Chapter II

Tomb of Síd Ahmed ben Ali—Megalithic remains at Mzorah—“Lab el
barôd”—“Mona”—Extortion by Europeans—“Matamors”—Sharíf of
Wazan—Boar-hunt—Camp servants.

_Camp, Síd el Yemáni, 6th April 1880._

The morning clouds at Hadd el Gharbía, though low and threatening, luckily did not develop into rain, but served rather to intensify the rays of the sun, which for the first time “nipped” one uncomfortably. The camp was in motion at 8.30, and after traversing a beautiful plain, many miles in extent, rich in pasture and barley crops, we crossed the River Aïsha, and ascending a slight incline halted near the tomb of a saint, Síd Ahmed ben Ali. The tomb, in passing which the standard-bearer reverently lowered his flag, is said to be tended with great care, and to be highly finished inside; it is in a thick grove of olive trees, but into those sacred precincts of the holy man’s last resting place, we were, of course, not allowed to penetrate. The luncheon-tent had been pitched half a mile farther on, on the top of a bare hill, the only good point in the situation selected being a glorious view; as, however, this would not have compensated for the discomfort of remaining three or four hours under a blazing sun, with nothing but a sheet of canvas between us and it, we had the carpets and cushions brought back to a clump of trees near the olive grove, where, with the aid of books, papers, &c., we made a pleasant and cool halt. The photographer had, in the meantime, unperceived by us, stolen off and taken a picture of the scene, in which we, unconsciously, formed the foreground. It is difficult to get a Moor to sit for his portrait, the laws of the Koran strictly forbidding it; but in this picture poor Hamído, the Moorish boy, is caught with his back towards the camera, washing up dishes in an attitude, the ungracefulness of which will, I fear, be displeasing to the Prophet. At three P.M. the word “To horse” was given, and we continued the march. A short way on we made a slight _détour_ from the track to visit some remains attributed to ancient sun-worshippers. The style of these extraordinary monoliths is somewhat similar to those of Stonehenge, and they belong, possibly, to the same period. Only one large stone remains standing, the others lie around like fallen giants—strange and inexplicable remnants of a prehistoric age. I did not count the number of those on the ground, but in 1831 Sir Arthur Brooke tells us he found ninety of various sizes.[8] Of course since then many of the smaller have been removed for building, and the rapid growth of the underwood may have concealed others. The upright one is of great height—over twenty feet, I should say—as may be seen by comparison with the figure of the Moor who is innocently standing at the base. A much larger block than this is lying on the ground, where, to judge by appearance, it must have rested a long time. The natives do not attempt any explanation of the presence of these marvellous relics of an early creed, but they look upon the place with a kind of religious awe—as a sort of “burning bush”—and for the second or third time to-day our flag was reverently lowered as we approached the spot. Rohlfs, the plucky German renegade who made such an extraordinary tour through the country, erroneously describes the place as two leagues from Wazan, instead of about ten, as it really is; though this error would be lessened if it is German leagues that are meant. He states, too, that the villagers made considerable objections to his going near the spot at all. In our inspection we found no difficulty, but doubtless a strong party of six or eight Europeans with an escort of fifty cavalry would go far to allay their religious prejudices. The native name of the place is El Úted, or Mzorah, the former word signifying a peg or column, the latter a place of worship.

Yesterday, for the first time since we started, we were received with military honours[9]—lab el barôd, &c.; and aided by the nature of the ground, the scene was striking and picturesque in the extreme. On the top of a hill, a few miles from here, we found the brother of the Governor of Azîla awaiting us with a body of about sixty horsemen. They were drawn up in two ranks on our left hand, armed with long guns, which, in the distance, had all the appearance of lances. After the Governor had exchanged courteous greetings with Sir John and our kaïd the two escorts mingled together in our rear, and we rode on till the ground in front opened out into a valley with smooth turf at the bottom and low hills on either side. Here the “powder play” began; the spectators, consisting of ourselves and part of the escorts, rode slowly along one side of the slope; while the remainder, together with a number of villagers who had come out to see the fun, moved parallel with us on the opposite side. Over the flat ground between us thunder the five or six horsemen who take part in the performance; in perfect line they move, twirling their long guns in graceful movements round their heads, often throwing them high in the air and catching them again as they come down. Usually the rider in the centre holds his up horizontally, as if for the others, to use a military term, to “dress by.” At a given signal the guns are all discharged, or ought to be, as the riders dash past the individual they specially wish to honour. On this occasion, for some reason or other, most of them missed fire, so to those of us to whom the performance was new it was less effective than it might have been. The most striking part of the “lab el barôd,” however, is the utter recklessness and _abandon_ which the riders display. With their loose and graceful robes flowing far behind them in the breeze, they tear along at the fullest speed they can extract from their unfortunate horses, whose gory sides betoken the means taken to urge them to it. Allowing the reins to lie perfectly loose upon the animals’ necks, they pick them up when the charge is over, and wheel round to join their comrades again. There is often some delay in the start, and the final signal is never given till the starter has got them away well together. A single horseman is sometimes left behind, but this, it seems, is not the result of accident, but because his horse is either too fast or too slow for his comrades, and would consequently spoil the order of advance; this cavalier, however, makes up for his tardy start by following at full speed, and going through the wildest contortions as he tears along in rear of the others; now he is aiming his long gun at a foe in front; now he turns right round in his saddle, and points it at one behind; lastly, with a loud yell of “Allah,” he discharges it into the ground, and reining up his panting steed, rejoins the others, while another set take their place, and the sport is continued.

