Plans for Christmas at Gibraltar—A Rough Night—The Steamer which would not Wait—An Ignominious Return to Tetuan—A Rascally Jew—The Aborigines and the Present Occupants of Morocco—The Sultan, Court, Government, and Moorish Army.

CHAPTER V

In spite of the attentions of Amanda, as December drew on and the weather showed no signs of clearing, we began to hanker after a week at Gibraltar, which should combine Christmas and the purchase of camp outfit for use when the rains passed over. It was not difficult to tear ourselves away from the fonda; for it became less easy to tolerate the proximity of the old Spanish band-master, with his bad tobacco and long-winded stories; nor were our landlady and family over-refined. We had not come to Morocco to live amongst the scum of Spain: could Tetuan be swept clean of the Spanish element, it were better for it. In fine, amusing and even interesting though our quarters had been for the time, circumstances pointed towards a move into others, the interval being spent in a run across to Gibraltar.

The steamers which call at Martine, down on the seashore, and bring goods to be carted up to Tetuan, six miles inland, are as mysterious as they are rare. One is supposed to call on alternate Tuesdays, weather permitting; another occasionally calls in the intervening weeks; none come direct from Gibraltar, though all are supposed to go straight back there after touching at Ceuta. But there are many buts. Worst of all, the river at Martine has formed a bar, and Martine is a "bar port": this prevents landing in a strong wind.

We pinned our faith upon the Tuesday boat, not realizing its uncertainty; for if the boat had not enough cargo on board to make it worth while her calling, or if she had too much and time was short, or if the weather was bad, she had no hesitation in missing Martine and Tetuan out of that fortnight's round altogether.

We did not want to ride forty-four miles to Tangier with the "roads" in the state they were, even if it had been practicable; nor almost as far and a worse track to Ceuta: either would have meant sleeping a night in the fondÂk up in the hills, or in a Spanish lodging-house of doubtful repute: therefore we planned to go by boat from Martine, engaged rooms for a week in Gibraltar beforehand, and, with the optimism born of ignorance, doubted not but that we should get away on the steamer.

Packing up overnight and breakfasting at eight, we were soon ready to mount our mules and ride down to the shore to catch our boat. It was a matter of two and a half hours from Tetuan down to Martine: the track need not be described—this speaks for itself. Our luggage, tied with complicated rope-knots, was judiciously balanced upon one mule, and we had said good-bye to Amanda and family when a message arrived from the steamships agency to say that the steamer was not in.

After taking counsel, however, the luggage was dispatched down to Martine; a muleteer badly marked with small-pox climbed on the top of our worldly goods, and the mule jogged off: we would follow when the steamer was sighted.

REFUSE GOING OUT OF TETUAN.

Refuse Going Out of Tetuan.

Walking into the feddan in search of information about her, every Moor or Jew only replied with shrugged shoulders and extended palms. Who could tell? She might come in at eleven, she might not. "Ift shallah" (Allah will show). As she had two hundred and forty tons of cargo to unload, the agents thought she might stay till the following day before starting for Gibraltar: on the other hand, the previous night had been a rough one, and it was quite possible she had passed Martine altogether, and did not intend to call for another fortnight.

It was a sunny morning: there was nothing to be said but "Mektub" (It is written), and nothing to be done except sit in the sun and await events, after the fashion of the brown figures in jellabs also sitting in the sun against the south wall of the feddan where it is highest and nearly always dusty.

Wandering up and down, Spaniards were to be seen in one cafÉ shuffling filthy cards and drinking spirits, while in another, behind a great vine which held in its arms a rustic trellis porch and seats, Moors lay on their elbows, tumblers of tea swimming in mint in front of them and long kif-pipes. A Riffi sat on a stool in the sun, leaning against the vine, nursing his gun; his single long black lock fell down by his ear, glossy and tied in a knot at the end. Next door a gunsmith was at work in his little shop sand-papering a gun-stock: a sheep was penned inside against the Great Feast, and more sheep in the grocer's beyond. On the opposite side of the great square a Jew was selling enamel ware to one of the five lady missionaries. Then meat came hurrying by, just killed outside the Mulberry Gate and still warm. Red-and-white shapeless carcases were balanced on a donkey's back, kept steady by a sanguinary Moor who sloped along behind: the donkey knew its own way well, across the wide feddan, down a narrow street, and into the meat market. Thither hurried the lady missionary to buy a joint. If cooked before it has time to get cold the meat is tender, otherwise it must be hung.

It did not seem long before the bell on the top of the Spanish Consulate rang out twelve o'clock. There was no sign of any steamer—the steamships agent had given her up; and not wishing our luggage to lie on the beach all night—for gumption was not one of the characteristics written on our pock-marked boy's face—we sent a messenger off on the two hours and a half ride down to Martine to summon him back.

About one o'clock, just as we were sitting down to lunch in Mr. Bewicke's room, the news arrived that the steamer was signalled. All doubt was at an end: we lunched complacently, allowed time for coffee and a button-hole out of the garden, mounted the mules, Mr. Bewicke his white pony; the gardener, Madunnah, following behind on foot, carrying our sticks and umbrellas, which burden was increased half-way through the city by a bracket, but lately coloured in garish tones, vermilion prevailing—it bled somewhat, but was to serve as a Christmas present at Gibraltar.

