Chapter IV

Romans and Portuguese—Fording the Wad el Kús—El Ma
Bared—Chess-playing—Land tortoises—Changing escorts—Kaïd
of Ben Aouda—Quail shooting—Entertainment at
Habassi—Poison—Kuskussú—Solitude of plains—Thunder-storm—Irregular
protection.

_Kariya el Habassi,
Sunday, 11th April 1880._

We left Alcazar on Friday morning, halting a night at Kariya ben Aouda, and arriving yesterday at this place, where we have been detained by the heavy rains.

The immediate neighbourhood of Alcazar must be the last resting-place of many holy men, judging from the fact that the standard of Marocco never once raised its head till we were well away from the precincts of the city. One síd house or Kúbba[17] in particular, at the foot of the slope where we encamped, was noticeable both for its unusual size and the care bestowed upon its exterior. From the town to the place where we forded the Wad el Kús, about one mile, there is a broad paved road, the only one I have seen in the country. It is said to have been made by the Portuguese; but, as the Moors aver that Alcazar never fell into their hands, I do not see how this could be, unless it was the work of Portuguese prisoners, who may have been captured by Moors during some of the incursions made by the former while in possession of Azîla. This theory, too (“a poor thing, but mine own”), would account for many of the ruins near Alcazar, which have the appearance of Roman remains, but are in too good repair to have formed part of the _Oppidum Novum_ of the ancients. M. Tissot, whose small but useful pamphlet[18] is never out of our hands, says the town itself is partly built by stones which had been used by the Romans, and this opinion also tends to confirm my theory.

Half an hour’s ride brought us to the banks of the Wad el Kús, the Lixus of the ancients, a stream which the survivors of the expedition will meet again at El Araish on the return journey. It is a wide, sluggish river, and reached about up to our horses’ girths in fording it. The banks on either side were high and steep, and the scene afforded by the procession crossing was bright and picturesque in the extreme. The narrow line of horsemen, preceded by the dark-red ensign, descended the bank one by one, till, on reaching the river, they scattered out and widened to six or eight abreast, then narrowed again into single file in their ascent of the other bank, each one a perfect picture by himself, forming a mass of colour, the contrast of which against the dusky banks and sombre waters of the river was in a high degree striking and unique.

El Ma Bared (_Anglicé_, Cool Spring) was the name of the place at which we halted for luncheon on Friday. The tent was pitched at the top of a hill, the El Araish escort being picketed below, while our kaïd and his troopers came up with us. I used to dislike these long mid-day halts; but their convenience is manifest, as while we are resting, the whole camp passes on, and, barring accidents, we find it ready pitched and settled at about 4 P.M., when we arrive on the new ground. At first, too, we had not got into the swing of the thing, and could devise no method but food and sleep by which to while away the time; now, with the assistance of “books, and work, and healthful play,” the hours pass pleasantly by. Old Kaïd Ali, the commander of our permanent Fez escort, often comes in to play chess with Haynes, and though unable to speak a word of anything but Arabic, is an adept at the game. During our halt at El Ma Bared he dropped in, attended by his son, who belongs to the troop, and, I fancy, is a sort of aide-de-camp to his father. He was exceedingly friendly and _prévenant_, going the round of every one in the tent, and insisting on shaking hands; he then sat down beside his military superior, to whom he offered advice at intervals during the game. There seem to be one or two differences between the kaïd’s play and ours, but I am not clear that he did not try a little sleight-of-hand occasionally, and when detected attribute it to the eccentricities of the Moorish method.[19] His arrival was shortly followed by that of his servant, bearing a dish of hot meat and some bread intended for our consumption. Although it wanted only an hour to our own mid-day meal, His Excellency sternly insisted on our all partaking of it, which operation was effected by the simple process of dipping in our finger and thumb, and with the aid of a piece of bread extracting a morsel of the savoury mess. As soon as the Envoy thought we had taken sufficient to strengthen the friendly relations between England and Marocco, the rest was sent out to the servants (native), and a few cups of the kaïd’s Moorish tea washed down what we had taken, and prepared our interiors for our own luncheon.

