Chapter X: With the Sultan at Tafilet

Mohammed the Riffi was a long time before he gained an interview with Sid Gharnit, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and when he did so it brought no promise of a pleasant reception for myself. In fact, my unlooked-for arrival caused that elderly gentleman no little concern, for though I was well known to him personally, and bore a firman from the Sultan to travel in his dominions, he seemed much upset. There was, however, one item of news that my man brought me on his return that cheered me much. Kaid Maclean, the English officer attached to the Sultan’s suite, was in the camp. Had he not been there, it is difficult to say into what straits I might have fallen, but, fortunately for me, he was; and with everything else against me, his pleading, as will be seen, eventually much bettered my condition.

A few words must be said here to explain the presence in this remote corner of the Sahara of the two European officers who were accompanying the Sultan; and I am sure that Kaid Maclean will forgive my meddling in his affairs and writing a few words about him.

Some seventeen years ago Mulai el Hassen asked the then British Minister, the late Sir John Drummond Hay, to find him a young English officer to drill his troops. Maclean, then a lieutenant in a line regiment, had previous to this applied to Sir John for some such post, and was speedily appointed. Entering upon his work with much zest and spirit, he soon discovered what good stuff was in the Moors as soldiers, and they in turn began to appreciate cleanliness and smartness, so that in a year or so the men placed at the Kaid’s disposal reached a stage of competence in drill, while he gained their respect and admiration. But jealousy at Court put an end to the disciplined army, and with little exception drill was discontinued. Meanwhile, however, Maclean had become a trusty servant of the Sultan, useful to him in a thousand ways; while his British moral standard, so different to that of the Moors, had forced his Majesty to perceive his probity in all matters, and he bestowed confidence and affection upon the British officer. From that time Kaid Maclean has continued in the Sultan’s service, and is perhaps as well known as, and certainly more popular than, any official at Court. His position throughout has been a difficult one; but so carefully has he avoided entering into any duties beyond his own, so skilfully and openly has he shown no desire to encroach upon the prerogatives of others, and so steadfast throughout has been his wish to do nothing that did not further the interests of the Sultan and the Government he has allied himself to, that he has been able to keep himself free from the jealous quarrels that are of everyday occurrence at the Moorish Court.

On the Sultan’s leaving Fez in April of the year in which I made my journey, 1893, he took with him as far as Sufru, a small town some few hours’ journey south of the capital, all his European staff—that is to say, the military missions of France and Spain, some three officers of each, attached to his Court. But from Sufru, for reasons which are not quite apparent, he ordered the Europeans to return to Fez, with the exception of the French officer, Dr Linares, who was commanded to accompany him throughout his journey. Kaid Maclean returned with the rest; but shortly before my leaving Saffi, he, without my knowledge, had proceeded to Tafilet to join the Sultan’s camp, as usual accompanied by his guard of troops. Yet in spite of the fact that he was in his Majesty’s service, wore the Sultan’s uniform, and was accompanied by troops and bore a special firman from his master, he was several times roughly treated, and was more than once in danger of his life upon the road. He had arrived some ten or twelve days previous to myself at Tafilet, and I look back to the fact that he was there to urge my cause with the Sultan and the Viziers with no little feeling of thankfulness and pleasure. To Dr Linares, too, I owe a word of thanks. Had not he been present to perform an operation on my throat, in all probability this book would never have been written, nor I have returned to tell the tale of my journey. Fortune, which has never deserted me in any of my long journeys, stood by me then, to ease my suffering and, I think I may almost say, save my life. But I have progressed too far.

At length Mohammed returned with the welcome news of Kaid Maclean’s presence, and a couple of soldiers to bring me into the camp, where some shelter would be afforded to me until the Sultan’s opinions and wishes as to myself should be known. Meanwhile I was told to “lie low,” and that no communication must pass between myself and either of the European officers, or even the native officials. In a few hours’ time, when Mulai el Hassen should leave the privacy of his tents for his office, my fate would be known.

So I followed my guides into the great camp.

It was a sight well worth seeing—worth almost the long journey to Tafilet; for, though not the first time I had intruded my presence in the camp of the Sultan of Morocco, I had never previously witnessed a following of so large a number of troops and others, or so vast a quantity of tents.