Over the cobbles, under the Gate of Wisdom, out on to the sandy track, and along the sea road we rode, the mules refusing at first to pass some sacks of grain which lay in the middle of the path waiting to go down to the beach. There is a gate tax on every loaded animal which passes under the Gate of Wisdom, to avoid which the sacks are carried just out of the city on men's backs, set down, and picked up in time by mules.

The first mile or so was not worse going than usual. Coming from the right by a trail which led across the river, a string of women bore towards us, bringing wood into the city from villages miles away—scrub off the mountain-side. Their rough heads were bound round with weather-stained coloured handkerchiefs: listless eyes looked straight out from under lined foreheads. On each side of their doubled-up backs protruded rough wood-ends—these kept in place by a rope over the shoulder, grasped in knotted hands above copper-coloured muscular arms. The bit of towelling round the loins, brushed by the wind, left bare a species of knees and legs, carved by two thousand years of toil into humanized Norman piers, buttressed with muscle, in which ankles have no lot nor part, which have carried and still carry unreasonable loads from childhood to the grave. These women walked in single file, as do the mules and donkeys. And this is partly due to the space which the wide bundles take up on each side, partly to bad paths, and partly to entire lack of initiative. Why should they strike out a line of their own, these "cattle" and "beasts of burden," as they call themselves? The old way comes easier.

Thus life has moved across Morocco, without deviation, down immeasurable years, and moves so to-day, along innumerable trails worn afresh by bare feet after every rain-storm, footprint into footprint, padded hard and smooth, narrow and polished.

The flats, after so much wet weather, were under water, and the lower down the road dropped, the deeper the country grew. Our mules struggled along at a slow walk, and we constantly diverged off the track, circling to this side or the other whenever a field looked an improvement upon our muddy quagmire, generally to find that it was very little better and sometimes worse.

About half-way we met our luggage and messenger. The pock-marked boy had taken our effects to the shore, had found no steamer, waited a short time, then calculated that he would be late getting back to the city, and ran risks of robbers, to say nothing of ginns (spirits) lurking in the wells by the road, so turned his face homewards.

We were in total ignorance, and so of course was he, all this time as to the movements of the steamer: once out of the city, the level of the road is such that nothing can be seen of the sea until a couple of hours' riding, lands people right on the beach itself. With every hope that she still lay at anchor, we turned our "pock-mark" round, and the poor mule faced the bad road down to Martine for the second time that day.

Madunnah handed over the bracket to crown our baggage, and plodded bravely on, often well up to his bare knees in mud and water. A brace of duck forged across the sky above our heads; some plover called and called again mournfully, wheeling above the irresponsive marshes and brown fallows; a string of mules moved like mites over a cheese in the sandy distance. We passed the Wad-el-Martine in heavy flood, its yellow yeasty depths swirling between the soft red banks.

At last a couple of stone bridges came into sight, isolated in a waste of water, remnants of the old Portuguese road, and in normal times affording a dry path over two dykes. We plunged through unseen holes and among stony pitfalls up to the lonely landmarks and dry ground for a few yards; then more floods; but after that the last mile or two became easy enough, the land rose, and dry sandy dunes, with tough bents flattened in the wind, conduced towards a jog, almost a canter. Goats, picking up a bare living, scattered as we hurried along, past the white Customs House and an old wharf on the river, away to the beach. Behind us the mountains were black and purple, heavy rain-clouds were gathering, and directly we topped the crest of the sandy shore a strong east wind met us full in the teeth straight off the sea. But there as large as life lay the steamer, a long way out, on account of the bar and the wind, with a choppy sea running between.

A cargo-boat was vainly trying to cross the bar, towed by a long green boat which six Moors were rowing. She made no headway, shipped water which deluged the cargo, and seemed half aground on the bar. No other boat or boatmen seemed to be available: the steamer was not within hail. Certainly there were three more cargo-boats lying in shelter in a corner of the river-estuary a little way off the land, but some men in one of them seemed half asleep—at any rate, they were out of our reach, and deaf to our shouts and gesticulations to the effect that we wanted to be rowed on board the steamer.

We waited and waited; Madunnah yelled himself hoarse; but the cargo-boat still rolled on the bar, lashed by the waves, and the men still strained at their oars and paid no heed to our cries. Twice we thought they meant coming to our signals, but each time they were only trying fresh manoeuvres.

Rain came on, a sharp easterly scud; the pock-marked boy drew his jellab over his head; the mules turned their backs to the squall; but Madunnah still stood at the edge of the waves, gesticulating wildly with our sticks and umbrellas at the impassive rowers. Sunset was upon us. At a fire of driftwood on the beach a short distance off R. and I tried to warm ourselves.

Suddenly the long green boat left the cargo and pulled towards us: the sea was rising, and looked anything but encouraging; breakers were showing their white teeth on the bar; but the green boat drew nearer and came in at last, or nearly so—for she stopped short off the shore, and, half aground, lost her rudder. Still none of the crew paid the faintest attention as we hailed them in Arabic, English, and Spanish across the few yards of water which put them just out of our reach. They had something else to do except attend to three mad Britishers—let them rave.

