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Title: The sultan of the mountains
the life story of Raisuli
Author: Rosita Forbes
Release date: December 29, 2025 [eBook #77563]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1924
Credits: Galo Flordelis (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SULTAN OF THE MOUNTAINS ***
THE SULTAN OF THE MOUNTAINS
[Illustration: Raisuli and Rosita Forbes at Tazrut]
THE SULTAN OF THE
MOUNTAINS
THE LIFE STORY OF RAISULI
By
ROSITA FORBES
_Author of_
“THE SECRET OF THE SAHARA: KUFARA”
“QUEST”, ETC.
[Decoration]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1924
COPYRIGHT, 1924
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
_Printed March, 1924_
PRINTED IN
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC.
BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTO THE DAYS OF HAROUN ER RASHID 3
II. THE WILD LAND OF RAISULI 10
III. RAISULI HIMSELF 19
IV. PRIDE OF RACE 25
V. EARLY PROWESS IN WAR 33
VI. PRISON, TORTURE AND ESCAPE 41
VII. RAISULI’S TWO HOSTAGES 57
VIII. MORE POWER; GOVERNOR OF TANGIER 66
IX. PLOTTING AND COUNTER PLOTTING 75
X. DEALINGS WITH MULAI HAFID 90
XI. BUILDING THE PALACE AT AZEILA 98
XII. LEGENDS OF CRUELTY 105
XIII. STRAINED RELATIONS WITH SPAIN 120
XIV. ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 136
XV. WAR WITH SPAIN 152
XVI. ARABIAN ASTUTENESS 168
XVII. RAISULI’S STRATEGY 183
XVIII. PLOTTING FOR PEACE 199
XIX. THE TREATY OF PEACE 215
XX. GOSSIP OF THE HAREM 230
XXI. MORE FIGHTING 244
XXII. JORDANA’S DEATH 261
XXIII. LEADER OF A HOLY WAR 276
XXIV. SIEGE AND RETREAT 291
XXV. POPULAR MYTHS AND SUPERSTITIONS 307
XXVI. PEACE AGAIN WITH SPAIN 323
XXVII. FAREWELL 337
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Raisuli and Rosita Forbes at Tazrut _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Map of Spanish Morocco 4
Escort sent by Raisuli to meet Rosita Forbes 10
Powder play by Arabs 10
Snake eater at Suq el Khemis 13
Court of Raisuli’s palace 16
General view of Raisuli’s compound 22
Dinner at Tazrut 22
Rosita Forbes amidst Raisuli’s people 32
A halt on the way to Tazrut 32
Raisuli’s prison in Tazrut 48
Xauen with the ancient castle 48
Entry to Raisuli’s palace 64
Raisuli 80
Mulai Sadiq in his home at Tetuan 96
Nephew of El Raisuli 96
Sacred tree in Raisuli’s palace 112
Raisuli’s original house at Tazrut 128
Raisuli’s present house in Tazrut 128
Mulai Ahmed el Raisuli 144
Raisuli’s house at Tazrut 160
Raisuli’s qubba at Tazrut 160
Mohammed el Khalid 176
Raisuli’s house at the Fondak of Ain Yerida 192
Raisuli’s house—the Zawia—at Tazrut 192
Facsimile of a letter from Raisuli 197
Tazrut 208
Mosque at Tazrut 208
Spanish escort in Beni Aras 234
A Spanish port 234
A view of Tetuan, showing tower of mosque 250
Door of mosque at Tetuan 266
Azeila from the air 282
Gallery of Raisuli’s palace 298
The Sorceress mentioned by Raisuli 314
Gate of Raisuli’s Palace 330
INTRODUCTION
The 14th century of Islam has produced a number of remarkable
personalities, but none is surrounded with such fabulous glamour as that
of Mulai Ahmed er Raisuli Sherif, warrior and philosopher, saint, tyrant
and psychologist. This Haroun er Raschid of Morocco is descended from
the Prophet through an older branch of the imperial house which now
reins in Fez.
By race, therefore, he is entitled to the respect of his people and he
makes the most of the superstitious awe which has surrounded him since
his childhood. Yet his personality is in no way the result of his great
descent. Raisuli is a man whose mind, critical and peculiarly
impersonal, must often have been at war with his spirit—a spirit steeped
in the mysticism of the “baraka,” the traditional blessing which
protects his house. Profoundly intelligent, with a knowledge of human
nature, whether European or Arab, which is the result of unusual powers
of observation, but which, to the Moor, appears supernatural, the
Sherif’s audacity is as much mental as physical. He believes in the luck
which invariably turns the most adverse circumstances to his final
advantage, and is not above staking his remarkable immunity from danger
against the credulity of his followers, but below this is the conviction
of divine right. His charm, as powerful as it is elusive, is a
revelation of the “baraka,” for it is purely spiritual and has no
connection with the concentrated energy of his mind.
