"Work for the children is better than pilgrimage or holy war."

Moorish Proverb.

Year by year the month succeeding the fast of RamadÁn sees a motley assemblage of pilgrims bound for Mekka, gathered at most of the North African ports from all parts of Barbary and even beyond, awaiting vessels bound for Alexandria or Jedda. This comparatively easy means of covering the distance, which includes the whole length of the Mediterranean when the pilgrims from Morocco are concerned—not to mention some two-thirds of the Red Sea,—has almost entirely superseded the original method of travelling all the way by land, in the once imposing caravans.

These historic institutions owed their importance no less to the facilities they offered for trade, than to the opportunity they afforded for accomplishing the pilgrimage which is enjoined on every follower of Mohammed. Although caravans still cross the deserts of North Africa in considerable force from west to east, as well as from south to north, to carry on the trade of the countries to the south of the Barbary States, the former are steadily dwindling down to mere local affairs, and the number of travellers who select the modern route by steamer[page192] is yearly increasing, as its advantages become better known. For the accommodation of the large number of passengers special vessels are chartered by speculators, and are fitted up for the occasion. Only some £3 are charged for the whole journey from Tangier, a thousand pilgrims being crowded on a medium-sized merchant vessel, making the horrors of the voyage indescribable.

But the troubles of the pilgrims do not begin here. Before they could even reach the sea some of them will have travelled on foot for a month from remote parts of the interior, and at the coast they may have to endure a wearisome time of waiting for a steamer. It is while they are thus learning a lesson of patience at one of the Moorish ports that I will invite you for a stroll round their encampment on the market-place.

This consists of scores of low, makeshift tents, with here and there a better-class round one dotted amongst them. The prevailing shape of the majority is a modified edition of the dwelling of the nomad Arab, to which class doubtless belongs a fair proportion of their occupants. Across the top of two poles about five feet high, before and behind, a ridge-piece is placed, and over this is stretched to the ground on either side a long piece of palmetto or goat-hair cloth, or perhaps one of the long woollen blankets worn by men and women alike, called haÏks, which will again be used for its original purpose on board the vessel. The back is formed of another piece of some sort of cloth stretched out at the bottom to form a semi-circle, and so give more room inside. Those who have a bit of rug or a light mattress, spread it on the floor,[page193] and pile their various other belongings around its edge.

The straits to which many of these poor people are put to get a covering of any kind to shelter them from sun, rain, and wind, are often very severe, to judge from some of the specimens of tents—if they deserve the name—constructed of all sorts of odds and ends, almost anything, it would seem, that will cover a few square inches. There is one such to be seen on this busy market which deserves special attention as a remarkable example of this style of architecture. Let us examine it. The materials of which it is composed include hair-cloth, woollen-cloth, a cotton shirt, a woollen cloak, and some sacking; goat skin, sheep's fleece, straw, and palmetto cord; rush mats, a palmetto mat, split-cane baskets and wicker baskets; bits of wood, a piece of cork, bark and sticks; petroleum tins flattened out, sheet iron, zinc, and jam and other tins; an earthenware dish and a stone bottle, with bits of crockery, stones, and a cow's horn to weight some of the other items down. Now, if any one can make anything of this, which is an exact inventory of such of the materials as are visible on the outside, he must be a born architect. Yet here this extraordinary construction stands, as it has stood for several months, and its occupant looks the jolliest fellow out. Let us pay him a visit.

Stooping down to look under the flap which serves as a door, and raising it with my stick, I greet him with the customary salutation of "Peace be with you." "With you be peace," is the cheery reply, to which is added, "Welcome to thee; make[page194] thyself at home." Although invited to enter, I feel quite enough at home on the outside of his dwelling, so reply that I have no time to stay, as I only "looked in" to have the pleasure of making his acquaintance and examining his "palace." At the last word one or two bystanders who have gathered round indulge in a little chuckle to themselves, overhearing which I turn round and make the most flattering remarks I can think of as to its beauty, elegance, comfort, and admirable system of ventilation, which sets the whole company, tenant included, into a roar of laughter. Mine host is busy cleaning fish, and now presses us to stay and share his evening meal with him, but our appetites are not quite equal to that yet, though it is beyond doubt that the morsel he would offer us would be as savoury and well cooked as could be supplied by any restaurant in Piccadilly.

