew's  a  snaky  beast." 


76  MOROCCO 

So  they  parted,  Jones  striding  off  in  the  moonlight, 
uplifted  and  elate,  Smith  retiring  to  the  flaky-walled 
embrasure  which  was  home  to  them  both,  and  there 
stretching  himself  full  length  upon  the  sand. 

"  Rum  beggar,  my  word ! "  quoth  soaring  Jones. 
"  These  Old  Country  gentlemen — tss,  tss !  But  I 
guess  the  real  thing's  in  him.  Smoke !  if  I  can  only 
rummage  up  something  gilt-edged  in  the  way  of  a 
uniform ! " 

An  hour  later  saw  him  closeted  with  Bensaquin 
the  Hudi,  in  the  heavily  barred  and  bolted  cupboard 
in  which  that  venerable  son  of  Israel  lived  and  carried 
on  his  varied  and  delectable  concerns. 

The  Jew  proved  wary  and  cautious,  yet  amenable. 
He  even  improved  upon  Jones's  scheme  by  managing, 
through  the  good-nature  of  an  American  with  whom 
he  had  business,  to  secure  passages  to  Mogador  for 
the  two  Christians  aboard  the  United  States  warship 
Hiawatha,  Commander  Hawkins.  And  as  the  com- 
manders of  men-of-war  do  not  look  to  take  fares,  this 
meant  that  the  American  Government  gave  free  board 
and  lodging,  and  a  safe  convoy  through  the  initial 
stages  of  their  adventure,  to  two  persons  bent  upon 
diverting  from  the  said  Government's  coffers  the  sum 
of  twenty  thousand  pounds  sterling. 

Honest  Jones  was  tickled  to  the  deepest  shallows 
of  his  simple  soul  by  this  aspect  of  the  business,  and 
ate  for  three  at  the  petty  officers'  mess.  American 
sailors  fare  plenteously  and  well.  Even  Smith 
seemed  languidly  amused  and  pleased,  while  his  com- 
panion in  crime  was  made  literally  to  swell  from  pride 
when,  on  a  perfect  May  morning  off  Rabat,  Com- 
mander Hawkins  himself  called  Smith  to  his  side 
upon  the  quarter-deck  and  engaged  that  polite  adven- 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  77 

turer  in  friendly  and  apparently  interested  conversation 
about  Morocco  and  Smith's  business  there ! 

This  was  the  first  of  several  amiable  chats  for 
Smith.  Once  or  twice  it  happened  that  Jones  was 
present  in  the  flesh  at  these  meetings.  I  say  in  the 
flesh,  because  mentally  he  could  not  have  been  said 
to  take  part.  Commander  Hawkins  ignored  him 
with  a  rudeness  most  exquisitely  polite.  Just  before 
the  end,  the  commander  happened  casually  upon 
Smith  alone,  and  addressed  the  young  man  genially, 
as  usual.  After  various  remarks, — 

"  Er — your — er — Mr  Jonah,  I  think  you  said  his 
name  was  ;  may  one  ask  how — er — what  you — " 

"  Mr  Jones — Jones — is  my  partner,  sir."  Smith's 
eyes  met  those  of  the  commander,  levelly,  without 
compromise. 

"  Ah  !  I  understand.  Quite  so.  Good-morning, 
Mr  Smith." 

The  captain  resumed  his  promenade.  "  Misguided 
young  ass,  all  the  same,  one  fancies.  But  they  are 
loyal,  these  young  Englishmen.  Quite  the  public- 
school  glare  he  gave  me — young  fool !  If  that  Jones 
is  not — however,  it's  not  one's  own  funeral,  of  course." 

Smith  and  Jones  were  duly  landed  in  the  man-of- 
war's  launch  at  Mogador.  In  that  they  spread  them- 
selves as  much  as  possible.  Then,  as  unobtrusively 
as  might  be,  they  made  their  ways  to  the  house  of  a 
Jewish  merchant,  a  correspondent  of  Bensaquin's. 
Animals  and  a  few  Moors  were  there  engaged,  and 
that  afternoon  a  little  caravan  rode  out  of  the  town 
bound  for  the  Court  at  Marrakish.  Smith  was  the 
central  figure,  mounted  on  a  showy  horse  and  dressed 
in  a  Spanish  military  uniform,  tarnished  yet  fine,  the 
worse  for  wear,  but  ornately  frapped  and  gilded. 


78  MOROCCO 

The  Jewish  merchant  had  his  instructions.  Native 
gossip  was  to  be  set  moving;  and  native  gossip 
would  travel  to  the  Court  faster  than  Smith  and 
Jones  could  hope  to  make  the  journey. 

It  was  a  queer  embassy  without  a  doubt ;  but) 
once  clear  of  the  coast,  appearances  mattered  little. 
Smith  was  the  American  commander ;  Jones,  the 
bubbling  and  elated,  merely  his  secretary  and  lieu- 
tenant. Yet  the  chief  was  the  mouthpiece  of  all 
orders,  even  to  their  cook ;  and,  as  a  fact,  the  captain 
of  the  expedition  was  Jones.  Jones  had  no  Arabic. 
That  was  the  loss  of  him.  But  as  sheer  indolence 
made  Smith  transmit  his  partner's  orders  almost 
literally,  they  were  fairly  peremptory  and  vivid,  even 
at  second  hand. 

One  day  out  from  Marrakish  the  two  met  a 
courier  jogging  toward  the  coast,  the  heels  of  his 
stained  slippers  pulled  well  up,  his  staff  sticking  out 
from  the  back  of  his  neck,  the  slack  of  his  crimson 
trousers  tucked  into  his  girdle  and  a  big  palmetto 
satchel  upon  his  shoulders. 

"This  chap's  a  Sultan's  special  courier,  I  fancy," 
said  Smith. 

"  Is  he,  by  God  !     Hi !     Stop  him,  partner." 

Smith  obeyed. 

"  Make  him  turn  out  his  swag." 

"  It's  as  much  as  his  life's  worth." 

"  Well,  that's  not  as  much  as  twenty  thou'." 

Under  pressure,  the  Moor  revealed  a  great  sealed 
letter  addressed  in  Arabic  to  Commander  Hawkins. 

"  Tell  him  that's  you,  and  read  it,"  said  Jones. 

The  commander,  in  his  tarnished  finery,  read 
aloud  a  flowery  list  of  excuses,  fair  promises,  requests 
for  delay,  and  the  rest  of  the  stock  cant  with  which 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  79 

his  Shareefian  Majesty  wards  off  pressing  claims  upon 
his  treasury. 

"  H'm !  All  right.  Pocket  the  letter,  partner,  and 
get  that  fellow  to  tail  on  to  our  crowd.  We  must 
make  some  show  entering  the  city  to-morrow." 

The  thing  was  done  as  the  real  chief  ordered. 
The  languid  gentleman  in  uniform  made  it  so. 

At  daybreak  next  morning  two  of  the  followers 
were  sent  on  ahead  to  herald  the  approach  of  this 
illustrious  mission. 

"Tell  them  to  lay  it  on  pretty  thick,  partner. 
Say  the  Americano  is  mighty  wrathy,  and  must  have 
his  audience  to-day,  or  to-morrow  at  latest,  else  back 
we  go  to  the  coast  to  prepare  for  bombardment." 

Again  Smith  made  it  so,  and  the  main  body  of  the 
caravan  moved  slowly  forward. 

Now  it  happened  at  this  particular  juncture  that 
the  Prophet's  lineal  descendant,  his  Shareefian 
Majesty  at  Marrakish,  was  in  a  chill  tremor  of  anxiety 
anent  the  action  of  the  infidel  upon  his  south-eastern 
frontier.  It  did  appear  to  the  Sultan  that  the  years 
of  the  French  " creep  in"  upon  his  decadent  realm 
were  about  to  end  in  a  final  snap  which  would  send 
three  columns  hurtling  into  Fez  from  Ain  Sefra,  and 
establish  the  tricolour  in  place  of  the  blood-red  emblem 
of  pretended  Moorish  integrity.  Therefore,  argued 
the  simply  crafty  potentate,  let  me  by  all  manner  of 
means  kowtow  to  all  other  Nazarene  pigs  and 
particularly  those  not  allied  to  the  French  pigs. 

Our  adventurers  were  hospitably  and  respectfully 
welcomed  at  the  city  gates,  before  a  chevaux-de-frise  of 
gory  rebels*  heads,  and  immediately  beneath  the 
Nazarene's  Hook,  that  hideous  spike  upon  which 
gentle  Moulai  Ismail  of  honoured  memory  loved  to 


80  MOROCCO 

impale  Christian  captives,  pour  passer  le  temps,  and 
by  way  of  impressing  his  puissance  upon  their 
surviving  fellows. 

The  American  Bashador  was  to  be  received  on 
the  morrow,  announced  the  salaaming  m'kaddem. 
Meantime,  would  his  Excellency  and  suite  deign  to 
find  entertainment  in  his  Sacred  Majesty's  most 
palatial  guest-house  ?  To  this  his  languid  Excellency 
consented  with  an  admirably  official  nod,  playing  his 
part,  all  unconsciously,  to  a  miracle.  His  Excellency's 
secretary  had  wit  enough  to  recognise  the  superlative 
verisimilitude  of  his  partner's  rendition  of  the  part ; 
yet,  for  himself,  could  not  for  his  life  refrain  from  the 
gushing  urbanity  of  a  Regent  Street  shop-walker 
when  acknowledging  this  city-gate  welcome,  and 
hugging  to  himself  all  that  it  meant  in  the  out-work- 
ing of  his  scheme.  But,  fortunately  for  the  success  of 
his  plans,  the  simple  soul  had  not  a  word  of  'Arabic 
beyond  " Thank  you!"  and  "Get  away!" 

Bright  and  early  on  the  morrow,  too  early,  as 
Downing  Street  reckons  time,  even  for  the  taking  of 
the  morning  tub,  his  American  Excellency  was 
summoned  to  the  Sacred  Presence.  In  view  of  the 
urgency  of  the  matter  in  hand,  and,  to  be  accurate,  of 
his  Serenity's  cold  perspiration  over  news  from  his 
south-east  frontier,  the  audience  was  to  be  a  private 
one  ;  in  a  room  of  the  palace,  that  is,  and  not  a-horse- 
back  in  a  courtyard,  with  the  harassing  accompani- 
ments of  gun-firing  and  discordant  fanfares,  such  as 
the  Sultan  orders  when  in  good  heart. 

Only  the  Eyebrow,  or  Chamberlain,  the  Grand 
Wazeer,  and  the  usual  more  or  less  hidden  circle  of 
slaves  were  in  attendance  upon  the  Prophet's 
descendant  when  he  first  clapped  eyes  upon  Messieurs 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  81 

Smith  and  Jones,  the  former  at  ease  in  his  elaborate  if 
slightly  archaic  Spanish  uniform,  the  latter  dis- 
sembling his  nervous  eagerness,  as  one  supposes  he 
thought,  by  alternately  scowling  like  a  stage  pirate 
and  washing  his  hands  in  mid-air  after  the  fashion  set 
by  retailers  of  inexpensive  feminine  attire. 

His  American  Excellency,  using  the  Moghrebin 
with  colloquial  fluency,  greeted  the  Parasol,  and 
stated  the  claim  of  the  United  States  of  America 
more  listlessly  than  the  average  man  orders  soda- 
water  at  the  breakfast-table. 

His  Shareefian  Majesty,  having  tremulously  taken 
snuff  on  the  fork  of  his  thumb,  was  understood  to 
murmur  graciously  the  wish  that  his  illustrious  visitor 
might  attain  great  longevity.  Regarding  the  incon- 
siderable trifle  just  mentioned,  the  Eyebrow  explained 
with  gusto  that  a  messenger  bearing  with  him  the 
120,000,  in  panniers,  was  even  then  on  his  way  to  the 
coast  in  search  of  his  American  Nobility. 

Nobility  smiled  satirically  and  translated  to  his 
secretary.  The  secretary,  throwing  aside  his  earlier  and 
linen-draping  manner,  assumed  the  mien  of  a  mediaeval 
executioner,  and  said,  in  a  hoarse  English  whisper, 
"  Tell  him  he's  a  liar,  and  show  him  his  own  letter. 
Remember  what  the  commander  told  the  Consul ;  it's 
the  only  way  to  treat  these  beggars." 

Still  smiling,  "  My  scribe  sayeth,"  murmured  Smith 
to  the  Eyebrow,  "that  your  Excellency  is  a  liar.  He 
also  remindeth  me  of  this  thy  letter,  which  reached 
me  not  at  the  coast,  but  on  the  road  hither.  In  this 
is  no  mention  of  money  save  in  the  way  of  pro- 
crastination, the  which  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  my 
Government  order  me  to  respond  to  only  from  out 
the  mouths  of  the  great  guns  upon  my  ship." 
F 


82  MOROCCO 

Again  his  Shareefian  Sublimity  attempted  to  take 
snuff,  but,  as  though  to  keep  his  sacred  knees  in 
countenance,  the  puissant  right  hand  of  Allah's 
Anointed  trembled  so  violently  that  the  precious  stuff 
was  all  spilled  'twixt  mother-o'-pearl  tube  and  royal 
nose. 

The  Eyebrow  ventured  tentatively  to  bluster  a 
little  upon  the  personal  point  of  honour.  This  was 
suppressed,  however,  by  an  impatient  movement  of 
the  Sultan's.  "  A  mistake  has  been  made.  Your 
Excellency  shall  receive  the  money  by  royal  courier 
within  the  moon." 

His  Excellency  translated,  and,  prompted  by  his 
secretary,  replied,  "The  Sun  and  Moon  of  all  the 
Faithful  misunderstands  us.  Our  instructions  are 
urgent  and  definite.  We  set  out  for  the  coast 
to-morrow  morning.  The  money  must  be  paid  over 
to  us,  in  panniers,  this  afternoon,  and  an  escort  pro- 
vided from  his  Shareefian  Majesty's  soldiers  to  guard 
us  and  the  money  on  our  way  out  of  Marrakish. 
We  go  in  any  case.  If  with  the  money,  in  all  peace 
and  content;  without  it,  the — " 

The  sacred  snuffbox  jerkily  intervened.  The 
Eyebrow  bent  his  head  to  catch  Majesty's  murmurs. 
"  The  money  will  be  paid  and  the  escort  provided  this 
afternoon.  Your  Excellency  has  his  Serene  Majesty's 
gracious  permission  to  take  your  leave  of  him,  and  he 
wishes  that  your  Excellency  may  live,"  etc. 

Smith  carelessly  voiced  a  hope  with  reference  to 
Majesty's  shadow,  and  the  incident  was  closed,  the 
audience  terminated. 

"A  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars  in 
panniers  this  afternoon — to-day  !  Jee-wosh  !  What 
a  gold-leaf,  copper-bottomed  miracle !  A  hundred — " 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  83 

Thus  Mr  Secretary  Jones  to  his  uniformed  commander 
in  hoarse  whispers  and  as  they  left  the  palace 
together. 

"  Yes.  Seems  all  right.  Thing  worked  fairly 
well,  didn't  it?"  rejoined  the  commander. 

"  Worked  fairly  well?  Great  snakes  !  I  wonder 
what  you'd  call  a  really  first-rate  scheme  that  worked 
very  well.  I  don't  think  you've  rightly  got  on  to  the 
thing.  A  hundred  and — " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  know.  But  there's  no  need  to  make 
an  anthem  of  it/'  said  Smith,  quietly. 

11  No  need  to —  Smoke!  And  they  make 
anthems  in  Europe  when  a  king  and  queen  get  a 
son ! "  Jones's  feelings  were  clear  and  emphatic 
enough  if  his  speech  was  a  little  involved.  His  was 
indubitably  the  mind  which  had  conceived  the  whole 
scheme.  Upon  his  initiative  entirely,  and  at  each 
audacious  turn,  the  thing  had  been  carried  through. 
Yet,  in  its  out-working,  the  affair  did,  in  Jones's  eyes, 
,  so  resemble  a  fairy-tale  of  the  lived-happily-ever- 
after  order,  that  the  man  trembled  and  was  overcome 
by  a  dread  of  its  all  proving  unreal  before  he  could 
actually  finger  the  prize. 

The  hours  immediately  following  upon  their 
audience  at  the  palace  formed  a  period  in  his  life 
never  to  be  forgotten  by  the  man  Jones.  Wearied 
out  at  length  by  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of 
his  partner's  distress,  Smith  left  the  perspiring  wight 
alone  in  the  guest-house,  fretting  and  quaking  in  an 
agony  of  anxious  impatience,  and  strolled  out  into 
the  shaded  courtyard  to  smoke  and  think. 

A  severe  moralist  might  have  disputed  and 
objected  to  the  enunciation  of  the  fact,  but  it  never- 
theless was  a  fact,  that  this  reprehensible,  this  criminal 


84  MOROCCO 

expedition  in  which  the  pair  were  engaged  had  done 
Smith  a  world  of  good,  and  that  both  morally  and 
mentally  as  well  as  physically.  It  is  safe  to  assert,  as 
a  general  rule,  that  to  engage  one's  self  in  crime  is 
not  good  for  the  soul.  Yet,  for  truth's  sweet  sake,  it 
must  be  repeated  that  his  share  in  this  buccaneering 
and  fraudulent  quest  had  infinitely  purged  the  moral 
nature  and  heightened  the  mental  stature  of  the  man 
who  had  found  suicide  too  much  for  him  on  the 
beach  before  the  old  ruined  fort. 

"  Upon  my  soul !  "  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  but 
this  is  a  deuced  discreditable  business  for  my  father's 
son  to  be  engaged  upon — a  most  infernally  discredit- 
able business.  I  know  what  I'll  do  if  Allah  permits 
us  to  scrape  clear  with — with  the  swag.  I'll  get 
right  away  to  Australia  or  America,  or — yes,  gad! 
yes — to  America,  of  course !  And  make  a  clean 
start,  and  let  the  Government  have  my  share  of  this 
haul  anonymously.  Hang  it,  I've  got  to  live  with 
myself.  One  must  keep  moderately  clean. 
Conscience  money.  I've  seen  the  sort  of  thing  in 
the  Agony  column  of  the  Times.  Gad!  but  I'll  do 
it,  too.  As  for  Jones — poor  old  Jones!  A  most 
excellent  chap  in  his  way.  He  won't  know  his  hands 
are  dirty,  and  so,  in  a  way,  I  suppose,  they  won't  be. 
And  it'll  very  likely  make  quite  a  worthy,  rate-paying 
sort  of  citizen  of  Jones.  It's  all  a  matter  of  the  point 
of  view.  I  honestly  believe  he'd  cut  his  hand  off 
rather  than  rob  an  individual.  Oh,  Lord,  here  he 
comes,  with  his  nail-biting  sweat  of  nervousness! — 
Ah,  Jones !  Quite  jolly  out  here  in  the  shade,  isn't 
it?  I  suppose  our  royal  escort  will  be  along 
presently." 

Jones  stared  in  wan  amazement  at   his  partner's 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  85 

sang-froid.     "As  though  it  were  a  porter  with  our 
baggage  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"Well,  it's  no  good  grizzling.  The  thing's  all 
right.  Why,  these  must  be  our  fellows  sure 
enough ! " 

Into  the  courtyard  then  clattered  two  palace 
guards,  mounted  showily.  Behind  them  a  man  led  a 
string  of  five  not  overladen  mules  with  iron-clamped 
boxes  in  their  shwarries.  Behind  these  again  rode  a 
Court  official,  and  last  came  a  single  mounted 
guard. 

The  courtyard  gates  were  closed,  the  shwarries 
were  carried  into  the  patio,  and  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon was  solemnly  devoted  to  the  counting  out  of  one 
hundred  and  nineteen  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  big  bright  Moorish  dollars.  The  odd 
thirteen,  so  characteristically  on  the  right  side  for  the 
palace,  Commander  Smith  magnanimously  forgave. 
The  money  was  repacked  securely,  the  palace  official 
took  his  departure  with  laden  purse,  and  the  two 
Christians  passed  the  night  within  easy  reach  of  their 
prize  and  its  guardians. 

Not  a  hitch  of  any  sort  came  to  justify  Jones's 
nervous  foreboding.  The  little  caravan  was  under 
way  shortly  after  daylight,  and  the  palace  guards 
accompanied  it  a  good  day's  march  toward  the  coast. 
After  their  departure  the  adventurers  distributed  their 
bullion  evenly  amongst  their  bedding  and  provisions, 
and  so  approached  Mogador  bearing  burdens  ap- 
parently of  the  most  commonplace  description. 

Twenty  miles  out  from  Mogador  the  party  met 
another  caravan,  heading  toward  Marrakish. 
Traders,  Smith  called  them,  after  a  glance  at  the 
little  line  of  hooded  white  figures  and  laden  pack- 


86  MOROCCO 

animals.  The  newcomers  drew  rein  as  they  reached 
our  adventurers — a  common  courtesy  of  the  Open 
Road  calling  for  no  remark. 

"The  prosperity  of  the  morning  to  you!"  said 
Smith,  carelessly  enough,  as  the  closely-hooded  leader 
of  the  caravan  ranged  alongside  him  on  a  big  blue 
stallion. 

"Ah!  Yes,  one  fancied  it  must  be  you  two. 
Don't  move,  Smith ;  don't  move,  sir.  Three  of  my 
followers  are  American  seamen  (though  they  mayn't 
look  it  in  this  rig)  and  trophy-holding  marksmen. 
Present  arms,  men ;  and  keep  your  eyes  about  you. 
Ah,  Mr  Jonah !  It  is  Jonah,  I  think ;  or  am  I 
mixing  names  ?  You  will  be  so  good  as  to  dismount, 
Mr  Jonah.  Smith,  get  down.  We  will  camp  here 
for  an  hour,  just  to  see  that  the  bullion  for  my 
Government  is  all  shipshape.  Bo'sun  !  "  One  of  the 
hooded  figures  of  the  caravan  slid  smartly  from  his 
beast,  cast  his  djellab,  and  came  to  the  salute  as 
upon  Commander  Hawkins's  own  quarterdeck — a 
trimly-uniformed  petty  officer  of  the  United  States 
Navy. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  resumed  Commander  Hawkins, 
the  leader,  "  I  am  half  inclined  to  think  it  all 
nonsense,  this  notion  that  one  must  wear  Moorish 
dress  in  travelling  here.  You  may  take  this  garment, 
bo'sun,  and  just  pitch  my  little  tent — sharp  as  you 
like." 

The  commander  had  drawn  off  his  all-cloaking 
djellab,  and  now  displayed  his  fine  figure  in  trim, 
warm  weather  mufti.  The  tent  pitched:  "Just  see 
to  our  friend  Mr  Jonah,  and — and  the  things,  bo'sun. 
Mr  Jonah,  perhaps  you  will  rest  awhile  with  my  men 
here ;  good,  clean  American  sailormen  every  one,  Mr 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  87 

Jonah.  No  doubt  you  will  find  topics  of  mutual 
interest.  Now,  Smith,  just  step  inside  here  with  me, 
if  you  please.  One  finds  serious  conversation  almost 
indecent  in  such  a  glare  of  sunlight."  The  com- 
mander motioned  Smith  to  a  camp-stool,  and  sat 
himself  cross-legged  upon  another,  facing  it.  "Now, 
first  of  all,  have  you  the  dollars  with  you,  Smith  ?  "  he 
asked  pleasantly. 

"Yes,"  replied  Smith,  somewhat  gloomily  but 
with  composure. 

"  Ah  !     The  whole  lot,  intact  ?  " 

"  Thirteen  short  of  the  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand." 

"  Really !  One  is  moved  to  compliment  you, 
Smith.  You  really  did  remarkably  well.  One  knows 
something  of  that  Court  and  its  methods.  And  now 
tell  me,  Smith,  what  in  the  name  of  simplicity  induced 
you  to  allow  your — er — your  mission  to  become 
common  native  talk  in  Mogador  ?  " 

"That!  Oh,  Jones  insisted  on  that  as  a  means 
of  letting  rumour  pave  the  way  for  us  at  Court." 

"  Ah  !  Mr  Jonah  is  unfortunate  in  his  influences. 
Did  it  not  strike  you  that  the  same  means  might  pave 
your  way  to — to  this  meeting  after  the  other  ?  One's 
crew  is  allowed  ashore — in  batches,  you  know.  In 
that  way  the  rumour  naturally  reached  one  in  time. 
It  was  your  scheme's  weak  point,  this  contribution  of 
Mr  Jonah's,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  I  think  his  scheme  was  pretty 
sound  for  a  simple-minded  man.  He  is  a  singularly 
good-hearted,  simple  soul  at  bottom  in  spite  of — 
though  you  find  us — " 

"Ah!  one  somehow  guessed  it.  Then  the  whole 
scheme  was  Mr  Jonah's.  One  could  almost  have 


88  MOROCCO 

sworn  it.  You — er — made  the  acquaintance  on  bed- 
rock, so  to  say,  Smith  ?  Deep  spoke  to  deep,  eh — 
and  that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  He's  a  thoroughly  good  sort,  really,"  said  Smith, 
half  in  aggression  and  half  pleadingly. 

"  H'm !  Just  so.  Well,  now,  Smith,  one  does 
not  want  unnecessarily  to  humiliate  white  men, 
particularly  before  natives.  There  must  be  no 
attempt  at — er — at  leaving  this  party,  if  you  please. 
We  can  look  further  into  matters  on  board.  In  the 
meantime  keep  cool  and  go  straightly.  Smith.  Never 
despair.  One  feels  bound  to  say  that  one  gave  you  a 
hint  about  the  undesirable  character  of  your  partner- 
ship quite  a  while  back,  on  board.  However — now 
keep  cool,  Smith.  We  are  both  entitled  to  our  own 
opinions  about  the  wholesomeness  for  you  of  Mr 
Jonah's  intimacy.  Meantime,  sir" — and  here  the 
commander's  voice  took  on  a  sudden  solemnity,  a 
grave  dignity  very  impressive  to  hear — "be  thankful, 
be  very  thankful,  that  things  are  as  they  are,  and  you 
where  you  are.  You  are  free  now  of  that  dirty 
load  from  the  palace.  It  has  reached  its  true 
destination  and  is  in  the  right  hands.  Be  you  very 
thankful  for  that." 

"  Why,  frankly,  I  have  been  since  the  moment  I 
recognised  you.  I  meant  to  make  for  your  country, 
anyhow,  and —  However,  that  won't  interest  you." 

His  real  thought  was  :  "You  won't  believe  that  I 
meant  to  repay  my  share,  so  I  won't  bother  telling 
you."  But  the  commander  was  a  far-seeing  sailorman, 
shrewd,  Bohemian,  and  with  a  temper  of  ripe  and 
catholic  benevolence. 

Smith  did  presently  reach  America,  and  under  his 
own  name  too — which  brings  one  upon  the  heels 


THE  BEACHCOMBERS  89 

of  quite  another  story.  Under  his  own  name,  Smith 
was  Commander  Hawkins's  private  secretary.  And 
Jones,  the  last  I  heard  of  simple-minded  Jones,  was 
that  he  had  shipped  from  'Frisco  as  mate  of  an  island 
brig  bound  for  Honolulu. 


UNDER  THE  RED  FLAG 

ALL  men  cannot  be  courtiers,  even  in  "  The  Land 
of  the  Afternoon,"  and,  of  course,  there  are 
some  powers  in  the  country  outside  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  Exalted  Presence.  There  are,  firstly,  the 
provincial  governors  who  purchase  their  posts  from 
the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  or,  in  a  few  cases,  are 
appointed  by  our  Lord  himself,  by  way  of  reward  for 
services  rendered,  for  rare  presents  given,  or,  in  the  case 
of  a  man  of  Shareefian  blood  or  a  possible  rival,  as  a 
dismissal  from  Court.  In  the  interior  these  governors 
inhabit  great  ksor,  or  castles,  which  are  really  small 
villages  enclosed  by  a  fortified  wall,  and  built  about 
the  central  residence  of  the  governor  himself.  In  his 
own  district  the  power  of  one  of  these  governors  is 
supreme,  maintained  by  his  own  soldiers,  and  suffici- 
ently demonstrated  by  punishment  in  his  own  prison 
for  who  should  doubt  it.  At  intervals  a  governor  is 
supposed  to  journey  to  Court  to  make  his  obeisances 
to  the  Presence,  and  to  hand  over  tribute  from  his 
province  to  the  Sultan's  treasury,  besides  presents  to 
his  Lord  and  to  the  watchful  army  of  Court  idlers.  If 
such  visits  are  not  sufficiently  frequent  or  profitable  to 
the  Sultan,  the  backward  governor  is  invited  to  attend 
without  delay.  If,  in  response  to  such  an  invitation, 
he  brings  but  a  light  token  of  his  fealty,  his  visit  ends 
in  a  dungeon,  troops  are  sent  to  ransack  his  kasbah 
for  treasure,  and  within  a  day  or  so  his  post,  his 

90 


UNDER  THE  RED  FLAG  91 

residence,  his  women,  chattels  and  gleanings  of  every 
sort  and  kind  are  sold,  practically  to  the  highest 
bidder,  probably  to  some  trusted  former  adherent  who 
has  managed  to  accumulate  gear  during  his  reign,  and, 
having  heard  of  his  superior's  summons  to  Court,  has 
journeyed  thither  himself  with  full  hands  and  well- 
laden  pack  animals. 

The  present  writer  knows  one  intelligent  Moor 
who  has  twice  occupied  the  position  of  a  lesser 
monarch  in  this  way,  ruling  a  countryside  as  absolute 
autocrat  thereof,  and  who  at  this  moment  is  pleased  if 
he  find  bread  twice  a  day  and  a  blanket  for  chilly 
nights  in  the  reeking  dungeon  which  he  shares  with  a 
score  and  more  of  other  chained  unfortunates.  His 
crime  was  that  "  Father  "  Ahmad,  the  late  iron-handed 
Wazeer  el  Kabeer  and  Regent,  considered  that  his 
yield  of  tribute  to  the  State  coffers  was  a  good  deal 
less  than  might  have  been  squeezed  out  of  his  district. 
So  Ba  Ahmad  invited  my  friend  to  Court,  and,  being 
a  temperate  man  and  always  averse  to  any  unneces- 
sary taking  of  life,  did  not  follow  the  quite  ordinary 
custom  of  handing  the  governor  corrosive  sublimate 
in  his  tea,  but  merely  threw  him  into  an  underground 
granary  and  had  him  industriously  flogged,  with  a 
view  to  extorting  information  regarding  hidden 
treasure.  The  governor,  whether  from  innocence  or 
obstinacy,  kept  a  stiff  upper  lip,  and  took  his  daily 
meed  of  punishment  without  comment. 

Presently,  "  Father"  Ahmad  being  a  practical,  if 
not  a  merciful,  man,  the  floggings  ceased,  and  when 
the  month  of  Ramadan  was  well  passed,  and  the  mire 
of  the  tracks  dried,  his  Shareefian  Majesty's  troops, 
directed  by  Ba  Ahmad,  proceeded  to  "eat  up"  my 
friend's  district,  among  others,  in  the  course  of  the 


92  MOROCCO 

usual  spring  forays  for  taxes.  This  " eating  up"  is  a 
temperate  phrase  enough,  and  annually  justified  by 
fact.  The  Shareefian  troops  do  leave  little  more  in  a 
countryside  which  they  have  thrashed  for  taxes  than 
a  swarm  of  locusts  would  leave  in  a  bed  of  mint  upon 
which  they  had  called  a  noon-day  halt.  Their  most 
approved  method  of  settling  a  question  as  to  the 
existence  of  hidden  treasure  in  a  village  is  to  capture 
the  inhabitants,  lop  off  the  heads  of  the  men,  for 
pickling  and  spiking  upon  the  gates  of  their  Lord's 
capitals,  preserve  the  young  women,  burn  the  village 
to  the  ground,  dig  up  its  foundations,  in  case  of  buried 
money,  and  leave  no  living  thing  where  that  village 
stood,  beyond  its  scavengers,  the  pariah  dogs.  To 
ride  through  a  recently-chastised  district  in  the  wake 
of  the  Sultan's  army  is  to  journey  with  a  sore  heart, 
and,  unless  one  goes  well  laden,  with  empty  bellies 
for  man  and  beast.  But  these  visitations  do  not  spell 
revolution,  or  civil  war,  or  anything  at  all  like  it. 
They  were  written,  they  come  when  and  as  Allah 
permits,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  Fatalism  is  talked 
of  in  Europe.  It  is  only  in  the  world  of  Islam  that  it 
is  understood,  felt  and  lived.  With  us  of  paler 
Christendom  it  is  an  article  of  faith  that  the  meek  are 
blessed  for  that  "they  shall  inherit  the  earth";  that 
they  who  mourn  or  are  poor  in  spirit,  and  persecuted, 
are  also  blessed ;  also  that  no  sparrow  may  fall  from  a 
housetop  without  the  cognisance  of  God  the  Father 
and  Comforter.  These  beliefs  are  a  part  of  religion 
in  Europe.  They,  and  others  like  them,  are  the  basis 
of  life  in  Morocco.  Christians  extol  the  enduring 
faith  of  Job.  Mohammedans  imitate  and  equal  it  in 
daily  life.  We  of  Christendom  profess  to  hold  earthly 
treasures  baubles,  and  wear  out  our  lives,  and  the 


UNDER  THE  RED  FLAG  93 

lives  of  others  whom  we  retain  to  help  us,  in  the 
search  for  such  treasure,  and  in  its  accumulation. 
The  sorriest  beggar  in  all  Morocco,  the  most  ignorant 
dolt  in  the  Soudan,  proves  by  his  life,  and  often  by 
his  death,  that  our  empty  profession  is  his  living 
belief.  And  his  philosophy  of  fatalism,  if  rooted,  as 
Westerners  are  wont  to  affirm,  in  laziness  and  indif- 
ference (it  is  really  rooted  in  the  fact  that  his  religion 
is  actual,  real  and  literally  genuine  to  him),  is  dignified 
and  marvellously  enduring. 

"It  seems  the  pesky  thing  will  wash,  anyway !  " 
said  a  well-known  American,  speaking  of  the  same 
philosophy  after  watching  a  chained  file  of  prisoners 
squatting  on  their  ham-bones  in  pitiless  sun  glare  in 
the  Sok,  or  market-place,  at  Mogador.  They  were 
starved  and  chain-galled,  these  men,  with  bruised 
bodies  and  blood  -  encrusted  feet.  Four  of  their 
number  had  died  on  the  march,  their  dead  heads 
having  then  been  cut  off  that  their  bodies  might  clear 
the  connecting  chain.  Their  crime  was  that  their 
kaid  had  not  paid  sufficient  tribute  to  the  Sultan. 
Now,  as  they  squatted  in  the  shadeless  market-place, 
a  passer-by  occasionally  gave  one  a  dish  of  water  that 
he  might  moisten  his  parched  throat  and  blackened 
lips  withal.  The  man  so  relieved  would  murmur  a 
"God  be  with  thee."  Not  a  single  murmur  could  be 
heard  among  his  unrelieved  fellows,  who  calmly,  im- 
passively stared  straight  before  them,  or  answered 
evenly  enough  the  casual  remark  of  a  bystander, 
smoked  if  the  wherewithal  were  given  them,  or  failing 
this  were  as  sedately  reflective  and  dignified  without. 
Their  religion  and  the  fatalistic  philosophy  born  of  it 
were  not  mere  professions  with  these  men. 

I  well  remember,  during  an  early  visit  to  Morocco, 


94  MOROCCO 

making  a  short  journey  with  a  Moor  of  repute  and 
standing  in  his  own  town.  At  night  we  were  enter- 
tained by  a  village  sheikh,  a  friend  of  my  companion's, 
and  a  man  who  interested  me  greatly. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  Sheikh  Mohamet  ?  " 
I  asked  my  companion  as  we  jogged  out  of  the  village 
in  the  dawning  next  day. 

"  Oh,  I  met  him  in  prison  some  years  ago — Tetuan 
prison  it  was.  He  was  a  stranger  there  and  his 
people  had  not  reached  Tetuan.  And  so  he  had  no 
food  or  blankets.  He  shared  mine,  and — we  became 
friends." 

The  matter  of  course  nonchalance  of  it  all ! 
Imagine  yourself  asking  an  equal,  a  fellow  clubman, 
a  similar  question,  and  receiving  as  answer:  "Oh, 
Robinson  ?  I  met  him  in  gaol.  We  were  at  Worm- 
wood Scrubbs  together."  And  Robinson  the  mayor  of 
his  town,  remember.  In  this  connection  I  must  set 
down  here  the  yarn  of  an  English  friend  of  mine  and 
his  friend,  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed.  I  give  it  as  my 
friend  gave  it  me. 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH 

YOU  will  understand,  of  course,  that  I  was  no 
stranger  to  Morocco  at  the  time  of  the  story. 
A  new  arrival  in  Sunset  Land  is  necessarily  blind  to 
much  that  goes  on  in  that  singular  survival  of 
patriarchal  days  which  lies  within  sight  of  southern 
Europe.  And  he  must  walk  warily  if  he  would  keep 
a  whole  skin  and  live  to  walk  elsewhere. 

I  was  camping  at  the  foot  of  Ain  Sfroo  during  a 
very  leisurely  pilgrimage  from  the  interior  toward 
Tangier  ;  beautiful  sea-girt  Tangier,  where  the  English 
and  other  infidels  do  congregate;  "the  city  given 
over  to  dogs,  and  the  spawn  of  dogs,"  as  Believers 
pleasantly  put  it.  My  head  man,  Boaz  (a  jewel  for  a 
journey),  had  hit  upon  an  ideal  spot  for  our  little  camp. 
Behind  us  the  jagged  peaks  of  the  Ain  Sfroo  soared 
and  towered  into  the  sky-line.  Before  my  own  tent 
a  gnarled  old  olive,  cruddled  and  bowed  like  an  eighty- 
year-old  field  labourer  at  home,  gave  me  pleasing 
shelter.  Close  beside  my  servants'  tent  ran  a  little 
brook  of  merry,  brown  mountain  water  ;  and  all  round 
and  about  us  the  foot-hills  met  the  plain  in  a  stretch  of 
verdure,  so  clear  and  pleasant  to  the  eye  that  one 
fancied  it  had  been  a  bowling-green  of  the  gods ;  of 
some  sportive  community  of  Djinnoon,  let  us  say. 

I  fancy  I  had  dozed  for  a  few  moments  (I  had 
taken  no  siesta  that  day,  and  we  had  ridden,  albeit  in 
leisurely  style,  since  dawn)  when  the  sound  of  strange 

95 


96  MOROCCO 

voices,  and  the  clean,  quick  footsteps  of  mules  roused 
me,  and  I  saw  that  a  party  of  strangers  were  about  to 
pitch  their  camp  for  the  night  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  where  I  lay,  attracted  no  doubt  by  the  beauty  and 
fitness  of  the  spot  for  that  purpose. 

"  Who  comes  ? "  said  I,  lazily,  to  Boaz,  who  was 
stewing  a  chicken  for  me  over  a  charcoal  brazier. 
Boaz  had  evidently  taken  stock  of  the  newcomers  and 
already  exhausted  his  interest  in  them,  for  he  replied 
languidly, — 

"  Four  dssdseen"  (Guards),  "and  one  who  is 
already  twice  dead — and  buried." 

I  thought  this  good  enough  to  sit  up  for, 
and  I  noticed  then  that  in  the  midst  of  the  four 
mounted  men — two  rode  mules,  pack-laden,  and  two 
were  on  gaunt  horses,  with  high  scarlet-peaked  saddles 
— was  one  afoot,  his  wrists  bound  with  palmetto  cord 
to  the  stirrups  of  a  rider  upon  either  side. 

"What  then?"  said  I  to  Boaz.  "Who  is  the 
Mead  man'?" 

"  It  is  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed "  (Sheikh  Slave 
of  the  Glorious,  that  is)  "of  Tazigah;  not  for  long  a 
Sheikh,  b'Allah,  since  it  is  but  three  moons  since  his 
father  died — May  God  have  forgiven  him ! — and  now 
— now  you  see  him  !  " 

I  was  interested.  I  had  known  city-gate  beggars 
in  Morocco  who  had  been  Bashas  or  Governors  of  the 
towns  they  begged  in.  Also,  I  had  known  a  water- 
pedlar  who  became  a  great  Wazeer  and  ended  his 
days,  after  enjoying  great  power  and  riches,  in  a 
particularly  noisome  dungeon  in  Marrakish.  So  this 
captive  at  the  soldiers'  stirrups  was  the  young  Sheikh 
of  Tazigah.  I  had  been  in  Tazigah,  disguised  as  a 
Moorish  woman  of  the  peasant  class  (I  confess  to 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  97 

some  pride  in  the  statement,  which  perhaps  two  other 
Nazarenes  might  truthfully  make),  and  knew  something 
of  the  queer  savage  border-land  town  it  was.     You 
see  the  Kaid  of  the  Ain  Sfroo  province  is  the  nominal 
ruler  of  the  whole  of  the  Ain  Sfroo,  and,  as  a  fact,  does 
rule  and  extort  taxes  right  up  to  the  very  outskirts 
of  this  same  town  of  Tazigah.     Into  the  town  itself 
his   myrmidons   have   not   yet   pierced.      Beyond  it, 
men  laugh  at  Basha,   Kaid  and   Sultan  alike,  never 
having  paid  a  tax,  save  to  their  own  brigands,  and  hold- 
ing that  the  gun,  the  knife,  and  the  strong  right  arms  of 
mountain-bred  men  are  in  themselves  the  law  and  its 
dministration  and  its  penalties.     Stern,  hardy,  free 
men  are  they  ;  and  the  Tazigs  of  Tazigah,  they  claim 
e  same  sort  of  immunity.     But  their  claim  is  not,  as 
ith   that   of  the   mountaineers  beyond,  undisputed, 
'azigah  is   on   the   border-line.     But  for  the  young 
>heikh  of  Tazigah  to  be  bound  to   the   stirrups   of 
ascals   of    the    Kaid's    guard  —  this   was   woeful,    I 
lought. 

"  They  must  surely  have  caught  him  outside  the 
own  ?  "  I  said  to  Boaz. 

"  Ay,  at  the  house  of  that  crawling  son  of  the 
legitimate  Hamed  Fasi,  I  believe,"  replied  Boaz, 
urning  the  chicken  in  the  stew-pan.  "  But,  b'Allah, 
"azigah  of  to-day  is  not  the  Tazigah  of  my  day  or 
tie  worms  would  be  eating  those  same  guards  by 
,ow.  But  now,  you  will  see,  Tazigah  will  become  as 
village  of  the  plain,  and  Kaid  Achmet — may  he  ride 
ver  a  little  more  uneasily,  till  his  bones  rot! — will 
gather  his  taxes  there,  as  he  might  in  the  salted  place 
f  the  Jews." 

I  was  not  in  a  position  to  contradict  this  prophecy, 
o  called  for  the  bread  and  the  tea-pot,  and  settled 
G 


98  MOROCCO 

down  to  the  discussion  of  a  somewhat  elderly  but 
admirably-cooked  chicken,  while  Boaz  and  his  comrades 
courted  surfeit  upon  some  three-year-old  meat,  pre- 
served in  rancid  butter,  and  some  fritters  which  seemed 
to  possess  all  the  properties  of  oil-skin,  or  very  thick 
waterproofing  material  of  some  sort. 

Dinner  ended,  I  lit  a  cigarette,  and  bade  Boaz 
convey  to  the  neighbouring  guides,  with  my  salaams, 
some  tea  and  sugar,  and  a  certain  tin  of  sweet  biscuits 
of  a  sort  that  no  Moor  I  had  ever  met  could  resist. 
Word  of  the  guards'  gratification  being  duly  brought 
to  me,  I  allowed  a  decent  interval  to  elapse,  and  then, 
followed  by  Boaz  and  his  two  assistants,  strolled 
down  the  slope  to  the  tent  of  the  soldiers  and  their 
captive.  The  idea  of  the  pinioned  young  Sheikh 
possessed  me. 

"  Peace  be  upon  ye,  O  Believers!  What  news  ol 
ye?  Nothing  wrong  with  ye?"  And  so  forth,  ac- 
cording to  custom,  I  showered  the  usual  salutations 
upon  the  four  brigands  (for  Raid's  guards  all  through 
Morocco  are  nothing  better  than  brigands),  received 
their  orthodox  responses,  and  was  bidden  welcome. 
A  place  of  honour  was  cleared  for  me  upon  a  ragged 
carpet  before  the  tent-pole,  and  some  of  my  own  tea 
was  poured  out  for  my  delectation,  in  a  little  blue, 
gold  and  crimson  mug,  such  as  I  have  seen  children 
in  England  place  before  their  dolls.  A  sprouting 
head  of  mint  was  in  the  pear-shaped  metal  tea-pot,  and 
one  drank  a  spoonful  of  sugar  to  two  of  the  decoction, 
making  hideous  noises  with  one's  lips  the  while,  and 
gasping  after  a  drink  as  though  choking  from 
delighted  surfeit.  This  if  one  would  be  truly 
courteous. 

Opposite  the  tent-pole,  on  the  side  farthest  from 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  99 

the  entrance,  I  saw  lying  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed. 
The  young  man  was  stretched  upon  his  right  side, 
his  wrists  bound  behind  him  to  a  stake  at  the  edge  of 
the  tent,  and  his  ankles  bound  together  with  palmetto 
cord.  In  his  eyes  one  read  something  of  the  dignified 
philosophy  with  which  all  Mussulmans  the  world  over 
meet  misfortune,  and  a  good  deal  of  haughty  contempt 
for  the  persons  and  methods  of  those  who  had  brought 
him  low ;  and  at  the  back  of  all  else  one  saw  some- 
thing of  the  indescribable  horror  and  loathing  which 
the  semi-savage  feels  for  the  state  of  captivity.  Bill 
Sykes  probably  does  not  like  a  cell  at  Holloway  ;  but 
I  fancy  it  must  be  less  objectionable  to  him  than  an 
eighteen-penny  cage  to  a  skylark,  or  pinioned  captivity 
to  a  Tazigah  Moor.  And  Abd  el  Majeed  was  born  a 
chief,  you  will  remember. 

I  gave  him  sympathetic  greeting  with  my  eyes, 
as  far  as  I  could  make  those  organs  express  my 
feelings ;  and  I  thought  he  understood,  and  returned 
me  a  not  ungrateful  glance  from  his  own  heavily- 
fringed  big  eyes,  which  in  that  light  appeared  as  black 
as  sloes,  and  far  more  glossy.  Speaking  then  as  one 
entirely  without  information  on  the  subject,  I  ventured 
upon  inquiries  regarding  the  prisoner.  The  chief  of 
the  soldiers  answered  me  with  unhesitating  candour, 
and  as  though  the  prisoner  himself,  being  already  a 
corpse,  had  no  longer  hearing  or  any  other  sense  to 
be  offended. 

"  Ihyeh ;  that's  the  young  Sheikh  o'  Tazigah ; 
and  him  the  Kaid  has  desired  to  entertain  these  many 
moons.  His  body  should  mean  dollars  in  our  pockets, 
sure  enough ;  and  without  doubt  the  trick  by  which 
we  won  it  deserves  good  pay.  We  got  Hamed  Fdsi 
to  send  him  word  of  a  horse  no  man  could  bestride, 


100  MOROCCO 

by  token  that  the  beast  could  kick  a  house  from  off 
his  back,  and  if  the  house  could  have  been  builded 
there.  Now,  as  all  men  know,  the  vanity  of  the 
Sheikh  was  that  mare  never  dropped  the  foal  he  could 
not  handle,  and  ride,  and  cow  withal.  The  Sheikh 
came  down  from  Tazigah,  as  if  to  his  wedding,  and 
crafty  Hamed  had  him  soon  astride  my  chestnut 
there,  a  heavy-headed,  peaceful  beast,  that  would  not 
kick  a  snapping  dog,  but  will  go  down  on  his  knees 
when  I  tell  him,  like  any  camel.  *  Down,  Daddy 
Big-head,'  I  shouts  from  my  place  behind  Hamed's 
cow-shed.  And  in  a  moment  the  four  of  us  were 
upon  the  Sheikh,  while  crafty  Hamed  picks  up  the 
gun  the  young  man  had  propped  against  the  house- 
front.  Oh,  'twas  undoubtedly  a  brilliant  to-do ;  it 
should  make  a  song  in  Ain  Sfroo  for  many  a  day. 
And  so  there  lies  the  body  o'  him,  and  the  Raid's 
dollars  as  good  as  in  our  pockets.  And  mind  you, 
he  was  no  weakling  in  his  life,  but  a  mighty  muscular 
young  man,  the  Sheikh  o'  Tazigah.  A  great  capture, 
truly !  But  these  be  mere  trifles  in  a  soldier's  life." 

It  was  rather  uncanny,  I  thought,  this  use  of  the 
past  tense  in  speaking  of  the  young  man  who  lay 
listening,  with  his  great  eyes  smouldering  in  the  dusk 
of  the  tent.  But,  to  be  sure,  he  had  fatalism  to  support 
him,  the  hardy  philosophy  of  his  blood  and  breeding, 
and  his  belief  in  a  very  luscious  Paradise  for  all  young 
Sheikhs  who  were  true  believers.  Still,  it  must  have 
been  a  leek  to  eat  for  a  gallant  young  man,  and  well 
I  knew  that  the  cords  that  bound  him  must  be  a 
suffocating  torment  to  Abd  el  Majeed.  Moreover, 
there  was  a  large  grey  mosquito  upon  the  bridge 
of  his  nose,  and  a  drop  of  perspiration  trickling  to 
the  corner  of  one  eye. 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  101 

"  And  what  might  be  the  trouble,  then  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  What  thing  hath  given  an  edge  to  your  Raid's 
desire  to  entertain  the  Sheikh  ?  " 

"  Ihyeh,  'tis  a  double  edge,  Sidi ;  a  blade  to  cut 
bone  as  well  as  body.  The  Sheikh  is  twice  dead,  as 
all  here  know." 

"Ay,  so  Boaz  hath  told  me,"  said  I,  forgetting 
my  assumption  of  ignorance  in  the  matter.  "  But  the 
forging  of  the  blade — what  led  to  it,  O  brave  soldier  ?  " 

"  Why,  Sidi,  that  is  surely  plain  to  all  men  ?  First, 
the  Kaid  desireth  taxes  from  Tazigah,  and  so  would 
have  its  Sheikh  by  the  heels,  and  place  one  of  his 
own  people  in  that  place ;  and  second,  who  is  to 
marry  the  Raid's  daughter  now  ?  " 

I  started  at  this.  "Why,  Allah  alone  knoweth, 
friend,"  said  I.  "  But  what  is  that  to  the  Sheikh  ?" 

"Sidi,  thy  life  has  surely  been  led  in  some  far 
place.  The  Sheikh,  in  his  life,  was  married  to  our 
Raid's  daughter.  'Twas  thought  the  thing  would 
bring  Tazigah  properly  under  our  master's  rule.  And 
on  the  morning  after  his  wedding,  what  did  the  Sheikh 
do  but  turn  his  wife  away  with  a  paper  of  divorce,  for 
all  the  world  to  see ;  the  woman  and  her  bridal  gear, 
foot  and  pack,  he  sent  them  all  bundling  down  the 
hillside  to  her  father's  castle  again.  And  there  she 
hath  remained,  a  catch  for  who  would  marry  a  great 
Raid's  daughter — with  a  record.  What  keener  edge 
would  ye  have  for  our  Raid's  desire  to  entertain  the 
Sheikh?" 

I  nodded.  The  young  Sheikh  was  in  sober  truth 
"  twice  dead/'  I  thought.  And  if  you  are  curious 
regarding  the  Muslim  view  of  such  things,  let  me 
commend  to  your  notice  the  24th  and  22nd 
chapters  of  Deuteronomy.  The  Mohammedan 


102  MOROCCO 

• 

rule  is  based  upon  the  Jewish,  but  is  milder.  Prompt 
divorce  suffices  without  stoning.  But  in  the  case  of 
a  powerful  Raid's  daughter— "  Y' Allah  t'if!"  I  thought. 
"The  Sheikh  is  indeed  very  dead!"  And  then, 
turning  my  eyes  upon  his  recumbent  figure  (there  is 
something  which  stirs  the  heart  strangely  in  the 
sight  of  a  man  lying  bound  hand  and  foot,  like  a  brute 
prepared  for  slaughter ;  it  is  his  utter  helplessness,  I 
fancy,  that  moves  one's  bowels  of  compassion),  I  was 
startled  to  note  a  light  of  unmistakable  appeal  in  the 
black  eyes  as  they  met  mine.  It  seemed  Abd  el 
Majeed  must  have  read  my  thoughts,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  to  say,  "  Nay,  not  dead,  but  maybe  dying  for 
lack  of  the  helping  hand  of  some  true  man  !  " 

Almost  involuntarily,  and  certainly  without  pause 
for  thought  or  consideration  of  the  difficulties  involved, 
I  returned  the  captive's  look  with  a  distinct  affirmative, 
a  glance  which  I  well  knew  said  plainly  to  him,  "  I 
will  give  that  helping  hand  ;  watch  thou  for  me !  " 

It  was  a  reckless  promise,  but,  having  made  it,  it 
was  incumbent  upon  me  to  use  my  best  endeavours 
to  redeem  it.  Up  to  that  moment  I  had  not  given 
one  fleeting  thought  to  the  matter  of  the  prisoner's 
possible  escape.  I  had  merely  felt  regret  for  his  poor 
case ;  regret  for  the  tragedy  of  things  Moorish,  the 
inevitable  tyranny,  oppression  and  suffering  of  this 
most  mysterious  and  romantic  of  the  old-world  realms. 
But  for  any  attempt  at  rescue — well,  if  a  Nazarene 
sets  himself  to  remedy  the  lot  of  every  unjustly- 
oppressed  wight  he  comes  upon  in  the  Land  of  the 
Setting  Sun,  he  needs  more  than  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies  at  his  back,  the  enduring  strength  of  an 
elephant,  the  patience  of  Job,  and  the  sort  of  philo- 
sophy which  makes  a  man  impervious  to  the  basest 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  103 

sort  of  ingratitude  or  treachery.  And,  with  all  this, 
he  may  look  to  succeed  in  unsettling  a  few  score  of 
people,  and  temporarily  improving  the  lot  of  one  in 
ten  thousand — if  he  live  long  enough. 

But  I  had  passed  my  word,  though  no  word  had 
passed  my  lips. 

The  syrupy,  mint-scented  tea  was  exhausted,  so, 
in  rising  to  leave  my  hosts,  I  promised  to  send  them 
a  further  supply ;  and  was  informed  that,  for  an  un- 
believer, I  was  really  a  most  excellent  and  redoubt- 
able person,  of  very  respectable  origin  and  goodly 
bearing.  I  predicted  glory,  riches,  and  a  sumptuous 
pavilion  in  Paradise  for  my  hosts,  each  and  severally, 
and  with  pious  wishes  for  their  well-being  in  both 
worlds  took  my  departure,  followed  by  my  trusty  Boaz. 

On  the  way  back  to  my  tent  ideas  jostled  one 
another  in  my  mind,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  none 
of  them  were  of  much  account. 

"  Now,  if  only  I  had  some  sort  of  a  sleeping-draught 
to  give  them,  in  place  of  this  tea,  that  might  advance 
our  case  a  little,"  I  thought,  as  I  scooped  some  tea 
into  a  tin  for  Boaz  to  carry  to  the  guards.  But  my 
medicine  chest  was  small ;  quinine,  calomel,  and  two 
tiny  bottles  half-full  of  chlorodyne  being  all  that  I 
possessed  in  the  way  of  drugs.  "  Well,  well ;  better 
half  a  loaf  than  no  bread,"  I  muttered.  "Bring  the 
teapot,  Boaz."  He  brought  our  large  pot  and  we  made 
a  strong  brew  of  tea.  Into  this  I  emptied  my  two 
half  bottles  of  chlorodyne,  wondering  the  while  what 
the  estimable  inventor  of  that  soothing  drug  would 
have  thought  of  my  dispensing.  I  remembered  that 
the  stuff  had  given  me  sleep  more  than  once  in  cases 
of  mild  but  painful  dysentery. 

"  Boaz!"  I  growled,  with  sudden  sternness,  "you 


104  MOROCCO 

have  some  hasheesh  in  your  pouch.  Now,  don't 
deny  it ! "  I  had  endeavoured,  unsuccessfully,  of 
course,  to  wean  the  man  from  the  use  of  the  drug. 
He  confessed  somewhat  sulkily.  "  Well,  then,  go 
thou  and  ply  the  guards  with  it — every  particle  of  it. 
And  give  them  this  tea.  But  drink  none  of  it  your- 
self, and  take  no  hasheesh,  for  I  have  work  afoot 
to-night." 

I  rather  think  Boaz  saw  my  game  then,  for  there 
was  a  leer  in  his  eye  as  he  walked  off  to  do  my  bid- 
ding. But  I  thought  I  would  reserve  my  confidence 
until  he  had  accomplished  this  first  stage  of  my  plan. 
I  was  uncertain  what  his  attitude  might  be.  He  had 
his  own  skin  to  consider,  of  course,  and  the  arm  of 
the  Kaid  of  Ain  Sfroo  was  notoriously  long,  as  his 
wrath  was  consuming  and  ill  to  meet.  I  smoked 
quietly  for  half  an  hour,  and  listened  to  the  murmurs 
of  good  fellowship  which  reached  me  from  the  guards' 
tent.  The  mosquitoes  were  exceptionally  lively  that 
evening,  and  I  thought,  as  I  brushed  them  from  my 
forehead,  of  Abd  el  Majeed,  the  "dead"  Sheikh. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  I  muttered.  "  The  very  next  caged 
bird  I  see  shall  have  the  door  of  its  prison  opened 
if  I  can  get  near  it." 

"The  heads  of  mud  began  to  snore  before  they 
had  time  to  lie  down,"  said  Boaz,  when,  after  about 
forty  minutes,  he  returned  and  squatted  down  beside 
me.  "  What  work  is  afoot  ?  " 

Boaz  was  growing  elderly,  but,  like  every  other 
Arab  who  ever  cried  me  "  Peace ! "  his  appetite  for 
strife  and  adventure  was  keen  as  a  lad's. 

"  Boaz,"  said  I  ;  "a  Sheikh  of  the  hills  is  as  good 
a  man  as  any  Kaid  of  the  plains !  " 

"  As  any  six  of  the  plains,"  agreed  Boaz,  promptly. 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  105 

I  knew,  of  course,  that  himself  was  of  Sheshawanee, 
a  hill-man  to  the  last  drop  of  blood  in  his  veins. 

"  Think  ye  that  the  assaseen  will  sleep  soundly, 
Boaz  ?  "  was  my  next  question. 

"  Not  so  soundly  as  they  might  if  their  stomachs 
tasted  a  mountain  man's  steel,"  answered  Boaz,  finger- 
ing the  point  of  his  dagger's  sheath ;  "  but  pigs  and 
guards  of  the  plains  sleep  ever  more  heavily  than 
true  men  ;  and  when  they  wake — phaa !  Thou  hast 
seen  how  pigs  are  speared  on  the  plain  beyond 
Spartel ! " 

I  had,  and  had  even  enjoyed  a  little  sport  with  the 
lance  myself;  but  I  wanted  no  sticking  done  that 
night.  After  all,  Raids  and  their  guards  are  Raids 
and  their  guards ;  and  consuls  in  coast  towns  are  not 
always  upon  the  side  of  the  adventurous  of  their 
colour. 

"Two  of  them  have  mules,  Boaz,"  said  I,  "and 
so  do  not  count.  The  two  that  have  horses — " 

"  Phaa !  Thy  horse,  Sidi,  would  leave  them 
standing  like  trees ;  pass  them,  and  leave  them,  as 
the  wind  passes  a  house." 

"  Ah !  That  is  as  I  thought.  And  the  city  of  Al 
Rsar  el  Rebeer,  Boaz,  it  is  well  beyond  the  line  of 
Raid  Achmet's  authority — no  ?  " 

"  Ay,  by  two  days'  march." 

"  Good !  Then  you  will  make  my  horse  ready  for 
the  road,  good  Boaz.  Then  bring  me  my  Winchester, 
and  we  will  see  further." 

The  horse  and  the  gun  were  duly  brought,  and 
together  we  crept  down  toward  the  tent  of  the 
Raid's  guards.  We  could  hear  them  snoring  from 
a  hundred  yards  distant.  Fifty  paces  from  the  tent 
I  paused. 


106  MOROCCO  , 

"  You  know  exactly  where  the  Sheikh  lies, 
Boaz?" 

"As  I  know  my  father's  house  in  Sheshawan." 

"  Go  there,  on  thy  belly,  cut  the  Sheikh  clear,  and 
bring  him  to  me." 

"I  go." 

I  might  have  chosen  this  part  of  the  affair  myself, 
you  think,  since  undoubtedly  there  was  danger  in  it  ? 
Well,  yes  ;  but  then,  you  see,  I  knew  my  man.  Had 
I  done  this,  and  left  Boaz  as  onlooker  beside  my  horse, 
he  would  afterwards  have  despised  me  for  a  fool ;  and 
as  he  was  a  very  useful  servant  for  travelling  work  in 
Morocco,  I  could  not  afford  to  face  that  contingency. 
Besides,  my  favourite  Winchester  rifle  was  in  my 
hand,  and  I  knew  that,  with  absolute  certainty,  I 
could  drop  the  first  man  who  was  foolish  enough  to 
attack  Boaz  ;  or  the  first  half-dozen,  for  that  matter, 
though  I  had  no  notion  of  doing  so  if  I  could  avoid 
it.  No ;  you  must  think  what  you  please  of  it,  but 
in  the  presence  of  my  servants  I  could  not  afford  to 
do  myself  "what  Boaz  was  doing  at  this  moment. 

Like  a  great  lizard  in  the  grass  he  slithered  down 
the  slope  to  where  a  slight  bulge  in  the  side  of  the  tent 
told  me  the  Sheikh  lay.  Arrived  within  the  shadow 
of  the  tent,  Boaz  lay  still  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
(as  I  afterwards  learned)  *he  murmured,  very  low, 
"Bal-ak!"  Which  is  to  say— "  Thy  mind!"  or 
"  Attention  !"  Then,  getting  by  way  of  response  a 
slight  movement  from  the  recumbent  figure  within, 
Boaz  very  delicately  slit  the  hanging  lower  edge  of 
the  tent  by  the  Sheikh's  head.  In  a  moment  the 
Sheikh's  bound  wrists  faced  him  in  the  moonlight 
through  the  opening  he  had  made.  Boaz's  dagger 
made  short  work  of  the  wrist  fastenings,  and  was  then 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  107 

slipped  into  the  Sheikh's  outstretched  right  hand,  for 
him  to  work  his  will  upon  the  cord  that  held  his 
feet. 

Two  minutes  later  and  the  Sheikh  crawled  out 
upon  the  grass  beside  Boaz.  Together  they  pressed 
a  sod  down  upon  the  severed  edges  of  the  tent  flap, 
and  three  minutes  more  brought  them  to  my  side. 
The  Sheikh  caught  my  right  hand  in  both  his  own, 
and  I  felt  his  moustache  brush  my  knuckles.  It  was 
not  as  embarrassing  to  me  as  it  had  been  when  I  was 
new  to  the  East  and  its  ways. 

"Nay,  'tis  nothing,  Sheikh,"  I  told  him.  "  Mount 
thou  the  horse  here,  and  get  thee  to  Al  Ksar.  Give 
this  card  to  the  English  Consul  there,  and  bide  ye 
within  his  gates — without  fail,  within  his  gates — till 
I  come." 

It  was  not  the  time  for  conversation.  His  beard 
brushed  my  hand  again,  and  without  a  sound  he 
swung  into  the  saddle,  walking  my  horse  gingerly  to 
win  clear  of  earshot,  past  which  I  knew  he  would  try 
the  beast's  paces  well  enough,  in  the  course  of,  say, 
three  and  a  half  days  of  hard  riding.  There  are  no 
telegraph  wires,  police-stations,  railways,  turnpikes, 
or  anything  of  that  sort  in  Sunset  Land,  and  the  heads 
of  provinces  have  no  extradition  treaties  one  with 
another.  Even  in  actual  warfare  the  bloody  quarrels 
of  one  village  are  ignored  utterly  by  soldiers  and 
civilians  alike  in  a  village  half-a-dozen  miles  distant. 
In  the  course  of  time,  if  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed  chose 
to  abide  in  one  place,  some  gossip  from  that  place 
who  happened  to  pass  through  the  Kaid  Achmet's 
domain  would  mention  the  circumstance.  Then,  if 
the  Sheikh  were  worth  it,  the  Kaid  might  offer  his 
colleague,  who  ruled  in  the  place  the  Sheikh  had 


108  MOROCCO 

chosen  to  rest  in,  a  share  of  the  plunder  if  he  would 
yield  up  the  Sheikh's  body.  That  Kaid  would  then 
approach  the  Sheikh  and  endeavour  to  bleed  him 
privately.  If  the  Sheikh  bled  satisfactorily,  well  and 
good.  If  he  did  not,  and  was  suspected  of  possessing 
treasure  somewhere,  he  might  be  seized  and  sent  a 
prisoner  to  the  first  Kaid ;  but — enough  has  been 
said  to  show  you  that  personal  freedom  is  the  main 
thing.  "  Put  me  upon  a  good  horse  with  a  gun  in 
my  hand,  and  you  give  me  the  key  of  the  world  and 
a  passport  to  Paradise,"  says  your  Moor.  And,  in 
Sunset  Land,  he  is  in  the  right  of  it. 

Boaz  and  myself,  we  went  quietly  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  I  woke  early  and  smacked  my 
lips.  I  had  a  zestful  appetite  for  the  new  day.  The 
discomfiture  of  our  acquaintances  is  apt  to  be  even 
more  pleasing  to  us  than  the  misfortunes  of  our 
friends.  I  thought  of  the  probably  still  snoring 
guards,  and  I  chuckled,  and  rolled  a  morning 
cigarette.  I  shouted  to  Boaz  to  make  the  tea,  and 
was  comfortably  partaking  of  that  beverage  when  the 
first  awakening  shout  of  the  Raid's  guards  smote 
upon  my  ears,  like  the  overture  to  a  comic  opera. 

Abdullah,  the  one-eyed  captain  of  the  guard — the 
same  garrulous  rascal  who  had  been  spokesman 
during  my  visit  to  the  tent — came  plunging  up  the 
slope,  still  drowsy,  very  much  bewildered,  and  as 
wrathful  as  a  bull  on  a  hornet's  nest.  As  a  modest 
story-teller  I  would  scorn  to  translate  for  you  the 
mildest  of  the  expressions  which  he  expelled  from 
him  at  intervals,  as  an  engine  getting  under  way 
expels  steam.  Interspersed  among  them  I  caught 
various  not  very  respectful  references  to  "Nazarenes  " 
(the  Christianity  of  a  European  is  taken  as  a  matter 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  109 

of  course  in  Morocco,  where  national  and  other  fine 
distinctions  count  for  nothing),  and  I  entertained  no 
doubt  but  that  he  had  his  suspicions  of  the  true  state 
of  the  case.  But  suspicions  without  proof  are  not 
much  to  go  upon  in  any  event  ;  and  as  between  a 
travelling  Englishman  and  a  soldier  of  the  guard  of 
a  provincial  Moorish  Kaid  they  are  less  than  nothing. 
I  begged  the  one-eyed  man  to  let  me  hear  details  of 
his  trouble,  and  proffered  him  refreshment  to  sustain 
him  in  the  telling  withal.  The  good  tea  he  waved 
from  him,  so  to  say,  and  proceeded,  his  face 
empurpling  as  he  went,  to  pour  abuse  upon  poor 
Boaz. 

The  next  act  in  the  opera  showed  me  one-eyed 
Abdullah  flying  bellowing  down  the  green  slope 
toward  his  own  tent,  followed  closely  by  Boaz,  who 
was  thrashing  him  with  a  shwarri-rope  as  he  ran,  and 
cursing  him  for  the  fatherless  jackal  of  a  mangy  Kaid, 
lacking  the  valour  required  to  guard  in  safety  a  man 
tied  hand  and  foot.  I  called  Boaz  to  heel  as  soon  as 
I  could  stop  laughing,  and  we  made  preparations  to 
strike  camp.  The  guards  went  without  breaking 
their  fast,  and  the  last  glimpse  I  had  of  them  showed 
them  ambling  hurriedly  along  the  road  to  Tazigah, 
upon  which  it  may  be  they  hoped  to  overtake  the 
Sheikh.  As  I  knew  the  Sheikh  must  be  cantering  in 
a  quite  opposite  direction,  the  picture  did  not  disturb 
me ;  and  for  the  next  few  days  I  made  myself  com- 
fortable, perched  like  a  Turk  atop  of  one  of  the  packs 
carried  by  a  smooth-stepping  mule,  a  really  very 
restful  method  of  progress  if  a  shade  less  dignified 
than  the  ordinary.  The  pack  beneath  me  was  as 
broad  as  a  small  dining-table,  and  much  softer ;  the 
mule  knew  his  business  better  than  I  did,  and  required 


110  MOROCCO 

no  guidance.  I  was  no  loser  by  the  absence  of  my 
horse ;  though  of  that  animal  itself  the  same  could 
probably  not  have  been  said. 

I  found  the  Sheikh  in  the  English  Consul's  fandak 
at  Al  Ksar,  with  my  horse.  It  seemed  his  feeling  for 
me  was  still  informed  by  a  lively  sense  of  gratitude, 
and  when  he  heard  that  I  was  for  Tangier,  the  Sheikh 
announced,  in  the  most  matter-of-course  way,  his 
intention  of  accompanying  me.  As  it  happened,  I 
was  further  bound  for  England,  home  and  creditors 
at  the  time ;  and  so,  I  thought,  the  Sheikh  and  myself 
would  very  soon  be  parting  company  in  any  case. 
But  imperious  Chance,  who  guides  the  feet  of  fools, 
and  others,  was  minded  otherwise,  or  these  lines  had 
never  been  written. 

I  spent  four  days  in  infidel-afflicted  Tangier, 
during  which  time  the  Sheikh  hovered  about  me  in  a 
half-paternal,  half-dependent  manner  which  the  veriest 
boor  had  found  it  hard  to  resent,  assisting  me  in  the 
task  of  getting  together  my  various  belongings,  and — 
as  I  discovered  very  much  to  my  astonishment  upon 
my  last  night  in  Tangier — sleeping  upon  the  mat  at 
my  bedroom  door.  Next  morning  I  waited  until  the 
little  steamer  which  was  to  convey  me  to  Gibraltar 
had  gotten  up  her  steam  and  was  ready  for  departure, 
and  then  sallied  forth  to  the  Custom-house,  followed 
by  the  Sheikh,  Boaz,  and  a  line  of  laden  donkeys. 

My  baggage  had  all  passed  the  drowsy  eyes  of  the 
gorgeous  magnates  who  sit  in  the  place  of  fraud  and 
peculation  at  Tangier,  or  I  thought  so,  and  a  man 
came  running  to  inform  me  that  I  had  not  a  moment 
to  spare  if  I  was  to  catch  the  boat.  Then  an  elderly 
dignitary  in  robes  of  orange  and  violet  awoke  abruptly 
from  his  doze  and  ordered  a  couple  of  porters  to  open 


MY  FRIEND  THE  SHEIKH  111 

a  packing-case  of  books  and  curios  and  other  odd- 
ments, which  up  till  that  moment  I  had  overlooked. 
I  made  my  salaams  to  the  dignitary  and  assured  him 
that  the  contents  of  the  case  were  worthless.  He 
waved  me  from  him,  as  I  had  been  a  puff  of  cigarette 
smoke.  The  case  was  opened  and  my  poor  treasures 
scattered  far  and  wide. 

"  The  Nazarene  must  wait  till  another  day  ;  these 
matters  must  be  looked  into  carefully,"  murmured  the 
dignitary,  with  the  air  of  one  who  felt  that  for  him  to 
speak  at  all  was  an  act  of  ineffable  condescension. 

I  strayed  from  the  path  of  wisdom  and  spoke 
sharply  ;  not  abusively,  you  understand,  but  brusquely, 
and  with  reference  to  the  catching  of  a  boat  in 
Gibraltar.  It  was  more  than  enough  to  damn  my 
case,  it  seemed.  It  may  be  the  dignitary  had  taken 
an  over-dose  of  the  shameful  (kief-smoke)  on  the  pre- 
vious evening.  At  all  events  he  turned  his  head  aside 
languidly  and  muttered  something  to  a  colleague 
about  the  illegitimacy  and  pig-like  nature  of  Christians 
in  general,  and  of  myself  in  particular.  Unfortun- 
ately the  Sheikh,  who  stood  beside  me,  caught  the 
words. 

"  Dog,  and  thrice-damned  son  of  a  dog ! "  he 
bellowed.  And,  as  he  bounded  forward,  I  saw  his 
eighteen  -  inch  curved  dagger  flash  out  from  its 
scabbard.  A  long,  heavy  table  separated  the  officials 
from  ourselves,  the  herd.  I  sprang  at  the  Sheikh's 
fluttering  garments  to  hold  him  back.  A  dozen 
porters  leaped  in  his  way  as  he  growled  out  another 
withering  curse  upon  the  progeny  and  the  ancestry 
of  the  portly  administrator  behind  the  table. 

"  Hold  that  pig's  son  !  "  spluttered  the  official.  A 
colleague  leaned  over  and  whispered  to  him.  "The 


112  MOROCCO 

Kaid  of  Ain  Sfroo  will  pay  a  hundred  dollars  for  that 
dog's  body.  Hold  him  !  "  he  yelled. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  thought.  I  could 
not  afford  to  lose  my  boat.  It  was  certain  death  for 
the  Sheikh  to  be  left  behind ;  that  I  well  knew,  for 
who  may  oppose  a  Customs  Administrator  in  the  port 
of  Tangier  ?  None  of  them  would  dare  to  lay  hand 
upon  me. 

"  Come !  "  I  whispered,  behind  the  Sheikh.  "  Run 
with  me  for  your  life ! "  Trust  in  me  and,  I  think, 
obedience  to  me  had  become  an  instinct  with  this 
man.  He  turned  on  the  instant,  and  together  we 
raced  down  the  pier  to  where  a  small  boat  lay  piled 
high  with  my  baggage.  We  were  followed  hotly  by  at 
least  fifty  Moors.  Down  the  steps  we  cluttered,  after 
upsetting  the  elderly  official  who  wished  to  collect  toll 
from  us  at  the  pier-head.  We  had  no  time  for  paying 
toll. 

"  Out  oars  and  pull  for  your  life ! "  I  shouted  to  the 
boatmen.  "  Five  dollars  for  you  if  you  catch  the 
steamer ! " 

I  could  hear  the  cable  creaking  in  the  rusty  hawse- 
pipe  of  the  little  steamer.  The  skipper  was  an  old 
friend  of  mine. 

"  Get  under  way,  Cap'en!"  said  I,  the  moment 
we  touched  the  steamer's  deck.  "  The  boat's  moored 
alongside.  They'll  be  able  to  pick  up  my  baggage  all 
right/' 

And  he  did  it  like  a  Briton ;  and  the  small  flotilla 
that  had  put  out  after  us  was  a  good  mile  astern  when 
my  last  bag  was  thrown  aboard.  I  gave  those  boat- 
men seven  dollars ;  and  they  could  and  would  plead 
ignorance  of  the  whole  business  when  they  returned 
to  the  shore  and  the  Custom-house. 


BELOW  THE  SALT 

T)ROGRESSING   downward  from   those   castle- 

X        dwelling  feudal  lords  of  Morocco,  the  governors 

of  provinces,  one  finds  every  city  with  its  Basha  (from 

the  Turkish  bash  dghd,  or  chief  administrator),  who  is 

assisted  by  a  lieutenant  (khaleefa),  who,  again,  looks  to 

ijfour    m'kaddams,    or   foremen,    one   of  whom   is  re- 
sponsible for  the  supervision  of  each  quarter  of  the 
own.     The  Basha  holds  open  court  each  day,  from 
ix  or  seven  till  nine  or  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning, 

and  from  three  to  six  afternoon,  with  a  Sabbath 
lalf-holiday  on  Fridays.  His  court  may  be  held  in 
he  city  kasbah,  or  under  an  awning  before  his  door, 
or,  as  I  have  seen  it  in  sundry  lesser  towns,  in  a  miry 
stableyard.  In  either  case,  the  Basha  sits  or  reclines 
upon  cushions,  a  taleb  or  scribe  near  by,  and  the 
)ropitiating  gifts  of  litigants,  from  a  loaf  of  sugar  or 
packet  of  candles  to  a  bag  of  dollars,  ranged 
suggestively  behind  him.  A  few  of  his  soldiers 
generally  the  most  unashamed  rascals  in  the  town) 
are  always  within  hail,  for,  in  the  midst  of  a  heated 
argument,  or  when  presents  come  in  but  poorly, 
the  Basha  is  apt  to  order  a  general  thwacking  to  be 
administered  on  the  spot,  or  to  bundle  everyone 
concerned  in  the  case  before  him  off  to  prison,  there 
to  cool  their  heels  and  minds,  and  reflect  upon  the 
evils  of  litigiousness. 