While strolling about to get up an appetite for the latter meal I came upon a tortoise, of which there are a great many about, and intending to present it to Judico, the cook, to try his art upon, turned it on its back to await my return. In this, however, I was disappointed, as when I came back it had decamped, thereby depriving us of a dish of terrapin, and upsetting at the same time my ideas on the customs and habits of the tortoise. I fancy, however, that the ones we see in such quantities are of the genus _Testudo_, and not of that of the edible _Emydæ_, which latter are found chiefly in North America, and are there considered a great dainty.

An hour’s ride, still over gently undulating country, brought us to the confines of the province of El Araish, a fact which was brought to our notice by hearing a gun fired some little distance ahead and out of sight. At this signal our provincial escort formed themselves in order of battle, throwing out flank files, and advancing to meet an imaginary foe. When the two tribes providing the escorts are not on good terms, this mimic warfare is dispensed with, the old escort retiring before coming in contact with the new. As soon as the two troops sighted each other the lab el barôd began, small parties galloping out from either side, discharging their guns into each other’s faces, and then retiring to rejoin their own side. As soon as the red standard hove in sight with the Envoy on his white Arab close behind, the two escorts formed into a long line in two ranks on the left of the road, the old one nearest us on the right, the new one supplied by the Province of Seffian on the left. The kaïd of the latter then rode out and saluted Sir John, shaking hands cordially, and repeating over and over again the words, “Marhaba bík, marhaba bík, Bashador” (Welcome, welcome, Ambassador). His Excellency then turning round to the El Araish escort, bade their kaïd and his officers farewell, and we continued our march under the wing of our new protectors, who wheeled up out of line and fell in behind us. As we stopped to look at some of the new-comers beginning the usual lab el barôd, I happened to turn round to see whether the old escort were going away; but lo and behold! not a man of them was to be seen. As I understand this habit of mysteriously disappearing into the earth is peculiar to these people, I shall keep my eyes open on the next occasion of our changing escort; and if this manœuvre is repeated, shall inform the kaïd, through the medium of Tweedledee, that I consider such practices far more closely connected with the Evil One[20] than the science of Heliography, which I am about to assist in introducing into Marocco.

Our encampment at Ben Aouda was a very picturesque one, on a rising ground near a small village, with a curious grass plot, about an acre in extent, closely hedged in by the highest prickly pears I ever saw. Below us, to our front, lay the immense plain we had been traversing, the part nearest to us being sown with rice and barley, the chirping of the quail amongst which induced some of us to take a stroll after them with our guns, but our exertions were poorly rewarded.

It seems that the kaïd of the escort which met us between Alcazar and Ben Aouda was not the governor of Ben Aouda himself, as that potentate is away fighting near Wazan; and I am sorry not to have seen him, as he is said to be _par excellence_ the greatest tyrant and scoundrel amongst all the governors in these parts. He extorts more money from his people than any of them, and by crueller means; and it is whispered that a hundred prisoners are rotting in some disused _matamors_ in the side of the hill not two miles from where we were encamped.

The rain pattering down on the tent within a foot of my nose awoke me yesterday in our Ben Aouda camp, where, as the spot was a pretty one and promised sport, we had hoped for a halt on account of the change of weather. Beyond, however, giving us half an hour’s law for breakfast, no advantage accrued therefrom. Even had the rain not delayed us here a second night, a halt would have been necessary before we got to Fez; because, at our present rate of travelling, we should have reached that city on Friday, which the Sultan would not have allowed, as that day is kept, to a certain extent, holy, as the Mussulman Sabbath.

It was so cool and pleasant as we left Ben Aouda that White and I took our guns and pursued quail and duck on foot, while the rest of the cavalcade proceeded on their way here. Two little boys from a hut close by accompanied us part of the way, and were very useful in picking up our dead birds, which they did with as much accuracy as a well-trained retriever, being amply rewarded for their labours by the gift of our empty cartridge cases. Part of the forenoon we followed the course of a tributary of the Méda, the water of which was deep, with overhanging banks. Our horses were led behind us by the grooms, and W.’s man taking his too near the edge, the ground gave way, and the horse, falling on his back in the river, had to swim some distance before he could get out. A few minutes after this episode one of us shot a duck, which fell on the opposite bank. We were rather at a loss how to get him; but my groom, quietly removing his only garment, swam across, retrieved the duck, and brought it to us. Just as we had expended our last cartridges, the rain, which had held off till then, came down in torrents, accompanied by such blasts of wind, that we could hardly stand against it. We got on our horses, but mine positively declined to advance till the storm had somewhat abated, turning his back to the weather, from which position neither whip nor spur would move him.

