Chapter V: The Descent From the Atlas

Having digressed for a chapter from the account of my journey, I take up again the narrative from where it was broken off—when on the morning of November 5 we had reached the summit of the Tizi n’Glawi, and were resting after our exertions.

The Glawi Pass scarcely deserves such a name, for there is in reality no pass at all. One ascends to the very summit of the mountains to descend as suddenly on the south side, the narrow strip of footing at the top being only a few yards wide. It is true that the surrounding mountains on either hand rise to a very considerable elevation above that at which we found ourselves—8150 feet; but the road merely crosses a connecting line of quartzite, overlying the shales, which runs from Jibel Glawi on the west to Adrar n’Iri on the east, the flat-topped snow-capped mountain that gives its name to the stream up the valley of which we had been ascending. The views in either direction were fine, but totally different; for while to the north our eyes wandered over the valley of the Tetula, and lower down the Ghadat, with the steep mountains densely wooded on their lower slopes, before us to the south lay range after range of broken limestone mountains, bare and bleak, and without a single sign of vegetation. But one exception there was, the circular valley of Teluet lying 2000 feet below us; but at this dry period of the year, for as yet only the very slightest rain had fallen, it looked as bare and dried up as did the hills that surrounded us.

The descent could be seen twisting in and out the escarpment of the mountains, amongst boulders of rock from which here and there unsightly wind-bent trunks of evergreen oaks appeared.

A few villages dotted the little plain below, whose flat roofs upturned to our gaze had a strange appearance as we peered down on them from so far above. For the most part they were perched upon rocky eminences, raised slightly above the level of the small valley. It is here that the great castle of the Kaid of Glawa is situated, but from our vantage-point it was indistinguishable, being hidden in the slight descent that leads from the valley to the course of the Wad Marghen. This _kasba_ of the Kaid of Glawa, Sid el Madani, was the last point at which, should I be discovered, my return would be insisted upon, for beyond this the Moorish Government holds little or no real jurisdiction, so it was not unnaturally that we gave the place as wide a berth as possible. On my return journey, when disguise was no longer necessary, I spent a night at the _kasba_, and when the time comes shall describe this mountain fortress, which even in Europe would be considered a building of great size and strength.

Descending the 2000 feet that led to the valley of Teluet, we met at the bottom almost the first large caravan we had as yet come across. They were bound upon the same road as ourselves, though their destination was Dads, while I hoped to push on as far as Tafilet. The men forming the caravan were one and all Berbers, and natives of Dads, added to which they were friends of the old Shereef whom I was accompanying. Therefore I had nothing to fear from them, and the little Arabic they spoke was so mixed up with Shelha that there was no possibility of their detecting my foreign accent. Some twelve men there were in all, with as many mules and donkeys. The cheerfulness of this augmentation of our little caravan was damped by the news they gave us, for from them we learned that the road _viâ_ Warzazat was blocked, owing to the tribes being in

revolt, and that they had been obliged to turn back only some six hours from where we met them. It had been my particular desire to proceed _viâ_ this route, as there are rumours of ruins in the valley of the Warzazat; but I at once perceived that we must follow the inevitable and pursue the road _viâ_ Askura, which possessed this attraction to the explorer, that it had never before been traversed or described by any traveller. It was good luck that brought us in contact with the Dads’ caravan, for in these wild lawless regions there is safety in numbers, and I noticed that the old Shereef especially cheered up at the sight of the dozen antiquated flint-lock guns the men bore.

We at once decided to join company and pursue the road together, and for the five following days the Dads tribesmen and their little mules formed part of our caravan. Good sturdy fellows they were, always laughing and running races, in which the brisk cold often tempted me to join them. At this they were much amused, for my slender—not to say thin—form and limbs, as yet but slightly tanned with the sun, led them to suppose that I could ill stand the hardships of the road. That I was a European in disguise never once crossed their simple trusting minds, and amongst this wild band I obtained a reputation of very considerable sanctity, on account of the fact that I said my prayers in orthodox style with the old Shereef, and that I wore suspended round my neck, over my torn and ragged _jelaba_, a string of wooden beads, the insignia of the sect of the Derkaua, or followers of Sidi Ali el Derkaui, who may be almost said to be the patron saint of the Sahara.