No  record  is  ever  kept  of  punishments  adminis- 
H  113 


114  MOROCCO 

tered,  and  the  judge  rarely  mentions  any  term  in 
ordering  a  man  to  prison.  His  power  is  absolute  and 
unquestioned,  in  all  penalties  save  that  of  death,  for 
which  the  Sultan's  order  has  to  be  obtained.  The 
Basha  deals  with  all  important  cases  in  which 
bribing  upon  anything  like  a  large  scale  will  be  in- 
volved ;  whilst  petty  cases,  street  troubles  and  the 
like,  in  which  defendants  and  plaintiffs  are  not  ex- 
pected to  make  presents  of  many  shillings  in  value, 
come  before  the  Khaleefa's  court.  This  is  an  even  less 
ceremonious  temple  of  injustice  than  the  Basha's 
court,  but  its  hours  and  methods  are  very  similar. 
From  careful  observation  in  the  courts  of  various 
Khaleefas,  I  have  come  to  believe  that  the  scales  are 
held  evenly  enough,  to  this  extent,  that  accused  and 
accuser,  plaintiff  and  defendant,  occupy  much  the 
same  positions,  and  run  much  the  same  risks  in  an 
average  case  tried  before  Basha  or  Khaleefa.  The 
presents  from  both  sides  being  equal  in  value,  the 
plaintiff  is  at  least  as  likely  to  go  to  gaol  as  is  hisj 
opponent,  and  an  even  more  probable  contingency  is 
that  the  pair  of  them  will  be  bundled  off  together. 
Now,  the  suggestion  thus  conveyed,  the  moral  urged  is 
excellent :  don't  go  to  law ;  and  it  is  needed,  for  all 
Orientals  are  given  over  much  to  litigation. 

Seriously  considered,  however,  one   is   bound  to' 
admit  that  the  Moorish  courts  are  veritable  sinks  of 
chicanery,    corruption   and    venal  paltering  with   the 
country's  curse  of  palm   oil.      When  a   Moor  really 
desires  justice  in  a  vital  matter,  vengeance  upon  a^ 
murderer,   or  an  adulterer,  he  sharpens  his  dagger,; 
primes  his  flint-lock,  invokes  God's  blessing  upon  his 
errand,  and  sets  out  to  combine  the  offices  of  judge 
and  executioner  in   his   own  person  by  slaying  the 


BELOW  THE  SALT  115 

offender.  His  right  to  do  this  is  recognised  ;  indeed, 
such  a  course  is  expected  of  him,  though  the  accept- 
ance of  blood-money  is  allowed  at  times  to  wipe  out  a 
blood  feud. 

In  every  town  there  is  one  other  court  of  a  more 
formal  sort,  wherein  a  more  life-like  simulacrum  of 
iustice  obtains,  and  wakels  or  attorneys  ply  their 
vexatious  craft.  This  is  the  Kadi's  court,  and  the 
Kadi  is  by  way  of  being  a  law  lord  and  registrar- 
general  rather  than  a  criminal  judge ;  he  is  a  more  or 
less  ecclesiastical  civilian,  and  not  a  kaid,  or  militant 
power.  Here  all  documents  are  drawn  up  by  £dul,  or 
notaries  ;  there  is  a  Kadi's  fee  attaching  to  every  seal 
and  signature,  and  the  traffic  in  "  presents "  is  com- 
paratively inconsiderable,  and  not  open.  A  Kadi  may 
not  send  a  man  to  prison  for  more  than  three  days 
without  providing  a  written  statement  of  his  offence 
and  sentence.  He  may  not  order  fetters,  flogging  or 
torture,  and  his  decisions  must  always  be  written. 
This  is  the  theory.  As  a  fact,  any  man  of  standing 
may  have  an  unprotected  Moor  imprisoned  for  almost 
any  length  of  time,  or  beaten,  within  safe  limits,  by 
means  of  communicating  his  desire,  with  material 
compliments,  to  the  Basha. 

"  I  sent  that  rascal  up  to  the  kasbah  to  be  flogged 
this  morning.  He  had  been  tampering  with  .  .  . 
again." 

That  is  a  remark  which  the  present  writer  has 
heard  more  than  once  upon  the  lips  of  European 
residents  in  Moorish  ports.  There  is  a  European 
consul  in  Morocco  to-day  who  had  his  Moorish 
j  servant  well  beaten,  and  kept  (on  the  raw  edge  of 
starvation)  in  prison  for  exactly  one  year,  as  punish- 
ment for  having  plucked  and  eaten  a  ripe  pear  grow- 


116 


MOROCCO 


ing  in  an  uncultivated  garden  that  belonged  to  the 
consul.  In  this  case  the  whole  and  sole  ceremony  of 
evidence,  trial,  sentence  and  the  rest  was  crowded  into 
one  three-line  note  from  Christian  Consul  to  Muslim 
Basha  : — <c  Oblige  me  by  "  doing  this  thing  ;  and  it 
was  done. 

In  my  diary  of  an  early  visit  to  Tangier  I  find 
quite  a  good  deal  of  space  devoted  to  the  matter  of 
Bashas'  courts  and  so  forth.  Perhaps  I  took  Oriental 
venality  a  little  too  seriously  at  that  time.  But  the 
entry  is  descriptive,  and  it  shall  be  given  here  for  that 
reason. 


THE  PALM  OIL  CURSE 

I  FIND  that  the  presence  of  a  Nazarene,  particu- 
larly one  of  my  kidney  (known  here  as  a 
"scribe  and  a  maker  of  devil  business  in  books"),  is 
apt  to  hamper  the  progress  of  injustice  in  the 
Khaleefa's  court.  I  found  his  worship  inclined  to 
look  in  my  direction  and  then  to  temper  glaring 
roguery  and  tyranny  with  slow,  benevolent  smiles  of 
Oriental  suavity.  At  first  I  liked  to  think  that  in  this 
place  my  presence  served  to  temper  injustice  to  the 
shorn,  gaunt  wretches  who  figured  at  the  court.  A 
little  inquiry  and  observation  robbed  me  of  this 
soothing  unction.  The  event,  I  found,  was  quite 
unaltered.  All  the  change  I  brought  was  a  very 
slight  glozing,  a  little  courteous  veiling  of  the  surface 
corruption.  And  this  was  by  no  means  what  I 
wanted. 

So  I  took  Abd  es  Selam  into  my  confidence,  not 
for  the  first  time.  I  sauntered  in  the  locality  like  an 
anxious  litigant ;  Selam  looked  into  court  and 
listened,  with  sleepy,  careless  eyes.  I  received  my 
reports  toward  tiffin-time,  when  the  Khaleefa  retired 
for  his  siesta.  There  was  a  marked  sameness,  a  quite 
tiresome  monotony,  about  this  morning's  cases.  This 
I  noticed.  Seven  cases  were  of  the  order  in  which 
one  man  lays  a  complaint  against  another.  Four 
out  of  the  seven  ended  in  the  complainant  being 
dragged  off  to  prison,  whilst  the  defendant  stalked 

117 


118  MOROCCO 

abroad,  a  free  and  most  complaisant  man.  In  those 
four  cases  complainant  had  prefaced  his  plaint  by  a 
small  present  of  groceries.  Defendant,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  each  of  these  four  cases,  had  laid  coin  of  the 
realm,  in  a  paper,  at  the  Khaleefa's  feet.  Food  is 
cheap  here.  His  worship  prefers  coin. 

Lack  of  space  hampers  me,  but  one  specimen  case 
I  must  tell  of  here. 

Mohamet,  a  Tangier  Moor,  appeared  in  the: 
Khaleefate  and  complained  that  Cassim,  Riffi,  had 
man-handled  him  in  the  open  market.  Mohamet 
desired  that  Cassim  might  be  beaten  in  the  kasbah 
for  this.  At  the  same  time  he  placed  four  packets  of 
candles  and  three  dollars,  a  very  respectable  gift,  on  a 
mat  beside  the  Khaleefa.  His  worship  grunted 
affably  and  sent  two  soldiers  for  Cassim.  Mohamet 
waited  to  watch  events.  A  man  of  experience  is 
Mohamet.  Cassim  presently  appeared,  a  splendid 
specimen  of  a  mountain  man,  with  wild  eyes  which  he 
kept  downcast.  And  that  was  the  loss  of  him ;  for, 
even  in  Mohamet's  presence,  his  eyes  might  have 
telegraphed  the  Khaleefa  promise  of  a  bribe.  This 
is  quite  a  customary  method.  However,  Cassim 
obstinately  eyed  the  floor.  Seeing,  therefore,  that  he 
had  an  obdurate  rascal  to  deal  with,  the  Khaleefa 
sighed  (he  naturally  prefers  a  bribe  from  both 
sides)  and,  without  a  question  of  any  sort,  said  to 
Cassim, — 

"  So,  dog,  you  will  fall  upon  good  Muslim  in  here  in 
Tangier  and  beat  them,  eh  ?  "  Then,  to  the  soldiers  : 
<c  Take  him  to  the  prison  and  scourge  him  well — two 
hundred  strokes.  Leave  him  there.'' 

This  quotation  is  unadorned  and  as  literal  as  I 
can  make  it.  Cassim  was  led  away,  too  proud  to 


THE  PALM  OIL  CURSE  119 

speak.  I  rode  after  him  toward  the  prison.  My  man 
remained  in  the  court. 

Just  as  we  reached  the  prison's  outer  courtyard 
a  soldier  overtook  us,  breathless,  and  followed  closely 
by  my  Moor.  We  were  ordered  back  to  court.  On 
the  way  Abd  es  Selam  fell  back  and  explained  to 
me.  CassinYs  uncle,  it  appeared,  was  a  man  of  some 
substanpe,  and  the  owner  of  many  mules.  He  had 
arrived  at  court  five  minutes  after  Cassim's  start  from 
thence  for  the  prison.  He  had  spoken  with  the 
Khaleefa,  and  Selam  had  watched  him  count  out 
twelve  dollars  into  his  worship's  hand.  On  our 
return  I  entered  the  court  at  Cassim's  heels.  This 
is  what  passed. 

The  Khaleefa,  good-humouredly :  "  How  is  this, 
Riffi  (Cassim)  ?  How  comes  it  you  did  not  tell  me 
you  had  not  truly  beaten  Mohamet?"  Cassim,  the 
Riffi,  sulkily  :  "  Lord,  why  should  I  talk  of  such 
cattle  ?  The  beating  that  I  gave  him  was — " 

The  Khaleefa:  c<  Eh,  eh;*shwei,  shwei !  This 
my  court  is  not  the  market-place.  I  cannot  have  so 
much  noise.  Go  away,  all  of  you !  " 

"  But,  Lord — "  began  complainant  Mohamet. 

"  Outside!  Away  with  you,  I  say!  Go  and  talk 
to  the  Kadi."  (That  is,  go  and  hold  your  peace; 
for  the  Kadi  has  no  jurisdiction  in  such  cases.)  So 
the  Riffi  swaggered  out  into  the  sunshine,  and 
Mohamet,  crestfallen,  followed  him,  doubtless  medi- 
tating a  fresh  scheme  of  revenge,  in  which  he  would 
be  more  careful  in  the  matter  of  out-bribing  his 
enemy.  As  a  fact,  by  the  way,  Cassim  is  a  truculent 
fellow,  and  he  had  rather  severely  mauled  the  puling 
Tangier  man,  more  out  of  bravado  than  from  any 
other  motive.  An  inconsiderable  affair,  truly,  but 


120  MOROCCO 

it  must  have  been  fifteen  dollars  in  the  worthy 
Khaleefa's  pocket,  and  it  may  serve  as  a  fair 
illustration  of  Moorish  methods  in  matters  big 
and  little  where  the  administration  of  justice  is 
concerned. 


BELOW  THE  SURFACE 

VILLAGES   and   small   towns   in    Morocco   are 
administered   by   sheikhs,  or   elders,    and   all 
property  of  mosques,  shrines,  receptacles  for  pious  offer- 
ings and  the  like,    are  under   the  control  of  special 
officials.     Such  an  officer  is  called  a  madhir,  and  he  is 
generally  an  interested  party  in  at  least  one  law-suit, 
for  the  Church  of  Islam,  like  the  Church  in  Western 
communities,  has  always  been  inclined  to  extend  its 
boundaries,  and   to  "  creep   in "  upon  the  lands  and 
belongings  of  individuals,  to  use  a  phrase  which  will 
crop   up    in    dealing   with    Morocco,    while   yet   the 
country    remains     unabsorbed     by     its    neighbour, 
Algeria.      Village    administration    illustrates   clearly 
how,  down  to  the  smallest  detail,  the  feudal  and  the 
tribal  spirits  rule   in    Morocco.     The   inhabitants  of 
every  village  are   responsible   to  their  sheikh,  he  to 
the  nearest  basha,  who  answers  to  the  governor  of  the 
province,  who  again  is  responsible  to  the  goverment 
for  robbery  or  other  loss  by  whosoever  caused  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  that  village.     Indeed,  the  trades- 
men in  a  city  street  are  held  liable  in  the  event  of 
robbery  or  damage  in  their  neighbourhood,  and  if  a 
foreigner  is  maltreated  or  loses  property  in  an  affray 
(often  brought  about  by  his  own  ignorance  or  insol- 
ence),   and    his    consul    claims    damages    from    the 
Moorish  Goverment,  it  is  the  residents  of  the  street 
in  which  the  trouble   occurred,  be   they  the  poorest 

121 


122  MOROCCO 

and  least  guilty  in  the  city,  who  have  to  suffer  and 

Pay- 
Touching  two  widely  different  classes  of  foreigners 

this  system  produces  two  bad  results.  Putting 
foreigners  out  of  the  question,  it  is  well  enough 
adapted  to  the  usages  of  the  community  by  which  it 
was  evolved.  The  first  kind  of  outlander  allows 
natural  kindliness  to  over-rule  his  citizen  sense,  and, 
well  knowing  that  complaint  and  the  claiming  of 
damages  will  bring  suffering  upon  innocent  persons, 
allows  himself,  as  ill-luck  directs,  to  be  robbed  or 
assaulted  without  taking  any  steps  to  obtain  redress. 
The  second  sort,  a  disgrace  to  Western  civilisation, 
allows  mercenary  greed  to  swamp  common  honesty 
and  common  humanity,  and,  when  robbed  of  a 
sovereign,  claims  a  ^100,  and  even,  failing  a 
convenient  pretext,  invents,  or  arranges,  a  sham 
assault  or  robbery  to  serve  as  ground  upon  which  to 
lay  a  claim  against  the  Moorish  Government,  and 
thus  afflict  a  section  of  the  Moorish  community  by 
oppression  and  extortion. 

The  writer  could  name  at  this  moment  a  Christian 
(in  Morocco  all  foreigners  are  "  Christians" — 
Nazarenes — or  "Jews" — Htidis) — the  son  of  a 
European  merchant  of  some  standing,  who,  within  the 
past  three  years,  robbed  the  Moorish  Government  and 
people  in  this  way  of  some  hundreds  of  pounds — say 
^400 — well  knowing  that  the  villagers  that  were 
harassed,  or,  in  Moorish  phrase,  u  squeezed,"  to 
provide  this  basis  of  three  months'  dissipated  living 
for  him  were  gaunt,  country  Moors  with  whom  life 
was  an  unceasing  fight  for  bare  sustenance.  This 
Christian  was  of  the  type  whose  members  earn  the 
reputation  of  being  good  fellows,  genial,  happy-go- 


BELOW  THE  SURFACE  123 

lucky,  hearty  dogs,  liberal  with  their  money  in  bar- 
rooms, and  jovially  lewd  in  conversation.  He  care- 
fully planned  his  make-believe  robbery  with  the  rascally 
Tangerine  Moor  who  accompanied  him  as  servant 
upon  a  short  journey  inland.  Two  days  before  the 
event  he  borrowed  ten  dollars  and  a  shirt  from  a 
friend  of  mine  whose  hospitality  he  abused  in  an 
inland  town.  His  every  action,  during  weeks 
previous  to  this,  had  bespoken  unmistakable  impecuni- 
osity.  His  entire  caravan  had  scarcely  brought  him 
a  hundred  depreciated  Spanish  dollars  if  put  up  to 
auction  in  Tangier  Sok.  Yet  his  claim  for  goods  and 
money  stolen  from  his  tent  was  fixed  at  3000  of  those 
dollars,  and,  after  the  usual  delays,  he  actually 
received  $1800  or  about  ^300  sterling. 

This  man,  with  his  rascally  servant  and  their 
company,  camped  outside  a  village,  which  only  respect 
for  the  law  that  makes  the  telling  of  some  truths 
libellous  prevents  my  naming  here.  The  sheikh  of 
that  village,  acting  upon  the  Arab  code  of  hospitality, 
sent  out  the  half  of  a  sheep,  tea,  candles  and 
other  small  matters  for  the  stranger,  with  whom,  to 
his  credit  be  it  said,  he  had  absolutely  nothing  in 
common.  The  sham  robbery,  with  all  the  requisite 
accessories  of  revolver-shooting  and  the  like,  was 
brought  off  toward  morning.  A  few  months  later 
that  hospitable  sheikh  was  visited  by  Government 
soldiery,  who  stripped  the  village  of  money,  food, 
stock  and  all  else  upon  which  money  might  be  raised, 
obtaining  the  equivalent  of  perhaps  $4000,  of 
which  close  upon  2000  reached  the  consul  whose 
misfortune  it  was  to  have  for  fellow-countryman  the 
Christian  hero  of  this  sordid  escapade. 

One   wishes  it  might   fairly  be   added  that  such 


124  MOROCCO 

despicable  abuses  were  rare  in  Morocco.      Unfoftu-  | 
nately  the  facts  forbid  such  a  commentary.     On  the 
contrary,  the  conclusion  one  is  regretfully  forced  to  by 
study  of  the  relations  of  Europeans   and  Moors  in  | 
Morocco  is  that  upon  the  whole  these  relations  have 
bred    deterioration    on    both    sides,    and  that  most 
notably  upon  the  professedly  superior  side. 

No  European  resident  who  has  learned  to  know 
Morocco  cares  to  have  for  servant,  or  as  member  of 
his  household  in  any  capacity  whatever,  a  Moor  who 
has  been  brought  into  sufficiently  intimate  relations 
with  foreigners  to  have  acquired  knowledge  of  a  foreign 
tongue ;  no  Moor  in  Morocco  is  rated  so  low  by  his 
own  countrymen,  and  by  foreigners,  as  the  Tangier 
Moor ;  and  rightly  so.  (Tangier  is,  of  course,  the 
most  Christianised  town  in  the  country ;  the  only 
town,  in  fact,  in  which  foreign  influences  have  obtained 
any  appreciable  hold.)  There  can  be  no  blinking  the 
tendencies  evidenced  by  these  facts.  A  dozen  others, 
equally  suggestive,  could  be  cited  by  any  observant 
student  of  the  country  and  its  institutions.  European 
standards  of  right  will  never  be  adopted  by  the  Moors, 
nor  yet  by  any  other  of  those  Eastern  peoples  whose 
codes  were  a  fixed  part  of  their  civilisation  while  yet 
half-naked  savages  worshipped  stocks  and  stones  in 
the  future  home  of  the  Church  of  England. 

The  virtues  of  the  Moors,  or,  to  fit  Christendom's 
standpoint,  let  us  say  the  best  gifts  of  the  Moors,  will 
never  be  acquired  by  the  Europeans  who  come  into 
touch  with  them,  for  the  reason  that  the  product  of 
Western  civilisation  has  little  use  for  these  gifts,  and 
would  find  them  as  ill-fitting  as  suits  of  mail  or  any 
other  part  of  the  panoply  of  bygone  days.  On  the 
other  hand,  men's  vices  are  infectious  and  make 


BELOW  THE  SURFACE  125 

mock  of  racial  bars.  The  Moors,  a  decadent  nation, 
find  it  easy  to  slip  into  habits  unwholesome  even  for 
the  Europeans  who  introduce  them,  deadly  for  the 
unaccustomed  Moors  who  are  infected  by  them.  The 
Westerners,  a  pushful  and  a  masterful  people,  find  it 
difficult  to  hold  their  own  in  a  country  populated 
by  men  naturally  cunning  and  unrestrained  by  the 
scruples  which  go  to  make  up  the  Western  code  of 
honour — difficult,  if  not  impossible,  without  resorting 
to  the  weapons  of  their  opponents.  Now,  the  use  of 
those  weapons,  of  cunning,  intrigue  and  fatalistic 
complaisance,  whilst  natural  and  fitting  for  a  Moor 
among  Moors,  means  a  descent  into  something  like 
criminality  for  a  man  of  Western  faith  and  up-bring- 
ing. And  hence  the  deterioration  upon  the  Christian 
side  which  comes  of  Moorish-European  commercial 
intercourse. 

In  such  matters  one  speaks  of  broad  results, 
putting  aside  isolated  cases  and  individual  peculiar- 
ities which  make  for  exceptions  to  all  general  rules. 
It  is  nothing  to  do  with  race  or  religion  ;  it  is  only 
the  curse  of  the  money-hunt  that  is  at  the  root  of 
this  deterioration  you  notice,"  said  a  European 
diplomatist  to  the  present  writer.  But  I  think  the 
diplomatist  was  at  fault.  The  curse  of  the  money- 
hunt  is  over  all  the  civilised  earth  ;  it  is  but  one  of  the 
touchstones,  the  dangerous  points  of  contact  in  the 
corrosive  friction  referred  to  here.  The  fact  is  that 
among  civilised  communities  the  great  majority  are 
centred  upon  the  money-hunt.  It  is  so,  also,  in  the 
little  European  community  in  Morocco.  The  money- 
hunt  and  the  restless  energy  which  spurs  men  to  it 
are  integral  parts  of  Western  civilisation.  Broadly 
speaking,  the  great  mass  of  Europeans  are  engaged 


126  MOROCCO 

always  in  the  endeavour  to  make  profit  one  from  out 
another.  The  description  holds  good  as  applied  to 
the  most  of  Europeans  in  Morocco,  where  a  white 
man  needs  must  be  either  a  consul  or  a  trader.  And 
that  kind  of  commerce  which  in  Europe  is  called 
legitimate,  the  most  honourable  sorts  of  trafficking, 
would  certainly  not  prove  profitable  in  Morocco. 
Yet  the  men  of  Europe  are  not  wont  to  engage 
persistently  in  unprofitable  commerce.  The  true 
deduction  is  obvious. 

But  the  deteriorating  influence  goes  farther,  and 
even  the  few  who  are  not,  primarily  at  all  events, 
interested  in  the  money-hunt  can  seldom  altogether 
escape  it,  though,  in  the  case  of  this  small  section, 
honour  may  go  unscathed ;  the  man  moral  may  hold 
his  own  ;  the  man  emotional,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
must  suffer.  Morocco  is  nominally  an  independent 
realm.  European  notions  of  right  and  wrong, 
humanity  and  inhumanity,  cannot  therefore  be  upheld 
or  enforced  in  Morocco.  A  European  resident  of 
the  country  is  brought  daily  into  contact  with  cases 
which,  judged  by  his  standards,  display  gross  in- 
humanity and  criminal  immorality.  His  attitude 
toward  these  things  must  needs  be  one  of  protest  and 
opposition,  or  of  silent  contempt.  Now,  silent 
contempt  is  apt  to  lapse  into  indifference,  and  in- 
difference soon  becomes  something  like  tacit  approval ; 
and  that  spells,  at  least,  emotional  deterioration  for 
the  individual.  Active  protest,  on  the  other  hand, 
while  Morocco  remains  the  Moorish  Empire,  means 
broken  health,  broken  fortune,  shattered  nerves  and 
failure,  probable  exile  from  the  country,  certain 
failure. 

These  are  not  pleasing  statements  to  make,  and 


BELOW  THE  SURFACE  127 

as  only  actual  experience  can  convince  the  average 
man  of  their  truth,  the  making  of  them  is  an  un- 
grateful task,  and  a  painful  one  to  boot,  for  a  lover 
of  Morocco.  But  they  are  true,  and,  making  them 
here,  the  lover  of  Morocco  who  writes  these  lines  is 
reminded  of  many  a  tale  that  would  demonstrate 
the  truth  of  them  clearly  enough.  But  such  tales 
are  all  of  wrong-doing,  of  cruelty  and  of  deterioration. 
They  are  sordid  stories,  both  those  that  tell  of  white 
men's  treachery  to  the  ideals  of  their  race  and  those 
that  show  how  contact  with  our  belauded  civilisation 
has  corroded  the  souls  and  enfeebled  the  bodies  of 
fine,  lusty  young  semi-savages  among  the  mountain 
men  of  Sunset  Land.  I  had  liefer  tell  you  of 
exceptions,  I  think. 

You  remember  the  young  Sheikh  of  Tazigah, 
Abd  el  Majeed,  who  unsuccessfully  endeavoured  to 
skewer  a  portly  Customs  administrator  in  the 
supposed  interests  of  a  fellow-countryman  of  my 
own  ?  That  same  friend  of  mine  has  written  down 
for  me  some  few  of  the  Sheikh's  experiences  in 
England  after  they  left  Tangier  together.  I  must 
give  you  these. 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

WHEN  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed  landed  with  me 
from  the  P.  &  O.  boat  at  the  docks  in 
London  I  felt  constrained  to  point  out  to  him  that 
the  London  Customs  authorities  were  neither  tyrants 
nor  brigands,  that  they  would  not  insult  or  prey  upon 
us,  and  that  a  new  arrival  must  by  no  means  draw 
dagger  upon  them.  I  remembered  our  adventure 
beside  the  old  pier  at  Tangier,  you  see,  and  knew  of 
the  deadly-curved  weapon,  with  its  sheath  and  hilt  of 
fretted  silver,  that  hung  by  a  rope  of  green  silk  under 
Majeed's  left  arm-pit.  His  snowy  djellab  covered 
all,  however,  and  gave  him  the  most  innocent  sort  of 
exterior. 

An  apter  hand  at  picking  up  a  language  than  my 
friend,  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed,  I  have  yet  to  meet. 
Already,  though  it  was  less  than  a  week  since  our 
victorious,  if  not  very  dignified,  departure  from 
Morocco,  he  had  quite  a  good  deal  of  English,  and 
was  able  to  make  himself  understood  in  the  most 
masterful  speech  known  to  Christendom — not  with 
fluency,  of  course,  but  sufficiently.  Vegetables  were 
always  "  keftables  "  with  Majeed,  and  breakfast  was 
"brefkiss"  ;  bullocks  or  cows  were  "  catties,"  and  the 
flesh  of  his  body  was  Majeed's  "meat."  But  what 
would  you  ?  He  could  ask  for  what  he  wanted  in 
this  life,  and  his  dignity  was  such  that  if  he  had  had 
to  chase  his  fez  along  the  gutter  on  a  windy  day  and 

128 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    129 

apologise   for  knocking  over  an  apple-woman  in  the 

chase,  I  am  convinced  that  he  could  and  would  have 

accomplished  it  without  turning  a  hair  or  appearing  in 

he   least   ridiculous.       It   is  a  singular   thing,  that; 

)ut  you  may  put  a  Moorish  gentleman  in  any  sort  of 

)osition   or  predicament  that  you  shall    choose,  and 

lowever  absurd  it  be  he  will  never  look  less  than  a 

Moorish  gentleman,  which  is  to  say  a  monument  of 

eposeful  dignity. 

My   people   were   somewhat   astonished   when    I 

arrived  at  the  dear  old  place  at  Crookham  Highlow 

vith    the    Sheikh.       He    created    something    of    a 

ensation  at  Crookham  station,  with  his  bare,   corn- 

oloured  legs,  and  his  vivid,  lemon-coloured  slippers 

,nd  flowing  robes.     The  rumour  went  abroad  that  I 

lad  brought  an  Indian  prince  home  with  me  (there 

re  a  number  of  retired  Anglo-Indian  officials  in  the 

Drookham  district,  and  the  village  prides  itself  upon 

ts  Eastern  lore),  and  all  the  callers  at  the  Hall  were 

nxious  to  see  Abd  el  Majeed.     I    was   glad  to  be 

iome   again — for   a  while — despite   the  pile   of  bills 

bat  lay  on  the  table  in  my  den  ;  and  the  first  evening 

tands    out    clearly    in    my    recollection — a    cheery 

icture  to  keep  in  one's  mind  to  look  at  on  cloudy 

ays,  or  when  the  thread  of  one's  affairs  grows  more 

ban  ordinarily  twisted. 

We  sat  in  the  big  hall,  where  a  low  fire  smouldered 

n  the  hearth  though   summer   was   at   hand.      My 

ather   smoked    his   cigar   in  his  favourite  great  oak 

hair,   with  the  ecclesiastical-looking  wings,  which  I 

Iways  said  made  it  remind  one  of  a  sacristy.     My 

nother  was   on  the   couch  beside  the   chimney ;  my 

ttle  sister  Betty  (there  were  never  but  the  two  of 

s  in  our  family)  was  curled  upon  a  cushion  at  my 

i 


130  MOROCCO 

feet,  giving  me  the  news  of  the  year  and  the  gossip  of 
the  parish  ;  and  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where  a  broad 
ray  of  light  from  the  staircase  window  told  us  the 
moon  was  almost  as  its  full,  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed 
squatted  in  his  snowy  robes,  fingering  a  gimbri  he 
had  brought  with  him,  and  supplying  for  me  the 
Oriental  and  picturesque  element  required  to  make 
our  little  picture  perfect.  A  gimbri,  you  must  know, 
is  a  queer,  melodious  little  instrument  much  in 
favour  among  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  Moors,  and 
not  unlike  a  mandolin. 

Long  after  our  father  and  mother  had  left  us  for 
the  night,  I  lounged  there,  and  smoked  and  listened! 
to  Betty's  chat,  and  watched  the  moonlight  stroking 
Majeed's  scarlet  fez,  with  its  long,  dark   blue  tassel.) 
It  seemed  we  were  all  going  to  Harborough  in  a 
days,  to  spend  a  week  with  old  friends,  the  Stuart- j 
Grahams,  who  were  giving  a  grand  ball  in  honour  ol 
the  coming  of  age  of  their  only  daughter,  Elsie,  wh< 
had  been   a  sweetheart  of  mine  when  we  were  both! 
children  and  the  Stuart-Grahams  had  lived  in  Crook- 
ham  Highlow.    Betty  was  madly  excited  at  the  prospect,] 
and  I  gathered  that  the  reason  of  her  rejoicing  was 
that  a  certain  Lieutenant  Foster  of  the  nth  Hussars,! 
a  man  I  had  never  met,  would  be  one  of  our  fellow-j 
guests    at    Frampton    House,    the    Stuart-Grahams' 
place.     This    Lieutenant   Foster   had   met   Betty   atl 
Cowes,  it  seemed,  and  had  subsequently  spent  a  week 
or  two  with  his  mother,  I  understood,  at  our  place, 
when  the  house  had  been  full  of  visitors.     Of  course,, 
little  Betty  did  not   tell   me  the   thing   in   so  many|2 
words,  but  I   could  plainly  see  she  was  as  much  inj 
love  with  the  Lieutenant  as  a  girl  dare  be  before  al 
man   proposes   to  her ;  and  I    mentally   prayed   thatm 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    131 

Foster  might  prove  a  decent  sort,  whilst  promising 
myself  to  make  his  acquaintance  and  keep  a  very 
sharp  eye  on  the  young  man. 

"  I'm  a  selfish  beggar  to  remain  away  from  home 
so  much,"  I  told  myself. 

A  couple  of  days  later  I  had  a  note  from  Elsie 
Stuart-Graham,  saying  she  was  delighted  to  hear  of 
my  return  in  time  for  her  ball,  and  that  she  had  heard 
rom  Betty  of  my  "  quite  delightful  Moor  !  "  I  was  to 

very  sure  and  bring  Abd  el  Majeed  with  me,  a 
room  would  be  set  apart  for  him  (as  a  fact,  he  always 
nsisted  on  sleeping  at  my  door)  and  he  would 
certainly  prove  the  chief  attraction  of  the  week  ;  and, 
inally,  the  writer  was,  in  inverted  commas,  affection- 
ately my  "  Elskins  " — the  name  I  had  bestowed  upon 
ler  when  we  were  children  together,  and  now  had 
not  heard  for  at  least  thirteen  or  fourteen  years.  She 
lad  been  but  seven  years  old  when  I  was  twelve. 

Accordingly,  then,  we  started  in  the  old  landau 
next  morning  for  the  Stuart-Grahams,  the  distance 
was  no  more  than  twenty-eight  miles,  so  we  were  to 
drive,  sending  the  horses  back  on  the  following  day. 
My  father  held  that  the  railway  was  a  useful 
nstitution  for  the  transport  of  one's  luggage,  but  that 
t  was  no  <c  conveyance  for  a  gentleman,  sir,  while 
there  is  a  decent  pair  of  horses  in  the  land  " — Sheikh 
Abd  el  Majeed,  attired  resplendently,  and  gravely 
ingering  his  rosary,  sat  beside  old  Sparrow,  our 
coachman,  on  the  box,  and  viewed  the  country  round 
ndulgently,  as  one  who,  being  himself  of  the  Faith, 
and  sure  of  a  superfine  pavilion  in  Paradise,  could 
afford  to  overlook  small  discrepancies  in  the  lives  and 
properties  of  unbelieving  and  less-favoured  mortals 
lere  upon  earth.  I  afterwards  ascertained  that  he 


132  MOROCCO 

treated  Sparrow  to  a  lengthy  dissertation  upon  the 
art  of  driving  and  the  general  management  of  horses  ; 
Majeed,  who,  though  a  perfect  horseman,  had  never  | 
seen  a  vehicle  or  harness  in  his  life  until  a  week  , 
before  this  day.  And  the  odd  thing  about  it  was  that  I 
old  Sparrow,  the  most  autocratic  of  coachmen,  took  it  [ 
all  in  good  part,  and  expressed  great  good  feeling  and  ? 
admiration  where  the  Sheikh  was  concerned.  This  j 
may  have  been  partly  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  I 
understood  no  more  than  about  twenty  per  cent,  of  j 
what  the  Moor  said.  But  it  was  doubtless  also  ( 
owing,  in  part,  to  the  extreme  charm  and  dignity  of  I 
the  Sheikh's  manner  and  bearing. 

The  ball  took  place  on  the  night  following  that  of  I 
our  arrival  at  Frampton  House,  and,  for  a  reason  that  [ 
will   afterwards   appear,    my  dear  little  sister  Betty 
went  to  bed  with  tears  in  her  blue  eyes  when  all  was 
over,   and    I    went   cursing    Lieutenant   Foster,   and 
longing  unreasonably  for  an  excuse  to  pull  his  nose 
without  involving  my  sister.     And  that  was   not  at 
all  as  it  should  have  been  in  a  house  full  of  happy 
guests,    bent    seriously   upon    no    other   thing   than 
festivity. 

Elsie,  the  daughter  of  the  house,  in  whose  honour 
all  this  jollification  was,  created  quite  a  sensation,  and 
was  acknowledged  a  beauty.  Her  demeanour  was 
quite  charming,  but  I  had  no  eyes  for  that,  being 
occupied  with  my  little  sister's  distress  about  the 
confounded  Lieutenant.  To  be  sure,  everybody  was 
smitten  by  the  charms  of  Elsie ;  but  to  my  unreason- 
able brother's  mind  it  did  appear  that  Lieutenant 
Foster  had  no  earthly  right  to  share  the  common  fate, 
or  to  number  himself  so  obsequiously  among  the 
beauty's  court.  He  must  have  given  Betty  good 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    133 

grounds  for  entertaining  toward  him  the  feelings  she 
had,  I  thought ;  and  so —  Confound  the  man ! — he 
deserved  horse-whipping  for  bringing  tears  to  her 
eyes  by  joining  the  throng  that  paid  court  to  Elsie. 
Feeling  all  this  as  I  did,  I  hardly  exchanged  a  dozen 
words  with  "Elskins"  myself,  though  she  did  give 
me  several  opportunities. 

When  Elsie's  health  was  drunk,  all  standing  at 
supper,  I  am  bound  to  say  I  think  I  never  saw  a 
woman,  young  or  old,  look  more  radiantly  beautiful. 
She  was  exquisitely  dressed  in  some  mysterious 
white  material,  and  upon  her  head  she  wore  the 
famous  Stuart-Graham  tiara,  given  her  that  day  by 
her  father,  the  General.  Now,  you  have  probably 
heard  of  the  Stuart-Graham  tiara — everyone  has ;  but 
unless  you  have  held  it  in  your  hand  you  can  hardly 
hope  to  realise  what  a  superb  thing  it  is,  with  the 
great  Rajput  diamond  blazing  out  of  its  centre  like 
the  eye  of  some  wondrous  genie  of  Eastern  story. 
How  the  General  became  possessed  of  this  historic 
gem  I  cannot  say ;  but  I  know  that  experts  call  it  the 
seventh  jewel  in  the  world,  and  I  should  call  it  the 
most  wonderful  thing  of  its  sort  I  ever  saw.  General 
Stuart-Graham  was  for  years  Commander-in-Chief  at 
the  court  of  the  Rajput  Maharajah  of  Jeysulmeer,  but 
it  was  certainly  wonderful  that  he  should  have  become 
the  owner  of  the  famous  Jeysulmeer  diamond.  How- 
ever, it  was  his,  and  it  served  to  make  the  otherwise 
beautiful  Stuart-Graham  tiara  a  crown  of  exceeding 
glory ;  just  as  the  tiara  served  to  make  an  otherwise 
beautiful  maiden  a  queen  of  exceeding  loveliness  on 
the  night  of  Elsie's  ball.  The  Stuart-Graham 
champagne  was  well  enough,  as  '84  Pommery  must 
needs  be,  but  it  seemed  that  Elsie  and  her  tiara 


134  MOROCCO 

turned  the  heads  of  the  men,  quite  apart  from  her 
father's  excellent  wine. 

"And  to  think  that  if  I  only  had  diamonds  like 
Elsie's,  Lieutenant — to  think —  Oh,  how  I  wish  her 
diamonds  were  mine ! "  half  sobbed  poor  little  Betty 
when  I  walked  with  her  as  far  as  her  door  after  the 
ball.  Behind  us  stalked  the  Sheikh.  In  some 
mysterious  way  of  his  own  he  seemed  to  have 
grasped  the  inwardness  of  the  situation. 

"  Lalla,"  said  he,  as  he  bade  my  sister  good-night 
(he  always  addressed  Betty  and  my  mother  in  this 
way,  as  "Lady")  "we  are  in  Allah's  hands,  and 
truly  only  He  knows."  He  lapsed  into  Arabic, 
looking  to  me  for  interpretation.  "If  it  be  written 
that  you  should  have  such  jewels,  you  will  certainly 
have  them.  In  any  case,  all  will  be  well  for  you. 
Therefore,  grieve  not.  We  are  in  God's  hands/' 

And  so  we  parted  for  the  night,  the  Sheikh 
following  me  as  usual  to  my  room.  There  I  left  him, 
however,  having  an  itching  desire  to  see  more  of  the 
man  who  had  made  my  sister  so  unhappy.  I  knew 
the  lieutenant  had  made  for  the  big  smoking-room,  so 
I  betook  myself  thither  for  a  final  smoke,  bent  upon 
making  some  study  of  the  man.  If  he  seemed  to  me 
the  mere  trifler  that  I  suspected  he  was,  I  intended 
that  our  acquaintance  should  not  be  a  very  agreeable 
one  for  him. 

Several  guests  left  the  house  on  the  following 
morning,  and  workmen  were  about  the  hall  and 
staircase,  removing  decorations  of  a  temporary 
character  which  had  been  arranged  for  the  ball.  We, 
however,  were  to  remain  for  another  two  or  three  days, 
and  so  was  Lieutenant  Foster.  I  noticed  that  he 
strolled  out  into  the  garden  with  Elsie  soon  after 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    135 

breakfast,  and  Betty's  eyes  met  mine,  sadly,  as  the 
two  disappeared  from  view. 

"  Hang  the  man  ! "  I  muttered ;  and,  lighting  a 
cigar,  started  with  Betty,  followed  as  usual  by  Sheikh 
Abd  el  Majeed,  to  see  the  kennels.  The  General 
kept  a  pack  of  otter  hounds,  and  his  kennels  were 
famous. 

A  few  minutes  before  luncheon,  when  most  of  the 
household  were  gathered  together  in  the  hall,  we  all 
became  aware  (I  was  never  sure  exactly  how  the 
news  arrived)  that  something  serious  had  happened. 
For  some  little  time  there  was  muttering,  and  running 
to  and  fro,  and  a  general  buzz  of  uneasiness,  without 
anyone  appearing  to  know  precisely  what  the  trouble 
was.  Then  the  General  came  marching  out  of  the 
library,  and  ran  upstairs,  taking  three  steps  in  one, 
with  never  a  word  to  the  rest  of  us.  Half  a  minute 
later  Mrs  Stuart-Graham  announced  that  the  famous 
tiara,  containing  the  Jeysulmeer  diamond,  the  seventh 
jewel  in  the  world,  had  been  stolen  from  Elsie's  bed- 
room. She  used  the  word  "lost,"  but — one  does  not 
drop  famous  tiaras  under  corners  of  one's  carpets. 

If  one  of  the  guests  in  the  house  had  been  killed 
it  could  hardly  have  created  more  of  a  sensation,  or 
spread  more  gloom  over  the  house.  We  all  knew 
that  this  was  no  ordinary  misfortune,  and  that  the  loss 
of  this  tiara  was  the  loss  of  a  fortune  from  the 
monetary  standpoint,  and  of  a  historic  treasure  apart 
from  its  mere  selling  value.  It  was  one  of  those 
events  which  are  a  little  too  serious  to  talk  about,  and 
which  yet  cannot  be  overlooked  in  talk  with  those 
concerned.  Before  the  dinner-hour  arrived  we  were 
all  feeling  this  so  strongly  that  the  guests  decided  in 
a  body  to  curtail  their  visits  and  leave  on  the  following 


136  MOROCCO 

day.  Some,  in  fact,  left  that  evening,  Lieutenant 
Foster  among  them ;  and  my  father  telegraphed  for 
his  horses  during  the  afternoon,  and  decided  that  we 
should  set  out  homewards  next  morning. 

In  the  meantime  the  General  received  the  following 
telegraphic  message  from  Scotland  Yard  in  reply  to 
one  he  had  sent  off  as  soon  as  the  loss  was  dis- 
covered : — 

"  Two  men  on  way  to  your  house.  Please  detain 
everybody  in  house." 

"Well,  that  is  all  right,"  said  the  General,  a  man 
very  loyal  to  his  class  and  to  his  friends.  "  No  one 
has  left  except — er — except  our  own — that  is  to  say, 
only  our  friends  have  left  the  house  to-day.  There 
are  a  good  many  work- folk  about,  and  those  can  wait 
till  these  police  fellows  come."  An  order  was  given 
that  no  servant  was  to  leave  the  premises,  and  we 
settled  down  for  an  evening  of  chill  discomfort. 

At  six  o'clock  the  detectives  arrived,  and  it  was 
explained  to  us  that  the  boxes  of  all  the  servants  were 
to  be  examined,  and  that  therefore,  as  a  matter  of  form, 
the  General  would  be  obliged  if  we  would  allow  the 
detectives  to  go  through  our  baggage. 

"  It's  rather  ridiculous  and  a  nuisance,  of  course," 
the  old  gentleman  explained,  nervously.  "  But  these 
fellows  have  their  own  methods,  and  they  won't  do 
anything  if  one  interferes  ;  so  I  hope  you  will  excuse 
it.  The  Jeysulmeer  simply  must  be  found." 

Altogether,  it  was  a  very  dismal  evening,  and 
matters  were  in  no  way  enlivened  by  the  detective's 
announcement,  towards  ten  o'clock  that  evening,  that 
they  had  as  yet  found  no  clue  to  go  upon.  The  little 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    137 

telegraph  station  at  Harborough  was  kept  busy  that 
evening,  and  detailed  descriptions  of  the  tiara,  and  of 
the  famous  diamond,  were  placed  with  the  police 
throughout  the  kingdom,  and  with  all  the  diamond- 
dealers  of  note  on  both  sides  of  the  Channel.  The 
poor  old  General  grew  more  nervous  and  irritable  as 
time  wore  on,  and  whilst  exceedingly  sorry  for  him,  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  I  was  very  thankful  to  see 
Sparrow  with  the  bays  and  the  old  landau  drawn  up 
before  the  terrace  next  morning.  Elsie  I  had  hardly 
spoken  to  since  the  trouble  began.  I  knew  that  she 
was  dreadfully  upset  about  it,  and  blamed  herself 
greatly  for  having  been  the  unwitting  cause  of  what, 
from  her  father's  point  of  view,  was  nothing  less  than 
a  calamity.  It  seemed  she  had  left  the  gorgeous 
thing  in  a  drawer  of  her  wardrobe  instead  of  locking 
it  in  the  heavy  little  fire-proof  safe  which  her  careful 
father  had  had  placed  in  her  dressing-room  to  receive  it. 
I  felt  sorry  for  Elsie  when  she  bade  me  an  almost 
tearful  good-bye.  And  so  I  think  did  my  sister  Betty, 
despite  her  soreness  in  the  matter  of  her  Lieutenant,  a 
soreness  which  I  shared,  so  to  say,  vicariously. 

"Good-bye,  Elskins!"  said  I,  with  what  I  meant 
to  be  as  cheering  a  smile  as  possible.  "  Don't  think 
too  much  about  the  Jeysulmeer.  I  am  sure  it  will  be 
found  soon.  It's  too  gorgeous  for  a  thief  to  dispose 
of.  And  anyhow,  you  will  always  be  charming 
without  it." 

And  she  was  charming,  too,  I  thought,  as  she 
looked  up  at  me  through  lashes  that  were  suspiciously 
moist. 

Betty  had  her  own  private  trouble,  and  my  father 
and  mother,  and  myself,  too,  for  that  matter,  were 
pretty  fully,  and  not  cheerfully,  occupied  with  thoughts 


138  MOROCCO 

of  the  Stuart-Grahams'  loss.  Sparrow  had,  of  course, 
heard  the  news,  and  felt  called  upon  to  wear  a  most 
funereal  expression  in  consequence.  Only  Sheikh 
Abd  el  Majeed  was  unaffected  by  the  trouble  in  the 
air,  and  he  alone  of  our  party  smiled  serenely  upon 
the  circumambient  country  from  his  seat  upon  the 
box.  Tiaras  were  nothing  to  the  Sheikh.  He  had 
that  within  which  passeth  show,  and  was  convinced 
that  the  houris  who  would  attend  him  in  Paradise 
would  bear  about  them  jewels,  the  smallest  fragment 
of  which  would  infinitely  transcend  anything  that 
mere  unbelievers  could  even  dream  of  seeing,  not  to 
mention  possessing,  here  on  earth. 

We  reached  the  Hall  in  time  for  afternoon  tea,  and 
I  saw  nothing  of  the  Sheikh  until  I  went  to  my  room 
to  dress  for  dinner.  There  I  found  him,  squatting 
upon  a  West  African  leopard  skin,  and  idly  strum- 
ming at  his  gimbri,  his  face  a  picture  of  serene  felicity. 
I  had  just  finished  dressing,  and  was  in  the  act  of 
lighting  a  before-dinner  cigarette  to  take  with  the 
glass  of  sherry  which  el  Majeed  had  brought  me, 
when  I  heard  a  little  scream  from  the  adjoining  apart- 
ment, which  was  my  sister  Betty's  dressing-room.  A 
moment  later,  and,  with  the  merest  pretence  of  a 
knock  at  my  door,  Betty  was  beside  me,  gasping  from 
astonishment  and  holding  before  her,  as  it  might  be  a 
salver,  the  famous  Stuart-Graham  tiara. 

"  On  the  table  in  my  dressing-room,  under  a 
handkerchief!  I  had  dressed  in  my  bedroom,  as  it 
happened.  Oh — oh  !  Whatever  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  I  cried.  Heaven  alone  knew  what 
it  meant,  I  thought.  But  there  indubitably  was  the 
Jeysulmeer.  No  seeing  person  could  mistake  that 
dazzling  jewel  for  anything  else  but  its  own  marvellous 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    139 

self.  It  fairly  flamed  at  me  in  Betty's  hand.  I 
declare  in  the  circumstances  it  was  positively  uncanny  ; 
and  I  regarded  it  with  a  shiver  of  something  like  fear. 
All  sorts  of  horrid  thoughts  swept  through  my  mind, 
conveying  no  sensible  meaning  to  me,  but  only  vague 
mistrust  and  horror.  For  me,  I  am  altogether  with 
Prince  Florizel  now  in  thinking  that,  outside  the 
treasure-houses  of  monarchs,  such  fabulously  valuable 
jewels  are  an  unmitigated  curse  to  mankind.  I 
cannot  tell  you  of  the  horrible  thoughts  the  thing 
gave  me.  Such  priceless  stones  would  cause  gloom, 
suspicion  and  dissension  among  the  truest  friends 
upon  earth. 

"  My  dear  Betty,"  I  stammered  lamely,  "how — 
how  the  devil  did  the  thing  come  into  your  posses- 
sion ? " 

I  have  always  been  thankful  that  the  Sheikh  was 
there  and  heard  and  saw  the  whole  thing.  I  think 
that  wretched  diamond  must  have  evilly  possessed  me 
in  some  way.  I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  thought, 
but  I  had  poor  little  Betty  in  my  arms  sobbing,  a 
moment  later,  while  from  over  her  shoulder  I  saw  and 
heard  the  Sheikh  explaining  in  his  own  bland  manner. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  he,  with  the  deprecatory  air 
of  one  who  disclaims  thanks  for  some  small  favour. 
"  Lalla  Bettee,  she  like  this  thing  she  say.  I  get  it 
for  her.  It  is  nothing — nothing  at  all.  Those  people 
he  get  no  sense.  He  look  in  the  boxes — Phaa!  I 
carry  it  under  my  kaftan.  It  was  quite  easy.  Now 
Lalla  Bettee  has  it  for  her  own.  I  am  glad.  But 
it  was  nothing — nothing  at  all." 

Heard  ever  man  the  like  of  it!  And  I  knew  that 
at  that  moment  detectives  were  hunting  for  this 
blazing  toy  in  every  capital  in  Europe.  Hundreds  of 


140  MOROCCO 

pounds  had  probably  been  spent  already  in  the  search. 
Every  diamond-dealer  in  the  hemisphere  was  thinking 
of  the  thing.  The  Stuart-Grahams  were  at  their  wits' 
end  about  it.  Poor  little  Elsie  was  probably  crying 
her  eyes  out,  and  the  General  was  doubtless  fretting 
his  nerves  to  ribbons  over  this  world-famous  tiara 
which  Abd  el  Majeed  had  plucked  like  a  flower  and 
brought  away  among  his  garments,  as  he  supposed  to 
gratify  a  whim  of  my  sister's. 

I  sat  down  at  last  from  sheer  stress  of  bewilder- 
ment, with  Betty  on  my  knee,  and  the  Sheikh  still 
muttering  that  it  was  " nothing — nothing  at  all!" 
before  us.  It  was  hopeless  to  try  to  convey  any 
adequate  explanation  of  the  situation  to  the  Sheikh. 
I  did  try  to  tell  him  that  my  family  might  be  eternally 
ruined  and  disgraced,  and  myself  imprisoned  for  life, 
and  various  other  little  matters  of  that  sort  as  the 
result  of  his  kindly-meant  insanity.  He  could  not 
see  it  at  all.  The  "  Lalla  Bettee"  had  wanted  the 
thing,  and  he,  the  Sheikh,  with  the  exercise  of  a  little 
ordinary  care  and  skill,  had  obtained  it  for  her.  And 
there  was  an  end  of  it. 

Finally,  I  dried  Betty's  tears  and  sent  her  away  to 
make  my  excuses  at  dinner.  Then  I  sat  down  to 
consider  the  situation.  The  more  I  thought  of  it  the 
uglier  the  whole  affair  looked.  That  was  the  horrible 
thing  about  this  wretched  Jeysulmeer.  Contact  with 
it  robbed  one  of  all  confidence  or  self-respect,  it 
seemed.  I  have  said  that  I  cannot  tell  you  the 
thoughts  which  the  sight  of  the  thing  inspired  in  me. 
The  idea  of  going  to  old  General  Stuart-Graham, 
returning  him  his  priceless  tiara  and  telling  him  we 
had  brought  it  away  in  error,  seemed  to  me  the  very 
most  impossible  sort  of  idea  that  had  ever  occurred  to 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    141 

mortal  man.  And  here  it  falls  to  me  to  make  a 
confession. 

For  one  wretched  minute  I  harboured  some  such 
thought  as  this  in  my  mind  :  They  have  lost  their 
tiara  now,  they  will  grow  used  to  the  loss  in  time ;  cut 
into  sections,  the  Jeysulmeer  and  the  other  stones 
would  represent  a  fortune  for  any  man ;  with  a 
fortune  I — 

I  will  attempt  no  apology.  The  jewel  bewitched 
me,  I  really  believe ;  a  baleful,  horrible  devil  of  an 
ornament ! 

At  least  its  baleful  influence  brought  decision  to  me. 

"This  won't  do,"  I  said  aloud,  "it  won't  do  at  all. 
This  plaguy  tiara  has  just  got  to  be  returned  the  way 
it  came,  and  Abd  el  Majeed  must  see  to  it." 

Half  an  hour  later  I  was  cantering  over  Crookham 
heath,  the  Sheikh  mounted  on  a  serviceable  chestnut 
hack  beside  me,  and  the  infernal  tiara  in  a  leather 
collar-box  strapped  in  a  knapsack  on  my  shoulders. 
My  idea,  which,  of  course,  the  Sheikh  thought  a 
singularly  crazy  one,  was  that  we  should  reach 
Harborough  about  eleven  o'clock,  effect  a  burglarious 
entry  in  some  manner  at  Frampton  House,  and 
manage  to  return  the  tiara  to  the  room  from  which  it 
had  been  taken  without  seeing  anyone.  The  whole 
thing  was  risky  and  unpleasant,  to  be  sure ;  but  when 
you  shall  find  yourself  possessed  of  stolen  property  to 
the  value  of  many  thousands  of  pounds,  you  will 
realise  that  it  is  worth  getting  rid  of  at  whatever  risk. 
The  risk  involved  in  the  retaining  of  the  jewel  even 
for  a  single  night  seemed  to  me  infinitely  more  des- 
perate than  any  other  that  I  could  be  brought  to  face. 
So  on  we  rode,  with  our  priceless  collar-box,  the 
Sheikh  and  myself. 


142  MOROCCO 

Harborough  church  clock  was  striking  the  half- 
hour  after  eleven  as  the  amateur  burglars,  Sheikh 
Abd  el  Majeed  and  myself,  led  our  horses  into  an  old 
and  disused  chalk-pit  situate  some  few  hundred  yards 
from  the  lodge-gates  of  Frampton  House.  Fortun- 
ately for  us  the  kennels  are  placed  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  park,  and  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  Frampton 
House,  whilst  I  knew  that  no  dogs  were  kept  about 
the  house  itself.  We  tied  our  horses  in  the  brush  at 
the  far  end  of  the  old  chalk-pit,  and  cautiously  made 
our  way  to  the  park  palings  at  some  distance  from  the 
lodge.  These  were  easily  scaled,  and  within  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  we  were  approaching  the  rear  premises 
across  cabbage  beds  in  the  kitchen  garden.  Not  a 
single  light  was  visible  in  the  whole  great  house.  I 
was  thankful  for  that. 

A  glint  of  moonlight  showed  me  the  Sheikh's  face 
as  we  entered  a  sort  of  court-yard  upon  which  the 
laundry,  the  carpenter's  shop,  the  fuel-houses,  and 
various  other  offices  opened.  He  was  evidently  as 
calm,  as  cool,  and  as  entirely  self-possessed  as  though 
we  had  been  bent  upon  an  evening  stroll  for  the  better 
digestion  of  our  dinner.  My  own  case  was  far  other- 
wise, and  I  will  admit  frankly  that  my  knees  shook 
when,  with  a  casual  wave  of  his  white-draped  arm,  the 
Sheikh  indicated  to  me  the  half-open  window  of  a 
scullery. 

For  a  house  which  had  contained  the  seventh 
jewel  in  the  world  the  General's  establishment  was 
certainly  but  poorly  secured  against  burglars  or  other 
such  questionable  characters  as  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed 
and  myself.  Stepping  through  the  scullery  window 
was  simple,  though  I  did  put  my  foot  into  a  small 
bath  full  of  liquid  starch.  From  this  scullery  to  the 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    143 

servants'  hall  was  but  a  few  steps ;  and  then,  with 
never  a  bolt  or  lock  to  touch,  we  reached  the  main 
staircase,  which  at  that  moment  was  lighted 
with  embarrasing  distinctness  by  the  moon  shining 
through  a  stained  glass  window  in  the  gallery 
above. 

I  had  explained  to  Majeed  that  he  must  lead  me 
to  the  door  of  Elsie's  dressing-room,  since  that  was 
the  apartment  from  which  he  had  abstracted  the 
horrible  jewel  of  Jeysulmeer.  I  meant  to  place  it 
upon  a  table  there,  in  such  a  position  as  would  attract 
immediate  attention,  and  then,  as  I  left  the  room,  to 
^ock  the  door  from  outside.  Thus,  I  thought,  Elsie 
cannot  fail  to  find  her  treasure  when  she  goes  into 
tier  dressing-room  in  the  morning,  by  the  door 
communicating  with  her  bedroom.  I  had  ascertained 
from  the  Sheikh  that  the  two  rooms  did  communicate. 
My  boots — the  starchy  one  and  its  fellow — I  had  left 
in  the  scullery,  where  the  Sheikh's  yellow  slippers 
kept  them  company.  So — I  upon  my  stockinged  feet 
and  the  Sheikh  bare-footed — we  crept  over  the  thick 
stair-carpet  to  the  dressing-room  door. 

"  You  are  certain?"  I  breathed  nervously  to  my 
companion  in  crime  as  he  stopped  outside  a  door 
separated  by  no  more  than  a  few  feet  from  another 
like  it. 

The  Sheikh  nodded  his  certainty,  and  I  handed 
him  the  tiara  (the  collar-box  I  had  left  with  my  boots) 
that  I  might  devote  both  hands  to  the  task  of  noise- 
lessly opening  the  door.  It  was  a  good  amenable 
sort  of  door,  and  yielded  without  creak  or  murmur  to 
my  infinitely  gentle  suasion.  Then  el  Majeed  handed 
me  the  tiara,  from  which  at  that  moment  the  moon- 
light extracted  a  curious  bluish  radiance,  very  beauti- 


144  MOROCCO 

ful,  no  doubt,  but  to  me,  in  my  highly  ambiguous  posi- 
tion, very  distracting. 

A  dressing-table  faced  me  as  I  entered  the  room, 
and  the  moonlight  showed  me  an  open  space  before 
the  mirror,  intended  by  Providence,  it  seemed,  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  tiara.  I  stepped  out  cautiously 
toward  it,  the  tiara  held  before  me  as  a  footman  holds 
a  plate.  As  I  laid  the  fateful  thing  upon  a  sort  of 
satin  mat  the  sound  of  a  faint  sigh  upon  my  right 
almost  brought  me  to  the  floor  in  nervous  confusion, 
to  such  a  pitch  were  my  nerves  strung  by  this  ad- 
venture and  the  cruelly  false  position  in  which  it 
placed  me. 

I  turned  toward  the  place  from  which  the  sigh 
came.  I  had  to  turn  to  retrace  my  steps.  And  as  I 
turned  I  faced,  not  hanging  garments,  cupboards, 
wardrobes,  or  anything  pertaining  to  a  dressing- 
room,  but  a  small  white  bed,  with  an  eider-down 
hanging  low  upon  one  side  of  it,  and  a  white-draped 
figure  rising  from  its  other  side,  with  wide,  staring 
eyes  fixed  upon  me  in  astonishment  and  horror. 

I  was  in  Elsie's  bedroom,  and  Elsie,  rising  from 
her  prayers,  was  facing  me  across  her  bed,  her  great 
eyes  flitting  from  the  blazing  tiara  on  the  dressing- 
table  to  my  doubtless  criminally  guilty  face. 

I  found  my  tongue  somehow. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Elskins,"  I  whispered  hoarsely, 
1  'don't  cry  out!  It's  all  a  horrible  mistake.  You 
know  me,  Elskins.  For  heaven's  sake  don't  make  a 
noise !  I— I  am  going  down  to  the  kitchen.  Please 
put  something  on  and  come  down  there,  so  that — so 
that  I  may  explain  this  horrible  business.  Please — 
Elskins  ! " 

You  will  admit  that  it  was  a  trying  ordeal  for  a 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  DIAMOND    145 

young  girl  to  face — almost  as  trying  as  it  was  for  me, 
though  not  quite,  I  fancy.  She  behaved  like  the 
pearl  she  is. 

"  Go,  then/'  said  she,  "  I  will  come  in  a  minute." 

And  she  did  ;  and  down  there  among  the  glisten- 
ing copper,  and  china,  and  what  not,  I  told  her  the 
whole  miserable  tale,  and  knew  that  she  knew  that  it 
was  true.  I  was  absolutely  frank  about  it ;  I  had  a 
need  to  be.  So  I  told  her  all  about  poor  Betty's 
trouble,  and  tried  to  make  her  understand  how  it  was 
that  the  Sheikh,  in  the  Oriental  innocence  of  his 
heart,  came  to  be  guilty  of  this  colossal  peculation. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  murmured  Elsie — I  had  never 
realised  before  what  glorious  hair  she  had.  "  And  it 
was  all  such  a  mistake ;  such  a  funny  mistake,  too. 
Why,  I  never  gave  a  thought  to  Lieutenant  Foster. 
Indeed,  I — "  And  then,  as  I  live,  the  dear  girl 
blushed  all  over  her  sweet  face,  and  I — I  realised 
that  I  loved  her  better  than  all  the  world  beside, 
and — it's  an  awkward  thing  to  tell — that  mine  was 
not  a  bit  a  hopeless  love. 

Well,  it's  an  old  story  now.  Elsie  hid  the  tiara 
away  under  a  lot  of  frocks  and  things  in  her 
wardrobe,  and  so  schemed  that  her  maid  should  dis- 
cover it  next  morning  in  her  presence ;  and  she 
loyally  stood  up  to  the  General's  choleric  lecture  upon 
her  unpardonable  carelessness,  and — all  was  well.  I 
galloped  home  with  the  Sheikh  that  night  the 
happiest  man  in  England,  and  later  on  Betty  and 
Lieutenant  Foster  chose  our  wedding-day — Elsie's 
and  mine — for  their  own ;  and  the  Sheikh,  as  his  way 
was  ever,  smiled  blandly  upon  us  all. 

But  the  tiara  is  at  the  General's  bank ;  and  so  far 
as  I  am  concerned  it  may  remain  there. 
K 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE 

I  BE  LI  EVE  I  am  perfectly  safe  in  surmising  that 
the  most  interesting  and  exciting  days  of  my 
friend  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed's  stay  in  England  with  me 
fell  out  during  the  presence  in  London  of  the  Moorish 
Mission  to  the  Court  of  St  James.  The  members  of  t 
the  Mission  wer£  housed  by  the  authorities  in  a  sub- 
stantial mansion  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Princes 
Gate,  and  as  I  was  staying  at  the  time  in  my  father's 
town  house  in  Sloane  Street,  with  Abd  el  Majeed,  of 
course,  the  distance  between  the  Sheikh  and  his 
compatriots  was  trifling.  Further,  when  I  tell  you 
that  the  head  of  the  Mission,  Sidi  Abd  er,Rahman 
Kintafi,  was  the  uncle  of  the  third  wife  of  my  Sheikh's 
father,  it  will  easily  be  seen  that  el  Majeed  had 
some  grounds  for  the  frequency  of  his  visits  to  the 
mansion  at  Princes  Gate,  and  was  in  no  danger  of 
wearing  his  welcome  thin  there. 

Myself,  as  it  were  vicariously,  and  by  the  light 
reflected  from  my  Moorish  friend,  became  something 
of  a  persona  grata  with  the  members  of  the  Mission, 
and,  as  no  other  members  of  my  family  were  then  in 
town,  I  found  it  easy,  upon  more  than  one  occasion, 
to  recompense  the  hospitality  with  which  the  Mission 
welcomed  me  at  Princes  Gate  by  entertaining  old 
Sidi  Abd  er-Rahman  and  his  followers  in  Sloane 
Street.  Knowing  something  of  Moorish  affairs  and 
customs,  I  was  enabled  to  make  them  very  comfort- 

146 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE   147 

able  there,  and  I  am  not  sure  whether  any  of  the  more 
or  less  splendid  functions  in  which  our  Government 
paid  honour  to  his  Shareefian  Majesty  of  Morocco, 
through  his  Ambassador,  were  sources  of  more  real 
enjoyment  to  Abd  er-Rahman  and  his  party  than 
were  the  little  informal  reunions  in  my  father's 
Sloane  Street  residence. 

Be   that   as   it   may,    I    am   quite   sure   that  the 
thorities  of  our  Foreign  Office  had  found  much  food 
r   reflection  (could   they   have   overheard  them)  in 
me   of  the   conversations   which  took  place   there 
etween   the   members    of  the    Mission  and  myself, 
he  Moors    accepted    me    as   an   unofficial    friend, 
elched   over   my  green   tea,  specially   procured  for 
eir     delectation,    devoured     bushels    of    kesk'soo 
epared  for  them  in  our  kitchens  under  the  super- 
sion  of  the  Sheikh,  were  generous  in  their  admira- 
on  of  the  two  ladies  from  the  "  Halls "  who  were 
od  enough  upon  one  occasion  to  demonstrate  before 
some  of  the  intricacies  of  the  art  of  skirt-dancing, 
id  altogether  relaxed  themselves  agreeably  from  the 
rmality  of  ambassadorial  life  in  the  capital  of  the 
ritish  Empire. 

Their  comments  upon  affairs  of  state  were  highly 
teresting  to  me,  and  their  remarks  regarding  the 
nduct  of  great  officials  in  our  land  and  in  theirs 
ould  have  been  startling,  I  fancy,  to  the  grand  Bashas 
ho  rule  in  Downing  Street.  For  example,  I 
member  the  venerable  Sidi  Abd  er-Rahman  Kintafi 
aving  some  little  discussion  with  me  regarding  the 
Dcial  status  in  London  of  the  ladies  of  the  ballet  who 
ad  so  delighted  him  with  their  exhibition  of  skirt- 
ancing.  He  asked  if  they  would  be  accorded 
Dsitions  of  special  honour  during  royal  receptions 


148  MOROCCO 

and  the  like  at  the  Court  of  St  James.  I  replied 
that  I  hardly  thought  so. 

"  Then  it  is  indeed  as  I  thought,"  said  the 
Ambassador;  "and  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that 
your  English  Government  is  mightily  afraid  of  my 
master,  Abd  el  Aziz  of  Morocco,  and  desires  to  pay 
him  most  humble  court,  despite  the  occasional  louc 
talk  of  sending  warships  to  enforce  claims  and  the 
like.  Such  talk  need  not  be  seriously  considered  by 
us  who  are  of  the  Faithful,  I  think." 

I  requested  further  enlightenment  as  to  these  some- 
what remarkable  conclusions  of  the  Ambassador's. 

"  Well,  thou  seest,"  he  explained,  "  in  our  country 
the  women  of  our  dalliance,  the  slaves  of  our  women's 
quarters,  are  not  thought  of  seriously  by  persons  oi 
rank.  They  are  not  at  all  as  wives,  you  understand. 
Now,  when  I  came  across  the  water  to  your  country 
here,  being  a  man  of  note  in  mine  own  country  and 
standing  high  in  the  favour  of  my  master — may 
Allah  prolong  his  days  ! — I  naturally  brought  some 
three  or  four  of  my  women  with  me — slaves,  thou 
knowest ;  it  is  not  fitting  that  a  believer  should  subject 
his  wives  to  the  hazards  of  travel  among  infidels. 
Now  when  those  my  female  slaves  did  alight  from  the 
great  ship,  your  Lord  Chamberlain  and  the  high 
representatives  of  your  Sovereign,  who  came  to  greet 
us,  did  respectfully  turn  their  backs  until  such  time  as 
these  my  slave  women  were  effectually  hidden  in  the 
train ;  and  in  dismounting  from  the  train  here  in 
London  it  was  the  same  ;  and  carefully  closed  and 
shuttered  carriages  were  provided  for  them,  your 
greatest  officials  humbly  bowing  and  turning  aside 
from  their  path,  much  to  the  secret  merriment  of  these 
my  slaves,  who  each  and  all  knew  what  it  was  to 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE      149 

chaffer  openly  in  Marrakish  market-place  with  lowly 
sellers  of  vegetables,  and  that  with  scarcely  a  cloth 
over  their  lips — if  I  may  be  pardoned  for  naming 
matters  so  private.  Thus  then  am  I  assured  that  my 
master  and  his  messengers  are  greatly  feared  and 
reverenced  here  among  the  infidels,  who  bow  down 
with  so  much  humility  even  before  the  lowliest  slaves 
among  us." 

My  British  pride  was  made  somewhat  sore  by  this 
recital,  but  in  the  most  of  the  stories  and  comments  I 
listened  to  in  the  mansion  at  Princes  Gate  and  in  my 
father's  Sloane  Street  house  I  was  moved  far  more  to 
merriment  and  interest  than  to  anything  approaching 
annoyance ;  and  I  saw  more  clearly  than  ever  before 
that  the  art  of  diplomacy  lay  not  merely  in  veiling  the 
truth,  but  in  setting  up  an  untruth  in  place  thereof; 
and  further,  that  the  greatest  diplomatists  appeared  to 
be  those  who  deceived  themselves  far  more  than  they 
deceived  others,  and  that  the  ostrich,  who  looks  to 
hide  himself  by  burying  his  own  eyes  in  the  sand, 
must  be  the  greatest  of  all  diplomatists  that  live. 

During  one  of  my  first  visits  with  Sheikh  Abd  el 
Majeed  to  the  mansion  near  Princes  Gate  I  made  the 
acquaintance  there  of  a  young  gentleman  fresh  from 
the  University  of  Oxford,  whose  name  was  Jones,  and 
whose  nature  seemed  equally  stereotyped,  conven- 
tional, and  innocently  respectable.  What  he  was 
doing  in  that  galley  I  was  never  quite  able  to  under- 
stand ;  but  I  gathered  that  he  was  a  sort  of  third 
cousin  to  one  of  the  gentlemen  attached  to  our 
embassy  in  Morocco,  and  that  he  cherished  mild 
hopes  of  one  day  entering  the  diplomatic  service 
himself,  a  career  for  which  I  ventured  to  think  that  his 
bland  preoccupation  with  the  purely  unpractical  affairs 


150  MOROCCO 

of  life  fitted  him  to  admiration.  I  never  met  a  young- 
gentleman  who  so  exactly  resembled  a  character  in 
some  agreeable  and  fantastic  comedy  or  story  rather 
than  a  flesh-and-blood  personage  in  this  busy,  striving, 
work-a-day  world  of  ours.  His  innocence  regarding 
the  Oriental  character  was  most  marked,  and  his 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  Mission  was,  like  his 
complexion,  singularly  fresh,  unstained  and  pleasing. 
And  that  is  really  all  I  know  about  Mr  Jones,  beyond 
the  fact  that  he  hired  a  Court  dress  for  four  guineas 
from  a  Jew  in  Covent  Garden  in  order  that  he  might 
appear  at  Court  in  the  train  of  Sidi  Abd  er-Rahman 
Kintafi,  and  that  in  the  course  of  conversation  he 
generally  made  pleasant  and  innocent  remarks  which 
bore  in  some  way  either  upon  cricket,  photography  or 
the  University  of  Oxford. 

The  morning  of  the  Mission's  first  reception  at  the 
Court  of  St  James  was  a  truly  great  occasion  for  my 
friend,  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed.  As  a  relative  of  Sidi 
Abd  er-Rahman's  he  accompanied  the  Mission,  whilst 
I  settled  myself  with  a  cigar  and  a  novel  in  the 
Princes  Gate  Mansion  to  await  the  return  of  my 
Moorish  friends  and  hear  their  account  of  their  brave 
doings.  Mr  Jones  was  among  the  European 
attendants  upon  the  Mission,  resplendent  in  his 
Covent  Garden  costume,  though  a  little  nervous, 
I  fancied,  with  regard  to  the  proper  disposition  of  his 
nickel-plated  sword.  He  seemed  to  be  greatly  in- 
spirited by  my  assuring  him  that  he  looked  "  ripping." 
I  chose  the  adjective  with  forethought,  and  I  think 
it  served  its  turn. 

Scarcely  had  the  Mission  departed  in  the  four 
coaches  from  the  royal  stables  which  had  come  to 
convey  them,  than  one  of  the  footmen  attached  to 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE   151 

the  mansion  presented  me  with  the  card  of  a  gentle- 
man, who  described  himself  as  a  "  Photographic 
Artist,"  in  handsome  old  English  lettering,  and  said 
that  he  had  come  by  appointment  with  the  head  of 
the  Mission  to  take  portraits  of  the  Moorish  Am- 
bassador and  his  suite  on  their  return  from  audience 
at  the  Palace.  I  requested  the  footman  to  show  this 
Mr  Gerald  Montgomery  into  the  morning  -  room, 
where  I  then  sat  over  my  novel,  and  prepared  to 
entertain  him  pending  the  return  of  the  Mission. 

Mr  Montgomery  proved  to  be  a  gentleman  whose 
artistic  temperament  displayed  itself  conspicuously 
in  the  fashion  of  his  neck-tie,  a  truly  aesthetic  piece  of 
drapery,  in  the  arrangement  of  his  glossy  and 
plenteous  locks,  and  in  the  almost  effusive  gracious- 
ness  of  his  general  demeanour.  He  carried  a  camera 
and  other  photographic  impedimenta  with  him,  and 
was  attired  most  elegantly  in  clothes  which  I  am 
assured  must  have  been  obtained  from  the  most 
expensive  quarter  of  Bond  Street.  In  conversation 
I  found  him  what  my  grandmother  would  have  called 
an  agreeable  rattle ;  and,  putting  aside  what  seemed 
to  me  an  excessive  devotion  to  the  use  of  strong 
perfumes,  and  a  rather  nervous  alertness  in  manner, 
both  of  which  peculiarities  I  connected  in  some  way 
with  his  artistic  temperament,  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
I  found  Mr  Montgomery  as  pleasant  a  person  to  pass 
the  time  of  day  with  as  you  would  meet  in  a  day's 
march. 

It  was  upon  the  return  of  the  Mission  from  their 
presentation  at  Court  that  Mr  Montgomery's  habits 
of  nervousness  and  the  manipulation  of  a  strongly- 
scented  handkerchief  became  most  strongly  marked. 
But,  to  be  sure,  they  were  not  the  sort  of  peculiarities 


152  MOROCCO 

at  which  a  man  takes  umbrage,  and  for  my  part  I  was 
moved  to  friendly  sympathy  with  the  Photographic 
Artist  in  his  trepidation  among  the  exalted  foreigners, 
the  more  so  when  I  overheard  old  Sidi  Abd  er- 
Rahman  growling  in  his  beard,  after  I  had  introduced 
Mr  Montgomery,  something  to  the  effect  that, — 

"  The  Kaffir  son  of  a  burnt  Kaffir  has  no  right 
here  among  the  Faithful.  He  plagued  me  with  his 
letters,  but  I  did  not  truly  say  that  he  might  come 
here." 

Out  of  sheer  good-nature  I  assured  the  old  Moor 
that  upon  this  occasion,  when  himself  and  his  suite 
presented  so  imposing  an  appearance,  it  would  be  a 
thousand  pities  not  to  have  some  permanent  record 
of  their  magnificence.  As  a  fact,  I  think  my  appeal 
to  his  vanity  won  over  Abd  er- Rahman  and  gained 
the  day  for  the  Photographic  Artist.  The  Ambassador 
had  a  fancy  for  a  picture  of  himself  robed  more 
splendidly  than  he  would  ever  be  in  his  own  land, 
where  the  Koranic  injunctions  regarding  display  of 
finery  and  the  like  are  very  strictly  followed  by  all 
classes.  About  his  neck  was  a  fine  rope  of  pearls, 
and  in  one  side  of  his  ample  turban  was  stuck  a 
magnificent  aigrette  of  diamonds  and  emeralds,  lent 
him  for  this  one  occasion  by  his  royal  master,  to 
whom  it  had  been  presented  by  a  great  Indian  Rajah 
who  once  made  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  Moulai 
I  drees  in  Fez. 

Mr  Montgomery  floridly  bowed  his  most  graceful 
acknowledgements  of  my  efforts  to  further  his  cause, 
and  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  first  take  a  picture 
of  Sidi  Abd  er- Rahman,  the  Ambassador,  alone,  and 
then  one  of  the  whole  Mission.  So  now  all  our 
energies  were  bent  upon  the  task  of  arranging  a  becom- 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE      153 

ing  pose  for  his  Excellency,  to  which  end  a  sort  of 
throne  was  prepared  from  a  number  of  cushions,  a 
huge  armchair,  and  a  dais  for  the  same  to  stand 
upon. 

I  suppose  the  now  beaming  and  most  gracious 
Mr  Montgomery  must  have  stepped  back  and  forward 
between  his  velvet-covered  camera  and  the  throne  of 
Abd  er- Rahman  some  score  of  times  in  all  before  he 
was  quite  satisfied  regarding  the  pose  of  his  Excel- 
lency's venerable  person,  and  particularly  of  his 
massive  and  turbaned  head. 