Eventually we got on the track, and, passing through a collection of wretched huts, where the inhabitants turned out and pelted us with mud, arrived wet and cold at the luncheon-tent, which the rest of the party had reached just before the rain commenced, and, dry and comfortable, remonstrated in vain at the introduction of our dripping persons among them. The people of the village near brought us an offering of milk and honey—a large jar of each—also a great dish of steaming hot cakes, large round confections of flour and water, like “scones,” but covered with grease of some description. If eaten hot, with the addition of some honey, they are excessively good. The milk, which forms part of the daily _mona_, is excellent, and the butter fresh and good, but rather tasteless; the latter quality is a great fault in the eyes of native epicures, who like a strong flavour in all articles of food, and for this purpose place the butter in earthen pots and bury it for months, and even years, by which process it becomes “fit for use.”

Kariya el Habassi, near to which we are encamped, is the only collection of habitations we have yet seen worthy the name of village. I give, as is due, the title of town to Alcazar; it consists of several windowless houses of the usual staring white Moorish style, besides a considerable number of tents and huts. Among the former is the kaïd’s house, to which we were all bidden yesterday afternoon to tea. The kaïd himself is away fighting, and as his son is too young and too shy to assume the government, a nephew of the great man reigns in his stead. By this functionary we were received in the village and conducted through his garden gate, which was then closed to keep out the little crowd which had gathered round and followed us. Our host led us through some whitewashed courts, up a few steps, on to the terrace on which the house was built, and into an airy apartment looking on to a grove of orange-trees in full blossom. The side through which we entered was almost wholly taken up by a large Moorish archway of the invariable horseshoe form, without doors, but with a thick curtain, or _portière_, which could be drawn across in cold weather. Opposite the entrance was a retired alcove, raised a step above the floor, and reaching to the ceiling; in it was spread a mattress covered with some light-coloured material, and the floor of the room all round the sides was similarly furnished. Here the members of the Mission reclined, not in the graceful cross-legged fashion of our entertainers, but in the more constrained and undignified positions in which Europeans are wont to take their ease. On a chair in the centre sat His Excellency, and at his feet the nephew and representative of the absentee governor. He is an immensely stout youth, with a massive though not unintelligent face, and a loud and rather harsh voice, which became a little fatiguing in the two hours’ conversation which he had with Sir John, and not a word of which we could understand. The monotony of the _séance_ was, however, broken by the appearance of a slave with a brass tray, on which were a pretty set of French teacups, and a few small tumblers to supplement their number. He was followed by another, bringing in two silver teapots, some enormous lumps of sugar, and a box of tea. This apparatus being placed in front of the young kaïd, he proceeded to brew the national beverage as follows:—Of the tea—a fine green kind, for which they pay up to four dollars a pound—he put a large handful into each teapot, then added, for the purpose of washing it, a little hot water, which was immediately poured out and thrown away; several of the big lumps of sugar were then put in, the teapot filled up with boiling water, and the mixture was ready. Our host, having tasted a little himself (to show it was not poisoned), filled all the cups, which were handed round by slaves, while others brought trays of biscuits and sweetmeats, which they offered us between their finger and thumb. The second and third brews were varied, respectively, by freshly gathered leaves of wild thyme and verbena. The flavour is rather pleasant, and grows upon one—a merciful dispensation of Providence, as the operation is one which will have to be frequently undergone before we set foot again in Europe. Neither milk nor cream is ever used, and, in fact, would form a very nasty addition, as I found out by experiment. It is not thought good manners to strike work before the third cup is disposed of, after which the wretched Christian may relapse into a spectator, the Moors continuing _ad libitum_. The custom of putting poison in tea, and so getting rid of an enemy, has been and is said to be still so common in Marocco, that this practice of tasting to which I alluded is never by any chance omitted—at all events, in the higher circles of society. The idea of poison seems, in fact, always present to their mind. The late Grand Vizier, Síd Músa, who died last year, carried his scruples even farther, and when any guest of eminence took tea with him, he not only tasted it, as usual, beforehand, but only allowed his guest to drink half a cup at a time, finishing the rest himself.