Inquiries elicit the fact that our friend is hoping to leave for Mekka by the first steamer, and that meanwhile he supports himself as a water-carrier, proudly showing us his goat-skin "bottle" lying on the floor, with the leather flap he wears between it and his side to protect him from the damp. Here, too, are his chain and bell, with the bright brass and tin cups. In fact, he is quite a "swell" in his way, and, in spite of his uncouth-looking surroundings, manages to enjoy life by looking on the bright side of things.

"What will you do with your palace when you leave it?" we ask, seeing that it could not be moved unless the whole were jumbled up in a sack, when it would be impossible to reconstruct it.[page195]

"Oh, I'd let it to some one else."

"For how much?"

"Well, that I'd leave to God."

A glance round the interior of this strange abode shows that there are still many materials employed in its construction which might have been enumerated. One or two bundles, a box and a basket round the sides, serve to support the roof, and from the ridge-pole hangs a bundle which we are informed contains semolina. I once saw such a bundle suspended from a beam in a village mosque in which I had passed the night in the guise of a pious Muslim, and, observing its dusty condition, inquired how it came there.

"A traveller left it there about a year and a half ago, and has not yet come for it," was the reply; to judge from which it might remain till Doomsday—a fact which spoke well for the honesty of the country folk in that respect at least, although I learned that they were notorious highwaymen.

Though the roof admits daylight every few inches, the occupier remarks that it keeps the sun and rain off fairly well, and seems to think none the worse of it for its transparent faults. A sick woman lying in a native hut with a thatched roof hardly in better condition than this one, remarked when a visitor observed a big hole just above her pallet bed—

"Oh, it's so nice in the summer time; it lets the breeze in so delightfully!"

It was then the depth of winter, and she had had to shift her position once or twice to avoid the rain which came through that hole. What a lesson[page196] in making the best of things did not that ignorant invalid teach!

Having bid the amiable water-carrier "À Dieu,"—literally as well as figuratively—we turn towards a group of tents further up, whence a white-robed form has been beckoning us. After the usual salutations have been exchanged, the eager inquiry is made, "Is there a steamer yet?"

"No; I've nothing to do with steamers—but there's sure to be one soon."

A man who evidently disbelieves me calls out, "I've got my money for the passage, and I'll hire a place with you, only bring the ship quickly."

Since their arrival in Tangier they have learnt to call a steamer, which they have never seen before,—or even the sea,—a "bÁbor," a corruption of the Spanish "vapor," for Arabic knows neither "v" nor "p."

Another now comes forward to know if there is an eye-doctor in the place, for there is a mist before his eyes, as he is well-advanced in the decline of life. The sound of the word "doctor" brings up a few more of the bystanders, who ask if I am one, and as I reply in the negative, they ask who can cure their ears, legs, stomachs, and what not. I explain where they may find an excellent doctor, who will be glad to do all he can for them gratis—whereat they open their eyes incredulously,—and that for God's sake, in the name of SeyÏdnÁ AÏsa ("Our Lord Jesus"), which they appreciate at once with murmurs of satisfaction, though they are not quite satisfied until they have ascertained by further questioning that he receives no support from his own or any other government. Hearing the name[page197] of SeyÏdnÁ AÏsa, one of the group breaks out into "El hamdu l'Illah, el hamdu l'Illah" ("Praise be to God"), a snatch of a missionary hymn to a "Moody and Sankey" tune, barely recognizable as he renders it. He has only been here a fortnight, and disclaims all further knowledge of the hymn or where he heard it.

Before another tent hard by sits a native barber, bleeding a youth from a vein in the arm, for which the fee is about five farthings. As one or two come round to look on, he remarks, in an off-hand way—probably with a view to increasing his practice—that "all the pilgrims are having this done; it's good for the internals."