"You  will  pardon  the  liberty,"  said  he,  with 
smiling  deference,  as  he  slightly  moved  the  becrowned 
head  with  both  his  delicate  hands ;  and,  myself 
having  interpreted  the  remark,  his  Excellency  was 
pleased  to  signify  his  complacence.  "  There  !  That 
is  perfect.  Exactly  so,  for  one  moment,  please !  " 

The  Photographic  Artist  almost  rushed  back  to 
the  great  velvet  cover  of  his  machine,  and  hiding 
himself  therein,  emerged,  after  a  few  seconds,  smiling 
rapturously  and  announcing  that  the  operation  had 
been  eminently  satisfactory. 

"  And  now  for  the  group,"  said  the  rosy-cheeked 
Mr  Jones,  who  seemed  to  have  grown  quite  at  home 
in  his  knee-breeches  and  silk  stockings  by  this  time, 
and  carried  his  tinkling  sword  with  the  ease  of  long 
familiarity  with  the  air  of  Courts. 

So  we  set  about  arranging  ourselves  in  more  or 
less  picturesque  attitudes  at  one  end  of  the  apartment, 
until  brought  to  order  by  the  Photographic  Artist, 
who  seemed  inclined  to  hurry  over  this  portion  of  the 
programme,  I  thought,  and  who  said  now  that  we 
should  do  very  well  as  we  were. 

"  It  was  only  the  portrait  of  Abd  er- Rahman  that  he 


154  MOROCCO 

was  anxious  to  secure,"    I    told  myself.     "And  that 
done,  he  wants  to  get  away." 

And,  indeed,  it  was  rather  remarkable,  the  rapidity 
with  which  Mr  Montgomery  completed  his  arrange- 
ments in  the  matter  of  this  second  operation. 

"  That  must  be  a  deuced  funny  sort  of  a  camera  ; 
I  should  very  much  like  to  have  a  look  at  it,"  mur- 
mured Mr  Jones  over  my  left  shoulder.  "  How  in 
the  world  he  can  focus  the  whole  lot  of  us  at  that 
distance,  spread  out  like  this,  I  can't  imagine.  It 
must  be  one  of  Stuhpelheit's  new  cameras,  I  fancy. 
I  must  see  the  photographer  about  it  before  he  goes. 
Phew !  Why,  by  Jove,  he's  finished,  and  he  never 
took  the  cap  off!  That's  devilish  odd,  you  know.  I 
must  cer — " 

And  at  that  moment  a  great  shout  arose  from  Ibn 
Marzuk,  his  Excellency's  slipper-bearer, — 

"  My  Lord's  crown,  the  eyes  of  light  with  the 
flowers  of  emerald — where  are  they  ?  " 

Every  eye  was  turned  upon  the  snowy  turban  of 
his  Excellency.  The  magnificent  aigrette  no  longer 
blazed  over  his  right  temple ;  the  Sultan's  jewels, 
worth  a  king's  ransom,  men  said,  had  vanished  utterly. 

"To  the  doors!"  screamed  old  Abd  er- Rahman, 
who  no  doubt  had  seen  something  of  theft  and 
thievery  during  his  thirty  years  at  the  Court  of 
Morocco.  And  to  be  sure  it  would  be  no  joke  for 
him,  this  particular  loss.  His  Shareefian  Majesty 
has  a  short  way  with  defaulting  ministers,  and  failing 
the  return  of  his  aigrette,  the  chances  were  that  Sidi 
Abd  er- Rahman  would  enjoy  small  favour,  but  only  a 
very  painful  and  drawn-out  kind  of  death  on  his 
return  to  Sunset  Land. 

I,  for  one,  was  prepared  to  swear  that  the  aigrette 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE      155 

had  been  in  its  place  when  his  Excellency  returned 
from  the  presentation  at  Court.  Its  wonderful  sheen 
and  brilliance  had  attracted  my  attention  whilst  the 
Ambassador  was  being  posed  for  his  portrait. 

There  was  a  whispered  consultation  among  the 
Moors,  from  which  I  caught  a  growl  from  the 
Ambassador  with  reference  to  "  El  Azfel,"  that  is  the 
bastinado,  for  the  "  N'zrani,"  or  the  Christians. 
Then  it  was  announced  by  his  Excellency's  secretary 
that  everyone  present  was  to  be  searched,  with  the 
exception,  of  course,  of  the  great  man  himself.  I 
could  think  of  nothing  pertinent  to  urge  against  this 
step,  though  I  could  see  that  it  moved  my  young 
friend,  Mr  Jones,  to  very  marked  disgust  and  wrath. 
As  for  the  Photographic  Artist,  the  only  other 
"Nazarene"  then  present,  he  was  most  obliging  in 
the  matter,  and,  having  expressed  deep  regret  regard- 
ing this  singular  incident,  moved  his  camera  aside 
and  stood  beside  Mr  Jones  and  myself,  with  his  hands 
raised  above  his  head,  like  a  man  "bailed  up"  by 
brigands,  the  better,  I  suppose,  to  facilitate  a  thorough 
search  of  his  person.  Certainly  I  could  see  that  this 
action  of  his  commended  him  favourably  to  Sidi  Abd 
er-Rahman,  though  it  did  not  appear  to  please  Mr 
Jones. 

"  Bai  Jove!"  muttered  that  young  gentleman. 
"  Does  he  think  we  are  a  lot  of  bally  pick-pockets,  or 
convicts,  or  what  ?  " 

To  cut  the  story  short,  let  me  say  that  we  were  all 
very  thoroughly  searched,  Moors  and  Christians 
alike,  and  never  a  sign  of  the  Sultan's  splendid 
aigrette  was  discovered.  Anger  and  consternation 
strove  for  mastery  in  the  almost  livid  face  of  the  old 
Ambassador.  I  gathered  that  he  was  in  favour  of  an 


156  MOROCCO 

immediate  administration  of  the  bastinado,  in  the  case 
of  the  Christians  present,  at  all  events  with  a  view  to 
encouraging  a  confession.  Then  my  friend  the 
Sheikh  stepped  forward. 

" Sidi,"  said  he  to  the  Ambassador,  "this  talk  of 
the  stick  is  worse  than  foolish  where  such  gentlemen 
as  my  friend,  for  example,  are  concerned."  He  waved 
one  hand  in  my  direction,  and  I  acknowledged  the 
tribute  with  a  bow.  I  have  seen  the  bastinado 
administered  in  Sunset  Land,  and  had  no  wish  to 
prove  my  honesty  by  tasting  of  it  myself.  "  Further, 
Sidi,  I,  Abd  el  Majeed,  would  myself  cut  down  the 
first  man,  though  he  were  our  lord  the  Sultan,  who 
should  lay  hands  upon  my  friend,  whose  bread  we 
have  all  eaten.  But — I  would  have  a  word  with  thee 
privately,  Sidi." 

The  Sheikh  drew  the  Ambassador  aside,  and 
together  they  muttered  for  some  moments,  Abd  er 
Rahman  nodding  his  turbaned  old  head  vigorously, 
as  in  emphatic  agreement  with  my  Sheikh's  sugges- 
tions. Then  the  Sheikh  moved  forward  to  where  a 
massive  silver  ink-pot  stood  upon  a  writing-table,  and 
raising  the  lid  of  the  ink-pot,  paused  to  look  about 
him  round  the  room.  At  length  his  eyes  fell  upon 
Mr  Jones,  who  was  somewhat  sulkily  playing  with  his 
sword,  and  swearing  under  his  breath  by  Jove,  his 
favourite,  apparently,  among  the  gods. 

With  great  politeness  the  Sheikh  requested  Mr 
Jones  to  approach  him  and  to  hold  out  his  right 
hand.  This  the  young  gentleman  from  the  Univer- 
sity accordingly  did,  and  into  the  centre  of  his  pink 
right  palm  the  Sheikh  proceeded  to  splash  a  great 
round  blob  of  ink,  which  he  scooped  out  of  the  ink-pot 
with  a  sort  of  ivory  egg-spoon  (a  nail-cleaner,  as  I 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE      157 

was  afterwards  informed),  handed  him  for  the  purpose 
by  one  of  the  attendants. 

His  ink-blotted  pink  palm  extended  before  him, 
Mr  Jones  followed  the  Sheikh  to  the  large  bay 
window,  and  there  halted.  The  Sheikh  assumed  a 
demeanour  of  great  earnestness,  and  passed  his 
extended  hands  several  times  to  and  fro  before  the 
young  gentleman's  face,  commanding  him  at  the 
same  time  to  look  fixedly  into  the  little  pool  of  ink 
upon  his  right  palm.  Then  ensued  whispered  talk 
between  the  Sheikh  and  Mr  Jones,  of  which  I  caught 
only  occasional  phrases  here  and  there.  That  Mr 
Jones  was  now  as  wax  in  the  hands  of  the  Sheikh 
was  apparent  to  the  most  casual  observer. 

"  Look  well !  Where  goes  he  now  ?  Mark  well 
the—" 

I  caught  no  more. 

Suddenly  the  Sheikh  bent  forward  and  wiped  the 
ink  from  the  hand  of  Mr  Jones.  Then  he  made 
some  further  movements  with  his  hands  before  the 
young  gentleman's  face  and  turned  away.  Mr  Jones 
shook  his  head,  coughed,  blinked  once  or  twice,  and 
walked  slowly  to  my  side,  muttering,  as  though  this 
singular  incident  of  the  ink-splash  had  not  occurred  at 
all,  "  Bai  Jove !  Do  they  take  us  for  a  lot  of  pick- 
pockets, or  what  ?  " 

"  Gentlemen,  this  very  regretful  incident  is  one 
which  I  deeply  deplore" — it  was  the  Photographic 
Artist  who  began  to  speak  now,  his  manner  suggest- 
ing a  curious  blend  of  extreme  nervous  haste  and 
extreme  deference — "  but  as  I  am  expected  in  the 
matter  of  three  other  professional  engagements  this 
morning,  I  fear  that  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me 
now.  I — er — in  fact,  it  is  highly  necessary,  I  would 


158  MOROCCO 

say,    that    I    really   must   be  going   without   further 
delay." 

And  the  Artist  gathered  up  his  photographic 
oddments  as  he  spoke.  But,  to  his  confusion,  it 
appeared  that  no  sort  of  attention  was  paid  to  the 
matter  of  his  extremely  polite  remarks.  The  door- 
keepers fixed  their  regard  upon  the  ceiling,  and  my 
friend  the  Sheikh  was  busy  in  a  whispered  conversa- 
tion with  his  Excellency  the  Ambassador. 

"  Sir ! "  cried  the  Sheikh,  suddenly  wheeling 
round  upon  the  Photographic  Artist,  "  be  not  so 
hasty,  I  beg  you.  The  loss  we  all  deplore  is  a  great 
one,  but  my  Lord,  his  Excellency,  is  not  a  man  of  one 
jewel.  Let  us  put  it  aside  ;  and  since  you  have  the 
picture  of  his  Excellency,  who  is  a  relation  of  mine, 
I  beg  you  will  now  take  one  of  me  without  delay. 
See,  I  stand  !  " 

And  my  friend  the  Sheikh  threw  himself  at  once 
into  a  pose  of  really  splendid  defiance.  Just  so  and 
not  otherwise  might  a  Moorish  Emperor  have 
received  an  ambassadorial  petitioner  from  the 
infidels  in  the  bad  old  days  of  that  sainted  butcher, 
Moulai  Ismail,  of  bloody  but  revered  memory  in 
Morocco. 

To  my  surprise  the  artistic  value  of  the  picture 
did  not  seem  to  appeal  to  Mr  Montgomery.  Indeed, 
it  seemed  at  first  he  would  not  take  the  portrait,  so  he 
fussed  and  nervously  insisted  upon  the  value  of  his 
time,  and  the  necessity  for  his  immediate  de- 
parture. 

"You  will  take  my  portrait,"  said  the  Sheikh, 
quietly,  but  with  exceeding  masterfulness.  And  the 
Photographic  Artist  proceeded  forthwith  to  arrange 
his  camera  in  position. 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE     159 

"Thank  you!"  said  he,   mechanically,  when  the 
operation  was  completed. 

"  And  now  let  me  see  the  picture,"  demanded  the 
Sheikh.  And  I  was  surprised  at  the  ignorance  he 
isplayed,  for  I  had  once  before  had  occasion  to 
xplain  to  him  that  photographs  require  development, 
ir  Montgomery  naturally  protested  that  there  was  as 
et  no  picture  to  show. 

"  Natheless,  I  will  see  it,"  persisted  Sheikh  Abd 
1  Majeed,  walking  threateningly  toward  the  camera. 

"  Oh,  come,  you  know,  but  that's  absurd,"  put  in 
VEr  Jones,  advancing  upon  the  photographer's  side. 
You  can't,  you  know,  until  it's  developed." 

"Do  you  refuse?"  demanded  the  Sheikh,  in 
tentorian  tones,  of  the  now  hopelessly  confused 
'hotographic  Artist. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  sir,  it  is  impossible  to  show 
ou  now,  and  I  really  must  be  going.  I  think  it  is 
ot  a  very  good  picture — indeed,  that  is  to  say — I — " 

With  one  blow  of  his  fist  the  Sheikh  sent  the 
:amera  flying  off  its  stand,  and  before  Mr  Jones,  who 
ras  indignantly  running  to  the  photographer's 
ssistance,  muttering  something  about  a  "  benighted 
avage,  "  could  interfere,  the  Sheikh  had  effectually 
mashed  the  machine  with  his  foot. 

"  Now  get  me  my  picture,"  said  he,  as  though  the 
Breaking  of  the  instrument  made  the  immediate 
production  of  his  portrait  quite  simple. 

"  I  really  cannot  possibly  wait — I  must  leave  at 
Dnce— I— " 

The  Photographic  Artist  showed  a  great  deal  of 
latural  distress  over  the  smashing  of  his  instrument, 
md  surprisingly  little  resentment,  I  thought,  as  he 
noved  toward  the  door. 


160  MOROCCO 

"  Let  no  man  leave  this  room,"  thundered  old 
Abd  er-Rahman. 

So  there  we  stood.  Meantime,  Mr  Jones,  an 
ardent  photographer  himself,  had  picked  up  the 
broken  camera  and  was  carefully  examining  it,  with  a 
view  to  determining  the  extent  of  its  injuries,  I 
supposed.  Seeing  this,  the  very  embarrassed  Mr 
Montgomery  flew  to  his  side  and  seized  the  fractured 
instrument  quite  jealously. 

"  Er — pray  don't  trouble  !  "  said  he,  like  Mr  Toots. 
"  It's  of  no  consequence  whatever,  I  assure  you ; 
it's  not  of  the  slightest  consequence — er — it's  not 
a  very  good  camera." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mr  Jones,  "  I  quite  thought  it 
must  be  one  of  Stuhpelheit's  new  panoramic  ex- 
tensions when  I  saw  how  you  managed  that  big 
group.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  have  a  look  at  it. 
What's  the  idea  in  that  sort  of  sunken  space  under 
the  back  screw  ?  " 

"Oh,  that  is  merely  a  flaw  in — er —  But  I  will 
explain  it  to  you  at  my  studio  with  pleasure.  Perhaps 
you  will  call  round — I — er — I  really  must — er — " 

The  Photographic  Artist  was  obviously  very  much 
put  about.  I  felt  quite  sympathetic  for  him. 

"  Let  me  see  that,"  put  in  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed, 
striding  up  to  Mr  Montgomery.  "There  I  shall  find 
my  picture,  perhaps." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  assure  you  that  it  is  not  possible 
for  your  picture  to — er — " 

"  You  can't  possibly  see  it,  now  you've  stupidly 
smashed  the  thing,  you  know,"  said  Mr  Jones,  speak- 
ing with  feeling  for  a  fellow-photographer,  no  doubt. 

The  Sheikh  said  nothing,  but  snatched  the  camera 
from  the  hands  of  the  Photographic  Artist,  who,  to 


WAYSIDE  ENTERTAINERS  IN  MOROCCO:  A  VERY  OLD  HAND  AT  THE  GIMI3RI 


HIS  EXCELLENCY'S  AIGRETTE   161 

my  astonishment,  turned  at  once  and  fled  wildly 
toward  one  of  the  doors.  "  He  probably  thinks  now 
that  he  has  fallen  among  savage  cannibals  at  least,"  I 
thought,  and  walked  after  Mr  Montgomery  with  a 
view  to  reassuring  him.  Hearing  a  shout  behind  me, 
I  turned  in  time  to  see  the  Sheikh  slit  open  the  recess 
below  the  camera  with  the  point  of  hjs  dagger,  thus 
exposing  his  Excellency's  magnificent  aigrette,  or 
rather  the  Sultan's,  neatly  ensconced  in  cotton-wool. 

Sidi  Abd  er-Rahman  hoarsely  demanded  that  the 
right  hand  and  left  foot  of  the  Photographic  Artist 
should  at  once  be  cut  off,  this  being  the  method 
most  approved  in  such  circumstances  in  the  realm  of 
:his  Shareefian  Lord  and  Master.  I  ventured  to 
nterpose  here,  for  already  two-,  attendants  had 
jdragged  the  barely  conscious  Mr  Montgomery  to  the 
side  of  his  Excellency's  cushions.  I  explained  that 
we  Britishers  had  a  prejudice  in  favour  of  formal  trial 
md  sentence  in  these  matters,  and  requested  that  a 
jbotman  belonging  to  the  house  might  at  once  be  sent 
)ut  for  a  police-officer. 

After  some  rather  fierce  discussion,  in  the  course 
>f  which  his  suspense  seemed  to  weigh  very  heavily 
ipon  Mr  Montgomery,  this  was  done,  and  the  artist, 
ith    his    wonderful    camera,    his    flowing    but   dis- 
,rranged    neck-tie,    and   his    other   belongings,    was 
emoved  from  our  presence  by  a  stalwart  member  of 
;he  Metropolitan  force.     We  learned  in  the  course  of 
he  week  that  Mr  Montgomery  was  one  of  the  most 
xpert  jewel  thieves  in  Europe,  an  artist  indeed,  and 
ne   for   whom   the   police    were    already   anxiously 
•king   in   connection    with    another    and    a    more 
iccessful  robbery  than  the  present  one. 
But    I    never    quite   got    to    the   bottom   of  my 
L 


162  MOROCCO 

Sheikh's  experiment  with  the  ink-blot  in  the  rosy 
hand  of  young  Mr  Jones.  I  gathered  that  it  was  the 
Moorish  form  of  crystal-gazing,  and  the  Sheikh  said 
he  had  enabled  Mr  Jones,  by  hypnotism,  to  see  the 
whole  theft  in  the  ink-blot.  But  whatever  the  process 
the  Sheikh  certainly  managed  the  matter  very  ably, 
as  we  all  agreed.  And  he  now  wears  a  very  hand- 
some silver-sheathed  dagger,  with  a  big  emerald  in  its 
haft,  sent  him  by  the  Sultan  after  the  story  reached 
Morocco. 


THE  SHEIKH  AND  THE  GREAT 
NORTHERN 

WE  of  the  West,  with  our  wireless  telegraphy, 
and  our  Science  in  Snippets  for  the  multi- 
tude, are  apt  to  think  that  we  have  said  the  last  word 
and  thought  the  last  thought  in  most  matters.     We 
sjare  apt  to  forget,  too,  that  many  of  our  most  wonder- 
ul  and  well-trumpeted   discoveries  were  matters  of 
icommon  knowledge  many  centuries  ago  to  folk  whose 
uticle  is  different  from  ours  and  whom  we  regard  as 
vages.     I  suppose  this  is  an  integral  fibre  of  our 
holesome  British  pride,  and  of  that  royal  confidence 
n     ourselves    which    alone    makes    it    possible    for 
s  to   dominate   a  very  large    share   of  the   earth's 
urface.     So  far,  so  good.     But  the  under-rating  of 
;he  powers  of  the  "savages"  and  "semi-savages"  is 
little  misleading,  and  involves  an  occasional  shock  of 
urprise  for  us. 

Now,  take  the  matter  of  hypnotism.  I  fancied 
hat  Paris  and  London  knew  all  that  was  worth 
Jj:nowing  about  that  subject.  I  don't  think  so  now. 
found,  for  example,  in  Morocco,  that  pretty  nearly 
ery  Moor  one  met  with  knew  as  much  about 
nesmerism,  in  practice  if  not  in  theory,  as  do  any  of 
he  professing  exponents  of  the  art,  or  science,  or 
/hatever  you  call  it,  in  Europe.  It  was  my 
•iend,  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed,  who  opened  my  eyes  to 
is,  as  to  a  good  many  other  matters  of  interest.  He 

163 


164  MOROCCO 

heard  me  one  day  in  Tangier  instructing  a  groom  in 
the  matter  of  a  sick  horse. 

"And  mind,"  said  I  to  the  groom,  " don't  you 
leave  the  stable  till  I  return.  No  loafing  down  to  Bab 
el  Fas  cafe,  mind.  Be  sure  I  shall  see  you  if  you  go 
out.  You  stay  right  here  till  I  get  back." 

Of  course  the  man  promised,  and  equally,  of  course, 
I  suspect  he  strolled  down  to  the  city  gate  caf6,  or  to 
some  other  centre  of  gossip,  as  soon  as  my  back  was 
turned. 

"Why  does  the  Sidi  think  he  would  see  his 
servant  in  the  town  if  his  servant  desired  not  to  be 
seen?"  asked  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed. 

"  Why?     Because  I  mean  to  keep  my  eyes  opei 
of  course,"  was  my  innocent  English  reply. 

"  H'm !     And  does  the  Sidi  suppose  that  he  coul< 
see  me  in  the  town  if  I  wished  him  not  to  see  me  ?  " 

I  indicated  my  readiness  to  wager  that  I  would  i 
the   Sheikh   were   within   eye-shot    from   the   public 
streets ;  and  then  it  was  that  my  friend  explained  to 
me  the  every-day  uses  to  which  hypnotism  is  put  in 
Morocco.     I  confess  I  had  my  doubts  about  it. 

"  Where  does  the  Sidi  ride  this  evening  ?"  asked 
the  Sheikh. 

"  By  Bubanah,  and  home  through  Shwaanee  and 
along  the  beach,"  said  I. 

"Good!  Let  the  Sidi  look  for  me  along  the 
beach,  within  half  a  mile  of  the  town,"  said  the 
Sheikh,  in  his  confoundedly  superior  way,  as  it  might 
be  he  was  humouring  some  sceptical  child. 

"He'll   have   to   shrink    into    something   mighty  |} 
small   if   I    am    not   to   see   him   on   that   beach,"    I 
thought.     And  accordingly,  as  soon  as  I  reached  the 
sands  on  my  homeward    way,    I    slowed  my  stallion 


SHEIKH  AND  GREAT  NORTHERN     165 

down  to  a  walk  and  made  up  my  mind  to  scrutinise 
carefully  every  soul  I  passed  upon  the  beach. 

But  I  saw  no  sign  of  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed.     In 
act,  I  only  met  about  a  score  of  people  altogether. 
Dlose  to  the  corner  where  one  turns  for  the  hill  road 
o  the  Sok,   I  caught  sight  of  Trefane,  the  Danish 
consul,  and  pulled  up  alongside  him  for  a  chat. 

"You  haven't  seen  anything  of  Sheikh  Abd  el 
Vlajeed,  my  new  familiar,  have  you  ?  "  I  asked  after 
he  usual  salutations. 

"  Isn't  that  the  man  sitting  there  by  those  nets?" 
aid  he. 

As  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,  the  Sheikh  was  sitting 

iwithin  fifty   yards   of  us.     I    had  just   passed   him. 

Trefane  said  the  Sheikh  had  certainly  sat  there  with- 

ut  moving  during  the  last  ten  minutes,  for  he  himself 

had  been  looking  out  for  the  Gibraltar  steamer  during 

that  time,  and  had  seen  the  Sheikh  all  the  while. 

And  I  had  looked  into  the  face  of  every  single  person 

saw  on  that  beach. 

"  But  that   is  nothing   at  all,"  said  the    Sheikh, 

fterwards.     "  Any  street  idler  might  do  so  much — 

ust  prevent  your  seeing  him.     It  is  easy  to  prevent 

our  seeing  a  thing  that  is  ;  where  skill  comes  is  in 

making  you  see  a  thing  which  is  not." 

But  all  this  is  a  shocking  digression  (though  not 
without  purpose),  for   I  want  to  tell  you  about  my 
ousin,  Harry  Forbes,  and  how  the  Sheikh  helped  him 
n  England. 

You  would  probably  know  almost  as  much  about 
iarry  as  I  do  if  I  gave  his  real  name,  since  a  young 
nan  may  not  run  through  a  fortune  of  three-quarters 
f    a   million,    and   pick    himself  up   again,    without 
Attracting  a  good  deal  of  attention.     But  for  obvious 


166  MOROCCO 

reasons  I  refrain  from  using  Harry's  real  second  name. 
Therefore   you  will   think  of  him,  if  you  please,  as 
a  young  man  of  twenty-six  whose  mother  had  died 
when  he  was  a  child,   and  whose  father,  who  died 
when  Harry  was  twenty-three,  had  left  him  close  upon 
eight  hundred  thousand  pounds  in  good  securities,  a 
small  annuity  so  wisely  tied  up  that  it  could  not  be 
disposed  of,  and  Itchet  Park.     Itchet  Park  was  a  fine 
inheritance  in  itself;  a  fine  old  mansion,  built  in  the 
reign  of  the  first  George,  and  one  of  the  finest  parks 
in  the  north  of  England.     But  Harry  had  started 
business  as  a  patron  of  the  turf,  even  before  his  father 
died ;  and — well,  you  know,  the  turf  demands  a  go< 
deal  of  its  young  patrons.     The  youngster  had  nol 
done  so  badly,  from  the  sporting  point  of  view,  an< 
there  is  no  doubt  he  knew  a  horse  when  he  saw  on< 
His  training  stables  contained  some  very  fine  animah 
and  they  did  a  good  deal  of  winning  for  him.     But 
Harry's  head  for  figures  was  not  remarkable,  and  it 
seemed  he  could  never  resist  the  temptation  to  plunge 
in  betting.    Standing  to  win  a  thousand  seemed  a  poor 
sort  of  business  to  Harry.     He  must  needs  go  out  and 
double  and  treble  his  wagers  before  the  thought  of 
them  gave  him  an  atom  of  satisfaction.     Yet  he  had 
his  occasional  fits  of  caution  and  remorse ;  and  when 
a  horse  of  Harry's  won  it  frequently  brought  nothing 
in  its  owner's  pocket  to  balance  his  very  heavy  losses 
on  previous  races. 

When  Harry  asked  me  to  go  and  spend  a  week  at 
Itchet  Park,  and  see  him  win  the  Great  Northern 
Handicap,  I  asked  permission  to  bring  Sheikh  Abd 
el  Majeed  with  me,  knowing  that  the  Moor  would  be 
intensely  interested  in  the  racing,  and  being  anxious 
to  show  him  something  of  what  Englishmen  could  do 


SHEIKH  AND  GREAT  NORTHERN     167 

with  horses.  Harry  wrote  back  welcoming  us  both — 
"And  anyone  else  you  like  to  bring.  There's 
heaps  of  room,  and  plenty  of  grub  —  at  present. 
And  there  will  be  heaps  more  when  Starlight  has 
passed  the  judge's  box  on  Tuesday." 

So  I  was  prepared  to  learn  that  my  cousin  had 
been  plunging  again  ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  night 
before  the  great  race  that  I  realised  how  deeply. 

Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed  was,  as  I  had  foreseen, 
deeply  interested  in  Harry's  stables,  where,  as  guests 
of  honour,  we  were  admitted  on  the  evening  of  our 
arrival  at  Itchet  Park,  to  see  the  horses  and  be 
introduced  to  Starlight,  the  red-hot  favourite  for  the 
Great  Northern.  I  think  I  never  saw  a  more 
beautiful  animal  in  my  life,  and  his  condition  was 
superb.  Trained  to  the  last  turn  of  concert  pitch, 
Starlight  was  a  ruddy  bay  model  of  what  a  racehorse 
should  be ;  satin-coated  and  thighed  like  an  ostrich  ; 
a  mass  of  muscle  and  nerves,  he  chewed  the  edge  of 
his  manger  while  the  Sheikh  ran  one  sensitive  hand 
down  the  sinewy  pasterns  and  stroked  the  gleaming 
flank.  The  mere  appearance  of  the  beast  in  his 
beautifully-kept  box  conveyed  a  wonderfully  strong 
impression  of  lightning  speed,  tireless  endurance,  and 
ability  to  spring  to  the  gallop  as  an  arrow  leaves  a 
bow. 

<  'Y' Allah  t'if!"  exclaimed  the  Sheikh,  in  deep- 
breathing  admiration.  "What  a  horse!" 

And  the  jealous  stable-boy,  whose  bed  was  in  the 
next  box,  glanced  at  Abd  el  Majeed  as  though  fearful 
lest  some  fateful  charm  had  been  pronounced  over  the 
creature  whose  care  was  this  lad's  religion.  But 
Harry  Forbes  understood  and  warmed  to  the 
Moor. 


168  MOROCCO 

"Yes;  he's  a  beauty,  isn't  he?"  said  Harry, 
drawing  his  rug  over  Starlight's  haunches.  "And 
he's  going  to  set  me  straight  with  the  world  on 
Tuesday.  Nothing  can  stop  him — unless  it's  Wilson's 
Jason,  and — " 

"  If  ye  please,  sir,  our  Starlight  can  leave  'im 
standing !  "  The  stable-boy  would  have  fought  any- 
one else  but  his  master  who  had  ventured  upon  the 
expression  of  even  so  much  doubt,  I  fancied. 

I  have  my  doubts  as  to  whether  the  Sheikh  ever 
enjoyed  anything  in  England  as  he  enjoyed  that  first 
day's  racing  of  the  Great  Northern  meeting  on 
Monday.  Harry  passed  us  everywhere,  even  to  the 
weighing-room,  and  the  Sheikh  studied  English  racing 
from  the  inside,  as  the  saying  is,  in  the  saddling- 
paddock,  and  among  the  jockeys  and  grooms.  He 
was  presented  to  the  famous  jockey  who  was  to  ride 
Starlight  on  the  morrow,  and  to  his  equally  famous 
compeer  who  was  to  steer  the  second  favourite,  Jason. 
He  talked  earnestly  and  humbly  with  both,  learning 
with  every  step  he  took  and  every  word  he  heard. 
He  was  shown  the  judge's  box,  walked  over  the 
course,  and  was  instructed  in  the  details  of  the 
management  of  races. 

Starlight  was  not  running  that  day,  but  Jason 
was ;  and  when  the  Sheikh  had  examined  the  second 
favourite  he  confided  to  me  with  a  sigh  that  he  had 
had  no  idea  there  would  be  other  horses  so  fit  to  ride 
against  my  cousin's  Starlight. 

"  But,  to  be  sure,  to  win  even  by  the  breadth  of 
my  hand  is  sufficient  ?  "  said  he. 

"Ay,  or  of  thy  finger,"  I  agreed  ;  and  that  seemed 
to  comfort  him. 

It  was  late  that  night,  in  the  smoking-room,  when 


SHEIKH  AND  GREAT  NORTHERN     169 

the  rest  of  his  guests  had  gone  to  bed,  that  Harry  told 
me  just  what  the  next  day's  race  would  mean  for  him. 
The  Sheikh  squatted  on  a  cushion  beside  us,  smoking 
Bastos  cigarettes,  and  was  no  barrier  to  my  cousin's 
confidence.  I  suppose  they  joined  hands  in  their 
mutual  love  of  a  good  horse.  In  any  case  I  had 
seen  that  the  Sheikh  was  more  drawn  toward  Harry 
than  he  had  been  toward  any  other  man  to  whom  I 
had  introduced  him.  And  Harry  met  his  advances, 
and  seemed  to  reciprocate  his  feelings  most  heartily. 

"Thundering  good  chap,  your  Sheikh,"  said  he  to 
me;  "and  as  for  being  a  darkey,  as  that  fool  said  on 
the  course  to-day — why,  he's  no  more  of  a  darkey 
than  I  am  !  He's  got  a  devilish  sharp  eye  for  a  horse, 
and  I'm  glad  to  find  he  admires  Star  as  much  as  he 
does.  I  never  saw  a  man  handle  a  horse  more  under- 
standingly.  Old  Star  would  have  let  the  Sheikh  sit 
between  his  hoofs ;  and  he  won't  stand  liberties  from 
most  folk,  either.  He  won't  from  me,  I  know." 

I  explained  to  Harry  that  your  Moor  was,  so  to 
say,  born  a-horseback,  and  that  horse-lore  was 
hereditary  among  Arabs.  And  then  we  fell  to  talk 
of  Harry's  circumstances.  I  knew  he  had  plighted 
his  troth  to  a  Miss  Dighton  ;  one  of  the  Leicestershire 
Dightons,  who,  as  everyone  knows,  are  as  poor  as 
church  mice.  My  people  had  tried  to  put  obstacles  in 
the  way,  for,  from  the  worldly  point  of  view,  a  more 
unwise  match  could  hardly  be  conceived ;  but  neither 
they  nor  I  understood  just  how  unwise  it  was. 

"  What  do  you  think  I  stand  to  win  on  Starlight 
to-morrow  ?  "  said  Harry,  reflectively,  chewing  the  end 
of  his  cigar. 

"  Ten  thousand,"  said  I,  knowing  his  plunging 
habits. 


170  MOROCCO 

"Ten  thousand — on  the  Great  Northern  Handi- 
cap !  Why,  I  lost  more  than  that  last  week.  No,  my 
son,  Starlight's  got  to  win  nearly  two  hundred  thousand 
for  me  to-morrow  ;  and  what's  more,  if  he  doesn't  win 
it  I  sha'n't  have  a  stick  or  stone  to  call  my  own  after 
next  settling-day,  bar  the  little  annuity  that  poor  Dad 
tied  up  so  deuced  tight  that  I  couldn't  raise  eighteen- 
pence  on  it." 

I  stared.  "Two  hundred  thousand — and  Star- 
light's at  six  to  four  on ! " 

"Well,  of  course,  I  did  better  than  that.  I  didn't 
make  my  book  yesterday,  though  I'm  bound  to  say 
the  odds  were  confoundedly  tight  about  Star  from  the 
very  start.  His  Newmarket  win  fixed  that  —  and 
didn't  bring  me  a  thousand  pounds,  confound  it ! " 

There  was  silence  between  us  for  a  few  minutes, 
and,  watching  Harry's  face,  the  conviction  was  born< 
in  upon  me  that  this  race  was  no  ordinary  plunge  for 
him,  but  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  The  sporting 
element  of  it  was  lost,  clean  out  of  sight ;  it  was  not 
just  a  win  or  a  loss,  it  was  a  win  or  ruin,  for  my 
cousin,  and  the  shadow  of  it  was  heavy  upon  his  face. 
He  seemed  to  read  my  thoughts,  for,  presently,  he  laid 
one  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and  his  voice  broke  a 
little  as  he  said  to  me, — 

"  By  God,  old  man,  I  tell  you  Star  has  just  got  to 
win  this  time  or  you'll  never  hear  of  me  any  more. 
This  week  has  been  almost  more  than  I  could  stand. 
If  anything  went  wrong  there  wouldn't  be  enough  left 
to  settle  my  bills  with.  If  all's  well,  and  Star  wins — 
Phew !  I'm  clear.  I  should  be  married  in  a  month, 
and — yes,  I  shall  be  done  with  racing  for  good  and 
all.  If  Star's  beaten — it  means  the  Colonies,  or  a 
bullet  for  me  !  " 


SHEIKH  AND  GREAT  NORTHERN     171 

"  lyeh,  by  Allah,  but  Star  will  win  !  "  said  the 
Sheikh,  quietly,  and  touching  Harry's  knee  with  one 
hand. 

I  had  forgotten  the  Sheikh,  and  so,  for  the  moment, 
I  think,  had  Harry. 

" Thanks,  Sheikh,  thanks!  I  hope  he  will,  I'm 
sure,"  said  Harry.  "  Have  some  more  coffee  ?  " 

The  Sheikh  declined  the  coffee  and  rose  to  leave 
us  for  the  night.  "  But  make  you  no  trouble  in  your 
mind,"  said  he,  earnestly,  to  Harry.  "  I  have  said  it  ; 
by  Allah,  the  Star  shall  win !  "  And  with  that  he  left 
us. 

"  He's  a  good  chap,  your  Sheikh,"  said  Harry  to 
me  ;  "  but — but  I  suppose  my  nerves  are  a  bit  jumpy, 
or  something.  I  declare  he  made  me  shiver  just  now  ; 
talking  like  that,  as  though  he  were  a  sort  of  Provi- 
dence and  could  make  horses  win  or  lose  as  he  liked. 
I  tell  you  the  strain  of  this  thing  is  more  than  a  man 
can  stand.  I've  grown  old  in  the  last  week,  and  a 
fellow  has  to  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  among  racing  men, 
and  with  guests  in  the  house,  too.  Lord !  Lord ! 
What  would  the  dear  old  pater  have  said  to  the 
ownership  of  Itchet  Park  hanging  on  a  horse-race?" 

"  But,  look  here,  Harry,  can't  you  hedge  ?  "  I  said. 
"  Couldn't  you  lay  off  some  of  it  on  Jason,  in  case  of 
accidents  ?  " 

II  Oh,  well,  if  you  talk  of  accidents,  what's  to  pre- 
vent an  outsider  romping  home  ?  " 

I  sighed.  But  the  thought  of  what  a  disaster  for 
Harry  failure  would  mean  possessed  me,  and  I  stuck 
to  the  hedging  idea  so  closely  that  before  we  parted 
for  the  night  he  had  agreed  to  see  what  could  be  done 
next  morning  in  the  matter  of  laying  off  a  few 
hundreds  of  pounds  upon  Jason. 


172  MOROCCO 

"  Bar  accidents,"  he  said,  "  Jason's  the  only  horse 
I  fear.  But  he — well,  if  what  Wilson  tells  me  is  true, 
Jason  ought  to  just  about  beat  Star  on  the  post.  It's 
that  that's  made  me  old  this  week.  I  ought  to  have 
hedged  as  soon  as  I  knew  what  Jason  had  done  in  his 
trial  last  week  ;  but  old  Star — well,  I  don't  know. 
I  didn't  anyhow!" 

But  I  had  Harry's  promise  for  the  morning,  and 
comforted  myself  with  that  as  I  turned  in  for  the 
night. 

But  my  comfort  was  stripped  from  me  when  we 
started  for  the  course  next  morning.  (The  distance 
was  no  more  than  three  miles,  and  Harry's  horses 
were  always  taken  by  road.)  My  cousin  had  made 
the  poorest  sort  of  pretence  at  breaking  his  fast,  and 
now,  though  with  his  high  colour  and  bright  eyes  he 
looked  well  enough  to  the  casual  observer,  he  seemed 
to  me  to  be  in  a  high  fever  of  excitement.  When  we 
mounted  the  Itchet  drag  Harry  declined  to  take  the 
ribbons,  and  I  knew  his  nerves  must  be  in  a  pretty  bad 
state  when  he  felt  unfit  to  handle  his  own  team. 

"  I'm  right  off  hedging,"  he  muttered  to  me  as  we 
started.     "  After  all,  it's  a  snivelling  sort  of  business." 
I'd  rather  stand  or  fall.     Star  deserves  so  much,  by 
gad!  I'll  not  hedge  a  penny  piece!" 

The  Sheikh's  learning  had  not  carried  him  far 
enough  to  understand  what  was  meant  by  hedging, 
but  he  nodded  his  approval  at  Harry,  and  said,  in  his 
quiet,  impressive  way,  "Star  will  win;  I  have  said 
it !  "  It  was  not  like  him,  I  thought,  to  make  confident 
assertions  without  having  some  ground  to  base  them 
on.  Could  he  really  know,  from  his  examination  of 
the  two  horses  most  concerned  ?  At  all  events,  I 
envied  him  his  confidence. 


SHEIKH  AND  GREAT  NORTHERN     173 

"  Now  we  must  just  go  and  say  good-morning  to 
Starlight  and  wish  him  luck,"  said  Harry,  when  he 
reached  the  saddling-paddock  gate.  "  Come  along, 
Sheikh,  and  give  our  horse  your  blessing ! " 

"  First,  I  want  you  to  let  me  see  Jason  and  that 
boy  with  the  old  man's  face  who  is  to  ride  him,"  said 
the  Sheikh.  "  Then  I  will  say  '  B'ism  Illah '  over  the 
Star." 

Harry  laughed  nervously.  "  All  right,"  he  said. 
"  But  don't  be  killing  Jason's  jock  for  the  love  you 
bear  Starlight,  Sheikh,  for  that  wouldn't  win  our  race 
for  us." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Sheikh,  gravely,  as  one  who 
should  protest  he  had  never  injured  a  fly ;  "  there  is 
to  be  no  killing  here  ;  there  is  no  need  of  killing,  but 
only  of  racing.  And — the  Star,  he  is  to  win." 

Jason's  wizened  jockey,  the  hero  of  a  thousand 
victories,  shook  hands  with  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed 
with  great  good  humour.  What  the  little  man  did 
not  know  about  horses  and  racing  was  not  very  well 
worth  knowing,  and  it  was  his  conviction  that  he  was 
to  ride  the  winner  of  the  Great  Northern  that  day. 

"  There  is  a  little  black — there — so  !  "  Delicately 
the  Sheikh  had  touched  the  famous  jockey's  forehead 
with  the  forefinger  of  his  slim  right  hand.  The  jockey 
acknowledged  the  attention  a  little  awkwardly,  I 
thought,  and  his  eyes  fell  in  a  shamefaced  way  from 
the  Sheikh's  face. 

'"  So  you  are  riding  to — to  win  to-day,  hey  ?  "  said 
the  Sheikh. 

"Er — what?  Why,  yes,"  said  the  jockey.  It 
was  very  odd,  I  thought,  the  way  in  which  the  words 
seemed  to  be  forced  from  him,  as  humility  might  be 
forced  from  a  bully. 


174  MOROCCO 

"  Ah— ye-es  !  "  said  the  Sheikh,  slowly.  "  But 
sometimes — how  you  say  it  ?  In  my  country  we  say 
success  is  never  so  far  as  when  the  finger-tips  touch  it. 
Between  the  touch  and  the  grasp — you  understand — 
Nay,  nay  ;  there  is  no  need  of  words.  I  wish  you — 
strength,  Sahhah ! " 

It  was  an  irritating  way  to  talk  to  a  jockey  just 
before  his  race,  I  thought,  and  I  was  quite  surprised 
that  the  man  stood  it  so  quietly  ;  to  be  sure,  he  looked 
sullen  and  resentful  enough,  but  he  stepped  forward 
briskly  as  a  stable-boy  in  hopes  of  a  tip  when  the 
Sheikh  asked  him  some  trivial  question. 

The  first  two  races  excited  no  great  attention,  but 
betting  was  brisk  on  the  big  event  of  the  day,  and 
before  the  horses  were  led  out  for  their  preliminary 
canter  Starlight  had  given  place  to  Jason  as  first 
favourite.  It  was  as  though  Harry's  nervousness  had 
communicated  itself  to  the  public  ;  and  certainly  their 
loss  of  faith  in  Starlight  had  its  effect  upon  poor 
Harry.  The  poor  fellow  only  kept  outward  control 
of  himself  by  a  prodigious  effort,  and  when  I  spoke  to 
him,  begged  me  in  a  whisper  to  ask  him  nothing  till 
the  race  was  run. 

"  Keep  near  me,  old  man.  By  gad !  it's  more  than 
I  can  stand.  What  the  devil  can  have  put  them  off 
old  Star  like  this  ?  They're  giving  three  to  one  about 
him.  By  gad !  I'll  have  another  hundred  on  him, 
hang  me  if  I  won't !  " 

And  he  did,  despite  all  my  arguments  against  it. 

11  Peace !  peace ! "  murmured  the  Sheikh  in  my 
ear.  "  The  Star  shall  win.  I  have  said  it." 

The  crowd  yelled  their  cheers  as  the  two  favourites 
minced  past  the  grand  stand  together  after  the  canter. 
Harry,  the  Sheikh,  myself,  and  a  few  others  of 


SHEIKH  AND  GREAT  NORTHERN     175 

Harry's  party  secured  places  close  to  the  rails  next 
the  judge's  box.  We  were  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
fateful  post  itself.  From  this  you  will  know,  if  you 
know  the  Great  Northern  course,  that  we  had  a  very 
fair  view  of  the  starting-place,  and  a  perfect  view  of 
the  best  straight  in  England.  The  first  and  the  last 
half-mile  of  the  race  would  be  a  panorama  for  us  ;  but 
we  were  too  low  to  see  much  of  the  intervening 
three-quarters  of  a  mile. 

"They're  off!"  shouted  the  crowd,  and  the 
book-makers  suddenly  ceased  from  troubling.  Silence 
fell  upon  the  great  course  and  the  multitude  that 
hemmed  it  in.  It  was  a  fine  start.  First  came  two 
outsiders  whose  names  I  did  not  know ;  then  a  raw, 
leggy  chestnut,  very  fast  but  no  stayer  for  that 
distance,  I  thought ;  then  Starlight,  stretching  com- 
fortably in  an  inside  position  with  Jason  a  good 
length  in  the  rear,  and  half-hidden  by  the  ruck.  A 
splendid  field,  and —  Already  they  were  out  of 
sight. 

All  the  colour  had  left  Harry's  face  now,  and  he 
looked  ten  years  more  than  his  age  as  he  turned  half 
round  to  watch  the  faces  on  the  stand  for  indications 
of  the  progress  of  the  race. 

"  Turn-turn  !  tut-sah  !  "  he  was  muttering  to  him- 
self;  and  every  other  moment  his  tongue  moved  to 
moisten  his  dry  lips,  whilst  his  left  hand  crushed  a 
cigar,  and  his  right  fore-finger  and  thumb  jerked  at 
the  end  of  his  moustache.  The  Sheikh  leaned  upon 
the  rails,  his  eyes  glued  upon  that  quarter  of  the 
course  from  which  the  horses  entered  the  straight  and 
our  range  of  vision. 

"Starlight  leads!" 

The    crowd    roared    itself   hoarse    as    the    field 


176  MOROCCO 

appeared  again,  and  I  heard  Harry,  craning  his  head 
behind  me,  take  in  his  breath  with  a  gulp. 

"The  sport  of  kings  is  mighty  wearing  to  some 
commoners,"  I  thought. 

There  was  no  sort  of  doubt  but  that  the  race  was 
between  the  two  favourites.  The  public  were  so  far 
right.  Starlight  and  Jason  entered  the  half-mile 
straight  a  length  and  a  half  ahead  of  the  field,  which 
was  bunched  thickly  ;  and  Starlight  was  three-quarters 
of  a  length  in  advance  of  Jason.  We  could  hear  the 
thunder  of  their  hoofs  now.  I  saw  Tom  Gunner's 
whip  rise  over  Starlight's  flank. 

"Too  soon!  Too  soon!"  groaned  Harry  behind 
me. 

Jason  was  creeping  steadily  on.  His  nose  reached 
Tom  Gunner's  knee,  and  passed  it.  They  were  neck 
and  neck,  and  there  they  stayed  through  a  little 
eternity.  The  crowd  gasped. 

"  Starlight !     Jason  !     Starlight !     Jason  !  " 

The  tension  was  horribly  acute.  Tom  Gunner's 
whip  was  going  like  a  flail.  And  now  I  saw  the  whip 
of  Jason's  jockey  rise  and  fall  once,  twice.  The  grey 
crept  forward.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it. 
"  Jason  wins!  "  yelled  the  crowd.  Jason  was  a  neck 
and  a  half  ahead,  and  the  whip  had  barely  spoken  to 
him  yet.  On  they  came,  the  earth  shaking  under 
them,  Jason  winning  by  a  quarter  of  his  length.  The 
Sheikh,  leaning  far  over  the  rails,  was  muttering  away 
in  Arabic  during  the  whole  of  this  time.  Suddenly 
his  voice  rose,  almost  to  a  shout. 

"  Drook  ! " — that  is,  "  Now  ! " — was  the  word  that 
left  him ;  and  his  two  corn-coloured  hands,  palms 
outward,  shot  out  before  me  like  unleashed  hawks. 
"  Racecourses  are  no  places  for  you,  my  friend," 


SHEIKH  AND  GREAT  NORTHERN     177 

thought  I.  And  then  I  thought  no  more  of  that,  for 
the  great  roar  that  went  up  from  the  crowd  assembled 
on  that  course  drowned  thought. 

"  Starlight !     Starlight  wins  !  " 

It  was  really  most  extraordinary.  I  saw  the 
jockey's  shoulders  twitch,  and  I  could  almost  have 
sworn  he  jagged  at  Jason's  mouth.  Certainly  the 
favourite's  stride  shortened.  Starlight's  blood-red 
nostrils  were  level  with  his  nostrils.  They  shot  past. 
They  were  at  the  post';  Starlight  a  good  head  and 
neck  in  advance,  the  ruck  of  the  field  thundering  after 
them,  Harry  Forbes  shaking  both  my  hands,  in 
tremulous  fashion,  and — the  Great  Northern  Handi- 
cap was  run  and  won. 

A  few  minutes  later  we  were  in  the  saddling- 
paddock,  the  Sheikh  and  myself,  to  welcome  Harry 
as  he  led  the  winner  in,  to  the  accompaniment  of 
deafening  applause  from  the  crowd.  A  rasping  voice 
behind  me  made  me  turn  to  look  at  those  who  accom- 
panied the  second  horse,  the  beaten  favourite. 

"  But,  God  in  heaven,  man,  you  simply  pulled  up  !  " 

It  was  Wilson,  the  owner  of  Jason,  addressing 
the  most  sourly  crestfallen  jockey  in  England,  who, 
for  his  part,  had  not  a  word  to  say  in  his  defence ; 
though  I  heard  later*  that  in  the  weighing-room  he 
was  heard  savagely  to  grunt  out  a  statement  to  the 
effect  that  he  believed  he  had  been  bewitched. 

It  was  not  till  several  days  later  that  I  was  able 
to  get  anything  out  of  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed  on  the 
subject ;  and  then  he  only  said, — 

"  It  is  not  so  easy,  Sidi,  to  make  a  man  do  things 
as  to  prevent  him  seeing  you  ;  but  with  a  little  care,  a 
little  practice,  we  Moors  can  do  a  good  deal  with 
what  you  call  mesmerism." 

M 


178  MOROCCO 

In  my  heart  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  Jason 
could  have  won  that  race,  and  would  have  won  it, 
but  for  the  Sheikh's  exercise  of  will-power  upon  the 
jockey.  It  may  have  been  my  duty  to  have  explained 
this  to  the  stewards ;  but  —  should  I  have  been 
thanked,  or  called  a  lunatic  ?  And  then  there  was 
Harry;  it  was  fortune  or  ruin  for  him.  What  would 
you  have  done  ? 

Anyhow,  I  have  told  what  happened,  and  I  know 
that  it  was  not  Starlight,  but  Sheikh  Abd  el  Majeed, 
who  won  the  Great  Northern  Handicap  that  year. 

A    week    before    Harry    was   married    to    Miss 
Dighton  he  told  the  Sheikh  he  wanted  to  make  hi 
a  present. 

"  Somehow,  I  believe  it  was  your  blessing  mad 
old  Star  win,  Sheikh.     Now  what  can  I  give  you  ?  " 

The  Sheikh  smiled.     He  knew. 

"Your  blessing,  friend,  that  I,  too,  may  win," 
said  he. 

And,  in  addition  to  the  blessing,  Harry  gave  the 
Sheikh  the  best  hunter  in  his  stables. 


THE  ROYAL  NAVY  OF  MOROCCO 

r  I  ^HERE  was  once  an  American  boy,  the  son 
i  of  a  Chicago  millionaire,  and  this  boy  was 
domiciled  at  an  English  public  school.  He  was  a 
millionaire  in  his  own  right,  from  the  standpoint  of  his 
English  school-mates.  One  of  his  whims,  the  most 
grievous  among  many,  was  to  purchase  costly,  delicate 
and  highly  intricate  mechanical  contrivances,  ap- 
parently with  the  aim  of  showing  how  quickly  he 
could  tire  of  them,  and,  having  tired  of  them,  destroy 
the  beautiful,  complex  things  by  leaving  them  lying 
about  in  playgrounds,  by  sitting  on  them,  and  by 
other  apeish  and  unpleasing  devices.  Now,  at  this 
same  school  was  an  English  boy  whose  loving 
interest  in  mechanical  contrivances  amounted  to  a 
passion.  Financially  this  inventor  in  embryo  was  the 
poorest  boy  in  the  school.  On  a  certain  sunny 
summer  afternoon  this  lad  fell  upon  the  American 
youth  and  came  near  to  slaying  him  with  a  cricket 
stump,  over  the  rusted  ruins  of  an  exquisite  little 
model  engine  which  the  rich  boy  was  kicking  in 
sunder.  When  he  was  healed  of  his  wounds  and 
whole  once  more,  one  found  that  the  episode  had 
exerted  a  most  beneficial  effect  upon  the  destructively- 
inclined  young  millionaire. 

I  inspected  the  Moorish  armoured  cruiser,  Bashir, 
the  other  day '  and  I  was  filled  with  a  desire  to  turn 

1  In  the  spring  of  1901.     The  Sultan  sold  his  costly  toy  last  year. 

179 


180  MOROCCO 

that  English  boy  loose,  with  his  stump ,  among  the 
Moorish  authorities  responsible  for  the  purchase  and 
subsequent  maltreatment  of  this  costly,  delicate  and 
highly  intricate  mechanical  contrivance.  But  there ! 
The  poor  lad's  heart  would  break  when,  after  inter- 
minable stump-wielding,  he  found,  as  find  he  would, 
that  no  power  on  earth  could  amend  the  chastised 
ones  or  preserve  from  ultimate  ruination  their  toy. 

You  must  know  that  for  quite  a  number  of  years 
past  there  has  been  a  Moorish  navy.  I  am  not  re- 
ferring, of  course,  to  the  "  saleemans,"  xebecs  and 
caravels  of  the  palmy  Moorish  days  of  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries,  but  to  this  present 
age  of  the  Moorish  empire's  decay.  This  navy 
consisted  of  two  small  merchant  steamers,  purchased 
from  Europe — Sid  et  Turki  of  385  tons'  register,  and 
Al  Hassanee  of  1000  tons.  These  little  steamers, 
each  carrying  a  few  guns,  have  made  Tangier  Bay 
their  head-quarters,  are  captained  and  officered  by 
German  merchant  seamen,  and  have  been  used 
principally  for  the  conveying  of  grain  and  stores  to 
and  from  coast  towns  in  Morocco  when  not  occupied 
in  the  transport  of  prisoners  or  of  the  pickled  heads 
of  rebels.  This  latter  task  is  an  important  branch  of 
the  Moorish  naval  service,  which,  one  is  pleased  to 
say,  led  to  the  resignation,  after  ineffectual  protesta- 
tions, of  the  only  Englishmen  employed  in  it. 

Early  in  the  decade  just  ended  the  Italian 
embassy  in  Tangier  proceeded  on  a  mission  to  the 
Moorish  Court  in  the  interior.  Among  other  matters 
then  pressed  upon  the  Sultan  (the  father  of  the 
present  ruler)  it  is  said  that  he  was  invited  to  order  a 
modern  armoured  cruiser  to  be  built  for  him  in  an 
Italian  dockyard  at  a  cost  of  something  under 


THE  ROYAL  NAVY  OF  MOROCCO  181 

^100,000.  The  vessel  could  be  used  as  a  royal 
yacht  for  the  conveyance  of  Allah's  Anointed,  the 
then  prince  Abd  el  Aziz,  on  his  pilgrimage  to  Holy 
Mekka.  At  all  events  a  member  of  the  Italian 
Embassy  remained  for  close  on  eighteen  months  at 
the  Court,  and,  as  a  reward  for  his  diplomatic  patience, 
at  the  end  of  that  time  returned  to  Tangier  with  an 
order  for  Italy  in  his  hand  for  a  modern  noo-ton 
armoured  cruiser.  This  cruiser,  the  Bashir,  was  built 
in  1894,  in  the  Fratelli  Orlando  dockyard  at  Leghorn, 
and  a  bill  was  presented  to  the  Sultan  for  an  amount 
between  ^80,000  and  ,£90,000.  The  cruiser  was  to 
be  manned  for  the  most  part  by  Italians. 

Then  began  the  complications — the  Legation 
complications,  which  are  the  inevitable  stumbling- 
block  in  the  way  of  any  new  departure,  progressive  or 
otherwise,  in  this  distressful  country.  All  the  other 
Powers,  with  a  smile  and  a  bow  for  Italy,  turned 
frowningly  upon  the  Sultan  and  began  to  rend  him 
upon  the  question  of  cruisers.  Each  one  demanded, 
like  an  eager  bagman,  an  order  such  as  Italy  had  ob- 
tained. "  Plague  take  the  thing  and  the  whole 
accursed  tribe  of  Nazarenes ! "  one  imagines  the 
Sultan  saying.  What  he  openly  said  was,  in  effect, 
"  Very  well,  then,  I  won't  take  the  Italian  cruiser  and 
I  won't  pay  for  it.  Perhaps  that  will  content  you 
other  fellows." 

A  certain  number  of  Moors  had  entered  the 
Italian  navy  to  be  trained.  They  were  left  there, 
and  the  Sultan,  doubtless  with  relief,  washed  his 
sacred  hands  of  the  whole  affair.  The  Powers  fell 
back  and  dozed  again  ;  and  Italy  commenced  a  treat- 
ment of  quarterly  pin-prickings,  in  the  shape  of 
reminders  that  their  order  had  been  completed,  the 


182  MOROCCO 

goods,  according  to  sample,  were  ready  for  delivery, 
and  a  settlement  of  account  by  return  would  oblige. 
The  Moorish  Government,  from  long  habit,  are 
inured  to  this  kind  of  thing,  and  can  bear  up  under 
it  quite  singularly  well.  They  bore  up,  the  Sultan 
and  his  Wazeers,  until  the  former  died.  The  virtue 
of  patient  endurance  descended  with  the  Imperial 
Parasol,  it  seemed,  to  his  son,  the  present  Right  Hand 
of  Allah  upon  earth.  And  the  cruiser  remained  at 
Leghorn. 

Objecting,  naturally,  to  the  unbusiness-like  practice 
of  keeping  ordered  stock  indefinitely  on  hand,  Italy, 
so  to  say,  dropped  in,  in  a  friendly  way,  upon  the 
other  Powers,  and  requested  them  to  let  up  and  spoil 
sport  no  longer.  "  Very  well,"  said  the  other  Powers 
at  length,  over  their  Chianti,  shall  we  say,  "  You 
send  in  your  goods  and  get  a  settlement ;  but,  mark 
this,  on  the  distinct  understanding  that  you  don't  let 
it  occur  again,  and  that  no  Power  interested  in 
Morocco  shall  allow  its  subjects  to  man  the  cruiser?  " 

So,  at  long  last,  the  cruiser  steamed  away  from 
Leghorn  for  Tangier  Bay,  where  she  dropped  anchor 
in  the  autumn  of  1900.  The  Moors  who  had  been 
trained  in  the  Italian  navy  were  aboard  her,  but  could 
not  handle  the  vessel.  So  she  was  brought  here  by 
Italians,  who  departed  from  her,  according  to  agree- 
ment, when  she  reached  Moorish  waters.  The  cruiser, 
a  beautiful  yacht-like  little  vessel,  being  securely 
moored,  a  crew  was  appointed  by  the  Tangier 
authorities,  and  the  Bashir  was  handed  over  to  its 
tender  mercies.  The  newly-appointed  paymaster  (in 
Moorish  affairs  the  paymaster  is  always  the  real 
master)  had  never  before  trod  a  ship's  deck,  I  am 
informed.  The  Moorish  gentlemen  of  Italian  naval 


THE  ROYAL  NAVY  OF  MOROCCO  183 

training  came  ashore  in  all  the  glory  of  Italian  naval 
uniform  slightly  modified,  and  proceeded  to  their 
respective  homes  in  the  interior.  In  a  few  weeks  they 
made  one  task  of  the  doffing  of  civilisation  and  of  the 
clothing  of  civilisation.  It  was  marvellous.  They 
sloughed  six  years'  training  and  environment  in  the 
time  it  took  them  to  discard  their  gold-braided  coats  ; 
and  they  stepped  back  into  present-day,  decadent 
Moorish  barbarity  while  donning  the  djellab,  kaftan 
and  yellow  slippers  of  the  Faithful. 

Meantime,  the  sylph-like  Bashir  accumulated 
barnacles  and  a  fine  coating  of  briny  rust  in  Tangier 
Bay.  It  was  decided  to  change  her  position  a  little. 
She  had  to  be  towed  from  one  anchorage  to  the  other. 
That  rather  riled  Morocco — proud  of  its  new  toy — 
and  accordingly  an  English  engineer  was  engaged  and 
sent  aboard  her,  to  put  the  " steam  devil  business' 
in  order.  This  good  man  is  said  to  have  wept  when 
he  ended  his  first  inspection  of  engines  which  had 
left  Italy  a  few  months  earlier  in  perfect  order.  He 
probably  wept  further  when  he  set  to  work  to  remedy 
the  evils  resulting  from  lazy  ignorance  and  neglect. 
Work  that  he  ordered  Mohammed  to  put  through 
was  shruggingly  delegated  to  Cassim,  who  lit  a 
cigarette  and  bade  Absalaam  see  to  it,  proceeding  then 
to  conversation  with  Absalaam,  who  recommended 
Hamadi  to  the  task,  and  invited  him  to  smoke  whilst 
Achmet,  the  head  ^of  my  unfortunate  compatriot's  gang, 
entertained  them  all  with  the  story  of  his  uncle's  wife's 
sister's  marriage  with  a  kaid  from  Al  Ksar  el  Kebeer. 
In  this  pleasing  manner  the  days  passed,  whilst  the 
beautiful  Bashir  lay  rotting  at  her  anchorage,  and  tears 
and  perspiration  oozed  from  the  Christian  engineer. 
At  length  he  came  ashore,  a  saddened  and  ex- 


184  MOROCCO 

hausted  man,  and  resigned  his  post ;  for  which  piece 
of  honesty  all  credit  is  due  to  him. 

The  Bashir  possessed  a  steam  pinnace.  It  fell 
from  its  davitts,  filled  and  sank  in  eight  to  ten 
fathoms  of  water.  I  asked  a  Moorish  naval  officer 
about  this.  "  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  told  me.  "  We 
know  where  it  is  !  "  and  he  smiled  blandly.  Amazing 
person !  That  was  just  three  months  after  the  pinnace 
descended  to  the  floor  of  Tangier  Bay. 

An  English  naval  officer  from  Gibraltar  was  in- 
vited to  offer  himself  as  captain  of  the  Bashir.  He 
was  taken  over  the  cruiser  to  inspect  it.  After  some 
trouble,  and  hunting  in  odd,  out-of-the-way  corners, 
the  key  of  the  ammunition  and  powder  magazine  was 
discovered,  and  a  Moor,  a  deck  hand,  led  the  English- 
man into  the  magazine,  carrying  a  naked  light  to 
show  him  the  way  withal. 

The  key  of  this  place  ?  Oh,  the  paymaster  had 
that,  and  he  was  ashore.  Of  the  other  place?  It 
was  with  the  lieutenant,  who  was  engaged  at  cards 
in  the  forecastle  with  the  men.  It  appeared  that  the 
ship  had  already  some  seven  or  eight  commanders,  of 
whom  the  paymaster  was  the  chief,  and  all  of  whom 
would  be  above  and  beyond  the  Christian  captain's 
authority. 

Presently,  when  it  seemed  that  the  Bashir  really 
was  at  length  to  be  captained  and  officered  by 
Englishmen,  an  official  reminder  was  issued  of  the 
tacit  understanding  among  the  Powers  to  the 
effect  that  the  cruiser  was  not  to  be  officered  by 
Europeans.  At  once  the  English  withdrew. 
Immediately,  then,  the  captaincy  and  engineers'  berths 
were  offered  to  Germans,  and  by  them  accepted. 
These  were  the  gentlemen  who  very  hospitably 


THE  ROYAL  NAVY  OF  MOROCCO  185 

received  me  when  I  inspected  the  Moorish  navy. 
The  attitude  of  the  English  in  this  little  piece  of 
jugglery,  by  the  way,  is  quite  singularly  typical  of 
the  English  attitude  in  Morocco  generally — as 
theirs  is  of  the  German. 

There  was  not  half  a  pound  of  paint  aboard  the 
cruiser.  There  was  not  the  wherewithal  to  get  np 
sufficient  steam  with  which  to  heave  anchor.  She  had 
not  stores  enough  for  a  Thames  ferry-boat.  She  had 
nothing,  save  her  beautiful,  rotting  hull,  her  beautiful, 
rotting  fixtures,  and  her  beautiful,  rotting  engines. 
Conning  tower,  torpedo  tube  (but  no  torpedoes), 
I  search-light  apparatus,  four  100  mm.  Vavasour  pivot 
guns  (from  Newcastle),  six  small  quick-firers,  two 
field-guns — every  intricate  modern  appliance  this 
cruiser  had,  and  all  were  left  to  rust  and  decay  as 
Allah  and  the  elements  so  willed. 

The  men  ate,  and  spilled,  their  food  on  the  decks, 
they  smoked  all  day  long  and  all  over  the  ship  ; 
discipline  was  unknown  among  them,  and  they  were 
entirely  without  sense,  or  hours,  of  duty.  They 
squatted  about  in  the  Sultan's  satin-upholstered  and 
gorgeously-decorated  quarters.  "  The  Sultan  has 
plenty  of  money,"  they  said  ;  "  and  then,  no  Sultan 
would  ever  go  on  board  a  ship." 

A  pathetic  object  was  the  Moorish  man-of-war.  (I 
was  quite  pleased  to  learn  the  other  day  that  she  had 
been  sold.) 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SHEEP 

IT  is  on  the  cards  that  you  have  never  witnessed  or 
taken  part  in  the  Moorish  annual  Feast  of  the 
Sheep.     It  fell  during  the  first  months  of  one  of  my 
early  visits  to  Tangier.     Let  me  give  you  my  notes, 
as  they  stand,  of  the  impression  I  received  of  it  then. 

That    I    should   have  forgotten  the  festival   aftei 
being  forewarned  regarding  it  was  a  piece  of  culpabl< 
negligence  on  my  part.     That  I  was  not  reminded  oi 
it   by   the   prodigious   number   of  sheep   to  be  seen 
abroad,    about   the   streets   and  market-places,  slung 
upon  donkeys,  tethered  under  shadowy  archways,  and 
borne   upon   men's   shoulders — Morocco   is   for   ever 
stirring  one  with  misty  hails  from  one's  childhood's 
study  of  pictures  in  the  family  Bible — this  is  a  circum- 
stance for  which  I  can  offer  no  reason  or  excuse. 

During  a  couple  of  days  I  had  noticed  a  sort  of 
restless  expectancy  about  the  demeanour  of  my  good 
rascal,  Selaam  Marrakshi.  Last  night  this  uneasiness 
seemed  to  approach  a  climax,  and,  callous  Nazarene 
that  I  was,  I  inquired  carelessly  as  to  its  cause. 

"  Have  you  been  eating  too  much  kesk'soo, 
Selaam,  or  smoking  too  much  kief?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  don'  to  smoke  kief  now,  an'  I  don'  to 
eat  kesk'soo  these  ten  an'  four  days."  A  pregnant 
pause,  compact  of  injured  innocence  and  reproach. 
"  Ghadda  (to-morrow)  he's  Feast  of  Sheep,  sir  !  " 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  you  don't  say  so !     And  you 

1 86 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SHEEP         187 

no  got  sheep,  and  no  new  slippers,  what  ?  Come 
along,  Selaam  ;  we'll  go  to  S6k." 

So,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  rascal  rose  from  his 
heels  and  followed  me  out  along  the  moonlit  beach, 
and  up  by  the  stony  hill  road  to  Tangier's  market- 
place, where,  among  the  tiny  bazaars,  Selaam  was 
saluted  by  friends  innumerable,  the  most  of  whom 
glanced  in  surprise  at  his  distinctly  maculate 
slippers  ;  some  of  whom  asked,  railingly,  if  his  sheep 
were  fat  yet  and  ready  for  the  pot.  It  seemed  my 
forgetfulness  was  known. 

The  bright,  new,  lemon-coloured,  red-soled  slippers 
we  soon  acquired  from  an  obese  dignitary,  in  orange 
and  mauve  satin,  who  was  doing  a  thriving  trade  in 
these  commodities,  at  famine  prices,  among  foolish 
virgins  like  ourselves  who  had  tarried  over  long  and 
left  the  making  of  these  all-important  purchases  to  the 
very  eve  of  the  Feast  day  itself.  In  the  matter  of  a 
sheep  we  were  not  so  easily  suited.  Every  second 
man  we  met  seemed  to  have  one  of  the  bleating 
creatures  about  his  person,  either  on  his  shoulders,  in 
his  arms,  or  dragging  behind  him  on  a  cord.  But  our 
quest  was  a  man  with  two  of  them  ;  for  such  a  person 
might  sell,  while  the  man  with  but  one,  so  it  appeared, 
had  forfeited  Paradise  and  given  a  Sultan  the  go-by 
rather  than  part  with  his  next  day's  mutton. 

At  length  we  happened  on  a  certain  Shareef  of 
our  acquaintance,  a  minor  saint,  with  three  sheep 
and  a  keen  nose  for  a  bargain.  We  took  seats  beside 
this  holy  chafferer  and  commenced  a  long  discussion 
upon  "  heaven  and  date-stones."  Long  time  we 
gossiped  over  coffee  and  snuff  before  Selaam  ventured, 
very  casually,  on  a  question  as  to  the  value  of  the 
meanest  among  the  three  tethered  sheep. 


188  MOROCCO 

"That!  Oh,  eight  dollars  and  a  half  is  his  price. 
And  so  the  Sultan  has  really  called  our  Basha  to 
Marrakish.  Y' Allah  t'if!  And  how  the  world 
wags  on !  " 

It  was  cleverly  done,  and  the  yawn  with  which 
the  remark  ended  was  a  miracle  of  listless,  holiday 
indifference.     But  we  bought  that  sheep,  Selaam  and 
I,  and  that  for  a  shade  less  than  half  the  amount  first 
mentioned  by  our  holy  friend,  Shareef  Achmet.     And, 
having  bought  the  creature,  we  devoted  the  next  hour 
or  so  of  that  moonshiny  night  to  getting  our  purchase 
home.     Awhile   Selaam  carried  it  about  his  neck,  a 
bleating  boa,  one  pair  of  legs  over  either  shoulder. 
Wearying  of  this  we  returned  our  mutton  to  earth,  an< 
tried  twisting  its  woolly  tail  as  a  means  of  encouraging 
it   toward   our   home    and    its   place   of    translation. 
Ultimately,  and  by  the  pale  light  of  a  now   declining 
moon,  we   crossed   the   hotel   terrace,   each   holding, 
wheel-barrow  fashion,  a   hind-leg   of  our  sheep,  th< 
which  we  thus  urged  onward  upon  its  propping  an< 
unwilling  fore-feet. 

Where  the  sheep  passed  the  night  I  cannot  say. 
I  plead  guilty  to  having  deserted   Selaam  upon  th< 
hotel  terrace,  where,  for  aught  I  know,  he  may  hav< 
trundled  the  bleating,  imbecile  creature  to  and  fro  till 
morning.     A    retiring    disposition   forced   me   withii 
doors    (within   back-doors,    to   be   exact)   what   tim< 
Selaam  navigated  his  sheep  past  the  entrance.     Amon< 
mine  own  people  I  was  reluctant  to  give  prominent 
to  my  connection  with  our  sheep. 

Next  morning,  as   I   stood  talking   to  a  Spanisl 
lady,  a  sudden,  furious  bleating  made  me  aware  that 
the  wretched  creature,  anticipating  the  cook's  knife 
was  endeavouring  to  hang  itself  on  a  palmetto  con 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SHEEP        189 

by  which  it  had  been  tethered  to  a  balustrade.  I  felt 
myself  positively  blushing.  I  declined  to  recognise 
the  beast,  and  endeavoured  to  draw  my  companion 
away  when  Selaam  came,  scurrying,  to  the  suicide's 
rescue.  I  effusively  concurred  with  the  Spanish  lady's 
comment  upon  the  foolishness  of  allowing  country 
Moors  to  tether  their  animals  about  the  hotels.  I 
could  have  slain  Selaam  when,  a  moment  later,  he 
approached  us,  smirking,  with, — 

"That  our  sheep,  sir,  he  near  to  die;  he  goin'  to 
be  hang,  only  I  come  quick !"  And  I  had  been 
getting  on  so  nicely  with  my  laborious .  little  Spanish 
gallantries. 

It  is  a  queer  business,  this  Feast  of  the  Sheep. 
The  only  thing  about  it  which  is  definitely  known  and 
understood  would  appear  to  be  the  interesting  facts 
that  it  comes  once  a  year,  and  that  it  is  an  occasion 
of  peace-making  and  over-eating.  Four  aged  and 
respected  expounders  of  Alkoran,  long  in  the  beard 
and  of  great  piety,  have  assured  me  that  the  Feast 
commemorates  that  great  trial  of  Abraham's  faith  in 
which  Isaac  came  near  to  a  most  unpleasant  end. 
Three  other  mubasheers,  with  beards  of  almost  equal 
reverence,  scout  this  explanation  as  smacking  of 
Jewry  ;  not  Abraham,  but  a  friend  of  Mohammed,  say 
these  gentlemen,  originated  the  Feast.  Selaam  assures 
me  that  when  he  was  a  boy  the  teaching  was  that  the 
plagues  of  Egypt  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  Sheep 
Feast.  Finally,  an  Arabic  scholar  tells  me  that  if  I 
question  one  thousand  Moorish  observers  of  the 
Feast,  some  five  of  them  may  be  able  to  tell  me  what 
it  commemorates.  For  his  part  my  learned  friend 
supports  the  Abraham  explanation. 

However,  leaving  these  abstruse  questions  to  the 


190  MOROCCO 

long-bearded,  you  have  my  word  for  it  that  it  is  a 
great  tumasha,  this  Feast  of  the  Sheep  ;  and  that,  if  I 
know  anything  of  my  man,  his  over-burdened 
digestive  organs  will  insist  upon  a  banan  day 
to-morrow.  With  my  hand  upon  my  heart  I  can  assure 
you  that  he  has  this  day  personally  disposed  of  well- 
nigh  half  a  sheep,  besides  other  small  matters  of 
confectionery  and  several  gallons  of  syrupy  green 
tea,  with  fresh  mint  in  it,  and  sugar  past  all  reckoning. 
A  full  and  pious  Muslim  is  Selaam  Marrakshi  this 
night ;  but  particularly  and  with  emphasis  is  he  a  full 
Muslim.  If  there  be  one  that  is  fuller,  in  El  Moghreb, 
then  I  should  be  glad  to  meet  the  man,  and — sorry  to 
carry  him. 

But  with  regard  to  the  function  :  At  half-past  six 
this  morning  I  was  roused  by  Selaam  with  a  round- 
about request  for  the  loan  of  my  rifle,  of  his  relation- 
ship to  which  he  is  tremendously  proud,  magazine 
rifles  being  as  yet  rare  in  the  Sultan's  dominions. 
Subsequently,  I  was  grateful  to  notice  that  my  horse 
had  been  given  a  superlatively  fine  grooming.  That 
was  my  innocence,  Another  roundabout  request  left 
me  without  a  horse  for  this  morning.  Selaam  had 
borrowed  the  animal,  and  had  produced,  for  its  further 
ornamentation,  a  gorgeous  crimson,  green  and  gold 
saddle,  high-peaked  before  and  behind,  and  of  most 
elaborate  workmanship.  My  own  saddle  was  un- 
obtrusively cinched  upon  a  hired  screw,  held  near  by 
by  a  ragged  prottgt  of  Selaam's. 

Selaam's  pate  was  new  shaven,  the  tassel  of  his 
new  tarboosh  was  nearer  a  foot  than  six  inches  in 
length,  his  yellow  Moorish  riding-boots  were  new- 
embroidered  in  crimson  silk,  a  yard  and  a  half  of  dark 
blue  bernous  trailed  behind  him  on  the  breeze  ;  my  gun 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SHEEP         191 

was  at  his  hip,  his  features  radiated  a  shining  dignity, 
and  my  horse  was  fretted  and  pricked  into  a  diagonal 
progress  consisting  of  short  prancing  caracoles.  Oh, 
it  was  a  brave  show !  My  preceding  it  on  the  tame, 
hired  nag  suggested  a  groom  who  had  forgotten  his 
place.  So,  presently,  I  withdrew  ;  not  to  put  too  fine 
a  point  upon  it,  I  trotted  meekly  away  by  a  side 
street,  and  so  mounted  alone  to  the  outer  S6k,  leaving 
Selaam,  a  procession  in  himself,  to  join  his  fellow- 
believers  on  the  Kasbah  hill,  where  the  Basha  would 
presently  initiate  the  day's  proceedings. 

For  myself,  I  waited  in  the  market-place  among 
Jew  sweetmeat  pedlars  and  other  perspiring  infidels. 
You  must  understand  that  the  great  m'sallah,  or 
enclosed  praying  field  of  Tangier,  stands  beside  the 
British  Legation,  on  the  crest  of  the  market-place  hill, 
well  without  the  city  walls  and  Bab  el  Fds  their 
principal  gate.  The  chief  mosque,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  within  the  walls,  at  the  city's  lowest  extremity, 
near  the  beach,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  main 
street.  While  I  spurred  my  reluctant  hack  about 
among  the  Sok  pedlars  and  holiday-making  Moors, 
new-shaven,  new-shod  and  new-scrubbed  withal,  I 
perceived  that,  for  the  present,  attention  centred  upon 
the  m'sallah  on  the  hilltop.  Clean  and  pious  Believers, 
themselves  in  white,  their  children  garbed  in  material 
of  every  hue  seen  in  rainbows,  formed  a  constant, 
slow-moving  stream  from  the  town  to  the  m'sallah. 