Raisuli represents to the Moors the champion of Islam against the
Christian, of the old against the new; yet, from his youth, he foresaw
the inevitable intervention of Europe in Morocco and determined to
manipulate such intervention to his own ends. The project, though
ambitious, was not egoistic, for the Sherif conceives himself an
instrument of fate—“This is _my_ land and you are _my_ people. While I
live nothing shall be taken from me.” His ancient race is part of the
soil of the mountains, and the 1,500 Alani Sherifs, of whom he is the
head, are inseparable from the land they alternately oppress and
protect.
Since there are no years in desert or hills, Mulai Ahmed has little idea
of his age. A Spanish authority gives the date of his birth as 1868.
Raisuli suggests 1871. As a child he was a student and a lover of books,
with no other ambition than to write poetry and be a teacher of law and
theology.
Adventure first called to him in the guise of a woman seeking redress
against the bandits who had despoiled her house. The young Mulai Ahmed
went to the hills with a band whose original quixotry was soon merged in
lust of war and lust of gold—the two strongest passions in a primitive
heart. The Sultan, Mulai Hassan, heard of the tribute levied on his
caravans and ordered the arrest of the offenders. By treachery the
capture was accomplished, and, for five years, Raisuli existed in the
dungeons of Mogador. His imprisonment was probably the turning point of
his life, for, with the Moslem heritage of patience and simplicity, he
accepted his fate as “the will of Allah” and immersed himself in
meditation. It is incredible to the European mind that any human being
could support such tortures as the Sherif describes, but “What it is
written, that shall a man endure.” Released before he was thirty,
Raisuli had known the whole scale of suffering and emotion. His energy
of mind and body had crystallized into a determination to wrest from
circumstance a stable independence which should be the basis of his
power. From this date (about 1900) he judged everything as a means to
his ultimate end. The capture of Mr. Harris had neither financial nor
political significance, but the American, Perdicaris, was used as a pawn
in a great game. His seizure in 1904 forced 70,000 dollars from the
American Government and the province of El Fahs from the Sultan.
Cruelty like morality, is a matter of latitude, for even tyranny is
cherished if it is the result of tradition. Raisuli reduced his district
to exemplary peacefulness, but the European Powers, objecting to their
horizon being punctuated by decapitated heads, complained to the Sultan.
The Sherif, as usual, retired to his mountains, successfully resisted
the troops sent against him, and, in 1907, captured Sir Henry Maclean,
which allowed him to make the last trick in a game played for profit
rather than adventure. For the Englishman’s release, Raisuli acquired
£20,000 and the protection of Great Britain. That such a transaction was
but a step in his chosen career was proved when he waived his claim to
both assets and identified himself with Mulai Hafid’s rebellion. In 1908
he visited the new Sultan at Fez, and, in secret, they swore the oath
which affected the Sherif’s outlook as much as his subsequent
life—“Never to cease from protecting the Moslem land and the Moslem
people against the Christian.” It must have been a curious meeting
between two such different characters, whose only bond was their mutual
responsibility for the nation and the Faith in their charge. Both were
far-seeing, but, whereas Mulai Hafid was afraid of a future in which he
was destined to become the tool of France, Raisuli, arrogant because of
his strength, a little baffled, perhaps, by the casuistry of a more
subtle intelligence, saw only the need of unity among his co-
religionists in face of a menace from which profit might yet be
extracted. The compact between the _roi fainéant_ who spent his last
weeks of power haggling over the size of his pension, and the Sultan of
the mountains to whom money was no more than the handmaid of power was
sealed by the gift of the Western governorate, and it was never broken
by Raisuli. The Sherif repaired to Azeila, where, as Pasha, he attempted
to weld together different interests in the hopes of founding a united
party among the educated which would be able to benefit by the advent of
civilization.
Doubtless his projects were influenced by his friendship with Zugasti,
the Spanish Consul at Larache, but from the beginning of his political
life he chose Spain as the most suitable protector for his zone,
believing her “strong enough to help the Arabs, but not strong enough to
oppress them.” In accordance with the Sherif’s plan, Spanish troops
landed at Larache in June, 1911, and the importance of his help can
hardly be overestimated. It was a supreme step for a Moslem, the
appointed champion of his Faith, to introduce a Christian army within
the borders of the country he had sworn to hold inviolate, but Raisuli
never wavered from his determination to benefit by the inevitable advent
of Europe, rather than to oppose it. Had any other man but Silvestre,
typical conquistador, been sent to command the Protectorate’s forces,
the history of Morocco might have been different, but between two such
imperious natures friction was inevitable. Raisuli protested against the
General’s impatience, which made no allowance for circumstance and would
brook neither advice nor the reasoning of a greater experience.