The cargo-boat, deserted by the long green boat, had stuck worse than ever: darkness was coming on, and she was in a bad case. The men in the "long green" roused the half-sleeping Moors in the companion boat, and it was evident that both meant going out together to tow the belated cargo in.

Our voices carried less as the wind rose, and it was evident even to Madunnah that words were wasted. The rain drove in torrents; it was bitterly cold, and growing darker every moment; as the two boats turned their heads towards the wave-swept cargo we realized that it was night, that all chance of getting on board was at an end for that day at least, and we set our backs to the sea.

There still remained one alternative and a last chance of getting to Gibraltar for Christmas Day: the steamer might not leave till the following morning, and, taking shelter for the night in the Customs House on the beach, we ought to be able to get on board at daybreak. We turned off to the left through blinding gushes of rain, and headed for this refuge.

A MOORISH PRISON GATE.

A Moorish Prison Gate.

The Customs House was much like a caravanserai: an open space in the middle was enclosed by sheds for mules and asses; a rough stair led to the living-rooms, above the sheds, which opened on to a flat white roof. We stumbled up on to the roof; then in under a low doorway into a little wooden lean-to, where an old Jew caretaker was living. The rest of the place was given over to a family of Israelites, who had come down to "the seaside" from Tetuan for change of air.

Much to our relief, the old Jew caretaker assured us that the steamer would be landing cargo till noon on the following day: he offered us everything he had in his power for that night, and promised to see us off in a boat the next day. Committing us to his care, Mr. Bewicke left us and rode back to Tetuan with the mules and Madunnah; our baggage was stowed away under shelter; and the old Jew, finding a light and improvising two seats out of boxes and matting, sat us down at his little table, with a bit of frayed linoleum on it and a glass.

The roof leaked and the rain beat on to the linoleum, but we were in snug quarters after the beach, and our friendly host began boiling up a great black kettle in a tiny inner room, assisted by a Moor. He was very rheumatic, the old man, also very deaf, and Martine must have been a damp spot for him (the river and marshes close at hand, and east or west wind, both of them heavy with moisture—nothing would dry, hung out in the air at Tetuan); nor were his quarters rain-proof.

He hobbled backwards and forwards, muffled up in a worn grey handkerchief, with a fortnight's white stubble on his chin, and an aged greenish overcoat down to his slippers.

From the recesses of a bunk in the next shelter, where he slept, he produced some pink china cups; then returned with a plate of bread, hardened to the consistency of biscuit, and smelling strongly of aniseed. After that he made tea in a little brown earthenware teapot—sweet green tea with mint—and we soon thawed under a succession of cups. Still he stumbled about, hunting out of a cupboard a small basket of eggs, and in the next room a great stirring and beating-up followed. By-and-by the Moor who had been assisting him appeared with an omelette; it was dark brown, mixed thick with aniseed, chopped ham, and parsley; nor was it easy to dispose of it.

Our kind host ended up by pressing gin on us.

Warmed and fed, but unfortunately unable to sustain a conversation with him either in Arabic or Spanish, and having exhausted the few words at our command, the next best thing was to make ourselves comfortable for the night. Lighting a candle, the old Jew paddled across the wet roof, and we followed him, dimly distinguishing beasts feeding in the stalls down below, to a small room on the far side, where some sort of preparation had been made for us: a rug was spread on the stone floor, and a bedstead had a blanket laid upon it, while our baggage was piled in a corner. Putting on overcoats and rugs, we sat down on one of our trunks—it is unwise to place confidence in unknown beds in Morocco; but when, driven by sheer weariness, we lay down as we were on the blanket, we slept unmolested.

A Jew on the other side of a thin partition which did not reach the ceiling, snored heavily and awoke us at intervals. About six next morning, what sounded very like the steamer's whistle blew repeatedly, but we paid little attention to it, the old Jew and Mr. Bewicke having both assured us the boat would leave about twelve o'clock. Morning had dawned when we burst open the wooden shutters of a little window much swelled with damp, and looked out across the sand-dunes at the sea.

There lay the black hull of the steamer at anchor: the wind of the night before had dropped; a flaring sunrise and stormy sky lowered behind the Riff Mountains, which were black.

Dressing was short work. The Moor handed us in at the door a tin basin of water, and in a short time we were ready for the next move. At that point R. craned up to look out of the high window. When she spoke, I could hardly believe her words. . . . The steamer had weighed anchor and was moving.

There was no mistaking it: the black hull had swung round, and was making for the open sea, with a flag of smoke trailing behind her; and away she went to Gibraltar.