Presently,  with  a  flourish  of  drums  and  horns,  a 
huge  banner  of  the  Prophet's  own  green  appeared 
under  the  arch  of  Bab  el  Fas  ; — The  Holy  Shareef  of 
Wazzan,  Moulai  Ali,  by  Allah's  wonder-working  grace, 
a  lineal  child  of  Mohammed — and  of  an  English 
mother,  who  was  married  to  the  late  Saint  of  Wazzan 


192  MOROCCO 

in  the  British  Legation — his  banner.  The  Shareef 
and  his  train  made  a  gallant  show ;  white  horses, 
peaked  saddles,  gilt  stirrups,  and  green  and  gold 
trappings,  fluttering.  Women  crooned  their  shrill 
acclamations,  men  pressed  forward  among  the 
Shareef  s  armed  runners  to  kiss  his  sacred  stirrups 
— and  others  shrugged,  smiled,  and  stared,  indifferent. 
Every  man  has  his  following  in  Morocco.  Diplomatic 
France  has  made  a  protege  of  this  young  Shareef, 
and  so  Algerian  soldiers  from  the  Legation  formed 
part  of  Moulai  Ali's  train  on  this  occasion. 

More  drum-beating,    and — incongruously   enough 
in  these  biblically  Eastern  surroundings — the  blare  ol 
a   European   bugle-call.     The  men   of  the   Moorisl 
navy,  El  Bashirs  crew,  walking,  like  a  young  ladies' 
seminary    out    for    exercise,    and    headed   by   theii 
gorgeous     commander-paymaster     and    their     mon 
humble  other  commanders. 

After  the  navy,  the  chief  among  land-sharks  for 
this  country-side,  the  Basha  of  Tangier  and  district, 
on  a  corpulent  red  mule,  a  moving  hillock  of  hauteur 
in  cream-coloured  cashmere  and  silk.  Then  the 
Basha's  soldiery,  a  truculent  set  of  ruffians,  usually 
as  disreputable  externally  as  they  are  morally  corrupt, 
on  this  occasion  smart  in  new  djellabs  and  snowy 
kaftans.  Behind  them,  sublimely  arrogant,  showing 
off  my  horse  and  gun  more  bravely,  God  wot,  than  I 
could  ever  hope  to  exhibit  them,  Selaam  Marrakshi, 
as  gallant  a  scamp  as  any  to  be  seen  that  day.  Next, 
the  Church  dignitaries,  afoot  and  on  mules,  downward 
gazing  and  proudly  meek.  Then  a  miscellaneous 
rabble,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  clothed  more  gloriously 
than  either  Solomon  or  the  lilies. 

An  hour  was  passed  in  prayer  within    the   flaky 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SHEEP         193 

white  walls  of  el  m'sallah.  And  then  a  gun  was  fired. 
That  told  us  who  were  infidels  that  the  knife  had 
entered  the  throat  of  the  sacred  sheep.  A  hurried 
scramble  then,  while  the  bleeding  beast  was  hustled 
into  a  huge  palmetto  basket,  and  then  the  race  for 
the  great  mosque  at  the  far  lower  end  of  the  city. 
Rushing  slaves  bore  the  basket,  and  a  shouting 
multitude  urged  them  on,  with  great  sticks  and 
strange,  pious  oaths.  Should  the  sheep  show  a  sign 
of  life  when  the  mosque  was  reached,  all  was  well  and 
a  prosperous  year  before  Morocco.  Should  the  priest 
down  there  by  the  sea  find  the  creature  quite  dead — 
all  was  ill,  and  Believers  in  El  Moghreb  must  prepare 
for  an  evil,  hungry  year. 

We  waited,  silent,  there  in  the  market-place. 

Boom  !  Boom  !  Boom  !  The  port  guns  told  the 
news.  The  sheep  had  reached  the  mosque  alive, 
expiring  at  the  threshold,  no  doubt.  All  was  well. 
Every  Believer  took  his  neighbour's  hand,  conveying 
then  his  own  fingers  to  his  lips  in  salutation.  All 
quarrels  between  Believers  were  at  an  end.  Peace 
and  goodwill  reigned  supreme,  with  a  keen  appetite 
for  mutton  and  kesk'soo.  Vendettas  ended  in  that 
moment — for  the  day  at  all  events.  The  procession 
trailed  back  from  the  m'sallah,  amid  crooning 
acclamations  and  drum-beatings,  and  every  man  set 
off  homeward  to  kill  and  cook  his  sheep. 

In  the  afternoon  the  very  air  was  heavy  with 
repletion.  Women  fried  and  men  sighed.  Repletion 
•uled. 

It  was  a  brave  day,  this  of  the  Feast  of  the  Sheep 
n  Tangier. 


N 


THE  OPEN  ROAD ' 

TO  me,  the  unending  marvel  of  Tangier  is — that 
it   is ;   and   that;    being   what   it  is,  the  place 
should  be  where  it  is. 

Here    it    basks   in    year-long    sunshine    on    the 
shoulder  of  Africa,  under  the  chin  of  Europe,  a  frag- 
ment of  the    savage,    old,    beautiful   world  in  whicl 
Joseph's  brothers  looked  enviously   upon  his  many- 
coloured  coat  and  schemed  (one  sees  them  squatting 
in   a   straggling,    nudging   group,    over   the  mid-day 
meal  in  the  baked,  dry  bed  of  a  stream,  where  bul- 
rushes rustle   to   tell   one   of  what  was,  and  lemon- 
coloured  locusts  dispute  passage  betwixt  sand-crusted 
flat  stones  with  rainbow-hued  lizards  and  industrious, 
scavenging  beetles)  to  make  away  with  him.     It  is  a 
drowsily  living    sheet    from    out    the    oldest,    most 
gorgeously-illustrated   family   Bible   that   ever   eager 
English  children  pored   over  upon  a  fresh  Northern 
Sabbath  afternoon.     A  Missionary  Society's  chromo- 
lithographs could  hardly  outrage  Tangier.      For  the 
atmosphere  of  fair,  twinkling  feet,  Circassian  beauties, 
the   savour   of  the    Harun    er-Rasheed   legend   you 
must  fare   farther.     But   for   the   earth   in   its  lusty, 
pastoral  youth,  not   as  science  shows  it  you,  but  as 
you  learned  of  it  at  your   mother's  knee — milk  and 
honey,    slow-moving   sheep   herds,  eternal   sunshine, 
crude,  vivid  colouring  and  miracles — here  you  have  it 

1  In  the  spring  of  the  year  1900. 
194 


FOOD 


PRAYER 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  195 

preserved  to  your  hand,  five  days  from  Liverpool 
Street  and  almost  within  reach  of  electric  search- 
lights on  modern  British  fortifications. 

That  is  the  standing  marvel  of  Tangier.  And  you 
should  look  upon  it  while  you  may.  For  just  so  soon 
as  the  dessicated  and  worm-eaten  monarchy  here 
crumbles  and  disappears  at  the  touch  of  European 
occupation,  like  wood-ash  before  a  gust  of  wind,  just 
then  and  no  later  will  the  last  easily-available  link 
between  Genesis  and  the  world  of  halfpenny  daily 
papers  melt  into  the  sunbeams  and  disappear. 
Meantime,  it  is  here,  on  the  shoulder  of  Africa,  blink- 
ing across  a  few  miles  of  laughing,  pearl-fretted 
turquoise  water  at  Europe  and  its  buzz  of  civilisation. 

But  that  is  only  Tangier.  Would  you  glimpse 
the  inwardness  of  things  Moorish  ?  (There's  time 
and  to  spare  for  you  to  grow  grey  in  the  pursuit  if 
your  quest  be  insight  and  not  merely  a  glimpse.) 
Would  you  taste  the  essence  of  Moorish  life,  sniff  its 
real  atmosphere,  catch  the  sense  of  it  ?  Then  the 
word  for  you  is  "  Boot  and  saddle,"  or,  "  Slipper  and 
burda,"  as  you  choose — you  must  take  to  the  Open 
Road;  and  open  in  all  conscience  you  will  find  it  as  the 
windy  Atlantic  or  the  sun-paralysed  Sahara.  And 
you  must  do  this,  you  must  travel,  not  particularly  for 
the  sake  of  reaching  this  place  or  the  other.  That  is 
a  small  matter.  Your  lesson  and  the  knowledge  you 
shall  gain  lies  in  the  going,  the  journeying,  the  Road 
itself  and  its  happenings ;  that  Open  Road  to  the 
stirring  song  of  which,  as  Stevenson  said,  "our 
nomadic  forefathers  journeyed  all  their  days."  For 
thus  and  not  otherwise  you  shall  sense  the  true 
meaning  of  things  Moorish.  Allans  ! 

It  did   seem  that   you   might   have   lighted  your 


196  MOROCCO 

cigarette  at  the  fire  my  words  struck  from  Selaam's 
eyes  yesterday  when  I  told  him  to  have  all  ready  for 
a  week's  journeying  this  morning.  If  before  he  had 
been  a  man  of  affairs,  then  he  was  a  field-marshal 
with  a  new-drafted  plan  of  campaign  in  his  pocket. 
The  stage-manager  and  the  gipsy  contend  in 
Selaam  Marrakshi  for  the  mastery  of  his  nature. 
My  personal  attitude  toward  the  open  road  is  a  thing 
long  since  understanded  by  this  Moor,  and  accord- 
ingly our  modest  caravan  had  scarcely  drawn  a  glance 
or  a  thought  from  you  had  you  met  us,  in  the  cool, 
amethyst-roofed  first  sunshine  of  this  morning,  when 
we  jogged  out  from  the  hotel  terrace  and  along  the 
beach  toward  Shwaanee  and  the  Tetuan  Road. 

There  was  first  my  Lord  Selaam,  squatting  lady's 
fashion  and  comfortably  among  a  few  odds  and  ends 
of  impedimenta,  on  the  flat  Moorish  burda  of  a  red 
mule,  which  carried  its  hammer-head  as  do  the  china 
mandarins  that  bob  at  one  from  nursery  mantel- 
shelves. Partly  led,  partly  driven,  and  continuously 
sworn  at  in  an  even,  genial  tone  by  Selaam  was  our 
pack-mule,  a  rusty,  dingy,  flea-bitten  grey,  qualified,  I 
believe,  to  walk  safely  a  tight-rope,  laden  as  he  was 
this  morning  with  a  bulging  shwarri  (a  great  double 
pannier  of  palmetto)  containing  a  fold-up  cot,  rugs, 
food  and  the  few  other  small  matters  which,  from  my 
point  of  view,  form  all  that  is  necessary  in  the  way  of 
baggage  when  one  takes  to  the  road.  For  main 
body,  rear-guard  and  camp-followers  our  caravan 
had  myself  between  the  peaks  of  an  Algerian  saddle 
astride  a  quick-walking  black  horse  we  call  Zemouri ; 
a  gallant  beast  of  a  disposition  that  is  invincibly 
buoyant  and  a  mouth  which  is  harder  than  the  nether 
mill-stone. 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  197 

And  that  was  all. 

If  you  have  your  own  European  saddle  in 
Morocco  and  you  are  attached  to  it  (I  take  it  every 
decent  Christian  is  fond  of  his  own  saddle),  do  not 
take  it  with  you  in  the  country.  The  life  of  the  road 
in  Morocco  is  not  good  for  cherished  pig-skin.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  beseech  you  allow  no  malicious 
wight  to  beguile  you  into  riding  a  Moorish  saddle. 
Better,  far  better,  to  put  away  dignity  and  perch 
yourself  sideways  on  a  mule's  pack  ;  no  bad  plan  at 
all,  this,  if  comfort  be  your  aim.  The  Moorish  saddle 
is  a  picturesque  snare,  an  invention  of  some  Moorish 
djinn  for  the  subjugation  and  torture  of  rash 
Nazarenes,  whose  knees  it  paralyses  with  a  long-drawn 
agony  of  aching,  the  which,  without  experience,  may 
be  conceived  of  adequately  only  by  martyrs  to 
neuralgia.  The  high-peaked  Algerian  saddle,  how- 
ever, particularly  when  you  fold  a  blanket  over  the 
grip,  provides  an  easy,  restful  seat  for  journeying. 

Should  you,  being  an  orthodox  and  proper  person, 
seek  advice  in  the  orthodox  and  proper  quarters 
before  setting  out  upon  the  Open  Road  in  Morocco, 
you  will  be  bidden  take  a  Basha's  soldier  with  you 
for  guard.  And  this  is  very  sound  and  excellent 
counsel.  For  should  you,  peradventure,  be  murdered 
and  robbed  by  the  wayside,  and  if  a  Basha's  soldier  is  of 
your  party,  then  shall  your  heirs  and  assignees  obtain 
fat  indemnity  through  their  honourable  Legation 
from  the  Moorish  Government ;  which  Government 
will  quite  cheerfully  lay  waste  an  odd  village  or  two, 
and  even  torture  and  imprison  the  inhabitants,  to 
obtain  the  wherewithal  to  recompense  your  weeping 
heirs  for  your  demise.  Should  their  claim  be  ten 
thousand  dollars,  the  screw  will  be  applied  to  the  tune 


198  MOROCCO 

of  twenty  thousand  dollars ;  fifteen  thousand  for 
the  local  squeezers,  five  thousand  for  your  bereaved 
assignees.  On  the  other  hand,  should  you,  ignoring 
the  counsels  of  the  orthodox,  journey  without  one  of 
the  parasitical  brigands  called  Basha's  soldiers,  then, 
in  the  case  of  such  an  accident  as  the  one  mentioned, 
your  heirs  will  have,  perforce,  to  pay  the  mourning 
tailor  and  dressmaker  from  out  their  own  pockets, 
instead  of  with  pence  ground  out  from  a  starving, 
persecuted  peasantry  who  never  heard  of  either  you, 
your  heirs,  or  orders  for  mourning  wear.  Therefore 
you  will  see  at  once  the  propriety  of  being  guided  by 
orthodox  counsels.  You  will  see  it  at  once,  and  if 
you  act  upon  it,  good-bye  to  your  chances  of  hearing 
the  music  of  the  true  vagabond  Song  <3f  the  Open 
Road. 

Again,  your  respected  friend  who  knows  will  tell 
you  that  you  require  at  least  one  or  two  European 
companions,  two  or  three  tents,  half-a-dozen  animals, 
a  cook,  three  other  men,  and — it  may  be,  if  your 
friend  is  very  wise  and  proper — a  four-post  bedstead 
or  so.  Very  excellent  things  in  their  way  these, 
without  a  doubt.  Therefore,  you  will  see  at  once  the 
propriety  of  acting  upon  your  friend's  advice.  And 
when  you  act  upon  it  you  will  doubtless*  travel  with 
comfort  and  perfect  safety.  You  will  never  reach  the 
Open  Road,  however.  And,  for  comfort  in  travelling, 
a  Pullman  on  the  London  and  North-Western  is 
hard  to  beat,  you  know. 

For  my  Lord  Selaam  and  me,  we  were  bound  for 
the  Open  Road  this  morning,  hence  the  unobtrusive, 
unceremonious  nature  of  our  outsetting.  And  hence 
it  was,  perchance,  that  the  sunny  morning  air  had 
a  song  of  its  own  for  my  ears  as  it  swished  past 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  199 

them  —  we  rode  up  the  breeze — and  that,  as  we 
crossed  lush  Shwaanee,  and  began  to  mount  the  hills, 
I  found  myself  humming  a  tripping,  foolish  tune, 
belonging  (for  me)  to  boyish,  seafaring  days.  Hence, 
too,  it  may  have  been  that  Selaam  was  crooning  a 
Sheshawan  love-song  in  the  recesses  of  his  grey 
sugar-loaf  djellab-hood,  and  that  Zemouri,  my 
mettlesome  Rozinante,  pretended  to  see  mares  in 
palmetto  bushes,  whinnied  absurdly  to  the  non- 
existent fair,  and  endeavoured  to  persuade  me  that  a 
.crab-like,  three-legged,  rocking-horse  movement  was 
the  best  gait  possible  for  a  journey. 

Herd-boys  on  the  wayside  tootled  at  us  upon  reed 
pipes  ;  mooning  cattle  lowed  at  us  ;  almost  naked 
village  children  tumbled  one  over  another  in  a  race 
toward  our  path,  there  to  stare  and  laugh  at  us; 
heaven,  smiling,  poured  down  morning-time,  spring- 
of-the-year  sunshine  upon  us ;  the  earth,  full-fed  by 
the  recently-ended  spring  rains  (the  last  it  was  to 
taste  for  six  or  eight  months),  was  calling,  calling  to 
us,  strongly  and  sweetly,  with  a  call  that  might  not 
be  denied.  It  seemed  that  all  El  Moghreb  and  the 
hosts  of  heaven  knew  us  for  vagabonds  bound  out- 
ward, and  bade  us  God-speed ;  presented  us  with  the 
freedom  of^the  Open  Road. 

So  Selaam  sang  crooning  love-songs  in  his  djellab- 
hood,  to  his  own  running  accompaniment  of  pleasant 
oaths  addressed  to  *he  mules.  "  Get  along,  then, 
spawn  of  many  pigs !  On  then,  children  of  vermin- 
eating  Sok  rats !  "  And,  speaking  of  djellab-hoods, 
permit  me  to  offer  you  a  piece  of  counsel  which  is  not 
orthodox,  yet,  natheless,  possibly  worth  the  following. 
Should  you  ever  go  a-journeying  in  Morocco,  furnish 
yourself  beforehand  with  a  djellab,  with  one  of  the 


200  MOROCCO 

short,  hooded  outer  garments  which  all  Moors  wear. 
Three  or  four  dollars  will  purchase  one,  and  its  worth 
you  shall  find  to  exceed  that  of  many  dollars.  It 
serves  to  make  your  Christian  garb  less  conspicuous, 
to  mention  one  of  its  lesser  virtues,  and  one  which  at 
certain  times  and  places  is  more  than  a  lesser  virtue. 
In  rain  it  is  a  very  fair  protection  to  a  horseman. 
The  really  rain-proof  garment  for  riding  in  has  yet 
to  be  invented.  In  strong  winds  (the  Levanta  is  not 
a  kindly  or  a  gentle  breeze)  the  djellab  will  save  you 
many  a  headache,  and  preserve  you,  as  well  as  any 
thing  can,  from  the  inflictions  of  dust  and  sand.  The 
great  virtue  of  the  garment,  however,  putting  aside  its 
minor  uses  as  rug,  carpet,  pillow  and  the  like,  lies  in 
its  admirable  qualities  as  a  shelter  from  too-powerful 
sunshine.  In  this  respect  the  difference  made  at  the 
end  of  a  long  day's  ride  by  the  possession  or  non- 
possession  of  a  djellab  is  something  difficult  to  ex- 
aggerate. It  is  as  much  to  be  commended,  for  use 
upon  the  road,  as  the  Moorish  saddle  is  to  be  depre- 
cated and  shunned. 

Mention  again  (the  atmosphere  of  this  Biblical 
land  makes  for  scriptural  tautology)  of  the  road 
in  Morocco  brings  me  to  one  of  its  most  striking 
eccentricities :  There  are  no  roads  in  Morocco,  not 
one,  in  the  sense  in  which  a  European  rider  or 
driver  speaks  of  a  road.  But  then  you  see  there  are 
no  vehicles,  not  one,  except  an  old  Georgian  state 
coach  or  two  in  the  royal  cities — presents  from 
European  courts,  moored  and  derelict  since  their 
arrival  here,  and  used  indifferently  as  cupboards  or 
as  stationary  playthings  for  the  ladies  of  the  harem. 
A  road  in  Morocco  is  a  series  of  more  or  less  parallel 
hoofs-marks  beaten  out  of  the  earth  by  generations 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  201 

of  horses,  mules,  camels,  donkeys,  goats,  cattle  and 

foot-passengers,    varying   in    width   from   a   hundred 

yards  to  three  feet,  skirting  gorges,  dodging  boulders, 

circumventing  mountains,  and  leading  one,  by  fell  and 

flood,  in  Allah's  good  time,  to  the  habitations  of  men. 

Navigation  upon  these  tracks  is  one  of  the  many  and 

varied  interests  of  travel  in  Morocco,  and  one  calling 

for  the  exercise,  at  times,  of  the  best  a  man  has  of 

skill,  decision,  care   and   resource.     This   and   other 

calls   I   have  this  day  responded  to,  to   the   best  of 

my  ability,  during  twelve  full,  good  hours — such  full 

hours  as  one  seldom  lives  in  these  days  among  towns 

and  men.     I  find  that  I  have  quite  omitted  in  this 

place  all  description  of  our  day's  journey.     No  matter. 

That  is  part  and  parcel  of  journeying  in  Morocco.     I 

find  I  have  this  evening  an  urgent  need,  a  deliciously 

urgent  need,   of  tobacco  and   a   recumbent   position. 

That,  too,  like  my  wolfish  appetite,  pertains  to  Moorish 

travel.     I  regret,  however,  that  I  should  not  even  have 

mentioned  our  destination — Selaam's  and  mine's.     But 

that  omission  is  also  part  and  parcel  of  the  vagabond 

life  of  the  Open  Road. 

We  are  going,  by  Allah's  grace,  robbers,  weather, 
rivers,  animals,  and  (when  we  approach  it)  Spanish 
officialdom  permitting,  to  Ceuta.  We  have  the  peace 
of  Europe  sincerely  at  heart,  Selaam  and  myself. 
Ceuta  is  Gibraltar's  African  vis-d-vis.  Of  late  rumour 
and  Russia  have  made  Ceuta  a  name  familiar  to  all 
men  who,  like  Selaam  and  myself,  are  concerned  with 
the  concert  of  the  Powers,  the  progress  of  humanity, 
and  its  lever — Anglo-Saxon  supremacy.  Therefore, 
if  the  Open  Road  will  lead  us  there,  we  are  going  to 
inspect  Ceuta. 


202  MOROCCO 

Find  a  man  who  is  going  through  an  entirely 
healthy  and  wholesome  phase  of  his  life,  his  surround- 
ings and  mode*  of  living  in  accord  with  Nature,  and 
you  will  have  found  one  to  whom  the  morning  time 
contains  the  cream  and  prime  of  each  day's  existence. 
Turn  to  the  man  who  is  living  in  a  highly  artificial 
manner,  pressed  upon  by  the  complex  difficulties  of  all 
that  in  civilisation  which  estranges  its  children  from 
Nature,  and  you  will  see  one  to  whom  morning  is  a 
grey  and  chilly  season,  a  period  of  something  like 
despondency,  to  be  lived  through  and  endured  as 
stoically  as  may  be,  in  order  that  the  stimulation  of 
evening  (night  is  day's  prime  to  such  a  man)  may  b< 
attained. 

I    have    noticed,    when  journeying    in    Moroccc 
that    the   mornings,    the    out-setting    of    each    day, 
are   unfailingly   delightful    and   full   of  clean,  strong 
exhilaration. 

This  morning,  when  I  opened  my  eyes  they  wer< 
stimulated  to  full  wakefulness  by  the  picture  the] 
showed  me  of  a  tiny  patch  of  sky  (such  skies  as  day- 
break brings  over  Morocco!),  of  a  hue  for  which 
artistry  has  no  name  and  painting  no  simulacrum, 
enframed  by  an  unglazed  little  Moorish  arched  window 
high  up  toward  the  beamed  roof  of  the  vault-like  room 
in  which  my  cot  swung.  This  little  room,  a  store 
place  for  coffee,  tobacco  in  the  leaf,  saddles,  shwarries, 
and  a  hundred  and  one  ancient  oddments,  Selaam's 
stage-management  had  placed  at  my  disposal  in  the 
great  fandak,  or  walled-in  corral — a  landmark  to 
travellers  in  North  Morocco — which  lies  among  the 
mountains  south  of  Tetuan,  and  distant  one  day's 
journey  from  Tangier.  Falling  from  their  sky-gazing 
feast,  mine  eyes  encountered  the  huddled  figure  of 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  203 

Selaam,  hooded  and  sheeted  in  his  grey  djellab,  asleep 
on  the  matted  floor  at  my  feet. 

I  rose  quietly  (the  Moor's  care  of  our  animals  had 
disturbed  his  night's  rest  a  good  deal,  for  beasts  that 
work  and  do  not  eat  all  day  must  be  tended  well  at 
night  if  their  condition  is  to  be  maintained)  and 
stepped  on  through  a  flaky  white  arch  to  the  cloister 
without ;  for  the  queer,  shadowy,  covered  way  which 
skirted  the  fandak  did  form  cloisters  of  a  sort.  There 
I  picked  my  way  gingerly  among  Moors  sleeping  in 
every  variety  of  recumbent  pose,  their  mules  and 
donkeys  tethered  between  them,  packs  and  bundles 
all  about  them.  You  must  remember  that  every  kind 
of  commodity,  everything  which  has  to  be  conveyed 
from  one  place  to  another  in  Morocco,  is  carried, 
perforce,  on  the  back  of  some  beast,  or  upon  the 
shoulders  of  some  woman. 

Once  clear  of  the  cloisters,  I  was  upon  the  cobbles 
of  the  open  fandak,  with  only  the  sky  above  my  head. 
Language  fails  me  when  I  would  tell  you  of  that  sky, 
of  the  incomparable  calm  of  the  strange  light  it  used 
to  veil  from  our  eyes,  the  mysterious  beginning  of 
day's  birth.  Something  there  was  in  the  air  that  sang 
gladly,  slowly,  in  my  ears,  and  something  else  that 
made  piteous  complaint.  It  seemed  the  soul  of  the 
coming  day  made  music  to  hide  Night's  pains  of 
labour ;  an  epitome  of  all  Nature's  workings  ;  the 
Earth's  gladness  ever  uppermost  yet  never  really 
hiding  its  own  tragedy — the  infinite  pathos  of  life. 
And  over  all,  that  mysterious  violet  haze  that  baffled 
scrutiny  as  effectively  as  it  baffles  description,  that 
says  to  a  man,  "  Thus  far,  mortal,  and  no  farther; 
and — and  that  is  better  so,  for  you  ! " 

While  I  looked  and  let  the  cool  cleanness  of  it  all 


204  MOROCCO 

filter  into  me  (a  man's  soul  needs  washing  at  times, 
God  wot,  and  these  be  the  seasons  and  places  for  the 
ablution),  the  violet  haze  floated  down  after  night  in 
the  west,  and  the  hollow  of  heaven  became  mystically 
filled  with  essential  daylight.     I  had  time  to  marvel 
at   this,    out   there    on    the    fandak    cobbles   among 
reflective  sheep  and  a  few  mildly  melancholy  oxen  ; 
I    had   time   to   wonder   without  understanding,  and 
then,  by  silent,  unmarked  degrees,  night's  death  was 
put  away  from  my  mind,  the   round   breast-work  of 
hills  about  me  began  to  whisper,  gently,  but  with  a 
million  voices,  and  in  tones  of  growing  volume,  of 
young  Day,  his  accession.     The  air,  roused  by  thei 
voices,  took   on  a  quite  new  life,  became  articulate, 
and  spoke.     The  eastern  half  of  the  sky  awoke  to  th< 
daily  glory   of  its   mission.     A   young    ewe   bleatec 
beside  me  like  a  child.      A  spear  of  living  gold  fin 
shot  through    the    horizon.     The   hills'   whispering 
became  a  psalm  of  acclamation,  true  and  gladly  stronj 
as  a  starling's  note.     Earth's  bosom  rose  on  a  long- 
drawn   breath ;  the   sun,    intolerably  splendid,    stoo< 
forth   among   his    heralds ;    day   had   come,   smilinj 
royally  upon  barbarous  Morocco. 

I  turned  to  the  cloisters  again,  the  cleaner  for  on< 
kind  of  a  bath,   I    think,   and  bade   drowsy  Selaai 
bring  water  and  soap. 

Three  minutes   later   the   whole   great   enclosun 
was,    by    comparison,   full    of    life    and    movement. 
Yet  not  of  activity  as  we  of  the  North  lands  understan< 
that  word.     Your  true  Muslim  never  bustles ;  a  Mooi 
never  hurries  and  does  not  often  move  quickly.     Th< 
distinction   is   not   one  without  a   difference.     In  all 
directions  men  were  crouched  over  stakes  and  heel- 
ropes,  girths  were   being  tightened   (a   mule's  pack- 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  205 

saddle  is  never  taken  from  its  back  during  a  journey  : 
often  the  beast  carries  it  for  months  at  a  stretch), 
shwarries  adjusted,  and  animals  were  being  grouped 
into  caravans.  Some  few,  sybarites,  were  making 
coffee  in  tins  over  charcoal  braziers  ;  others  munched 
indifferently  at  leathery,  brown  loaves  while  moving 
hither  and  thither  among  their  beasts.  Before  my 
toilet  was  completed  the  great  ramshackle  enclosure 
was  deserted ;  camels,  horses,  mules,  men  and 
i  donkeys,  all  had  trailed  out  at  the  crumbling,  weather- 
scarred  white  entrance,  and  made  their  that  day's 
!  start  upon  the  Open  Road. 

We  drank  our  cafe  au  lait  (Selaam  has  his  own 

!  mysterious  methods  of  producing  such  rare  luxuries 

i  as  fresh  milk  in  the  country.      I   should  expect  it  of 

i  him  in  the  Sahara)  and  ate  our  bread  and  butter,  the 

Moor  and  I,  in  absolute  solitude  ;  our  tiny   caravan 

assembled  there  in  a  corral  that  had  held  hundreds 

:  easily.     Then  I  looked  to  my  gun,  we  buckled  on  our 

harness,  mounted  and  sallied  out  from  the  empty  place 

of  sleep  into  the  glorious  outer  sunshine  of  the  seventh 

hour  after  midnight. 

From  the  point  of  view,  let  us  say,  of  a  London 
hotel  manager,  there  was  not  much  to  be  said  for  the 
accommodation  afforded  by  that  fandak  ;  yet  I  doubt  if 
any  man  stepped  out  of  a  London  hotel  this  morning 
with  just  the  strongly  pulsing  sense  of  satisfaction,  of 
physical  and  moral  well-being,  that  gave  savour  to 
our  first  cigarettes,  Selaam's  and  mine's,  as  we  filed 
out  from  our  rest-house  upon  the  mountain-side  near 
Tetuan. 

For  half  an  hour  our  beasts  climbed,  we  with 
them,  and  then  began  a  steady  two  hours'  long  descent 
toward  Tetuan,  a  grandly  rugged,  sun-bathed  panorama 


206  MOROCCO 

spread  before  us  for  our  entertainment  during  those 
odd  moments  that  could  be  spared  for  sight-seeing 
from  a  road  in  which  flat  boulders  were  oases  and 
rare.  I  watched  my  black  Zemouri  more  than  once 
on  that  rugged  mountain-side,  holding  one  fore-foot 
deliberately  in  mid-air,  his  eyes  scanning  the  track  in 
vain  for  four  square  inches  of  level  foot-hold.  Not 
only  was  it  no  road  at  all,  from  the  European  point  of 
view,  but  it  was  what  an  Irish  hunting  man  would 
consider  quite  extraordinarily  rough  cross-country 
going.  And  this  was  a  special  thing,  a  rarity  among 
Moroccan  highways — a  made  road. 

"That    he's    old    road — before,    sir,"     explaine< 
Selaam  as  our  animals  stumbled  among  spiky  rock* 
on  the  extreme  edge  of  a  crevasse.     He  pointed 
the  gorge  to  where  I  could  make  out  a  ragged-edge< 
ribbon  of  scattered  boulders  among  the  palmetto  an< 
scrub.     Nature,    by   means  of    winter   torrents,    ha< 
stripped   that  ribbon  of  vegetation  and  of  all  debris 
lighter    than     rocks.     Travellers,    following    in    the 
torrent's  wake,  had  called  their  way  a  road.     "  This 
new   road,  sir,"  continued  the  Moor  ;  "  he   make   it 
when  Sultan  he  come  here.     All  the  womens — every- 
body ;  Sheshawan  mountain  peepils,  too,  he  make  it ; 
everybody  he  work  here  to  make  road  when  Sultan 
he  go  to  Tanjah.     You  know  what  for  he  do  that,  sir  ? 
Why  he  make  road,  and  let  Sultan  to  pass — don'  to 
fight  him  ?  " 

"  No,  how  was  it,  Selaam  ?  " 

"  Sultan  peepil  he  tell  all  country  peepils,  Sultan 
he's  goin'  Tanjah  to  fight  K'istians  ! "  (Christians  ; 
Europeans).  "That  wha'  for,  sir.  If  he  don'  to  say 
that,  never  he  go  pas'  Sheshawan  ; — peepils  he  don' 
let  him  to  pass  ;  never,  sir  !  " 


A   FOUNTAIN    NEAR   "THAT   FAR   OFF   COURT"   AT   MARKAKISH 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  207 

That  is  as  it  may  be.  The  Sultan's  folk  may 
lave  cozened  the  country  people,  may  have  obtained 
volunteer  labour  under  false  pretences.  The  thing  is 
more  than  likely,  I  apprehend.  But  that  their  diplo- 
macy actually  caused  a  road  to  be  made  across  those 
mountains  I  would  deny  with  my  last  breath.  So,  I 
am  assured,  would  Zemouri  and  the  mules.  For  the 
Moors,  in  this  as  in  most  other  matters  in  the  present 
period  of  their  decay,  are  served  and  contented  by 
the  rudest  kind  of  makeshift.  Anything  that  an 
animal  may  be  spurred  over  and  does  not  sink  in  past 
his  girth,  that  is  a  Moor's  notion  of  a  road.  When 
some  unfortunate  beast  is  bogged  past  his  girth,  after 
rain,  then  its  rider  dismounts,  unpacks,  and  with  stick 
and  voice  forces  his  animal  on,  or,  if  the  case  is  too 
sorry  a  one,  leaves  it  there.  I  have  seen  that  done 
more  than  once.  And  of  such  a  place  Selaam  would 
admit  that — "That  road,  sir, 'he's  little  bad,  not  much 
water  he  come  there ;  mud  he's  strong,  too  much — 
no  ?  "  And  I  would  nod,  and  Selaam  would  skirt  the 
evil  spot  and,  acting  upon  some  instinct  Allah  has 
given  him,  discover  in  a  dttour  some  less  deadly 
track.  But  those  things  are  features  of  winter  travel 
in  El  Moghreb.  Between  April  and  November  rocks 
and  heat  and  hard-baked  mud-holes  are  one's  worst 
enemies  ;  mud  in  the  quagmire  stage  is  rare. 

It  was  past  nine,  and  the  lusty  morning  sunshine 
was  peeling  my  nose,  despite  my  djellab-hood's  shelter, 
when  we  won  to  the  fertile  Tetuan  valley  and  left 
those  ironbound  hills  of  the  Sultan's  "road"  behind 
us.  White-walled  Tetuan  lay  within  easy  view  of  us 
now,  most  picturesquely  situate  upon  an  out-jutting 
spur  among  the  foot-hills  of  a  green,  smoothly-outlined 
mountain  range,  and  looking  across  a  lush  and 


208  MOROCCO 

meadowy  valley  to  the  scarred  grey  face  of  the  wild 
mountains  behind  and  among  which  lie  Sheshawan 
and  er-Riff;  the  impregnable  stronghold  of  barbarous 
clans  of  hardy  mountain  bandits  and  pirates  who 
fight  cheerfully  among  themselves,  pour  passer  le  temps 
and  to  keep  their  hands  in,  whilst  entirely  and  success- 
fully defying  all  authorities  from  the  Sultan  downward, 
and  challenging  the  venturesome  Christian  traveller 
to  visit  their  confines  if  he  dare,  and  if  he  be  tired  of 
life.  Grand,  snow-capped,  rugged  heights  these,  more 
inaccessible  than  Thibet  to  the  Nazarene  and  occupy- 
ing a  position  in  relation  to  civilisation  which  is  pro- 
bably without  a  parallel  in  this  hemisphere. 

One  feature   this    town   of  Tetuan   possesses   is 
common  with   many  another  Moorish   city  to  which 
I    have    journeyed.     One    approaches    it    from   the 
mountains  at  the  end,  it  may  be,  of  a  long,  hot  day's 
ride.     One   turns   a   bend  in   a   winding   track,   an< 
suddenly  there  is  Tetuan  in  full  view,  gleaming  whit< 
and  close   at  hand.     One   sighs   and   slackens    one' 
grip  of  the  saddle,  full  of  that  weariness  which  is 
well  worth  attaining — the  weariness  that  lends  rare  an< 
delicious   zest   to    one's    rest    and    refreshment,    tbu 
weariness  which  makes  real  refreshment,   such  as 
never  tasted  in  highly-civilised  surroundings,  possibl< 
a  thing  to  be  enjoyed  and  remembered.     One  feels  foi 
a  cigarette,  and  then — "  But  no,  we  shall  be  there  in 
quarter  of  an  hour.     I  will  wait." 

A  full  two  hours  later  one  draws  rein  outside  th< 
fandak  in  Tetuan. 

Travel  in  Morocco  teaches  many  lessons,  and, 
among  them,  none  more  thoroughly  and  well  than  that 
of  the  virtue  of  enduring  patience.  Its  method  of 
education  is  Nature's  finely  inexorable  method. 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  209 

Thus :  The  touch  of  fire  burns ;  observe  and  act 
accordingly ;  here  is  no  shirking,  excuse,  or  possible 
extenuation ;  it  burns,  first  and  last  and  always ;  learn 
this  lesson,  or  be,  neither  whipped,  wept  over,  excused 
or  rebuked,  but  just  burned. 

Tetuan  city  was  no  more  than  a  wayside  station  of 
our  day's  journey,  and  our  little  caravan  clattered 
noisily  through  its  arched  cobbled  streets  with  never  a 
pause,  save  one  of  a  few  moments  in  the  market-place, 
while  Selaam  purchased  and  heaped  before  him  a  few 
bundles  of  fresh  grass  for  the  animals.  On  the  town's 
far  side,  and  just  as  we  emerged  among  the  saints' 
graves  from  its  northern  gate,  a  file  of  women  passed 
us,  bowed  down  under  great  burdens  of  market  pro- 
duce. One  carried  an  earthern  jar  of  milk,  and  her 
Selaam  accosted,  but  (as  became  a  good  Muslim) 
without  looking  at  her  face. 

"  Oh,  woman,"  said  he,  scanning  space,  "  thou  hast 
milk  there?" 

"  Ihyeh  !  "  The  woman  eyed  her  sand-encrusted 
Itoes. 

"  And  the  price  thereof?  " 

"  Three  bilion." 

"  Here  be  two  ;  give  me  the  milk,  woman." 

"  O  man,  but  my  jar — and  I  a  poor  woman." 

"See!  Here  is  another  penny  for  thy  jar! 
nve ! " 

"  H'm !  It  would  seem  to  be  God's  will,  O  man. 
ake!" 

So  we  rode  on  with  our  jar  of  milk,  and  presently, 
inder  the  shadowy  lee  of  a  high  bamboo  hedge,  we 
lismounted,  loosed  girths,  placed  grass  before  the 
inimals,  and  sat  down  to  devour  vast  quantities  of 
>read,  fruit,  cold  chicken  and  meat.  Ten-thirty  seems 
o 


210  MOROCCO 

a  suitable  enough  hour  for  tiffin  after  four  hours  in  the 
saddle. 

Three  hours  later,  after  traversing  a  scrub-covered 
plain  and  a  flower-carpeted  range  of  hills,  we  emerged 
in  brilliant  searching  sunshine  upon  the  powdery  white 
beach  of  the  Mediterranean,  thirty-two  hours  after 
leaving  Tangier's  Atlantic  bay.  Till  close  upon  sun- 
down we  plodded  along  beside  the  sea.  A  Mediter- 
ranean beach  makes  heavy  going  by  reason  that,  the 
sea  being  very  nearly  tideless,  the  sand  is  always  dry 
and  powdery,  covering  a  horse's  leg  half  way  to  the 
knee  at  every  step.  Yet  there  is  a  slight  rise  and  fall 
of  tide  in  this  part  of  the  Mediterranean,  as  we  were 
presently  to  prove  to  ourselves,  Selaam  and  myself. 

The  sun  was  dipping  low  for  evening,  a  lurid, 
theatrical  sunset,  when  we  reached  the  mouth  of  a  j 
river,  no  more  than  forty  or  fifty  feet  broad.  A 
swirling,  quarrelling  treacherous-seeming  stream  it 
was,  here  still  and  darkling,  there  rushing  like  a  mill- 
race  ;  an  inconsequent  and  uncertain  little  river  with 
apparently  no  definite  aim  or  purpose  in  life.  On  its 
brink  before  us  stood  two  fishermen  with  three 
donkeys.  In  the  stream's  middle  a  third  man  was 
swimming  with  that  plunging  violence  which 
bespeaks  panic.  He  was  safe  enough,  however,  for 
though  driven  over  the  bar  into  the  sea,  he  landed, 
with  no  great  difficulty,  a  dozen  paces  below  us.  Not 
so  the  unfortunate  donkey  belonging  to  this  rash 
wight.  The  master,  finding  the  current  too  strong  for 
him,  had  turned  back,  lending  nothing  more  than  the 
assistance  of  his  voice,  in  fervid  blasphemy,  to  the 
animal.  Now  that  donkey  was  a  mere  brown  fleck 
upon  the  opaque  evening  sea.  I  cannot  understand 
why  the  poor  beast's  seaward  progress  should  have 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  211 

been  so  swift,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  few  minutes 
sufficed  to  carry  it  beyond  our  range  of  vision  in  the 
rapidly-diminishing  half-light  of  that  sunset. 

And  now  the  owner  of  the  lost  donkey  approached 
us,  dripping  and  scant  of  breath,  and  began  to  make 
his  moan  to  heaven  and  to  us.  His  plaint  was  a 
grotesque  piece  of  bathos. 

"  Oh,  my  donkey,"  he  wailed,  apostrophising  the 
distant  speck;  "would  that  I  were  in  thy  place, 
another  in  mine,  for,  O,  a  donkey  without  a  master  is 
worth  at  least  six  dollars;  but;  I,  Cassim,  without  my 
donkey,  what  smallest  penny  am  I  worth  ?  Oh,  my 
donkey,  my  donkey  ;  why  would  you  leave  our  El 
Moghreb  ?  What  infidel  land  do  you  seek  now  ?  Yd 
wail! !  Ya  waili !  " 

So  there  we  were  stranded,  Selaam,  the  fishermen, 
the  animals  and  myself,  with  never  a  loaf  of  bread 
between  us,  eight  or  ten  miles  distant  from  Ceuta,  a 
town,  by  the  way,  the  gates  of  which  are  not  opened 
to  prince  or  pauper  once  they  have  been  closed  at  an 
early  stage  of  evening.  The  fishermen  thought  the 
river  might  be  fordable  soon  after  midnight.  They 
were  not  sure.  Allah  was  very  great.  Meantime 
our  position  was  very  typical,  very  characteristic,  of 
the  happenings  which  come  to  beguile  the  way  for  who 
chooses  to  take  to  the  Open  Road  in  Morocco. 

Twenty-four  hours  ago  we  were  brought  to  a 
standstill,  Selaam,  myself  and  our  little  caravan, 
by  the  unfordable  condition  of  the  river  which  has 
to  be  crossed  by  those  who  would  approach  Spanish 
Ceuta  from  Moorish  Tetuan.  It  seems  to  me  more 
like  twenty-four  days,  but — let  me  tell  you  how  we 
fared. 


212  MOROCCO 

I  think  I  have  stated  before  that,  having  relied  on 
passing  last  night  in  Ceuta,  we  recklessly  ate  our  fill 
by   the  wayside  in  the  morning,  and   even  fed  two 
urchins  and  three  pariah  dogs,  leaving  ourselves  with 
nothing,  save,  as  accident  ruled  it,  three  square  inches 
of  bread,  a  handful   of  dates,   and  a  tin  of  Danish 
butter ;    excellent   items   in   their   way,    yet  scarcely 
calculated,  of  themselves,  to  provide  with  an  adequate 
evening   meal   two  mules,    a   horse,    an   able-bodied 
Moor,  and  a   hungry    Nazarene.     No,  it  was  inade- 
quate ;  and,  to  tell  the  plain  truth,  I   was  conscious, 
while  turning  away  from  that  annoying  little  river's 
edge,  of  a  sensation  of  hungry  regret  in  connectioi 
with  the  odd  loaf  and  section  of  a  chicken  which  w< 
had,  with  such  a  finely   careless  generosity  dividec 
among  chubby  infants  and  lean  pariahs  that  morning. 
Hunger  is  so  intimate  and  personal  a  matter.     An< 
you  are  to  remember  that  we  had  passed  seven  con- 
secutive hours   in  the  saddle  since   that   bread   an< 
chicken  episode. 

The  question  of  where  we  should  spend  the  night 
appealed  to  me  less  urgently.  The  evening  air  was 
pleasant  enough,  and  the  sky  a  sufficiently  good  roof 
in  such  weather.  And,  while  I  was  assuring  myself 
of  this,  rain  began  to  fall,  warmly,  gently,  and  with  an 
even  quietness  which  suggested  great  reserves  of 
watery  wealth  and  beneficence.  A  most  fortunate  and 
little-expected  boon  to  Moorish  agriculturists  without 
a  doubt;  but — "Selaam,"  I  said  severely,  drawing 
my  bridle  hand  under  the  djellab-sleeve's  shelter; 
"  you  must  find  a  house.  You  savvy  any  village  here 
—'urn?" 

"No,  sir;  I  think  he  don'  got  any  village  here. 
Come  on,  sir  ;  I  find  something." 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  213 

So  we  moved  on  in  the  moist  darkness,  ourselves 
and  the  animals,  the  two  fishermen  with  their  animals, 
and  the  other  fisherman  with  his  grotesque  exclama- 
tions and  waitings  regarding  his  drowned  and  departed 
donkey.  Why  this  bereaved,  mild  maniac  and  his 
silent  friends  attached  themselves  to  us  I  cannot  say. 
They,  like  ourselves  possessed  no  food  nor  shelter  ; 
so  far  we  were  akin. 

It  appeared  to  me  that  we  scaled  several  mountains 
and  traversed  many  very  rocky  gorges,  but  Selaam 
solemnly  assures  me  that  our  way  was  "  not  far  too 
much,  sir ! "  and  I  am  bound  to  accept,  even  though 
I  cannot  entirely  comprehend,  his  assurance.  At  all 
events,  we  ultimately  stumbled  upon  two  mud  and 
wattle  huts,  each  about  the  size  of  a  four-post  bed- 
stead, the  pair  standing  under  the  lee  of  a  very 
thoroughly  ruined  tower ;  a  relic  of  Spanish  occupa- 
tion here,  but  a  relic  in  too  advanced  a  state  of  decay 
to  admit  of  its  affording  shelter  for  a  crow.  Upon 
investigation,  we  found  that  one  of  these  huts  held  a 
charcoal-burner  and  two  of  his  friends — all  Moors,  of 
course.  The  other  hut  gave  shelter  to  the  charcoal- 
burner's  wife  and  two  children.  And  we  were  five, 
including  our  fishermen  followers.  To  me  the 
prospect  of  shelter  seemed  dubious. 

I  am  bound  to  say,  however,  that  when  Selaam 
had  explained  the  situation,  the  charcoal-burner  and 
his  friends  turned  out  of  their  hut,  and  squatted  on 
the  damp  earth  outside,  whilst  waving  me  in  to  their 
hovel  as  though  that  were  the  barest  and  most  matter- 
of-course  kind  of  courtesy.  The  host  said,  "  Marhabba 
bi-kum ! "  (Welcome  to  thee),  with  something  of  an 
air,  and  some  clean  boards,  the  bottom  boards  of  a 
boat  they  were,  were  laid  on  the  earth  within  this  tiny 


214  MOROCCO 

hut  for  me  to  sit  on.  The  eaves  of  the  hut,  by  the 
way,  ran  down  to  within  two  and  a  half  feet  of  the 
ground,  and  the  doorway  was,  say,  two  feet  wide  and 
three  high.  At  one  end  the  hut,  from  ridge-pole  to 
within  two  feet  of  earth,  was  open  ;  a  fact  for  which  I 
was  subsequently  made  most  thankful.  I  mention 
these  things  here  because  the  place  was  quite  typical  of 
the  houses  of  the  poorer  country  Moors. 

I  gave  my  horse  two  of  our  odd  dozen  of  Tafilet 
dates   and   announced   that   anyone   who  could  beg, 
borrow  or  steal  me  some  barley  should  be  rewarded. 
Our  host  smiled  and  shrugged  at  the  idea  of  there 
being  any  person  in  his  locality  rich  enough  to  b< 
possessed  of  barley  or  of  horses  to  eat  it.     Neverthe- 
less, when  I  displayed  a  little  silver,  two  men  girde< 
up  their  loins,  took  clubs,  and  set  off  in  the  darkness 
to  hunt  for  horse-feed. 

In  various  other  respects  a  mule  is  better  suite< 
than  a  horse  to  the  exigencies  of  the  road  in  Morocco, 
but  particularly  is  this  so  in  the  matter  of  feeding. 
A  mule  will  eat  anything  that  its  teeth  can  penetrate, 
and  many  things  which  they  cannot.  I  have  never 
met  the  horse,  on  the  other  hand,  that  was  not  by 
way  of  being  an  epicure,  and  an  epicure,  too,  that 
would  liefer  starve  than  eat  food  unsuited  to  its 
palate.  Irregularity  in  feeding  would  appear  to 
affect  mules  but  very  slightly.  Let  your  barb  go 
dinnerless  for  one  night,  however,  and  on  the  next 
day  your  spurs,  if  you  have  the  heart  to  use  them, 
shall  appeal  to  him  in  vain  for  anything  more  than 
the  most  languid  and  spiritless  sort  of  gait.  The 
mule,  on  the  other  hand,  conspicuously  devoid  as  he 
invariably  is  of  gallantry  or  dash,  has  the  stubborn, 
passive  virtues  of  his  temperament,  and,  if  he  cannot 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  215 

rise  to  an  emergency,  rarely  falls  short  of  his  normal 
attainments  till  he  lays  him  down  for  the  last  time. 

I  was  unable  to  swing  my  cot  in  the  charcoal- 
burner's  hut,  for,  had  I  done  so,  the  little  place  had 
been  entirely  filled.  So  when  our  animals  were  as 
well  disposed  as  might  be  under  the  ruined  tower's 
lee,  I  squatted  down  on  my  boards,  with  a  rug,  in  the 
hut,  and  bade  Selaam  bring  in  the  host  and  his 
friends.  A  soaking  rain  was  falling  outside,  and  I 
could  not  well  permit  these  poor  fellows  to  expose 
themselves  to  it  while  there  was  a  spare  inch  in  the 
hut.  They  crawled  in  with  two  of  the  fishermen 
and  squatted  solemnly  in  the  hut,  sharing  between 
them  one  long  kief-pipe  and  two  fiat  black  loaves 
of  bran  bread. 

Presently  the  two  seekers  after  barley  and  its 
reward  returned,  sodden  but  triumphant,  with  a  small 
measure  of  barley,  beans  and  corn.  They  were  duly 
rewarded,  and  our  animals  received  the  treasurable 
find,  Zemouri,  the  horse,  as  I  need  hardly  say,  being 
given  the  cream  of  it.  Then  the  sodden  ones 
crawled  into  the  hut  and  steamed  there,  telling,  at 
great  length,  their  adventures  during  the  two  hours 
they  had  devoted  to  foraging  on  my  behalf.  Selaam 
and  myself,  we  munched  at  our  fragment  of  bread 
and  ate  our  handful  of  dates,  save  two,  which  I  put 
aside  for  Zemouri's  delectation  next  morning. 

Heralded  by  the  furious  yelping  of  two  gaunt  curs 
outside  the  hut,  there  presently  came  to  us  yet 
another  visitor,  a  little,  black-avised  fellow,  hairy 
as  Esau,  with  roving  eyes,  and  an  old  Spanish 
musket.  By  a  miracle,  the  newcomer  found  a  few 
inches  of  space  into  which  he  was  able  to  insinuate 
his  person.  I  made  inquiry,  and  was  informed  that 


216  MOROCCO 

the  newcomer  was  a  robber  by  profession,  and  that 
he  sought  shelter  now  from  one  of  his  nightly  prowls, 
by  reason  of  the  dirty  weather.  I  mechanically 
loosened  the  revolver  holster  on  my  belt  as  this 
piece  of  information  reached  me  ;  and  Selaam,  notic- 
ing the  gesture,  shook  his  head  reassuringly. 

"  No,  no,  sir ;  he  all  right ;  he  very  good  man,  sir. 
Suppose  he  find  you  outside,  yes!"  Selaam  drew 
one  brown  forefinger  suggestively  across  his  throat. 
11  But  here — never,  sir!  The  man  who  belong  this 
house,  he  friend  for  that  robber.  Never  he  rob  you 
here — only  if  you  sleep  too  much." 

This  was  certainly  satisfactory,  so  far  as  it  went.  I 
saw  no  great  likelihood  of  our  dropping  off  to  sleep  in 
a  hut  that  had  been  small  for  three,  and  that  now  held 
ten.  I  did  doze,  however,  more  than  once  during 
the  small  hours,  the  point  of  that  honourable  robber's 
long  dagger-sheath  touching  the  leg  of  one  of  my 
riding-boots,  my  shoulders  wedged  in  the  great 
Algerian  saddle.  But  each  time  my  eyes  opened  I 
saw  Selaam  smoking,  quietly  watchful,  my  rifle  across 
his  knees. 

Such  a  lurid  little  interior  it  was,  with  its  wall  of 
windy,  rain-swept  sky  at  one  end,  its  curious  store  of 
flotsam  from  forgotten  Mediterranean  wrecks — a  hatch- 
cover,  boat's  bottom-boards,  and  an  old,  worm-eaten 
stern-sheet  board,  bearing  in  half-obliterated  green 
letters  the  word  "  Dolores " ;  these  things  and  its 
curious  human  occupants,  hard,  gaunt,  hungry,  weather- 
stained,  and  only  half-human  it  seemed,  having  no 
need,  apparently,  of  sleep,  expecting  no  more  in  life 
than  a  little  rude  shelter  and  a  little  scurvy  black  bread 
each  day ;  robbing  whom  they  might,  killing  when 
they  must,  working  fitfully  as  men  may  have  worked 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  217 

in  the  Stone  Age,  risking  life  and  limbs  each  day  for  a 
few  pence,  themselves  being  robbed,  beaten  and 
imprisoned  at  intervals,  when  information  reached 
some  hungry  local  authorities  of  a  haul  having  been 
made  on  this  rocky  shore,  some  would-be  smugglers 
having  been  successfully  robbed,  or  killed  and  robbed. 
An  odd  lodging  for  the  night,  this  of  mine  below 
Ceuta. 

We  did  not  ford  that  obstinate  little  river  at  its 
mouth  after  all,  though  grey  daybreak  found  us 
waiting  on  its  brink ;  Zemouri  munching  good- 
humouredly,  and  pretending  that  my  two  dates  re- 
quired ten  minutes  of  pleasant  mastication.  One  of 
the  fishermen  came  near  to  losing  his  life  in  testing  the 
ford  for  us,  and  subsequently,  with  his  fellows,  guided 
us,  by  a  long  detour,  over  swampy,  scrub-covered 
marshes,  to  an  inland  ford  which  we  crossed  with  dry 
saddle-flaps.  During  the  most  part  of  the  time  Ceuta 
was  well  within  view,  high  and  dry  on  the  far-out 
jutting  horn  of  the  great  bay  we  were  skirting. 

Toward  noon  we  reached  a  ramshackle  Moorish 
guard-house,  on  the  confines  of  the  neutral  strip 
between  Spanish  Ceuta  and  Moorish  territory.  The 
neutral  strip  itself  is  the  stony,  trickling  bed  of  a 
stream,  which  has,  apparently,  seen  better  days.  It 
was  once  a  river ;  but  now,  having  forgotten  its 
original  mission  in  life,  it  is  a  wide,  indefinitely 
rambling  ditch.  Upon  its  far  side  we  were  called  to 
a  halt  by  a  knot  of  funny  little  toy  soldiers  in  blue 
Zouave  trousers  and  string  sandals.  A  few  carried 
rifles,  two  wore  coats,  all  were  smoking  cigarettes, 
and  they  came  trotting  after  our  little  caravan  because, 
it  seemed,  their  keen  watchfulness  had  detected  my 
rifle  where  it  swung  across  SelaanVs  broad  shoulders. 


218  MOROCCO 

I  gathered  tKat  these  excitable  little  men  were  convinced 
that  we  had  endeavoured  to  elude  their  vigilance  in 
the  matter  of  this  rifle.  Now,  with  stern  dignity, 
with  military  peremptoriness,  they  demanded  that  the 
gun  be  handed  over  to  their  keeping.  I  take  some 
pride  in  being  a  law-abiding  person,  but  I  plead  guilty 
to  having  shown  some  resentment  when  these  little 
men  awkwardly  jerked  my  Lee-Metford  from  its  case, 
pronounced  it  a  Mauser,  and  managed  between  them 
to  jam  its  breech  while  endeavouring  to  unload  it.  I 
begged  a  receipt  of  some  sort,  a  voucher  by  which  I 
might  reclaim  my  property.  This  involved  a  long 
and  exciting  debate,  during  the  progress  of  which 
crowd  gathered.  Again  and  again  different  aspect 
of  my  sufficiently  moderate  request  were  submitted  t< 
the  eager  crowd,  collectively  and  individually,  by  th< 
voluble  little  military  gentlemen  in  sandals.  I  foun< 
these  Spaniards  vastly  more  difficult  to  deal  with  th; 
the  Moors.  But,  at  long  last,  it  seemed  my  affair  was 
favourably  settled.  An  old,  old  veteran  in  dungaree! 
hobbled  up  from  his  seat  beside  a  wash-tub,  tore  a 
tiny  fragment  of  paper  from  the  edge  of  some  journal, 
pencilled  laboriously  upon  it  the  legend :  "  No.  97 " 
(I  have  often  wondered  what  chance  may  have 
directed  his  choice  of  this  number),  and  handed  it  to 
the  chief  among  the  sandalled  gentry,  with  a  gesture 
that  was  at  once  pacific,  soothing  and  commandingly 
impressive.  It  seemed  a  treaty  of  peace  had  been  con- 
cluded. The  smeary  scrap  of  paper  was  handed  over 
to  me,  with  a  bow,  and,  dissembling  alike  my  inclination 
to  grin  and  my  anxiety  regarding  the  welfare  of  the 
rifle,  I  turned  and  we  trotted  on  toward  Ceuta. 

"  But  that  he's  bad  thing,  sir,"  muttered   Selaam, 
behind  me.     "  I  no  like  him.     We  don't  finish  yet.     I 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  219 

think   I   glad  a  little  when  we  get  away  from  that 
Ceuta ! " 

Selaam  voiced  my  own  sentiments  exactly  in  his 
own  picturesque  way,  and  strengthened  them.  Our 
entry  was  not  auspicious. 

You  will  remember  that  circumstances  led  to  my 
passing  last  night,  with  Selaam  and  eight  other  good 
Muslims,  fishermen,  pirates,  robbers  and  what  not,  in 
one  tiny  hut,  the  property  of  our  host  the  charcoal- 
burner.  Now  a  night  spent  in  that  manner — one's 
shoulders  between  saddle-flaps,  one's  thoughts  running 
hungrily  upon  the  menus  of  meals  enjoyed  in  the  past, 
one's  animal  instincts  insisting  that  plain  bread  and 
cheese,  if  only  obtainable,  were  excellent  fare — is  not 
at  all  calculated  to  lend  ordinary  neatness,  far  less  mili- 
tary precision  and  dignity,  to  one's  appearance  next 
morning.  Yet  as  I  rode  past  a  knot  of  Spanish 
urchins  toward  the  outer  gate  of  Ceuta,  Spain's 
famous  possession  in  Morocco,  and  Gibraltar's  vis-a- 
vis in  the  maritime  entrance  to  the  East,  the  cry 
which  greeted  me  was, — 

"  Duller!  Duller!  Yah— ingles!  Los  podrido 
ingleses!  (the  rotten  English!).  Duller!  Duller!  Yah!" 

The  gallant  first  commander-in-chief  of  our  forces 
in  South  Africa  had  scarcely  been  flattered,  I  fear,  to 
hear  so  travel-stained  and  towzelled  a  wanderer  as 
myself  addressed  by  his  name.  My  own  feeling  in 
the  matter  is  of  no  importance ;  it  partook  less  of 
gratification  than  of  embarrassment. 

The  very  officials  who,  to  examine  my  pack-mule 
for  contraband  and  to  ask  for  my  passport,  stopped 
me  beside  the  town  moat,  were  grinning  broadly  as 
they  listened  to  our  salutations  from  the  street  urchins. 


220  MOROCCO 

These  same  military  officials,  by  the  way,  were 
cloaked,  armed,  booted  and  spurred  (not  sandalled), 
and  struck  me  as  being  altogether  more  imposing  than 
their  comrades  who  had  taken  away  my  gun  at  the 
guard-house  on  the  frontier.  So  I  ventured  to  solicit 
their  good  graces  in  the  matter  of  that  gun,  said  1  had 
no  receipt  for  it,  and  showed  them  the  dingy  scrap  of 
newspaper  with  "  No.  97  "  scrawled  upon  it,  which 
was  all  the  voucher  I  had  been  able  to  obtain.  These 
gentlemen  shook  their  heads  very  dubiously,  I  thought, 
as  they  bade  me  preserve  with  great  care  my  "  No. 
97  "  scrap.  A  poor  thing  to  preserve  indeed,  but  I 
stowed  it  carefully  away  in  my  watch,  and  hoped  foi 
the  best. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  the  British  Minister  ii 
Tangier  I  had  obtained  an  official  Spanish  document 
commending  me  to  the  Commandant  -  General  ol 
Ceuta  as  a  harmless  person  afflicted  with  an  inan< 
and  purposeless  desire  to  view  Ceuta.  This  docu- 
ment, and  this  alone,  carried  me  across  the  great 
moat,  over  the  drawbridge,  and  within  the  walls  of 
Spain's  fortified  possession.  Without  it  I  had 
assuredly  been  turned  back,  to  be  devoured  by  the 
ridicule  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  flung  at  me 
the  distinguished  name  of  Duller.  This  is  certain, 
and  I  mention  it  for  the  benefit  of  any  reader  who 
may  contemplate  making  the  journey  from  Tangier. 

The  landward  walls  that  guard  Ceuta  are  pro- 
digious, well  calculated  to  impress  Moors,  and  perhaps 
the  most  solid  thing  in  the  way  of  fortification  that 
the  place  has  to  show.  Riding  past  them  and  into 
the  clean,  roughly-cobbled  main  street  of  the  town, 
fresh  from  the  mountains  and  gorges  of  a  country  in 
which  everything  contrived  by  man's  hand  is  of  the 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  221 

crudest  and  most  meagre  sort,  I  found  Ceuta  and  its 
buildings  picturesque  for  the  most  part,  very  clean- 
looking,  trimly  kept,  and  quite  the  abode  of  civilisa- 
tion ;  civilisation  that  is,  of  course,  as  it  is  understanded 
and  exhibited  in  the  southern  half  of  the  Peninsula. 

We  rode  direct  to  the  fonda  or  hotel ;  Selaam, 
myself,  our  mounts,  and  the  pack-mule.  Had  you 
fancied  that,  because  Ceuta  is  a  penal  settlement,  and 
possessed  of  only  a  certain  order  of  civilisation,  that  it 
therefore  contained  no  hotel.  That  was  your  misap- 
prehension. Ceuta  boasts  the  possession  of  a  very 
distinguished  hotel.  It  is  distinguished,  inasmuch  as 
that  a  good  few  years  of  wandering  and  a  fairly 
catholic  experience  of  hostelries  in  the  East,  in 
Australia,  in  South  America,  and  other  places 
remote  from  Bond  Street,  have  not  as  yet  introduced 
me  to  a  place  of  entertainment  more  thoroughly  and 
consistently  unsatisfactory  than  is  Ceuta's  hotel. 
True,  there  was  a  certain  charcoal-burner's  hut  in 
which  I  found  shelter  once,  and —  But  no !  Let  me 
be  just  to  that  gaunt  maker  of  charcoal.  Personally, 
I  preferred  his  hut  to  this  fonda. 

I  was  shown  into  an  apartment  without  a  window 
or  any  kind  of  ventilation,  the  which  I  was  invited  to 
share  as  sleeping  and  sitting-room  with  two  Spaniards. 
These  two  gentlemen,  whose  acquaintance  I  was  not 
privileged  to  make,  were  doubtless  excellent,  and,  it 
may  be,  illustrious  Sefiors.  Their  beds  suggested  an 
entire  aloofness  from  that  virtue  which  cometh  next 
to  godliness.  Their  godliness  may  itself  have  been 
all  sufficient  for  them.  As  for  me,  while  I  pondered 
sadly  over  these  trestle  beds — and  I  am  not  squeamish 
— Selaam,  who  considers  me  his  protector  and  is  mine, 
gave  me  clearly  to  understand  that  he  could  not 


222  MOROCCO 

permit  me  to  make  use  of  this  gloomy  and  unsavoury 
place.  That  is  the  beauty  of  Selaam ;  he  is  so 
thoroughly  the  paternal  despot,  the  beneficent  tyrant, 
the  kindly  Providence.  Like  a  child,  I  yielded  to  him 
blindly  ;  like  a  grown-up,  I  was  truly  grateful  for  his 
tyranny. 

Within  the  hour  my  autocrat  had  me  installed  in 
a  small  but  eminently  decent  and  cleanly  apartment 
in  the  private  house  of  a  resident  of  respectable  stand- 
ing. I  make  no  doubt  that  the  good  rascal  repre- 
sented that  I  was  intimately  connected  with  most  of 
the  crowned  heads  of  Europe.  I  was  made  quite 
comfortable  in  my  new  quarters  ;  as  comfortable,  that 
is,  as  might  be  under  the  circumstances.  Th< 
immediately  preceding  twenty-four  hours  of  trav< 
had  rather  told  upon  me  in  one  or  two  smal 
ways,  and,  curiously,  upon  Selaam.  I  questioned  th< 
Moor,  and  found  our  symptoms  were  identical. 
Certain  kinds  of  food,  devoured  with  Open  Road 
gusto,  and  certain  prolonged  fastings ;  these  had 
combined  to  somewhat  disturb  our  internal  economy. 
And  that  brings  me,  haunch-down,  upon  a  little 
episode  which  somehow  made  me  think  chucklingly 
of  Rabelais. 

Toward  evening  we  wended  our  way,  Selaam  and 
myself,  to  a  certain  pharmacy  in  Ceuta's  main  street. 
We  were  the  rather  jeeringly  observed  of  all  street 
observers,  and  were  frequently  reminded  of  my 
nationality  and  of  the  names  of  various  distinguished 
British  generals  commanding  in  South  Africa.  Oddly 
enough  these  reminders  were  not  at  all  intended  to  be 
flattering.  My  walks  abroad  in  hospitable  Ceuta 
gave  me  a  sympathetic  insight  into  what  I  imagine 
must  be  the  feelings  of  a  pious  Oriental  when  he 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  223 

strolls  through  London  attired  in  his  Oriental  best, 
and  accompanied  by  mocking  urchins.  We  went,  I 
say,  to  a  pharmacy,  and  by  the  aid  of  smatterings 
of  various  tongues  (I  had  next  to  no  Spanish) 
established  an  understanding  with  the  worthy  pro- 
prietor. He  informed  me  gracefully  that  we  both 
stood  in  urgent  need  of  a  certain  excellent  and 
thorough  purgativo  which  he  recommended.  In 
all  good  faith  I  gave  the  word,  and  doses  were 
administered  to  us  on  the  spot. 

In  one  hour  and  a  half,  or  two  hours,  "all  would 
be  most  well "  with  us,  I  was  assured.  Three  hours 
ater  we  held  a  consultation.  Our  symptoms  were 
still  identical,  Selaam's  and  mine,  our  good  chemist's 
prescription  had  failed,  and  our  condition  was  in  no 
way  improved.  Together  we  set  out  once  more  for 
the  pharmacy.  Now,  whether  our  countenances 
betrayed  us,  or  native  shrewdness  guessed  our  errand, 
I  cannot  say,  but  a  group  of  young  women,  standing 
near  the  chemist's,  broke  out  into  gusts  of  shrill 
laughter  upon  our  approach,  comments  containing  the 
word  purgativo  fell  round  us  in  a  soprano  hail, 
mantilla  ends  were  thrust  into  shrieking  mouths,  the 
news  was  carried  breathlessly  from  door  to  door, 
and  this  last  shot,  fired  at  my  bowed,  diminished 
head  by  a  young  lady  in  yellow  and  black,  scorched 
the  very  nape  of  my  neck  as  we  won  to  the  cover  of 
our  pharmacy. 

"  Purgatives  for  good  Spaniards  are  wasted  on 
English  leather-bellies ;  try  some  Transvaal  gun- 
powder from  Kruger !  " 

In  cold  print,  one  may  smile  at  it.  In  the  event 
I  found  that  corner  of  Ceuta  too  warm  for  my  Anglo- 
Saxon  skin.  We  returned  to  our  quarters  with  some- 


224  MOROCCO 

thing  more  than  precipitancy,  and  by  way  of  a  side 
street.  Incidentally  it  occurs  to  me,  with  less  of  regret 
than  relief,  that  I  forgot  to  pay  for  those  inefficacious 
purgatives.  But  was  not  the  episode  Rabelaisian, 
and  of  the  Latins,  Southern  ?  You  are  to  remember 
that  capote-clad  sentries  paced  under  orange  and 
citron  trees  in  the  little  square  beside  which  those 
laughing  muchachas  roasted  the  forlorn  Englishman 
and  his  Moor.  They  wore  flowered  mantillas,  and 
heels  to  their  shoes  that  clacked  liked  castanets. 

You  know  what  a  great  service  Cervantes 
rendered  Spain.  Who  knows  what  the  future  may 
yet  hold  in  store  for  her,  and  if  only  anothe 
Cervantes  should  arise,  to  tickle  her  while  he  taught 

Now,  with  regard  to  Ceuta.  But,  incidentall; 
and  as  a  warning  against  what  is  called  candour  in 
friend,  and  uncharitableness  in  an  enemy,  I  must  quote 
here  a  remark  made  by  the  good  lady  whose  house 
sheltered  me.  I  sought  to  win  her  good  graces  by 
praising  what  I  supposed  to  be  her  native  town.  My 
imagination  failed  me,  however  ;  for  a  moment  I  could 
think  of  nothing  to  praise.  Recollection  of  a  fact 
came  then,  where  invention  failed.  "  Your  streets  are 
very  clean  and  nicely  kept  here,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  they  should  be,  when  labour  costs 
nothing.  In  my  country,  Malaga,  where  we  have 
no  convicts  to  do  those  things  for  us — there  it  is 
different ! " 

Good  soul!  Her  remark  struck  me  as  a  curious 
blend  of  local  pride,  deprecation,  regret,  uncharitable- 
ness,  pessimism  and  modesty.  I  think  also,  by  the 
way,  that  it  was  substantially  true.  One  meets  the 
prisoners,  singly  and  in  little  gangs,  all  over  Ceuta, 
up  till  sunset  gun-fire.  They  appear  to  do  everything 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  225 

that   is   done    in    Ceuta,    outside    eating,    drinking, 
sleeping,  swagger,    military   ceremonial,  and  such  of 
the  amenities  as  may  be   looked  for  in  a  populace 
composed  of  prisoners  and  their  guardians,  soldiers, 
Jand  those  who   supply  the   needs   of  both  sections. 
IThese  convicts  wear  polo  caps,  short  jackets  and  little 
metal  badges,  like  those  of  cabmen,  on  their  sleeves. 
Each  small  party  of  them  is  accompanied  by  a  sort  of 
jserang  ;  a  good-conduct  man,  presumably,  who  carries 
la  tough-looking  stick  with  a  thin  leathern  loop  at  its 
|end.     If  your  wrist  be  in  the  loop  and  the  stick  be 
lichen  violently  twisted,  you  will  be  found  ready,  I  am 
assured,  to  express  most  complete  agreement  in  any 
[sort  of  proposition  which  the  holder  of  the  stick  may 
nave  to  make.     Some  instinct  inclines  me  to  belief  in 
lis  theory.     I  accepted   it  freely,  upon  trust.     But, 
egarding  the  matter  from  what  I  imagine  would  be 
le   standpoint   of  any  intelligent   and  open-minded 
onvict  of  experience,  I  think  that,  putting  aside  the 
>op-stick  contrivance,    the   Ceuta  prisoners  are  not 
adly  off.     There  are  many  ways  of  picking  up  food 
hen  you  are  given  the  freedom  of  the  street.     All 
e    Ceuta   prisoners    smoke    at    their   work.      The 
imate  is  pleasant  enough,  and  going  to  bed  early  is 
o  hardship — once  you  have  passed  the  age  at  which 
is  a  virtue.     No ;  if  my  choice  of  a  place  of  resi- 
ence   were    limited    strictly    to    the   world's    penal 
tations,  I  am  not  sure  that    I    should  not  hit  upon 
euta.     Granted  a  slightly   wider   choice,   I  fancy  I 
lould  prefer  Bethnal  Green  or — most  other  places. 
When,    in    my    hearing,    Selaam    made    inquiry 
egarding  the  purchase  of  barley  for  our  animals,  he 
as  told  that  barley  and  other  kinds  of  forage  were 
ontraband,  but  that  we  might  be  able  to  buy  a  little 
p 


226  MOROCCO 

at  such  and  such  a  shop.  We  visited  four  shops, 
under  a  resident's  escort,  and  finally  found  a  man 
possessed  of  about  sufficient  barley  to  make  one 
satisfactory  meal  for  our  three  beasts.  He  measured 
it  out  in  a  vessel  no  bigger  than  a  breakfast-cup,  and 
grudgingly  sold  it  at  so  much  the  cup.  The  price  of 
that  one  meal  had  kept  our  animals  comfortably  in 
Tangier  (or  in  a  village  outside  the  Ceuta  boundaries) 
for  a  week.  Most  things  are  contraband  in  Ceuta, 
including  visitors.  And  in  view  of  the  first  fact, 
the  second  is  perhaps  scarcely  to  be  regretted. 
From  the  commercial  standpoint  the  Government 
could  not  be  called  liberal,  and  industrially 
do  not  think  the  place  could  be  called  thriving 
though,  to  be  sure,  I  was  told  by  members  of  that 
profession  that  smuggling  was  fairly  brisk  in 
Ceuta. 

Somewhat  to  my  alarm,  I  discovered,  when  our 
little  caravan  was  prepared  for  my  departure  from 
Ceuta,  that  leaving  the  Spanish  possession  was  as 
fraught  with  difficulty  and  official  ceremony  as 
entering  it.  However,  when  I  had  made  my  salaams 
to  a  variety  of  uniformed  authorities,  and  furnished 
them  with  all  such  essential  information,  as  the  date 
of  my  birth  (my  reply  on  this  point  failed  for  quite 
a  little  while  to  satisfy  one  generalissimo,  who  was 
convinced  that  I  was  older  —  or  younger — than  I 
admitted),  the  marriage  question,  my  business, 
physical  peculiarities,  residence  when  at  home  and 
when  not  at  home,  my  religious  views,  my  family 
history,  and  the  like  ;  then,  or  within  an  hour  or  so  oi 
then,  I  was  presented  with  a  ticket-of-leave,  and,  as  it 
were,  carefully  watched  off  the  premises  by  two 
severe  officials,  who  appeared  convinced  that  they 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  227 

were  dealing  with  a  criminal  of  very  desperate  char- 
acter, and  by  a  small  mob  of  the  young  gentlemen 
who  persisted  in  addressing  me  as  a  general  from 
Sfluth  Africa. 

At  the  frontier  guard-house  they  protested  entire 
ignorance  of  anything   like  a  Lee-Metford  sporting- 
rifle,  and  turned  up  their  respective  noses  at  my  poor 
little  "  No.  97  "  scrap  of  paper,  the  only  thing  I  had 
ith  virhich  to  support  my  claim  to  my  own  gun.     I 
ould  have  wept,   if  the  boys  had  not   been  calling 
e  "  Buller."     Selaam  began  to  look  dangerous.     His 
ht  hand  was  fumbling  under  his  djellab,  where,  to 
y    knowledge,    there    hung    a    certain    murderous 
agger.     I  was   reminded   uncomfortably  of  a  little 
ity-gate  difficulty  of  mine  some  time  ago,  in  which 
elaam  had  come  near  to  butchering  a  whole  board 
f  guardians  when  they  were   rude   to   me.     I   cast 
bout   me   for   a-  means   of  compromise,  and   found 
stead,  as  chance  directed,  the  hoary  old  dotard  by 
hose   intervention    I    had    secured   the    "No.    97" 
crap.     Selaam  roused  the  patriarch  for  me,  where  he 
y    asleep   under   his    boat,    and    for   a   minute   his 
eumy  eyes  had  the  blindness,  or  the  impudence,  to 
eny  recognition  of  me.     I  was  fumbling  for  back- 
eesh,    when   sudden    shame    descended    upon   the 
uard ;  a  member  of  it   stalked  into  their  quarters, 
turned  with  my  gun,  handed  it  me  without  a  word, 
d   presented  me  with  a  full   view   of  his  narrow- 
ouldered  back. 