Threading our way through the camp, we at length arrived at a spot near which I recognised the European encampment of Kaid Maclean. There, with a few words of welcome from my guides, I was shown into a small and much-dilapidated bell-tent, of the fashion in use in the Moorish army for the soldiers, of whom it was already half full, and a place was made for me by its occupants—a rough set of men, it is true, but none the less ready to make me as comfortable as the circumstances would allow. In that little tent I spent five days, of which I shall have more to say, and I learned that the Moorish soldier, be he never so ill paid and ill clothed, be he dirty and rough in his language, can when he likes show a solicitude and kindness far greater than one would ever expect from such; and my five days of illness and watchful care from the handful of men who shared my little quarters—or rather, I shared theirs—was an experience gained in the strange character of the Arab people. Scanty as were their rations, the best of everything was specially cooked for me, notwithstanding the fact that I could not even swallow water for the greater part of the time; and these great rough fellows, brought up and trained to every crime and brutality, became like nurses in a sick-room. With voices lowered lest they should wake me when they thought me asleep, with no noise in setting their tiny tea-tray or stirring the little fire of charcoal, they spent their time in trying to amuse me and stir up my wretched spirits. I met two of them this last summer in Fez, whither I had proceeded to meet the young Sultan on his way thither, a month after his accession, and we spent a riotous night of revelry, laughing over the hardships we had shared in the camp of the late Sultan at Tafilet, and amusing ourselves in a way than which we ought to have known better; for so pleased was I to be able to repay in a small degree their kindness to me, that we must have kept the neighbourhood of my residence awake all night with music and singing.

Soon after my arrival I received a message from Kaid Maclean saying he could not see me until the Sultan’s wishes were known; but that if I wanted anything I could send to him surreptitiously, for he had received strict orders to have nothing to do with me at present. Meanwhile I made a written request to Sid Gharnit that a small tent might be found for me and my men to lodge in, and that was all I asked. Toward evening I received a reply. The Sultan had been informed of my coming, and was very indignant, absolutely refusing to give me a tent or anything else, and I was to remain where I was until further orders.

There was nothing to be done, so each hour growing sicker and sicker, I lay down in the dirty little tent, unable to eat or sleep. Hearing that my health was bad, the French doctor was sent to me, and prescribed a gargle, which, though it temporarily relieved the pain, did not prevent the swelling increasing. Then four days of great suffering, often struggling for breath, unable to lie down for fear of choking, or to swallow even a drop of water to quench my thirst. What clothing I had was insufficient, and the cold at night was as intense as the heat of the sun, beating through the thin and tattered canvas of the tent, was by day. Kaid Maclean had received orders not to see me, and he knew better than to disobey them, yet he did everything in his power to ease my suffering, and constantly saw my servant, Mohammed Riffi, as to my condition. At length things grew serious; at times I became unconscious for short periods, and the indignation of my men and the soldiers in the tent knew no bounds, for nothing was done to relieve me.

Poor Mohammed at length broke through every law of Moorish etiquette, and with a burst of expostulation—and I doubt not a little abuse—forced his way into the Viziers’ tent, and let them know not only what he thought of them, but what would be thought of them at Tangier should I die.

This changed matters. The French doctor was hurriedly sent to me, accompanied by Kaid Maclean, and at sunset on the fifth day the quinsy in my throat and the enlarged uvula and other swellings were lanced.

The relief was instantaneous; but even greater than the relief was the change in the bearing of the Moorish officials toward me. Accompanied by Kaid Maclean, Dr Linares had an interview with the Viziers, and made my condition known, asserting that he would not be responsible for my life if I was not at once moved to other quarters, and that I was in a most precarious state of health.

Terrified at what might be the results to themselves should I die, and my death be laid at their door, they gave permission for me to be removed at once, and a few minutes later, with the doctor supporting me on one side and Kaid Maclean on the other, all of us rejoicing at the turn of events, I was half carried, half led, into the comfortable tent of the Kaid. A wash and a change of clothes, a little wine, and an egg and milk, and I turned over to sleep for the first time for four days and four nights.