We rushed out upon the flat roof and up a rotten ladder minus three rungs—all unheeding—which gave access to the roof above our room, gaining nothing thereby except a panoramic view, with the departing boat in the middle distance. Already she stood well out to sea: the Customs House was a quarter of a mile from the beach: there was nothing to be done: to blame our kind old host would have been as ungrateful as it was useless, and regrets were equally unavailing. True it is that the wise man fends for himself and makes no arrangements second-hand in Morocco, where every one is casual and every plan is casual. Had we found out when the ship's papers were going on board, and arranged with the agent to call us and take us in his boat, we should have eaten plum pudding in Gibraltar. Apparently the steamer had been signalling for the last hour to the effect that she was going, that the weather was bad and the sea rough outside, and that she would not venture to stay and dispatch her cargo—none of which facts the deaf and decrepit old Jew had grasped. He hobbled out, and would hardly believe his eyes.

We sat down to some weak green tea and the same dry aniseed-flavoured bread as the night before, and, thus fortified, reviewed our course of action, which had few complications, there being no other steamer before Christmas, and the ride to Ceuta or Tangier barred by reason of the flooded streams and general state of the country. The "open road" pointed towards Tetuan and our old quarters in the Spanish fonda, of which we had taken only the day before such joyful leave. It was inevitable, that next move; and should be made quickly, to judge by the look of the weather—the clouds were growing lower and blacker every half-hour.

Animals were a difficulty—our mules had gone back to the city the night before; but it would have been hard work wading across the flooded acres for seven miles; and there was our luggage.

Eventually we raised a seedy little rat of a pony, which R. rode; a ragged donkey, on which half our goods was balanced; while the other half went on a mule, with me on the top of all. We turned our backs on the hospitable white Customs House and the ill-favoured sea with a muttered imprecation.

In Tetuan a wealthy man was building a house. It was at a standstill for want of plaster. The plaster had already come in on the steamer three times, and three times she had gone away without unloading it. The boat we had lost had made a fourth endeavour, and we learnt afterwards that Mr. N——'s ill-fated plaster had formed the cargo in the wave-washed boat of the evening before. Wet through, it set as hard as a stone in the sacks, and was useless: it lay like rocks on the beach. The bar at Martine has been tolerated for unknown ages: there is no reason to think that the Moor will rouse himself into making an effort and trying to facilitate the landing of passengers and cargo.

We left upon our right as we rode along, some hundreds of yards from the sea, the remains of what years upon years ago was a fort, built somewhat as forts will be built in the near future—with a view to concealment. The outside wall facing the Mediterranean was crescent-shaped, and but four feet high at most, the sand sloping up nearly to the top, and overgrown with vegetation, so that little or no fort showed at all. There were a few loop-holes, through which men could shoot from the inside lying down; there was a well in the centre of the fort, and a small bomb-proof building, with an arched roof many feet thick, where powder had been kept. A primitive construction, this harmless-looking little crescent facing the sea—once upon a time bristling with dare-devil Moors and their long guns.

Half-way to Tetuan we passed the cart, the first and last I saw in the place: its antediluvian body was set on two demented wheels, which rolled out of the upright like a tipsy sailor. The cart was Government property: five mules of different sizes, drew it up in a string from the sea to the city, through the quagmire, laden with flour and kerosene oil and stores of all descriptions, a couple of Moors toiling alongside.

R.'s "rat" was not too surefooted, and some of the floods were deep: once it came on its nose, but a second time sat down in a hole in the middle of a sheet of water, leaving nothing for its rider but to slip off and wade out, walking afterwards wherever the track allowed, to raise a little circulation underneath drenched clothes. A certain melancholy possessed the flats as well as our vexed selves that stormy and ill-fortuned morning. In places the tops of the grass-blades alone showed in a green watery waste, except where tall dark rushes made a heavier mass, or where the tufts of red-brown tangle lay in warm lines. The sea behind us was an angry purple; the Riff Mountains were steel-blue; the nearer hills now black, now gold in fitful sun-gleams, now crossed by a rainbow. Only in the north there was a great break, and a light like brass, behind Ape's Hill. Tradition has it that a subterranean passage leads thence underneath the Straits to the Rock of Gibraltar, and is used by the monkeys as a means of transit from Africa to Europe.

Our miserable beasts were several hours toiling up to Tetuan: the rain came on, and with the wind straight off the snows it was as cold a ride as I remember.

The next morning we went to the French Steamship Company's office for the purpose of recovering our passage money from the agent, who had insisted upon our buying tickets beforehand. This fat, greasy Tangier Jew, of no chin, and flabby, suet-pudding face, flatly refused in plausible French to return us our cash, gesticulating, contradicting himself, pretending to misunderstand us, all in the same breath, and needing nothing so much as a good kicking. Since the money would only go into his own pocket, we fought the point, and, after being most insolent, he was obliged to promise that if the French Consular Agent in Tetuan judged it right, he would hand over the money.

To the French Consular Agent we went: a Moor, whose office was in the French Post Office—a solemn, dignified man in a flowing blue jellab, over the same in white, both hoods drawn up over his head, showing a long olive face of the true Arab type, black eyes, black beard and moustache. He wore white socks and yellow slippers—a most courteous individual. On hearing our case, he simply sent for the Steamships Company Agent, and told him to hand over the money. We sat and waited with Mr. Bewicke, who was interpreting for us. Presently a step, and, much out of breath, the plausible Jew himself arrived, in a long great coat and billy-cock. He took a seat, and stated his case in Arabic to the French Consular Agent. There could have been no greater contrast than between the vulgar excited Israelite and the stately Mohammedan. The Moor sat with folded arms: occasionally he raised one hand to emphasize a quiet monosyllable. But alas for the steadfastness of his race! Perhaps he disliked being mixed up in the matter. At any rate, having said that the money was to be refunded, he allowed the Jew to argue the point, and, we gathered, was telling him finally that the whole question had better be referred to the company itself—a dim and visionary Steamships Company on the other side of the Mediterranean: it augured badly for us.