Selaam   murmured   in   his   native   tongue   a   soft 
mark  upon  the  subjects  of  pigs,  graves,   and  the 
|icestry  of  the  Spanish  army.     Then  we  rode  away 
oss   the    neutral    strip   of  shrivelled-up   river-bed 
to  Moorish  territory. 


228  MOROCCO 

"  You  little  glad,  sir  ?  "  he  said  as  we  took  to  the 
hills. 

"  What  about,  Selaam  ?  " 

*'  We  leave  Ceuta,  sir." 

"Well,   yes;  I    think    I    am,   a   little.     Morocco, 
he's  better,  eh  ?  " 

"  Ih — yeh! — sir!"      He   has    a    way   of  putting 
volumes  into  a  word  occasionally,  has  this  Moor. 

And  now  with  regard  to  Ceuta,  the  town,  our 
Gibraltar's  vis-a-vis.  But  I  fancy  the  guide-books 
contain  very  adequate  and  useful  information  about 
Ceuta.  It  is  not  a  bad  prison,  as  prisons  go.  As  a 
fortified  station,  too,  it  has  indubitably  great  natural 
strategical  and  geographical  advantages.  Also,  in 
the  hands  of  a  great  and  wealthy  power,  able  to 
spend,  say,  from  five  to  ten  millions  for  a  beginning 
upon  fortifying  it,  Ceuta  would  be  something  of  a 
menace  to  British  power  in  the  Mediterranean.  At 
present  its  guns,  or  those  of  them  that  can  be  seen, 
are  suggestive  of  Moorish  armaments.  At  present  it 
is  not  in  the  hands  of  such  a  power  as  I  have 
mentioned,  and,  rumour  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, I  cannot  think  it  ever  will  be,  while  the 
pride  of  the  Spanish  people  remains  a  factor  to  be 
reckoned  with  by  the  rulers  of  Spain.  And  that 
will  remain  a  factor,  I  think,  for  so  long  as  the 
Spanish  people  remain  a  nation.  Should  the 
nation — 

But  it  certainly  will  not  materially  change  before 
I  get  through  with  this  my  return  journey  from 
Ceuta  to  Tangier ;  and  then  I  may  find  opportunity 
to  post  you  further  in  the  matter. 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO1 

'  A  1[  THO  can  say  ?     Only  that  which  is  written  can 
VV       be.     But,    between   the   S6k  and   the  big 

mosque,  I  met  three  French  poodles  this  morning, 
and  each  one  freshly  and  modishly  shaved — 
bardieu  /  " 

I  had  but  that  moment  landed  from  the  little 
inglish  steamer,  and,  to  my  surprise,  had  been 
greeted  in  Tangier's  barbaric  custom-house  by  a 
ournalist  of  some  repute  in  Europe,  a  kindly 
Cosmopolitan  whom  I  had  last  seen,  a  year  before,  in 
he  Plaza  de  Fernandos,  Seville.  His  remark  about 
Drench  poodles  was  proffered  by  way  of  reply  to  my 
[uestion  :  "  Well,  and  how  goes  the  political  game  of 
?rab  in  Morocco?"  I  smiled. 

"And  what,"  I  asked,  "is  the  Moorish  view  of 
his  fashion  in  dogs  ? "  My  friend  shrugged  his 
slegantly-clad  shoulders  with  Oriental  exaggeration. 

"  Simply,  my  friend,  that  all  things,  the  good,  the 
aad  and  the  indifferent,  are  from  Allah  el  Wahad 
God  the  One),  and  cannot  be  otherwise.  'The 
Moving  Finger' — and  'nor  all  the  tears.'  But, 
3'ism  Illah,  you  should  know  the  attitude  !  " 

My  cosmopolitan  friend,  in  his  bright  way, 
issumed  too  much.  No  Westerner  may  truly  know 
he  attitude.  Yet  if  they  have  not  been  lived  wholly 
n  vain,  the  last  few  years  have  brought  to  me  some 

1  Published  in  the  Fortnightly  Review,  July  1901. 
229 


230  MOROCCO 

inkling  of  it,  by  the  will  of  Allah  and  the  mouths  of 
Moors.  And  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  the  inkling  is 
not  exhilarating  to  a  lover  of  Morocco. 

Leaving  my  journalistic  friend  then,  and  followed 
by  mine  own  particular  rascal  among  Moors,  I  wended 
my  way  over  the  familiar  cobbles  of  the  main  street, 
past  the  great  mosque,  and  so  by  the  inner  Sok  to 
the  abode  of  my  trusted  friend  and  counsellor,  Hadj 
Mohammed  Mokdin  —  the  f'keeh,  ex-kadi,  past 
master  of  Al  Koran  and  its  commentaries,  and 
courtly,  learned  student  in  the  book  of  Moorish  life 
and  affairs.  Here  disappointment  stepped  out  to 
greet  me,  in  the  person  of  Hadj  Cassim,  the  third  son 
of  my  old  counsellor.  His  father,  though  advised  of 
my  coming,  had  been  obliged  to  leave  Tangier  four 
days  since,  for  the  coast  and  Marrakish.  It  was  an 
order.  There  was  no  gainsaying  his  Lord  the 
Sultan's  message.  The  old  scholar  was  needed  at 
Court,  and  so  for  the  time  was  lost  to  me. 

"  But  the  Hadj,  my  father,  will  send  thee  written 
word  from  the  Court  of  Allah's  anointed,  giving  thee 
all  news  thereof.  For  that  reason  a  swift  courier 
went  with  him.  Also,  here  be  written  pages  for  thy 
hand,  the  which  held  my  father  to  his  cushions  for 
many  hours  upon  the  eve  of  his  going  hence." 

Now,  it  was  known  to  Hadj  Cassim  that  I  lacked 
altogether  understanding  of  the  written  word  in 
Arabic,  and  so  it  presently  fell  out,  when  glasses  of 
steaming,  syrupy  green  tea  had  been  served  to  us  in 
the  little  patio,  that  the  young  man  himself  read  for 
my  edification  the  letter  written  by  his  father.  Here 
then  is  my  topical  learning  for  your  use,  as  I  gleaned 
it  in  the  mint-scented  little  patio  of  Hadj  Mokdin's 
Tangier  house,  where  one  of  the  most  scholarly  and 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO     231 

intelligent  of  Moors  lives  poorly,  for  the  reason  that 
he  grinds  no  mercenary  axe,  and  pursues  ever 
knowledge  rather  than  pelf  or  place. 

"  To  that  Nazarene  who  is  separated  from  the 
writer  rather  by  race  than  in  the  spirit,  by  blood  than 
in  thought,  and  whose  honourable  name  is  inscribed 
hereover :  greeting,  salutation,  and  devout  good 
wishes  from  Hadj  Mohammed  Mokdin,  by  Allah's 
mercy,  student  of  His  book  and  His  works,  in  this 
curious  Tangier  of  the  borderland,  where  belief 
toucheth  unbelief,  and  much  trafficking  maketh 
neither  for  wisdom  nor  cleanliness.  B'ism  Illah ! 

"  My  son  will  have  told  thee  of  my  absence  and 
its  cause.  Being  what  I  am,  I  grieve  not  for  that 
which  was  written,  yet  heartily  do  I  trust  that  it  may 
prove  Allah's  will  that  I  may  look  upon  thy  face,  in 
the  calm,  thinking  hours  of  evening,  after  my  return, 
in  sha'  Allah,  to  Tangier.  And  now  to  give  thee  of 
the  little  that  my  mind  hath  of  judgment,  where  the 
affairs  of  our  Sunset  Land  are  concerned. 

"To  the  mouse  we  may  assume  that  no  other 
matter  hath  so  great  an  import  as  the  movements  of  the 
cat.  In  the  matter  of  the  French  encroachments  in 
the  south-east,  I  have  to  tell  thee  that,  in  my  opinion, 
France  is  actually  rather  farther  from  (though 
apparently  nearer)  her  desire  than  at  the  period  of 
your  parting  from  me  here  last  year.  It  is  true  that, 
acting  from  that  base  she  stole  last  year,  Igli ;  France 
has  occupied  6000  men  in  the  oases  this  winter,  and 
finished  her  winter's  work  by  surrounding,  but  not 
occupying,  Figuig.  But  this  in  truth  is  no  more  than 
a  part  of  her  admitted  seizure  of  Igli.  Figuig,  though 
farther  south,  is  no  farther  within  our  Lord's 


232  MOROCCO 

boundaries,  and  indeed  is  less  clearly  a  portion  of  his 
realm.  We  of  the  Faith  saw  clearly  last  year 
that  the  seizure  of  Igli  was  but  the  marking  of  a 
fandak  and  halting-place  on  the  road  to  Figuig,  the 
which  is  now  ripe  fruit  for  French  gathering.1 

"That  is  no  great  matter.     There,  on  the  border- 
line, where  French  protection  hath  long  been  a  thing 
of  common    barter,    and    her    influence    necessarily 
strong,  so  much  was  to  be  expected.     But  far  more 
was  to  be  expected  during  this  last  winter.     France's 
6000  soldiers  were  there  established  ;  before  them  the 
great  Tafilet  oases,  cradle   of  the   reigning  dynasty 
elevated  by  Allah.     Much  was  expected,  I  say,  am 
with  reason.     And  there  has  happened — nothing,  nv 
friend.     And  if  you  ask  me   how  and  why,  I  woul< 
say  that  now  France  is  turning  the  first  page  in  hei 
real  learning  of  the  difficulties   which   do  beset   hei 
path  across  this  our  Morocco.     I  would  speak  withoul 
malice,  but  with  sorrow.     The  soldiers  of  France  hav< 
suffered  bitterly   in  a   land   they   were   not   born  t< 
master   by   sheer   force   of  arms.       '  Remember   oui 
Lord  Kitchener  and  the  Dervishes,'  you  would  say. 
My   friend,   there   be   many    and    great    differences, 
beginning  with  Figuig's  remoteness  from  such  a  high- 
way as  the  Nile,  and  including  this  fact,  not  as  yet 
known  to  Europe.     The  Moors  of  the  desert  shoot 
sitting  or  lying  down,  are  past  masters  in  ambush, 
cover-taking,  and  the  arts  of  harassing  night  attacks, 
in  country  every  stone  of  which  is  known  to  their 
very  horses,  and   unknown  to  the  Christian.      Your 
Lord   Kitchener  could  never  mow  them  down  with 
his  machine  guns,  for  to  be  mown  a  crop  must  stand 

1  The  "ripe  fruit"  was  "gathered,"   as  newspaper  readers  are 
aware,  a  few  months  ago. — A.  J.  D.     1903. 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO     233 

and  be  visible.     Further,  my  friend,  it  is  (more  largely 
than  ye  of  the  North  believe)  the  cause  which  decides 
the  fight.      In  Egypt,  the  Mahdi  was  his  own  cause, 
placing    himself    before    Islam.       He     invited     the 
Khedive  and  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  to  acknowledge 
him.     He   fought   not   for   Allah   the    One   and   his 
Prophet,  but  for  the  Mahdi.     That  was  his  loss  and 
the  loss  of  his  followers.     For  in  Islam  there  is  but 
one  banner  which  can  so  rally  Believers  that  victory 
becomes   theirs ;   and    that   is   the   green   banner   of 
Islam   itself.     Khedive    and   Sultan   both   instructed 
Egypt  that  the  Mahdi  was  a  kharig,   or  pervert,  an 
infidel,  warring   upon  Islam.     So   Egypt  fought  him 
with  your  Lord  Kitchener  and  his  soldiers,  and  great 
was  the  fall  of  the  Mahdi.     But  how  if  he  had  raised 
only  the  banner  of  Islam,  fighting  only  to  repel  the 
infidel,  a  Jehad,  and  had  fought  always  from  cover, 
and  never  with  his  legions  as  standing  crops  for  the 
scythes   of  your   machinery.      Think    you,    Muslim, 
Egypt  had  fought  then  under  your   Lord  Kitchener 
and   against    Islam?       Never!    never!      They    had 
fought  assuredly,  and  with  your  guns  ;  but — pointed 
the  other  way,  my  friend.     And  what  then  of  France's 
Algerian  legions  ?     Believe  thou  me,  France  has  been 
asking  herself  that  question. 

"  *  But  France  holds  Algeria/  you  say.  My  friend, 
you  see  there  the  work,  not  of  a  winter,  but  of  over 
fifty  years.  And  here  is  a  point  for  thee  in  that 
matter,  the  which  Europe  knoweth  not.  Thou 
knowest  that  my  friend,  Wold  Ayadda,  the  Adra 
Sheikh,  receives  some  $500  a  month  tribute  from 
France,  that  he  may  maintain  peace  in  his  part  of 
the  territory  called  Algerian.  There  be  others  like 
him,  a  few.  Now  among  all  the  common  people  in 


234  MOROCCO 

Algeria,  and  all  save  the  learned  and  high  officials  in 
Morocco,  the  belief  is  firmly  fixed  that  this  is  the  basis 
of  France's  occupation  of  Algeria.  You  cannot  shake 
that  conviction.  '  The  land  is  ours,  by  Allah's  mercy, 
and  belongs  not  at  all  to  France  ;  as  witness  these 
things,  our  chiefs  are  paid  in  great  sums  of  tribute  for 
permitting  the  French  to  reside  and  trade  here.' 
Thou  seest  the  position.  The  facts  are  what  thou 
wilt.  I  tell  thee  of  the  people's  fixed  belief,  for  and 
by  which  they  will  fight.  Hold  thou  that  in  thy 
mind  while  I  tell  thee  why  France  hath  not  seized 
Figuig  this  winter  by  force  of  arms,  though,  for  the 
success  of  her  plans,  Figuig  must  presently  become  a 
station  (terminus  for  the  time)  of  her  Ain  Sefra 
railroad,  the  which,  through  Igli,  is  to  drain  the 
commerce  of  the  desert  and  so  starve  our  already 
hungering  Morocco.1 

"Thou  knowest  Hadj  Ali  Aboutali,  of  the  clacking 
tongue.  That  tongue  of  his  has  made  the  French 
cold  to  him  at  last.  Too  many  have  learned  of  the 
blood-money  earned  four  years  back  by  Hadj  Ali, 
when  he  visited  the  Figuig  oases  by  authority  of 
France.  France  was  troubled  by  the  power  of  the 
great  Figuig  Shareef.  Hadj  Ali  bore  papers  to  him. 
Hadj  Ali  ate  his  bread  as  friend  during  two  moons  of 
rest  and  talk,  there  in  Figuig.  On  the  last  evening, 
Hadj  Ali  mixed  the  tea.  In  the  morning  the  Shareef 
sickened  and  died,  warning  his  people  of  the  cause 
thereof.  The  tea  dregs,  tested,  proved  the  truth. 
Hadj  Ali  was  hotly  pursued,  but  he  had  started,  not 
that  day,  but  over-night,  and  upon  picked  horses, 
galloping  for  dear  life,  to — to  collect  his  pay  here  in 

1  Hadj  Mokdin's  prophecies  of  two  years  ago  are  the  accomplished 
facts  of  to-day. — A,  J.  D.    Jan.  1904. 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO     235 

Tangier.  Thou  knowest  he  received  his  payment, 
and  the  Shareef  troubled  the  infidels  no  more. 

"  Now,  five  days  ago  a  cousin  of  Hadj  Ali's  arrived 
here  from  Figuig,  and,  over  the  good  green  tea,  told 
me  of  this  winter's  happenings  there.  Briefly,  this 
is  the  way  of  it.  General  Risbourg  reached  the 
neighbourhood  of  Figuig,  a  gallant  soldier  sick  at 
heart  and  wearied  to  exhaustion  by  his  advance 
through  a  country  in  which  the  wells  upon  his  line 
of  march  were  choked  by  retreating  tribesmen  who 
killed  his  animals  by  night  and  harassed  him  by  day 
with  many  well-aimed  bullets  from  invisible  sources : 
the  whole  in  a  climate  which,  even  then,  was  a  great 
affliction  to  white  men  from  the  North.  The  general 
decided  to  try  amicable  treaty  with  the  Sheikhs  of 
Figuig.  Now,  at  that  very  time,  the  two  great 
Filali  Sheikhs  were  closeted  together  with  an  official 
messenger  from  their  Lord  and  ours  at  Marrakish. 
The  Sultan's  word  was  :  '  Peace  !  War  not  yet  upon 
the  Christian  dogs,  for  that  were  to  disturb  other 
affairs  which  I,  thy  Lord,  have  in  hand.  Fear  not. 
The  Lord  of  all  Filalis  hath  his  people  in  mind  and 
in  safe  keeping.  Yet,  for  the  moment  it  doth  not  suit 
thy  Lord  to  show  open  hostility.' 

"  It  was  an  order.  The  Sheikhs  were  content ;  their 
faith  in  their  Lord  strengthened.  l  Our  Lord  will 
come  presently,  with  his  armies/  they  said.  *  Mean- 
while a  smile  for  the  infidels ;  bared  teeth,  and  open 
hands.'  Said  another  Sheikh  :  '  Yes  ;  bared  teeth, 
and  open  hands.  It  is  as  well  that  the  Christians  should 
pay  while  we  smile,  B'ism  Illah!'  And,  while  they 
talked  together,  General  Risbourg's  messengers 
approached.  Now  the  Figuig  Sheikhs  wax  fat  and 
lazy,  and  the  ornaments  of  their  dancing  girls  come 


236  MOROCCO 

out  of  Algeria,  paid  for  in  French  money.  And 
France  feels  that  the  summer  withdrawal  of  troops 
may  be  faced  with  complaisance.  B'ism  Illah  !  Those 
who  till  the  earth  in  France  must  needs  pay  for 
French  vanity.  It  was  written.  And  the  tribesmen 
smile,  for  they  have  heard  that,  from  the  Gharb  to 
the  Atlas  word  hath  gone  forth  among  the  Kaids  to 
collect  the  Harka  tax  and  proceed  with  their  men  to 
er- Rabat,  there  to  await  our  Lord  the  Sultan's  coming 
from  Marrakish,  on  his  way  to  the  northern  Court  of 
Fez,  whence,  say  the  Tuat  folk,  he  "will  assuredly 
descend  in  his  might  upon  the  oases,  to  sweep  back 
the  struggling  tide  of  infidels  from  Algeria.1  They  d 
not  know,  as  I  know,  that  the  same  orders  have  bee 
issued  three  times  in  the  last  thirteen  moons,  whils 
our  Lord  still  bides  at  Marrakish.  Above  all,  they 
know  nothing  of  our  young  Lord,  his  Court,  his  new 
Wazeer,  or  the  maze  of  Sus  insurrection  and  Marrakish 
intrigue.  For  their  sakes,  as  well  as  others,  I  would 
not  have  the  Sheikhs  learn  of  these  matters  yet  awhile, 
for  when  they  do,  French  money  will  be  powerless  to 
stay  bloodshed  in  the  Tuat." 

At  this  stage  the  letter  of  my  friend  Hadj  Mokdin 
branched  off  into  a  vein  more  personal  and  less 
calculated,  as  I  see  it,  to  interest  the  general  reader. 
Therefore  I  suppress  the  remainder  of  the  good  man's 
epistle  and  proceed  forthwith  to  the  dispatch  under  his 
seal,  and  of  a  later  date,  which  has  since  reached  me 
from  the  Court  at  Marrakish,  where  Hadj  Mokdin  now 
awaits  the  pleasure  of  his  Lord  and  Allah's  chosen — 

1  Those  who  had  the  Sultan's  ear  affirm  that  this  actually  was 
his  programme  until  the  Pretender,  and  the  state  of  Moorish  feeling 
he  represented,  intervened. — A.  J.  D.  1904. 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO     237 

Abd  el  Aziz  IV.,  the  youthful  head  of  this  crumbling 
realm.  Hadj  Mokdin's  views,  as  given  here,  are  not 
European.  Yet  they  are  vastly  nearer  to  the  best- 
informed  European  point  of  view  than  is  the  typical 
Moorish  outlook,  by  token  that  Hadj  Mokdin  is  one  of 
an  ever-decreasing  minority  in  this  naturally  blessed 
land  of  human  poverty  and  natural  decadence  ;  he  is  a 
broad-minded,  observant  and  intelligent  man  of  letters, 
void  of  the  fanatic  taint  and  mentally  virile.  It  were 
hard  to  exaggerate  in  pointing  out  the  sad  and  extreme 
rarity  among  ktter-day  Moors  of  minds  like  Hadj 
Mokdin's.  Among  European  students  of  this  people 
there  are  to  be  found  some  optimistic  enough  to  affirm 
that  if  in  the  person  of  any  one  Moor  there  could  be 
found  Hadj  Mokdin's  intellectual  gifts,  allied  to  in- 
dividual ambition  and  the  leader's  instinct,  hope 
might  reasonably  be  entertained  of  the  building 
up,  from  the  present  invertebrate  ruin  called  Morocco, 
a  new  and  living  empire  worthy  of  the  powerful 
Moorish  tradition.  It  is  certain  that  even  modern 
Moors  will  do  much  at  the  bidding  of  a  genuine  live 
leader,  having  their  own  blood  in  his  veins  ;  and  that 
at  present  the  listless  body  of  the  people  altogether 
lacks  a  head.  But,  granting  to  them  much  offensive 
and  defensive  potential  vigour  under  inspired  leader- 
ship, the  open-minded  student  of  this  people  must 
needs  admit  regretful  dubiety  if  called  upon  to  forecast 
their  capabilities  in  the  direction  of  peaceful  self- 
administration.  Cl  Given  the  right  leader,"  says  a 
Syrian  friend  of  mine,  who  has  handled  human  raw 
material  in  the  desert,  and  knows  his  Arab  as  clubmen 
know  Pall  Mall,  "  the  Moors  might  go  anywhere  ;  ay, 
even  into  the  citadels  of  Spain  again,  by  virtue  of 
guns,  horses,  and  the  banner  of  Islam.  But,  once 


238  MOROCCO 

there,  they  would  fall  to  sleeping,  singing  and  tea- 
drinking,  till  their  prize  was  drawn  from  them  again." 
Truly  the  arts  of  peace  form  the  one,  the  essential 
foundation  upon  which  the  fabric  of  a  modern  nation 
must  rest ;  they  form  the  binding  mortar  lacking 
which  the  winds  of  modern  civilisation  will  inevitably 
set  the  bravest  structure  a-crumbling  into  decay. 

I  pass  over  the  somewhat  unusually  drawn-out 
preliminaries  of  Hadj  Mokdin's  letter  from  the  royal 
city  of  Marrakish.  The  essence  of  it  runs  in  thus 
wise : — 

"  Here  at  the  Court  of  our  Lord  is  very  much  that 
grieveth  me,  and  nought  as  yet  that  brings  light  to 
my  heart.  That  our  Lord  hath  apparently  forgotten 
having  sent  for  Hadj  Mokdin  is  as  nothing — a  date- 
stone.  That  Allah's  chosen  and  those  about  him 
should  forget  the  land  of  the  Moors,  its  history  and  its 
present  place  upon  the  edge  of  disaster ;  these  be 
matters  which  grieve  me  more  than  any  word  of  mine 
may  tell.  It  is  without  doubt  written,  and  the  Will, 
yet — B'fsm  Illah  !  I  know  something  of  the  mass  of  my 
countrymen,  and  in  my  heart's  heart  I  am  made  sick. 

"You  know,  my  friend,  that  Moulai  Hassan,  the 
late  Sultan,  now  occupying  a  high  place  in  Paradise, 
was  a  strong  man.  Ah,  how  prettily  he  held  the 
strings  of  Morocco's  main  defences,  the  which,  as  you 
know,  are  the  international  jealousies  of  Europe  !  And 
more,  he  was  a  strong  man  in  the  administration  of 
this  land;  too  wise  to  fancy  he  might  rule  by 
European  methods,  and,  withal,  wise  and  strong 
enough  to  glean  what  benefit  he  might  from  the 
wisdom  of  others,  and  to  apply  the  same  with  a 
velvet-covered  hand  of  very  steel.  Scarcely  less 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO     239 

strong  was  Ba  Ahmed,  the  chosen  right  arm  of  the 
Sultan.  So  strong  and  so  resourceful,  this  great 
Wazeer,  that  when  his  Master  died,  while  journeying, 
Ba  Ahmed  kept  the  secret,  bearing  his  Lord's  corpse 
n  a  litter,  and  ordering  meals  for  the  dead  Sultan, 
through  many  days,  till  the  safety  of  city  walls  was 
ttained,  the  Court  settled,  and  all  things  prepared  for 
the  proclamation  of  young  Abd  el  Aziz's  accession. 
A  great  Wazeer,  for  Morocco,  was  Ba  Ahmed.  And, 
up  till  the  day  of  his  death  last  year,  he  ruled  Morocco, 
and  the  young  Sultan,  his  Lord,  cruelly  you  Europeans 
would  say,  strongly,  and  as  Moors  must  be  ruled  for 
cohesion's  sake,  say  we  who  know,  and  as  his  dead 
rord  had  ruled.  And  then  Ba  Ahmed  died,  as  was 
written.  Waili !  An  ill  day  for  Al  Moghreb. 

4 'Then  came  the  true  accession  of  our  young  Lord 
Abd  el  Aziz  IV.,  whom  may  Allah  fortify  as  He  hath 
:hosen.     Then  stepped  out  from  behind  the  Throne  a 
Dower  hitherto  silent,  unseen  of  men  :     Lalla  R'kia, 
he  Circassian  mother  of  our  Lord  ;  subtle,  disturbing, 
>ur  Lord's  reminder  of  the  blood  in  his  veins  that  is 
>ther    than    Moorish.     To-day,    by   Allah   and    His 
'rophet,  a  man  may  weep  to  see  the  weekly,  daily 
warring  in  our  Lord  of  the  two  streams ;  the  heights 
twixt  which,  falling,  he  lieth  prone,  missing  the  good 
n  both.     Our  Lord,  then,  being  thus  and  not  other- 
wise, one  wastes  no  time  in  idle  meditation  upon  what 
he  future  may   hold    in   its   hand.      That   which   is 
written,  Allah   in   his  wisdom  permitteth  no  man  to 
enow  until   the   event   discloses   it.     Turn   we,  who 
hink,  to  the  companions  of  our  Lord's  right  hand,  the 
human   flies  that   hover   about  the    Presence.      Our 
Lord  is  such  that  these,  under  Allah,  have  the  shaping 
f  the  future  for  him. 


240  MOROCCO 

"  Now  there  is  Corony  Maclean  (Colonel  Maclean, 
C.M.G.,  or,  as  he  is  more  generally  called,  Kaid 
Maclean,  the  British  instructor  of  the  Sultan's  troops, 
and  unofficial  political  resident  at  Marrakish),  he  is  a 
countryman  of  thine,  and  I  am  the  more  glad  to  say 
that,  to  my  knowledge,  he  has  worked  no  ill  but  rather, 
it  may  be,  some  good  at  Court.  I  deal  not  in  idle 
compliments.  I  do  not  say  the  Corony  is  a  great 
patriot,  still  less  a  saviour  of  Morocco.  But  an 
honourable  man  is  a  good  influence,  and  I  be- 
lieve that  Corony  Maclean  has  not  served  his 
own  interests  in  Marrakish  other  than  honourably. 
What  shall  I  say  of  the  Frenchman  and  the  French 
protected  Jew,  the  commercial  agents  at  the  Court  ? 
This  I  will  say,  that  they  have  achieved  so  much,  that 
here  in  Marrakish,  true  Believers  must  withdraw  to 
the  privacy  of  their  own  apartments  to  curse  these  two. 
They  and  their  influence  may  not,  without  dire  risk, 
be  openly  reviled.  .And  the  most  of  Moors  are  moved 
in  their  hearts  to  revile  these  men.  Nay,  through 
them,  we  draw  near  the  stage  at  which  our  Lord 
himself  must  and  will  be  reviled  and  held  cheaply  in 
his  subjects'  eyes.1 

"  My  friend,  they  play  upon  the  weakest  strain  in 
one  of  the  streams  from  our  Lord's  heart  which  fill  his 
body.  They  have  drawn  him  from  the  honest  attempt 
to  grapple  with  affairs  of  state  (affairs  crying  aloud  to 
be  handled  firmly),  to  trifle  with  their  accursed 
mechanical  toys.  From  these  to  Paris  gauds,  nameless 
things,  to  us  unclean.  At  least,  they  be  things  the 
which  Kaid  Maclean  would  not  procure.  From  these 
to  an  imported  French  circus,  a  troupe  of  French  girls  ; 

1  The  absolute  truth  of  this  prophecy  has  been  pitifully  established 
at  Fez. — A.  J.  D.  1904. 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO     241 

dancers  they  are  called.  Allah  protect  us  !  Upon 
their  neglected  graves  whelps  of  the  Sok  will  without 
doubt  be  encouraged  to  gambol.  Unveiled  tempta- 
tions, fatherless,  a  call  to  outer  darkness. 

"  Read  this  thinkingly,  with  your  understanding 
eyes,  friend,  for  somewhat  ye  know  of  our  land,  its 
people,  and  ye  will  accordingly  grieve  with  me. 
Many  days  before  I  reached  the  Court,  some  folk 
came  here  (a  long  journey,  as  thou  knowest)  to 
petition  our  Lord  in  the  matter  of  a  certain  water 
supply,  the  which  they  were  like  to  lose  to  Christians  ; 
a  long  story.  Our  Lord  sent  them  sheep,  candles 
and  tea,  with  word  that  he  would  presently  see  them. 
Turned  he  again  then  to  the  Paris  toys.  Weeks 
passed.  Two  days  ago  I  was  admitted  to  the  palace 
grounds,  with  the  headman  of  this  deputation.  Our 
Lord,  busy  with  Paris  toys,  spoke  impatiently  to  those 
Nazarenes  about  him.  Theirs  was  the  framing  of 
the  message  sent  to  the  deputation.  That  night  I 
read  the  letter  sent  by  the  deputation  to  the  tribe  in 
Anjorra,  whose  cause  they  served.  *  Be  not  impatient,' 
it  said,  *  our  Lord  has  treated  us  with  great  favour,  as 
witness  the  enclosed  sealed  paper  from  his  Eyebrow 
(Chamberlain)  which  tells  that  our  Lord's  soldiers, 
having  fought  and  defeated  the  French  with  great 
slaughter,  in  the  South,  have  sent  to  our  Lord  much 
treasure  and  300  French  ladies.  For  the  time 
our  Lord  is  accordingly  much  occupied.  Be  not 
impatient.'1 

"  Would  ye  hear,  my  friend,  how  and  why  the 
change  in  the  Wazeerate  which  placed  Kaid  Mennebhi 

1  This  is  no  fictive  decoration.  The  precious  document  was 
examined  by  a  well-known  English  gentleman  in  Tangier,  State 
Secretary's  seals,  royal  stamp,  and  all. — A.  J.  D. 

Q 


242  MOROCCO 

at  the  head  of  affairs  came  about  ?  The  ex-Grand 
Wazeer  happened  inopportunely  into  the  Presence 
when  our  Lord  was  being  started  upon  a  bicycle  by 
one  of  the  infidels.  To  him,  true  Muslim  and  a  Moor 
of  the  Moors,  the  sight  was  revolting,  indecent. 
Thinking  of  the  inevitable  effect  of  such  things  in 
sapping  our  Lord's  authority,  he  ventured  upon  re- 
monstrance. What  followed  thou  knowest.  A  mission, 
a  journey,  swift-riding  followers  from  the  palace, 
heavy  chains  and  a  seat  upon  a  mule's  back ;  and  now 
the  ex- Wazeer  lies  rotting  in  prison. 

"And  of  what  like  is  his  successor?  Friend,  he 
hath  greater  strength,  somewhat  greater  cunning,  full 
measure,  and  of  honesty  no  little  grain  beyond  that 
brazen  sort  which  permits  of  his  self-seeking  and  dis- 
honesty being  shown  to  Marrakish,  with  never  a 
shred  of  disguise.  He  has  shown  me  what  Morocco 
has  never  seen  before :  the  public  sale  by  public 
auction  of  Kaids'  and  Bashas'  posts  to  the  highest 
bidder,  followed  by  the  selling  of  that  highest  bidder 
(in  three  cases)  within  twelve  days,  himself  into  prison, 
his  new-bought  post  to  one  who  paid  a  yet  higher 
price.  Never  before  has  that  been  done  openly. 

"  To  sum  all  up,  my  friend,  I  grieve  because  I  find 
the  affairs  of  my  native  land  in  parlous  order,  demand- 
ing, as  never  before  in  the  history  of  Morocco,  the 
guidance  of  a  strong,  clear  mind,  a  veritable  Sultan. 
That  my  country's  affairs  most  urgently  need.  They 
have  a  governing  power  composed  of  half-a-dozen 
corrupt  creatures  of  a  corrupt,  short-sighted,  cruel, 
and  desperately  greedy  Wazeer,  whose  rightful  Lord 
is  occupied  exclusively  in — Bah  !  We  have  spoken 
of  those  whose  graves  will  be  defiled,  and  of  the 
trumpery  gauds  from  Paris  bazaars.  And  this,  while 


A  SWAN'S  SONG  FROM  MOROCCO     243 

the  turbulent  Sus  is  aflame,  the  far  south-east  a  vol- 
cano, a  mine  charged  by  French  aggression,  waiting 
only  the  match  of  knowledge  of  our  Lord's  indiffer- 
ence ;  the  country  betwixt  Tafilet  and  Fas  is  openly 
given  over  to  brigandage  and  anarchy ;  and  even  El 
Ksar,  Arzila  and  the  Gharb,  Tangier's  outskirts,  are 
full  of  unrest  and  disorder,  crimes  and  indifference  to 
crimes.1 

"And  over  and  through  it  all,  my  friend,  I  catch 
the  glint  of  the  hungry,  determined  eyes  of  the  Power 
that  holds  Algeria,  falling  across  my  Moghreb's  deadly 
weaknesses,   even  as   the   piercing   brilliance   of  the 
search-lights  on  that  nation's  ships  of  war  have  swept 
across  the  crumbling  gaps  in  Tangier's  walls,  while  I 
sat  on  mine  own  roof,  reflecting  upon  the  sorry  end 
which  would  seem  to  have  been  written  as  the  destiny 
of  the  Moorish  Empire.     That  grieves  me,  oh,  assur- 
edly it  grieves  me,  my  friend.     But  would  you  know 
what  thing  it  is  that  trickleth  like  slow,  still  poison 
into  my  heart,  deadening  the  life  there,  and  preparing 
me  to  face  my  written  end  with — not  with  gladness — 
with  tired  sorrow,  yet  as  one  approaching   release  ? 
It  is  this   conviction  :   that  my  beloved  land  is  ripe 
fruit,  near,  terribly  near  to  one  infidel  nation's  grip, 
not  so  much  by  reason  of  England's  curious  aloofness, 
e  not  entirely  because  of  the  strength-sapping  influences 
i,  at  work  upon  our  young  Sultan,  not  at  all  because  we 
ijllack  machine  guns,  but  because,  by  Allah  the  One 
inland  his  Holy  Prophet,  our  race  is  run,  my  friend,  and 
jJwe  that  be  Moors  are  falling,  falling  beside  the  way  of 
man's  journey  across  this  world.     B'ism  Illah  !" 

[he I      l  Reference  even  to  the  telegraphic  news  in  European  journals 
uring  the  month  of  May  will  amply  justify  these  statements. 


244 


MOROCCO 


The  end  of  Hadj  Mokdin's  letter  is  personal,  and 
I  have  little  heart  to  transcribe  more  of  it.  All  that  I 
have  given  here  is  truly  his,  and  that  without  embel- 
lishment. His  name  I  have  altered.  That  I  owe  to 
him.  The  rest  is  as  he  wrote  it,  and  given  here  for 
the  reason  that,  at  this  stage  of  its  decline,  the  views 
of  a  thinking  Moor  upon  the  situation  of  his  country 
should  deserve  consideration. 


MOROCCO,  THE  MOORS  AND  THE 
POWERS  ' 

MOROCCO  is  no  wanton  lover,  careless  or  free 
with  her  favours ;  but  rather  a  somewhat 
sphinx-like  mistress,  with  eyes  voluptuously  half- 
closed,  and  a  personality  that  reveals  her  charms 
gradually,  obscurely,  and,  to  the  uninitiate,  quite 
sparingly.  Here  is  no  glittering  Casino,  or  incon- 
tinently-smiling Plage.  "  Admire  me,  court  me  if  you 
will,"  murmurs  the  Afternoon  Land;  "or — leave  me 
and  go  hence  no  wiser  than  you  came.  You  will  in 
any  case  do  the  thing  which  is  written,  and  that  only. 
One  thing  is  not  written,  and  shall  not  be  :  you  cannot 
disturb  me  ;  for  I  am  Al  Moghreb  of  the  Believers  ; 
upon  my  left  breast  lies  the  Garden  of  the  Hesperides  ; 
my  garland  is  of  the  lotus  flower  ;  as  Carthaginian 
Hanno  found  me  five  centuries  before  the  coming  of 
the  Nazarene  Mahdi,  or  ever  Moulai  Idrees  raised 
upon  my  shoulder  the  green  flag  of  Islam,  so  am  I  to- 
day and  shall  be  to-morrow.  B'ism  Illah  !  " 

So  one  might  imagine  the  essential  spirit  of  Mor- 
occo addressing  that  remote  antithesis  which  the  maps 
assure  us  is  its  near  neighbour :  the  spirit  of  Europe. 
So  the  mass  of  Moors  may  be  said  to  feel  and  think. 
The  error  is  scarcely  less  grotesque,  and  not  at  all 
less  pathetic,  than  is  many  another  feature  of  this 

1  Published  in  the  Fortnightly  Review^  February  1903. 
245 


246  MOROCCO 

absolutely  old-world  and  barbaric  country,  from  whose 
shores  one  may  hear  the  firing  of  modern  guns  in 
very  modern  Gibraltar,  and  see  the  cliffs  in  the  shadow 
of  which  Britain's  greatest  admiral  met  his  end. 

During  the  past  thousand  years  Morocco  and  the 
Moors  have  influenced  Europe  shrewdly.  No  more 
than  one  hundred  years  have  passed  since  London 
merchants,  with  devout  gratitude  to  the  forthright 
Yankees  who  finally  pricked  the  blood-red  bubble  of 
the  Sallee  Rover,  ceased  paying  annual  tribute  to  the 
Moorish  Sultan  by  way  of  bribe  to  save  their  ships 
from  pillage  and  their  sailors  from  being  captured  as 
slaves  for  the  Court  at  Marrakish  or  Fez.  Yet  it  may 
fairly  be  said  that  Morocco  and  the  Moors  have  made 
no  more  response  than  has  Thibet  to  any  one  among 
the  influences  and  events  which  have  moulded  modern 
Christendom  and  the  mighty  civilisation  of  the  West. 
The  stately  mosques  of  bygone  Moorish  warriors 
(Christendom  has  nothing  to  excel  them  in  dignity) 
are  now  the  cathedrals  of  Christian  Spain  ;  but  you 
shall  look  vainly  in  Morocco  for  traces  of  European 
growth  and  change,  or  even  for  a  genuine  convert  (in 
full  possession  of  his  mental  faculties)  to  any  European 
faith.  Upon  the  coast  you  may  happen  upon  some 
few  moderns  among  Moors  who  have  added  certain 
European  vices  to  their  own  sufficiently-comprehen- 
sive list.  Modernity  and  decadence,  beyond  the 
average  acute,  are  synonymous  in  Morocco.  But  this 
scarcely  touches  the  broad  fact,  which  is  that  in  all 
Northern  Africa  Morocco  remains  the  one  corner  as 
yet  unexploited,  uninfluenced,  unappropriated  by  civil- 
isation. Yet,  both  strategically  and  physically,  it  must 
at  once  be  acknowledged  of  far  greater  importance  in 
the  eyes  of  European  nations  than  any  part  of  South 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     247 

Africa  ;  and  this  most  notably  in  the  regard  of  any 
great  maritime  Power  of  the  North.  Gibraltar  is  but 
one  of  the  two  pillars  of  Hercules. 

Regarding  its  intrinsic  value,  one  can  affirm  little 
beyond  the  obvious  facts  that  it  is  abundantly  fertile, 
richly  endowed  as  to  climate  and  coast,  hill  and  river, 
and,  that  rarest  of  all  things  to-day,  a  virgin  land, 
unravaged  by  the  miner,  and  no  more  than  idly 
coaxed  and  cozened  by  the  agriculturist.  As  the 
granary  of  some  overcrowded  European  country  it 
were  hard  to  find  the  equal  of  Morocco.  Gold,  silver, 
antimony,  copper,  iron,  these  are  among  many 
treasures  which  Sunset  Land  is  known  to  hold  in  her 
lap,  stores  upon  which  no  man  has  drawn  to  any 
appreciable  extent. 

Turning  to  the  people,  the  race  which  occupies 
this  still  veiled  shoulder  of  the  continent  that  civilisa- 
tion has  for  the  most  part  made  naked,  one  finds 
traces  and  to  spare  of  change  and  movement,  but 
never  a  hint  of  a  step  toward  Europe  or  its  standards 
of  progress.  The  cave-dwelling  Berbers  discovered 
in  possession — and  used  with  consummate  generalship 
as  soldiers  by  the  men  who,  fleeing  from  the  Mecca 
of  Mohammed's  day,  founded  a  Moorish  dynasty — 
remain  to-day  the  same  hardy,  rock-scaling,  semi- 
savages  who  resented  the  Muslim  intrusion  of  a 
thousand  years  ago.  They  are  precisely  the  same 
men,  living  in  precisely  the  same  way,  and  they  are 
occupying  themselves  at  this  moment  as  they  were 
occupied  then ;  the  same  blind,  fierce  resentment, 
the  same  dogged,  savage  insurrection,  the  same 
methods  of  making  both  felt.  But  with  the  Moors 
proper,  the  ruling  people  of  Morocco,  matters  are  far 
otherwise.  Young  Abd  el  Aziz,  the  present  Sultan — 


248  MOROCCO 

prisoner,  one  had  almost  written — at  Fez,  is  scarcely 
more  capable  of  dealing  with  the  rebellious  moun- 
taineers and  fanatics  of  his  realm  after  the  crushing, 
masterful  manner  of  his  ancestors,  than  he  and  his 
subjects  are  capable  of  re-taking  and  occupying  the 
capitals  of  Andalusia. 

And  that  brings  one  to  what  is  at  once  the  most 
striking  and  the  most  momentous  consideration  which 
occupies  the  minds  of  understanding  students  of  the 
Moorish  race  and  the  Moorish  Empire — their  unmis- 
takable and  essential  decadence. 

Human  and  animal,  political  and  material,  national 
and  individual,  steady,  inexorable,  pathetic  and  un- 
redeemed, the  deterioration  is  writ  large  and  clear, 
and  the  man  who  studies  may  not  fail  to  read  and 
admit  the  grievous  thing,  however  reluctantly. 
Indeed,  the  most  reluctant,  the  most  generously 
partial,  are  the  most  assured,  the  men  who  have  most 
loyally  and  affectionately  served  the  Moors,  are  the 
men  most  clearly  convinced  of  this  unhappy  truth. 
For  they  have  learned  the  most.  They  have  learned, 
to  name  one  among  examples  the  proper  enumeration 
of  which  would  fill  a  volume,  that  the  national  spirit 
is  absolutely  and  entirely  defunct  among  Moors.  It 
has  not  suffered  an  eclipse  ;  it  is  non-existent.  A 
very  cursory  study  of  the  history  of  the  Moorish 
people,  in  Spain  particularly,  will  suggest  to  the 
average  mind  that  the  citizen  spirit  never  did  exist 
among  them.  It  certainly  has  not  even  a  traditional 
significance  to  the  modern  Moor,  whose  outlook  but 
barely  embraces  even  the  co-operation  of  the  village 
community,  and  is  absolutely  indifferent  to  the  fate  of 
warring  tribes  separated  by  a  range  of  hills  from  his 
own.  "  When  they,"  the  attacking  party,  "reach  my 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     249 

town — you  will  see  ! "  he  says  ;  and  listlessly  resumes 
his  avocation,  be  it  wayside  robbery,  desultory  earth- 
tilling,  hunting,  begging,  or  sitting  at  the  receipt  of 
extorted  tribute,  a  Saint  or  a  Basha. 

Mentally,  morally  and  physically,  the  Moor  is 
developing  along  a  downward  line.  Individual 
freedom  from  the  taint  of  deplorable  physical 
disease  is  exceptional ;  from  the  taint  of  racial  and 
national  corruption  and  decay  no  Moor  is  free. 

"  One  gleam  I  see,  not  of  hope,  but  of  relief  from 
the  general  murkiness,"  says  an  authority  of  life-long 
experience.  "The  Moor  is  as  yet,  broadly  speaking, 
clear  of  the  liquor  curse,  a  fact  for  which  he  has  to 
thank  the  real  and  living  faith  of  Islam.  Acting  upon 
a  body  so  diseased,  alcoholism  would  mean  complete 
disintegration  in  Morocco." 

Yet  another  authority,  whose  intimate  knowledge, 
and  shoulder-to-shoulder  daily  experience  of  Moors 
in  that  singular  and  now  vanished  outpost  of  civilisa- 
tion, the  Cape  Juby  Trading  Station,  makes  his 
opinions  of  value,  said  to  the  writer  of  these  lines  a 
year  ago : — 

"  Yes,  they  are  hopelessly  decadent,  and  have  no 
national  feeling ;  but  given  a  leader,  a  strong  leader, 
Moors  could  and  would  achieve  wonders  under  arms. 
For  industrial  development  and  the  arts  of  peace  I 
won't  say.  But  fighting  for  a  cause,  under  an 
inspiring  leader,  with  a  religious  war-cry,  the  Moors 
would  yet  go  far." 

Ba   Hamdra,    the   Father    of   the    She-Ass  and 


250  MOROCCO 

pretender  to  the  Shareefian  Parasol,  is  a  leader  not 
altogether  without  talent ;  that  he  has  proved.  Re- 
ligion has  entered'  into  his  cause,  for  he  has  given 
out,  or  allowed  his  following  to  give  out,  that  he  is  the 
forerunner  of  the  veritable  Mahdi  of  Islam.  He  has 
a  fine  war-cry,  rich  in  traditional  inspiration  :  "  Down 
with  the  Nazarenes,  who  have  twisted  your  mock 
Sultan  round  their  finger  ends,  and  are  creeping  in 
upon  us  with  their  accursed,  devil-sent  inventions  and 
customs  of  the  infidel !  " 

But,  when  all  is  said,  the  man  is  never  more  than 
a  symptom  of  the  times.  The  times,  and  the  main- 
springs of  the  times  ;  they  are  the  things. 

Regarded  as  a  Moorish  ruler  and  leader,  the  late 
Sultan,  Moulai  Hassan,  was  a  strong  man — almost, 
perhaps,  a  great  man.  The  loss  of  Morocco  is  that 
apparently  she  cannot  produce  his  like  in  the  present 
generation.  She  was  richer  a  few  years  ago  ;  and 
that  is  part  of  her  decadence.  Moulai  Hassan  had  a 
companion  of  his  right  hand  :  Ba  Ahmed,  the  Grand 
Wazeer.  In  them  Morocco  could  boast  the  posses- 
sion of  two  strong  men  ;  crude,  narrow  of  vision,  even 
brutal  and  merciless,  if  judged  by  European  standards, 
yet  genuinely  strong  men.  The  greater  of  them  died, 
and  his  subordinate  successfully  hid  the  fact  until 
preparations  were  made  and  the  succession  of  the 
youth,  Abd  el  Aziz,  assured.  Be  it  remembered  that 
Ba  Ahmed,  the  survivor,  was  a  strong  man  in  his  own 
right.  Young  Abd  el  Aziz  was  docile  perforce,  and 
Ba  Ahmed  ruled,  without  pity,  with  greed,  and  quite 
unhampered  by  what  Europe  calls  honour  or  justice. 
Also,  he  ruled  without  weakness,  cherishing  in  safe'ty 
that  mysterious  condition  which  is  called  the  status 
quo  in  Morocco,  and  thereby  conserving  to  his 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS    251 

country  its  first  and  only  line  of  defence,  which  is, 
and  for  long  has  been,  the  naturally  watchful  and 
more  than  a  little  jealous  rivalry  of  those  European 
nations  who  wait  beside  the  couch  of  her  mortal 
sickness. 

Rather  more  than  two  years  ago,  when  already 
the  country  was  perturbed  by  news  of  the  French 
advance  upon  and  occupation  of  Igli,  the  Moorish 
town  which  was  regarded  as  the  depot  and  junction 
via  which  the  caravan  traffic  of  the  desert  filtered 
through  Morocco  to  the  coast,  at  this  critical  juncture, 
in  the  thick  of  conflicting  intrigues,  poisonings  and 
official  treachery,  Ba  Ahmed,  the  greatly  feared, 
greatly  hated  and  rigidly-obeyed  Wazeer,  died  at 
Marrakish,  leaving  many  scheming  heirs-presumptive 
to  his  office,  but  no  single  successor  to  the  mantle  of 
his  authority,  the  inherent  masterfulness  of  his 
personality. 

Still,  youthful  Abd  el  Aziz  IV.  stretched  forth 
both  hands  and  personally  took  up  the  fallen  reins  of 
government  with  a  great  flourish  of  trumpets  and  dis- 
play of  energy.  He  would  be  his  own  Wazeer,  said 
the  young  Sultan.  It  seemed  the  young  man  rejoiced 
to  win  clear  of  his  swaddling  clothes,  the  rigid 
tutelage  of  Ba  Ahmed.  Reflecting  upon  the  Sultan's 
youth  and  breeding,  men  marvelled  at  the  flourish  of 
trumpets,  and  optimistic  Europeans,  naturally  gratified 
by  the  active  good  sense  with  which  Abd  el  Aziz 
checked  his  Filali  tribesmen's  turbulent  resentment  of 
contact  with  the  French  in  Igli  and  its  oasis,  freely 
predicted  a  new  lease  of  life  for  the  Moorish  Empire. 
They  credited  the  new  broom  with  powers  which,  in 
view  of  its  origin  and  environment,  had  been  little 
short  of  miraculous.  And  they  omitted  reflection 


252  MOROCCO 

regarding  the  hand  which  moved  the  new  broom. 
This  was  a  power  behind  the  Parasol,  a  latent  intel- 
ligence, not  wholly  Moorish,  capricious,  feminine, 
subtle,  unstable,  and  somewhat  vitiated  from  long 
repression  in  an  unwholesome  atmosphere.  The  late 
Moulai  Hassan's  Circassian  wife,  young  Abd  el  Aziz's 
mother,  Lalla  R'kia,  had  also  found  a  dangerous 
emancipation  in  the  death  of  Ba  Ahmed. 

These  were  stirring  days  that  saw  the  sweeping 
out  in  the  summer  of  1900  of  that  far-off  Court  among 
the  tangled  gardens  and  ruined  palaces  of  Marrakish, 
the  residents  of  which  are,  in  all  other  senses  than 
the  geographical,  immeasurably  farther  distant  from 
Europe  than  are  the  denizens  of  the  remotest  mining 
camp  in  the  Antipodes.  Corrupt  officials  (to  be  frank, 
there  are  no  other  kinds  in  Marrakish),  made  some- 
what bewildered,  much  relieved,  and  feverishly  eager 
for  plunder,  by  the  departure  of  the  stern  master- 
plunderer,  whom  all  had  respected  as  well  as  envied 
and  hated ;  timid,  servile  neophytes  in  the  game 
of  oppression,  cruelty  and  ' '  squeezing ";  bloated 
ministers  whom  Ba  Ahmed  had  found  worth  fatten- 
ing, lieutenants  ambitious  for  dishonesty's  laurels, 
and  plain,  steady-going  holders  of  place,  who,  judged 
by  Marrakish  standards,  kept  their  hands  clean ;  all 
alike  were  vitally  affected  and  disturbed,  frightened 
and  jostled  out  of  their  respective  ruts,  by  Abd  el 
Aziz's  sudden,  energetic  bound  into  his  Sultan's  role. 
And  the  pale  woman  behind  the  throne,  with  her 
faded  repute  for  beauty  —  the  student  of  Oriental 
character,  the  observer  of  racial  laws  and  their  out- 
working, would  give  much  to  know  exactly  what  the 
trend  and  tenor  of  her  mind,  so  prolific  of  elaborate 
yet  infinitely-circumscribed  intrigue,  may  have  been  at 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     253 

this  time.  Who  shall  say  what  swiftly-soaring  hopes 
may  have  dwindled  and  fallen  into  resigned  paltriness 
in  the  brain  of  that  racially-handicapped  woman  ? 
what  sudden,  climbing  ambitions  may  have  tripped 
and  slid  into  the  venal  quagmire  of  routine  in  that 
barbaric  headquarters  of  Moorish  corruption  and 
decadence  ? 

Casually-observant  Nazarenes  saw  rich,  cruel 
officials  swept  from  their  high  estate  by  wholesale, 
and  predicted  the  birth  of  probity  at  Court.  Notori- 
ous gainers  by  oppression  were  loaded  with  chains  in 
Kasbah  dungeons  ;  the  young  Sultan's  brother,  the 
One- Eyed,  whom  cautious  Ba  Ahmed  had  kept  secure 
in  Tetuan  prison,  was  established  on  parole  at 
Mequinez,  and,  "  Here's  positive  purity  of  administra- 
tion ! "  cried  the  surface-reading  hopeful  in  Christian- 
ridden  Tangier. 

Of  a  sudden,  all  movement  ceased.  The  young 
Sultan  was  lost  sight  of — behind  the  curtain.  Trembl- 
ing officials  still  at  large,  and  flushed  beginners  upon 
the  cushions  of  the  wights  imprisoned,  drew  long 
breaths,  sipped  tea  once  more,  gave  the  praise  to 
Allah,  smoothed  their  plumage,  and,  for  the  nonce, 
began  to  regard  their  shadows  with  equanimity. 

The  understanding  Europeans  in  Morocco 
shrugged  their  shoulders :  a  gesture  forced  upon 
the  understanding  Europeans  in  Morocco  by  that 
most  unyielding  of  all  sultans  whom  we  name 
Experience.  It  is  not  given  to  us  to  know  anything 
f  pale  Lalla  R'kia's  attitude  during  this  breathing 
pace.  Certainly  the  Circassian  summer  of  her  vigour 
nd  beauty  had  waned  or  ever  the  Wazeer's  death 
brought  about  her  meteor-like  ascent  as  an  indirect 
ling  power.  One  remembers  regretfully  the  ener- 


254  MOROCCO 

vating,  cloying  insistence  of  hareem  influences  and 
ties  ;  one  learns  of  the  extravagant  importation  of 
sweets,  silk  stuffs  and  gauds,  and  perforce  one  sighs 
adieu  to  the  woman  behind  the  Parasol,  with  her 
subtle,  conflicting  strain  of  blood  other  than  that  of 
those  about  her. 

(Lalla  R'kia  died  last  year.) 

Speaking  metaphorically,  his  Shareefian  Majesty 
Abd  el  Aziz  reappeared  on  the  arm  of  a  commercial 
agent,  a  French  Israelite  with  a  genius  for  the 
"placing"  of  imported  commodities.  Allah's  Chosen 
had  been  initiated  into  the  select  manias  of  Europe, 
and  become  addicted  to  golfing,  the  use  of  the  camera, 
the  bicycle,  and  other  less  pretty  pastimes  from  the 
West.  Deftness  and  alert  curiosity  came  to  him  from 
his  beautiful  slave-born  mother,  and  there  were 
Christians  who  judged  him  accordingly  an  enlightened 
young  man. 

Two  other  things  happened.  The  tiger,  which 
lives  still  and  is  the  essence,  the  fibre  of  the  decadent 
Moorish  people,  began  to  snarl  ominously.  The 
beast  is  doubtless  well-nigh  spent,  but  yet  lives,  and 
will  live,  while  Moors  walk  the  earth.  And  he 
snarled,  as  was  to  be  expected,  at  sight  of  the  infidel 
with  his  devil-sent  picture-machines  in  the  Sacred 
Presence.  Other  happenings  are  described  in  a  letter 
received  by  the  writer  from  Marrakish  at  this  time  : — 

"  As  by  this  time  even  you  in  Tangier  will  have 
gathered,  the  Sultan  has  entirely  put  aside  his  very 
short-lived  efforts  to  grapple  seriously  with  the  present 
critical  situation.  The  Sus  is  ablaze  with  insurrec- 
tion ;  pillage  and  general  lawlessness  are  very  ripe  in 
all  parts  of  the  country  ;  Mequinez  is  now  the  home 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     255 

of  quite  a  little  colony  of  disaffected  powers,  Sheikhs, 
and  men  with  followings,  headed  by  the  incorrigible 
and  crafty  One-Eyed  One,  Moulai  Mohammed  ;  the 
country  about  Fez  is  openly  in  arms,  its  people  frankly 
indifferent  to  the  Sultan's  authority  ;  the  Filalis,  the 
Sultan's  own  folk,  in  the  Tafilet  oases,  are  near  the 
end  of  their  tether,  and  will  probably  not  long  be 
withheld  from  suicidal  attacks  upon  the  French,  unless 
the  Sultan's  promise  to  move  the  Court  to  Fez  is 
fulfilled.  And  of  that  there  is  no  sign  at  present, 
affairs  of  State  being  left  to  wait  upon  the  affairs  of 
Parisian  shop-keepers.  The  bicycle  and  the  camera 
(so  deadly  offensive  to  the  best  and  most  solid  among 
Moorish  people)  are  still  delights,  but  are  only 
prevented  from  palling  upon  the  sacred  palate  by 
Deing  served  sandwich -wise — camera,  bicycle  and 
nechanical  toys  as  bread,  a  circus,  and  some  Paris 
lancing-girls,  the  savoury  essence  of  the  dish.  It  is  a 
;orry  business,  not  only  making  for  the  very  reverse 
)f  the  personal  enlightenment  your  friends  so  naively 
inlarge  upon,  but  stirring  up  in  the  Moors  who  know 
ill  the  drowsy  savagery  and  fanatical  bitterness  of 
vhich  they  are  capable  at  this  stage  of  their  decline. 

urther,  whilst  effectually  preventing  the  Sultan  from 
ttending  to  the  finances  or  administration  of  the 
ountry,  even  in  the  most  perfunctory  manner,  it  sets 
ip  in  him  an  unending  thirst  for  money,  and  provides 

deep  channel  for  the  dissipation  of  funds  ;  deep,  I 
lean,  when  one  considers  the  very  limited  nature  of 

e  supply." 

But   commercial  agents  continued  to   press  upon 
young   Sultan  the  latest  and  most   expensive  of 
lectrical  and  other  toys,  and  those  far-seeing  gentle- 


256  MOROCCO 

men — the  newspaper  correspondents — bade  Europe 
take  note  of  the  remarkable  enlightenment  and 
progressive  wisdom  of  the  ruler  of  Morocco,  as 
evidenced  by  his  interest  in  motor  cars  and  Broad- 
wood  pianos. 

A  mission  was  sent  to  England  from  the  Sultan's 
Court,  headed  by  Kaid  Meheddi  el  Mennebhi  (now 
Minister  of  War  and  prime  favourite),  a  man  of  lowly 
origin  and  great  personal  ambition.     And  here  certain 
remarks  fall  to  be  made  as  a  duty,  a  thankless  and  un- 
pleasant task,  but  a  duty  which  the  writer  cannot  bring 
himself  to  shirk.     Mennebhi  was  received  in  England 
with  every  possible  courtesy  as  the  ambassador  of  the 
Sultan  of  Morocco ;  and  that,  no  doubt,  was  as  it  shoul< 
be.     But  certain  tributes  were  paid  to  him  which  neve 
should  have  been  paid,  though  the  visitor  had  been 
the  young  Sultan  himself.     News  of  these  things  wen 
abroad  throughout  Morocco,  and  were  gossiped  ove 
by  the  ignorant  at  every  city  gate,  inevitable  deduc 
tions  being  drawn  therefrom,  the  humiliating  nature 
of  which  can,  perhaps,  only  be  realised  by  men  who 
have  lived  in  Oriental  countries ;  certainly  the  infer 
ences  drawn  were  not  such  as  the  British  Governmen 
would   have   cared   to   have   drawn,    the    impression 
produced   was   one   which    England  ought  never   to 
have  produced  in  Morocco. 

Mennebhi   was   met   on   landing  by  the   highes 
officers  of  the  Court  of  St  James's,  who  were  induced 
to  stand  aside  and  turn  their  backs  whilst  carriage, 
conveying  Mennebhi's  slave-women  were  driven  pas 
them ;     slave    women    whom    any    street    idler    in 
Marrakish   has  seen   many   times.      A  Moor  woul< 
never  dream   of  taking  his   wives   abroad.      Whei 
received  at  Court  by  the  King  and  Queen  of  Britain 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     257 

the  Sovereigns  of  the  greatest  Empire  in  the  world, 

the  newly-risen  Mennebhi  was  allowed  to  appear  in 

his  slippers  with  the  hood  of  his  djellab  raised.     Small 

matters   these,   the   stay-at-home  Britisher  may  say. 

Let  him  ask  any   British   officer  who  has  served  in 

India,  and  learn  just  what  these  small  matters  mean. 

Let  him  consider  that  Mennebhi  would  never  venture 

to  enter  the  apartments  of  his  own  scribe  in  Morocco 

in  such  a  guise.     Let  him  inquire  as  to  the  manner  in 

which    the   accredited    representatives   of  European 

monarchs  are  received  at  the  Moorish  Court.     Let  him 

icture  a  British  Ambassador  being  received  in  audience 

t  Potsdam  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  his  coat  collar 

urned  up,  and  his  hat  on  his  head.     And  finally,  let 

im  bear  in  mind  that  no  European  can  realise  quite 

ully  how  much  these  things  weigh  with  Orientals. 

But  the  writer  would  not  be  understood  to  argue 
hat  no  advantage  was  taken  of  the  young  Sultan's 
eaning  towards  things  European,  save  by  commercial 
,gents,  and,  according  to  this  month's  reports  from 
ez,  the  pushfulness  of  at  least  one  gentleman  whose 
raining  and  position  should  have  placed  him  above 
uch  mercenary  trafficking.  The  British  Government 
represented  in  Morocco  by  a  Minister  whose  heart 
in  his  work,  and  whose  heart  is  thoroughly  kind 
nd  good.  The  late  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay  may 
ave  been  more  feared  than  is  Sir  Arthur  Nicolson, 
ut  he  certainly  was  not  more  generally  respected  and 
dmired  in  Morocco.  And  Sir  Arthur  Nicolson  has 
ell  earned  his  high  standing.  His  influence  has 
en  entirely  for  good,  for  progress  and  for  humanity,  in 
orocco  ;  and  all  credit  is  due  to  him  for  his  strenuous 
fforts  to  ameliorate  the  conditions  under  which  the 
oorish  people  live  and  are  oppressed.  The  mitiga- 


258  MOROCCO 

tion  of  prison  horrors,  the  recent  attempt  to  establish 
taxation  upon  a  basis  of  something  like  fairness  and 
justice — these  things,  and  not  at  all  his  unfortunate 
and  indiscreet  trifling  with  the  toys  of  civilisation,  are 
what  the  Sultan  and  all  right-minded  men  have  to 
thank  Sir  Arthur  Nicolson  for.  It  may  well  be  that, 
like  a  good  many  other  people,  our  Minister  was  a 
little  deceived  by  the  successes  of  the  toy-selling 
gentry,  and  that  in  consequence  his  influence  made 
for  progress  of  a  somewhat  too  rapid  and  premature 
description.  But  the  writer  will  not  assert  it,  and,  in; 
any  case,  it  were  an  error  on  the  generous  side,  and  a 
far  remove  from  the  dangerous  indiscretions  of  various; 
European  travellers  and  adventurers  in  Morocco, j 
which  have  done  much  toward  fanning,  if  not  lighting, 
the  present  blaze  of  insurrection  in  Sunset  Land.! 
Our  Minister  in  Morocco  has  served  Britain  as  the 
greatest  Power  of  civilisation  should  be  served,  and  he 
has  been  backed  by  a  remarkable  amount  of  ignorance 
and  indifference  in  England. 

Having  said  so  much,  the  writer  may  add  that, 
whether  or  not  the  Moors  as  a  people  are  ripe  for  th< 
introduction  of  reforms  in  their  administration  upoi 
the  European  plan,  it  is  quite  certain  that  they  do  not 
desire  them,  and  that  their  officials,  whilst  servants  oi 
an  independent  Moorish  Government,  will  not  permit 
these  reforms  to  make  either  for  honesty  of  admini; 
tration,  for  the  profit  of  the  Shareefian  treasury,  or  foi 
the  benefit  of  unofficial  Moorish  subjects.  This  i< 
quite  certain.  Just,  equitable  and  honest  taxation  j 
for  example,  may,  with  great  care  and  unceasini 
vigilance,  be  introduced  into  an  Indian  Native  statej 
because  of  that  great  and  powerful  institution  whicl 
is  called  the  Government  of  India.  It  cannot  be  introl 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     259 

duced  into  Moorish-governed  Morocco,  for  in  Morocco 
there    is   no  British    Raj  to   be  appealed   to.       The 
British  Resident  at  the  most  entirely  exemplary  Native 
ourt  in  all  India  would  understand  this  at  a  glance, 
ithal,  one  has  only  cordial  sympathy  and  admiration 
or  those  men  who  strive  against  great  odds  to  bring 
bout  such  reforms,  even  in   Morocco.     That  is  the 
rt  that  Britain  has  been  officially  playing,  through 
er  Minister,  in  Morocco.     But  Moors  do  not  resent 
hese    things ;    they    merely   shrug    their   shoulders, 
hey  bitterly  resent  the  motor  cars,  however,  and  the 
ultan's    daily    chaffering    and    companionship   with 
uropeans  at  his  Court,  with  Europeans  of  no  official 
'.|tanding  and  with  purely  selfish  ends  to  serve. 

When     at     length     the     Sultan's    long-promised 
moval     of    his     Court     from     far     south-western 
arrakish   to   north-eastern    Fez   did   take   place,    a 
mporary  improvement,  a  sort  of  waiting   calm,  set 
Moors  and  Christians  alike,  as  it  were,  stepped 
ack  to  study  the  effect.     The  presence  of  the  Court 
|ieans  the  presence  of  the  Shareefian  army,  the  only 
dy  of  regulars   in    Morocco.     All   sorts   and   con- 
tions  of  law-breakers,  robbers   and   revolutionaries, 
own    first    impatient,    then    sceptical,    and    finally 
solently  unbelieving  in  the  matter  of  the  promised 
tablishment  of  the  Court   at   Fez,  were   now   pre- 
red  to  bow  the  knee,  to  respond  in  peace   to  the 
ly  sort  of  authority  which  is  real  in  Morocco ;  the 
ing,  visible   force   represented  by  the  person  of  a 
Itan  surrounded  by  his  army.     Peace   was   firmly 
tablished,  and  the  young  Sultan  was  a  truly  great 
d    enlightened    ruler,    pronounced    the    optimistic 
ropean  observers  and  the  surface  rumour-gleaning 
wspaper  correspondents.     The   commercial   agents 


260  MOROCCO 

set  to  work  with  redoubled  ardour,  and  vied  with 
one  another  in  their  performances  before  the  Lord 
of  the  Faithful.  One  induced  the  young  man  to 
use  European  saddlery  in  public  ;  straightway  another 
led  the  monarch  to  appear  in  English  riding-boots  ; 
then  both  were  outdone  by  a  gentleman  who  pre- 
vailed upon  Abd  el  Aziz  to  be  photographed  in  the 
act  of  shaking  hands  with  him  in  familiar  European 
fashion.  All  these  matters,  and  many  more  glaring 
indiscretions,  went  to  form  the  subject  of  city-gate 
gossip,  and  were  duly  embroidered  and  enlarged 
upon  by  market-place  idlers,  who,  when  doubted, 
would  point  to  some  small  real  move  in  the  direction 
of  reform,  some  little  administrative  improvement 
urged  upon  the  Sultan  and  actually  brought  about 
by  gentlemen  of  the  Foreign  Legations,  who  had  no 
concern  whatever  with  the  trading  mountebanks  then  j 
lining  their  pockets  at  Court. 

"  What  ?     You  don't  believe  that  our  Lord  is  ii 
league  with  the  Nazarenes  ?     You  doubt  me  when 
tell  you  that  he  is  forsaking  Islam  for  the  faith  of  th< 
pig-eaters  ?     Well,    what   do   you   say   to   this  ord< 
about   taxation,   then — straight   from   the    Bashadoi 
of  the  infidels,  b' Allah !     See  for  yourself!" 

The  Sultan's  presence  was  positively   weakening  , 
his  authority,  sapping  the  adherence  of  his  people,  by i, 
reason  that  it  made  his  daily  doings  and  associations! 
apparent ;   and   that   was   a   state   of  affairs   without!, 
precedent      in      Moorish     history.       The      obvious, 
European  comment  upon  this,  of  course,    is   that   itj 
showed  the   hopeless   bigotry   and   fanaticism  of  theL 
Moors.     In  speaking  to  the  writer  of  these  lines 
intelligent  Moor  answered  that  comment  in  this  wise  :-H, 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     261 

"Can  you  deny  that  the  best  class  of  Moors, 
mentally,  morally  and  physically,  are  those  who  de- 
cline to  have  any  dealings  with  foreigners  and  infidels  ?  " 

For  the  writer's  part,  he  knew  too  much  of 
Morocco  to  deny  this.  "  Are  not  the  lowest  and 
most  worthless  among  Moors  those  of  the  coast  towns 
who  have  daily  intercourse  with  the  Nazarenes  ? " 
The  writer  was  bound  to  admit  it.  "  Do  you  not 
always  mistrust  a  Moor  you  do  not  know  if  he 
has  any  words  of  English,  or  shows  any  familiarity 
with  European  customs  ? "  The  writer  knew  that 
such  a  Moor  would  not  even  be  engaged  as  a 
groom  by  a  European  who  knew  anything  of  life  in 
Morocco. 

The  intelligent  Moor  feels  instinctively  that  when 
European  methods  and  customs  are  introduced  into 
Morocco,  when  the  country  is  thrown  open  to 
European  industry  and  speculation,  it  will  cease  to  be 
the  independent  Empire  of  the  Faithful.  And  he  is 
right.  There  remains  a  great  deal  to  be  said,  an 
endless  amount  to  be  written,  on  the  side  of  Europe 
and  civilisation.  But,  so  far,  the  Moor  is  right. 
And,  that  being  so,  it  should  be  easy  to  understand 
that  what  Europe  calls  savage  fanaticism  and  bigotry 

^  j  is  to  him  no  more  than  the  patriotism  of  self-preserva- 
tion, the  piety  of  living  faith  in  his  religion.  Some 
of  us,  respectable,  once-a-week  Christians,  are  apt  to 
forget  what  a  real,  living,  every-day,  life  and  death 

loajfaith  is  that  of  Islam  to  its  followers. 

It  has  been  said  that  these  doings  of  the  young 
ultan,  which  earned  him  so  many   good-humoured, 

3  a  fistupid  pats  on  the  back  from  journalists  whose  views 

e;'l"un   in  stereotyped   and   traditional  grooves,  became 


262  MOROCCO 

• 

the  common  talk  of  the  most  remote  soks  and  city 
gates.  They  presently  reached  the  ears  of  a  Moor 
named  Jellali  of  Zarahun,  known  to  some  as  Omar 
Zarzouni,  a  man  of  peasant  origin,  yet  a  fellow  of 
some  parts,  and  one  who  had  seen  more  of  the  world 
than  the  most  of  his  fellows.  He  had  travelled  through 
a  large  part  of  Northern  Africa  afoot,  and  in  the 
course  of  time  had  become  a  very  accomplished 
conjurer,  a  master  of  legerdemain,  and,  from  the 
Moorish  standpoint,  of  the  arts  of  magic.  Now,  from 
the  magician  to  the  saint  is  no  great  step  in  Morocco, 
and  to  the  saint  all  things  are  possible.  Genealogical 
trees  are  carried  in  men's  minds  instead  of  upon 
parchment  in  Sunset  Land,  and  Shareefs  or  descend- 
ants of  the  Prophet  are  at  least  numerous  as 
one-eyed  men,  which  is  to  say,  that  one  may  find 
them  in  every  city  street  and  in  every  village.  But 
Jellali,  or  Omar,  was  a  man  of  some  parts,  and  had 
ambition.  To  collect  battered  floos  by  the  aid  of  a 
green  flag  and  a  couple  of  reed-players  was  no  career 
for  him.  He  fancied  he  had  it  in  him  to  be  a  leader 
of  men,  and,  being  the  observant  fellow  he  was,  he 
realised  that  he  must  have  a  cause  and  a  war-cry  if 
he  were  to  succeed  in  this  capacity.  So  Jellali 
pondered  these  things  among  the  hills,  surrounded 
by  a  handful  of  simple  Berbers,  by  whom  his  juggling 
tricks  were  regarded  as  evidences  of  his  supernatural 
powers  as  a  magician,  and  proofs  of  his  remarkable 
sanctity  as  a  f  keeh  and  a  holy  man. 

Then  inspiration  came  to  this  adventurer,  and, 
seated  with  saintly  humility  upon  a  small  ass,  he  rode 
forth  among  the  cave-dwelling  mountaineers,  a  fully- 
equipped  prophet  with  a  fine,  stirring  watchword : 
"  Down  with  the  Nazarenes  !  Morocco  for  the  Faith- 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     263 

+ 

full  Down  with  the  renegade  mock  Sultan,  who 
seeks  to  give  us  over  to  the  infidels  !  "  Ba  Hamara, 
or  Father  of  the  She-A$s,  they  called  him  then ;  and 
the  hardy  mountain  men,  unchanged  since  the  days  of 
their  forebears,  who  fought  to  stem  the  Arab  invasion 
of  their  hills  a  thousand  years  ago,  rallied  about  him 
with  enthusiasm,  while  the  story-tellers  among  them, 
obeying  their  primitive  instincts — instincts  not  yet 
defunct  in  Clapton — began  forthwith  to  weave  about 
their  leader's  head  a  halo  of  legend  and  romance,  even 
as  Christians,  early  and  late,  have  done  in  other  lands. 
The  touch  of  his  hands  would  turn'bullets  aside  from 
the  persons  of  his  adherents.  He  could  draw  money 
from  out  the  air.  And  so  on,  in  ever-increasing 
volume  and  picturesqueness,  till  one  day  : — 

"  He  is  the  fore-runner  of  the  veritable  Mahdi. 
He  will  lead  us  into  Fez,  and  discover  the  Mahdi's 
sword  of  flame  in  a  pillar  of  the  Karueen.  The  Master 
of  the  Hour  will  appear ;  the  infidels  will  be  driven 
into  the  sea,  and  the  flag  of  Islam  will  rule  the  world ! " 

The  Father  of  the  She-Ass  did  not  forget  the  man 
who  first  set  this  glory  upon  his  head :  be  sure  that 
inspired  soul  was  well  rewarded.  And  the  following 
grew  apace.  Still,  it  was  hardly  the  sort  of  following 
by  which  capital  cities  are  sacked  and  monarchs 
dethroned.  "  After  all—our  Lord,  the  Lofty  Portal, 
is  still  his  father's  son — may  Allah  have  pardoned 
him! — and  through  him  the  Child  of  the  Prophet," 
said  the  stolid  tillers  of  the  valleys.  (They  have  not 
that  repute,  yet  history  proves  the  Moors  to  have 
been  ever  the  most  enduringly  loyal  subjects,  in  so 
far  as  avoiding  revolution  makes  men  loyal,  even 


264  MOROCCO 

under  the  most  barbarously  tyrannical  rulers.  The 
throne  is  not  much  to  your  orthodox  Moor,  but  the 
Sultan  is  Khaleef,  and  the  Khaleef  is  the  Child  of 
Mohammed,  and  acknowledged  Lord  of  all  the  Faith- 
ful. (Turkey's  present  claim  to  the  Khaleefate  is  no 
more  recognised  by  Moors  than  it  is  by  genealogical 
students  ;  temporal  power  alone  supports  it.) 

Readers  of  newspapers  in  Europe  who  have  picked 
out  certain  facts  from  among  the  gloriously  inaccurate, 
but  frequently  picturesque,  reports  from  Morocco,  have 
learned  how  at  this  stage  fortune  favoured  the  self- 
made  Saint  of  the  She-Ass.  An  ignorant  mountaineer 
(quite  possibly  a  follower  of  Ba  Hamdra's),  walking 
through  Fez  one  day,  raised  his  gun,  fired  at  an  English- 
man he  had  never  before  set  eyes  upon,  and  killed 
him.  The  mountain  man  fled  at  once  to  the  most 
venerated  sanctuary  in  all  Morocco ;  he  took  refuge 
among  the  sacred  pillars  of  the  Karueen,  where, 
according  to  all  the  traditions  of  a  thousand  years,  his 
person  was  as  safe  and  inviolable  as  that  of  his  Lord 
beneath  the  Shareefian  Parasol. 