Just in front of our tents there is a flat piece of ground, and on it the performance was carried on till dusk, much to the delight of the camp-followers and natives, and to the extreme delectation of my own and Sir John’s English servants.

About five P.M. a deputation of the inhabitants of the village waited on His Excellency, bringing with them the “mona,” or supply of food, &c., which the inhabitants of each district through which we pass are bound to provide daily for the camp. The word “mona” is given in the dictionary as “provision,” but is almost solely used to express this involuntary offering of the villagers, which has to be made not only to magnates like ourselves, but to every native official travelling through the country.

Yesterday it consisted of eight sheep, about one hundred eggs, a lot of poultry, candles, sugar, and sundries.

In the case, too, of private individuals, or foreigners travelling with the authority and under the protection of the Sultan, this custom is always observed. It is a heavy tax on the wretched people, and on the present occasion His Excellency fought hard against it, asking to be allowed to frank himself and the members of his party by paying for the supplies provided. This proposal, however, the Moorish authorities would not entertain, the utmost concession they would make being that only what was absolutely required for consumption should be furnished, and that the cost of the amount to the natives should be deducted from the taxes levied this year upon the districts in question—a liberal decree, which, though it may no doubt be issued by the Sultan, is not likely to benefit any of his subjects except the heads of districts whose business it is to levy the taxes. Strict measures have been taken by Sir John to prevent oppression and peculation on the part of his own native headmen and servants, and he has therefore reduced to a minimum the usual plundering of the villagers _en route_ by these worthies, who would render the march through the country of so large a party more like the advance of a horde of licensed robbers than the peaceable progress of the Mission of a friendly power. Well would it be for European prestige in this Empire of Marocco if such humane and thoughtful precautions were enforced by representatives of other nations who visit the court of the Sultan; our ears would not then be made to tingle by tales of violence and extortion, consonant enough with Moorish ideas, but hardly to be expected from the delegate of a nation which boasts a high rank in the civilised world. On a late occasion, between this and Tangier, not only was a “mona” of much larger amount than necessary extorted from the people, the surplus being sold or sent back to Tangier to stock the larder of those left behind, but money also was demanded from the poor villagers by these pioneers of European civilisation, under the threat of reporting the headmen unfavourably to the Marocco Government. Such, at all events, are the stories,[10] supported by evidence which seems disagreeably strong, told us about our fellow Christians; so one can hardly complain that the people hate the sight even of a European, or that the term Nasráni (Christian) continues to be the vilest word of abuse in the Moorish vocabulary.

I wish I had been actively inclined last night, and had sat down to write before turning in to bed, an operation performed with extra gusto through knowing that this article of furniture would still be in the same place to-night owing to our two days’ halt. Having got as far as this, however, I may as well record how we spent our “day of _rest_” here, though my nerves are at this moment a good deal shaken by the chorus of dogs outside, who, by the row they are making, seem determined to take the camp by storm.