With one of these caravan men, Hammu by name, I made great friends, and one of my pleasantest recollections of Dads was the feast he gave me in his house, to which half the village was invited, and which lasted from somewhere about mid-day to somewhere about midnight. He was a simple gentle fellow this Hammu, but as good as could be; and many a time when we lay huddled together of a night for the sake of warmth he would cover me up with his thick _haidus_ of black goats’-hair as I slept, and swear in the morning that he had not done so—that it was merely owing to the fact that he had kicked it off in my direction that accounted for his having slept in only a light cotton _chamira_ while I was warm and comfortable. Poor Hammu! he never learned, so far as I know, that I was a European in disguise,—not that I believe he would mind much, for the friendship that sprang up between us would break through all such barriers as this. He eventually finished, on the day I departed for Tafilet, by embracing me and asking me to return with him to Dads, and share his home, with his sister as my wife. He even promised her a dowry of a few yards of blue cotton, a pair of bracelets, and a cow. My Riffi man nearly exploded with his attempts to conceal his laughter, but I took the compliment as in the manner meant, and clasped his good strong hand with a grip of real friendship, for I could not but recognise that the wild tribesman, with his handsome face and fine bearing, meant every word he spoke.

But I digress from the narrative of my travel. It being out of the question that we should pursue the route _viâ_ Warzazat, there was no option about the matter, and we turned to the east across the plain of Teluet, fording the Wad Marghen, or Wad el Melha, some two or three miles above the Kaid of Glawa’s _kasba_. The stream is not a very large one, but clear, fresh, cold water flows from the snows of the western slopes of Jibel Unila throughout the entire year. Although slightly brackish the water is drinkable to cattle, but the inhabitants rely for their supply upon the many streams and springs that form its tributaries. The river flows along the Teluet valley from east to west, and at the south-west corner of the plain passes out through a gorge to flow into the Idermi, which, eventually joining the Wad Dads, forms the Wad Draa, the largest and most important river of trans-Atlas Morocco. The second name of the river, Wad el Melha, or salt river, is the local title of every stream the waters of which are brackish.

Ascending by the dry bed of a torrent on the south side of the river, we skirted the eastern end of Jibel Teluet, which forms the southern boundary of the valley, and descended some four miles farther on to the larger stream of the Wad Unila. The ascent and descent we had crossed forms a small watershed for the tributaries of the two rivers, though apparently these mountain torrents only flow in the wet season. At one spot, rather more than half-way, we passed extensive salt-mines, where quite a number of natives were engaged in working rock-salt. The scene was a wild one, the half-nude men with their rough picks hewing away and singing the while, as others piled the salt in native panniers on to the backs of their sturdy little mules. The power of these mountain-mules in overcoming difficulties in the roads is extraordinary, and at one spot we saw a couple literally descending a precipice, followed by a man who only kept his footing by the aid of a sort of alpenstock. The manner in which both man and beasts succeeded in descending seemed to us, as we stood and watched, incredible, yet we were told that he made the journey every day to this spot in the face of the precipice, to collect rock-salt from a small deposit that existed there. At one place where an unusually large supply of the precious mineral existed, a roughly constructed fort had been built, for the mines had been the cause of war for generations amongst the tribesmen living near, their value being, for the arid bleak district, extraordinary. No doubt to more or less reserving to himself the monopoly, as is the case, is owing to a great extent the wealth to-day in the possession of Sid Madani, the Kaid of Glawa. The soil at this part consists principally of shales, strewn with boulders of limestone, no doubt portions of the peaks above, which time, water, and glacier have carried to their present position.