There  is  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  men  who  know 
as  to  who  influenced  the  young  Sultan  in  the  daring, 
unprecedented  step  he  then  took.  Besides  Kaid  Sir 
Harry  Maclean  (whose  experience  in  the  country 
would  never  have  permitted  of  his  advising  the  course 
adopted),  another  countryman  of  the  murdered  mis- 
sionary was  with  the  Sultan,  and  he  has  made  no 
secret  of  the  part  he  played.  A  wise  and  altogether 
good  part,  the  average  Englishman  might  say :  and 
the  average  Englishman  might  be  partly  wrong.  By 
the  Sultan's  order,  carried  out  in  dumb  amazement  by 
men  not  given  to  questioning,  the  fanatic  murderer 
was  dragged  from  sanctuary,  flogged  round  the  town, 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     265 

and  publicly  executed  directly  after  Mr  Cooper  suc- 
cumbed to  his  injuries. 

"  If  only  the  thing  had  been  done  Moslem  fashion, 
if  private  instructions  had  been  issued  to  prevent  the 
man's  escape,  and  then,  a  few  weeks  later,  he  had 
been  flung  into  prison,  having  been  lured  from 
sanctuary  by  stratagem,  and  subsequently  executed — 
as  much  as  you  like ! "  sighed  an  elderly,  peace-loving 
fkeeh  in  Tangier  to  the  writer  of  these  lines,  in 
December.  "  But  to  drag  a  Believer  out  of  sanctuary, 
at  the  bidding  of  beardless  Nazarenes,  for — for  killing 
a  —  ha  —  h'm  —  pardon  —  a  Nazarene  !  Ih-yeh, 
but  that  was  a  bitter  bad  dealing  for  our  Lord  the 
Sultan." 

You  may  be  very  sure  it  was  not  in  any  such  mild 
strain   as   this   that    Ba  Hamara   commented   to   his 
following  upon  the  event,  in  the  Berber  fastnesses  to 
the  south-east   of  Fez.     No   other  man   in  Morocco 
could  have  served  the  Pretender's  cause  quite  so  well 
and   opportunely   as    Moulai    Abd    el    Aziz   and   his 
Christian  advisers  had  served  it,  in  dragging  out  from 
sanctuary  the  murderer  of  the  unfortunate  Mr  Cooper. 
From  far  outlying  kasbahs  and  from  villages  at  his 
feet,  from  every  part  of  the  turbulent  south-east,  and 
from  the   exacerbated  villages   of  the  Tuat   oases — 
I  where  men  were  already  stung  to  madness,  deliberately, 
J  or  unwittingly,  by  the  French  from  over  the  border 
| with   their    "creeping"    policy   of    mild   aggression, 
liudicial  punitive   measures,  and   insistent   advance — 
>ber-minded  Moors  from  the  very  gate  of  Fez  itself, 
;hey    flocked   about   the   standard  of    the   man   who 
:ried: — "Down  with  the  Christians,  and  down  with 


266  MOROCCO 

the  renegade  Sultan  who  would   sacrifice  you  all  to 
the  Kaffirs,  sons  of  burnt  Kaffirs ! " 

Fluent  newspaper  correspondents  in  Tangier 
hotels,  and  their  yet  more  fluent  colleagues  in  Madrid 
and  Paris,  have  told  the  world  much  of  what  followed, 
and  more  that  did  not  follow.  One  of  them,  a  few 
days  ago,  told  the  readers  of  a  great  London  daily  that 
certain  people — European  ladies,  no  less,  among  them 
— had  left  Fez  on  January  loth  and  arrived  safely  in 
Tangier  on  January  i2th,  a  feat  that  would  have 
puzzled  the  owner  of  seven-leagued  boots  to  accom- 
plish, even  though  summer  suns  had  made  all  boggy 
ways  passable  in  Morocco ;  a  thrice  impossible 
performance,  to  speak  plainly.  Not  loyalty,  nor  force 
of  arms,  nor  statesmanship,  nor  any  other  such  attri- 
bute of  Royalty  saved  his  Shareefian  Majesty  from 
ignominious  defeat,  though  it  is  true  that  even  Ba 
Hamara  could  not  cut  off  the  water  supply  of  Fez,  as 
the  newspapers  said  he  did.  Only  absence  of 
discipline,  lack  of  cohesion,  and  consequent  vacillation 
among  Ba  Hamara's  following  preserved  to  Abd  el 
Aziz  his  Parasol,  after  that  fierce,  before-dawn  attack 
in  the  Ulad  Taher  valley.  The  followers  of  the  Father 
of  the  She- Ass  lacked  singleness  of  purpose,  and  so, 
when  the  Shareefian  troops  followed  them  up  with 
weapons  of  precision,  they  were  mown  down  thickly 
between  the  mud  walls  of  a  kasbah,  and  many  gory 
heads  were  carried  off  to  decorate  the  gates  of  Fez. 

"  And  that's  the  end  of  the  Pretender,"  said  the 
Europeans  in  Tangier.  "  The  whole  thing  has  been 
tremendously  exaggerated,  of  course,"  said  numerous 
official  residents  in  Tangier  to  the  writer  of  these  lines 
before  Christmas  ;  "  and  now  you  will  see  that  this  is 
the  end  of  it."  Even  the  favourably  placed  and 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     267 

generally   well-informed    Times    correspondent,   then 
actually  in  Fez,  wrote  : — 

"  Here  in  Fez,  where  a  certain  amount  of  mystery 
surrounded  his  name  (the  Pretender's  name),  and 
where  the  more  superstitious  of  the  population  were 
half  inclined  to  believe  in  his  divine  mission,  his 
reputation  is  demolished,  and  he  is  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  city.  It  needs  only  one  look  at  the  ghastly 
heads  hanging  on  the  city  gate,  dripping  in  the  drizz- 
ling rain,  to  persuade  the  people  that  Moulai  Abd  el 
Aziz  is  their  real  lord  and  master." 

The  writer  of  this  article,  going  to  native  sources 
for  his  information,  formed  a  different  impression,  and, 
in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  ventured  to  " croak"  once 
more  to  the  effect  that  Ba  Hamara  himself  was  scot- 
free  in  the  mountains,  and  had  shown  himself  to  be 
the  sort  of  man  that  would  be  heard  of  again.  Author- 
ities whom  the  writer  could  not  doubt  had  shown  him 
what  a  touch-and-go  chance  the  whole  affair  had  been, 
and  that  hundreds  of  the  solid,  conservative  class  of 
Moors  in  Fez,  so  far  from  viewing  the  situation  with 
the  loyal  meekness  insisted  on  by  the  Times  cor- 
respondent, were  ready  and  anxious  to  forsake  their 
"  real  lord  and  master  "  the  moment  they  thought  the 
thing  could  be  done  with  safety. 

The  newspaper-reading  world  knows  now  what 
happened ;  how  quickly  the  Father  of  the  She-Ass 
rallied  his  following  and  gained  a  distinct  victory  over 
the  Sultan's  troops.  (A  letter  sent  the  writer  from 
Fez  says  :  "Had  Ba  Hamara  followed  up  that  success 
nothing  could  have  saved  the  Sultan.")  And  then 
came  the  news  that  Fez  was  practically  besieged  by 


268  MOROCCO 

the  pretender.  As  a  fact  it  was  not  quite  so.  Ba 
Hamara  was  five  hours  distant  from  the  capital,  and 
his  following  were  dispersing  to  their  homes  and 
quarrelling  over  booty  already  gained.  But  the 
victory  was  undeniable  and  its  moral  effect  great. 
Those  European  companions  of  the  Sultan  whose 
presence  most  offended  orthodox  Moors  left  Fez 
now ;  but  they  left  it  some  months  too  late  for  the 
good  of  the  young  Sultan's  standing.  Under  date 
January  2nd,  a  correspondent,  whose  intimate  know- 
ledge and  life-long  experience  of  Moorish  people  and 
affairs  is  unequalled,  addressed  the  present  writer  from 
Tangier  as  follows  : — 

"  The  Sultan's  present  urgent  danger  lies  in  the 
antagonism  awakened  by  his  English  advisers  and  as- 
sociates, his  assumption  of  their  dress,  amusements  and 
familiarities — all  inconsistent  with  his  position.  If, 
as  is  generally  believed,  Ba  Hamara  is  backed  by 
French  assistance,1  he  will  not  declare  a  Jehad  as  the 
Times  correspondent  suggests.  In  Fez  they  are  short 
of  provisions,  and,  according  to  my  Moorish  informants, 
the  populace  is  ill-affected ;  a  most  ominous  condition 
of  affairs.  Yet  it  is  still  believed  by  the  well- 
informed  that  the  Sultan  may  weather  the  storm.  I 
hope  he  may,  for  his  sake  and  that  of  the  country. 
He  will  have  to  cut  his  European  aspirations  and 
frivolities  off  by  the  board  if  he  is  to  hold  his  own 
unaided  by  Europe.  The  French  here  are  jubilant, 
of  course  ;  the  English  all  depressed.  The  improvi- 

1  In  the  light  of  the  latest  news  regarding  a  French  protectorate 
in  Morocco,  I  would  specially  draw  attention  to  this.  It  is  now 
quite  certain  that  the  Pretender  did  receive  some  European  assist- 
ance. It  is  equally  certain  that,  knowingly  or  not,  he  played  France's 
own  game  to  the  great  and  signal  advantage  of  France.— A.  J.  D. 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     269 

dence  of  the  Sultan  and  his  advisers,  and  the  indiscre- 
tions of  some  of  the  foreigners  about  his  person, 
seem  beyond  belief.  Still,  the  extent  of  the  late 
disasters  has  been  wildly  exaggerated.  The  truth 
probably  is  that  the  Sultan's  troops,  being  disaffected, 
simply  abandoned  arms  and  ammunition,  and  either 
went  over  to  the  insurgents  (I  know  that  some  took 
this  course)  or  dribbled  back  to  Fez  with  wild  tales  of 
imaginary  slaughter.  Should  Ba  Hamara  succeed, 
and  Abd  el  Aziz  be  dethroned,  either  his  brother, 
Moulai  Mohammed  (El  Aour),  will  be  proclaimed,  or 
Moulai  Mohammed,  an  uncle  of  Abd  el  Aziz,  and  a 
much  better  choice,  will  be  selected,  in  which  case 
affairs  would  speedily  settle  down  for  a  time  in  the  old 
grooves.  The  real  danger  is  that  when  the  Jebala  are 
once  up  they  may  run  amuck  in  despite  of  all  efforts 
to  restrain  them;  then  we  should  sup  full  on  horrors." 

A  week  later,  the  same  correspondent,  with  in- 
numerable native  and  foreign  sources  of  information 
open  to  him,  wrote  as  follows  : — 

"  The  Ba  Hamara  rising  not  having  yielded 
immediate  results,  a  palace  revolution  has  been  con- 
certed (Europe,  I  gather,  calls  it  a  shrewd  stroke  of 
policy  on  the  Sultan's  part,  a  comment  which  reads 
like  irony)  to  secure  the  transfer  of  power  from 
Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz  to  Moulai  Mohammed.  The 
former  has  been  constrained  to  install  his  long- 
imprisoned  brother  as  his  Khaleefa,  and  this  has 
given  rise  to  the  most  curious  journalistic  rumours, 
such  as  that  the  Pretender  impersonated  Moulai 
Mohammed,  and  so  forth.  The  next  step  may  come 
sooner  or  later,  but  I  know  from  native  officials  here 


270  MOROCCO 

that  they  are  hourly  expecting  to  hear  from  Fez  that 
the  actual  transfer  has  been  effected  and  that  Moulai 
Mohammed  reigns. 

"  The  French  cannot  conceal  their  eager  anxiety 
for  the  success  of  Moulai  Mohammed  and  the  down- 
fall of  Abd  el  Aziz,  and  they  assert  openly  that  the 
English  are  being  run£  out,  and  that  French  influence 
will  soon  be  all-powerful.  They  point  to  Mr  Harris 
and  the  various  English  agents,  travellers,  ad- 
venturers and  employes  of  the  Court  who  have  been 
frightened  away  from  Fez  after  their  presence,  or  at 
least  the  presence  of  the  independent  and  influential 
among  them,  had  done  the  Sultan  such  incalculable 
harm.  To  be  sure,  no  one  suspects  them  of  deliber- 
ately doing  harm,  but  they  have  done  it  none  the  less, 
and  that  chiefly  by  reason  of  their  apparent  inability 
to  grasp  or  conform  to  the  Oriental  ideas  of  dignity. 
The  Oriental  will  steal  and  lie,  and  yet  demean  him- 
self like  a  prince ;  whilst  your  possibly  quite  honest 
Westerner  too  often  degenerates  into  caddish  licence 
and  familiarity.  It  is  now  reported  here  that  one  of 
the  most  prominent  among  these  doubtless  uninten- 
tional offenders  presented  large  orders  on  the  Tangier 
Custom-house,  on  his  return  here  from  the  capital,  in 
payment  for  various  orders  he  had  obtained  from  the 
Sultan  for  electric  appointments  and  so  forth, 
amounting  altogether  to  many  thousands  of  dollars. 
The  Moors  say  80,000.  Even  if  we  strike  off  the 
last  cypher  it  seems  too  large  a  sum  for  credence. 
The  fact  remains  patent  to  all,  however,  that  the 
Imperial  treasury  has  been  subjected  to  a  depletion 
quite  without  precedent.  It  grieves  and  worries  us 
that  the  English  should  have  had  any  hand  in  such  a 
sorry  business." 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     271 


Later  again,  under  date,  Tangier,  January  iQth,  the 
same  informant  cabled  to  the  writer  these  words  :  — 


. 

I 


"  TANGIER,  January 

The  situation  is  improving.  So  far  only  unim- 
portant skirmishes  between  outlying  scouts  of  the 
Shareefian  army  and  the  Pretender's  force  have  taken 
place  ;  but  the  Sultan  is  acting  with  great  caution,  and 
my  opinion  now  is  that  he  will  weather  the  storm. 
You  know  the  state  of  the  roads  in  the  interior  at  this 
season.  That  has  materially  hampered  both  forces, 
but  more  particularly  the  Sultan's,  because  his  is  the 
moving  party.  The  local  troubles  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Tangier  have  settled  down.  The  general 
opinion  here  is  that  Mr  Harris  was  ill-advised  to  take 
the  part  he  did,  because  Christian  interference  is  very 
xasperating  to  the  Moors  at  any  time  ;  more  so  just 
now  than  ever,  and  more  when  coming  from  Mr 
Harris,  by  reason  of  the  tales  of  his  relations  with 
the  Sultan/' 

Mr  Walter  B.  Harris,  the  correspondent  of  the 
Times  in  Morocco,  in  writing  to  that  journal,  has 
said  :  — 

I  merely  wish  to  contradict  the  impression,  which 
ippears  to  be  general,  that  I  am  one  of  those  who 
|  have  brought  the  Sultan  of  Morocco  into  his  present 
unfortunate  position  by  inspiring  him  with  European 
jideas.  No  one  has  deprecated  these  ideas,  or  the 
[extravagance  they  entailed,  more  strongly  than  I 
[have." 

The  Paris  correspondent  of  the  Times  writes  to  his 
ditor  that  "  It  is  difficult  to  say  by  whom  the  ground- 


272  MOROCCO 

less  accusation  brought  against  your  Tangier 
correspondent  of  having  given  the  Sultan  of  Morocco 
evil  counsel  was  originally  started."  It  is  more 
difficult  for  those  who  know  Morocco  to  guess  what 
may  be  the  grounds  for  the  Times  Paris  corre- 
spondent's statements,  or  what  he  can  possibly  know 
about  the  influence  of  Mr  Walter  Harris  in  Fez.  To 
accuse  a  man  of  giving  evil  counsel  is  tantamount  to 
charging  him  with  deliberate  wrong-doing,  and  Mr 
Harris  is  by  no  means  in  need  of  defence  from  such 
accusations  as  that.  But  he  himself  must  be  perfectly 
aware  that  his  residence  at  the  Moorish  Court,  his 
constant  association  with  the  Sultan,  their  being 
photographed  together,  and  so  forth,  have  done  a 
great  deal  towards  inflaming  the  hearts  of  the  orthodox 
Moors  against  their  ruler,  his  foreign  friends,  and  his 
progressive  policy,  which  latter  is  naturally  and  rightly 
enough  traced  to  the  foreigners.  The  present  writer 
has  ample  reason  for  personally  admiring  and  respect- 
ing Mr  Harris  as  an  intrepid  traveller  and  a  most 
entertaining  writer,  but  neither  this  nor  any  other 
consideration  could  blind  the  writer  to  the  fact  that 
Mr  Harris's  recent  familiar  daily  intercourse  and 
dealings  with  the  young  Sultan  have  helped  materially 
to  weaken  the  latter's  hold  upon  his  people,  to  rouse 
their  jealous  resentment,  and  to  exasperate  their 
religious  feelings.  Further,  these  things  have  helped 
more  firmly  to  establish  a  conviction  which  is  very 
generally  held  among  native  politicians,  and  which 
Mr  Harris  himself  has  written  of  to  the  Times  in 
these  words : — 

"The   Moors    are   confident,   after   what  passed/ 
between  Mennebhi,  who  was  in  London  last  year  as 


MOROCCO,  MOORS  AND  POWERS     273 

Moorish  Ambassador,  and  Lord  Lansdowne,  that  in 
case  of  necessity  England  cannot  refuse  to  give  armed 
assistance  to  Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz.  It  is  impossible  to 
disabuse  them  of  this  idea,  as  they  lay  the  entire 
responsibility  for  the  rebellion  at  England's  door,  for 
fostering  European  ideas,  and  introducing  Christians 
into  the  Court." 

Not   many   of  the   Christians  introduced   at   the 
Moorish  Court  were  quite  so  prominent  there  as  to  be 
in  familiar  daily  intercourse  with  the  young  Sultan, 
sharing  his  amusements,  being  photographed  by  and 
ith  him,  and  otherwise  scandalising  the  Faithful,  as 
Mr  Harris  did,  all,  no  doubt,  with  the  most  innocent 
intentions.     The  common  report  in  Tangier  was  that 
Mr  Harris  had  been  badly  frightened  by  the  state  of 
things  in  Fez,  and  fled  to  Tangier  as  soon  as  danger 
menaced  the  Court  at  which  he  had  been  a   guest. 
Those  who  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  the  gentle- 
stlman  in  question,  those,  particularly,  who  have  read 
er|his    Tafilet,    that   fascinating   record   of   one   of  the 
pluckiest  pieces  of  exploration  ever  undertaken  by  a 
.uropean,  will  not  be  imposed  upon  by  so  ill-natured 
rumour  as  this ;  but  they,  and  others,  will  believe, 
jse|ivith  reason,  that  Mr  Harris  left  the  Moorish  Court 
ieir  because  it  was  realised,  unfortunately  somewhat  late  in 
peiihe  day,  that  his  presence  there  seriously  aggravated 
ifhe  difficulties  of  the  Sultan's  position. 

"  The  Moors  are  confident  that  in  case  of  necessity 
ngland  cannot  refuse  to  give  armed  assistance." 

According  to  his  telegraphic  report  in  the  Times 
f  January     i6th,    Mr    Harris   was    himself    giving 
;ar^|.rmed  assistance  to  one  of  two  warring  tribes  in  the 

s 


274  MOROCCO 

vicinity  of  Tangier.  This  would  scarcely  help  to 
"  disabuse"  the  minds  of  the  Moors  in  the  matter  of 
their  confident  reliance  upon  English  assistance  in 
case  of  need.  It  would  seem  that  out  of  the  good- 
ness of  his  heart,  and  from  a  strong  love  of  romance, 
Mr  Harris  continues  even  in  Tangier,  as  it  were  by 
implication,  to  give  dangerous  pledges. 

"  The  French  here  are  jubilant,  of  course." 

"  The  French  here  cannot  conceal  their  eager 
anxiety  for  the  success  of  Moulai  Mohammed  and 
the  downfall  of  Abd  el  Aziz." 

"The  French  Minister  here  has  made  representa- 
tions'to  Hadj  Mohammed  Torres,  the  Sultan's  Foreign 
Minister,  to  the  effect  that  if  the  troubles  near  here 
are  renewed  French  intervention  would  be  justified." 

"  The  Moors  are  confident  that  in  case  of  necessity 
England  cannot  refuse  to  give  armed  assistance." 

These  are  serious  words  from  the  best-informed 
sources.  They  demand  the  serious  consideration  of 
European  statesmen.  The  European  nations  most 
intimately  concerned  are  England  and  France. 
There  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  whole  matter 
of  the  Moorish  situation  receives,  and  has  received 
without  intermission  for  years  past,  the  very  closest 
attention  on  the  Quai  d'Orsay.  The  past  has  not 
proven  that  Downing  Street  is  as  keenly  alive  to  the 
issues  at  stake,  and,  however  capable  we  may  be  of; 
making  up  at  the  last  moment  for  our  singular  and 
incorrigible  unreadiness,  it  is  certainly  high  time  now 
that  the  Power  which  arms  Gibraltar  should  have] 
formulated  a  very  definite  policy  with  regard  to  future? 
action  in,  for  and  about  the  land  of  the  Moors. 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO1 

HAD]  ABD  EL  KAREEM  hitched  up  his 
flowing  draperies  and  walked  down  the  jetty 
with  me,  when  I  was  leaving  Tangier  the  other  day 
for  "  London  Country."  We  had  been  discussing  the 
situation  in  which  the  young  Sultan  of  Morocco  finds 
himself  to-day,  and  Abd  el  Kareem  thoughtfully 
combed  his  white  beard  with  three  delicate  yellow 
fingers  as  he  walked.  We  parted  at  the  head  of  the 
steps,  where  my  boat  waited.  The  fingers  of  our 
right  hands  met,  and  then,  as  the  gracious  habit  of  his 
people  is,  the  Hadj  raised  his  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  And  what  is  your  last  word  about  the  outlook  for 
Morocco,  Hadj  ? "  I  asked.  The  long  beard  moved 
to  a  heavy  sigh,  the  cashmere-covered  shoulders  of  the 
old  gentleman  rose  in  melancholy  deprecation,  and  : — 

"  Ihyeh'llah  !  "  quoth  he.  <(The  page  of  Allah's 
book  on  which  is  written  c  End '  against  the  Empire 
of  our  Lord  at  Fez  draws  very  near  to  reading.  All 
that  slaves  (men)  may  do  to  hasten  on  that  reading 
|i  slaves  are  doing  !  " 

"  Such  as,  particularly?"  The  Jew  boatmen 
below  were  patient,  though  their  gunwale  scraped  and 
I  bumped  the  jetty  stairs  with  every  wave. 

"  Ihyeh — the  aggression  of  the  Fransawis  (French) 
[and  the  indiscretion  of  the  Ingleezi  (English),  and — 
Ihyeh,  Friend,  thou  knowest  well  what  ails  mine  own 
1  Fortnightly  Review ',  June  1903. 
2/5 


276  MOROCCO 

people.  I  say  nothing  of  the  mummeries  at  Court ; 
but  I  say  that  a  good  bundle  of  faggots,  well  bound, 
will  float  a  laden  ass  across  a  river,  whilst,  cut  the 
faggots  apart,  let  them  float  separately,  and  they  will 
not  bear  a  chicken  to  safety.  We  are  not  bound  one 
to  another  in  this  my  El  Moghreb;  there  be  many 
Nazarenes  whose  business  and  pleasure  it  is  to  widen 
our  divisions,  and — upon  what  is  the  Empire  to  float  ? 
Ihyeh — B'ism  Illah  !  It  is  true  that  only  that  which  is 
written  can  be.  Good  be  with  ye ! " 

And  so  I  left  him  still  thoughtfully  combing  his 
beard.  And  in  Gibraltar  that  evening  I  began  my 
perusal  of  the  Marquis  de  Segonzac's  remarkable  new 
book,  Voyages  au  Maroc,  with  its  startling  preface  by 
M.  Etienne,  deputy  for  Oran,  leader  of  the  Colonial 
party,  and  Vice-President  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 
"The  aggression  of  the  Fransawis,  and  the  in- 
discretion of  the  Ingleezi,"  I  quoted,  as  I  turned  the 
first  page  of  this  outspoken  piece  of  Chauvinism. 

Broadly  speaking,  the  British  public  care  little  and 
know  less  about  Moorish  affairs ;  and  in  this  we  differ 
greatly  from  our  neighbours  across  the  Channel.  Yet 
the  most  powerful  European  Minister  who  ever  held 
sway  in  Morocco  represented  the  Court  of  St  James 
there ;  yet  the  most  strategically  valuable  port  in 
Morocco  was  once  held  and  occupied  by  Britain  ;  yet 
England's  greatest  naval  leader  held  that  Tangier 
was  of  even  greater  importance  to  the  Power  that 
looked  to  rule  the  seas  than  Gibraltar;  yet  the 
strength  and  importance  of  Britain's  position  at  the 
gate  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  highway  to  the  East, 
depends  very  largely  upon  the  neutrality  of  the  strip 
of  littoral  facing  Gibraltar  from  Melilla  to  Cape 
Spartel.  It  is  scarcely  fanciful  to  suppose  that  the  day! 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    277 

will  come  when  the  fertile  north-western  shoulder  of 
Africa,  lying  as  it  does,  practically  within  heavy  gun 
range  of  southern  Spain  and  Gibraltar,  commanding 
as  it  does  the  all-important  maritime  gate  to  the  East, 
will  prove  of  greater  value  to  some  European  Power 
than  could  the  whole  of  Southern  Africa,  with  its 
blood-stained  miles  .of  veldt  and  its  fortune-bearing 
centres  of  mining  industry.  But  at  present  the  public 
that  is  stirred  by  the  words  Empire  and  Imperialism 
is  scarcely  more  to  be  touched  by  mention  of  Morocco 
than  by  reference  to  remote  centres  of  China ;  though, 
according  to  more  than  one  student  of  world  politics, 
we  shall  presently  have  urgent  reason  to  concern  our- 
selves as  much  with  one  as  with  the  other.  The 
Extreme  West  (in  the  Mohammedan  sense)  and  the 
Far  East  have  many  points  in  common,  besides  the 
fact  that  both  are  as  inimical  to  Christendom  as  water 
is  to  fire. 

But  even  in  England,  to-day,  the  most  casual 
reader  of  newspapers  has  heard  that  France  is 
periodically  accused,  by  travellers,  by  students  of 
foreign  polities,  and  by  Moorish  kaids  in  far  south- 
eastern settlements,  of  aggression  in  Morocco.  There 
have  even  been  solemn  questions  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  followed  by  equally  solemn  and  soothing 
replies.  And,  if  one  excepts  the  handful  of  Europeans 
who  really  know  Morocco,  it  may  be  said  that  the 
civilised  world  has,  without  afterthought,  accepted  as 
final  France's  reiterated  assurances  that  her  only 
desire  is  to  maintain  that  mysterious  myth,  the  status 
quo  in  Morocco,  and  to  keep  peace  and  order  within 
her  Algerian  frontier,  where  it  marches  with  the  borders 
of  the  realm  of  the  Lofty  Portal,  Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz  IV. 
of  El  Moghreb.  True,  we  were  informed  in  1901  that 


278  MOROCCO 

France  had,  with  never  a  by  your  leave,  extended  her 
Algerian  frontier  across  a  belt  of  Moorish  territory, 
two  hundred  kilometres  wide  ;  but  observant  English 
readers  thought  of  the  north-west  frontier  of  British 
India  and  were  silent,  whilst  the  unobservant 
majority,  to  whom  Figuig,  Igli,  and  Ain  Sefra  were 
as  one,  and  the  caravan  trade  route  from  Timbuctoo  a 
mere  relic  of  the  Haroun  el  Rascheed  myth,  accepted 
the  news  with  their  breakfast  rolls,  and  passed  on  to 
the  perusal  of  the  stock  and  share  list  and  the  latest 
betting.  The  Quai  d'Orsay,  as  it  might  have  been 
Albion  at  her  most  perfidious,  spoke  deprecatingly  of 
the  necessity  of  defining  her  Algerian  frontier  more 
clearly,  and  sighed  under  the  burden — the  white  man's 
burden — of  maintaining  peace  among  the  turbulent 
tribes  of  the  Tuat.  "We  desire  only  to  assist  his 
Shareefian  Majesty  in  the  maintenance  of  the  status 
quo  in  Morocco.  That  is  the  Moorish  interest  which 
France,  in  common  with  all  other  civilised  Powers 
concerned,  must  continue  to  serve,  with  patience  and 
loyalty.  England,  the  perfidious,  may  well  have 
other  schemes  afoot — see  else  the  favour  shown  her 
people  at  the  Moorish  Court — France  at  least  is  dis- 
interested and  single-minded  as  a  child  here." 

I  recalled  these  things  as  I  opened  the  Marquis  de 
Segonzac's  book,  and  remembered  being  jeered  at  for 
an  alarmist  for  having  ventured  to  assert  and  re-assert 
in  the  past  that  France  desired  much  beyond  the 
maintenance  of  the  status  quo  in  Morocco.  I  found 
that  the  Marquis  kept  tolerably  clear  of  politics  in  his 
very  interesting,  if  unsatisfying,  book.  I  gathered 
that  he  had  gleaned  a  great  deal  of  highly  useful 
information  on  his  travels — for  the  French  Foreign 
Office.  At  least,  I  imagine  that  he  gleaned  for  the 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    279 

French  Foreign  Office,  and  that  for  these  reasons :  I 
know  that  he  did  travel  over  unfrequented  ways  ;  I 
am  practically  certain  that  he  obtained  much  first- 
hand information  of  a  rare  sort :  I  satisfied  myself  by 
perusal  of  his  book  that  he  had  not  dispensed  his 
gleanings  to  the  reading  public.  Rather  had  he 
given  out  to  the  public  just  such  husks  and  chaff,  such 
winnowings  of  a  rich  crop  as  may  be  gathered  by  the 
casual  observer  in  Christian-influenced  Tangier.  But, 
as  has  been  indicated,  the  preface  to  this  book  (this 
book  which  will  interest  students  of  Morocco  rather 
by  reason  of  the  reserve  of  knowledge  it  suggests 
than  of  the  information  it  imparts)  was  written  by  the 
Deputy  for  Oran,  a  French  politician  whose  influence 
in  Algeria  and  whose  very  prominent  position  in 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies  gives  weight  to  his  words. 
The  reserve  of  the  book  is  remarkable — severely 
diplomatic.  The  outspoken  frankness  of  its  authori- 
tative preface  is  a  good  key  with  which  to  open  doors 
left  closed  by  the  Marquis  de  Segonzac.  One  has 
thought  of  the  Marquis  de  Segonzac  as  a  young 
gentleman  more  remarkable  for  adventurous  daring 
than  for  discretion  or  diplomacy  ;  but  in  this  book  he 
appears  a  veritable  Machiavelli  beside  the  writer  of 
his  preface,  who  heads  the  Colonial  party  in  Paris. 
Says  M.  Etienne  of  the  author  of  these  Voyages  au 
Maroc : — 

"  The  author  makes  it  a  rule  not  to  draw  political 
conclusions.  But  he  has  chosen  Morocco  for  the 
iscene  of  his  explorations,  feeling  that  the  knowledge 
|  of  that  country  is  of  the  first  importance  to  France  ; 
md  it  is  this  which  gives  his  work  its  particular 
[interest.  Upon  the  solution  of  the  Morocco  question 


280  MOROCCO 

depends  the  future  of  France."  (The  italics  are  mine.) 
"  There  is  no  question  here  of  one  of  those  rich  and 
more  or  less  desirable  countries  which  it  is  possible  to 
divide.  The  enormous  sacrifices  which  France  has 
made  in  Algeria  and  Tunis  will  be  made  worthless  if 
this  solution  is  not  in  conformity  with  French  interests 
and  rights.  France  holds  these  rights  from  Bugeaud, 
and  Lamoriciere,  from  her  army  of  Africa,  and  from 
her  Algerian  colonists.  What  other  European  Power 
can  show  similar  rights  ?  " 

To  judge  from  all  her  official  assurances  to  the 
rest  of  Europe,  France  would  have  us  believe  that 
the  vague  rights  referred  to  here  are  the  privileges  of 
helping  the  Sultan  to  maintain  the  status  quo  in 
Morocco,  and  keeping  the  peace  on  the  Moorish- 
Algerian  frontier !  But  even  the  careless  English 
newspaper  reader  could  hardly  be  asked  to  accept 
such  suggestions  in  the  light  of  a  passage  like  the 
following : — 

"Apart  from  the  question  of  the  Straits  of 
Gibraltar,  which  alone  is  truly  international,  France 
cannot  divide  Morocco  with  anyone"  (English  readers 
are  requested  to  give  these  italicised  words  their 
thoughtful  consideration,  bearing  in  mind  the  nature 
of  the  authority  behind  them.)  "  From  the  political 
point  of  view  the  present  position  of  France  in 
Morocco  is  equivalent  to  the  efforts  of  seventy  years 
nullified.  From  the  economical  point  of  view 
Algeria  is  impoverished  by  the  development  on  its 
flank  of  a  country  whose  climate  and  products  are 
similar,  whilst  it  is  very  much  more  fertile.  Finally, 
from  the  Mussulman  point  of  view,  Islam  in  Northern 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    281 

Africa,  escaping  from  our  sphere  of  influence,  French 
possessions  may  catch  fire  all  at  once,  as  the  Algerian 
forests  are  kindled  by  the  siroccos  of  summer,  by 
reason  of  a  European  Power  endeavouring  to  re- 
commence the  crusade  of  Christianity  against  the 
Mussulmans,  and  thus  putting  its  foot  upon  an 
ant-heap.  Such  is  the  future  which  awaits  us  if  we 
admit  the  establishment  beside  us  of  any  European 
neighbour." 

Is  not  that  fine,  and  frank,  and  French  ?  And  how 
well  M.  Etienne  manages  his  warning  dig  at  Britain 
the  perfidious  in  connection  with  crusades  and  ant- 
heaps  !  That  is  his  comment  upon  Britain's  policy  at 
the  Moorish  Court  since  the  death  of  Regent  Wazeer 
Ba  Hamed :  a  policy  which  for  the  first  time  in 
several  years  has  suggested,  not  a  definite  purpose, 
but  a  degree  of  wakefulness  which  is  better  than 
absolute  indifference.  "If  we  admit  the  establish- 
ment beside  us  " — France's  own  establishment  there 
is  here  taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  Thus  airily  does 
M.  Etienne  repudiate  and  brush  aside  all  France's 
official  assurances  regarding  her  policy  in  Morocco 
during  the  past  decade. 

And  now  let  us  consider  the  grounds  upon  which  the 
Deputy  for  Oran  bases  his  claims  for  France  in  Morocco. 
It  will  be  found  that  if  the  claims  are  judged  daring, 

e  only  word  left  to  apply  to  the  grounds  upon  which 

ey  are  based  will  be  "  insolent !  " 

"It  is  not  only  that  Morocco  does  not  present  in 
my  way  for  the  other  Powers  the  same  interest  as  for 
but  one  may  say  without  paradox  that  their 
'.nterest,  well  understood,  is  to  oppose  nothing  to  our 


282  MOROCCO 

preponderance.  Several  foreign  writers  who  are 
above  suspicion  have  expressed  this  sentiment  plainly 
again  and  again,  and  if  their  language  has  somewhat 
changed  of  late  we  have  only  our  weakness  and 
timidity  to  blame.  What  in  effect  do  the  Powers 
want  ?  Peace  and  the  security  which  will  permit 
them  to  develop  their  commerce,  and  in  a  probably 
not  distant  future  to  devote  themselves  to  agriculture. 
France  only,  with  her  experience  of  the  Mussulman 
and  the  Berber,  can  succeed  in  such  an  enterprise." 

There  is  something  almost  magnificent  about  M. 
Etienne.  "  France  only  with  her  experience  of  the 
Mussulman."  That  is  something  like  vanity!  It 
displays  a  patriotism  peculiarly  French.  A  patriot  of 
our  own  presented  his  blind  eye  to  the  telescope 
levelled  at  certain  signals.  The  Deputy  for  Oran 
shuts  his  eyes  to  the  history  of  the  past  century,  and 
utterly  ignores  India  and  Egypt,  and  the  greater  part 
of  the  Mohammedan  world  as  known  to  Europe,  in 
the  heat  of  his  own  dream  of  the  establishment  of  a 
French  Empire  in  North  Africa.  His  reference  to 
the  Powers  and  agriculture  must  be  regarded,  one 
apprehends,  as  a  mere  rhetorical  flourish.  Then, 
perhaps,  with  a  thought  of  France's  professed  care 
of  the  Moorish  status  quo  only,  M.  Etienne  adds  : — 

"  Any  partition  must  end,  in  this  rugged  and 
difficult  country,  where  the  fomenters  of  disorder  will 
ever  be  sure  of  immunity  by  passing  from  one 
territory  to  another,  in  hopeless  anarchy!"  French 
annexation,  we  must  assume,  would  merely  cement, 
in  peace  and  harmony,  the  mysterious  status  quo. 
British  criticism  is  forestalled,  and  the  peasant 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    283 

conscience  of  France  is  quieted  in  anticipation  by  the 
bllowing  naive  passage  : — 

"  'Every  position  on  the  road  to  India/  said  Lord 
Dastlereagh  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  '  ought  to 
belong  to  us  and  will  belong  to  us/  In  virtue  of  this 
xiom  England  took  the  Cape  and  Mauritius  in  1815, 
Aden  in  1839,  Perim  in  1857,  Cyprus  in  1878,  and 
Egypt  in  1882  ;  an  admirable  example  of  political 
intelligence  and  perseverance  in  the  conduct  of  affairs. 
Let  us  adopt  it  as  a  principle  that  no  influence  rival- 
ing ours  ought  to  make  any  attempt  against  our  pre- 
nderance  in  the  whole  of  Barbary,  and  let  us 
repare,  by  every  means  in  our  power,  to  realise  this 
:laim,  without  haste  or  interruption,  with  some 
ontinuity  of  design,  and  some  energy  in  the  exe- 
ution,  though  we  be  for  this  purpose  obliged  to 
cur  to  the  last  argument  of  peoples  and  kings : 
\]Ultima  ratio  regum" 

I 

a  I      Thus  M.  Etienne,  in  martial  vein,  quotes  the  motto 

o  jvhich  once  ornamented  the  muzzles  of  French  cannon, 
ie  whilst  the  Quai  d'Orsay  asks  Europe  to  believe  that 
i,  [he  only  mission  of  France  in  Morocco  is  the  peace- 
:e  [naking  elder  brother's  desire  to  preserve  order  and 
Ister  up  Moorish  independence.  But  even  M. 
itienne,  frankly  as  he  shows  us  his  country's  real  aims 
id  |n  N  orth  Africa,  would  not  have  us  deem  him  ruthless : — 

"  Shall  it  be  said  of  us  Colonials  that  we  dream 
ch Inly  of  victories  and  conquests?     Such  a  thing  is  far 
nt,  |rom  our  thoughts ;    if  our  policy  is  wise,  moderate, 
nd  well  carried  out,  we  believe  there  will  be  no  such 
cessity.     On  the  contrary,  we  ought  to  present  our- 


284  MOROCCO 

selves  to  the  Sultan  and  to  Morocco  as  a  Mussulman 
Power,  the  only  one  capable  of  protecting  him  against 
the  covetousness  of  Europeans." 

Was  ever  Vice-President  so  candid  ? 

"  It  is  for  us  to  guide  the  Sultan  in  the  way  o 
progress,   and   certainly   we    shall   do   it   with   more 
prudence  and  discernment  than  our  rivals  have  some- 
times shown.      It  is  perhaps  for  Morocco  above  al 
that  it   is   to  be  wished   that  France  should  be  her 
instructor." 

It  will  not  be  an  easy  task  to  bring  Moors  to  M 
Etienne's  way  of  thinking.      Algeria  is  too  close  to 
them ;    they   know   too   much   of  the   lives   of  their 
cousins  over  the  border. 

We  come  now  to  the  consideration  of  ways  anc 
means  from  M.  Etienne's  point  of  view.  And  here 
the  present  writer  would  say  that,  absurd  as  the 
French  pretence  of  disinterestedness  in  Morocco  may 
have  been  (it  has  sufficed  apparently  to  hoodwink 
Europe,  and  certainly  it  has  effectually  deceived  the 
British  public,  if  not  a  large  proportion  of  British 
statesmen),  there  is  nothing  half-hearted  or  inefficien 
in  the  methods  adopted  by  France  to  build  up  and 
extend  her  sphere  of  influence  in  Morocco.  Watch- 
ful, tireless  and  consistent,  patient  in  small  matters 
instant  in  punishment  and  peremptory  in  all  question; 
of  real  import,  France  has  steered  her  course  towarc 
Moorish  dominance  with  masterly  precision  for  c 
quarter  of  a  century,  picking  up  threads  carelessly 
dropped  by  England,  disregarding  no  least  indication 
missing  no  smallest  advantage,  and  securing  beyonc 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    285 

possibility  of  loss  every  point  scored  in  the  diplomatic 
game.      The   teaching    and   spread   of    the    French 
I  language,  the  bestowal  of  French  official  patronage, 
[and  the  granting  of  protection  (scornfully  refused  by 
England)  to   the   Shareefs   of  Wazzan,  are   but   in- 
I  stances.      The  uses  of  the  Algerian  army  upon  the 
Moorish  frontier,  and   the  gradual   extension  of  the 
Algerian   railway   upon    Moorish   soil,  are  doubtless 
[very  well  known-to  M.  Etienne  : — 

"  Undoubtedly  there  is  here  a  delicate  task,  and 
me  which  demands  not  to  be  lost  sight  of  for  a  single 
lay.     This  is  not  the  place  to  indicate  the  means  of 
iction  at  our  disposal ;    they  are  many,  of  the  first 
>rder,  and  some  among  them  are  of  such  a  nature  that 
LO   other   European    Power   has   their   like.     Let   it 
suffice  to  allude  to  the  services  which  we  can  expect 
from  our   Algerian    Mussulmans   as   commercial  and 
)litical  agents.     Islam  knows  no  frontiers,  and  that  is 
y  those  one  might  wish  to  create  in  Morocco  will 
jver  be  useless.      Algerian  Mussulmans  are  regarded 
|n  Morocco  not  only  as  compatriots   but  as  brothers. 
Ya  Khouia,'  '  Mon  frere,'  is  the  greeting  with  which 
11  Moors  welcome  them."     (The  same  remark  would 
ipply  with  equal  pertinence  to  the  Mohammedans  of 
mthern  China.)      "And   then,    what   an  admirable 
Instrument,  in  a  skilful  hand,  are   these  Shareefs  of 
razzan,  who  have  placed  themselves  under  the  pro- 
jection of  France ! "     (The  late  Shareef  of  Wazzan, 
'hen   he   married   an    English   lady,  applied   to  the 
Jritish     Minister     for     English     protection,     which, 
icredible  as  it  may  seem  from  the  diplomatic  stand- 
joint,    was   rudely   refused    him.       France   naturally 
relcomed   the  affronted    and   influential    Saint   with 


286  MOROCCO 

open  arms.)  "We  have  compromised  them,  but 
scarcely  used  them.  The  Shareef  of  Wazzan  is  the 
first  personage  in  Morocco,  after,  or  perhaps  even 
before  the  Sultan,  who  in  some  sort  receives  investi- 
ture from  him,  and  who  appeals  to  his  religious 
prestige  whenever  he  finds  himself  in  a  difficult 
situation!  It  may  be  said  then  without  exaggeration 
that  the  protection  of  these  holy  persons,  if  we  know 
how  to  use  it,  can  be  equivalent  to  us  to  a  protectorate 
of  Morocco.  They  allow  us  to  act  over  the  Blad-es- 
Siba,  over  all  the  independent  Berber  States,  that  is 
to  say  over  two-thirds  of  Morocco."  (This  would  be 
news  to  the  hardy  Berbers  of  Morocco,  who,  as 
France  will  find  to  her  cost,  should  she  ever  put  into 
action  her  policy  of  annexation,  own  allegiance  to  no 
man.) 

Finally,  M.  Etienne  says  : — 

"  Scientific  curiosity  was  not  the  sole  motive  of  the 
traveller.  Under  the  desired  prudence  of  the  ex- 
plorer one  feels  the  ardour  of  the  soldier,  who  *  in 
his  nomad  dreams  sees  everywhere  the  shadow  of  his 
flag  spread  itself  upon  his  path/  The  Marquis  de 
Segonzac  has  placed  at  the  service  of  science  and  of 
his  country  his  boldness  as  an  officer  of  Spahis,  his 
heroism  and  endurance.  He  has  written  his  name 
beside  those  of  those  valiant  ones  of  whom  a  people  is 
justly  proud — the  De  Foucaulds,  the  Foureaus  and 
the  De  Brazzas." 

The  present  writer  has  quoted  this  document  a 
some   length,    not    merely    because    of    its   inherent 
interest,  but  in  the  earnest  hope  that  it  may  serve  as  a 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    287 


light  by  which  the  too  easy-going  British  public  may 
read  more  clearly  their  news  of  the  march  of  events — 
the  downward  march  of  events — in  Morocco.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  over-estimate  the  importance  to 
England  of  the  future  disposition  of  the  Extreme 
West  of  the  world  of  Islam.  "  The  next  European 
war  will  be  waged  over  Morocco,"  said  the  far-seeing 
Disraeli.  There  could  be  no  more  serious  menace  to 
Britain's  supremacy  afloat  and  as  a  world  power,  than 
;he  establishment  of  a  French  Morocco,  linked  to 
Igeria  and  Tunis,  and  forming  a  North  African 
mpire.  Further  than  which  there  can  be  no  doubt 
hat  (while  the  inevitability  of  the  ultimate  downfall  of 
e  Shareefian  Government  and  the  disintegration  of 
he  Moorish  Empire  may  be  admitted)  the  recent 
pheaval  in  Morocco,  and  the  success  achieved  by  the 
retender  to  Abd  el  Aziz's  throne,  is  a  state  of  things 
or  which  the  English  are  partly  responsible.  Oddly 
nough,  in  view  of  the  dishonesty  and  corruptness  of 
heir  administration,  the  Moors  are  not  either  a  dis- 
loyal or  an  insurrectionary  people.  On  the  contrary, 
hey  are  loyal  (piety  and  loyalty  are  interchangeable 
erms  in  Mohammedan  communities),  long-suffering, 
nd,  upon  the  whole,  law-abiding.  The  Pretender's 
ecent  successes  are  chiefly  due  to  the  charges  he  was 
ble  to  bring  against  the  young  Sultan  and  hisgovern- 
ent.  "  Your  sovereign  is  a  renegade,  his  measures 
re  inspired  by  infidels,  his  pleasures  are  those  of  the 
hristians,  his  desire  is  to  swamp  us  with  infidel 
novations."  For  those  charges — the  Pretender's 
attle-cry — the  English  are  responsible.  The  British 
olicy,  and  the  indiscretions  of  various  private  citizens 
f  Britain,  gave  the  Father  of  the  She- Ass  his  chance  ; 
nd,  optimistic  correspondents  to  the  contrary  not- 


ta 


288  MOROCCO 

withstanding,  we  have  not  yet  heard  the  last  of  the 
Pretender  or  of  the  young  Sultan's  troubles.  In  my 
last  letters  from  Tangier,  from  a  correspondent  in 
daily  touch  with  the  capitals  and  the  Court,  I  read : — 

"The  situation  has  been  growing  more  and  more 
complicated    and    serious    since    you    left,    though 
perhaps,   less  immediately  critical.     The  actual  con- 
dition of  the  country  remains  much  the  same.     As  yoi 
know,  that  is  sufficiently  chaotic.     But  the  psychi< 
conditions,  the  mood  of  the  people,  are  more  serious 
Now,  at  long  last,  the  foreign  Ministers  begin  to  shak< 
their  heads    ominously   and   to   show   symptoms   o 
anxiety.      Only  the  French  appear  cheerful,  though 
to  be  sure  their  affairs,  particularly  in  Algeria,  are 
tangled   enough.     It   is   certain   that,    with   all   their 
brilliant  qualities,  the  French  are  no  colonists.     Abe 
er-Rahman,  Abd  es-Saddik  has  been  endeavouring  to 
bring  the   Fahsia  (people   of  Fez)  to  their  senses 
but  these  and  the  Anjerra  people  are  said  to  have 
taken   fresh   offence   at  Abd  er-Rahman's   going   to 
receive  King   Edward.    -Indeed   this  feeling  against 
England  is  being  constantly,  secretly  and  effectively 
fanned  by  the  one  European  Power,  with  a  well-defmec 
business-like  policy  here,  and,  aided  at  every  turn  by 
the  tools  of  that  Power,  the  stupid  natives  are  playing 
into  the  hands  of  the  Fate  that  is  spelled  Foreign 
Intervention." 

There  is  no  room  for  reasonable  doubt  that  the  page 
of  "The  book  of  Allah,"  on  which  is  written  the  fina 
break-up  of  the  Moorish  Empire,  has  been  almost 
reached.  After  the  perusal  of  a  document  like  M, 
Etienne's  preface  to  the  Marquis  de  Segonzac's  book 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    289 

on  Morocco   (the  preface   is   signed   ceremoniously : 
<c  Eug.  Etienne.    D<£put6  d'Oran,  Vice-Prdsident  de  la 
Chambre  des  Ddputds,"  and  the  book  obviously  enjoys 
official  countenance  and  approval),  there  should  be  no 
room  for  doubt  as  to  the  real  nature  of  France's  aims 
and  desires  with  regard  to  the  ultimate  disposition  of 
is  rapidly-crumbling  realm.     It  is  for  Britain  to  say 
whether  France  should  be  given  the  free  hand  she 
ppears  to  accept  as  a  matter  of  course,  whether  it  is 
||indeed  true  that,    "  France  only,  with  her  experience 
f  the   Mussulman  and  the   Berber,   can  succeed  in 
uch   an   enterprise."     If  the    policy   of  drifting   be 
ursued  much  further,  the  time  for  Britain  (really  the 
ower  most  shrewdly  concerned)  to  speak  will  have 
ej^one  by  for  ever.     But   if  the  worst  is  to  be,  and 
Europe  is  to  permit  the  establishment  of  a  French 
Morocco,  remains  still — for  the  present — the  question 
o|)f  some  quid  pro  quo,  say  in  Egypt,  and  in  Newfound- 
ijand.    A  crumb  is  better  than  no  bread,  and,  once  the 
/ejoaf  is  seized,  it  may  not  be  possible  to  obtain  even 
tol'iuch  a  crumb  as,  by  comparison  with  the  sacrifice  of 
is|j.ll  claims  in    Morocco,  the  withdrawal  of  harassing 
ityrrench  pretensions  in  Egypt  would  be.     Events  have 
ed|>efore  now  proved  the  ability  of  the  average  English- 
lan  to  interest  himself  deeply,  upon  imperial  grounds, 
i  the  fate  of  remote  Antipodean  wilds.     Surely,  with 
e  records  before  him  of  the  Soudan,  of  our  Eastern 
mpire,  of  Gibraltar,  and  of  the  essential  import  to  us 
f  the  freedom  of  the  sea,  the  average  Englishman 
an  interest  himself  in  the  imminent  fate  of  the  land 
hind  the  African  Pillar  of  Hercules. 


290  MOROCCO 

POSTSCRIPT 

The  following  delayed  letter,  dated  May  ist,  has 
now  reached  me  from  Tangier,  written  by  a  gentleman 
who  knows  as  much  of  the  true  inwardness  of  Moorish 
affairs  as  any  European  living,  and  who,  at  the  time 
of  writing  this  letter,  was  journeying  on  the  road  from 
the  Court  to  the  coast : — 


"  From  the  evidence  I  have  been  gathering  during 
the  past  few  weeks  I  am  practically  certain  that  th* 
present  rebellion  has  been  carefully  fanned  and  en 
couraged  by  an  an ti- English  combination  on  the  par 
of  two  lesser  Powers  with  the  one  Power  whose 
policy  in  Morocco  has  long  been  clear  to  all  whc 
know  the  country.  I  know  now  that  the  Pretendei 
was  in  Tangier  early  last  September,  and  I  air 
assured  that  he  was  in  touch  with  European  official* 
at  that  time.  He  is  said  to  be  advocating  the  claims 
of  Moulai  Mohammed  El  Semiali,  a  descendant  o 
the  Idreesine  dynasty,  the  founders  of  Fez,  and  o 
the  Mosque  of  Moulai  Idrees  in  that  city.  This 
movement  is  daily  assuming  more  importance,  and 
counts  many  adherents,  even  in  Tangier  and  in  othei 
ports.  Personally  I  begin  to  fear  that  the  unfortunate 
young  Sultan  must  be  doomed ;  but  the  English  in 
Tangier  admit  no  doubts  as  to  his  final  triumph  ;  which 
would  be  well  enough  if  the  English  were  reall] 
prepared  to  back  him  in  the  tight  corner  they  hav 
helped  him  to  reach.  But  the  bulk  of  the  Shareefs  o 
the  country — a  power  here,  as  you  know  —  ar 
working  tooth  and  nail  for  his  opponent ;  and  nov 
that  I  find  that  at  least  one  of  the  European  Power 


A  FRENCH  PREFACE  AND  MOROCCO    291 

upports  the  Pretender,  whilst  all  the  friends,  soldiers, 
fficials,  etc.,  of  Abd  el  Aziz  lie  on  their  oars,  I  really 
nnot  see  upon   what  grounds   one   can  base  any 
easonable  hopes  of  the  Sultan's  triumph.     It  is  true 
e  is  still  paying  his  troops,  but  only  with  borrowed 
oney,  and  I  doubt  whether  his  foreign  creditors  will 
ntinue  their  advances  for  long,   particularly  when 
ne   considers  the  extreme  difficulty  of  sending  re- 
ittances  inland  from  the   coast,   when  the  caravans 
y   be   attacked   at   any   moment  en  route  by   the 
eballa.       I    wish    I    could    give    you  more   hopeful 
vices,  and,  as  you  say,  look  for  the  brightest.     But 
ere  would  be  no   sense  in  my  deceiving   you.     I 
tljimply  state  the  facts  as    I    see  them.     As  for  con- 
ie|lusions   to   be   drawn   from   them,   it  seems   to   me 
bvious  that — well,  that  France  has  made  up  her  mind 
the  time  has  arrived  for  her  to  shake  the  tree, 
fflhat  Morocco,  the  ripe  and  much-desired  plum,  may 
All  at  last  into  her  ready  hand." 


THE   DIPLOMATIC   CORPS    IN    MOROCO 

TANGIER,  November  1903. 

THE  year  that  is  now  ending  has  been  a  remarkabl 
and,  at  times,  a  very  exciting  one  in  this  strange 
barbarous   realm  of  his  Shareefian    Majesty  Abd 
Aziz  IV.     It  may  well   be   doubted   if  at   any  tinn 
during   the   past   half  century   a  more   weighty  an< 
onerous  responsibility  has  rested  upon  the  shouldei 
of  those  who  represent  the  Governments  of  Euro] 
in  Morocco  than  they  have  laboured  under  since  lasj 
Christmas.     At  the  moment  one  finds  them  enjoyinj 
something  of  a  breathing  space,  owing  to  the  younj 
Sultan's    disbandment    of  his   irregular    levies,   anj 
retirement  in  Fez.     A  glimpse  of  the  situation  whicl 
by  comparison,  gives  the  European   Legations  hei 
pause  for  rest,  would  go  far  toward  making  clear  tj 
English  readers  the  sort  of  strain  to  which  they  havj 
been  subjected  during  recent  months. 

The  town  of  Tetuan  is  situated  some  forty  odj 
miles,  a  long  day's  ride  in  this  country,  from  Tangiej 
The  writer  was  speaking  to  a  gentleman  in  Tangi< 
the  other  day  who  has  been  trying  for  the  last  fr 
months  to  obtain  a  few  loads  of  a  certain  kind  of  ti| 
which  have  been  on  order  for  him  in  Tetuan  sin< 
last   June.      The    tiles    are   waiting   there,   and  tl 
purchaser   is  waiting  here,  and  offering  any  sort 
rates  for    transport.      But    between    them    lie   fori 

292 


DIPLOMATIC  CORPS  IN  MOROCCO     293 

>dd  miles  of  road  which  no  man  may  hope  to  pass 
dess  at  the  head  of  an  army.  And  this  is  breathing 
ime  for  the  Legations. 

Again,  some   months   ago,  the   lieutenant   of  the 
ihaleefa   of  Tangier   was    seized    beside    his   chief, 
athin  a  couple  of  hours'  ride  of  Tangier,  by  a  band 
bf  tribesmen.     The  Khaleefa  himself  was  bidden  ride 
>ack  to  Tangier   and  praise  Allah  for  a  whole  skin, 
'he   assistant   was   maltreated    in    an   indescribably 
isgusting  manner  :  his  eyes   were  put  out  with  his 
>wn  spurs  made   red-hot,  he  was   clubbed,  branded 
ith  hot  irons,  and  left  naked  to  die  on  an  exposed 
lill-side.      By    a    chance   which    puzzles    European 
loctors  this    unfortunate    creature    survives    yet,  a 
Deplorable  and  tortured  wreck.     His  assailants  stride 
||nto  Tangier  Sok,  their  guns  on  their  arms,  whenever 
ie  fancy  takes  them,  and  no  man  dares  to  say  them 
.ay,    for   now — during   the   moment   of  comparative 
bst  for  their  excellencies  the  European  Bashadors — 
Liere  is  no  sort  of  Government  in  Morocco,  save  the 
||rimitive  sort  we  call  tribal,  no  taxes  have  been  paid 
>r  the  better  part  of  two  years,  and  the  only  law  that 
ins   among    Moors   is  the   easily  demonstrable  one 
rhich  decrees  that  might  is  right  and  that  the  man 
rho  shoots  first  wins. 

To  be  sure  it  might  be  said  that  the  European 
Ministers  are  not  here  to  administrate  native  affairs, 
id  that  this  state  of  absolute  anarchy  among  Moors 
no  immediate  concern  of  theirs.  One  must  be 
jre  among  the  Moors  to  realise  fully  and  intimately 
ie  fallacy  of  this.  Take,  for  example,  the  case  of 
snor  Cologan,  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  who,  by 
ie  way,  as  doyen  of  the  Diplomatic  Corps  in  Pekin, 
is  the  Minister  chosen  to  take  over  the  payment  of 


294     •  MOROCCO 

the   last   Chinese   indemnity.     As    Spanish    Minister  j 
here,  Senor  Cologan  is  responsible  for  the  safety  and  I 
well-being  of  four- fifths  of  the  European  community  1 
in  Morocco,  a  section  which  may  be  said  to  include] 
the   whole  of    the   "poor    whites,"   a   populace    the! 
governing  of  which  would  be  no  easy  task  even  in 
the  midst  of  all  the  resources  of  European  civilisation,! 
since  it  embraces  a  substantial  portion  of  the  criminal! 
riff-raff  of  Southern  Spain,  escapees  from  the  convictj 
settlement   at  Ceuta,    and  undesirables  *of   all   sortsj 
for   whom    the    slums   of    Cadiz   and  .of    Andalusiai 
generally  have  become  temporarily  too  hot.     There] 
is  plenty  of  aguardiente  in  Morocco,  and  the  vilest  ofj 
Hamburg  gin  is  available  to  the  poorest.     Spanis 
blood  runs  at  least   as  hotly  here   as  in  Spain,  and, 
putting  aside    the    ever-ready   knife,   of    which   th 
Spaniard  of  all  grades  is  a  past  master,  there  are  n 
restrictions   here   in    the    matter   of    carrying   arm! 
Picture   to    yourself,   then,    the   narrow    streets   an 
arched  culs-de-sac  of  Tangier  by  night,  the  Spanis 
idlers    clustered    about    little    drinking    dens,     wil 
Moorish  tribesmen  with  guns  at  the  ready,  and 
their  fanatical  hearts  the  consciousness  that  at  this  tim 
no  law  holds,  or  is  pretended  to  hold,  outside  the  wall 
of  the  foreign  Legations.     Here  you  have  hereditan 
enemies    of    the    most    unmanageable    sort   rubbin: 
shoulders  every  moment ;    upon   the  one   hand,  to< 
often,  the  habit  of  crime  and  a  mind  inflamed  by  vil 
spirit ;  upon  the  other,  a  semi-savage  fanatic  to  whoi 
the   slaying   of    an   infidel    is    a    virtue,    proud    ye 
decadent,  and  withal  hotly  aware  that  for  a  year  an< 
more  all  authority  has  been  mocked  in  his  countr 
and  no    kaid    has   dared   demand   the  payment  of 
single  tax.     A  sudden  oath,  the  flash  of  a  knife,  th 


DIPLOMATIC  CORPS JN  MOROCCO     295 

crack  of  a  Mauser  in  Moorish  hands,  one  fanatic 
shout  of,  "  Death  to  the  Nazarenes,  who  have  made 
an  infidel  of  our  Sultan,  and  are  robbing  us  of  our 
country  !  "  and  what  then  of  security  ?  What  then  of 
the  stored  banks  and  Jewish  houses  of  business? 
What  then  of ,  the  white  women  and  children  behind 
flimsy  walls  in  pent  and  crowded  Tangier,  or  in  its 
straggling  suburbs,  and  among  the  isolation  of  its 
villas  on  "  The  Mountain"? 

Senor  tologan,  even  more,  perhaps,  than  his 
colleagues  of  the  other  Legations,  has  had  much  to 
occupy  his  mind  this  year. 

In  the  French  Legation,  M.  Saint  Rene-de 
Taillandier,  a  man  of  scholarly  and  academic  family, 
las  a  delicate  and  difficult  position  to  hold.  French 
pretensions  in  Morocco  are  very  high  ;  they  are  based 
upon  the  aims  and  longings,  not  to  speak  of  deliberate 
actions  and  intentions,  of  the  most  ambitious 
statesmen  produced  by  France  during  half  a  century. 
They  are  fanned  and  fostered  by  the  military 
authorities  across  the  Algerian  frontier — that  vague 
but  ever-advancing  line  which  has  now  reached 
Figuig  in  the  south-east.  The  military  party  have 
their  inspired  organs  in  the  press ;  the  younger 
officers  in  Algeria  have  long  been  frenetic,  athirst  for 
lory  and  advancement.  And  in  Paris  there  is  the 
Bloc,  the  all-powerful  Bloc,  whose  tail  is  socialistic  and 
strongly  anti-military,  and  whose  mouth-piece  in 
Morocco  is  M.  Saint  Rene-de  Taillandier.  Truly  a 
very  difficult  and  delicate  position,  in  which  M.  de 
Taillandier  must  be  grateful  for  the  fact  that,  in  the 
Personnel  of  his  Legation,  he  has  a  circle  of  excep- 
tionally able  and  loyal  colleagues.  The  French 
Minister  has  been  unjustly  accused  of  being  pro- 


296  MOROCCO 

English.  The  accusation  is  a  tribute  to  his  high 
sense  of  honour  and  of  justice. 

M.  de  Bacheracht,  the  Russian  Minister  in 
Morocco,  is  here  to  serve  French  interests,  a 
substantial  addition  to  the  strength  of  French  in- 
fluence. M.  de  Bacheracht  has  fulfilled  this  task  in 
so  courteous  and  considerate  a  spirit  that  even  those 
whose  policy  is  necessarily  opposed  to  that  of  France 
(and,  consequently,  to  that  of  Russia)  have  been  led 
to  entertain  a  warm  and  sincere  regard  for  the 
personality  of  the  Russian  Minister. 

In  the  German  Legation,  Baron  F.  de  Ment- 
zingen  is  more  fortunately  placed  than  M.  Saint 
Rene-de  Taillandier,  for  Germany  has  no  traditional 
pretensions  in  Morocco.  The  development  of  her 
commerce  here  is  Germany's  simple  and  well-served 
aim,  and  in  his  work  in  Morocco  Baron  Mentzingen 
is  assisted  by  a  staff  of  honourable  German  gentlemen 
of  a  stamp  not  connected  with  intrigue  of  any  sort. 
The  Italian  embassy  in  Morocco  is  ably  served,  and 
contains  much  special  knowledge  of  Moorish  customs 
and  affairs.  But  the  present  policy  of  Italy  in  this 
country  is  one  of  absolute  passivity,  and  therefore  is 
not  a  difficult  one  to  handle.  One  may  take  it  that 
French  ambitions  here,  high  as  they  are,  will  not  be 
checked  by  Italy.  M.  G.  de  Gaspardy  and  Le 
Comte  Conrad  de  Buisseret,  the  present  Ambassadors 
here  from  Austria  and  Belgium  respectively,  whilst 
doubtless  sharing  to  some  extent  in  the  anxiety  which 
has  ruled  in  all  the  Legations,  have  had  fewer  diffi- 
culties to  face  than  have  most  of  their  colleagues. 

Readers  of  newspapers  in  England,  with  or  with- 
out knowledge  of  the  inwardness  of  Moorish  affairs, 
should  be  aware,  one  thinks,  that  Sir  Arthur  Nicolson, 


DIPLOMATIC  CORPS  IN  MOROCCO     297 

the  British  Ambassador  and  Minister  Plenipotentiary 
in  Morocco,  has  this  year  had  to  deal  with  issues  of 
exceeding  delicacy  and  complexity.      The  responsi- 
bility   upon    his    shoulders    has    been    heavy    and 
continuous,    and   he   has   borne   it   with  conspicuous 
success  in  circumstances  of  exceptional  difficulty.     It 
may   be  pointed   out   that   the   strategic  position   of 
I  Gibraltar  in  relation  to  Tangier,  as  being  the  nearest 
|  point  from  which  the  aid  of  European  troops  might 
be  obtained  in  case  of  emergency,  has  in  a  sense  made 
[Sir  Arthur  Nicolson  responsible  for  the  safety  of  the 
rhole  European  community  in  Morocco.     The  con- 
listent  tact   and  discretion    which   in   the  past  have 
irved  to  render  Sir  Arthur  the  most  popular  and 
generally-respected    Minister    who   has    represented 
Britain  in  Morocco  for  many  years,  have  not  failed 
lim   at   any   moment   during    these   most   harassing 
tenths   of  his   residence    here.      There   have   been 
junctures,  more   than   a   few,    this   year,  at  which  a 
momentary  loss  of  discretion,  a  momentary  weakness 
pr  yielding  to  not  unnatural  panic  (many  and  varied 
were  the  kinds  of  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  our 
Minister  while  troops  in  Gibraltar  awaited  orders  to 
pmbark   at   any   moment   for    Morocco)    would  have 
precipitated,   if  not  actual    disaster,  at  least  a  crisis 
which  would  have  produced  consternation  in  half  the 
Chancelleries  of  Europe.     The  very  regrettable  affair 
bf  Mr    Walter    B.     Harris's    captivity,    the    issues 
nvolved  by  which  were  very  much  more  than  merely 
Individual,  was  but  one  among  several  difficult  com- 
plications   which    our    Minister    handled    with    the 
greatest  skill,  moderation  and  success.     (In  this  con- 
lection,  by  the  way,   it   may  be  mentioned  that  Sir 
Arthur  has  handed  to  the  young  Shareef  of  Wazan, 


298  MOROCCO 

Moulai  Ahmet,   a  handsomely-inscribed   gold  watch  J 
from  the  British  Government,  as  a  mark  of  apprecia- 
tion of  the  Shareef  s  good  offices  as  mediator  between  I 
the   authorities   and   the    tribesmen    in    Mr    Harris's  I 
affair.) 

An  Ambassador  cannot  go  beyond  the  policy  and  | 
decisions  of  his  Government,  but  it  may  fairly  be  said 
that,  according  to  their  merits,  the  Governments  of 
Europe  have  been  served  in  Morocco  during  a  season 
of  great  stress  and  difficulty  with  conspicuous  ability, 
loyalty  and  discretion.  Further,  if  the  European 
Powers,  and  particularly  the  French  and  English 
Governments,  could  but  agree  upon  a  policy  that 
should  be  at  once  definite,  mutual,  generous  and  firm 
in  relation  to  Morocco,  it  may  be  regarded  as  certain, 
first,  that  their  present  representatives  here  would 
pursue  and  apply  that  policy  successfully,  and,  second, 
that  a  now  rapidly-crumbling  State  might  be  saved  in 
its  own  despite,  so  to  say,  and  administered  upon 
lines  which  should  make  for  stability  and  permanence. 
Failing  some  such  assistance,  the  end  of  the  existing 
r'egime  must  be  admitted  to  be  near.  Unaided,  the 
present  young  Sultan  can  never  regain  the  hold  his 
forebears  had  upon  the  reins  of  government. 


• 


RAID   MKUKDDI    KL   MKNNEBHI 

KX-MINISTKK   OK   \VAR    AND   FAVOURITK   \\A7KKK 


THE  SULTAN  OF  MOROCCO 

TANGIER,  December  1903. 

THE  personality  of  Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz  IV.,  by 
Allah's  grace  (and  his  late  Grand  Wazeer's 
strong  head  and  hand)  Sultan  of  Morocco,  should 
possess  a  special  interest  for  Englishmen,  if  only  as  a 
matter  of  noblesse  oblige^  for  the  young  ruler  might  fairly 
trace  many  of  his  difficulties  to  his  fondness  for  the 
British  and  to  our  deliberate  influence  upon  him.  Here 
in  Tangier  our  obligation  is  felt  clearly  enough,  and  the 
Lofty  Portal's  warmest  supporters  are  accordingly  the 
English.  By  the  same  token,  even  in  Tangier,  one 
lears  mighty  little  of  loyalty  or  devotion  to  the  young 
man  among  his  own  subjects.  And  that  is  not  sur- 
prising. The  very  tendencies  and  qualities  which 
give  him  standing  in  the  regard  of  Europeans 

enerally,  and  the  British  in  particular,  are  the 
things  which  fill  his  Muslim  subjects  to  the  throat 
with  angry  scorn  and  contemptuous  resentment.  If 
t  be  true  that  a  Christian  may  not  faithfully  serve 
Sod  and  Mammon,  it  is  doubly  sure  that  a 
Mohammedan  ruler,  in  unimpeachably  Mohammedan 
Al  Moghreb,  may  not  hope  to  serve  successfully  the 

hristian  and  his  own  world  of  Islam. 

There  is  something  more  than  a  little  pathetic 
ibout  the  figure  of  Abd  el  Aziz  ;  that  is  one  of  many 
ways  in  which  he  resembles  the  feckless  Louis  XVI. 
:>f  France.  To  feel  this  intimately  one  must  perhaps 

299 


300  MOROCCO 

be  in  Morocco  here,  among  his  subjects,  for  (despite 
its  nearness  to  Europe)  there  never  was  a  land  the 
atmosphere  and  conditions  of  which  were  more  elusive 
and  difficult  to  convey  to  dwellers  in  the  homes  of 
underground  railways  and  County  Councils,  than  this 
Land  of  the  Setting  Sun. 

Rather  more  than  five-and-twenty  years  ago  a 
well-known  man  made  a  present  of  a  beautiful 
Circassian  slave,  the  Lalla  R'kia,  to  Moulai  el  Hassan, 
the  then  Sultan  of  Morocco.  The  Lalla  R'kia  had 
other  qualities  than  prettiness,  and  was  soon  more 
thoroughly  in  her  Lord's  confidence  than  any  other 
lady  of  his  hareem,  including  his  legitimate  wives. 
To  the  Lalla  R'kia  there  was  born  Abd  el  Aziz,  who 
now  sits  (in  unenviable  and  insecure  state)  under  the 
Shareefian  Parasol,  Sultan  of  this  tottering  realm. 
This  in  itself  is  something  of  a  sore  point  with  the 
orthodox,  for  there  remains  Moulai  Mohammed  the 
One- Eyed,  born  of  the  late  Sultan's  legitimate  first 
wife,  and  by  custom  and  tradition  his  rightful 
successor  as  ruler.  Now  the  late  Sultan  was  not 
pro-English ;  he  was  too  thoroughly  a  Moor,  and  too 
strong  and  politic  a  Muslim  ruler  of  Muslims  for  that. 
But  it  will  be  admitted  by  all  who  knew  him  that  he 
always  inclined  a  more  friendly  ear  to  the  English 
than  to  any  other  Nazarenes.  He  was  less  suspicious 
of  the  British  than  of  any  other  Christians.  He  did 
not  fear  and  resent  us,  as  he  did  the  French,  for 
example.  Moulai  el  Hassan  is  now  in  Paradise,  how- 
ever, im  ska  Allah  !  The  point  is  that  he  educated 
his  son,  Abd  el  Aziz,  the  present  ruler,  in  the  same 
tradition,  and  taught  him  that  the  British  were  more 
to  be  relied  upon,  more  to  be  admired,  and  more  to  be 
respected  than  any  other  infidels. 


THE  SULTAN  OF  MOROCCO 


301 


The  late  Sultan  left  behind  him,  as  Regent  and 
Grand  Wazeer  (Abd  el  Aziz  was  but  sixteen  years  old 
when  the  strategy  of  the  Wazeer  established  him 
securely  as  his  father's  successor),  a  man  as  strong  and 
as  essentially  a  Moor  as  himself,  and  until  Ba  Ahmad 
died,  three  years  ago,  the  youthful  Sultan  not  merely 
was  given  no  scope  in  which  to  develop  his  English 
tendencies,  but  he  was  practically  confined  to  the 
quarters  of  his  mother,  the  Lalla  R'kia,  and  prohibited 
from  the  display  of  any  tendencies  whatever.  For 
more  than  the  half  of  a  decade  Ba  Ahmad  ruled 
Morocco  and  its  Sultan  with  a  hand  of  iron  and 
according  to  the  best  Moorish  traditions.  From  the 
European  standpoint  it  was  a  barbarous  rule.  It 
certainly  shut  out  all  possibility  of  innovations  in  the 
way  of  Western  civilisation  from  Christendom.  Two 
things  it  did :  It  secured  inviolable  safety  to 
foreigners  and  their  property  in  Morocco,  and  it 
drew  in  the  revenues  of  the  country,  largely  into  Ba 
Ahmad's  purse  rather  than  into  the  Shareefian  coffers 
perhaps,  but  —  it  gathered  them  in,  and  paid  the 
country's  working  expenses,  and  kept  down  rebellion, 
and  even  the  talk  of  rebellion.  And  as  to  the 
matter  of  the  Wazeer's  purse — "  Lord,"  said  he  to  the 
royal  youth,  "  I  have  no  heirs.  I  am  an  old  man  who 
knows ;  you  are  a  young  prince  who  does  not  know. 
Leave  me  then  my  free  hand.  It  is  a  strong  hand. 
Men  tell  thee  I  have  amassed  great  wealth.  The 
better  for  thee,  Lord.  The  Sultan  is  my  only  heir. 
Leave  me  then  my  free  hand,  for  it  is  strong,  and — 
\I  know" 

Then  the  iron-handed  Wazeer  died,  and  whilst 
the  Court  in  Marrakish  quivered  and  rustled  with 
excitement,  young  Abd  el  Aziz  proclaimed  his  inten- 


302  MOROCCO 

tion  of  being  his  own  Wazeer  for  the  future,  and  the 
scramble  began  for  the  great  fortune  of  Ba  Ahmad,  a 
portion  of  which  did  actually  reach  the  Shareefian 
coffers.  The  young  Sultan  would  be  his  own  Wazeer, 
he  said ;  there  should  be  great  changes  in  his  realm  ; 
he  would  do  as  do  other  great  monarchs  ;  the  modern 
world  was  full  of  wonderful  and  interesting  things 
which  pertained  properly  to  royalty  ;  all  these  advan- 
tages should  be  his;  his  shadowy,  hareem  days  of 
tutelage  were  ended ;  the  king  had  come  into  his 
kingdom  and  would  achieve  great  things.  Conceive 
the  rustle  of  approval  from  the  hareem,  the  unctuous 
flattery  of  the  whole  tribe  of  Court  parasites,  even  the 
echo,  there  in  Marrakish,  of  European  acclamation  of 
the  young  Sultan's  enlightenment,  his  progressive, 
modern  spirit.  But  Abd  el  Aziz  was  little  more  than 
a  boy,  and  if  man  may  not  live  alone,  Moorish  Sultan 
assuredly  cannot  live  alone,  but  can  only  rule  by  the 
strong  and  deft  manipulation  of  many  intertwining  and 
conflicting  currents  of  influence. 