But at this point R. spoke in French, and reminded the Jew that he had promised to refund the money if the French Consul so judged, that the Consul had given judgment, and that if the Jew still refused he was no longer a man of his word. Strange to say, this quickened a dormant conscience underneath all the dishonesty, or it pricked the Jew's pride; at any rate, after a torrent of protestations, from his tight waistcoat-pocket he produced a pile of dollars, and handed them over to us. The money had taken an hour to draw: as far as actual value went it was not worth it.

The French Consular Agent, the dignified Moor, had to all intents and purposes failed us at the critical moment, since he would not exert his lawful authority over a French-protected Jew. But a Moor's faults may be summed up in one word—weak. As in the above instance, refusing to face circumstances or to follow one definite line of action to the end, he invariably acts on the principle of "going roundabout." In the course of time evasion has come to appear to him the best line to pursue, and he has sunk like a stone into a slough of compromise, a tarn of apathy. Such weakness, incompatible with Moorish fanaticism and courage, is due probably to tyranny.

Living under a tyrannical government and religion, both of which, welded together, form the one dominant factor of his life, the Moor is afraid of each, and stands in dread of the ruin it is in their power to work in his life. Not only this, but he lives in fear of his countrymen and their long guns, of his wives and their poisons, of evil spirits.

Morocco, as has been said, accepted Mohammedanism of necessity, not from choice, at the hands of the conquering Arabs, and it is accepted to-day, as the corrupt Government is accepted, with a shrug of the shoulders and "What God wills cannot but be." Weakened by blind submission, and at the same time holding nothing for which they have fought or wrought—no truths made adamant in the furnace of persecution, no Magna Charta won on the sword-point of patriotism, all of which are so much tonic and discipline to a nation, breeding grit, developing backbone—the Moorish people are paralyzed by a despotism which allows no originality of thought and action; they are no longer capable of "running straight," but, suave and polite to a fault, lack that species of courage which conduces towards plain-speaking.

After all, who and what are to blame except the people themselves? One writer curses the religion, another curses the Government. Cui bono? Climate and the fertility of soil may have influenced the races called Moorish, but the Moor himself is alone responsible for his Government and his religion.

A Peep of Tetuan

A Peep of Tetuan.

Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier.

Historians from time to time have had something to say about these tribes, and tradition boasts a legion tales respecting them; but the most able writer upon Morocco in old times was Leo Africanus, a Moor himself, who, when all his countrymen were expelled from Spain in 1492, fled to Fez.

Twenty-five years later he was captured by Christian pirates and taken to Rome. He became a Christian, and he published his great and reliable history about the time that Henry VIII. was successful in Flanders and Scotland, when Wolsey obtained a cardinal's hat, and Catherine of Arragon had not been ousted by Anne Boleyn.

The aborigines of Morocco were without doubt Berbers, and to-day Berbers occupy four-fifths of the country, in spite of the invasions of other nations. First on the list of the invaders came the Phoenicians, the earliest civilizing agency. The Romans followed eighty years after CÆsar had landed in Britain, and annexed Morocco, Christianizing its people. Next to invade the country were the Vandals, who turned out the Romans, remained among the Berbers for over a hundred years, leaving red hair and blue eyes behind them. Then six hundred and ninety-eight years after the birth of Christ the deluge of Mohammedan conquest burst over Morocco, and hordes of Arabs, burning with a fanatical missionary spirit, swept over the land. At the end of eleven years the resistance of the Berbers was overcome, and they adopted Mohammedanism as lightly as they had adopted Christianity under the Roman rule.

About two years afterwards a body of them crossed over into Spain under the one-eyed chieftain Tarik, and laid the foundation of the Moorish supremacy in Europe. Thither this band of pioneer Berbers was followed by the Arabs: the two races mingled and built up together an empire in Spain said to surpass all its contemporaries in learning and refinement. The Spanish named them indiscriminately Mauros, and Moors they have been ever since; but the name Moor can be traced back as far as 23 a.d., when Pliny and Strabo speak of the Maurusii and Mauri.

A reflection of their empire's greatness shone even in Morocco itself: libraries and universities were founded in Fez and Morocco City. But at the same time the benighted country knew no settled peace; it was torn with civil war between the Arab and Berber tribes, until the Berbers finally mastered the Arabs, and forced them to confine themselves to certain districts.

Meanwhile, in Spain the Moorish Empire, which for seven hundred years had remained firmly established, keeping alive Greek philosophy, building the Alhambra and making an indelible impression upon the Spanish nation, crumbled and fell, or, more properly speaking, was expelled from Spain after a year of bitter persecution. Thousands of Moorish refugees flocked back across the Straits to the land of their progenitors, and settled in Tetuan, Tangier, and the cities on the coast, buoyed up with the lingering hope of returning, when fickle Fortune smiled again, to the glories of their old houses in Granada, and to that land which had chosen to cast them out.