Silvestre, dreaming of colonization rather than the gentle tutelage the
situation demanded, was baffled by passive resistance and bewildered by
the blunting of his most ardent weapons against walls of tradition and
suspicion.
At one moment, owing to the Sherif’s eloquence, there was a
rapprochement between the two men, during which the Spaniard strongly
recommended Mulai Ahmed for the vacant Kaliphate. Since this was the
only logical solution of the problem, it is possible that Raisuli’s
candidacy was tentatively approved by Madrid, but refused by France
always afraid of his influence and suspicious of his attitude towards
the Southern zone. The appointment of a puppet Kaliph, one Mulai el
Mehdi, a cousin of the Sultan, was regarded by Raisuli as a deliberate
betrayal, and the series of quarrels which ensued with Silvestre
culminated in the Sherif’s departure for Tangier in January, 1913. From
there he went to the hills and inaugurated a campaign which was
defensive rather than offensive. At one time the Ulema of Xauen offered
to proclaim him Sultan, on the ground that Mulai Adul Aziz was entirely
in the hands of France and that Islam acknowledged no Kaliph under
foreign protection. Raisuli refused, saying that he would resist the
advance of his enemy Silvestre, but would not lead Moslem against
Christian in a Jehad which must have disastrous results for his country.
It is probable that at this time he still hoped to arrive at a
satisfactory understanding with Spain, for he welcomed the High
Commissioner’s conciliatory despatches from Tetuan while opposing
Silvestre’s offensive from Larache. In May of 1915, owing to the
unfortunate mistake of a subordinate, one of the Sherif’s envoys and
intimate friends, Ali Alkali, was murdered while travelling with a
Spanish “laisser passer.” General Marina (the High Commissioner), who
had always been opposed to war, held himself responsible for the action,
and sent in his resignation, insisting that Silvestre should follow his
example.
The first action of the new High Commissioner, General Jordana, was to
make peace with the Sherif, and, by the Pact of Khotot (September,
1915), Raisuli was virtually left in possession of the hill country,
while Spain occupied the littoral. For some months the mountaineers
fought side by side with the Spanish army and the Tangier-Tetuan road
was opened to Europeans, but this was the second year of the Great War
and German intrigue was rife in Morocco.
The Sherif, determined that his country should benefit from whichever
side won, kept in touch with both parties. While he paid little
attention to the dazzling offers made by Mannisman, and categorically
refused to attack the French zone, he considered the possibility of
German protection for his son, made use of the Teuton arms and money
which flowed into North Africa and took refuge in procrastination
whenever Jordana wished to extend the active influence of the
Protectorate.
The European Armistice and the death of Jordana occurred almost
simultaneously (November, 1918). Consequently, at the very moment when
Raisuli, relieved from the necessity of propitiating Germany, would have
cooperated whole-heartedly with Spain, a new High Commissioner,
Berenguer, arrived (in January, 1919) with the avowed intention of
enforcing the authority of Spain by military occupation.
Raisuli gathered the tribes around him and succeeded in closing the
Tangier-Tetuan road until October, 1919, when the key to inland
communication, the famous Fondak of Ain Yerida was taken from him by a
combined attack of three columns. During the summer he had been declared
Sultan of the Jehad in a midnight ceremony before the tomb of his
ancestor, Sidi Abd es Salaam, and it is probable that during the
following year he had some 8,000 men behind him.
Xauen fell in October, 1920, and the Spanish armies, operating from
there and from Larache attempted to effect a junction in the Ahmas
Mountains south of the Sherif’s headquarters at Tazrut, thus completing
the circle which enclosed Raisuli. The nature of the country made this
impracticable, and, after a check at Akbar Kola, Berenguer advanced on
Tazrut from the north through Beni Aros. After a three days’ bombardment
the village was deserted and a few hundred mountaineers followed the
Sherif to his last refuge among the forests and caves of Bu Hashim. The
end of the war was in sight, when the “baraka,” or chance, intervened to
save Raisuli from his enemies.