One  thing  about  Abd  el  Aziz,  apart  from  his 
boyish  good-nature,  curiosity,  and  facile  impression- 
ability, was  outstanding  and  noticeable ;  that  was  his 
deeply-implanted  inclination  toward,  and  preference 
for,  the  English.  At  his  hand,  then,  the  plastic  young 
man  found  Corony,  or  Kaid  (now  Sir  Harry)  Maclean, 
the  British  military  instructor  of  his  troops.  At  the 
Raid's  hand  was  Meheddi  el  Mennebhi,  the  repre- 
sentative of  a  considerable  kabyle  in  the  neighbouring 
hills.  Mennebhi,  thus  identified  with  British  influence, 
was  at  once  taken  into  high  favour  and  sent  off  on  his 
mission  to  the  Court  of  St  James  with  Sir  Harry. 
But  the  French  must  not  be  offended,  so  Ben  Sleeman, 
perhaps  the  most  able  of  the  Wazeers,  was  despatched 


THE  SULTAN  OF  MOROCCO 


303 


to  Paris  and  St  Petersburg.  Remained  with  the 
pultan  (besides  the  commercial  representatives  of 
Christendom,  then  busily  introducing  to  his  youthful 
lOtice  the  most  costly  of  European  toys),  El  Fedool 
rharnit,  another  leading  Wazeer  with  an  eye  upon 
;he  favourite's  place.  His  main  hold  lay  in  his 
rarning : — "  Lord,  your  new  advisers  have  not 
ielded  up  to  you  the  half  of  Ba  Ahmad's  great 
pealth."  (It  is  a  fact  that  some  of  Ba  Ahmad's  jewels 
pere  subsequently  offered  for  sale  to  Christians  in 
'angier,  and  not  by  Shareefian  authority.)  The 
roung  Sultan  took  ready  umbrage  in  his  own  facile 
ray.  Gharnit  and  his  party,  the  orthodox  Wazeers 
,nd  tried  men,  were,  after  all,  the  best.  Mennebhi 
[hould  find  a  dungeon  awaiting  him  on  his  return  from 
ingland,  and  that  should  be  the  end  of  his  brief 
:areer.  And  Mennebhi  undoubtedly  would  have 
:ntered  that  dungeon  but  for  the  friendly  intervention 
if  the  English,  and  his  own  pluck  and  ready  resource, 
it  was,  he  was  restored  to  favour  as  Minister  of 
ar ;  but — mark  this,  and  recall  the  methods  of 
rench  Louis  XVI. — Gharnit,  his  accuser,  and  the 
hole  ring  of  his  bitter  personal  enemies,  remained 
ually  in  power  and  favour,  and  shared  their  Lord's 
unsels  with  him.  That  was  three  years  ago,  and 
at  is  the  situation  to-day,  and  the  least  hopeful 
ie  ^ature  of  the  young  Sultan's  position  and  character, 
is  counsels  are  ever  divided.  He  gives  his  con- 
ence  to  one  Wazeer,  and  the  next  day  acts  upon 
e  advice  of  another  who  is  the  bitter  and  implacable 
ponent  of  the  first.  Thus,  upon  one  party's  advice 
set  out  the  other  day  to  occupy  in  person  the 
ronghold  of  Tazza,  and  now  has  retreated  to  Fez 
on  the  other  party's  advice.  No  concerted  action 


304  MOROCCO 

is  possible  from  such  a  Cabinet,  and  it  is  impossible  to! 
look  for  a  consistent  policy  from  Abd  el  Aziz  while 
he  continues  to  fly  from  one  to  another  of  these  cut- 
throat players  at  political  advancement,  sharing  their 
counsels  and  acting  upon  them  alternately. 

But  Abd  el  Aziz  is  not  the  only  inconsistent  power 
in  the  world.     His  amiability  is  touching.     His  ready 
acceptance  of  European  (mainly  British)  counsels  in 
the  matter  of  reforming  his  country's  administration,] 
by  robbing  him  of  all  spiritual   prestige  among  hisj 
orthodox  subjects,  has  placed  him  in  the  perilous  and] 
unenviable  position  of  a  monarch  who  hardly  dares  t( 
stir  outside  his  palace  walls,  beyond  which  his  rul< 
runs  not  one  yard ;  it  has  emptied  his  coffers  und< 
the  long  strain  of  unsuccessfully  combating  the  in-| 
surrection  it  caused,  and  stripped  him  of  all  power  oi 
replenishing  them  by  making  him  incapable  of  collect-l 
ing  his  own  revenues.     And,  having  done  so  much,] 
Britain  has  suddenly  turned  a  cold  shoulder  upon  th< 
young  man  and  tacitly  warned  him  to  look  for  no  sort 
of  support  or  countenance  from  her. 

Abd  el  Aziz  has  all  those  traits  of  character  which] 
we  are  used  to  expect  in  a  fairly   intelligent  younj 
half-caste,  and  he  is  rich  in  the  defects  of  the  type.] 
Stability  he  has  none.     His  mind  is  alert,  imitative, 
impressionable   and   flighty ;    his   character   amiable, 
yielding,  kindly,   and   weak   as   water.     Reduced   t< 
despair  at  one  moment  by  the  parlous  condition  oi 
his  finances,  he  is  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  oi 
ordering  the  next  moment  a  thousand  pounds'  wortl 
of  some  toys  that  have  caught  his  eye.     Easily  re- 
conciled to  a  minister  who  has  robbed  and  helped  t< 
cripple   him,    he   will  fly  into  a  rage  and   personal!] 
chastise  the  favourite  who  should  so  far  forget  himseli 


THE  SULTAN  OF  MOROCCO 


305 


as  to  excel  his  royal  master  in  some  form  of  sport. 
It  may  be  doubted  if  any  Moorish  Sultan  ever  wished 
his  subjects  more  happiness,  or  was  more  cordially 
well-disposed  toward  all  men ;  and  it  may  be  doubted 
if  any  Moorish  Sultan  ever  dragged  the  affairs  of  his 
realm  into  more  hopeless  confusion.  Abd  el  Aziz  has 
the  alert  curiosity  of  a  schoolboy,  the  facile,  hysterical 
impressionability  of  a  clever  schoolgirl,  the  good-nature 
of  an  English  country  gentleman,  and  just  precisely 
no  strength  at  all.  And  if  anything  in  the  world  of 
politics  is  certain,  it  is  that,  failing  British  aid,  Moulai 
Abd  el  Aziz  is  foredoomed  to  complete  and  final  failure. 


U 


THE  MOORISH  PRETENDER 

TANGIER,  December  1903. 

THE  Moorish  Rogui,  or  Pretender,  at  whose  insti- 
gation the  tribesmen  of  Morocco  have  been  in 
open  rebellion  against  their  Sovereign  Lord  the  Sultan 
for  close  upon  two  years,  during  which  period  no  taxes 
whatever  have  been  paid  in  any  part  of  the  Empire, 
has  now  proved  himself,  paradoxically  enough,  to  be 
a  man  of  no  particular  importance.     He  is  the  creature 
of  circumstances  and  of  his  times,  in  a  sense  which  ] 
makes   his    individual    existence    as    Rogui    merely! 
accidental.     So  much  is  clear;  the  Pretender  is  no 
Napoleon,  no  conquering  genius,  nor  yet  a  heaven- 
born  saviour  and  leader  of  the  people.     Were  he  the! 
half  of  any  one  of  these  things  he  had  assuredly  beei 
proclaimed   Sultan   of    Morocco   many   months   ago. 
The   circumstances   in    his    favour   have   been   veryj 
many;     those     against     him,    outside    the    primary] 
difficulty,  which  genius  would  have  overcome,  of  th< 
lack   of  cohesion    and    inability    to   organise   whicl 
characterise  the  Moorish  people,  have  been  very  few. 
Those   writers   who,    a   year   ago,   asserted  that  th< 
Rogui  would  never  again  be  heard  of,  were  doubtless 
aware  of  these  things,  and  judged  accordingly.     Bui 
all    of    them,    including     the     well-informed     Timei 
correspondent,  who  was  then  offending  the  Faithfuj 

306 


THE  MOORISH  PRETENDER 


307 


by  residing  at  Court  upon  intimate  terms  with  the 
Sultan,  apparently  overlooked  the  facts,  then  indicated 
in  the  pages  of  the  Fortnightly  Review,  that  the 
Rogui  was  paying  his  way  in  solid  French  gold,  and 
that  his  appearance  was  hailed  with  unconcealed 
delight  by  the  military  party  in  France,  and  by  army 
men  and  their  supporters  in  Algeria,  as  a  notable 
step  toward  their  much-desired  goal  of  French  inter- 
vention in  Morocco.  In  plain  words,  the  Pretender 
has,  from  his  outsetting,  been  backed  by  the  military 
party  in  Algeria,  at  whose  disposal,  one  assumes,  is 
a  share  of  French  secret  service  funds. 

Another  source  of  the  Rogui's  power  lies  in  a 
curious  misapprehension  which  has  now  become  an 
article  of  faith  among  tens  of  thousands  of  otherwise 
intelligent,  orthodox  Moors.  This  is  the  belief  that 
the  man  is  none  other  than  Moulai  Mohammed  the 
One-eyed,  who,  according  to  popular  Moorish  tradi- 
tion and  custom,  should  now  be  on  the  throne,  since 
jhe  is  Abd  el  Aziz's  elder  brother,  and  was  born  in 
wedlock  of  the  late  Sultan's  first  wife,  whilst  the 
I  mother  of  the  Sultan,  his  junior,  was  merely  a 
favourite  slave.  Like  certain  more  enlightened  folk 
tin  Christendom,  the  Moors  possess  a  singular  faculty 
[of  making  themselves  really  and  genuinely  believe 

le  thing  they  wish  to  believe,  even  in  the  face  of 
:ular   demonstration   to   the   contrary.     The  writer 

:nows  Moors  in  Fez  who  solemnly  proclaim  their 
[belief  in  this  particular  myth,  though  they  have  quite 
[recently  seen  the  real  flesh  and  blood  Mohammed  in 
|:he  Sultan's  palace.  Moreover,  the  belief  is  firmly 

teld   and   ardently    proclaimed   by   the    Shareefs   of 
razan  and  their  great  following  (even  by  the  half 
European  sons  of  the  English  Shareefa)  in  despite  of 


308  MOROCCO 

their  knowledge,  or  of  what  certainly  was  their 
knowledge  a  little  while  ago,  that  the  Pretender  is 
really  an  adventurer  who,  a  few  years  back,  was 
robbing  them  in  Algeria  by  posing  as  one  of  them- 
selves and  collecting  tribute  in  their  sacred  name.  It 
should  easily  be  understood  that  this  widely-spread 
belief  gives  the  Rogui  a  great  pull. 

There  is  a  third  source  of  influence,  drawn  upon 
by  the  Pretender,  which,  though  very  feal  and  vital 
to  the  Moors,  will  not  appeal  strongly  to  the  Nazarene 
observer.  The  man  is  a  master  of  legerdemain,  in 
the  arts  of  which  he  acquired  considerable  dexterity 
during  his  recenUadventures  as  a  mock  Shareef  in 
Algeria.  His  tricks  would  scarcely  excite  remark  in 
the  Egyptian  Hall,  perhaps,  since  Egyptian  Hall 
audiences  do  not  seek  to  find  supernatural  explana- 
tions of  the  performances  they  witness ;  but  they 
have  done  very  much  for  him  among  ignorant  and 
fanatical  hill  tribesmen.  This  fact  could  be  illus- 
trated by  a  dozen  stories  of  changing  stones  into 
French  money  and  the  like,  but  one  must  suffice 
in  this  place;  it  is  the  latest. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  Tazza  the  Shareefian 
troops  did  succeed  in  inflicting  severe  punishment 
upon  the  Pretender's  forces  in  one  skirmish.  One 
of  the  Rogui's  thick-and-thin  supporters  warned  him 
afterwards  that  much  disaffection  existed  in  the  camp, 
owing  to  the  fact  than  men  who  had  been  promised' 
immunity  from  bullet  wounds  and  the  like  had 
actually  been  wounded,  and  even  slain,  by  thd 
Sultan's  men.  The  Rogui  pondered,  took  his  in-j 
formant  into  his  confidence,  dug  a  grave  in  his  tent, 
and  therein  buried  the  informant,  with  a  hollow! 
bamboo  so  placed  in  the  man's  mouth  as  to  com-j 


THE  MOORISH  PRETENDER        309 

m 

municate  with  the  surface  air.  Then  the  Pretender 
summoned  a  deputation  of  the  disaffected. 

"  My  sons,"  says  he,  "  I  hear  there  are  among  ye 
foolish  and  doubting  ones  who  repine  because  some 
of  your  comrades  appear  to  have  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  our  enemies,  the  friends  of  the  infidels  and  followers 
of  the  arch-renegade  who  calls  himself  your  Sultan. 
This  is  foolish  of  you,  but  yet  I  would  have  you  re- 
assured. Therefore  shall  ye  speak  with  one  who, 
slain  in  my  service,  serves  me  still  in  another  world, 
and  that  without  repining.  Let  us  speak  with  Abd  er- 
Rahman,  say,  whom  the  infidel-lovers  shot  yesterday. 
Ho,  Abd  er- Rahman  !  Ho,  there  in.  Paradise  !  Speak 
to  these,  my  faint-hearted  disciples,  I  pray  thee." 

The  juggler  waved  his  arm,  in  stately  fashion  be 
sure,  and  from  out  the  bowels  of  the  earth  apparently 
the  simple  tribesmen  heard  the  voice  of  a  departed 
associate  rally  them  upon  their  lack  of  faith  and 
courage.  The  voice  described  a  sumptuous  pavilion 
in  Paradise,  under  which  ran  a  crystal-clear  river, 
about  which  luscious  fruits,  ever  of  perfect  ripeness, 
awaited  the  hand  that  would  pluck  them,  in  which  a 
thousand  big-eyed  houris  of  dazzling  beauty  tended 
him,  the  thrice-blessed  Abd  er- Rahman,  who,  having 
by  good  luck  died  while  fighting  for  the  Rogui,  now 
enjoyed  a  felicity  to  attain  which,  could  they  but 
realise  a  tenth  of  it,  every  mother's  son  in  the  Pre- 
tender's horde  would  straightway  rush  to  seek  death 
while  fighting  the  Shareefian  troops. 

The  malcontents  drew  back  in  satisfied  awe  and 
happy  reverence.  From  that  moment  they  vowed 
they  were  the  Pretender's,  soul  and  body.  "It  is 
well,  my  sons,"  quoth  the  Rogui,  stepping  backward 
and  placing  one  foot  over  the  orifice  through  which 


310  MOROCCO 

his  unfortunate  accomplice  spoke  and  breathed.  "  But 
this  is  now  a  sacred  spot.  Go  then,  each  of  you,  and 
bring  hither  a  great  stone,  that  we  may  erect  a  shrine, 
that  all  men  may  see  and  know  this  for  the  place  in 
which  I  called  one  from  the  joys  of  Paradise  to  speak 
with  ye."  And  they  brought  their  stones  and  built 
the  shrine ;  and  so  ended  the  Rogui's  most  famous 
trick,  and  the  Rogui's  most  faithful  accomplice. 

But,  when  all  is  said,  these  things — the  juggling, 
the  Algerian  gold,  the  Moulai  Mohammed  delusion — 
are  but  side-winds  by  which  the  fire  of  the  Pretender's 
influence  as  a  rebel  leader  are  fanned.  These  are 
useful  beyond  doubt ;  but  the  mainspring  of  the 
man's  power  is  the  fact  that  he  leads  and  voices 
rebellion  against  Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz  IV.,  whose 
spiritual  prestige,  the  sole  enduring  basis  of  temporal 
authority  in  Morocco,  the  young  man  has  utterly  and 
entirely  lost.  The  Rogui  is  not  really  Mohammed 
the  One-Eyed.  He  is  not  at  all  of  saintly  blood.  He 
is  a  common  man  of  the  people  ;  shrewd,  coarse  of 
habit,  utterly  unprincipled,  and  very  poorly  educated. 
(The  writer  has  before  him  at  this  moment  one  of 
the  Pretender's  crude  letters  to  the  tribesmen,  a 
reproduction,  with  a  free  translation,  of  which  will 
be  found  at  the  end  of  this  chapter.  The  Arabic  is 
of  the  baser  sort,  the  phraseology  is  lame,  and  the 
spelling  abominable ;  but  even  the  learned  among 
Moors  applaud  this  letter  by  reason  of  the  masterly 
cunning  they  hold  it  to  display,  and  the  manner  in 
which,  without  a  single  direct  statement — after  the 
coarse  and  clumsy  Christian  fashion — it  makes 
Koranic  warnings  and  injunctions  to  incite  the  people 
against  their  Lord  the  Sultan,  who,  by  some  strange 
twist  in  his  nature,  has  "  himself  become  more  than 


THE  MOORISH  PRETENDER        311 

half  an  infidel  and  lover  of  infidels.")  His  name  is 
Jilali  el  Zarhouny,  otherwise  Ba  Hamdra,  The  Father 
of  the  She- Ass,  an  appellation  which  alludes  to  one 
of  his  many  affectations  in  travel.  He  was  a  sub- 
ordinate servant  of  the  Court  with  Mennebhi,  the 
favourite  Wazeer,  in  Ba  Ahmad's  time,  and  a  bitter 
personal  enemy  of  the  said  Mennebhi.  His  travels 
as  an  impostor  in  Algeria  have  been  mentioned.  On 
his  return  to  Morocco  the  chance  of  his  life  was  given 
the  Rogui  by  the  popular  resentment,  now  roused  to 
blazing  point,  of  the  young  Sultan's  progressive  and 
European  tendencies,  and  his  ostentatious  fondness 
for  men  and  things,  methods  and  pastimes,  from 
England,  all  so  deadly  offensive  to  orthodox  Moors. 
(In  Morocco,  as  in  other  Mohammedan  lands,  ortho- 
doxy, piety,  fanaticism  and  patriotism  all  mean  the 
same  thing.) 

"  Your  Sultan  is  illegitimate,  slave-born,  an  infidel, 
the  friend  of  infidels,  and  the  enemy  of  all  true 
Muslims,"  said  the  Rogui ;  and  he  deftly  quoted  Al 
Koran  to  prove  that  the  nethermost  fires  of  hell 
awaited  the  Muslim  who  followed  and  submitted  to 
such  a  leader.  "  Who  is  the  Moor  most  favoured  by 
your  Sultan?  A  creature  who  plays  infidel  games 
with  him,  who  takes  part  with  him  in  sacrilegious 
practices,  making  pictures  one  of  another,  and  in  the 
forbidden  garb  of  the  infidel.  See,  here  are  the 
pictures.  Who  are  the  men  who  have  your  Sultan's 
ear  and  are  about  him  at  all  times  ?  Christians, 
infidels,  and  the  outcasts  among  infidels,  who  sit 
with  him,  appear  with  him  in  public,  and  take  his 
hand  as  equals.  And,  these  new  laws,  you  know 
whence  they  come?  Like  everything  else  your 
Sultan  cares  for,  they  come  from  the  accursed  infidel, 


312  MOROCCO 

who  will  swallow  up  your  land  before  your  eyes  and 
make  it  his  own.  Your  Sultan  is  an  infidel  himself, 
and  knows  that  this  our  Al  Moghreb  is  no  safe  home 
for  him.  He  has  bought  him  a  home  in  infidel 
England,  and  when  he  has  sufficiently  bled  you  he 
will  betray  you  into  the  hands  of  the  infidels  and 
himself  fly  to  their  lands/'  (The  report  had  some 
time  before  gained  credence  that  the  Sultan  had  sent 
for  a  number  of  catalogues  of  estates  for  sale  in 
England,  and  that  after  consideration  Kaid  Sir  Harry 
Maclean  had  purchased  in  his  own  name,  but  for  the 
Sultan,  a  large  property  in  one  of  the  home  counties. 
The  explanation  given  was  that  the  Kaid  had  really 
purchased  this  estate  for  his  own  use.) 

It  was  a  powerful  indictment,  from  the  Moorish 
point  of  view.  But  the  thing  of  it  was  that  no  indict- 
ment was  really  needed.  The  Rogui  taught  the 
people  nothing ;  he  merely  put  their  own  thoughts 
and  bitter  feelings  into  words  of  fire  and  sedition. 
The  angry  resentment  and  disaffection  were  there 
already.  The  Father  of  the  She-Ass  voiced  them 
cleverly,  and  the  people  applauded  him,  at  first, 
simply  as  a  preacher.  Gradually,  then,  the  man  him- 
self and  his  handful  of  most  devoted  associates  spread 
abroad  reports  among  the  tribesmen ;  and  here,  as 
may  be  imagined,  the  good  gold  from  Algeria  played 
a  very  prominent  part.  He  was  a  true  Shareef,  he 
changed  stones  into  gold,  bullets  could  not  harm  him, 
he  was  the  fore-runner  of  the  veritable  Mahdi,  he  was 
Moulai  Mohammed  the  One-Eyed  and  rightful 
claimant  to  the  throne.  Wild  hill-men  sucked  in 
these  marvellous  tales  over  their  charcoal  fires, 
polished  up  their  flint-lock  muskets  and  sallied  forth 
to  see,  and  subsequently  to  join,  the  new  power  in  the 


THE  MOORISH  PRETENDER 


313 


land.  No  doubt  the  Rogui  himself  was  more  startled 
than  anyone  to  hear  that  he  was  actually  Moulai 
Mohammed  ;  but  he  found  the  idea  worth  acting  upon, 
and  promptly  he  set  up  his  mock  court  among  the 
hills,  appointing  ministers  and  chamberlains,  a  fly- 
flicker,  an  executioner,  wazeers  and  counsellors  from 
among  the  half-naked  barbarians  who  rallied  about 
him.  French  gold  made  the  thing  real,  fanatical 
Moorish  hatred  of  the  young  Sultan's  innovations  did 
the  rest,  and  thus — a  fully-fledged  Pretender  to  the 
Throne,  who,  be  it  said,  would  have  swept  Abd  el 
Aziz  from  his  place  in  a  month  had  he  possessed  the 
requisite  generalship,  the  genius  necessary  to  main- 
tain unity  and  concentration  among  his  wild  followers. 
But  he  lacked  this,  and  so,  after  every  successful 
skirmish,  the  bulk  of  his  levies  would  disperse  to  their 
mountain  homes  to  discuss  the  situation  and  divide 
the  spoils,  thus  giving  the  Sultan  time  to  retreat  from 
point  to  point,  to  reorganise  his  army  and  to  establish 
communications.  And  the  Pretender,  despite  his 
[assistance  from  Algeria,  lacks  initiative  to  rouse  from 
their  apathy  and  rally  about  him  the  great  bulk  of  the 
I  sympathisers  with  his  cause  ;  i.e.,  the  great  bulk  of 
the  people  of  Morocco. 


314  MOROCCO 

TRANSLATION. 

PRAISE  BE  TO  GOD  ! 

To  the  servants  of  the  True  Shareef,  the  Kabyles 
of  the  Beni  Messara,  Setta,  Ben  Mezalda,  Ben 
Yehmed,  Akhmas,  Ben  Hassan,  Beni  Huzmor,  Beni 
Yeder,  Beni  Aroos,  Serif,  Rhouna,  Beni  Yessef,  Beni 
Khorfot,  Osdrass,  Beni  Msaouar,  Jebel  el  Habib, 
Anjerra,  Beni  Said,  Aghmara,  arid  all  the  dwellers 
in  the  mountains  of  Hobt ;  may  God  keep  ye  in  the 
right  way.  Peace  be  with  ye,  and  the  blessings  of 
God  and  of  the  Prophet. 

Ye  are  without  doubt  advised  of  the  abasement  in 
our  land,  even  unto  dragging  in  the  dirt,  of  Islam  ; 
to  such  a  point  that  the  wise  are  drunken  with  unrest. 
They  find  no  means  to  remedy  the  evil  state,  and  are 
much  perplexed.  All  this  comes,  as  ye  know,  from 
the  sinful  innovations  and  hankerings  after  new  things 
of  chiefs  who  court  the  infidels,  following  their  lead, 
departing  from  the  good  counsels  of  Believers.  These 
miserable  ones,  who  indeed  become  infidels,  are  lost, 
both  for  this  life  and  for  the  life  to  come.  Their 
portion  is  fire. 

(This  indirect  way  of  accusing  the  Sultan  and  his] 
favourites  appeals  far  more  to  thoughtful  Moors  i 
than  any  direct  statement  could. — A.  J.  D.) 

It  is  on  this  subject  that  our  Lord,  the  Prophet, 
says  in  his  Book  : — "  See  ye  not   those   who   have] 
strayed  from  the  way  of  God,  refusing  to  receive  his 
mercy,  and  have,  by  their  evil  deeds  lowered  the  fame 
and  might  of  Islam."     He  has  said  also: — "Put  not 


^ 

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'^<i4V^i>^^^  tS^li^teBfo^i^ 

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/i$/i^^^ 
<T£J^^'^ 

^JNU^UA^ 
b^j^ua^J^ 


x'^b&^jfc^^&^p&^fr&tM*  «*»•  ^'fcucyv* 

...    i  j    «  .  •.  i   '     i  11     >j      nt  ..•-.flc,b»t.fc^  jd*iM»>Uj 


*lJ/iVuJ>jy  c/^-*     v*^rrr.^^^  -*u — ,  ;>  * 


%7fM?^l^t«'-5> 


THE    ROGUI'S   LETTER 


THE  MOORISH  PRETENDER        315 

your  trust  in  tyrants,  for  from  that  ye  will  be  cast 
into  the  fire."  These  sinful  people  no  longer  take 
notice  of  the  divine  verse  which  says  : — "  God  has 
bought  from  Believers  their  souls  and  their  goods  for 
Heaven."  The  sacred  law  condemns  them,  as  the 
following  verse  proves  : — "  He  who  courts  the  friend- 
ship of  infidels  becomes  of  them."  The  Prophet  hath 
said  in  his  Revelations  : — "  He  who  changes  religion 
and  belief  by  heresy  errs  from  the  straight  path."  In 
such  a  case  it  is  the  clear  duty  of  Believers  to  warn 
such  an  one  or  to  destroy  him,  for  the  Prophet  hath 
said  : — "  Kill  him  who  changeth  religion." 

Meanwhile,  all  this  hath  been  known  to  ye,  and 
not  one  among  ye  hath  taken  up  the  defence  of  the 
cause  of  Islam.  The  Mussulman  (here  the  writer 
aims  more  directly  at  the  person  of  the  Sultan),  who 
s  not  bound  to  the  vanities  of  this  world,  nothing  can 
linder  from  following  strictly  the  way  of  God.  What 
can  ye  hope  from  the  hypocrite,  from  the  infidel 
delivered  over  to  pleasures  and  passions  ?  Think  ye 
that  he  will  raise  the  fame  of  Islam,  or  that  he  will 
defend  it  ? 

Have  ye  forgotten  the  tradition  which  teaches  us 
that  the  Prophet  said  : — "  One  part  of  my  nation  will 
not  stray  from  the  right  way  ;  it  will  await  through 
suffering  the  mercy  of  God.  This  part  of  my  nation 
will  live  in  the  Extreme  West."  That,  as  ye  know, 
is  our  Al  Moghreb.  What  happiness  for  that 
'country ! 

Inspiring  ourselves  with  this,  we  have  arisen  and 
taken  up  arms  by  the  command  and  by  the  help  of 
God,  and  of  His  Prophet,  to  re-establish  the  might  of 
Islam,  raise  it  from  its  abasement  in  this  country 
and  reunite  it  in  its  dispersement.  He  who  will  obey 


316  MOROCCO 

these  our  commands  from  God  and  the  Prophet  shall 
have  peace,  and  who  obeyeth  not  shall  be  punished 
with  death.  The  truth  must  be  told  ;  otherwise  we 
are  lost. 

We  give  you  to  know  that  by  the  help  of  God  our 
truly  Shareefian  troops  have  inflicted  a  great  defeat 
upon  the  corrupt  M'halla  (army,  or  encampment) 
which  Abd  el  Aziz  sent  out,  and  which  was  encamped 
at  Hiayna.  All  the  criminals  who  composed  it  took 
flight  in  the  greatest  disorder ;  we,  with  the  Mussul- 
mans who  were  with  us,  occupied  the  encampment  and 
took  possession  of  all  therein  :  tent,  cannon,  horses, 
mules,  arms,  ammunition  and  valuables.  All  the 
Kabyles  gave  us  what  they  could  spare  to  aid  us  in 
sustaining  the  true  cause  and  religion  of  Islam.  Thus 
should  all  true  Mussulmans  do,  and  not  as  the  miser- 
able and  infidel-loving  tyrants. 

We  give  you  to  know  that  you  may  take  your 
share  of  joy  and  pleasure  in  the  victory  won  by  the 
Mussulman  troops,  and  we  bid  you  collect  your 
fighting  men  and  come  to  our  gathering  at  Fez  as 
soon  as  you  have  received  our  letter.  Let  no 
negligence  or  idleness  hinder  you  from  the  defence 
of  Islam,  and  have  no  pity  for  him  who  has  abased 
Islam  and  is  a  tyrant. 

2nd  Ramadan  1320. 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION 

TANGIER,  December  1903. 

WHILE  the  Imperialist  wrathfully  accuses  the 
Little  Englander  of  seeing  nothing  beyond  the 
confines  of  his  own  parish,  the  Little  Englander  might 
reply,  if  he  chose,  that  his  accuser  sees  little  within  a 
thousand  miles  of  home.  The  north-west  corner  of 
Africa,  which  Moors  call  Moghreb  al-Acksa  and  we 
know  as  Morocco,  is  situated  within  a  thousand  miles 
I  of  Hyde  Park  Corner,  and  within  fifteen  miles  of  Sir 
George  White's  residence  in  Gibraltar.  It  is  the  wall 
that  skirts  one  side  of  our  sea-way  to  the  East.  Its 
ports  are  watch-towers  that  must  be  passed  by  all 
vessels  of  Western  civilisation  bound  through  Suez  to 
the  British  Empire  over-sea.  Not  only  is  its  northern- 
most promontory  as  important  a  part  of  the  gate  of 
the  Mediterannean  as  is  Gibraltar,  but  its  fertile  soil 
is  the  main  source  of  the  supplies  which  support  the 
garrison  of  Gibraltar,  a  far  richer  and  more  kindly 
strip  of  littoral  than  southern  Spain  can  show.  No 
|man  with  eyes  in  his  head  and  an  atlas  at  hand  can 
fail  to  realise  the  vital  political  and  strategic  import- 
lance  of  the  territory  facing  Gibraltar,  alike  to  the  first 
maritime  power  in  the  world,  and  to  the  power  which 
holds  already  Algeria  and  Tunis.  Yet,  upon  the 
(English  side  of  the  Channel,  less  interest  is  shown  in 
the  fate  of  Morocco  than  in  the  affairs  of  Siam ; 
[most  less  is  known  of  the  present  complicated 


318  MOROCCO 

situation  in  this  country  which  lies  at  the  back  door 
of  Europe,  stubbornly  nursing  its  virgin  riches  and 
hastening  the  end  of  its  own  independence,  than  is 
known  of  the  affairs  and  interests  of  Central  Africa 
and  Equatorial  America  ;  and  for  this  fact  Britain  and 
British  interests  will  suffer  in  the  near  future,  as  they 
have  suffered  many  times  before,  for  the  lack  of  the 
most  rudimentary  sort  of  forethought. 

Upon  the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  now,  matters 
are  very  far  otherwise.  In  Paris,  Morocco  and 
Moorish  affairs  are  as  familiar  to  the  minds  of  men  as 
the  Riviera  is  to  Londoners,  and  with  a  deal  more 
reason.  (If  Londoners  only  knew  it,  they  could  find 
a  far  finer  climate,  more  beautiful  scenery,  more 
interesting  surroundings,  and  a  better  fillip  to  jadec 
health,  in  Morocco,  almost  within  sight  of  their 
country's  flag  at  Gibraltar,  than  any  part  of  the 
Riviera  can  offer  them.)  North  Africa  means  as  much 
to  the  average  thinking  Frenchman  as  India  means 
to  the  English.  Both  French  and  English  have 
long  recognised  the  importance  of  Egypt,  overlooking 
as  it  does  the  Eastern  entrance  to  the  Mediterannean. 
But  Morocco  at  the  Western  gate,  the  gate  by  which 
the  forces  of  Western  civilisation  must  approach  the 
East — Morocco,  the  temperate  land  which  is  rich 
enough  to  be  made  the  granary  of  Southern  Europe, 
the  land  which  could  well  endure  the  strain  of 
sheltering  armies  and  navies — Morocco  we  are 
apparently  content  to  leave  France  to  cultivate.  It 
is  too  close  at  hand  to  be  deemed  worth  the  big 
Englander's  consideration.  This  is  a  pity,  for 
Morocco  is  of  vastly  more  importance  to  British 
interests  than  are  a  great  many  remote  lands  with 
regard  to  which  the  Imperialistic  Britisher  prides 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION 


319 


himself  upon  being  well  posted.  And  the  situation  in 
Morocco  is  urgent  and  critical.  And  our  friends  in 
Paris,  unlike  ourselves,  are  keenly  and  intimately 
ognisant  of  this. 

Whilst  still  nominally  under  the  dominion  of  a 
Sultan  and  Shareefian  Government,  Morocco  is 
tually  without  a  ruler,  and  certainly  without  a 
Government  at  this  present  moment.  There  are  two 
pposing  forces  in  the  country,  both  held  temporarily 
in  abeyance  by  the  winter  rains  (which  make  roadless 
Morocco  almost  impassable)  and  by  a  variety  of  more 
mplicated  causes.  The  one  is  constitutional  and 
nfinitely  smaller  than  the  other,  judged  by  the 
umber  of  its  supporters.  This  is  personified  by  the 
oung  Sultan,  whose  power  is  scarcely  felt  or  acknow- 
edged  outside  the  walls  of  the  palace  that  shelters 
im  in  Fez.  The  other  is  represented  by  the  Pre- 
ender,  who  is  now  busily  engaged  in  beating  up  new 
.dherents  for  a  spring  campaign.  And  at  the  present 
oment,  what  is  to  be  said  of  the  situation  as  between 
ultan  and  Pretender  ? 

One  may  have  two  answers  to  that  question.     To 
nd  friendly  supporters  of  the  young  Sultan  one  must 
o  to  the  Europeans  in  Morocco,  and  particularly  to 
he  British,  with  their  traditional  respect  for  constitu- 
pejltional  authority  and  inclination  to  back  a  hard-hit  man. 
'  '""heir  answer  to  this  question  would  be  that,  having 
nflicted  punishment   upon   the  rebels  in  several  en- 
agements,  and  having  unfortunately  been  beaten  in 
ertain  other  fights,  the  Sultan  has  now  disbanded  his 
rregular  army  for  the  rainy  season,  during  which  the 
tate  of  the  country  adds  enormously  to  the  cost  and 
ifficulty  of  maintaining  an  army  in  the  field,  and  has 
etired  into  winter  quarters  in  Fez.     But,  the  less  well- 


are 


ides 


320  MOROCCO 

informed  but  equally  kindly-meaning  newspaper 
correspondent  will  add,  before  disbanding  his  army 
the  Sultan  managed  to  sit  down  with  it  in  Tazza,  and 
that  was  a  very  big  thing  for  any  Sultan  of  Morocco 
to  have  done.  If  we  then  seek  the  Moorish  view  of 
the  situation  (which,  in  the  matter  of  the  Tazza  occupa- 
tion, at  all  events  is  the  only  one  based  upon  actual 
fact)  we  should  be  told  this  : 

In  his  innumerable  skirmishes  with  the  Pretender's 
forces,  the  Sultan  was  more   often  beaten  than  not. 
His  troops  were,  many  of  them,  drilled  men,  and  much 
better  armed  than  the  Pretender's;   but   the  trouble 
was   he   could   not   make   them   fight.     The  regular 
Shareefian  army  fought,  it  is  true.     It  is  their  busines 
But  the  regular  army,  after  all,  is  a  small  thing.     Th< 
levies,  the  men  to  whom  the  Sultan  was  at  last  paying 
five  times  the  regular  daily  wage,  could  not  be  made 
to  fight  against  the  Pretender,  because  they  wanted 
the    Pretender     to    win.     By    strategy    the    Sultan 
managed  to  get  a  garrison  of  his  regular  army  into 
Tazza,  where  they  were  promptly  besieged  and  made 
powerless.     The    Sultan    himself  was    never  within 
gun-shot  of  its  walls.     He  camped  with  the  remains  of 
his  army  near  Tazza,  and  made  desperate  endeavours 
to  rescue  his  men   in  Tazza.     His  levies  would  noti 
fight   for  him,  and  he  was  driven  back  by  the  Pre-; 
tender's  men.     Then  he  gave  up  in  disgust,  disbanded  j 
the  troops  he  had  barely  money  enough  to  pay,  and 
retreated  upon  Fez,  leaving  the  garrison  in  Tazza  toj 
worry  its  way  out  as  best  it  might. 

And  now  the  Sultan's  rule  runs  as  far  as  his  palace 
walls  in  Fez,  and  not  another  yard.  His  coffers  are) 
empty,  no  taxes  have  been  paid,  or  are  likely  to  bej 
paid  ;  Kaid  Maclean  was  sent  off  hot-foot  to  England! 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION          321 

to  raise  a  loan,  and  already,  because  the  news 
|comes  that  he  is  not  meeting  with  success  there, 
jhis  prestige  at  court  is  falling,  and  Mennebhi,  his 
tyrotdgt,  the  Sultan's  erstwhile  favourite,  has  been 
Deposed  and  is  leaving  Morocco  for  Mecca  on  pil- 
rimage. 

"  And,"  said  one  old  Moorish  scribe  to  whom  the 
riter  spoke  of  these  things,  "while  the  Sultan  in 
ez  is  at  his  wits'  end  for  money,  you  see  the  tribe  of 
is  European  parasites  here  in  Tangier,  his  infidel 
iployds  of  one  sort  and  another,  dismissed  from 
ourt  out  of  respect  for  the  angry  will  of  the  Faithful, 
icking  their  heels  in  this  infidel -afflicted  town,  and 
ome  of  them — for  whom,  doubt  it  not,  Allah  hath 
rm  places  prepared  in  Al  Hotoma — spending  the 
ultan's  money,  drawn  on  his  order  from  the  Customs, 
ke  water,  flaunting  it  in  our  faces,  buying  our  land 
nd  houses  with  it,  and  striving  to  think  of  new  ways 
f  dissipating  it.  There  are  two  Circassian  slaves  in 
e  town  at  this  moment  for  whom  the  Sultan  has 
id  a  thousand  dollars  apiece.  You  saw  the  Carrara 
arble  lions  the  other  day !  Phaa  !  The  infidels  are 
king  a  mock  of  our  half-infidel  Sultan  before 
ifl Battening  upon  the  ruins  of  his  realm." 
lotj  From  all  this  it  will  have  been  gathered  that 
re-jjlorocco  is,  and  has  been  for  close  upon  two  years,  in 
state  of  armed  anarchy,  and  absolutely  no  authority 
inl||olds  good  save  that  of  the  man  with  a  gun.  Even 
ut  Tangier,  with  its  Legations,  you  may  see  the 
tter  lawlessness  of  the  land.  What,  so  far,  has 
laceleen  the  effect  upon  the  country  of  this  state  of 
areinarchy  ?  The  writer  will  let  one  of  the  leading  mer- 
ants  and  bankers  in  Tangier  (European,  of  course) 
land  peak  for  him  : — 
x 


322  MOROCCO 

"  The  country  has  never,  within  the  memory  of 
living  men,  been  so  rich  and  prosperous  as  at  the 
present  moment.  In  itself,  as  you  know,  it  is  very 
rich  and  fertile.  If  its  people  have  been  poor  in  the 
past,  that  was  due  solely  to  the  nature  of  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  country,  and  not  at  all  to  the  country 
itself.  Now,  my  friend,  there  is  no  administration, 
there  is  no  government  of  any  sort,  and  no  taxes 
whatever  are  paid.  Naturally,  then,  the  men  who  a 
year  or  so  ago  lived  always  upon  the  extreme  edge  of 
starvation  to-day  have  tea  and  sugar.  We  know,  we 
merchants.  They  have  these  things,  and  they  can 
pay  for  them.  In  Tangier  here  you  may  see  at  a| 
glance  the  state  of  things.  Land  values  have  goi 
up  enormously,  building  is  in  progress  in  every 
direction,  house  rents  are  positively  higher  than  they 
are  about  Paris  and  London,  business  hums,  money 
is  plentiful,  labour  and  food  are  high  priced.  A 
desirable  state  of  things,  you  say  ?  Truly,  in  a 
sense.  But  it  is  very  like  running  a  profitable 
business  on  the  edge  of  an  active  volcano.  Call  it 
apathy,  the  habit  of  fear  of  European  reprisals,  or 
what  you  will,  the  fact  that  no  considerable  outbreak 
of  Moors  against  foreigners  has  occurred  this  year  isj 
simply  marvellous,  and  a  remarkable  tribute  to 
Moorish  common  sense.  You  know  how  certainly 
and  naturally  it  was  expected.  You  know  that 
British  troops  were  kept  in  readiness  to  embark  from 
Gibraltar  at  a  moment's  notice  should  word  from  Sir 
Arthur  Nicolson  here  reach  them.  And  I  know  how| 
often  pressure,  foreign  pressure,  too,  was  brought  taj 
bear  upon  Sir  Arthur  to  give  that  word — how  close  aj 
thing  it  was.  We  may  be  grateful  for  the  fact  that] 
in  Sir  Arthur,  the  British  have  here  the  best  and 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION          323 

most  generally-respected  Minister  we  have  known  in 
Tangier  these  many  years.     The  Moors  know  well 
there  is  no  law  in  the  land  ;  they  pillage  one  another 
as  the  fancy  takes  them.     How  long,  in  such  a  land, 
does  a  state  of  absolute  anarchy  take  to  breed  out- 
break  and  massacre  ?      Be   sure   we  merchants  and 
family  men  put  the  question  to  ourselves   anxiously 
enough.     Would   I  like  to  see   the   Rogui  win,  you 
say  ?     The  Rogui  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  believe  the 
Sultan  to  be  a  good,  kindly  lad  at  heart.     But  what 
every  business  man  in  this  country  would  like  to  see 
s  a  strong  man  at  the  head  of  affairs,  call  him  Rogui, 
r  Sultan,  or  what   you   will.     And  to  be  a  strong 
uler  in  Morocco  a  Moor  must  be  a  Moor,  he  must  be 
thorough  Muslim.     Progress — Why,  yes,  as  much 
you  will,  but  if  the  fabric   is  to  hang  together  it 
ust  be  gradual  and  upon  the  basis  of  enforced  law 
nd  order.     It  is  just  pitiful,  the  notion  of  advising  an 
miable  young  man  like  the  Sultan  to  institute  such 
nd  such  reforms,  to  see   him  agree,  and  order  the 
il  ||hing  to  be  done,  and  then  think  it  is  done.     This 
ountry   is   mediaeval.       You    cannot    introduce   the 
i  Ijinished  products  of  three  centuries  of  civilisation  by 
is  If iving  an  order.     Take  this  matter  of  the  reformed 
tt  method  of  taxation,  introduced  on  the  advice  of  the 
jiij  [British.     The  advice  was  good  enough,  but  to  be  of 
ny  practical  value  it  would  have  to  be  backed  with 
roflnoney   and   troops.      Instead    of    which,    what   has 
Si  |appened  is  that  the    British    gave  the  advice,  the 
ultan  accepted  and  acted  upon  it  out  of  the  goodness 
his  heart,  the  whole  thing  produced  anarchy  in  the 
)Sei|ountry,  and,  seeing  that,  the  British  have  given  the 
ultan  the  cold  shoulder  and  left  him  to  the  mercy  of 
an(|ie  people  they  helped  him  to  infuriate.     If  he  had  set 


324  MOROCCO 

to  work  gradually  and  carefully,  a  very  strong  Sultan, 
with   full    coffers    and    a    good    army,    might   have 
successfully  introduced  these   reforms.     This   Sultan 
had  none  of  these  things.     This  Sultan—  my  friend,  I 
will  tell  you  ;  he  has  the  best  and  kindliest  intentions 
in   the   world,   and,    to   back   them,    no   strength   of 
character   or  will   whatever.     Unassisted   he   cannot 
possibly   hold    his    own,    having    lost    his     spiritual 
prestige  for  good  and  all.     Assisted  by  France,  he 
will  become  a  nonentity  and    Morocco   will   become 
French ;    which   means   the   end    of    trade,   broadly 
speaking.     Look  at  Madagascar,  and  remember  the 
fair  promises  and  pledges  given  to  merchants.     Wh] 
cannot    France   and    Britain   lay  aside  jealousy   an< 
join  hands  in  keeping  Abd  el  Aziz  on  the  throne 
That  would  benefit  everyone.     It  is  simply  a  questioi 
of  money  and  counsel.     And  if  you  doubt  that  this 
country  would  repay  it,  just  consider  for  one  moment 
what  this  country  can  produce  in  its  present  state  off 
complete   insecurity  and   anarchy.     But    Britain   has! 
no  right  to  play  the  part  with  France  here  that  she  I 
has  played  with  Russia  over  Turkey.     French  inter-! 
vention  here  would  mean  the  end  of  trade,  and,  asj 
I  see  it,  a  tremendous  loss   to  Britain  commercially] 
and  politically.     But   intervention  of  some  kind  the!, 
country  cries  aloud  for.     It  cannot  go  on  as  it  is  going  I, 
Common  humanity  and  decency  forbid  that,  or  should!  j 
forbid  it,  whatever  political   issues  may  be  involved.! t 
And  though  Britain  is  great  at  the  game  of  waiting!^ 
or  indifference,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  and  the  Frencrj 
Government  of  the  day  is  anti-military,  yet  you  musj 
not  forget  that  constant  dropping  will  wear  away  clfr 
stone,  and  the  pressure  that   a  large  section  of  he.ja 
own  subjects  are  bringing  to  bear  upon  France  in  th<jp 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION          325 

matter  of  North- African  expansion  is  both  constant 
and  heavy." 

Turning  from  this  informant  to  The  Matin  of 
November  24,  the  writer  finds  M.  Etienne,  the  chief 
of  the  Colonial  party,  dealing  with  the  Morocco 
question  in  the  Paris  Chamber  of  Deputies:  — 

"M.  Etienne  separated  himself  definitely  from  M. 
jjaures,  who  would  only  hear  of  pacific  arrangement 
Iwith    the    tribes.       He     said : — *  The     Sultan    has 
Luthorised  us  to  direct  and  instruct  the  men  of  these 
•ibes  (M.  Etienne's  interpretations   are  quaint,  and 
frankly  daring  as  his  expressions  of  policy  in  the 
tatter  of  French  military  ambitions  in  North  Africa), 
they  are  the  embryo   of  forces   which  he  will  have, 
lanks  to  our  authority,     With  this  policy  enforced, 
rou  may  be  certain,  on  the  one  hand,  of  absolute  peace 
in  Southern  Oran,  and  on  the  other  that  the  delay 
turn  to  our  profit  in  Morocco.     When,  in  fact,  the 
lultan  sees  that   his   strength   comes  only  from  our 
Luthority,  he  will  turn  to  us,  and  when  the  Govern- 
ient,  after  having  assured  all  Europe  that  we  have 
LO  other  end  in  view  than  a  work  of  civilisation,  has 
:omplete  liberty  of  action,  then  we  can  finish  off  the 
rork.     But  if  you  wish  to  act  only  by  pacific  arrange- 
ment,  your  efforts   will  be  purely  wasted ;    and  the 
;ribes,  by  way  of  thanks,  will  send  you  bullets.'     (Tres 
nen !     Tres  bien  /)." 

M.    Etienne,    with   his   reckless  candour  and  his 
a)frank,  military  ambitiousness,  must  be  a  good  deal  of 
thorn  in  the  side  of  the  socialistic  Bloc,  one  fancies, 
or  there  is  no  denying  that  the  strength  of  the  Bloc 


326  MOROCCO 

lies  in  its  tail,  which  is  purely  socialistic  and  anti- 
military.  And  thus  we  arrive  at  the  present  curious 
position  of  France  in  relation  to  Morocco.  For  half 
a  century  she  has  aimed  at  securing  Morocco  as  a 
matter  of  vital  and  paramount  importance.  Now 
that  at  last  the  fitting  moment  has  arrived,  when 
Morocco  itself  is  without  a  Government,  Germany  is 
inclined  to,  perhaps,  rather  sardonic  politeness,  as  who 
should  offer  poison  to  a  would-be  suicide,  Italy  is 
ready  to  be  placated  with  the  assurance  of  freedom  in 
Tripoli,  and  England,  the  great  obstacle-maker,  shows 
only  friendly  indifference,  France  finds  herself  unpre- 
pared to  pluck  the  long-desired  and  cultivated  fruit ; 
finds,  in  fact,  that  that  master  of  every  democratic 
state,  the  majority,  is  not  willing  to  authorise  th< 
necessary  outlay  for  a  forward  move.  But,  as  h; 
been  indicated,  there  are  many  kinds  of  pressure 
which  can  be,  and  are  being,  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
French  Government  by  the  French  military  party  ; 
and  that  which  the  socialistic  Bloc  would  never 
authorise  deliberately  may  well  be  forced  upon  it, 
and  very  shortly,  by  the  sort  of  tactics  which  gave 
the  Rogui  his  financial  backing  and  helped  to  set 
Morocco  ablaze  in  rebellion. 


POSTCRIPT 

Readers  of  the  Fortnightly  Review  of  July 
1901  may  remember  Hadj  Mokdin  and  his 
letter,  which  was  called  "  A  Swan's  Song  from 
Morocco."  The  writer  of  these  lines  has  just 
received  another  letter  from  Hadj  Mokdin,  some 
portion  of  which  he  thinks  should  reach  the  English 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION          327 

public  here.  Be  it  remembered  that  in  July  1901, 
before  the  world  had  heard  of  a  Moorish  Pretender, 
Hadj  Mokdin  wrote  : — 

"  What  shall  I  say  of  the  Frenchman,  the  French 
protected  Israelite,  the  commercial  agent  at  the 
Court?"  (The  Sultan's  Court  was  then  at  Mar- 
rakish,  the  remote  and  essentially  African  rather  than 
Moorish  city  in  which  Abd  el  Aziz  first  tasted  the 
power  of  his  own  hand.)  "This  I  will  say,  that  he 
has  achieved  so  much  that  here,  in  Marrakish,  true 
Believers  must  withdraw  to  the  privacy  of  their  own 
apartments  to  curse  him.  He  and  his  influence  may 
not,  without  dire  risk,  be  openly  reviled.  And  the 
most  of  Moors  are  moved  in  their  hearts  to  revile 
this  man.  Nay,  through  him  we  draw  near  the  stage 
at  which  our  Lord  himself  must  and  will  be  reviled  and 
held  cheaply  in  his  subjects  eyes'' 

How  absolutely  true  Hadj  Mokdin's  words  (of 
June  1901)  were  readers  may  judge.  From  his  letter, 
dated  December  28th  1903,  the  writer  of  this  article 
extracts  the  following  : — 

"  My  friend,  the  condition  of  the  Lofty  Portal  is  at 
this  present  more  parlous  than  has  been  that  of  any 
previous  Sultan  who  ever  sat  under  the  green  Parasol 
in  Al  Moghreb.  I  am  newly  arrived  here  in  Tangier 
from  the  Court,  as  you  know.  My  son  has  this  day 
joined  me,  after  one  unrestful  week  spent  about  the 
Court.  My  hand  wearies  at  the  thought  of  trying  to 
paint  for  you  the  situation,  but  this  I  will  say,  that  in 
my  opinion  the  winter  rains  are  our  Lord's  best  friends. 
I  am  assured  that,  failing  aid  from  your  lands,  where 


328  MOROCCO 

the  infidel  dwells,  our  Lord  cannot  possibly  hope  to 
take  the  field  in  spring-time  to  face  again  the  angry 
hordes  who  will  follow  in  the  train  of  the  rascal  whom 
we  call  the  Rogui.  I  call  him  rascal.  Y'Allah  t'if ! 
I  have  read  his  letters.  He  is  a  man  of  no  parts. 
But,  my  friend,  he  represents  the  feeling  which  stirs 
the  breast  of  well-nigh  every  Mussulman  in  this  our 
Al  Moghreb.  Therein  lies  his  strength.  And,  with 
the  coming  of  spring-time  (unless  the  French  should 
forsake  him)  he  will  come  with  forces  somewhat 
organised  as  well  as  forces  may  be  in  this  land.  And 
he  will  speak  loudly  at  the  gates  of  Fez.  And  who, 
my  friend,  shall  answer  him  ?  Not  Moulai  Abd  el 
Aziz,  by  Allah ;  not  Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz,  unless  the 
face  of  things  shall  have  changed  mightily.  For, 
to-day,  there  is  no  Moor  in  Al  Moghreb  who  would 
fight  for  Moulai  Abd  el  Aziz,  save  those  who  fight  for 
money  alone  and  are  indifferent  to  the  cause.  And 
how  many  of  those  who  fight  for  money  only  can  our 
Sultan  buy  ?  My  friend,  tell  it  abroad  in  your 
London-Country,  so  that  if  any  are  there  who  care 
for  our  unhappy  Sunset  Land  help  may  be  given 
and  Al  Moghreb  saved  from  the  fate  that  befel 
Algeria.  Our  Lord  has  just  no  money  left  at  all. 
His  Kaid  Maclean,  they  tell  me,  is  now  in  London- 
Country,  pulling  every  string  within  his  reach,  and 
pulling  unavailably,  to  obtain  money  for  our  Lord. 
The  news  of  his  unsuccess  is  in  the  Court  even  now, 
and  his  prot4g&,  Mennebhi,  is  deposed  already. 
Meantime,  my  son  has  it  from  Hadj  Abd  er-Rahman, 
thou  knowest,  the  Rogui  is  laying  up  stores  of  arms 
and  ammunition,  and  French  gold  is  plentiful  with 
him.  Think  not  that  Moors  will  in  the  upshot  rally 
round  our  present  Lord.  You  of  your  faith  can 


I 

THE  PRESENT  SITUATION          329 

hardly  realise  what  it  means  to  us.  To  the  Moor  it 
seemeth  that  you  Nazarenes,  and  more  than  any  you 
of  London-Country,  have  bewitched,  debauched  our 
Sultan.  His  European  friends  face  us  at  every  step 
here  in  Tangier,  the  household  of  the  chiefest  among 
them  scattering  money  to  the  winds,  flaunting  it 
before  us,  while  our  Lord  repines  alone,  almost 
defenceless,  lacking  the  pay  for  his  natural  guards 
there  in  Fez.  And,  my  friend,  I  say  it  in  alKpersonal 
kindliness,  you  people  of  London-Country  have  done 
this  thing ;  you,  even  more  than  the  accursed  tribe  of 
Fransawi  (the  French),  have  made  a  mock  of  our 
Sultan  to  his  own  people.  Can  you  then  turn  your 
backs  upon  him  in  his  loneliness?  Be  sure  the 
Fransawis  will  not  when  the  time  comes  for  them  to 
give  aid.  Give  aid  !  Thou  knowest  what  their  aid 
will  be.  And,  my  friend,  thou  knowest  it  will  shut  out 
aid  and  trade  alike  to  any  other  Nazarene  Power.  Our 
Sultan  is  a  young  man  with  a  large  heart  and  a  small 
head.  May  Allah  pardon  me  that  I  should  say  so  to 
a  Roumi !  He  has  done,  or  attempted  to  do,  the 
things  which  your  countrymen  bade  him  do,  and 
thereby  he  has  lost  the  last  shred  of  power  over  his 
own  people.  Can  you  leave  him  at  that?  If  so,  the 
end  is  certain — a  French  Morocco ;  and  that  I  think 
within  a  few  moons.  But  can  it  really  be?  Is  that 
the  fairness  of  your  countrymen  of  which  you  have 
spoken  to  me  ?  " 

This  much,  in  all  the  complicated  tangle  of  the 
Moorish  situation,  is  clear — the  Sultan  has  come  to 
the  end  of  his  resources.  Though  he  were  a  far 
stronger  man  than  he  is  he  could  not  look  to 
administrate  his  country  without  collecting  his 


330  MOROCCO 

revenues.  The  opinion  of  those  most  concerned  and 
most  capable  of  knowing  is  that  the  present  Sultan 
never  will  be  able  to  do  this.  For  the  collection  of 
revenues  and  the  maintenance  of  law  and  order  in 
Morocco  two  things  are  necessary — armed  force 
(which  cannot  exist  without  money)  and  spiritual 
prestige.  Abd  el  Aziz  has  lost  all  that  he  ever  had  of 
either.  One  states  the  fact  with  the  more  regret 
because  he  has  proved  himself  an  amiable,  kindly, 
merciful  young  man,  who  desires  the  happiness  of  his 
people  and  has  a  strong  bent  in  the  direction  of 
modern  innovations  and  progress.  But  it  is  a  fact, 
none  the  less,  and  a  fact  that  Europe  (and  especially 
France  and  England)  has  no  right  to  turn  its  back 
upon.  There  are  a  good  many  reasons  which  go  to 
make  it  certain  that  France  will  not  ignore  this 
regrettable  fact.  There  are  at  least  two  good  reasons 
which  ought  to  prevent  Britain  ignoring  it :  one  is 
that  she  is  largely  responsible  for  the  Sultan's  present 
unfortunate  position ;  the  other  is  that  Britain  cannot 
afford  to  let  France  have  a  free  hand  in  Morocco, 
which  is  what  France  will  have  failing  British  inter- 
vention. It  has  been  stated  in  France  that  in  the 
event  of  a  French  protectorate  being  established  in 
Morocco  Britain  might  rest  assured  that  the  ports 
should  remain  neutral.  But  of  what  earthly  use 
would  be  neutral  ports,  or  any  other  sort  of  ports, 
with  a  closed  door  behind  them,  or,  in  the  event  of 
war,  a  hostile  hinterland.  Merchants  do  not  want  to 
supply  goods  to  the  beaches  of  Morocco,  but  to  the 
country.  And,  in  the  event  of  sudden  stress  of 
circumstances,  not  to  speak  of  the  steady  strain  of 
peaceful  commercial  enterprise,  how  long  might 
France  be  expected  to  respect  the  neutrality  of  the 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION 


331 


Moorish  ports  if  the  hinterland  were  in  her  posses- 
sion ?  History  supplies  a  definite  answer  to  this 
question. 

Again,  there  has  been  mooted  the  suggestion  o£  a 
dual  control  of  Morocco,  and  it  has  been  argued  that 
as  Britain  invited  the  co-operation  of  France  in 
Egypt,  so  we  should  ask  France  now  to  join  in  a  dual 
protectorate  and  administration  of  Morocco.  Such  a 
policy  as  this,  almost  any  policy,  perhaps,  were  pre- 
ferable to  the  simple  attitude  of  laisser  faire,  but  in 
the  light  of  past  happenings  and  present  French 
ambitions  the  idea  of  a  dual  control  seems  rather 
hopeless.  The  French  socialistic  party  would  surely 
oppose  it  as  an  extravagance,  whilst  the  military  and 
colonial  party  would  fight  such  a  suggestion  to  the 
bitter  end,  as  being  more  humilating  than  a  complete 
withdrawal  from  Morocco. 

There  remains  an  alternative.  Admitting  the 
urgent  necessity  either  of  actual  intervention  or  of 
such  substantial  assistance  as  no  Power  could  be 
expected  to  give  without  sooner  or  later  claiming  the 
right  to  actual  intervention,  we  may  narrow  the 
possibilities  down  to  the  consideration  of  two  powers — 
France  and  Britain.  Now,  unless  under  the  pressure 
of  dire  necessity,  France  will  never  withdraw  her 
pretensions  in  Morocco.  On  the  other  hand,  without 
running  terrible  risks,and  facing  certain  heavy  losses 
of  more  kinds  than  one,  Britain  cannot  afford  to  give 
France  an  absolutely  free  hand  in  Morocco,  seeing 
that  its  shores  skirt  the  entrance  to  the  Mediterannean. 
The  neutral  port  suggestion  is  puerile  and  no 
guarantee  at  all.  The  dual  control  suggestion  may 
fairly  be  dismissed,  firstly  as  something  to  which 
France  would  not  be  likely  to  agree,  and  secondly 


332  MOROCCO 

because  the  hopeless  state  of  things  in  Egypt  before 
the  siege  of  Alexandria  forms  an  overpowering 
argument  against  any  attempt  at  a  joint  French- 
English  control  of  an  Oriental  country.  But,  putting 
aside  the  quite  futile  neutral  port  scheme,  there 
remains  this  consideration :  There  already  exists  in 
Morocco  a  natural  boundary,  which  divides  the 
Mediterannean  and  Atlantic  seaboards  from  the  in- 
terior and  the  Algerian  frontier,  and  shuts  off  coastal 
Morocco  from  the  much-debated  lands  of  the  Tuat, 
which  France  now  claims  the  right  to  administrate,  and 
from  the  caravan  route  to  the  South,  which  France 
wants  to  control  and  direct  into  Algeria.  It  that 
natural  boundary  could  be  accepted  by  the  two 
Powers  as  dividing  their  spheres  of  influence,  Morocco 
might  well  be  saved  by  intervention  upon  both  sides 
of  the  Atlas,  our  fairway  to  our  Eastern  possessions 
might  be  safe-guarded,  and,  at  the  same  time,  French 
aspirations  in  the  direction  of  North  African  ex- 
pansion and  the  proper  protection  of  Algeria  might 
be  satisfied.  In  these  circumstances  the  social  and 
commercial  development  of  an  utterly  neglected  but 
very  rich  country  would  be  assured,  and  a  very 
present  menace  to  the  peace  of  Europe  finally  re- 
moved. Humanity  and  justice,  as  well  as  expediency, 
demand  the  formulation  and  application  of  some 
definite  policy  with  regard  to  Morocco  before  the 
winter  rains  are  over  and  the  Pretender  and  the 
young  Sultan  come  into  conflict  again.  Surely,  in  the 
interests  of  our  Empire,  Britain  should  be  well  and 
speedily  to  the  fore  in  this  matter. 

But,  when  all  is  said,  this  is  not  at  all  the  note  by 
which    I    would    have    you   remember   my   book   of 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION          333 

jottings  from  Sunset  Land.  I  do  not  pretend  that 
it  is  more  than  a  book  of  jottings,  and,  indeed,  I  feel 
that  I  owe  some  apology  for  its  inconsequent  character. 
I  cannot  give  you  Morocco,  or  I  would.  I  cannot 
hope  to  make  you  feel  the  wonderful  fascination  of  the 
land ;  but  what  I  do  hope  I  may  have  succeeded  in 
doing  is  the  presentation  of  suggestions.  A  passing 
hay-cart  will  suggest  country  meadows  to  you,  on 
London  Bridge.  I  would  like  to  think  that  in  this 
book,  so  full  of  faults  and  obvious  shortcomings,  I 
may  have  done  so  much  for  Morocco.  It  is  still  the 
land  of  romance.  I,  personally,  am  very  grateful  for 
that.  It  is  the  home,  not  of  politics  but  of  story; 
and  so,  before  I  buckle  up  my  wallet,  let  me  tell  you 
the  story  of  an  Englishman  I  know  and  Achmet,  Abd 
el  Sadak. 


* 
ACHMET'S   CHARM 

I 

MY  faithful  friend  and  one-time  servant,  who  was 
so  fittingly  named  Achmet,  Abd  el  Sadak 
(The  Slave  of  the  True),  passed  away  peacefully  in 
the  ancient  port  of  Salli,  three  days  prior  to  my  sail- 
ing from  Morocco  last  month — may  Allah  have  fitted 
for  him  a  most  sumptuous  pavilion  in  Paradise !  That 
event,  releasing  me  as  it  did  from  promises,  is  what 
unlocks  my  lips  regarding  a  certain  notable  change  in 
my  position  in  the  world  and  way  of  living. 

I  take  no  shame  whatever  in  admitting  that  up 
till  the  year  '95  my  days  were  needy  days,  and  m; 
life  that  of  a  plain  gentleman-adventurer,  possess< 
of  little  or  no  capital  in  this  world  beyond  such  as 
may  be  said  to  lie  in  ten  active  fingers,  five  tolerably 
alert  senses,  and  a  heart  not  over  and  above  suscept- 
ible to  the  grip  of  fear.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  in 
the  year  '94  I  was  posted  a  defaulter  in  the  hall  of 
the  Wayfarers'  Club,  owing  to  my  inability  to  meet 
the  annual  demand  for  subscription,  But  the  fortune 
of  war  is  variable,  and  I  am  not  aware  that  its  buffet- 
ings  are  any  disgrace  to  an  otherwise  clean-lived  man. 
At  all  events,  having  said  so  much  I  have  said  all 
that  I  know  of  that  need  be  said  with  reference  to  the 
shady  side  of  my  life's  record — and  am  unashamed. 

It  was  in  the  year  1887  (in  these  dates  I  refer, 
of  course,  to  the  Christian  calendar  and  not  to  that 
of  the  Faithful)  that  I  first  met  my  trusty  friend 

334 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  335 

Achmet;    and   during    the    eight    years   of  Eastern 
wanderings  which  followed  he  was  my  constant  and 
most  loyal  attendant  in  rain  and  sunshine,  in  good 
fortune  and  in  bad.     I  paid  for  a  sheep  (an  attenuated 
beast  it  was,  too,  if  I  remember  aright)  for  the  feast 
of  his  thirty-seventh  birthday  on  the  morning  of  our 
first  meeting;  and  he  paid  for  my  venturesomeness 
in  his  blood  upon  more  than  one  subsequent  occasion. 
It  was  during  the  morning  of  All  Fools'  Day,  in 
the   year  '97,   that    I    carelessly  put  to  Achmet  the 
question  out  of  his  answer  to  which  came  the  greatest 
adventure  of  my  life  and  his.     TKe  sun  having  gained 
something   near  to   his   full    strength   we   had    just 
}  descended  from  the  flaky  old  pink  roof  of  my  house 
I  beside  Bab  el  Jeed  (the  Gate  of  the  Hanging)  in  the 
I  port  of  Salli,  to  the  central  court  or  patio,  in  which, 
i  with  my  books,  and  my  dogs,  and  my  cheery  little 
;   marble  fountain,  I  purposed  passing  the  heat  of  the 
day.     I  will  here  admit  that  I  refer  with  some  vanity 
to  this  small  abode  of  mine,  by  token  that,  so  far  as  I 
it  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  I  am  the  only  infidel-born 
{j  man  who  has  been  permitted  to  take  up  his  residence 
I  within   the   walls   of  Salli,    the   old    Moorish   pirate 
I  stronghold,  at  all  events  during  the  past  thirty  or 
:  forty  years.     The  house  I  purchased  from  Achmet's 
creditors  shortly  after  that  thirty-seventh  birthday  of 
his,  when  the  roof  that  had  sheltered  himself  and  his 
buccaneering  fathers  before  him  seemed  likely  to  be 
lost  to  him  for  ever.     I   need  scarcely  say  that  the 
good  man  never  found  the  door  of  his  old  home  shut 
to  him  after  I  obtained  possession.     It  was  there  he 
died,  in  the  best  room,  with  a  goodly  circle  of  f  keehs 
and  holy  men  about  his  head,  last  month. 

But  with  regard  to  my  question :   It  was  an  idle 


336  MOROCCO 

one  enough,  as  has  been  said,  and  one  I  had  never 
troubled  to  put  during  eight  long  years  of  vaga- 
bondage here  and  there  in  my  Moorish  friend's  com- 
pany, though  the  subject  of  it  had  dangled  before  my 
eyes  just  so  often  as  they  had  chanced  to  rest  upon 
Achmet's  wiry  form. 

' '  Good  m'koddem,"  said  I,  as  I  rolled  a  cigarette 
(he  always  liked  to  be  addressed  and  thought  of  as 
my  steward  or  man  of  affairs,  though  Heaven  knows 
my  affairs  stood  in  small  need  of  a  comptroller), 
1  'what  might  the  little  locket  be  that  you  wear  so 
constantly  about  your  neck  ?  Does  it  by  chance  hold 
a  scrap  of  some  ancient  Kiswat,  or  a  charm  against 
the  Evil  Eye,  from  which  Allah  preserve  all 
Believers !  "  The  Kiswat,  you  know,  is  the  annually- 
renewed  curtain  that  is  hung  about  the  Ka'abah  at 
Mecca;  a  very  holy  fabric,  strips  from  which  are 
more  soothing  to  the  fortunate  possessor,  because 
more  authentic,  than  the  most  of  Christian  relics. 

"Nay,  Sidi  " — the  good  man  always  called  me 
"  Master"  though  he  never  drew  wage  from  me— 
"  'tis  no  charm  at  all,  if  as  they  say  a  true  charm  must 
needs  come  from  a  holy  man  or  one  greatly  learned. 
Natheless  I  would  not  readily  part  with  it,  Sidi,  for 
my  father  wore  it  before  me,  and  laid  it  in  my  hand 
but  a  few  minutes  before  he  departed — may  God  have 
forgiven  him!"  (This  formal  ejaculation  by  no 
means  implies  any  reflection  upon  the  departed.) 
"  And  as  for  how  he  came  by  it,  Sidi,  that  is  quite  a 
story,  and  an  odd  one  to  boot ;  yet  it  was  from  no 
great  fkeeh  or  shareef  either,  but  from  a  poor  suffer- 
ing cilj  who  was  within  an  hour  of  his  last  gasp  upon 
earth." 

Good  Achmet  loosed  the  little  amulet  from  his 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  337 

neck  and  gave  it  me  to  handle  at  my  leisure.  I  was 
a  little  surprised  to  find  that  it  appeared  to  be  of  pure 
gold,  and  to  be  decorated  upon  one  side  with  "two 
guns,"  as  Moors  say  :  that  is,  with  the  pillars  of  the 
arms  of  Spain,  as  one  sees  them  upon  a  dollar.  The 
obverse  side  was  unrelieved,  and  the  thing  did  not 
appear  to  open  in  any  way.  Being  fresh  from  a 
journey  and  wallowing  in  idleness,  I  pressed  Achmet 
for  the  story,  and  this,  as  I  remember  it,  was  what  he 
told  me. 

"  B'ism  Illah  !  These  things  happened,  Sidi,  in  the 
year  1246"  (1828  A.D.),  "  when  my  father — may  God 
have  forgiven  him  ! — was  no  more  than  a  slip  of  a  boy, 
who  might  look  unveiled  women  in  the  face  without 
shame.  His  father  was  Khaleefah  of  this  our  city  of 
Salli,  under  Basha  Abd  el  Kareem,  a  land-loving 
gentleman  who  never  went  aboard  a  korsan  "  (pirate 
vessel)  "in  his  life,  and  in  that  was  unlike  to  most 
other  men  of  good  family  in  Salli.  Yet  withal  he  had 
his  dealings  with  the  pirates,  and,  as  I  am  told,  built 
this  very  house  with  money  so  made.  At  all  events 
he  was  no  enemy,  but  rather  a  friend  to  the  best  of 
those  who  plied  that  gallant  craft.  But  yet  he  was 
Khaleefah,  and  so  must  needs  obey  the  mandates  of 
his  Basha,  and  through  him  the  word  of  their  Lord  the 
Sultan,  Moulai  Abd  er- Rahman  —  upon  him  the 
peace !  Now  you,  Sidi,  who  are  learned  in  books, 
will  know  that  the  Sultan  Moulai  Abd  er- Rahman 
obtained  the  repute  of  being  the  first  ruler  who  suc- 
ceeded in  putting  an  end  to  this  same  profession  of 
piracy  which  had  for  so  long  been  held  in  high  esteem 
in  Morocco.  Yet,  as  En-Nasiri,  the  learned  historian, 
has  written  in  his  book  for  all  men  to  read "  (see 
Kitdb  el  Istiksa  fi  Akhbdr  Daul  el  Maghrib.  Cairo, 


338  MOROCCO 

1895.  Sid  En-Nasiri  died  in  his  native  town  of 
Salli  but  one  month  before  this  conversation  took 
place),  "it  was  by  the  order  of  our  Lord  Moulai  Abd 
er-Rahman,  and  not  for  their  own  good  pleasure,  that 
brave  pirates  captured  those  Austrian  vessels  in  the 
very  year  of  which  I  speak,  and  thus  led  to  the 
Austrian  attempt,  which  Allah  defeated,  to  bombard 
El  Araish.  But  it  mtist  natheless  be  admitted  that,  for 
good  purposes  of  his  own,  the  Sultan  chose  to  obtain 
the  repute  of  one  who  sought  to  suppress  piracy,  and 
to  this  end  it  was  needful  that  he  should  deal  out 
pains  and  penalties  publicly. 

"  Now  the  Sultan,  being  of  the  sacred  blood,  was 
not  minded  to  inflict  suffering  upon  good  Muslims  and 
sons  of  his  own  people.  Yet  an  example  had  to  be 
made,  and  so  our  Lord's  wise  choice  fell  upon  one 
Absalaam,  an  English  renegade  whose  infidel  name 
I  know  not.  This  afflicted  one  had  risen  to  some 
power  and  rank  among  the  pirates,  being  without 
doubt  a  most  cunning  sailor,  and  withal  a  brave  man. 
For  years  he  had  captained  his  own  korsan,  and  men 
said  that  he  had  wrested  greater  wealth  from  the  sea- 
going infidels  than  had  all  the  others  of  his  craft 
together.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  order  reached  my 
grandfather  that  Absalaam  should  first  be  forced  to 
yield  up  whatever  treasure  he  might  possess,  and 
then  be  publicly  hanged  at  the  city  gate,  word  thereof 
being  sent  to  sundry  European  Bashadors  " — that  isr 
ministers  or  ambassadors — "that  they  might  witness 
the  execution,  or  at  least  know  of  it,  and  so  be 
satisfied  that  our  Noble  Lord  was  in  very  truth 
stamping  out  the  trade. 

"  Now,    accordingly,    my    grandfather     put     the 
question  in  various   ways,  as  the  custom   is,  with  a 


ACHMETS  CHARM  339 

view  to  obeying  his  Lord  and  obtaining  Absalaam's 
treasure  before  he  should  be  hanged.  But  it  seemed 
the  renegade  was  a  hard  man,  and  not  to  be  moved  to 
speech  by  any  ordinary  application,  such  as  the  rod, 
the  thumb-screw,  or  heated  irons.  So,  having  chosen 
the  hook  above  the  gate  yonder,  from  which  the 
wretch  was  ultimately  to  hang,  my  grandfather  had 
Absalaam  suspended  there  by  his  great  toes  and  left 
awhile  to  meditate  with  a  view  to  confession.  As  you 
know,  the  gate  hath  ever  since  been  called  the  Gate 
of  the  Hanging.  My  father  told  me  that  he,  being  a 
gentle-natured  lad,  and  noting  that  the  sun  shone 
very  hotly  upon  the  gate,  felt  sad  for  the  renegade 
hanging  there  by  his  great  toes.  And  so,  when  other 
folk  slept,  during  the  'hour  of  fire,'  he  crept  out  of 
the  patio  here  with  a  cup  of  good  cool  water  under  his 
djellab,  and  so  to  the  gate  to  moisten  hanging 
Absalaam's  lips,  over  which  blood  and  dust  were 
sorely  caked.  Even  the  guards  were  sleeping,  and  no 
man  stayed  my  father's  hand  from  an  act  which  was 
doubtless  pleasing  to  Allah.  Seeing  his  kindly  intent, 
poor  Absalaam  gasped  out,  '  Put  thy  hand  to  my 
mouth,  good  lad,  and  God  shall  reward  thee  ! '  So  my 
father  put  forth  his  hand,  and  out  of  the  hanging 
wretch's  swollen  mouth  there  fell  this  same  little 
lump  of  gold  which  thou  hast  seen  upon  my  neck, 
where  it  hath  hung  since  the  day  on  which  my  father 
died — upon  him  the  peace !  '  Thrust  it  in  thy  purse, 
lad ;  give  me  of  thy  water  and  I  will  tell  thee — ' 
And  that  was  as  far  as  the  poor  fellow  got  with  his 
thanks,  for  at  that  moment  my  grandfather,  the 
Khaleefah,  whose  eyes  were  wondrous  keen  in  affairs, 
appeared  at  the  gate  and  saw  the  cup  in  my  father's 
hand.  '  Nay,'  cried  my  father,  aloud,  fearing 


340  MOROCCO 

punishment,  *  I  did  but  take  a  little  charm  from  the 
poor  man,  that  he  gave  me  from  his  mouth/  My 
grandfather  stared  at  this.  '  What  hast  thou  in  thy 
mouth,  man  ? '  says  he  to  Absalaam.  '  'Tis  but  a 
single  jewel  that  I  thought  to  hide,  Lord/  gasped 
Absalaam.  '  Thrust  thy  finger  in  my  mouth,  Lord, 
and  take  it ;  'tis  thine.  I  cannot  loose  it.'  So  grand- 
father thrust  his  finger  into  the  wretch's  mouth,  and 
Absalaam  bit  it  through,  ay,  and  well  into  the  bone, 
and  choked  and  gasped  and  tried  to  laugh,  when  my 
poor  grandfather  leaped  back  with  a  cry.  By  the 
Prophet,  he  must  have  been  a  man  of  iron,  that 
renegade  !  My  grandfather  had  his  eyes  put  out  and 
his  hands  and  feet  slit  open  that  afternoon,  by  way  of 
rebuke ;  and  the  renegade,  biding  silent  still,  was 
hanged  outright  at  sunset,  and  left  over  the  gate  to 
bleach  and  for  Nazarenes  to  see. 

"  *  Fling  his  accursed  charm  into  the  sea,  my  son/ 
said  the  Khaleefah  to  my  father.  And  '  Ihyeh/ 
quoth  my  father,  as  in  duty  bound,  but  flung  a 
pebble  instead,  and  so  kept  this  poor  little  charm,  if 
charm  it  be,  till  the  day  of  his  death,  when  piracy  as 
a  profession  had  almost  passed  out  of  the  minds  of 


men." 