As we turn round to pass between two of the tents to the row beyond, our progress is stayed by a cord from the ridge of one to that of another, on which are strung strips of what appear at first sight to be leather, but on a closer inspection are found to be pieces of meat, tripe, and apparently chitterlings, hung out to dry in a sun temperature of from 90° to 100° Fahrenheit. Thus is prepared a staple article of diet for winter consumption when fresh meat is dear, or for use on journeys, and this is all the meat these pilgrims will taste till they reach Mekka, or perhaps till they return. Big jars of it, with the interstices filled up with butter, are stowed away in the tents "among the stuff." It is called "khalia," and is much esteemed for its tasty and reputed aphrodisiac qualities—two ideals in Morocco cookery,—so that it commands a relatively good price in the market.

The inmates of the next tent we look into are a woman and two men, lying down curled up asleep[page198] in their blankets, while a couple more of the latter squat at the door. Having noticed our curious glances at their khalia, they, with the expressive motion of the closed fist which in native gesture-parlance signifies first-rate, endeavour to impress us with a sense of its excellence, which we do not feel inclined to dispute after all we have eaten on former occasions. This brings us to inquire what else these wanderers provide for the journey of thirteen or fourteen days one way. As bread is not to be obtained on board, at the door of the tent a tray-full of pieces are being converted into sun-dried rusks. Others are provided with a kind of very hard doughnut called "fikÁks." These are flavoured with anise and carraway seeds, and are very acceptable to a hungry traveller when bread is scarce, though fearfully searching to hollow teeth.

Then there is a goodly supply of the national food, kesk'soo or siksoo, better known by its Spanish name of couscoussoo. This forms an appetizing and lordly dish, provocative of abundant eructations—a sign of good breeding in these parts, wound up with a long-drawn "Praise be to God"—at the close of a regular "tuck in" with Nature's spoon, the fist. A similar preparation is hand-rolled vermicelli, cooked in broth or milk, if obtainable. A bag of semolina and another of zummeetah—parched flour—which only needs enough moisture to form it into a paste to prepare it for consumption, are two other well-patronized items.

A quaint story comes to mind À propos of the latter, which formed part of our stock of provisions during a journey through the province of DukkÁla when the incident in question occurred. A tin of[page199] insect powder was also among our goods, and by an odd coincidence both were relegated to the pail hanging from one of our packs. Under a spreading fig-tree near the village of Smeerah, at lunch, some travelling companions offered us a cup of tea, and among other dainties placed at their disposal in return was the bag of zummeetah, of which one of them made a good meal. Later on in the day, as we rested again, he complained of fearful internal gripings, which were easily explained by the discovery of the fact that the lid of the "flea's zummeetah," as one of our men styled it, had been left open, and a hole in the sack of "man's zummeetah" had allowed the two to mix in the bottom of the pail in nearly equal proportions. When this had been explained, no one entered more heartily into the joke than its victim, which spoke very well for his good temper, considering how seriously he had been affected.

But this is rather a digression from our catalogue of the pilgrim's stock of provisions. Rancid butter melted down in pots, honey, dates, figs, raisins, and one or two similar items form the remainder. Water is carried in goat-skins or in pots made of the dried rind of a gourd, by far the most convenient for a journey, owing to their light weight and the absence of the prevailing taste of pitch imparted by the leather contrivances. Several of these latter are to be seen before the tents hanging on tripods. One of the Moors informs us that for the first day on board they have to provide their own water, after which it is found for them, but everything else they take with them. An ebony-hued son of Ham, seated by a neighbouring tent,[page200] replies to our query as to what he is providing, "I take nothing," pointing heavenward to indicate his reliance on Divine providence.

And so they travel. The group before us has come from the SÁhara, a month's long journey overland, on foot! Yet their travels have only commenced. Can they have realized what it all means?

WAITING FOR THE STEAMER.
Cavilla, Photo., Tangier.
WAITING FOR THE STEAMER.

[page201]

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