As may be imagined, the government of Morocco soon fell into their more capable hands: they amalgamated more or less with the Arabs and Berbers—their own kith and kin—and the country became known to Europe as Morocco.

In due time a certain Moor, a Sharif—that is, a direct descendant of the Prophet Mohammed—as head of the Mohammedan Church, gradually united under himself Arabs and Berbers alike, and was acknowledged as their Feudal Lord, Religious Chief, and Sultan. The present Sultan is of the same holy line: hence his title of Sharifian Majesty.

A Berber and an Arab may easily be distinguished from each other. Berbers, taken as a whole, have square frames, high cheek-bones, small eyes, and are great walkers, not horsemen. The mountains are to them what the plains are to the Arabs, and they prefer an agricultural life to any other.

Leo Africanus describes them, and his picture in all essentials holds good to-day: "They are strong, terrible, robust men, who fear neither cold nor snow; their dress a tunic of wool over bare flesh, and above the tunic a mantle, round their legs twisted thongs, never anything on the head. They rear sheep, mules, and asses; and they are the greatest thieves, traitors, and assassins in the world."

From personal experience let this ryder be added: that they make good servants, faithful up to a certain point, to be trusted up to a certain point; but they are rascals.

In Tetuan many more Berbers are to be met with than Arabs: the Riff tribe is Berber, and Tetuan is full of Riffis.

Until the last thirty years the Berbers owned only a nominal allegiance to the Sultan; to-day he could pass through little of their territory without an army at his back, and into the Riff country he has never been at all.

Among the Berbers there is plenty of throat-cutting as a legal punishment, and murder on the score of private vengeance, while Government oppression is rampant. As for travellers journeying across their country, only certain "roads" are "open" and safe: a Christian, with proper precaution, is seldom attacked on the way to Fez or Morocco City—a Jew occasionally. Off the beaten track and anywhere in the Riff country his life would not be worth a flus (small copper coin). The Arabs have given the Berbers a name of their own—Shillah, which means "Outcast," referring back to the days when they drove them out of the plains up into the mountains; and it has stuck to them ever since.

Travellers descant upon the noble Shillah race. The dialect which they speak is called Shillah: the Riffis at Tetuan spoke Shillah among themselves, but soon picked up Arabic of a sort, and a little Spanish.

The Arab differs in every respect from the Berber. One of the finest types among mankind, he has a tall, spare frame, aquiline nose, fine eyes. He is kind, hospitable, dignified, abstemious, a poet, a gentleman, and a horseman. He is capable of great things, and of all Orientals has most impressed himself upon the world. At the same time he is too often treacherous and blood-thirsty, inclined to be sensual and inquisitive.

Perhaps his faults have led to the extolling of the noble Shillah race at the Arab's expense. On this subject Mr. Cunninghame Graham writes, that certain travellers in Morocco must have "been humiliated at finding in the Arabs a finer type than their own, and have turned to the Shillah race with the relief that the earthen teapot must find when taken away from the drawing-room companionship of Dresden china and put back again on the kitchen dresser." For myself "earthen teapot" and "Dresden china" have both much fascination. I would trust either just as far as I could see him.

Thus Morocco is populated by two antipathetic races, who neither singly nor jointly have or can consolidate it into a thriving empire. The Arab cared only to convert a conquered people to Mohammedanism and to push his individual fortune, heedless of assimilating individuals into one nation, as did the Romans. Great Arab chiefs there have been, but never a patriot. With the fatalistic spirit of the East, and a tendency to see life only from the personal standpoint, it followed that, when a holy war no longer fired the wandering and independent shepherds to fight and forced them to obey, they became "slack," remained stationary, or retrograded.

The Arab would not advance civilization in Morocco, nor would the wild and lawless Berber; the Moorish refugees from Spain had sadly degenerated; to crown all, civil war led to the destruction of the libraries and universities in Fez and Morocco City, and education was no more.

Ignorance begat worse government; decline and poverty followed one after the other. Corruption among the rulers spread downwards and ran through the country, until the whole body politic was unsound, and is so to-day.

Though the name of the Sultan, as Head of the Church, is held in reverence, yet many of the tribes would resist to the uttermost any attempt on his part to subdue them by force of arms, so unsettled is his empire.

He holds himself to be far superior to the Sultan of Turkey, who is not descended from the Prophet, but who, on the other hand, is the guardian of the sacred city of Mecca, and who possesses superior forces.

Second in rank to the Sultan of Morocco follow his ministers—the Chief Minister, the Foreign Minister, the Chief Adviser, the Minister of the Interior, and the Minister of Finance. Their duties are to carry out the Sultan's wishes, and, receiving no pay, they look to enriching themselves at the expense of their respective billets.

A body of secretaries come after the ministers, who write and dispatch the Sultan's decrees to distant cities, where their letters are read aloud in the mosques to the people by the governors. A special body of messengers is employed under the secretaries.