A far more trying form of hospitality than tea-drinking is having to partake to excess of the native dish called _kuskussú_, which is made up of very coarse-grained flour, boiled, underneath which is some stewed or roasted meat. It has been in vogue here for centuries, and is described by Leo, about A.D. 1500, as “made of a lump of Dow, first set upon the fire in a vessel full of holes, and afterwards tempered with butter and Pottage.” The preparation is by no means a bad one, though embarrassing when it has to be eaten with fingers instead of forks, and is all very well if one is hungry; but as it forms an inevitable accompaniment to a visit of ceremony at any Moorish house, it is difficult sometimes to get up an appetite equal to the occasion. Yesterday, at the kaïd’s, we flattered ourselves we had escaped, but just as we got up to go away, in came the attendants with a large wooden tray in the form of a sieve, upon which, hot and savoury, and covered by a tall conical erection, like a bee-hive, was the dish of kuskussú. His Excellency, reading the looks of despair depicted on our faces, came generously to the rescue. He saw that we were unequal to the task, and, bringing into play that talent for diplomacy for which he is justly renowned, explained to the kaïd that British stomachs were not as Moorish ones, and that having largely partaken of the hospitality of the villagers where we halted for luncheon, not to mention that our evening meal awaited us in camp, we could not, without much personal inconvenience, and even absolute risk, do justice to the good things set before us. To our great relief the kaïd accepted the apology like a true gentleman, and the dish being removed, was placed, at His Excellency’s request, before the guests in the verandah, who, though comprising the headmen of the village, and old Kaïd Ali, the commander of our permanent escort, were not considered eligible, unless at the special request of the ambassador, to sit in the same room with Her Majesty’s representative.

Throughout the whole interview I was specially struck with the perfectly natural and unembarrassed demeanour of our host, who dispensed his hospitalities, and kept up a lively conversation with Sir John, as if the entertainment of a party of Europeans—of whom he admitted he had seen very few before—was an everyday occurrence. It was the first time I had been brought into close contact with any of the upper ten of Marocco; but on all subsequent occasions—and they have been many—the above peculiarity was always brought pleasantly before one; and uncivilised as doubtless they are, according to our acceptation of the term, I will always maintain that a Moor of the higher ranks is as good a specimen of one of “nature’s gentlemen” as one can wish to see.

Before we took leave of our host, he asked Sir John if the doctor would mind seeing and prescribing for an old friend of his, who had some affection of the eyes, from which he had been suffering for some years; our good-natured Esculapius having expressed his willingness to do what he could, the patient was brought in, and the doctor, after looking at him, conveyed to the kaïd—His Excellency acting as interpreter—his opinion of the case. It was painful to observe the keen and anxious expression of the old man’s face, as, fixing his almost sightless eyes on the ambassador, he leant eagerly forward, waiting for the doctor’s verdict. “Can the Nazarene cure me? When shall I be well?” he asked, with querulous and shaking voice. “If you follow the doctor’s advice,” said Sir John, “after some months your sight may improve.” The old man was by no means satisfied, and feeling sure, as they all do, that the doctor could cure him then and there if he chose, complained bitterly of the hardship of his case, to which His Excellency replied, “Our religion teaches us that it is the wisdom of God which deprives us one by one of our senses and enjoyments as we get on in years, so that at last we hail the approach of death as the advent of a friend.”

I do not know if the individual to whom this discourse was addressed, and who must have touched the threescore-and-ten period, though he seemed tough for his years, much liked His Excellency’s logic; but it entirely commended itself to the young kaïd, who looks as if he enjoyed life, and who told Sir John that the precepts he had been advocating were entirely in accordance with the maxims of the Prophet as laid down in the Koran.

The clouds had come very low down over our camp by the time we got back, and distant claps of thunder and violent gusts of wind betokened the coming storm; a heavy shower was falling as our impromptu gong—a frying-pan belaboured with an iron spoon—summoned us to dinner, causing us to bolt from our own to the dining-room tent like rabbits into a warren. Trenches were dug round all the tents in the evening, pegs and ropes looked to, and every preparation made for the deluge which came down on us later on.