In the first place, we were threatened with a 6.30 A.M. breakfast, which mercifully resolved itself into a pretty liberal 7.30 ditto; and secondly, the hunting-ground, within two miles of which our camp ought to have been pitched, turned out to be a good twelve. This mistake of Hadj Hamed’s, the man in charge of our camping arrangements, seemed inexplicable to the authorities, to whom it did not occur that the gentle Moor might have friends in the village of Síd el Yemáni, whereas he could have none among the unclean animals near to whose haunts we had hoped to find ourselves located. However, there was very little sun, the ride was a pretty one, and as our breakfasts began to shake down, our tempers improved. Before we had got very far, by-the-bye, both my temper and breakfast narrowly escaped two most severe shakings. The first was on this wise:—I had lagged behind, and got a little way off the track for the purpose of botanising (we are trying to assist Miss Hay in collecting for Sir Joseph Hooker),[11] when suddenly, on the hillside, I found myself among some mysterious holes of apparently great depth, and cut in a regular manner. The diameter of the orifices was only about two feet; but, on looking down into them, they seemed of considerable depth and extent below the surface, and there was water at the bottom. They were cut too near each other to admit of turning with safety, so I had to push on. My horse was rather frightened, as was also his rider; but, threading our way between the pitfalls, we emerged safe on the farther side. Shortly after this delivery from the danger of being buried alive with my horse in the hollowed hillside, I was riding along a path overhanging a watercourse about twenty feet below, when, the ground being rotten, it gave way under the animal’s hind-feet, and he was left clinging, like a bat to a wall, by his forelegs. Before, however, I had had time to consider how to extricate myself from this fresh peril, he recovered himself, climbing up in an agile and cat-like manner, and for the next few hours death ceased to stare me in the face.

On enquiry into the use of the holes which cost me such a _mauvais quart d’heure_, I learned that they were granaries, or “matamors,” where these unsophisticated people store their grain, covering over the top with grass, &c., so as to conceal its whereabouts from robbers, or from too great curiosity on the part of the State collectors. In the meantime it invariably rots or throws out sprouts, in either case becoming unserviceable—a clear case of wrapping their talent in a napkin, and, in this instance, in a style of napkin wholly unsuited to the preservation of such a talent. Of course the unsettled state of the country, and the cost of carriage, throw difficulties in the way of selling large quantities of grain; but their indolence of disposition, and the fact of their ancestors having carried on this practice for the last thousand years, are in reality at the bottom of the continuance of this custom. The advantage which would accrue to the State from the establishment of a proper system of communication between the chief towns was practically, but vainly, exemplified during the late famine; for while barley in Tangier was selling at 85 “ounces” per mond (about equal to one and three-fifths of an English bushel), and in Marocco at 50, the cost in Fez was only 15 “ounces;” if, then, roads and wheeled vehicles had existed, prices throughout the country would have been equalized.

The hunting-ground, where we arrived at last, was a very promising-looking covert, quite rideable for those of us who were provided with spears, and was covered with low myrtle and lentisk bushes. The latter, soaked with dew, and then scorched with the heat of the morning sun, seemed to give out even more than their usual strong aromatic scent, which resembles that of a bruised leaf of the true pistachio, and which resemblance has probably procured for its congener, the lentiscus, the appellation of “wild pistachio.”

The Sharíf of Wazan, who passed us at our last camp, had come out in two marches from Tangier to join the hunt, and was already on the ground. In Marocco, and all along the north coast of Africa, this personage is as well known as is the Pope in Rome; but as at home his very existence is almost unknown, I may as well mention a few facts concerning him.

He is one of the true Sharífs, or direct descendants of the Prophet, and the position he occupies here is second only to that of the Sultan. Some years ago he married an Englishwoman resident in Tangier, by whom he has two pretty little boys, one of whom will probably succeed him in office. This heretical alliance, which at first rather startled the weak nerves of the faithful, has, wonderful to say, done little or nothing to shake permanently the allegiance of his flock, over whom his influence and power are paramount. His father, the late Sharíf of Wazan, was a remarkable old man in his way, and enjoyed a great reputation for sanctity. On one occasion, when water was very scarce in the district, and the land, dried up and parched, threatened the people with a failure of their crops, he is said to have been equally fortunate with Moses of old in producing water from a rock, and the stream that he evoked flows to this day “to witness if I lie.” He had, among other wives, a dusky consort from the interior, gifted with all the cunning of her race, who was mother of the present Sharíf. When the old man on his death-bed was asked, as is the custom, to nominate his successor, he replied, “That son of mine who, at my death, which is close at hand, shall be found in possession of my stick.” This remark, being overheard by the above-mentioned lady, she secreted the stick among her son’s things, where it was found on his father’s demise the following morning. As the present Sharíf is in the enjoyment of excellent health, and as his memoir hereafter will probably be written by an abler pen than mine, it would be impertinent in me to dilate upon his virtues, or to dwell at any length upon the characteristics of so eminent a person.