It may be thought that I have spoken at too great a length on my own illness; but I have felt, uninteresting as my personal case may be, that it might serve as a warning to any other traveller who, like myself, might think that in reaching the Sultan’s camp the end of his sufferings had come, and that he would find, if not hospitality, at least no hostility. What would have happened had I been in good health I do not know, nor do I like to repeat the rumours which were given me on the best of authority; but there is no doubt that I would have been quickly despatched to the coast, and that in a manner neither pleasing nor flattering. However, enough; I have long ago forgiven those to whom I owe that period of suffering. The Sultan died from the effects of his journey; the then Grand Vizier lies in chains in Tetuan prison, together with his brother the Minister of War, who throughout, owing to Kaid Maclean’s entreaties, had shown every possible desire that my condition might be bettered. Sid Gharnit and I have talked the matter over, and he protested, as I have no doubt was the case, that he was unable to do anything for me against the Sultan’s order. Personally, he remarked with a smile, he would have lent me a tent, if for no other motive, that he thought I should probably have brought him some little present from Europe next time I visited the Court; and with this touch of humour we buried the hatchet and supped together, talking over the great changes that had come to pass since then, and ever and anon referring to the turns of fortune that the Moors look upon as predestination. The great men of that day were dead or in prison, while I had returned to health,—and all in the short space of some six months.

Ay! “How are the mighty fallen!”

I recovered more quickly than I had fallen ill, and in a day or two, under Kaid Maclean’s care, was able to leave my bed and sit in one of his easy-chairs and watch the ever-changing scene that presented itself to me in the heart of the Sultan’s camp.

No one who has not seen the great _mahalla_ of Morocco on the march and pitched can form any idea of the strange mixture of boundless confusion and perfect order that succeed each other in such quick succession. A few words as to how the Sultan travelled and how he lived cannot but prove interesting, and my stay in his camp at Tafilet allowed me to see much of both.

First of all, in order that some idea of the size of the expedition which Mulai el Hassen led to Tafilet may be obtained, let me begin by stating that there were nearly 40,000 persons in his camp at the time of my visit, including the members of the surrounding tribes who were attending the sovereign on his march through their country, and this entire crowd was living under canvas. But in order that the manner in which the huge camp is arranged may be realised, it will be easier to commence with its pitching, which, as far as the ground allows, is regularly repeated upon every occasion—and at Tafilet the absolute level of the edge of the desert showed off the system to perfection. Allowed that all the baggage-animals carrying the immense number of tents and quantities of baggage have arrived at the spot chosen for the night’s encampment, the site where the Sultan’s enclosure is to be placed is chosen, and until his tent is erected none other can be. At length the golden ball that crowns the great _kubba_ is raised into the air, and a moment later from all sides rise up a multitude of tents great and small, each one of which has its regular spot,—for from the time of choosing the situation of the Sultan’s encampment men have been employed in marking out the sites. This is done by a soldier pacing the diameter of a circle, with the Sultan as its centre, and from this diameter a complete circuit is made of the camp. This outer line of tents is divided into various lengths, a certain part of the circumference being allotted to the soldiers of each tribe—that is to say, the conscripts of each district of Morocco—for the regular army with the commander-in-chief form a separate camp.

A large open square space is left to the east of the Sultan’s tents, which is surrounded by the field-guns and other artillery, and leading from this square to the outer line of tents is left an open roadway. Between the circumference of the circle and the Sultan’s tents spaces are allotted to the governors of districts, the officials of the army and the Court, the Viziers, and the Shereefs and relations of the Sultan.

His Majesty’s encampment is in itself a large camp. Surrounded entirely by high walls of white canvas decorated in patterns of dark blue, it is divided into two portions, in one of which the women are kept, while the other contains his Majesty’s private tents, which are many, and some of huge dimensions. At Tafilet I counted from the hill above the camp no less than between fifty and sixty tents within the canvas walls. None but the most trusted servants and slaves enter the enclosure at all, and then not the women’s portion while they are present. The entrance into the Sultan’s quarters is formed by the two ends of the walls overlapping for a considerable extent and running parallel to one another, and curved as they proceed, so that there is no possible chance of any one seeing within, while the height of the canvas prevents anything but the tops of the tents being apparent from without.

Immediately outside, and within the square formed by the cannon, is pitched the office-tent in which his Majesty transacts his business. It is a small square tent of red and green cloth, supported on four poles with gold tops. One side is left completely open. Within it boasts no furniture but carpets and matting and the divan on which the Sultan sits to transact business. Close by is another large tent, of dark canvas, and of the form of a _ghima_, the common dwelling of the Arab. This serves the purpose of a mosque, and there the Sultan, surrounded by the Shereefs, Viziers, and _tolba_, leads the prayers at the regular hours.