Each district and city has its kaid or basha (its governor), whose duty is to read the Sultan's letter aloud and carry out his instructions, who oversees the city market, prices food, detects false weight, deals with robbers and murderers, and sees that the peace is kept.

As well as basha every city has its kadi, or judge of civil law, who settles all questions of land, of grants, divorces, etc.

We visited the Court of Civil Justice at Tetuan, a tiny room, carpeted with yellow matting, where the white-haired kadi, attired in white, sat like a magnificent white rabbit on a large red cushion on the floor, beside him a table six inches high, with learned-looking books, ink, parchment, and thin slips of wood for pens.

Below the basha or kaid come sheikhs (village elders), who may be called gentlemen farmers. They collect the taxes directly from the country people. A province is taxed according to what it produces: no one pays the sum demanded of him, nor at the time it is demanded, but eventually every householder in the district is judiciously squeezed to the uttermost farthing, and half of what he pays goes into the sheikh's pocket.

Morocco conceals its wealth in times of visitations such as these: money and corn alike are buried in the ground. Some of the people are imprisoned, some tortured, and eventually all disgorge, and are left with barely enough for their every-day wants.

It is a system typical of the East and its slipshod, rough-and-ready dealings: its great element of simplicity harks back to a life in tents, where red tape was unknown.

The highest officials are in the habit of transacting business at their street doors or in their stables: the basha invariably sits in some gateway near his house, hearing and judging matters which two or three gesticulating claimants explain to him. Private matters are public property: the man in the street chats with the Minister of Finance—for are not all men equal? The minister may have sold groceries at one time, before he was called upon to fill a position at Court. Who can tell what a day may not bring forth?

The Sultan—who is known as "The Lofty Portal, the Exalted of God, the Noble Presence"—has a body of servants and retainers round him: first of all "The Learned Ones," men who advise him, but make a point of ascertaining his wishes before they give an opinion, and are of no use at all except in conducting negotiations; next the officer who carries the great pearl-and-gold-embroidered parasol over his head; next an officer who flicks away flies; then a master of ceremonies, a headsman, a flogger, a shooter, a water-bearer, a tent-layer, a tea-maker, a standard-bearer, and a "taster" to see that no poison is given.

More closely connected than any of these with the Sultan is of course his harem, of both black and white women, who have been honoured by admission into the much-sought-after precincts. Some of them are Circassians, supplied by Constantinople: all are the best which money can buy, or ease and position tempt. When their numbers have been greatly swelled, certain of them are drafted on as presents to kaids and bashas.

The offspring of the Sultan's numerous wives are brought up in isolated sanctuaries, each boy in company with a slave of his own age, whom he calls brother. Girls inherit no rank. One and all are married when they reach maturity, at a State function which takes place each year, the Sultan choosing their consorts. He gives his favourite son—whom he has named as his successor—a high command in the army or an important governorship: as long as the boy is too young for either, the Sultan associates him with himself in official receptions.

All possible rivals to the Sultan are disposed of, chiefly by banishment.

Guarding the intriguing and inflammable harem are eunuchs, imported at great expense from Abyssinia, and responsible for the Sultan's wives and concubines, whom "wise women" prepare to meet their lord. The late Sultan was in the habit of having his harem paraded in his garden on Thursdays, in order to select the most attractive, and spend Friday—the Mohammedan Sunday—in her company.

It is a curious fact that the Imperial Treasure, which is distributed between Fez, Morocco City, and Mequinez, of which no details are ever made public, can only be opened by agreement between the keeper, the governor of the palace, the trusted eunuch, and the head woman in charge of the harem. The secrets of its treasures are jealously guarded. It is probably impoverished.

Every one who approaches the Court is expected to make the Sultan a present, and his collection of offerings would stock a museum.

In the time of George I. we read of the Sultan's being sent "a rich crimson velvet sedan or chair for the favourite Sultana, and ten pounds of the finest tea at thirty shillings a pound." In the present day telephones, heliographs, gramophones, bicycles, motor-cars, guns, fireworks, and the latest inventions of all kinds find their way into Morocco. In return the staple Moorish offering has always been, and still is, Arab horses, with richly embroidered saddles and bridles.

It is impossible to estimate the strength of the Moorish army. The only regulars are under European instruction, Sir Harry Maclean (known as Kaid Maclean) acting as commander-in-chief. Their pay is something like a penny half-penny a day for infantry, fourpence for cavalry, a shilling for commanding offices. The ranks consist of private, sergeant, captain, centurion, and colonel, each officer having a lieutenant.

Every Moor capable of bearing arms in Morocco is liable to be pressed for service.

In May, when the country is dry, each basha or kaid is ordered to collect troops in his own district: then is Tetuan deserted, and every boy and young man absents himself. How the lady missionaries hid their house-boy! Tetuan sent off two hundred men, under a colonel, while we were there, which were to help punish certain rebellious tribes. Often these expeditions are for the purpose of raising taxes. In any case the tribes against which the Sultan's troops are sent are said to be "eaten up." Long before it happened it was known and talked of.

"Ah, yes; the Beni M`Saira would be eaten up in April."