The Wad Unila, where our path struck its course, flows nearly due north and south, issuing from a gorge 100 or 200 yards above, and descending for half a mile through a narrow valley before reaching the district of Tiurassín, in which we spent the night of November 5.

This settlement of Berbers of the Imerghan tribe is a large place, lying on the banks of the river where the valley is sufficiently wide to form a small triangular plain, which is again bisected by a torrent, at this period waterless, which flows from the east. The _ksor_ are many and large, and present a remarkable appearance, each a castle, or sometimes several castles, with high towers at the corners, the summits of which are roughly decorated in sun-dried bricks and white-wash. The great size and solidity of the buildings struck one as extraordinary, after the hovels the Arabs erect as habitations, and a rough measurement of one of the towers gave an altitude of at least 70 feet, no mean height when it is taken into consideration that they are built without any of the appliances we know in Europe, and altogether without mortar or lime. The plain I alluded to as formed by the valley may be perhaps half a mile across, and consists of gardens of walnut and almond trees, with a few other varieties of fruits.

The Wad Unila, the river of the place, rises to the north-east at the summit of Jibel Unila, from which the stream takes its name. This mountain forms one of the finest of the Atlas peaks, and is said never to lose its cap of snow. The summit, the natives told me, consists of a circular lake of great depth, from which the river takes its rise. So important to the land through which it flows are the waters of the Unila, for the natives are entirely dependent upon its supply for irrigating purposes, that this lake, which is said never to vary its level, has become a place of pilgrimage and veneration, and in the spring of each year sheep are sacrificed to its patron saint. Before uniting with the Wad Marghen (Wad el Melha) at Aït Zaineb, four districts are watered—namely, taking them from the river’s source, (1) Unila, (2) Assaka, (3) Tisgi, and (4) Aït Zaineb; but the valley throughout is a narrow one, shut in by high mountains, and only at its widest parts, such as Tiurassín, is it inhabited. But very little wheat is grown, maize and turnips taking its place as the articles of subsistence amongst the natives. The walnuts and almonds, however, flourish to such an extent that a large quantity are yearly exported to Morocco City, being taken by the road we had followed across the Glawi Pass.

The only traveller who had preceded me at Tiurassín was De Foucauld, the French explorer, but from this point our ways separated—he having continued his journey south along the river’s course, while I turned off to the east, _en route_ for Askura and Dads. He followed the river as far as its junction with the Idermi, which, joining the larger stream of the Dads at Kheneg el Tauria, form together the Wad Draa.

A few of the inhabitants of Tiurassín belong to the tribe of Unila, which geographically occupies the slopes of the mountain of the same name; but the larger proportion is formed of members of the powerful tribe of Imerghan, which is found split up into many divisions scattered all over this portion of trans-Atlas Morocco. The constant state of warfare existing amongst the Berber people has no doubt caused this disintegration of the larger tribes, by the changing, acquisition, and losing of territory. The people of Dads were the sole exception, and their position, offensive and defensive, has prevented their being so divided, a fact that adds not a little to their strength and importance.

We spent the night of November 5 at the large _ksar_ of Aït Yahia u Ali, pitching our one little tent in a walled-in yard, which answers the purpose of a caravanserai for passers-by. A great number of natives crowded about, offering to sell us barley for our animals, and chickens and eggs for ourselves; and though the last we found to be unprocurable, in spite of all their protestations to the contrary, our mules and donkeys fared better than usual. It was not long before one of the reasons of these visits was discovered, for the opportunity was not lost to the pilfering Berbers of stealing a fine powder-horn belonging to one of my men, and formed of the horn of a Barbary wild sheep (_muflon_), set in brass and silver,—a tempting bait to these mountaineers, who set great store upon such highly decorative articles of warfare. The cold was extreme, and it was as much as we could do by crowding together in the tent to keep warm. Although many natives visited us and paid their respects to the old Shereef, not one for a moment eyed me with suspicion, and Arabic seemed scarcely spoken at all amongst them. I found the elevation of our camp to be 5480 feet above the sea-level. The small caravan with which we had fallen in on the plain of Teluet camped with us, and we were not sorry to have increased our numbers, for the inhabitants of Tiurassín seem to be a hungry lot of devils on the look out for loot.