It was Mulai el Hassen’s custom to leave his private camp at sunrise, and, walking to his office-tent, give audiences to the Viziers, &c., and transact business until nine or ten, when he would retire to the privacy of his own quarters, to reappear again during the cool of the afternoon, generally from four to sunset; and often of a night I could see him sitting there, with members of his Court standing before him taking down his commands. Tiring, indeed, must be the work of a Vizier, for he must always stand in his master’s presence.

Mulai el Hassen may be said to have transacted the entire business of his country himself; for although the different Viziers are known by such titles as Ministers of War, and Foreign Affairs, &c., &c., they were in reality little more than private secretaries, and the actual organisation and welfare of his country, as well as its relations with the foreign Powers, rested with the Sultan alone.

The course usually pursued is as follows. Long strips of paper are prepared with a _précis_ of all the matters of importance written upon them, in as few words as possible. On having an audience the various Viziers hand these to the Sultan, who scans them through, asks questions on any point on which he may wish to learn further particulars, and pencils the answers on the margin. I have on several occasions seen these slips after they had left the Sultan’s hands, and they are masterpieces of _précis_ writing, often a few inches of narrow paper containing a list of pending affairs that would necessitate many meetings of a Cabinet Council in London. Even more precise were the Sultan’s answers—the pencilled “Yes” or “No,” or the short questions affixed.

The camp once pitched, a matter of but a short time for so many men, the regular routine of camp-life begins. Fires are lighted, and the cooking, &c., commences. A large number of traders accompany the camp, who set up their tents, where tea and sugar—such necessaries to the travelling Moor—can be procured by the rich, while _kiff_, the chopped hemp-leaf, appeals to the soldiery, if they happen to have anything to buy it with. Bread, too, is sold, the ovens being built upon the spot of stones and clay, or mud-bricks, as the soil suits. Sheep are slaughtered, and _shua_—boiled mutton—can be procured, each bringing his own dish or basket to take the meat away in. Usually it is principally the mounted tribesmen, serving only for a few months, and bringing some money of their own, who indulge in these luxuries. The richer classes, the Shereefs and Viziers, procure all their provisions from the Government, which in turn procures them from the district if in a rich portion of the country; but at Tafilet nearly all the grain, &c., was brought from Marakesh and stored beforehand. These provisions, supplied by the tribes through which the army is passing, are called _mona_, and often amount to such a quantity as to cripple that portion of the country for a year or more, so large a drain is made upon their wheat and barley, their sheep, oxen, and fowls, to say nothing of their pockets,—for the governor of the district, as well as provisioning the Sultan and his troops for as long a period as they stay in the country under his jurisdiction, has also to make handsome presents. The _mona_, too, includes quantities of tea and sugar, no light tax in far-away parts, where long transport has added very considerably to the price. The soldiery receive pay—irregularly—and with this have to purchase their own rations, for which it is usually quite insufficient. At Tafilet the pay a private was receiving would procure about a quarter of a small loaf of bread per day; but with a few hundred square miles of palm-groves, each tree richly laden with fruit, they did not fare so badly, though on the journey back, where nature did not offer them such assistance to the pittance the Sultan paid them, their sufferings from cold and hunger were extreme. Only the riding and baggage animals of the Sultan and his immediate officials receive fodder from the Government, the various Kaids and the auxiliary troops—a kind of yeomanry—that they bring with them being dependent upon their own means; and as on a part of the Sultan’s route from Fez to Tafilet barley cost no less than 5s. a feed for a horse per night, the poor brutes fared ill. The camp at Tafilet, after three weeks’ stay in one spot, though grain here was tolerably cheap, was literally surrounded with dead mules and horses. The quantity of baggage-animals was enormous. I was told by one who ought to be well informed that no less than 9600 horses and mules were fed by the Government each night, and there must have been 3000 or 4000 more belonging to the Kaids of districts and their retinues. A rough calculation gave the result that the Sultan must be paying some 3000 dollars—£500—per night for fodder, or rather the cost of bringing it to Tafilet would have been as much as that; for the merchants, who looked after their affairs far more keenly than his Majesty could afford time to do, were able to sell it, and make a small profit, at a price that gives this result, and no doubt the Sultan was charged far more. Even if the transactions necessary for purchasing it and bringing it this great distance were absolutely honest, it could not have cost him less than the sum mentioned. When one calculates the total amount spent on barley, averaging rather less over the whole time, on an expedition of nine months’ duration, and when one adds to this the pay of the soldiery—for though often they do not get it the Government invariably pays it out—and the food for the regular troops and the Sultan’s immense retinue, not forgetting the presents that have to be given on the road, and then to the total the vast amount of swindling that takes place on every side, one will gather some idea of the cost of such an expedition. As a rule in the more adjacent portions of Morocco, so large are the levies of provisions, and so much of the _mona_ is supplied by the governors of the districts, that the summer march of the Sultan affords a profit to the treasury, besides offering many opportunities for private pilfering. So poor are these districts of the Sahara, however, that few of the spots at which the army rested, with the exception of Tafilet and Askura, could have afforded to keep them supplied for more than one or two nights—and at Tafilet alone the Sultan remained three weeks.