The Tetuan two hundred were sent to help eat up the Beni M`Saira tribe, some of whom had abducted two Spanish children a year ago. The children had driven their pigs on to land belonging to the tribe—a thing abhorred of by Mohammedans, to whom pigs are unclean. Expostulation was not heeded, and the Beni M`Saira resorted to strong measures, and kidnapped the children. They were sold from family to family beyond hope of recovery, and it would be hard to say what was their fate. Of course they were never seen again. Tales were circulated which said that the girl had been turned into a dancing-girl, and taught to dance upon hot ashes, or she may have become slave and concubine to some Moor. She was sixteen years old, and the lady missionaries at Tetuan knew her well, and her ten-year-old brother.

The Spanish Government had complained to the Sultan, and now a year after the offence the Beni M`Saira were to be eaten up; there was to be a general raid upon their country: men would be killed, women taken as slaves, villages burnt, and corn destroyed. The worst part of the whole business is the fate of the prisoners on these occasions. These unfortunate men, suffering scarcely for their own misdeeds, are sent in chains to far-distant city prisons, whence they seldom emerge alive.

The colonel of the Tetuan contingent was an example of the rapid rises and the vicissitudes of life in Morocco. Only the other day he had been harbour-master down at Martine, but was accused of smuggling and turned out of that berth; he then took a cafÉ and sold drinks in Tetuan, when suddenly the Sultan's pleasure took the shape of making him a full-blown colonel in his troops. As in the days of Joseph, the chief butler is sent for out of prison and made much of: the baker is sent for and hanged.

A SAINT-HOUSE, TETUAN.

A Saint-House, Tetuan.

The lucky colonel and his two hundred left Tetuan in bad weather: their pay was such that many of them, before starting, sold the bullets supplied them, in order to buy food with the money, preferring to fight without ammunition rather than on empty stomachs; but only one quarter of them got as far as El K`sar—the rest deserted on the road, to escape hunger and exhaustion from rain and cold. The Oolad Moosa tribe were eaten up not long ago; their land was harried, their fruit-trees destroyed, and themselves killed, imprisoned, and enslaved. I was told by a Spaniard that he had seen five camel-loads of the heads of tribesmen brought into Larache while he was there. The Sultan offered three shillings per head. His soldiers sent up not a few heads which belonged to their own companions-in-arms. Consignments were sent off to various cities throughout Morocco, where the Jews, as usual, salted them, and they were set up over the gates and on the walls.

There is little or no artillery in his Sharifian Majesty's army, though the few cannon he has, render him all-powerful against his rebellious tribesmen, who are only armed with rifles (principally French), which are smuggled into the country.

Soldiers are supplied with the same rifles and European swords: the native curved dagger is also used.

Pitched battles are seldom heard of. The troops entrench themselves strongly, gallop out in parties against the foe, fire a volley into his line, and gallop back again to reload. Pillage is the great element in this species of guerilla warfare.

In connection with the army are the Makhaznia (mounted police): they are practically cavalry. A few were quartered in Tetuan, and the basha employed them to take men prisoners and preserve peace and take messages and so on. The Makhaznia are paid for whatever they do by any one who employs them, and they often act as soldier-escort to Europeans.

The Government of Morocco has but one hinge—a golden one. Thirty thousand pounds was paid by the late governor of Morocco City for his billet, and a capable man would still make his fortune before he retired, by means of bribes and presents from every one in connection with him, and a little undue pressure and taxation here and there. But no governor is exempt from that war-cry in Morocco, "Pay! pay! pay!" And if he or a basha wish for the Sultan's favour, which in order to remain in office is most desirable, he will forward a present regularly to Court, though at every feast he is obliged to send another in addition. When a Sultan imprisons a minister, he confiscates all his money.

Bribes largely contribute towards filling the coffers of Government officials, from toadies down to unfortunate sufferers. A man has to buy himself out of prison: it costs a murderer about four pounds. Those who cannot afford to pay do not come out.

Not long ago a poor man whom we knew was suddenly appointed to fill a lucrative post under Government. He dare not refuse it, but he was head over ears in debt, and of course a large sum of money was due in return for the appointment. He borrowed from the Jews and took up office. In one year he had paid all his debts, he had paid the Jews, and built himself a luxurious house. And who can wonder at it? Customs-house officers can all retire after three years (if they choose), and live well. It is calculated that the Government gets exactly half of the duties.

Tetuan had a favourite tale of bribery. A man wanted to make sure of a case he was bringing before the basha. He knew that the basha had a weakness for mirrors. He was a poor man, but he bought the best looking-glass he could afford, and dispatched it. The case came on; the basha gave it against him.

"What!" cried the poor, discomfited loser; "did you not receive the mirror?"

"Yes," replied the basha coolly; "but immediately afterwards a very fine mule came along, and he kicked the looking-glass into a thousand fragments."

So when a man is disappointed of his due, they say, "The mule has kicked the glass."

Another man had a brother in prison whom he wished to buy out: he took the basha a mule, and presented himself with his present.

"You shall not bribe me," said the basha. "Soldier! put this man into prison with his brother, and put the mule into my stable."

The man's family had a heavy bribe to raise.