In July, 1921, news came of the disaster of Melilla and Berenguer
hastened to the Eastern zone. Negotiations were begun with Raisuli, who
took advantage of the respite, which he knew would only be temporary, to
replenish his stores and ammunition. In September, the Spanish forces
renewed the attack, and during the winter they captured the last outpost
of the tribesmen, the Zawia of Teledi in the Ahmas. Still Raisuli held
out. His people were starving, for the crops had been destroyed with the
villages. Woman and children died from exposure and lack of food. All
his most intimate friends had been killed. Every day deputations came to
him imploring him to make peace. The illness, which is now expected to
prove fatal, caused the man hours of agony when he could neither stand
upright nor speak, but his answer was always the same: “It is Spain who
will make peace.” “You talk of miracles, Sidi.” “A miracle will happen.”
The miracle was the force of his personality which encouraged the
doubting, strengthened the weak, imbued them with a reflection of his
own faith. It is to the “baraka,” of course, that the Arabs attribute
the fall of the Spanish Government early in 1922 and Berenguer’s recall,
but it was on this that Raisuli, astute student of politics, had been
counting.
Burguete was appointed High Commissioner in the summer of 1922, and, as
soon as he arrived at Tetuan, he sent Zugasti and Cerdeira, lifelong
friends of the Sherif, to arrange a permanent peace. The conferences
began in August, 1922, and an agreement was arrived at by which Spain
was confirmed in her occupation of the whole Western zone. The Sherif
disbanded his forces and returned to Tazrut. His nephews and other
relatives were installed as Governors of the principal provinces, but
Raisuli would accept no position nor stipend for himself, maintaining
that his attitude had not changed since 1911. He would support the
Spanish Protectorate, but he would not acknowledge the authority of the
puppet Kaliph, Mulai el Mehdi.
True to this determination, Raisuli has never made his submission at
Tetuan, though, at the urgent request of the High Commissioner, he sent
some of his followers to represent him. He lives with the utmost
simplicity in his mountain village, praying, fasting and studying. He is
tired and his interests are mental rather than material, but the flame
still burns. The flicker of it is seen when the tribesmen come in from
the furthest limits of his country to consult him. He still manipulates
the threads of Moroccan politics in those huge hands which, living, will
never relax their hold.
Superficially Raisuli’s life appears one of wild adventure, of war,
cruelty and political ambition, but his own story reveals him as a man
of single purpose with considerable breadth of judgment. In so profound
a nature there is room for many cross currents. One of the strongest and
most secret of these is the mysticism which rises to the surface when he
describes such ceremonies as the oath at Fez, his initiation at the
hands of the Ulema of Xauen, his election as “Sultan el Jehad” on the
moonlit peak of Jebel Alan. It is this faith, passionate, simple,
indomitable, which marks him, in spite of his ruthless mentality, as a
spiritual pilgrim, a searcher after Truth.
ROSITA FORBES
THE SULTAN OF THE MOUNTAINS
CHAPTER I
INTO THE DAYS OF HAROUN ER RASHID
“You go to see my cousin el Raisuli—to write about him,” said Mulai
Sadiq at Tetuan. “For what reason? Between Africa and Europe there is a
barrier higher than these mountains. You cannot cross it.”
I had gone to see the old Sherif with regard to my journey to Tazrut,
for he acted as agent in Tetuan for his famous relative. His house was
most attractive with its little court lined with mosaic and surrounded
by white Moorish arches, from behind which peeped his slave-women, their
brilliant crimson dresses showing through long coats of white muslin to
match their turbans, corded with many-coloured silks. Mulai Sadiq is
thin and wiry, aged about sixty, bald, with a grey beard. He has an ill-
kept appearance, for he is an “alim” who considers that learning is very
much preferable to cleanliness. He was willing to talk for hours of the
adventures of ‘_the_ Sherif,’[1] of whom he is the antithesis, since his
face is intelligent and sympathetic and his hands talk even more
expressively than his lips. When he got excited he took off his turban
and thumped his fists on the ground, or flung them open above his head.
I found him sitting on the floor, surrounded by immense tomes, with many
others piled up behind him. He had to move a number before there was
room for me to sit down, and then, with his spectacles pushed forward on
his long nose, he began to talk about my journey.
“The Sherif will welcome you with great honour,” he said, “but it is a
long way and it is my duty to come with you, that you may travel in all
respect.” Thus it was arranged, and he went off to telephone to the
secretary of el Raisuli in primitive Tazrut!