A word of praise must be said for the organisation of, and order maintained amongst, so large a number of men as are collected in these vast camps. It must be remembered that every tribe and every district is represented by a certain number of members, conscribed by the Sultan previous to his setting out. These are often at open warfare with the surrounding tribes, members of all of which are also in the camp. Yet in spite of the fact that the men who have been at war with one another for generations perhaps become neighbours in the camp, few or no broils occur, and the general behaviour, to the onlooker, is excellent. At night the stillness and quiet were remarkable, considering the class of men, and the camp seemed almost deserted, few moving about, though no doubt this is owing as much to the fact that any man not carrying a lantern is liable to be shot by a sentry as to anything else—for the price of a lantern is beyond the reach of the ordinary soldier. From gun-fire at sunset to that at sunrise one can rest in absolute quiet, except for the band that plays at nine o’clock outside the Sultan’s tent, first on the native _ghaita_ and then on European instruments—very badly it must be acknowledged on the latter.

By day it is more lively: soldiers hurry hither and thither, bright specks of colour in their gay, though often ragged, clothing; horses and mules, kicking up the suffocating dust, gallop to and fro; bugles sound; guns fire; and there is all the stir and bustle of townlife. I never tired of sitting in front of Kaid Maclean’s tent, under its awning, and watching the scene around me. As far as the eye could reach in any direction extended the tents, some the great circular _kubbas_ with their gilt globes and patterns in blue, some two-poled _utok_, and many resembling the ordinary regulation tent of our own army. From my vantage-ground I could watch the Sultan himself, a white figure seated under the tent of red and green cloth, and even recognise the Viziers as they stood before the open tent listening to his commands. I could see him, too, as he left and entered the private enclosure, and it was an interesting sight to watch how the whole life of the camp depended upon that one figure; how, when the time arrived for him to appear, the bodyguard ranged themselves into long line and bowed their heads as he passed them, crying, “_Allah ibarek amar Sidna!_”—“God grant blessings and his ‘fulness’ to our Lord!” It was easy to perceive how one and all, from the greatest of the Viziers to the least of the soldiery, lived in terror of, and with it almost adoration for, their Sultan. For of all autocrats there is none who holds power as does the Sultan of Morocco. Life and death, imprisonment and confiscation, as well as advancement and wealth, are all in his hands. A nod of his head, and a man rises from poverty to riches; another nod, and he dies secretly in prison. Yet in spite of the immense power wielded by Mulai el Hassen, he was a man of justice far above the general order of his people—a man who hated bloodshed, yet brave and cool in danger. Now and again his acts were cruel, but his cruelty was often justified by the crimes that had been committed by his victims. Tolerant to an astonishing degree, no people mourned his death more than the Jews, who, when he commenced his reign, were harshly persecuted in Morocco, and to-day possess a liberty far above that enjoyed by his Moorish subjects; and I doubt not that their mourning was far more sincere than that of the Moors, though, to tell the truth, they did not mourn to any very great extent, being either too busy getting in their harvest, or else too glad to pay off old debts and settle old blood-feuds without fear of immediate punishment, to make many signs of grief. Yet those who held the country’s welfare at heart must have sincerely felt the loss, for it will be long, no doubt, before Morocco can boast as capable a ruler, taking everything into consideration, as the late Sultan.