And  so  I  had  the  history  of  the  little  amulet,  and 
good  Achmet  left  me,  idly  tossing  it  in  my  hand,  to 
sally  out  into  the  Sok  and  do  our  modest  day's 
marketing.  I  sat  there  alone,  drowsily  thinking  of 
Salli  rover  lore,  and  of  the  gentle  Lord  Abd  er- 
Rahman,  who  pulled  out  the  tongue  of  his  wazeer,  Si 
Mohammed  bin  Drees,  for  having  communicated  with 
the  Algerian  rebel,  Abd  el  Kader.  I  thought  of  the 
renegade  Absalaam,  mine  own  countryman,  who  had 
ended  his  life  in  so  parlous  a  state  over  the  gate  which 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  341 

stood  no  more  than  a  few  yards  from  where  I  sat. 
Colonel  Keatings,  in  his  account  of  a  British  embassy 
in  1785  (Travels  in  Europe  and  Africa.  London, 
1816),  said  that  an  English  renegade  built  the  great 
aqueduct  that  brought  water  to  my  door  there  in 
Salli,  from  Ismir,  ten  miles  distant.  The  gallant 
Colonel  was  misinformed,  I  thought,  but  there  was 
every  reason  to  believe  that  the  task  of  repairing  it 
was  entrusted  to  an  English  renegade.  I  wondered 
idly  if  the  unfortunate  Absalaam  had  any  hand  in 
that.  Again  I  examined  the  gold  amulet,  and 
wondered  that  a  thing  made  in  the  shape  of  a  locket 
should  have  no  opening  in  it.  And  then  I  fell 
asleep.  The  April  sun  is  hot  in  Salli  town. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  awoke,  and  my  eyes  fell  upon 
my  sloghi  bitch,  Jinny,  where  she  lay  stretched  beside 
the  fountain,  nosing  at  some  small  object  between  her 
front  paws.  "  What  have  you  got  there,  Jinny  ?  " 
said  I,  lazily.  At  the  sound  of  my  voice  the"  bitch 
rose,  stretched  her  sinewy  frame  to  its  full  length,  and 
walked  slowly  to  my  side.  Then  I  saw  that  the  toy 
of  her  idleness  was  Achmet's  gold  amulet,  which  lay 
there  now,  on  the  flags,  an  open  locket,  and  showing 
what  appeared  to  be  a  folded  parchment  inside  it. 

"Like  my  carelessness!"  I  muttered,  as  I  leaned 
forward  to  recover  the  amulet.  "  But  I  wonder  how 
in  the  world  the  bitch  found  a  way  of  opening  the 
thing !  "  Examination  showed  me  that  the  locket  was 
most  delicately  contrived,  its  spring  and  hinge  being 
both  hidden  by  a  sort  of  rolled  border  or  beading, 
which  also  hid  effectually  the  line  of  division  between 
the  two  halves.  Achmet  had  told  me  that  it  did  not 
open,  or  at  least  that  he  had  never  tried  to  open  it, 
having  always  thought  of  it  as  being  solid.  So  here, 


342  MOROCCO 

I  thought,  as  I  carefully  unrolled  the  little  slip  of 
parchment,  is  a  document  of  at  least  seventy  years 
ago,  that  was  carefully  preserved  in  the  mouth  of  a 
dying  renegade.  I  chuckled  over  my  find.  "  This  is 
history,"  I  told  myself.  "  State  secrets,  no  doubt; 
pirate  lore — treasure- trove." 

And  with  that  I  stopped  chuckling,  and  a  sudden 
hot  eagerness  came  over  me  to  know  what  the  parch- 
ment might  contain.  I  can  hardly  tell  you  what  I 
thought,  but  I  became  serious  and  eager.  I  re- 
member a  jumble  of  passing  ideas  about  cryptograms, 
cyphers,  and  acrostics  tripping  one  over  the  other  in 
my  mind ;  and  then  I  had  the  little  parchment  spread 
fairly  upon  my  knee.  One  side  of  it  was  raggedly 
torn,  as  it  might  be  that  the  whole  had  proved  too 
bulky  for  its  hiding-place.  The  rest  bore  this 
message,  written  fairly  enough,  in  the  old  style  of 
sloping  caligraphy,  with  long  "  S's,"  and  some  quaint- 
ness  of  spelling,  and  some  incorrectness,  but  nothing 
in  the  least  degree  cryptic.  It  might  have  been  the 
casual  memorandum  of  a  man  of  business. 

"No.  2.  Ismir — aqueduct.  Three  lanyards  south, 
two  and  half  east — under  furthest  edge  sacred  shadow 
— five  spans. — ABSALAAM." 

And  that  was  absolutely  all. 

I  was  still  poring  over  the  simple  words  written  so 
fairly,  and  in  my  own  tongue,  when  Achmet  returned 
from  the  S6k,  and  stood  a  moment  dumbfoundered 
at  the  sight  of  his  little  charm  lying  split  in  sunder  as 
it  appeared  on  the  stool  beside  me.  I  explained  the 
discovery  which  Jinny  had  made,  and  showed  Achmet 
the  ragged  little  bit  of  parchment.  At  first  sight  oi 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  343 

the  parchment  I  noted  a  sudden  glitter  in  the  eyes 
of  my  friend.  When  he  asked  me  to  translate  its 
message  to  him  there  came  for  one  instant  an  ex- 
pression in  those  eyes  which  I  had  never  seen  before. 
He  confessed  it  later,  with  an  approach  to  tears.  For 
one  fleeting  moment  his  heart  harboured  suspicion 
and  resentment  where  his  infidel  friend  was  con- 
cerned ;  the  attributes  which  a  notable  Nazarene, 
Cardinal  Newman  to  wit,  has  told  us  do  not  pertain  to 
the  man  who  deserves  the  name  of  gentleman.  But 
his  peculiar  knowledge  of  the  circumstances  made  him 
see  farther  into  the  matter  than  I  could  upon  short 
notice ;  and,  in  any  case,  his  suspicion  was  not  more 
than  momentary. 

"  And  what  think  you  that  it  may  mean,  friend  ?  " 
I  asked,  when,  for  privacy,  we  had  retired  to  an  upper 
room  and  spread  the  little  parchment  upon  a  stool 
between  us. 

Achmet  turned  his  two  hands  palms  uppermost. 
"  Sidi,"  said  he,  "  there  is  no  room  here  for  a  man  to 
hazard  guesses  or  cherish  doubts.  I  ask  thee,  Sidi, 
for  what  was  the  renegade  seized  in  the  first 
place  ?  " 

"Why,  because  he  was  a  successful  pirate  and 
piracy  was  to  be  put  down — if  I  have  understood  your 
story  rightly." 

"  It  is  most  right,  Sidi.  And  for  why  was  my 
grandfather — may  God  have  pardoned  him  ! — obliged 
to  hang  this  same  renegade  at  first  by  his  great  toes, 
instead  of  by  his  neck,  as  the  custom  is  in  such 
matters  ?  " 

"  Ah !     His  hidden  treasure  ? " 

"  Ihyeh !  And  being  stripped  of  all  that  men 
could  see  belonging  to  him,  even  to  his  littlest  gar- 


344  MOROCCO 

ment,  and  hung  by  his  toes  before  the  city  gate,  what 
one  thing  did  this  renegade  cherish — ay,  almost  to  the 
hour  of  his  end,  yielding  it  up  only  when  certain  and 
speedy  death  faced  him,  and  then  to  a  lad  whom  he 
wished  to  thank — one  whom  he  saw  coming  to  allevi- 
ate some  small  portion  of  his  pains  ?  " 

"  True,  true,"  I  admitted  in  some  excitement  at 
finding  my  own  eager  thoughts  exactly  borne  out  by 
one  to  whom  the  circumstances  were  all  known. 
11  And  to  think  that  for  seventy  years,  or  close  on,  it 
has  lain  on  thy  neck,  and  thy  father's  before  thee,  and 
never  a  thought  given  to  its  value,  nor  even  to 
whether  it  opened  or  no ! " 

"  Ihyeh,  Sidi,  we  are  but  slaves  of  the  All-know- 
ing; slaves  and  little  children  in  His  hand.  Dost 
remember  when  thy  good  grey  mule  fell  lame  on  that 
ill-starred  journey  to  Taradunt,  Sidi  ? "  I  nodded. 
"  Ihyeh,  well,  I  did  not  tell  thee,  for  we  had  troubles 
enough  and  to  spare,  but  the  night  before  I  had  lost 
this  same  little  treasure-chamber  which  thou  hast 
opened — lost  it  most  fatally.  Indeed,  and  it  was  then 
when  I  noted  the  good  mule  growing  lamer  at  every 
step,  that  I  first  began  to  think  seriously  of  the  virtu< 
which  may  have  lain  in  my  lost  charm." 

"H'm!  Little  thinking  what  really  lay  in  it,"  I 
muttered. 

"  Little  thinking,  as  thou  sayest,  Sidi.  Yet  had 
some  good  Djinn  a  care  of  my  fingers  I  think,  for  at 
first  blink  of  light  next  day  I  did  come  upon  my  little 
amulet,  and  where,  think  ye,  but  in  the  bottom  of  the 
basket  in  which  I  had  given  thy  good  grey  mule  her 
barley.  The  poor  beast  having  sickened,  as  we  had 
cause  to  know,  thou  and  I,  the  half  of  her  feed  was 
left,  and  as  I  ran  my  fingers  through  it,  seeking  to 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  345 

tempt  her — 'Aha!  A  stone/  says  I.  And  lo,  there 
was  my  little  amulet  among  the  barley." 

"So  a  mule  came  near  to  eating  it  that  day,  O 
Achmet,  and  to-day  the  bitch  there  came  nearer  still 
to  destroying  the  treasure  in  it." 

"Ihyeh,  the  master-works  of  Allah!"  ejaculated 
my  friend  with  pious  fervour.  And  then  we  fell  to 
discussing  the  document  before  us.  Round  and 
about  it  we  cast  our  suggestions  and  hints,  some 
foolish  and  some  shrewd,  all  sanguine,  and  a  few 
that  were  directly  to  the  point.  At  length,  mere 
discussion  proving  unsatisfactory  to  me,  I  rose  and 
moved  to  the  doorway,  Achmet  following. 

"  See,  my  friend,"  said  I,  "  this  house  hath 
become  too  small  for  me.  How  say  you  ?  " 

"  Sidi,  its  smallness  hath  cramped  me  sorely 
these  several  minutes  now.  But — " 

"Ay,  my  tent,  good  Achmet ;  the  mules,  a  little 
food,  the  guns,  and  some  few  tools  such  as  farmers 
use  ;  my  tent  pitched,  let  us  say  near  the  end  of  the 
great  aqueduct  at  Ismir,  before  the  sun  goeth  down 
this  night — will  not  that  give  us  more  of  room  and 
peace  ? " 

"Sidi,  thy  mind  moves  swiftly.  Ismir?  Ihyeh  ! 
All  shall  be  as  thou  sayest.  Look  for  me,  Sidi,  with 
all  things  prepared — in  one  hour." 

It  was  as  though  an  Englishman  were  to  say 
"  In  a  couple  of  minutes,"  and  if  achieved  in  Morocco 
would  be  little  short  of  a  miracle.  But,  seeing  the 
light  in  Achmet's  eyes,  I  had  faith  (which  the  event 
justified)  and  waited.  Within  an  hour  we  were 
perched  atop  of  bulging  shwarries  borne  by  two  quick- 
stepping  pack-mules  which  I  had  bought  in  Fez  and 
valued  highly,  and  before  sunset  we  were  eating  our 


346  MOROCCO 

evening  meal  at  the  mouth  of  my  tent,  our  mules 
tethered  beside  us,  and  the  end  of  the  great  aqueduct, 
which  Moors  say  the  Romans  built,  no  more  than  a 
few  hundred  paces  distant  from  us.  We  both  knew 
by  heart  now  the  words  upon  our  parchment,  and  so, 
whilst  discussing  it,  had  no  need  to  refer  to  the 
document  itself. 

"  No.  2.  Ismir — aqueduct.  Three  lanyards  south, 
two  and  half  east — under  furthest  edge  sacred  shadow 
— five  spans. — ABSALAAM." 

"  No.  2"  referred  to  the  object  of  our  search,  the 
treasure,  or  whatever  it  might  be;  so  much  seemed 
clear  to  me,  and  at  that  time  I  had  no  thought  to 
spare  for  what  No.  i  might  be.  The  more  I  thought 
upon  the  few  simple  words  of  the  parchment,  the 
more  convinced  I  became  that  it  contained  no  inten- 
tional mystification,  but  was  simply  a  memorandum 
made  for  the  convenience  of  the  writer,  and  as  a  safe- 
guard against  any  trick  of  memory.  "  Ismir — 
aqueduct "  I  took  to  point  plainly  to  the  end  of  the 
aqueduct,  its  starting-point  here  at  Ismir.  From  that 
end,  I  thought,  one  must  proceed  "  three  lanyards 
south  "  and  "  two  and  half  east,"  and  there  find  a  spot 
marked  by  a  "sacred  shadow."  The  reference  to 
a  shadow  was  so  far  puzzling,  but  I  thought  there 
would  be  time  enough  to  deal  with  that  when  we  had 
discovered  the  spot  referred  to.  My  immediate  con- 
cern was  to  know  what  "  lanyards "  might  mean. 
And  here,  of  course,  my  friend  Achmet  could  be  of 
no  service  to  me.  For  all  his  knowledge  of  the 
circumstances  he  was  quite  helpless  where  our 
document  was  concerned,  knowing  no  word  of  the 
tongue  in  which  it  was  written. 

The  only  kind  of  "  lanyard"  within  my  ken  was 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  347 

the  sort  of  necklace  of  white  cord  which  sailors  wear 
about  their  necks  bearing  a  knife  or  whistle.  I  have 
since  learned  that  there  are  scores  of  different  sorts 
of  lanyards,  but  all  I  knew  then  was  that  as  an  infant 
I  had  gone  clad  as  a  man-o'-war's  man  in  little,  and 
had  grandiloquently  called  the  cord  about  my  then 
innocent  neck  a  lanyard.  Then  the  length  of  a 
lanyard,  I  assumed,  was  from  one  to  two  feet. 
"Three  lanyards  south,  two  and  a  half  east" — say 
five  feet  one  way  and  four  another.  Heavens!  We 
were  probably  standing  on  the  very  spot ! 

Within  a  very  few  moments  Achmet  and  myself 
were  at  work  with  mattock  and  bar,  as  busy  as  terriers 
in  a  warren.  The  ground  was  fairly  soft  there,  and 
we  soon  had  a  trench  of  twice  five  spans  in  depth, 
and  never  so  much  as  a  piece  of  scrap  iron  for  our 
pains.  Nothing,  absolutely,  but  sandy  earth ;  and 
when  dark  fell  we  climbed  out  of  our  pit  in  despair, 
and  made  tea  to  aid  reflection  withal.  I  was  con- 
vinced by  this  time  that  we  had  failed  to  grasp  the 
true  meaning  of  our  parchment.  The  "  lanyards," 
that  was  the  point  that  baffled  me. 

An  hour  passed  while  we  discussed  this  obscure 
point  of  the  "  lanyards,"  and  that  found  us  no  nearer, 
by  all  appearances,  to  any  solution  of  the  difficulty. 
It  was  disturbing,  exasperating,  to  feel  that  the 
treasure,  or  whatever  it  was  that  this  simple  message 
referred  to,  might  be  lying  within  a  few  yards  of 
where  we  sat,  and  yet  so  hopelessly  out  of  our  reach. 
I  said  as  much. 

"Ihyeh,"  sighed  Achmet,  "this  is  sure  enough 
the  place,  and  here  sit  we,  idle,  within  a  half  a 
tasabeeh,  it  may  be,  of  great  wealth." 

Had  he  threatened  my  life  the  good  Moor  had 


348  MOROCCO 

certainly  startled  me  less  than  he  did  in  uttering  these 
few  words.     I  sprang  to  my  feet,  breathless. 

"  A  half  a  tasabeeh,  sayest  thou  ?  "  I  hissed  at  him. 
"  Nay,  but  three  south  and  two  and  a  half  east. 
Come  !  Mark  thou  the  tasabeeh  !  " 

Illumination  came  to  Achmet  in  a  flash,  as  it 
should  have  come  to  me,  an  Englishman,  in  the 
beginning.  A  tasabeeh  is  a  Moorish  rosary. 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  the  measuring  of 
distances  by  the  time  occupied  in  pacing  them, 
reckoned  by  the  fingering  of  a  rosary.  It  is  a  matter 
of  every-day  colloquial  speech.  And  what  more 
natural  than  that  the  renegade,  a  sailor  probably, 
should  call  a  rosary  a  lanyard  when  writing  of  it  in 
English  ?  It  should  have  been  plain  for  a  child  to 
read,  I  thought. 

Placing  our  backs  against  the  first  buttress  of  the 
aqueduct,  we  referred  to  my  pocket  compass  and 
headed  due  south.  Slowly  and  evenly,  then,  we  paced 
along  in  the  light  of  a  rising  moon,  Achmet  muttering 
below  breath  as  he  fingered  each  bead  of  his  biscuit- 
coloured  rosary.  This  was  his  part.  I  would  not 
trust  myself  to  reckon,  lest  the  fact  that  I  was  un- 
familiar with  the  use  of  the  pious  instrument  should 
lead  to  a  miscalculation. 

"Halt!"  cried  my  friend  at  length.  We  had 
covered  "  three  lanyards"  to  the  southward.  And 
now  we  turned  slowly,  my  eyes  glued  to  the  compass, 
until  we  headed  due  east.  Then  forward  again, 
Achmet  muttering  and  fingering  devoutly. 

"Halt!"  he  cried  again;  and  I  found  we  had 
reached  a  little  hill,  upon  which  a  few  stunted  olives 
stood  among  a  wilderness  of  palmetto  and  aloe  scrub. 
My  eyes  had  never  left  the  compass,  and  the  ground 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  349 

being  open,  I  was  convinced  we  must  have  come 
tolerably  straightly  in  our  course.  I  cut  off  the  spear 
head  of  an  aloe  and  stuck  it  in  the  earth  at  my  feet. 
Then  we  proceeded  to  examine  our  surroundings. 

"Now,  friend,"  said  I,  "we  seek  a  shadow — a 
1  sacred  shadow.'  What  is  there  within  sight  that  could 
be  sacred  ?  " 

"Nay,"  said  Achmet,  "here  are  no  mosques  nor 
shrines,  nor —  But  stay !  Unless  my  memory  plays 
me  very  false — I  have  not  been  here  since  I  was  a 
lad — there  is  an  old  tomb  in  the  hollow  there,  between 
this  little  hill  and  the  next.  'Tis  not  to  say  a  shrine, 
exactly,  but  yet  it  is  a  tomb,  and  Si  Abd  el  Haneen, 
who  lies  there — may  God  have  pardoned  him  ! — was 
doubtless  a  holy  man  enough.  Ihyeh,  methinks  the 
tomb  might  be  called  sacred — like  enough." 

By  this  time  we  were  striding  down  the  little  hill's 
side ;  and  I  promise  you  we  paid  little  heed  to  the 
razor  edges  of  palmetto  leaves,  though,  being  in 
Moorish  dress,  I  was  bare-legged,  like  Achmet,  and 
wore  only  heel-less  slippers  on  my  naked  feet. 

Three  minutes  brought  us  to  the  crumbling  wall 
of  an  old  tomb,  half  hidden  in  prickly-pear  and 
palmetto.  But  upon  one  side  of  the  tomb  the  ground 
was  bare  of  scrub,  and  there  the  grass  showed  plainly 
just  how  far  the  shadow  of  the  tomb's  dome  was  wont 
to  fall  by  day.  In  a  country  where  shade  is  as  scarce 
as  it  is  in  El  Moghreb,  earth  and  vegetation  show 
very  clearly  their  appreciation  of  a  shadow  where  it 
does  occur. 

"  Here,  then,"  said  I,  stooping  over  the  line  of 
fresh  grass,  "is  the  'furthest  edge  sacred  shadow/ 
Now,  regarding  the  '  five  spans' —  But,  Lord !  What 
are  five  spans  ?  It  must  mean  five  spans  deep,  or  five 


350  MOROCCO 

spans  distant  from  this  edge  of  the  shadow.  And  in 
either  case  it  is  but  a  matter  of  a  little  digging.  Ah  ! 
what  fools  we  were  to  have  left  our  mattocks 
behind ! " 

One  hour  later  found  us  cautiously  stepping  out 
from  our  tent  into  the  moonlight,  carrying  our  guns 
openly,  as  Moors  are  wont  to  carry  them,  and  hunch- 
ing under  our  djellabs  two  mattocks  and  the  crowbar 
that  we  kept  for  tent-pitching.  Spades  you  shall  noj 
firfd  in  the  Land  of  the  Setting  Sun,  a  circumstance  I 
had  cause  to  regret  before  the  night  was  out,  for  in 
my  opinion  the  mattock  is  a  poor,  futile  sort  of  a  tool, 
in  my  hands  at  all  events.  But  I  promise  you  the 
arms  which  directed  those  mattocks  were  active  and 
vigorous  enough.  Never  did  serf  or  hired  labourer 
delve  as  we  delved  beside  old  Abd  el  Haneen's  tomb 
in  the  light  of  the  moon  that  night.  The  great 
Moulai  Ismail  of  pious  memory  was  wont  occasionally 
to  roast  a  few  of  his  workpeople  in  lime-kilns,  throw 
them  to  hjs  lions,  or  crush  them  under  a  falling  wall 
if  he  fancied  they  did  not  put  sufficient  zest  into  their 
labours.  But  I  greatly  doubt  if  the  most  fearful 
among  them  could  have  equalled  our  industry. 

At  a  depth  of  seven  spans  we  had  found  nothing. 
So  we  began  to  dig  outward,  and  away  from  the  tomb. 
Half  an  hour  passed,  and  the  sweat  I  shook  from  my 
head,  as  a  spaniel  shakes  water,  splashed  upon  the 
broken  earth  at  my  feet.  At  my  very  next  stroke 
the  mattock  rang  on  metal  and  jarred  my  wrist 
horribly.  Little  I  cared.  I  dropped  the  tool  and 
fell  on  my  knees,  scratching  with  both  hands  to  feel 
for  what  I  had  struck.  So  far  as  I  could  force  my 
fingers  down  they  felt  a  smooth  surface  of  metal,  as 
of  a  coffer  or  case  of  some  sort. 


THE   AUTHOR   IN    MOORISH   GUISE 


ACHMETS  CHARM  351 

"  El  hamdu  Illah!"  I  exclaimed  with  fervent 
piety,  or  emotion  of  some  sort.  And  then  the  words 
turned  to  ashes  in  my  mouth,  my  stomach  retched 
within  me,  and  the  blood  ceased  to  travel  through  my 
veins  as  a  thin,  strange  voice  above  me  cried, 
<{  Ihyeh,  God  be  merciful — sacrilege!  Eh,  eh!" 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  got  out  of  that  hole  as 
quickly  as  mortal  man  might ;  but  Achmet,  who  had 
not  been  kneeling,  but  only  stooping,  surpassed  me. 
His  agility  was  really  suggestive  of  magic.  You 
have  my  solemn  word  for  it  that,  swiftly  as  I  reached 
the  surface,  I  found  that  a  tragedy  had  been  enacted, 
was  ended  and  done  with,  and  all  in  the  moment 
which  I  seemed  to  occupy  in  scrambling  from  out 
that  fateful  hole.  Achmet  had  felled  a  man  to  earth 
with  his  mattock,  and  then,  literally,  pinned  him  to  the 
earth  with  an  eighteen-inch  dagger,  but  very  slightly 
curved.  The  fallen  man  was  dead  as  Noah,  and  I 
perceived,  with  an  odd  sort  of  sentimental  regret,  that 
his  hair  was  white  and  his  face  a  gentle  one. 

"  God  forgive  us,  Achmet !  "  I  murmured,  without 
much  relevance.  "He  seems  a  kindly-looking  sort 
of  grandfather,  too  !  " 

"Yeh;  he's  well  enough/'  admitted  Achmet, 
wiping  his  knife  on  the  grass.  "  But  there  was  no 
place  here  for  him.  'Tis  poor  fortune  his  visit  to 
this  shrine  has  brought  him — may  God  give  him 
peace ! " 

I  thought  Achmet's  attitude  both  modest  and 
dignified  ;  and  I  think  still  that  he  was  as  agreeable  a 
gentleman  to  be  killed  by  as  you  would  find  in  a 
day's  march.  But  we  are  not  all  just  prepared  to  die, 
even  at  the  hands  of  such  an  one  as  Achmet ;  and  so 
I  told  myself  there  should  be  no  more  killing  in  this 


352  MOROCCO 

affair  of  ours  if  I  could  help  it.  I  would  liefer  share 
our  secret  with  another,  I  thought,  than  have  the 
whole  matter  darkened  by  the  stains  of  blood.  But 
I  recognised  the  reasonableness  of  Achmet's  reminder 
that  our  work  awaited  us  ;  so,  turning  from  the  old 
gentleman  and  his  dead,  kindly  face,  we  scrambled 
back  into  our  hole. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  we  had  entirely  un- 
covered an  iron  chest  with  a  heavy  hasp  and  bolt  in 
the  middle  of  its  lid.  It  struck  me  that  in  Gibraltar  I 
had  seen  heavy  old  shot  lying  in  just  such  another 
coffer  as  this  one.  Many  broken  thoughts  struck  me, 
and  I  swore  nervously  when  Achmet's  forehead 
struck  mine  as  we  both  stooped  to  raise  the  lid.  It 
was  a  well-made  box,  and  in  the  seventy,  or  eighty, 
or  ninety  years  of  its  rest  there  under  the  earth,  no 
sort  of  harm  had  come  to  it.  The  lid  creaked  and 
groaned  a  little  in  the  lifting,  but  yet  answered  its 
purpose  well  enough,  and  then  we  saw  the  treasure 
of  Absalaam  the  renegade  which  Sultan  Abd  er- 
Rahman  had  failed  to  see  ;  the  key  to  which  renegade 
Absalaam  had  held  in  his  poor,  swollen,  bloody  mouth 
what  time  he  hung  by  the  toes  roasting  in  the  noon- 
day sun  outside  the  gate  of  Salli  town. 

There  was  a  division  down  the  centre  of  the 
chest,  and  upon  one  side  we  saw  nothing  but  gold ; 
upon  the  other,  nothing  but  jewels.  A  sight  it  was 
for  a  money-loving  man  to  dream  of;  and  I  will 
admit  that  for  a  moment  or  two  it  made  me  drunk,  so 
that  I  laved  my  arms  to  the  elbow  in  guineas  upon 
which  the  moonlight  showed  me  glimpses  of  the  head 
of  George  III.  and  again  of  a  Spanish  Queen,  and 
again  of  an  eagle,  and  of  other  devices,  most  of  which 
were  unfamiliar  to  me. 


ACHMET'S  CHARM  353 

But  we  had  no  time  to  spare  for  dreaming.  My 
drunkenness  passed  in  a  moment ;  and  even  at  that 
showed  me  a  poorer  creature  in  dignity  than  my  friend 
Achmet.  Not  all  the  jewels  of  India  could  have  un- 
balanced the  Moor. 

"We  can  never  carry  this,"  said  he,  as  he  might 
have  spoken  of  a  sack  of  barley.  This  was  the  very 
bracing  sort  of  tonic  that  I  needed.  "  Why,  no," 
said  I.  "Go  you  back  to  the  tents,  good  Achmet — 
wings  at  your  heels — and  bring  hither  the  mules  with 
shwarries." 

He  looked  at  me.  "  Ihyeh  ;  and  I  take  care  of 
the  old  gentleman  above.  Go ! "  At  that  he  turned 
and  sped  off  into  the  night.  The  moon  was  already 
low,  and  everything  about  the  old  tomb  was  very  dim, 
and  ghostly,  and  shadowy  now.  But  Achmet's  nerve 
and  common  sense  had  braced  me  finely.  I  dragged 
the  body  of  the  poor  old  man  into  the  hole  that  we 
had  first  dug,  and  I  gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  only 
Mohammedan  prayer  I  could  recall  at  the  moment 
before  I  proceeded  to  shovel  the  earth  over  him. 
For  some  time  I  tugged  at  the  iron  coffer,  thinking  to 
have  all  things  prepared  for  Achmet's  return ;  but 
though  I  shifted  its  position  somewhat  I  could  not 
raise  it,  and  so  presently  gave  up  the  attempt  and  sat 
down  upon  its  lid  to  await  the  coming  of  my  partner. 
It  was  not  easy  to  be  calm,  and  I  longed  for  work  for 
my  two  hands ;  their  itching  fingers  gave  me  no  rest, 
and  my  mind  refused  to  think  connectedly  of  anything 
beyond  the  immediate  hour. 

At  length   Achmet  arrived  with  the  mules  after 

making  a  considerable  dttour  to  avoid  the  road  and  the 

possible  attention  of  some  late  wayfarer.     One  mule 

we  loaded  with  gold,  in  coins  and  in  beaten,  shapeless 

z 


354  MOROCCO 

lumps,  the  whole  of  which  we  tied  securely  in  my 
great  tent-bag,  that  thoughtful  Achmet  had  flung  into 
one  of  the  shwarries  before  returning  to  me.  Then, 
together,  we  tackled  the  chest  itself,  and  without 
much  difficulty  dragged  it  out  from  the  hole.  The 
hole  we  filled  as  well  as  we  could,  stamping  down  the 
earth  and  covering  all  with  great  armfuls  of  palmetto 
leaves  and  scrub.  Then  we  swung  the  coffer  upon 
the  birda  of  the  unladen  mule,  covered  it  with  both  our 
djellabs,  and  started  off  for  the  tent,  each  with  a  hand 
resting  on  one  side  of  the  iron  chest.  And  behind  us, 
doubtless  resenting  this  midnight  occupation,  plodded 
the  other  mule,  picking  its  own  way  through  the  night, 
undriven,  led  by  no  man,  a  hammer-headed  pack- 
mule  bearing  in  its  eighteen-penny  palmetto  panniers 
a  king's  ransom  in  minted  and  beaten  gold. 

A  month  later  we  both  sailed  for  Hamburg.  I, 
as  a  curio-monger,  was  taking  with  me  quite  a  little 
collection  of  Moorish  rugs  and  carpets,  things  which 
do  not  greatly  interest  the  Customs  officials.  Yet 
between  them  —  please  allow  the  words  literal 
significance — those  Rabat  rugs  represented  a  fortune 
of  not  less  than  three  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
"  No.  2  "  satisfied  me,  and  I  have  never  been  much 
exercised  in  my  mind  as  to  what  or  where  No.  i 
might  be. 


THE    END 


EDINBURGH 

COLSTON  AND  COY.  LIMITED 
PRINTERS 


A  CATALOGUE  OF    BOOKS 

PUBLISHED  BY  METHUEN 

AND  COMPANY:  LONDON 

36  ESSEX  STREET 

W.C. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

GENERAL  LITERATURE,   .        .        .  2-2O 

ANTIQUARY'S  BOOKS,     ...  20 

BEGINNER'S  BOOKS,       ...  20 

BUSINESS  BOOKS,  2O 

BYZANTINE  TEXTS,        .        .        .  21 

CHURCHMAN'S  BIBLE,    ...  21 

CHURCHMAN'S  LIBRARY,        .        .  21 

CLASSICAL  TRANSLATIONS,   .        .  22 

COMMERCIAL  SERIES,     ...  22 

CONNOISSEUR'S  LIBRARY,       .        .  23 

LIBRARY  OF  DEVOTION,         .        .  23 

ILLUSTRATED    POCKET   LIBRARY   OF 

PLAIN  AND  COLOURED  BOOKS,    .  23 
JUNIOR  EXAMINATION  SERIES, 


25 


LITTLE  BOOKS  ON  ART, 
LITTLE  GALLERIES,       .         . 
LITTLE  GUIDES,     . 
LITTLE  LIBRARY,  . 
METHUEN'S  MINIATURE  LIBRARY, 
OXFORD  BIOGRAPHIES,  . 
SCHOOL  EXAMINATION  SERIES, 
SOCIAL  QUESTIONS  OF  TO-DAY,     , 
TEXTBOOKS  OF  TECHNOLOGY, 

HANDBOOKS  OF  THEOLOGY,    . 

METHUEN'S  UNIVERSAL  LIBRARY, 
WESTMINSTER  COMMENTARIES,    , 


FICTION,  

METHUEN'S  JUNIOR  SCHOOL-BOOKS,     25  |      METHUEN'S  SHILLING  NOVELS, 

26        BOOKS  FOR  BOYS  AND  GIRLS, 
26        NOVELS  OF  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS, 


LEADERS  OF  RELIGION, 
LITTLE  BLUE  BOOKS, 


PAGE 
26 

26 
27 
27 
28 
28 
29 
29 
29 
30 
30 
31 

32-40 

39 
40 
40 


MARCH     1905 


4  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  CATALOGUE 

*Batten  (Loring  W-),  Ph.D..  S.T.D.,  Rector  of  St.  Mark's  Church,  New  Yortt;  sometime 

Professor  in  the  Philadelphia  Divinity  School.    THE  HEBREW  PROPHET.    Crown  Bvo. 

3-s.  6d.  net. 
Beaman  (A.  Hulme).     PONS  ASINORUM  ;   OR,   A  GUIDE  TO  BRIDGE.     Second 

Edition.     Fcaf .  Bvo.     zs. 

Beard  (W.  S.).    See  Junior  Examination  Series. 
EASY  EXERCISES   IN  ARITHMETIC.     Arranged  by.     Cr.  too.     Without  Answers,  is. 

With  Answers,  is.  id. 
Beckford  (Peter).     THOUGHTS    ON    HUNTING.      Edited  by  J.  OTHO  PAGET,  and 

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*MillaiS  (J.  G.).    THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  SIR  JOHN  EVERETT  MILLAIS, 

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Milne (J.G.),  M.A.    A  HISTORY  OF  ROMAN  EGYPT.    Fully  Illustrated.  CrwvuBvo.  6s. 
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GENERAL  LITERATURE  17 

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26 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  CATALOGUE 


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GENERAL  LITERATURE 


27 


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D.Litt. 
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D.Litt. 


28  MESSRS  METHUEN'S  CATALOGUE 

THE  PARADISO  OF  DANTE.     Translated  by  H.  F.  Gary.     Edited  by  Paget  Toynbee,  M.A., 

D.Litt. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  POEMS  OF  GEORGE  DARLEY.     Edited  by  R.  A.  Streatfeild. 
A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  LIGHT  VERSE.     Edited  by  A  C.  Deane. 
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POEMS.     By  John  Keats.     With  an  Introduction  by  L.  Binyon  and  Notes  by  J.  MASEFIEI.D. 
EOTHEN.     By  A.  W.  Kinglake.     With  an  Introduction  and  Notes.    Second  Edition. 
ELIA,  AND  THE  LAST  ESSAYS  OF  ELIA.     By  Charles  Lamb.     Edited  by  E.  V.  Lucas. 
LONDON  LYRICS.     By  F.  Locker.     Edited  by  A.  D.  Godley,  M.A. 

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Powell. 

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GENERAL  LITERATURE  29 

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TRADE  UNIONISM— NEW  AND  OLD.     By  G.  Howell.     Third  Edition. 
THE  CO-OPERATIVE  MOVEMENT  TO-DAY.     By  G.  J.  Holyoake.    Fourth  Edition. 
MUTUAL  THRIFT.     By  J.  Frome  Wilkinson,  M.A. 
PROBLEMS  OF  POVERTY.     By  J.  A.  Hobson,  M.A.    Fourth  Edition. 
THE  COMMERCE  OF  NATIONS.    By  C.  F.  Bastable,  M.A.     Third  Edition. 
THE  ALIEN  INVASION.     By  W.  H.  Wilkins,  B.  A. 
THE  RURAL  EXODUS.     By  P.  Anderson  Graham. 
LAND  NATIONALIZATION.     By  Harold  Cox,  B.A. 
A  SHORTER  WORKING  DAY,     By  H.  de  Gibbins  and  R.  A.  Hadfield. 
BACK  TO  THE  LAND.     An  Inquiry  into  Rural  Depopulation.     By  H.  E.  Moore. 
TRUSTS,  POOLS,  AND  CORNERS.    By  J.  Stephen  Jeans. 
THE  FACTORY  SYSTEM.     By  R.  W.  Cooke-Taylor. 
THE  STATE  AND  ITS  CHILDREN.     By  Gertrude  Tuckwell. 
WOMEN'S  WORK.     By  Lady  Dilke,  Miss  Bulley,  and  Miss  Whitley. 
SOCIALISM  AND  MODERN  THOUGHT.     By  M.  Kauffmann. 
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Edition.     Demy  Bvo.     jos.  6d. 
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Methuen's  Universal  Library 

EDITED  BY  SIDNEY  LEE.    In  Sixpenny  Volumes. 

MESSRS.  METHUEN  are  preparing  a  new  series  of  reprints  containing  both  books  of  classical 
repute,  which  are  accessible  in  various  forms,  and  also  some  rarer  books,  of  which  no  satisfactory 
edition  at  a  moderate  price  is  in  existence.  It  is  their  ambition  to  place  the  best  books  of  all 
nations,  and  particularly  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  within  the  reach  of  every  reader.  All  the 
great  masters  of  Poetry,  Drama,  Fiction,  History,  Biography,  and  Philosophy  will  be  repre- 
sented. Mr.  Sidney  Lee  will  be  the  General  Editor  of  the  Library,  and  he  will  contribute  a 
Note  to  each  book. 

The  characteristics  of  METHUEN'S  UNIVERSAL  LIBRARY  are  five  : — 

1.  SOUNDNESS  OF  TEXT.     A  pure  and  unabridged  text  is  the  primary  object  of  the  series, 
and  the  books  will  be  carefully  reprinted  under  the  direction  of  competent  scholars  from  the 
best  editions.     In  a  series  intended  for  popular  use  not  less  than  for  students,  adherence  to  the 
old  spelling  would  in  many  cases  leave  the  matter  unintelligible  to  ordinary  readers,  and,  as  the 
appeal  of  a  classic  is  universal,  the  spelling  has  in  general  been  modernised. 

2.  COMPLETENESS.    Where  it  seems  advisable,  the  complete  works  of  such  masters  as  Milton 
Bacon,  Ben  Jonson  and  Sir  Thomas  Browne  will  be  given.     These  will  be  issued  in  separate 
volumes,  so  that  the  reader  who  dc 

tunityjrf acquiring  ajsingle  masterpiece, 
nil  be  \ 


volumes,  so  that  the  reader  who  does  not  desire  all  the  works  of  an  author  will  have  the  oppor 
tunity  of  acquiring  a  single  masterpiece. 

3.  CHEAPNESS.     The  books  will  be  well  printed  on  good  paper  at  a  price  whi 
is  without  parallel  in  the  history  of  publishing.   Each  volume  will  contain  from  100  to  350  pages, 
and  will  be  issued  in  paper  covers,  Crown  8vo,  at  Sixpence  net.     In  a  few  cases  a  ' 


hichon  the  whole 
100  to  350  pages, 
cases  a  long  book  will 


and  will  De  issued  in  paper  covers,  \_rown  ovo, 

be  issued  as  a  Double  Volume  at  One  Shilling  net. 

4.  CLEARNESS  OF  TYPE.    The  type  will  be  a  very  legible  one. 

5.  SIMPLICITY.    There  will  be  no  editorial  matter  except  a  short  biographical  and  biblio- 
graphical note  by  Mr.  Sidney  L«e  at  the  beginning  of  each  vpkime. 

The  volumes  may  also  be  obtained  in  cloth  at  One  Shilling  net,  or  in  the  case  of  a  Double 
Volume  at  One  and  Sixpence  net.  Thus  TOM  JONES  maybe  bought  in  a  Double  paper  volume 
at  One  Shilling  net,  or  in  one  cloth  volume  at  xs.  6d.  net. 

The  Library  will  be  issued  at  regular  intervals  after  the  publication  of  the  first  six  books,  all 
of  which  will  be  published  together.     Due  notice  will  be  given  of  succeeding  issues.     The  orders 


GENERAL  LITERATURE  31 

of  publication  will  be  arranged  to  give  as  much  variety  of  subject  as  possible,  and  the  volume 
composing  the  complete  works  of  an  author  will  be  issued  at  convenient  intervals. 

These  are  the  early  Books,  all  of  which  are  in  the  Press. 
THE  WORKS  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.     In  10  volumes. 

VOL.  i.— The  Tempest;  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona;  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor; 
Measure  for  Measure  ;  The  Comedy  of  Errors. 

VOL.  ii. — Much  Ado  About  Nothing  ;  Love's  Labour's  Lost ;  A  Midsummer  Nights'  Dream ; 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  ;  As  You  Like  It. 

VOL.  in.— The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  ;  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well ;  Twelfth  Night ;  The 

Winter's  Tale. 

THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS.     By  John  Bunyan. 
THE  NOVELS  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.    In  5  volumes. 

VOL.  i. — Sense  and  Sensibility. 
THE  ENGLISH  WORKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON,  LORD  VERULAM. 

Vol.  i. — Essays  and  Counsels  and  the  New  Atlantis. 
THE  POEMS  AND  PLAYS  OF  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 
ON  THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST.     By  Thomas  a  Kempis. 
THE  WORKS  OF  BEN  JOHNSON.     In  about  12  volumes. 

VOL.  i. — The  Case  is  Altered  ;  Every  Man  in  His  Humour ;  Every  Man  out  of  His  Humour. 
THE  PROSE  WORKS  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 

VOL.  i.— Eikonoklastes  and  The  Tenure  of  Kings  and  Magistrates. 
SELECT  WORKS  OF  EDMUND  BURKE, 

Vol.  i. — Reflections  on  the  French  Revolution 

Vol.  ii. — Speeches  on  America. 
THE  WORKS  OF  HENRY  FIELDING. 

Vol.  I.— Tom  Jones.    (Double  Volume.) 

Vol.  n.— Amelia.    (Double  Volume. ) 
THE  POEMS  OF  THOMAS  CHATTERTON.     In  2  volumes. 

Vol.  i. — Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Vol.  ii.— The  Rowley  Poems. 

THE  MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS.    Translated  by  R.  Graves. 
THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE.    By  Edward  Gibbon. 

In  7  volumes. 

The  Notes  have  been  revised  by  J.  B.  Bury,  Litt.D. 
THE  PLAYS  OF  CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE. 

Vol.  i.— Tamburlane  the  Great ;  The  Tragical  History  of  Doctor  Faustus. 

Vol.  ii.— The  Jew  of  Malta:  Edward  the  Second  ;  The  Massacre  at  Paris;  The  Tragedy  of 

Dido. 

THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  AND  ANTIQUITIES  OF  SELBORNE.    By  Gilbert  White. 
THE  COMPLETE  ANGLER.    In  2  volumes. 

Vol.  i.— By  Izaak  Walton. 

Vol.  ii. — Part  2,  by  Cotton,  and  Part  3  by  Venables. 
THE  POEMS  OF  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY.     In  4  volumes. 

Vol.  i.— Alastor ;  The  Daemon  of  the  World  ;  The  Revolt  of  Islam,  etc. 
THE  WORKS  OF  SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.     In  6  volumes. 

Vol.  i. — Religio  Medici  and  Urn  Burial. 
THE  POEMS  OF  JOHN  MILTON.     In  2  volumes. 

Vol.  i.— Paradise  Lost. 

Vol.  ii. — Miscellaneous  Poems  and  Paradise  Regained. 
HUMPHREY  CLINKER.     By  T.  G.  Smollett. 
SELECT  WORKS  OF  SIR  THOMAS  MORE. 

Vol.  i. — Utopia  and  Poems. 

THE  ANALOGY  OF  RELIGION,  NATURAL  AND  REVEALED.     By  Joseph  Butler,  D.D. 
ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING.     By  John  Locke.     In  3  volumes. 
THE  POEMS  OF  JOHN  KEATS.     In  2  volumes. 
THE  DIVINE  COMEDY  OF  DANTE.     The  Italian  Text  edited  by  Paget  Toynbee,  M.A.,  D.Litt. 

(A  Double  Volume.) 

Westminster  Commentaries,  The 

General  Editor,  WALTER  LOCK,  D.D.,  Warden  of  Keble  College, 

Dean  Ireland's  Professor  of  Exegesis  in  the  University  of  Oxford. 
The  object  of  each  commentary  is  primarily  exegetical,  to  interpret  the  author's 
meaning  to  the  present  generation.     The  editors  will  not  deal,  except  very  subpr- 
dinately,  with  questions  of  textual  criticism  or  philology ;   but,  taking  the  English 


32  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  CATALOGUE 

text  in  the  Revised  Version  as  their  basis,  they  will  try  to  combine  a  hearty  accept- 
ance of  critical  principles  with  loyalty  to  the  Catholic  Faith. 
THE  BOOK  OF  GENESIS.    Edited  with  Introduction  and  Notes  byS.  R.  Driver,  D.D.     Third 

Edition    Demy  8vo.     i&r.  6<f. 

THE  BOOK  OF  JOB.     Edited  by  E.  C.  S.  Gibson.  D.D.     Second  Edition.    Dcmyf>vo.     6s. 
THE  ACTS  OF  THE  APOSTLES.     Edited  by  R.  B.  Rackham,  M.A.     Demy  %vo.    Second  and 

Cheaper  Edition,     los.  6d. 
THE   FIRST   EPISTLE  OF   PAUL  THE  APOSTLE  TO  THE  CORINTHIANS.      Edited  by  H.  L. 

Goudge,  M.A.     Demy  Bvo.    6s. 
THE  EPISTLE  OF  ST.  JAMES.     Edited  with  Introduction  and  Notes  by  R.  J.  Knowling,  M.A. 

Demy  Bvo.     6s. 

PART  II. — FICTION 

Marie  Corelli's  Novels 

Crown  Svv.    6s.  each. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  TWO  WORLDS.     Twenty-Fifth  Edition. 

VENDETTA.     Twenty-First  Edition. 

THELMA.     Thirty-First  Edition. 

ARDATH:  THE  STORY  OF  A  DEAD  SELF.    Fifteenth  Edition. 

THE  SOUL  OF  LILITH.     Twelfth  Edition. 

WORMWOOD.    Fourteenth.  Edition. 

BARABBAS :  A  DREAM  OF  THE  WORLD'S  TRAGEDY.       Thirty-Ninth  Edition. 
1  The  tender  reverence  of  the  treatment  and  the  imaginative  beauty  of  the  writing  have 
reconciled  us  to  the  daring  of  the  conception.      This    "Dream  of  the.  World's  Tragedy" 
is  a  lofty  and  not   inadequate  paraphrase  of  the   supreme  climax  of  the  inspired  narra- 
tive.'— Dublin  Review. 

THE  SORROWS  OF  SATAN.    Forty-Eighth  Edition. 

'A  very  powerful  piece  of  work.  ...  The  conception  is  magnificent,  and  is  likely 
to  win  an  abiding  place  within  the  memory  of  man.  .  .  .  The  author  has  immense  command 
of  language,  and  a  limitless  audacity.  .  .  .  This  interesting  and  remarkable  romance  will 
live  long  after  much  of  the  ephemeral  literature  of  the  day  is  forgotten.  ...  A  literary 
phenomenon  .  .  .  novel,  and  even  sublime.' — W.  T.  STEAD  in  the  Review  of  Reviews. 

THE  MASTER  CHRISTIAN.  [j6sth  Thousand. 

1  It  cannot  be  denied  that  "The  Master  Christian"  is  a  powerful  book  ;  that  it  is  one 
likely  to  raise  uncomfortable  questions  in  all  but  the  most  self-satisfied  readers,  and 
that  it  strikes  at  the  root  of  the  failure  of  jhe  Churches— the  decay  of  faith— in  a 
manner  which  shows  the  inevitable  disaster  heaping  up  ...  The  good  Cardinal  Bonpri  is  a 
beautiful  figure,  fit  to  stand  beside  the  good  Bishop  in  "  Les  Mise>ables."  It  is  a  book 
with  a  serious  purpose  expressed  with  absolute  unconventionality  and  passion  .  .  .  And  this 
is  to  say  it  is  a  book  worth  reading.' — Examiner. 

TEMPORAL  PpWER:  A  STUDY  IN  SUPREMACY.  [150^  Thousand. 

1  It  is  impossible  to  read  such  a  work  as  "  Temporal  Power  "  without  becoming  convinced 
that  the  story  is  intended  to  convey  certain  criticisms  on  the  ways  of  the  world  and  certain 
suggestions  for  the  betterment  of  humanity.  ...  If  the  chief  intention  of  the  book  was  to 
hold  the  mirror  up  to  shams,  injustice,  dishonesty,  cruelty,  and  neglect  of  conscience, 
nothing  but  praise  can  be  given  to  that  intention.' — Morning  Post. 

GOD'S  GOOD  MAN  :  A  SIMPLE  LOVE  STORY.     Sixth  Edition. 

Anthony  Hope's  Novels 
Crown  8vo.    6s.  each. 

THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR.     Tenth  Edition. 

'A.  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of  critical  analysis  impossible  within   our  limit; 
brilliant,    but    not    superficial ;  well   considered,    but    not   elaborated ;  constructed   with 
the  proverbial  art  that  conceals,  but  yet  allows  itself  to  be  enjoyed  by  readers  to  whom 
fine  literary  method  is  a  keen  pleasure.  —  The  World. 
A  CHANGE  OF  AIR.    Sixth  Edition. 

'A  graceful,  vivacious  comedy,  true  to  human  nature.     The  characters  are  traced  with  a 
masterly  hand.' — Times. 
A  MAN  OF  MARK.     Fifth  Edition. 

'Of  all  Mr.  Hope's  books,   "A    Man  of  Mark"   is  the  one  which  best  compares  with 
The  Prisoner  of  Zenda."  '—National  Observer. 


FICTION 


33 


THE  CHRONICLES  OF  COUNT  ANTONIO.    Fifth  Edition. 

'It  is  a  perfectly  enchanting  story  of  love  and  chivalry,  and  pure  romance.      The  Count 
is  the  most  constant,  desperate,  and  modest  and  tender  of  lovers,  a  peerless  gentleman, 
an  intrepid  fighter,  a  faithful  friend,  and  a  magnanimous  foe.' — Guardian. 
PHROSO.     Illustrated  by  H.  R.  MILLAR.     Sixth  Edition. 

'  The  tale  is  thoroughly  fresh,  quick  with  vitality,  stirring  the  blood.'— St.  James  s  Gazette. 
SIMON  DALE.     Illustrated.    Sixth  Edition. 

'Theie  is  searching  analysis  of  human  nature,  with  a  most  ingeniously  constructed  plot. 
Mr.  Hope  has  drawn  the  contrasts  of  his  women  with  marvellous  subtlety  and  delicacy.' 
— Times. 
THE  KING'S  MIRROR.    Fourth  Edition. 

1  In  elegance,  delicacy,  and  tact  it  ranks  with  the  best  of  his  novels,  while  in  the  wide 
range  of  its  portraiture  and  the  subtilty  of  its  analysis  it  surpasses  all  his  earlier  ventures. ' 
— Spectator. 
QUISANTE.     Fourth  Edition. 

'The   book  is  notable  for  a  very  high  literary  quality,  and  an  impress  of  power  and 
mastery  on  every  pa.x&.'—Dazfy  Chronicle. 
THE  DOLLY  DIALOGUES. 

W.  W.  Jacobs'  Novels 

Crown  &vo.     $s.  6d.  each. 

MANY  CARGOES.     Twenty-Seventh  Edition. 

SEA  URCHINS.     Eleventh  Edition. 

A  MASTER  OF  CRAFT.     Illustrated.    Sixth  Edition. 

'Can  be  unreservedly  recommended  to  all  who  have  not  lost  their  appetite  for  wholesome 
laughter. ' — Spectator. 

1  The  best  humorous  book  published  for  many  a  day.' — Black  and  White. 
LIGHT  FREIGHTS.     Illustrated.    Fourth  Edition. 

1  His  wit  and  humour  are  perfectly  irresistible.  Mr.  Jacobs  writes  of  skippers,  and  mates, 
and  seamen,  and  his  crew  are  the  jolliest  lot  that  ever  sailed.' — Daily  News. 

'  Laughter  in  every  page.' — Daily  Mail. 

Lucas  Malet's  Novels 
Croivn  82/0.     6s.  each. 

COLONEL  ENDERBY'S  WIFE.     Third  Edition. 
A  COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION.      New  Edition. 
LITTLE  PETER.    Second  Edition.    3s.  6d. 
THE  WAGES  OF  SIN.    Fourteenth  Edition. 
THE  CARISSIMA.    Fourth  Edition. 
THE  GATELESS  BARRIER.  _  Fourth  Edition. 

'In  "  The  Gateless  Barrier"  it  is  at  once  evident  that,  whilst  Lucas  Malet  has  preserved 
her  birthright  of  originality,  the  artistry,  the  actual  writing,  is  above  even  the  high  level  of 
the  books  that  were  born  before. ' —  Westminster  Gazette. 

THE    HISTORY    OF    SIR    RICHARD    CALMADY.     Seventh  Edition.     A    Limited 
Edition  in  Two  Volumes.     Crown  8vo.    12*. 

'A  picture  finely  and  amply  conceived.  In  the  strength  and  insight  in  which  the  story 
has  been  conceived,  in  the  wealth  of  fancy  and  reflection  bestowed  upon  its  execution, 
and  in  the  moving  sincerity  of  its  pathos  throughout,  "Sir  Richard  Calmady"  must  rank  as 
the  great  novel  of  a  great  writer.' — Literature. 

'The  ripest  fruit  of  Lucas  Malet's  genius.  A  picture  of  maternal  love  by  turns  tender 
and  terrible.' — Spectator. 

'  A  remarkably  fine  book,  with  a  noble  motive  and  a  sound  conclusion.' — Pilat. 

Gilbert  Parker's  Novels 
Crown  $>vo.     6s.  each. 

PIERRE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.    Fifth  Edition. 

'Stories  happily  conceived  and  finely  executed.     There   is  strength  and   genius  in  Mr 
Parker's  style.'— Daily  Telegraph. 
MRS.  FALCHION.    Fifth  Edition. 

'  A  splendid  study  of  character.'—  A  thenaum. 
THE  TRANSLATION  OF  A  SAVAGE.     Second  Edition. 
THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SWORD.    Illustrated.    Eighth  Edition. 

'  A  rousing  and  dramatic  tale.     A  book  like  this  is  a  joy  inexpressible.'— Daily  Chronicle. 


34  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  CATALOGUE 

WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC :    The   Story  of  a  Lost  Napoleon.      Fifth 
Edition. 

'Here  we  find  romance — real,  breathing,   living  romance.      The  character  of  Valmond 
is  drawn  unerringly.' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

AN    ADVENTURER  OF    THE    NORTH:    The    Last  Adventures   of   'Pretty  Pierre.' 
Third  Edition. 

'  The  present  book  is  full  of  fine  and  moving  stories  of  the  great  North.' — Glasgow  Herald. 
THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY.     Illustrated.     Thirteenth  Edition. 
'  Mr.  Parker  has  produced  a  really  fine  historical  novel.' — Athenaum. 
4  A  great  book.'— Black  and  White. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  :  a  Romance  of  Two  Kingdoms.    Illustrated.    Fourth 
Edition. 

1  Nothing  more  vigorous  or  more  human  has  come  from  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker   than  this 
novel.' — Literature. 
THE  POMP  OF  THE  LAVILETTES.     Second  Edition,     y.  6,t. 

'Unforced  pathos,  and  a  deeper  knowledge  of  human  nature  than  he  has  displayed  before.' 
—Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Arthur  Morrison's  Novels 
Crown  Kvo.    6s.  each. 

TALES  OF  MEAN  STREETS.    Sixth  Edition. 

'A  great  book.      The  author's  method  is  amazingly  effective,  and  produces  a  thrilling 
sense  of  reality.     The  writer  lays  upon  us  a  master  hand.      The  book  is  simply  appalling 
and  irresistible  in  its  interest.     It  is  humorous  also ;  without  humour  it  would  not  make  the 
mark  it  is  certain  to  make.' — World. 
A  CHILD  OF  THE  JAGO.    Fourth  Edition. 

'  The  book  is  a  masterpiece." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
TO  LONDON  TOWN.    Second  Edition. 

'This  is  the  new  Mr.  Arthur  Morrison,  gracious  and  tender,  sympathetic  and  human.' — 
Daily  Telegraph. 
CUNNING  MURRELL. 

'  Admirable.  .   .        Delightful   humorous  relief  ...    a  most    artistic    and    satisfactory 
achievement. '  — Spectator. 
THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL.     Third  Edition. 

'A  masterpiece  of  artistic  realism.     It  has  a  finality  of  touch  that  only  a  master  may 
command.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

4  An  absolute  masterpiece,  which  any  novelist  might  be  proud  to  claim.' — Graphic. 
'  "  The  Hole  in  the  Wall"  is  a  masterly  piece  of  work.     His  characters  are  drawn  with 
amazing  skill.    Extraordinary  power.' — Daily  Telegraph. 

Eden  Phillpotts'  Novels 

Crown  %vo.    6s.  each. 

LYING  PROPHETS. 

CHILDREN  OF  THE  MIST.    Fifth  Edition. 

THE  HUMAN  BOY.    With  a  Frontispiece.    Fourth  Edition. 

'Mr.   Phillpotts  knows  exactly   what  school-boys  do,  and  can   lay  bare  their  inmost 
thoughts  ;  likewise  he  shows  an  all-pervading  sense  of  humour.' — Academy. 
SONS  OF  THE  MORNING.    Second  Edition. 

'  A  book  of  strange  power  and  fascination.' — Morning  Post. 
THE  STRIKING  HOURS.    Second  Edition. 

'  Tragedy  and  comedy,  pathos  and  humour,  are  blended  to  a  nicety  in  this  volume.'—  World. 
'  The  whole  book  is  redolent  of  a  fresher  and  ampler  air  than  breathes  in  the  circumscribed 
life  of  great  towns.' — Spectator. 
THE  RIVER.     Third  Edition. 

1 "  The  River"  places  Mr.  Phillpotts  in  the  front  rank  of  living  novelists.  '—Punch. 
'  Since  "  Lorna  Doone  "  we  have  had  nothing  so  picturesque  as  this  new  romance.'— Bir- 
tninghatn  Gazette. 

1  Mr.  Phillpotts's  new  book  is  a  masterpiece  which  brings  him  indisputably  into  the  front 
rank  of  English  novelists.'— Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

'  This  great  romance  of  the  River  Dart.      The  finest  book  Mr.  Eden  Phillpotts  has  written. 
—Morning  Post. 

THE  AMERICAN  PRISONER.       Third  Edition. 
THE  SECRET  WOMAN.    Second  Edition. 


FICTION  35 

S.  Baring-Gould's  Novels 

Crown  87/0.    6s.  each. 


ARMINELL.    Fifth  Edition. 

URITH.    Fifth  Edition. 

IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.    Seventh 

Edition. 

CHEAP  JACK  ZITA.    Fourth  Edition. 
MARGERY     OF     QUETHER.        Third 

Edition. 

THE  QUEEN  OF  LOVE.    Fifth  Edition. 
JACQUETTA.     Third  Edition. 
KITTY  ALONE.    Fifth  Edition. 
NOEMI.     Illustrated.    Fourth  Edition. 
THE    BROOM-SQUIRE.       Illustrated. 

Fourth  Edition. 
DARTMOOR  IDYLLS. 


THE     PENNYCOMEQUICKS.        Third 

Edition. 
GUAVAS  THE    TINNER.        Illustrated. 

Second  Edition. 

RLADYS.     Illustrated.    Second  Edition. 
DOMITIA.     Illustrated.    Second  Edition. 
PABO  THE  PRIEST. 

WINIFRED.     Illustrated.    Second  Edition. 
THE  FROBISHERS. 
ROYAL  GEORGIE.     Illustrated. 
MISS  QUILLET.     Illustrated. 
LITTLE  TU'PENNY.  A  New  Edition.   6<t. 
CHRIS  OF  ALL  SORTS. 
IN  DEWISLAND.    Second  Edition. 


Robert  Barr's  Novels 

Crown  Sv0.    6s.  each. 

IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS.      Third  Edition. 

'  A  book  which  has  abundantly  satisfied  us  by  its  capital  humour. ' — Daily  Chronicle. 
THE  MUTABLE  MANY.    Second  Edition. 

1  There  is  much  insight  in  it,  and  much  excellent  humour.'— Daily  Chronicle. 
THE  VICTORS. 
THE  COUNTESS  TEKLA.     Third  Edition. 

'Of  these  mediaeval  romances,  which  are  now  gaining  ground,  "The  Countess  Tekla  " 
is  the  very  best  we  have  seen.' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
THE  LADY  ELECTRA.    Second  Edition. 
THE  TEMPESTUOUS  PETTICOAT. 

£.  Maria  Albanesi's  Novels 
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SUSANNAH  AND  ONE  OTHER.    Fourth  Edition. 
THE  BLUNDER  OF  AN  INNOCENT.    Second  Edition. 
CAPRICIOUS  CAROLINE.    Second  Edition. 
LOVE  AND  LOUISA.     Second  Edition. 
PETER,  A  PARASITE. 

B.  M.  Croker's  Novels 

Crown  %vo.    6s.  each. 

ANGEL.    Fourth  Edition.  I  A  STATE  SECRET.     Third  Edition. 

PEGGY  OF  THE  BARTONS.    Sixth  Edit.      JOHANNA.     Second  Edition. 

THE  OLD  CANTONMENT.  |  THE  HAPPY  VALLEY.     Second  Edition. 

J.  H.  Findlater's  Novels 

Crown  %vo.     6s.  each. 

THE  GREEN  GRAVES  OF  BALGOWRIE.     Fifth  Edition. 

Mary  Findlater's  Novels 

Crown  82/0.     6s. 

A  NARROW  WAY.      Third  Edition.  I     THE  ROSE  OF  JOY.     Second  Edition. 

OVER  THE  HILLS. 

Eobert  Hichens'  Novels 
Crown  Svo.    6s.  each. 

THE  PROPHET  OF  BERKELEY  SQUARE.    Second  Edition 

TONGUES  OF  CONSCIENCE.    Second  Edition. 

FELIX.     Fourth  Edition. 

THE  WOMAN  WITH  THE  FAN.    Fifth  Edition. 

BYEWAYS.     3*.  && 

THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH     Seventh  Edition. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  CATALOGUE 


Henry  James's  Novels 

Crown  fyvo.     6s.  each. 

THE  SOFT  SIDE.    Second  Edition.  \  THE  AMBASSADORS.    Second  Edition. 

THE  BETTER  SORT.  |  THE  GOLDEN  BOWL. 

Mary  E.  Mann's  Novels 
Crown  8v0.     6s.  each. 

OLIVIA'S  SUMMER.     Second  Edition. 
A  LOST  ESTATE.     A  New  Edition. 
THE    PARISH    OF    HILBY.         A    New 

Edition. 

*THE  PARISH  NURSE. 
GRAN'MA'S  JANE. 
MRS.  PETER  HOWARD. 


A  WINTER'S  TALE.     A  New  Edition. 

ONE  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS.  A  New 
Edition. 

THERE  WAS  ONCE  A  PRINCE.  Illus- 
trated. 3.9.  6d. 

WHEN  ARNOLD  COMES  HOME.  Illus- 
trated. -3,s.  6d. 


W.  Pett  Ridge's  Novels 
Crown  %>vo.     6s.  each. 

LOST  PROPERTY.     Second  Edition. 

ERB.    Second  Edition. 

A  SON  OF  THE  STATE.    35.  6d. 


A  BREAKER  OF  LAWS.     3*.  f>d. 
MRS.  GALER'S  BUSINESS. 
SECRETARY  TO  BAYNE,  M.P.    $s.  6d. 


Adeline  Sergeant's  Novels 

Crown  &vo.     6s.  each. 
THE  MASTER  OF  BEECHWOOD. 
BARBARA'S  MONEY.    Second  Edition. 
ANTHEA'S  WAY. 
THE     YELLOW     DIAMOND.        Second 

Edition. 
UNDER  SUSPICION. 


THE  LOVE  THAT  OVERCAME. 

THE  ENTHUSIAST. 

ACCUSED     AND     ACCUSER.       Second 

Edition. 

THE  PROGRESS  OF  RACHEL. 
THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  MOAT. 


".rown  8vo.     6s.     See  also  Shil- 


Albanesi  (E.  Maria).    See  page  35. 

Anstey  (F.),    Author  of  'Vice  Versa.'      A   BAYARD  FROM  BENGAL.     Illustrated  by 
BERNARD  PARTRIDGE.     Third  Edition.     Crown  Bvo.    y.  6</. 

Bacheller  (Irving),  Author  of  '  Eben  Holden.'    DARREL  OF  THE  BLESSED  ISLES 
Third  Edition.     Crown  8v0.     6s. 

BagOt  (Richard).    A  ROMAN  MYSTERY.      Third  Edition.    Crownlvo.    6s. 

BalfOUr  (Andrew).     See  Shilling  Novels. 

Baring-Gould  (S-).     See  page  35  and  Shilling  Novels. 

Barlow  (Jane).    THE  LAND  OF  THE  SHAMROCK.    C* 
ling  Novels. 

BaiT  (Robert).     See  page  35  and  Shilling  Novels. 

Begbie (Harold).    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  JOHN  SPARROW.    Crown  too.    6s. 

BellOC  (Hilaire).     EMMANUEL  BURDEN,   MERCHANT.      With  36  Illustrations  by 
G.  K.  CHESTERTON.    Second  Edition.    Crown  &vo.     6s. 

Benson  (E.  F.).     See  Shilling  Novels. 

Benson  (Margaret).    SUBJECT  TO  VANITY.    Crown  too.    y.6d. 

Besant  (Sir  Walter).    See  Shilling  Novels. 

Bowles  (C.  Stewart).    A  STRETCH  OFF  THE  LAND.     Crown  too.    6s. 

Bullock  (Shan.  F.).    THE  SQUIREEN.     Crown  too.     6s. 

THE  RED  LEAGUERS.     Crown  too.    6s. 
See  also  Shilling  Novels. 

Burton  ( J.  BlOUndelle).    THE  YEAR  ONE :  A  Page  of  the  French  Revolution.     Illus- 
trated.    Crown  Svo.    6s. 

THE  FATE  OF  VALSEC.    Crown  too.    6s. 

A  BRANDED  NAME.    Crown  too.    6s. 
See  also  Shilling  Novels. 

Capes  (Bernard),  Author  of   'The  Lake  of  Wine.'    THE  EXTRAORDINARY  CON- 
FESSIONS OF  DIANA  PLEASE.     Third  Edition.    Crown  B-vo.     6s. 

Chesney  (Weatherby).    THE  BAPTST  RING.    Crown  too.    6s. 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  GREAT  EMERALD.    Crown  Svt.    6s. 


FICTION  37 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  A  BUNGALOW.    Second  Edition.    Cream  too.    6s. 

Clifford  (Hugh).    A  FREE  LANCE  OF  TO-DAY.     Crown  too.    6s. 

Clifford  (Mrs.  W.  K.).    See  also  Shilling  Novels  and  Books  for  Boys  and  Girls. 

Cobb  (Thomas).    A  CHANGE  OF  FACE.     Crown  too.    6s.     ' 

Cobban  ( J.  Maclaren).     See  Shilling  Novels. 

Corelli  (Marie).    See  page  32. 

Cotes  (Mrs.  Everard).    See  Sara  Jeannette  Duncan. 

Cotterell (Constance).    THE  VIRGIN  AND  THE  SCALES.     Crown  Bvo.    6s. 

Crane  (Stephen)  and  Barr  (Robert).    THE  O'RUDDY.    Crown  too.    6s. 

Crockett  (S.  R.),  Author  of  'The  Raiders,'  etc.     LOCHINVAR.      Illustrated.     Second 

Edition.    Crown  too.    6s. 

THE  STANDARD  BEARER.     Cr(nvn  too.    6s. 
Croker  (B.  M.).    See  pa^a  35 . 

Dawson(A.  J.).   DANIEL  WHYTE.   Crown  too.  y.  6<t. 

Doyle  (A.  Conan),  Author  of  'Sherlock  Holmes,'     'The  White  Company,' etc.     ROUND 

THE  RED  LAMP.     Ninth  Edition.     Crown  too.     6s. 
Duncan  (Sara  Jeannette)  (Mrs.  Everard  Cotes).      THOSE  DELIGHTFUL  AMERI. 

CANS.     Illustrated.     Third  Edison.     Crown  too.     6s. 
THE  POOL  IN  THE  DESERT.     Crown  too.     6s. 
A  VOYAGE  OF  CONSOLATION.    Crown  too.     3s.  6d. 
Findlater  ( J.  H.).    See  page  35  and  Shilling  Novels. 

Findlater  (Mary).    See  page  35. 

FitZpatrick(K)    THE  \VEANS  AT  ROWALLAN.     Illustrated.     Croivntoo.    6s. 

FitZStephen (Gerald).     MORE  KIN  THAN  KIND.    Crowntoo.    6s. 

Fletcher  (J.  S.).    LUCIAN  THE  DREAMER.     Crown  too.    6s. 

T>AVID  MARCH.    Crown  too.    6s. 

Francis  (M.  E.).    See  Shilling  Novels. 

Fraser  (Mrs.  Hugh),  Author  of  'The    Stolen   Emperor.'     THE   SLAKING    OF    THE 

SWORD.    Crowntoo.     6s. 

GaUon  (Tom),  Author  of 'Kiddy.'    RICKERBY'S  FOLLY.    Crowntoo.    6s. 
Gerard  (Dorothea),    Author  of   'Lady   Baby.'      THE   CONQUEST    OF    LONDON. 

Second  Edition.    Crown  too.    6s. 

HOLY  MATRIMONY.    Second  Edition.     Crowntoo.     6s. 
MADE  OF  MONEY.    Crown  too.    6s. 
THE  BRIDGE  OF  LIFE.     Crowntoo.    6s. 

Gerard  (Emily).     THE  HERONS'  TOWER.     Crown  too.    6s. 
GiSSing  (George),  Author  of  'Demos,'    'In  the   Year  of  Jubilee,'   etc.      THE    TOWN 

TRAVELLER.     Second  Edition.     Crowntoo.    6s. 
THE  CROWN  OF  LIFE.    Crown,  too.    6s. 

GlanvUle  (Ernest).     THE  INCA'S  TREASURE.     Illustrated.     Crmvn  too.     y.  6d. 
Gleig (Charles).    BUNTER'S  CRUISE.     Illustrated.     Crowntoo.     -is.  6d. 
GOSS  (C.  F.).     See  Shilling  Novels. 

Herbertson  (Agnes  G.).    PATIENCE  DEAN.    Crown  too.    6s. 
Hichens  (Robert).    See  page  35. 

Hobbes  (John   Oliver),   Author    of   'Robert    Orange.'      THE    SERIOUS    WOOING. 

Crmvn  too.    6s. 

Hope  (Anthony).    See  page  32. 

Hough  (Emerson).     THE  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.     Illustrated.    Crown  too.    6s. 
Hyne  (C.  J.  CutCliffe),  Author   of  'Captain    Kettle.'     MR.    HORROCKS,   PURSER. 

Third  Edition.     Crown  too.    6s. 
Jacobs  (W.  W.).    See  page  33. 

James  (Henry).    See  page  36. 

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Keays(H.  A.  Mitchell).    HE  THAT  EATHETH  BREAD  WITH  ME.    Crown  too.  6s. 

Lawless  (Hon.  Emily).     See  Shilling  Novels. 

Lawson  (Harry),  Author  of  'When  the  Billy  Boils.'     CHILDREN  OF  THE  BUSH. 

Crown  too.    6s. 

Levett- YeatS  (S.).    ORRAIN.     Second  Edition.    Crown  too.     6s. 
Linden  (Annie).    A  WOMAN  OF  SENTIMENT.    Crowntoo.    6s. 
Linton  (E.  Lynn).     THE  TRUE  HISTORY  OF  JOSHUA  DAVIDSON,  Christian  and 

Communist.      Twelfth  Edition.     Medium  too.     6d. 
Long  (J.  Luther),  Co- Author  of  '  The  Darling  of  the  Gods.'    MADAME  BUTTERFLY. 

Crown  too.     35.  6d. 
SIXTY  JANE  .  Crowntoo.    6s. 
Lyall  (Edna).     DERRICK  VAUGHAN,  NOVELIST.     4*nd  Thousand.    Cr.  too.    3*.  6d. 


38  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  CATALOGUE 

M'Carthy  (Justin  H.),  Author  of '  If  I  were  King.1   THE  LADY  OF  LOYALTY  HOUSE. 

Third  Edition.     Crown  Bvo.    6s. 
THE  DRYAD.    Crown  8vo.    6s. 

Mackie  (Pauline  Bradford).    THE  VOICE  IN  THE  DESERT.  Crown  too.    6s. 
Macnaughtan  (S.).    THE  FORTUNE  OF   CHRISTINA  MACNAB.     Third  Edition. 

Crown  too.  6s. 

Malet  (Lucas).    See  page  33. 
Mann  (Mrs.  M.  E.).     See  page  36. 

Marriott  (Charles),  Author  of  The  Column.      GENEVRA.   Second  Edition.   Cr.  too.   6s. 
Marsh  (Richard).    THE  TWICKENHAM  PEERAGE.    Second  Edition.    Crowntoo.   6s. 
A  METAMORPHOSIS.     Crown  too.     6s. 
GARNERED.    Crown  too.    6s. 
A  DUEL.     Crowntoo.    6s. 
Mason  (A,  E.  W.),  Author  of  '  The  Courtship  of  Morrice  Buckler,'  '  Miranda  of  the  Balcony, 

etc.    CLEMENTINA.     Illustrated.     Crown  too.     Second  Edition.     6s. 
Mathers   (Helen),    Author    of    'Comin'    thro'    the    Rye.'      HONEY.      Fourth    Edition. 

Crown  too.    6s. 

GRIFF  OF  GRIFFITHSCOURT.     Crown  too.     6s. 
Meade  (L.  T.).     DRIFT.     Cro^vn  too.     6s. 
RESURGAM.    Crown  too.    6s. 

Meredith  (Ellis).     HEART  OF  MY  HEART.     Crown  too.    6s. 
'  MiSS  MoUy '  (The  Author  of).    THE  GREAT  RECONCILER.     Crown  too.    6s. 
Mitford    (Bertram).      THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER.      Illustrated.      Sixth    Edition 

Crown  too.     3$.  6d. 

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THE  RED  DERELICT.    Crown  too.    6s. 
Montresor  (F.  F.),  Author  of  'Into  th«  Highways  and  Hedges.1    THE  ALIEN.     Third 

Edition.    Crown  too.    6s. 

Morrison  (Arthur).    See  page  34. 

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THE  LITERARY  SENSE.  Crown  too.   6s. 
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THE  EMBARRASSING  ORPHAN.     Crown  too.    6s. 
NIGEL'S  VOCATION.    Crown  too.     6s. 
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BARHAM  OF  BELTANA.     Crown  too.     6s. 
Oliphant  (Mrs.)-     See  Shilling  Novels. 
OllrVant  (Alfred).    OWD  BOB,  THE  GREY  DOG  OF  KENMUIR.    Seventh  Edition. 

Crown  too.     6s. 

Oppenheim  (E  Phillips).    MASTER  OF  MEN.     Third  Edition.    Crown  too.     6s. 
Oxenham    (John),    Author   of    'Barbe    of  Grand  Bayou.'     A    WEAVER    OF    WEBS. 

Second  Edition.    Crown  too.     6s. 
THE  GATE  OF  THE  DESERT.     Crown  too.     6s. 
Pain  (Barry).    THREE  FANTASIES.     Crown  too.     is. 
LINDLEY  KAYS.     Third  Edition.     Crown  too.    6s. 

Parker  (Gilbert).    See  page  03. 

Pemberton  (Max).    THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  A  THRONE.     Illustrated.     Third  Edition. 

Crown  too.    6s. 
I    CROWN    THEE    KING.     With    Illustrations   by    Frank    Dadd    and    A.    Forrestier. 

Crown  too.     6s. 

Penny  (Mrs.  F.  E.).     See  Shilling  Novels. 
PhillpOttS  (Eden).    See  page  34..and  Shilling  Novels. 

Pickthall  (Marmaduke).     SAID  THE  FISHERMAN.    Fifth  Edition.    Crown  too.    6s. 
*BRENDLE.    Crown  too.    6s. 

"Pryce  (Richard).    WINIFRED  MOUNT.     A  New  Edition.     Crowntoo.     6s. 
•Q/ Author  of  'Dead  Man's  Rock.'      THE  WHITE  WOLF.      Second  Edition.      Crown 

Qneuz  (W.  le).  THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  WESTMINSTER.    Third  Edition.   Crown 

too.     6s. 

THE  CLOSED  BOOK.    Second  Edition.    Crown  too.    6s. 
THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.     Illustrated.    Crown  too.    6s. 
Rhys  (Grace).    THE  WOOING  OF  SHEILA.    Second  Edition.    Croivntoo.    6s. 
THE  PRINCE  OF  LISNOVER.     Crown  too.    Cs. 


FICTION 


39 


Rhys  (Grace)  and  Another.     THE   DIVERTED   VILLAGE.     With  Illustrations  by 

DOROTHY  GWYN  JEFFREYS.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 
Ridge  (W.  Pett).     See  page  36. 

Ritchie  (Mrs.  David  Q.).    THE  TRUTHFUL  LIAR.     Crown  Zvo.    6s. 
Roberts  (C.  G.  D.).    THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD.    Crown  BVA    3s.6J. 
*RobertSOn  (Frances  Forbes).     THE  TAMING  OF  THE  BRUTE.     Crown  too.    6s. 
Russell  (W.  Clark).      MY  DANISH   SWEETHEART.      Illustrated.      Fourth  Edition 

Crown  Zvo.    6s. 

ABANDONED.    Second  Edition.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 
HIS  ISLAND  PRINCESS.     Illustrated.     Crown  6vo.     6s. 

Sergeant  (Adeline).    See  page  36. 

Shannon  (W.  F.).    THE  MESS  DECK.     Crown  8vo.    3s.  6d. 
JIM  TWELVES.    Second  Edition.     Crown  %vo.     js.  6d. 

Sonnichsen  (Albert).  DEEP  SEA  VAGABONDS,   crown  sw.   6*. 

Stringer  (Arthur).    THE  SILVER  POPPY.    Crown  8vo.    6s. 

Sutherland  (Duchess  Of).     See  Shilling  Novels. 

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40 


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