There were rather more than the usual number of Moors armed with long guns, and at the first beat, on a boar being set on foot, the discharge of firearms and whistling of bullets was alarming; the next beat was tedious and badly arranged, so I dismounted and composed myself to sleep under a lentisk bush. After this came luncheon—by far the best part of the day’s sport—then two more uninteresting beats on the side of a precipice where one could neither ride nor walk, and so home, about ten weary miles, all of us more or less tired and out of humour. The natives make capital beaters, which helps to keep up the excitement even on a blank day. The “halúf,” or wild boar, is their hereditary foe; and Addison, writing in 1671, tells us how the “Morocco gentry, when disposed to sport, ... hunt and kill the wild boars, who are no rarity in this diocese, the land affording habitations most suitable to such unsociable beings.” I think these Moorish horses have some malformation of the stomach, as my girths are always slipping out of place, rendering the tenure of one’s saddle and one’s seat alike uncertain. Unfortunately, too, I have no breastplate, and climbing up a steep bank to-day the saddle slipped back over the animal’s hind-quarters, landing me on my head. The horse bolted into the wood, and by the time they caught him had kicked off a stirrup and my waterproof coat, which was strapped on the saddle in front of me. The former was picked up, but the latter is, alas! a thing of the past; unless, indeed, it is being utilised to protect some native from the rain, which is at present pouring in torrents.

We are likely to be well served during our pilgrimage, a circumstance which adds greatly to one’s comfort on these occasions, and from Hadj Hamed the “Quarter-Master-General” of the camp down to the “boy Hamído,” who washes up the dishes, they all seem a willing and obliging lot. Most of them belong to His Excellency’s private establishment, but one or two outsiders have been hired for the occasion; among these is one “Boomgheis,” who is a historical character, having accompanied Captain and Mrs. Colvile in their adventurous tour, and having obtained “honourable mention” from that gallant author. Some months ago, at the British Legation, Tangier, Boomgheis had been called in as an extra hand, the house being full, and one of His Excellency’s guests asked me if I knew his antecedents, as the face seemed so familiar to him. I was ignorant then of Boomgheis’s history, but, as we were passing the jail one day, the shaggy head of a prisoner was thrust through the grating to beg for money. “Now,” exclaimed my companion, “I remember where I made Boomgheis’s acquaintance first;” and, sure enough, it was during his incarceration there, on a charge of murder,[12] that the striking features of his protruding head had fixed themselves on my friend’s recollection. On occasions of emergency, masters and servants alike shout for him, as he is always to the fore. He speaks an extraordinary dialect intended for English, in which he carries on long conversations with my servant, though the talk is all on his own side. I notice that in calling to a Moor, it is usual to insert the interjection “Oh” or “Wah” before his name; while, if he is a stranger, instead of “answering to ‘Hi!’ or any loud cry,” as in England, he will always attend to you if addressed as “Muhammed;” in fact, it stands a good chance of actually being his name, as one child in each family, generally the eldest, is called after the Prophet. Allarbi and Hadj Ali, both brothers of Hadj Hamed, are important functionaries in camp, the former being a sort of _aide-de-camp_ to his brother, and the latter, a murderous-looking ruffian, is, with his son, Abd er Rahman, a handsome youth, the personal superintendent of Lady Hay’s litter. There are also two “scorpions,” or natives of Gibraltar, among our retinue, one of them filling the important post of valet to Sir John’s _khalífa_.[13] When not employed in cursing each other, they are usually singing Spanish songs of a questionable character, or making night hideous with quaint oaths and other expletives learned by contact with the British soldier. I at first thought the title of khalífa more distinguished than it is; but finding that the assistants of Judico, the cook, and Muhammed, the kaïd of the muleteers, are both styled khalífa, I feel less respect for the appellation.

My servant, Norton, who has a friend and companion in Sir John’s English attendant, George, seems favourably impressed with the country, though a little nervous at the prospect of falling in with lions, which Boomgheis assures him we shall hear roaring a march or two farther inland. I only hope the king of beasts will not be of the proportions described in the account of this district in the sixteenth century by Leo Africanus, to whom a friend writes that he “brought out of Barbarie a lyon’s skin, which, from the snowte to the top of the taile, contayned one and twentie feete in length.”[14] In addition to the above staff are Selám Hajút, the butler, and the “boy Hamído,” who washes the dishes, and rides on the camel that carries the luncheon. He does not hit it off well with Boomgheis, and when we hear more yelling than usual at night, we are told it is “Boomgheis flogging Hamído.” Lastly, I must mention Miss Hay’s groom, Muhammed, an extraordinarily active youth, whom, from his zeal in bringing in botanical specimens, we have honoured with the patronymic of “Dr. Hooker.”