Our companions were loudly regretting the fact that they had been obliged to abandon the route _viâ_ Warzazat, as that road is considered much the safer, the Arab tribe of Askura, whose district we were to pass, being much dreaded on account of their lawless depredations. Nor do they deserve much else but discredit, for this very little caravan was pillaged under our own eyes by the robbing Arab tribe, whose reputation is the worst of all the peoples of this portion of the country. No love is lost at any time between the Berbers and Arabs, and this curious settlement of the latter, in the very midst of the strongholds of the former, does much to keep the hatred alive.

The next morning by sunrise, and in bitter cold, we were threading our way up the dry torrent-bed that I mentioned as bisecting the little plain formed by the junction of the rivers at Tiurassín. As we proceeded the steepness of the climb increased, and it was not for some five or six miles that we found ourselves at the summit of the spur of the Atlas that our road crossed. Reaching quite suddenly a level piece of country some half a mile in extent, a magnificent view met our eyes as we turned and looked back. Stretching away before us, a panorama of a hundred miles of snow-capped peaks met our view, and glorious they were in the early sunshine, one and all glowing pink and gold. Beneath we could see far down into the shadows of the gorge that we ascended, steep clay and shale slopes crowned with pines and evergreen oaks. Certainly the Atlas range presents as fine a view from the south as from the other side, but the great plain of the Tensift was missing to add to the effect of their great altitude. In return, however, for this, there is a foreground of far wilder appearance, broken crags of limestone rock rising range above range until the snow capped the whole. The peaks, too, do not bear from this vantage-ground the same look of equal altitude that forms so prominent a feature from the north, but each rises singly and is easily recognisable could any definite system of naming be discovered. Such, however, is not the case, and often a mountain known here by one title is a few miles farther on spoken of by an entirely different one, the nomenclature being purely local. So it is with the rivers all over Morocco, with but one or two exceptions, and these only the largest, for the smaller streams often take their names from the villages they pass through or near, and I know one river in Northern Morocco, the length of which cannot be more than some twelve to fifteen miles from its source to its mouth, which boasts no less than six separate names. I could identify, however, every peak to which some more or less recognised title seems to pertain. On the extreme west, and to the south somewhat of the others, was Jibel Sirua, a snow-clad peak, which lies slightly away from the main chain, forming the base of the valley of Wad Sus, between the districts of Tifinut and Ras el Wad. It is the principal elevation of the chain that divides the basins of the rivers Sus and Draa. Then, taking them from the west, Jibal Miltsin, Tidili, Glawi, Taurirt or Adrar n’Iri, Adrar n’Deren, and lastly Unila, of all the most beautiful in form, adding almost a proof to what the account of the deep circular lake had forced one to believe, that it forms the cone of an extinct volcano. Even from here, and far more so from the north, one could not but be struck by the equality of altitude presented by the view of the range, a fact proved by the altitude of the Glawi Pass, the lowest at this part of the chain, and yet 8150 feet above the sea. Supposing, then, that the average height of the peaks reaches 12,000 feet, it will be seen that only at one spot is the altitude below 8500, and probably in few others reaches much below 9000, and where the exception is found, probably only in cases of tortuous gorges entirely hidden in a panorama such as presented itself from where we stood ourselves at an altitude of 6800 feet above the sea-level. Jibel Sirua, it is true, is connected with the main chain by a low ridge of peaks, and Unila stands more alone than any of the rest; but neither of these can reach the altitude of Miltsin and Tidili, which can be roughly estimated at some 13,000 feet.