We were all glad of the two days’ halt we have had here, though it might have been made in a livelier spot than the middle of this dreary plain, which, with the rain pouring down on it, more resembles the sea than dry land. There is a small lake about three miles off, round which some of us wandered with our guns to-day. The solitude of these vast tracts of country is very impressive; we ride for miles and miles without seeing a living soul, or any human habitation, except sometimes on the horizon a brown mushroom-like excrescence, betokening the presence of an Arab tent. There is a general absence, also, of animal life; for, owing to the late famine and consequent destitution, the country-people have either parted with or eaten all their stock. The absence of large game, too, is surprising, and that it existed here formerly there is no doubt, for we are told that “diuers noble romanes in Morisco used, in the vacation season from warres, to hunt lions, liberdes, and such other bestis fierce and sauage;” but, quaintly continues this writer, “All myghty God be thanked in this realme (England) be no suche cruel bestis to be pursued.”[21]

The night’s rest of some of the party was disturbed a good deal by the thunder and lightning, the flashes illuminating one’s tent through the wet canvas in a fitful, unpleasant manner, while the gale of wind which accompanied them tried our tent-gear to the utmost, and made us congratulate ourselves on the extra precautions we had taken overnight. The morning was dark and gloomy, and the sheets of water descending at 9 A.M. made some of us late for breakfast. While standing in the tent door watching the dismal prospect before us, the air suddenly became darkened in a curious degree, and while we waited wonderingly to see what was going to happen, a flash of fire which dazzled our eyes was accompanied by so terrible a clap of thunder bursting over the camp, that we all felt for the moment literally stunned. The sensation was of a heavily shotted gun being discharged inside the tent behind us, both as regards the sharpness and intensity of the report, and also on account of a kind of concussion of the air and vibration of the ground which accompanied the explosion. It was not only ourselves who were startled, for the Moors who were squatting on the lee side of the tents for shelter came running out, and the horses lying down where they were picketed jumped to their feet with as puzzled an expression as their masters. It turned out that neither man nor beast throughout the camp had suffered, except from fright, but we all agreed that a few more such shocks would be the ruin of our nervous systems.

It is lucky that the soil of this part of the plain of the Sebú is sandy, or we should have suffered far greater discomfort from the two days’ rain; as it is, we are well out of the picturesque but low-lying camping-ground of last Friday at Ben Aouda, where we were anxious to make a halt. The unfortunate night sentries are the most to be pitied; huddled up in their white _jelábs_, and posted all round the camp, they appeared, under the vivid flashes of lightning, like sacks deposited here and there, from which emanated some monotonous song, by which they strove to keep themselves awake through their weary watch. The sentries were more numerous than usual, the people of the village knowing that if any depredations should be made by the lawless tribe of Beni Hassan, whose territory is just on the other side of the Sebú river, they would be held responsible in purse and person for any loss we might sustain.

We have not passed any more roadside sacrifices since the one I mentioned between El Hamáya and Alcazar, their absence being probably due to the last one having remained unnoticed. The case to which it was meant to draw attention was as follows, and seems another instance of the evil of foreign protection, to which I before alluded:—A French-protected Moor and an inhabitant of Alcazar were partners in sheep-breeding. Their stock having increased to 600 head, the Sheikh of the district ordered a tithe to be paid as taxes. This the protected Moor declined to do, saying the whole of the sheep were his, and he was not answerable to the Moorish authorities (whether his partner connived or not at this arrangement did not appear); however, as the French, on account of their high-handed tyranny, are held in great dread by the Moors, no further action was taken; but when the Alcazári came to claim his 300 sheep, of which he was willing to pay his tithe, the other, denying the deed of partnership, refused to give them up. The Moorish subject in vain applied for redress; his all had been taken from him, and besides having nothing with which to propitiate the authorities, he found them far too much afraid of the false representations which the other threatened to make to his own Government to be inclined to take up the case. Hence his silent appeal to the English Minister, who, even had he taken up the matter, would hardly have been able to help the man in a dispute with a subject of another power.

Lawless took a photograph of the camp, and also of the entrance to the village. A number of children who gathered round the camera at once fled when they heard from a soldier what was the nature of the instrument, but Tweedledee, who was acting interpreter, having, with much composure, told them the Christian was only making a picture of the sun, and that if they sat very still they might watch the operation, they were reassured, the result of which _finesse_ on Tweedledee’s part was that, as they sat in a row, rapt in wonder, a very successful group was executed.

The depressing effect of the wet we have undergone here was a little dispelled by His Excellency producing some very good Chartreuse as a _chasse café_ to-night after dinner, and under its cheering influence finer weather is prognosticated for to-morrow.