One curious custom in vogue in the law of Morocco came under my notice while at Tafilet. This is the question of property left at death by officials in the native Government—everything becoming the property of the Crown. Unjust as this law may at first seem to be, there is no doubt that there is at bottom a certain amount of reason for it. A man, when appointed Kaid of a district or town, is usually possessed of no wealth of any sort. The Sultan it is who gives him his appointment, and any treasure or loot made out of his office is all owing to the fact that the Sultan put the man into the position to make it. It is, moreover, illegally made, for the extortions of governors are supposed to go to the treasury, with an allowance deducted for the maintenance of the Kaid and his family and retinue. Of course it would be far more just if the residue were handed back to the people from whom it had been extracted; but in Morocco such a course would not be, to say the least, considered at all a satisfactory method. During my stay in the Sultan’s camp the Kaid of Shragna died, and before he had quitted this life more than a few hours a cordon of soldiers was drawn round his encampment and the entire concern brought into the Sultan’s treasury—slaves, horses, mules, tents, furniture, and a large sum of money. However, Mulai el Hassen behaved with his customary leniency, and returned all the property with the exception of the money, at the same time expressing his regret at the death of so old and trusted a servant. There is no doubt the Kaid had been a good governor—for Morocco—and the return of his valuable women and slaves and horses and mules showed that his Majesty could appreciate obedience to his word when combined with a general system of justice and kindness to the tribe under him, and could reward in the manner he did, as an example to others, the men who practised it.

Very different was the fate of Kaid Ben Bu Shaib, one of the governors of the tribe of Dukála, who owned a great castle not far inland from Mazagan, on the Atlantic coast. The goings on of this man’s sons had become a byword throughout Morocco, and no young girl in the district was safe from their molestation. The old man himself may have been innocent enough of all crime; but the native Government very justly remarked that a man who could not govern his own sons could scarcely be trusted to look after a tribe of his fellow-men. So troops were despatched secretly to Dukála for fear of his treasure being carried away by members of his family, and the same day as he was seized at Tafilet his house was surrounded and his property carried off. One of his sons, I believe, escaped; the other was taken prisoner. The old man in the camp was seized by a guard in the presence of the Grand Vizier, Haj Amaati—who himself, only some six months later, was to share a like fate—and received some rough treatment before the irons were adjusted to his legs. It is said that during the years he had been governor he had amassed a large fortune, and that 120,000 dollars were discovered in his house; but for this I cannot answer for certain. He was taken a prisoner to Marakesh and there incarcerated, much to the joy of the people he had governed, for his extortion and the worse crimes of his sons had drawn the hatred of the whole tribe upon them. The law of responsibility for one’s relations’ doings is by no means a bad law in Morocco, though in cases it may come hard upon individuals. So largely do the Arabs congregate in clans, and so easily can a single member of a clan escape after crime, that if it were not that his relations were held responsible, no punishment could ever be meted out. But to take an imaginary case. A village contains one or more separate families—that is to say, the village may be divided into two or three small clans, as the case may be. A member of one commits a murder, and steps over the boundary into the tribe governed by another Kaid. He thus escapes the jurisdiction of his own governor, who is incapable of seizing him, for fear of trespassing upon the prerogatives of his neighbouring official. It is only the relations in this case who can accomplish his capture, and wherever he goes he will probably be in touch with them. Therefore when the Kaid puts a couple of his brothers, for instance, in prison, it stirs up the remainder of his clan to obtain their release by handing over the culprit to justice. They set off and catch him and bring him a prisoner to the Kaid, who probably lets the innocent men out of prison with a fine. At this they are so much exasperated that they take good care to confiscate amongst themselves the real culprit’s property, and when he is freed from prison drive him out of the village, lest any more of his goings on should bring them into the same unhappy circumstances on a second occasion. Though not a very direct way of dealing out justice, this interfamily law of responsibility answers its purpose extremely well.

I had not intended to enter at all into the ways and manners of the natives of Morocco in this book; but the case of Kaid Ben Bu Shaib suffering for his sons’ sins—as well, no doubt, as for his own extortions—an example of the system in common practice, was more or less forced upon me.

The sight of all others that I witnessed in the _mahalla_ at Tafilet was the Sultan’s procession, when he went to pray at, and returned from, the tomb of Mulai Ali Shereef, his ancestor, who lies buried near Abu Aam, and of whom I shall have more to say in my chapter on the oasis of Tafilet.

