Chapter XV

In Camp again—Departure from Fez—Consular agents—Infantry
drill—Closing of gates—Source of Wad el Fas—Defences of
Marocco—Chances of invasion.

_Camp, Nedja, Monday, 10th May 1880._

Here we are once more on the march, all of us feeling as if our life at the Moorish capital had been a dream, and that only the usual twenty-four hours had elapsed since last the tents were pitched. The camp is on precisely the old plan, and this, combined with the familiar but unearthly shrieks of the Moors, and other well-known sounds, seems to bridge over the time between our former wanderings and the present. On my right, at the end of the front line, is the Doctor’s tent, from which issues, as usual, his melodious cry of “Máho,” by which he essays to attract the attention of his servant, a native of Sús. On the left, next me, is Zouche, calling in a minor key for George; and farther off the Bashador, having run up the gamut of servants’ names, arrives at that of Boomgheis, which is at once echoed by all the other ruffians who have lain _perdus_ the while, and which is a sort of trump card played by us all when in difficulties, and unable to get the man we want. Síd Búbakr alone is absent; but he is only a town acquaintance, so his spasmodic cry (like a peacock’s in pain) of “Náam, Sídi,”[70] with which he always, in our garden at Fez, responded to His Excellency’s very frequent summons, is not associated with camp life. We expect, however, to see him again, as he is to overtake us in a day or two with some papers of importance, which the Vizier explained “Sídna[71] had not had time to sign.” It is to be hoped they will follow all right, but with His Excellency’s departure the good resolves of His Majesty grow weak; and as the personal influence of the English minister’s presence is withdrawn the old state of things is apt to return, and tyranny and injustice to resume the even tenour of their way. A good many years ago, Sir John proposed that a British resident should always live at Fez, and himself volunteered to be the first, but the proposal fell flat with the representatives of the other powers, and the then Sultan, Mulai Abd-er-Rahman, was most unwilling to be responsible for his safety. In our treaty with him, however, in 1856, it was stipulated that the English might have agents in any _town_, while the other powers were limited to _ports_—a distinction which was by no means appreciated by our Continental neighbours. Rohlfs states this arrangement was made by treaty in 1861, but I think his date in this instance is inaccurate. _A propos_ of this treaty, M. Duval, writing three years later, urges the appointment of Consuls in the interior—a measure which, he affirms, was adopted by his country in bygone days, when “Le roi de France, Henri III., avait, sur l’invitation même du chérif régnant en 1577, nommé un Consul et institué une agence consulaire à Fez.”[72] The present Sultan might not be averse from following the precedent of his ancestors, but without the hearty co-operation of the Grand Vizier and others, it could not be adopted; and as the present holder of that office cordially detests all Christians, he is not likely to counsel such a proceeding. From this minister downwards, the whole governing staff of the country is an Augean stable of corruption and iniquity, which nothing but the increase of trade and consequent march of civilisation is likely to sweep away.

As we did not leave Fez till noon, I got up at six o’clock, and rode to a parade of some 1500 of the troops outside the town. There were two complete regiments with six companies of thirty files each; the remainder were all boys and recruits at “company drill,” the favourite movement of their instructors being to wheel them round and round in a single rank of about 150 strong. Last but not least was an enormous band of about 100, marching round and playing tunes which were calculated to strike terror into the heart of any ordinary foe. All commands were in English, even to the numbering and some of the “cautions,” as, “Dress back on the left,” “Steady,” and so on. Kaïd Ali (not the old gentleman of that name who commands our escort), with whom I had tea the other day at the barrack, was in command of the better drilled of the two regiments, and seemed thoroughly at home and to enjoy his work, deploying, forming squares, &c., with much success. The drill was carried on at the top of the rising-ground overlooking the palace square, so, if I had been a little earlier, I should have seen the artillery practice they are so anxious to keep dark. As it was, I made out with my glasses the commanding figure of the Sultan, sitting in the bathing-machine-like vehicle which attracted our attention before in the outer court of the palace, and in which he was now receiving his ministers. He looks on at the practice on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes laying the guns himself. A wooden post is the mark they fire at, the projectile being stopped by the wall of the enclosure about 500 yards or less from the guns. The Sultan is much taken up at present with entrenching tools—a subject I had touched on in my report—and has ordered Kaïd Maclean to have a “battery built at once,” with some double-headed picks, which have made their appearance lately out of a neglected store. I had a talk with Síd Drís ben Abd-el-Wáhad, who was very anxious to accompany us to Mequinez, but who at that hour had been unable to get the Sultan’s leave; he turned up, however, in camp here at seven, having ridden out with Sir John, who did not leave Fez till five, having been closeted with Síd Búbakr and some other notables all day. I rode back from the parade through the Gordon Cummings’ camp to say good-bye. They, too, left to-day for Tangier; so Fez is rid of all her obnoxious visitors at once. I then passed on through the market, where, the Amín[73] having finished his prayer, the jugglers, hill-tribe dancers, and the ape-like individual who makes faces, were all hard at work; and on the outside of all was the comical-looking man, whose histrionic treat was so heartlessly cut short the other day at the Summer Palace, amid an enthusiastic audience, who did not scruple to hear him to the end. The streets were crammed with our tents and baggage, and the garden of the Legation, where we have spent three such pleasant weeks, was swept and garnished; while among the walks wandered the old gardener who is in charge, eyeing sadly some of his best orange-trees, from which the accursed Nazarenes had cut sticks as a memento of their visit.