Although but very little snow was reported to have fallen as yet this winter, all the peaks were well covered, and judging from the altitude at which we were, and the fact that the _arar_—calitris—and evergreen oak abounded, I should estimate the snow-line at this particular period at 10,000 feet. However, as a general rule, no true estimate can be formed as regards the snow on the Atlas, for so much depends upon the severity of the winter or the heat of the summer; and to the best of my belief, based upon statements made to me on the spot, snow altogether disappears from the Atlas in very dry seasons, with the exception of sheltered spots and crevices. Probably the least snow is found about the end of October, after a previous dry winter and a hot summer. In May and June, before it has had time to melt, I have seen a far greater expanse of snow-capped peaks than I did on my return from Tafilet in December. Generally speaking, the deepest snow is found in March and the least in October.

Descending from this elevation of 6800 feet by the bed of a now dry torrent, we continued our journey in an east by south direction, passing through one or two narrow gorges between rocks that were remarkably fine. It is no difficult matter to see that in winter and wet weather this road must be impassable, for the sole track is in the bed of the stream, and there were signs on the rocks of the water having risen to some six feet above the level of its stony course.

Here one began to notice the first clear signs of the fact that while the valleys of the northern slopes of the Atlas run almost due north and south, those of the side on which we were take an east and west direction, parallel, in fact, to the backbone of the chain; the intermediate hills forming a small range along the foot of the southern side, such as is found, only at a greater distance away, on the north. I refer to the hills of Jibeelet and Rahamna.

The system of the Atlas at this part of its chain may be said to consist of five distinct ranges, all running east and west and nearly parallel. To the extreme north are those I have just mentioned, Jibeelet and the hills of Rahamna; then the main chain of the Atlas itself; then the hills at its feet on the south, to which no distinct name seems to pertain, and which are so close to the range as to form part of itself; then again the Anti-Atlas, or, as it is more properly called, Jibel Saghru; and farther south still, the unexplored line of Jibel Bani, which leaves the Wad Draa near where it turns to the north, and not far from the _zauia_ of the Shereefs of Tamgrut—Ulad Sid ben Nasr—and extends as far as the southern limits of the oasis of Tafilet, near the hills known as Jibel Belgrul.

Following the course of a valley, our road proceeding nearly due east, we passed the ruins of a _ksar_, or more properly a fortress, known as the Teherumt of Majdáta, the latter being the name of this inhospitable and nearly uninhabited district. The fort is in bad repair, half of it tumbling down, but in what remains a few poor Berbers have taken up their residence, and managed to till an acre or two of the soil in the immediate neighbourhood and plant it with turnips. Although a tolerable amount of vegetation is visible, we saw no herds or flocks, though it was stated that in spring a few goats are grazed hereabouts. Almost immediately after passing the Teherumt—“fort”—two small rivers are forded, the easternmost of which is known as the Wad Igurian, while I was unable to find the name of the other, only an insignificant stream. Both appear to unite after reaching the plain, from which only a low range of hills now separated us. The valley we were following, though scarcely deserving of being called a valley, for its watercourse was dry, descended to the western of these two rivers, only a few hundred yards of hill dividing the two streams, and after passing the Igurian one commences to ascend again by the course of a dry torrent, the hills on the south taking the form of high perpendicular cliffs of remarkably fine appearance. But little vegetation was to be found here, a few oleanders along the bed of the stream being almost all there was. Again passing a small watershed, we descended toward the river of Agurzga, parallel to the two we had passed, both of which crossed the road, which proceeded between the parallel ranges of mountains on the north and hills on the south, at right angles. I could hear of but few inhabitants in these districts, though our men said that a small tribe of Aït Minzeru lived higher up in the mountains, near the eastern slopes of Jibel Unila.

Where the road runs under the high cliffs the name of “Kaiseríeh” has been given to the spot, the same implying the narrow streets of the bazaars of a town.

At Agurzga, on the banks of the river of the same name, we spent the night of November 6.