I have often witnessed the great pageants of Morocco; and since this very one, which took place at the end of November 1893, I have seen two others—the last entry of Mulai el Hassen into Marakesh the following month, and the first entry of Mulai Abdul Aziz, his successor, into Fez in July 1894. But for picturesqueness neither approached the procession that accompanied the Sultan from the camp to the tomb of his ancestor at Tafilet, for here there was every feature to add to the oriental appearance of the scene. The background of palms and desert, the thousands of tents, the gay uniforms—though the word is ill applied to costumes of every hue and colour—of the foot-soldiers, the long white robes of the cavalry, the gorgeous velvet saddles and still more gorgeous banners of gold brocade and embroideries,—all formed one of those strange scenes that one can witness now and again at the Court of the Moorish sovereign, so much in contrast to the usual dull colouring of the country and its inhabitants.

Nothing more beautiful could be imagined than the long procession of cavalry and infantry, of wild Berber and Arab tribesmen. A gentle wind unfurled the banners to the breeze, and raised the dust under the horses’ feet just thickly enough to cast a white glamour over the whole scene, through which sparkled and glistened the flags and the golden globes of their poles, the bayonets and rifles of the infantry, and the heads of the spears of the guard. Then, mounted on his great white horse, saddled and trapped in green and gold, with the canopy of crimson velvet and gold embroidery held over his head, rode the Sultan, while huge black slaves on either hand waved long scarfs to keep the flies from his sacred person. In and out of the city of tents, for such the _mahalla_ is, wound the procession, the line of march guarded by troops on either side.

Another example of the kindness and solicitude of the Sultan was manifested that day, for, on account of the heat, he countermanded personally the order that the infantry were to accompany him on his ride of two hours or so, and sent them back from a couple of hundred yards beyond the limits of his camp.

Quantities of slaves were on sale in the _mahalla_, and it was a pleasure to witness their absolute indifference to what was going on. They were free to run about round the slave-traders’ tents, and merry were the pranks they played upon one another and on the Moors. Just opposite Kaid Maclean’s tent, where I was installed, was a man who possessed seven, most of them young girls and boys, and a happier band I never saw. They laughed and gambolled from morning to night, and in their mischief often came and had a peep at me, running away again half frightened at their temerity. No doubt the freedom of the camp and the many strange sights it presented formed a delightful contrast to the desert journey they had so lately accomplished, for none of them had as yet learned to speak Arabic. Poor little things! they had yet much to suffer in the cold Atlas before they reached their various destinations in Morocco.

At last, after nine days, my fate was decided upon. I was to return to Marakesh in the company of Kaid Maclean, and nothing could have met my wishes more completely than this did. It was by the Kaid’s own entreaties that this had been decided upon, and now that I was sufficiently recovered in health to travel, we were both anxious to start. The cold weather was setting in, and already we were experiencing sharp frosts of a night, and we dreaded that every day’s delay would increase the probability of our being snowed up in the high passes of the Atlas.

Dr Linares dined with us our last evening, and he envied much the fact that we were leaving the desert behind so shortly, with every chance of making a quick journey, while he was to remain with the Sultan and travel back by the short stages by which the _mahalla_ proceeded.

We could no longer claim the glory of being the only three Europeans in Tafilet, for the camp had received an addition, in the persons of seven French deserters from the “Legion étrangère,” who had tramped all the way across the desert from Algeria, a march which had taken them some two months to accomplish. They arrived robbed of everything but their ragged uniforms, and half-starved, to find but poor consolation in the Sultan’s camp, although, in hopes of gaining employment, they became Moslems. Arabic names were given to each; but possessing no knowledge of the language, they could not remember them, or who was who, much to the amusement of the native soldiers, who, ill-fed though they were, spared whenever they could some trifle of food. On their arrival at Marakesh they were sent to Mogador, and handed over to the French authorities to suffer the punishment they had merited for their desertion. There was still another Frenchman in the camp, a Mons. Delbel, who to all intents and purposes was a Moslem, and was everywhere received as such. He has since published his notes upon the journey in the journal of the Geographical Society of Paris.

At length the day arrived, and long before dawn, by the light of lanterns, we struck camp, and in the bitter cold turned our horses’ heads to the north and set out for Marakesh.