With the exception of His Excellency and the khalífa, we had all cleared out of the place by twelve o’clock; not with flourish of trumpet and beat of drum as we entered, but sneaking quietly away with a very limited escort, the greater part having remained as a guard to the Envoy. The populace, who had been coerced into welcoming the coming, did not trouble themselves to speed the parting guest, and, except at the gates of the town, where a few of the more religious had assembled to bestow on us a parting curse, the streets presented their usual appearance. _A propos_ of the gates, I have always forgotten to come and see the ceremony of closing them, which takes place every Friday during the hours of prayer from ten to twelve, in consequence of an ancient Mussulman prophecy, that all kingdoms lost once by Christians to the Turks and Saracens will be restored to the former on that day, and between the above hours. The custom is also observed in Mequinez and Marocco.

About eight miles from Fez on the left or south side of the track, and two miles off it, we noticed a large fort-like building, and hearing that the source of the Wad el Fas was there, I rode over to it with Miss Hay and Zouche. The fort, which in former times must have been a building of great strength, was built on rising ground, below which, in a rocky amphitheatre, was a pool of water not very deep, but clear as crystal, with a gravel and sandy bottom. Into the reservoir the spring gushed, in two streams or jets, out of the side of the rock below the building. To me it looked as if the whole mound and one side of the basin were artificial, though dating from some very ancient period. Lower down, in the middle of the river, which, on leaving the pool, assumes its normal width, was some solid mason-work like the ruins of an old bridge. We rode up the hill to the house or fort, which is a large, square, high-walled enclosure, covering all the level part of the mound; but whether it was roofed in or not we were unable to see, as the inhabitants of a few huts at the back would not even let us go near the gate. They were a most ill-looking lot, and at first I thought we had got among a small colony of lunatics, as they kept making queer faces and odd signs of silence if we attempted a closer inspection. The soldier who was with us gave us no assistance, but tried to make us come away, saying it was “harámi[74] for us to be there;” so there was nothing for it but to get back to the track and come on here. I questioned him through the interpreter afterwards, but it appeared he had “forgotten the circumstance,” and also “did not know anything about the place.” I have never seen any mention made of this singular spring or the adjacent fortress by other travellers, but I cannot help thinking that a competent observer might here discover some trace of Roman or other occupation of the country, and that the place deserves the attention of the archæologist, for whom, indeed, this land of Marocco is one vast field.

Our camp is on the bank of the Wad el Nedja, a small stream which we crossed by a stone bridge—an accommodation one rarely meets with here. The village opposite us on the right bank merely consists of a guardhouse, this being a bad neighbourhood, and subject to visits from the Beni Mtír, the same tribe who attacked our camp at Mikkès just before we reached Fez. I watched the guards for the camp being told off, about a hundred of them, armed with guns and posted a few yards apart. They chant in unison every few minutes to keep themselves awake, and the mounted patrol who visits them always has some excellent joke at which they laugh loudly, probably for the same purpose. His Excellency and escort came galloping into camp just at dinner-time, having ridden out fast in a downpour of rain. In his suite were Síd Muhammed Gavass and the “son of the slave of the one God.” Both of them are putting up in old Kaïd Ali’s tent. I am glad to have seen the parade of troops this morning outside Fez, as on other occasions of my trying to do so the Commander-in-Chief, who always attends, has either stopped the parade or marched the men off as soon as I came on the ground. Owing to his detention to-day at the “Court,” I saw all I wanted, and was much struck with the bearing of the men and their knowledge of drill, which fully equalled that of our native regiments in India. What kind of show they would make, if properly armed, against a European foe, it is hard to say, and during the present reign there has been no opportunity of judging; but the constant guerilla warfare which the levying of tribute from disaffected tribes entails should keep them in practice. The isolated position of Marocco, which prevents its serving as a highway to other lands, makes it comparatively valueless as a possession for any power unconnected with this part of Africa; and protected as it is on two sides by a rocky and surf-bound coast, in which are no harbours worthy of the name, it is not from that quarter the Moors need look for an attack. On the east, however, they have awkward neighbours in the conquerors of Algeria; and the tendency of the French to transgress their frontier line, as fixed by the treaty of 1845, makes the approach of an enemy in that direction possible. Frenchmen I have met do not scruple to talk openly of the advantages of an occupation of Marocco, and, having settled on the expulsion of the present dynasty, are only in doubt as to whether the country should be “divided among the Powers, or annexed to Algeria.” It is probable that certain of the Powers might dissent from the latter alternative, or indeed from either, and should matters come to an issue, and a European army ever find itself face to face with France, with Marocco as a battlefield, the assistance they would derive from the native cavalry and infantry in this land of soldiers would be no mean factor in the contest. It would be difficult to calculate what number of allies could thus be raised, as there are no available means of information, though a French writer boldly asserts that “le Maroc pourrait lever _plus de_ 500,000 soldats ou cavaliers, tant bien que mal équipés.” Though this is a high figure, representing, as it does, about one-twelfth of the population, it is possibly not above the mark, when one considers the fact that almost every adult in Marocco possesses a gun and a knife, with a fair knowledge of the use—or abuse—of both.