Of all the picturesque and romantic spots we passed on the entire journey, I think Agurzga deserves to be

considered the first, for not only is its situation, shut in with high precipices of bare stone, fine in the extreme, but the hand of man has done much to add to the scene by perching strange great castles, rich in decorated towers, on every pinnacle of rock that juts up in the narrow valley, and by terracing a sufficient quantity of land to allow of a strip of gardens along the edge of the river. The stream enters this portion of the valley by a narrow gorge, between precipices some thousands of feet high, and taking a semicircular bend, still between high walls of rock, opens out into a stony bed, one bank rising sheer in broken boulders to some height, while on the other side are the gardens of walnut, almond, and fig trees, terraced one above the other. Rising again high above these gardens are rocky eminences on which the great castles are perched, in one case the summit being crowned by a huge block of building, in others by tier above tier of strange yellow _ksor_ and white square towers, the summits of the latter richly decorated in brickwork and turreted. Just as the Wad Agurzga enters the district to which it has given its name, so does it leave it again, flowing out to the level country through a gorge in the range of hills along the northern slopes of which we had been travelling. Through this narrow gorge, guarded by a ruined fort, we could catch a glimpse of the wide plain beyond, across which the rivers flow before entering themselves into the Idermi or the Dads, as the case may be. This plain, of which I shall have more to say anon, forms the centre of the Draa basin, and extends from the foot-hills of the southern slopes of the great Atlas range as far as the northern extremity of Jibel Saghru, the so-called Anti-Atlas, to the south. The river of Agurzga, flowing from the snow-level, is always well supplied with excellent water, which whirls and eddies along in crystal clearness over its stony bed, here in deep blue pools, and there in tiny rippling rapids. In winter-time it is liable to sudden floods, and often entirely unfordable.

We pitched our tiny tent at an elevation of 4850 feet above the sea-level, just opposite a large _ksar_, near a few solitary trees, and sent to the village for supplies, which we found difficult to obtain. However, without my knowledge, my men made out a tale that I was a poor Shereef on my way to make a pilgrimage to the tomb of Mulai Ali Shereef at Tafilet, and accordingly we obtained what money alone had failed to do, an excellent supper of boiled turnips and almonds and walnuts—not very nourishing, it is true, but hot and satisfying to those who had tasted nothing all day, as had been our case. The poverty existing in this spot is extreme, for the small quantity of land under cultivation is only sufficient to sustain the life of the inhabitants without allowing them to sell food, and all along the road we found the greatest difficulty in purchasing provisions. The money we offered was to them a large sum, but its acceptance in return for what little they had of grain, eggs, fowls, or turnips would have eventually placed them in the position in which we found ourselves—namely, in possession of money but unable to purchase food with it. It is extraordinary upon occasions like this how one realises the worthlessness of money in places where there is nothing to be procured with it; and our little hoard of silver, small as it was, seemed but to mock our hunger.

However, my supposed sanctity did more for us than coin could do, and we supped after all. It was not until the following day that I learned the ruse by which my men had been obliged to obtain provisions. I felt but little remorse, however, as the villagers had been paid for what they brought in small presents to the children, and would no doubt find an opportunity of rechanging the few pesetas we had given them into food in course of time.

Early on the morning of November 7 we left Agurzga, and proceeding, still almost due east, crossed a line of hills and descended some two hours later to the valley of the Ghresat. The highest point of this five or six miles of road reaches an altitude of 5800 feet, where a small watershed is crossed, from which the streams flow east to the Ghresat and west to the Agurzga. For a mile or two after striking the river the road follows its course, almost due south, and passing between some undulating hills, the large settlement of Ghresat, with its picturesque _ksor_, lies before one, and beyond it the wide plain that lies between the Atlas and the Anti-Atlas.

We had finished with the mountains, and with a sigh of relief emerged from the valley to the level country, feeling that at last the weary work of continual ascent and descent was done with, for a time at least.