The great Hispano-Suisa car flung itself on to the road as if it would
devour the strip of dusty white which fled before it. The old walls of
Tetuan disappeared. Away on the hillside a splash of green marked Samsa,
where legend tells of a Portuguese Queen imprisoned in a subterranean
maze. The dew was still on the sugar-cane, mist on the river. Peasants
were driving their flocks to market; the men rode on donkeys, idle hands
crossed on the pommel, the women, their haiks[2] bundled above their
knees to show stout leather leggings, their hats, the size of umbrellas,
hiding their faces, trudged behind their lords, bearing huge bundles of
firewood or sacks of grain. A figure swathed in a burnous, rifle slung
across his back, appeared on the skyline, and there was the watchword of
Morocco—a veiled country, alert and suspicious.
Up and up soared the road, an incredible feat of engineering, and never
for an instant did the driver slacken his pace. By precipices where the
wheels spun on the edge of eternity, by nightmare twists and spirals
where the path slipped eel-like from beneath us, the Spanish car took us
into the land for which Spain and Raisuli had fought their amazing
battle. Right and left rose the mountains, their first slopes thick with
scrub and grass, their summits barren. Here and there a police post
guarded the road, two or three men, shirts open to the sun, with their
horses, and a tent as brown as the rocks. Where the river Hayera
trickled through a wadi,[3] wild olives grew in profusion. Cactus lifted
its spikes above thickets of pink oleanders, the flower which the Arabs
say brings death to any who sleep in its perfume. A Moorish village, the
mud houses smothered under their weight of thatch, appeared among the
boulders which strewed the landscape. On the hillside the Qubba of a
saint drew white-robed figures to worship. A Sherif rode by on a mule
with scarlet-trappings, and a servant running in front, crying, “Make
way for the guest of God, the blessed one.”
[Illustration: Spanish Morocco]
The sun of Africa mellowed the scene, but, when a cloud crept over us,
it showed a sinister land where the villages hid among rocks of their
own colour and shape, so that one looked across a deserted prospect to
the hills that tore the sky. A watchful land where a dozen of Raisuli’s
snipers could hold up a Spanish column. Ben Karrish appeared as a
serrated white wall. Here, the Spanish post is built round an old house
of Raisuli’s to which the Sherif fled after the taking of Ain el Fondak.
A few yards away is the mosque where he prayed for the miraculous
intervention which his followers believe was afforded by the disaster of
Melilla. A boy offered me flowers, a compressed bundle of morning-glory
and yellow lilies. “There are but two good things in the world, flowers
and women,” he said.
“Won’t you put the women first?”
“Ullah, they are the same thing! My master, the Sherif, has never
refused the petition of a woman, but, Ullah, flowers are less trouble!”
Further on the road narrowed between wild vines and thickets of fig and
dardara. “Raisuli’s tribesmen used to hide there and pick off our men
like rabbits,” said the Spaniard who travelled with me. “Their chief is
a strategist—we made war against shadows, and lost thirty men to their
one.”
Across the hills in front toiled a line of great, grey beetles which
resolved themselves into lorries, packed with troops. The driver’s eye
brightened. “It is possible that we may see some little thing, after
all,” he vouchsafed, and spun past the nearest camion with two wheels
down the bank. For an hour we overtook the various units of two columns
_en route_ for Dar Yacoba and the trouble that was reported vaguely
“somewhere in the mountains to the East.”
A cloud of dust which looked like a battle surrounded a mountain battery
and a long line of mules laden with Maxim-guns. Far up among the purple
crags smoke appeared. “Is there really something doing?” murmured my
companions, but I was unresponsive. It seemed to me very much too hot
for any comfortable warfare.
One by one we left the marching columns and came into the purple
wilderness of Jebel Maja, whose height so impresses the Moors that they
say the daughter of Noah is buried on its topmost crag, the only one
that showed above the Flood. Far up on every hilltop appeared a fort,
its isolation emphasizing the inviolability of the land it watched.
Goats strayed across the road, but the herdsmen were invisible. Then
came the stir of guarded bridge-heads, and again the name of
Raisuli—“Here a man was killed on either side of him, when he stopped at
the height of the battle, a mark for the whole countryside, while his
horse drank.” Rows of tents on the edge of a cliff, rows of mules
tethered where those obstinate animals could have no desire to slip over
it, showed us Dar Yacoba.
Then came the last steep kilometres to Xauen, the one-time city of
mystery, of which men spoke in whispers, for it belongs to the Ahmas
tribe, crudest and most savage of mountain folk. Twenty years ago they
burned Christians in the market-place, and a certain street is still
called the “Way of the burned.” The men of Xauen had a secret language,
and, if a stranger could not give the password at their gate, the most
mercy he could expect was that his pickled head should adorn it,
suspended by the ears. Xauen understands neither clocks nor calendars,
and, when the Spanish troops entered in October, 1920, it was to find
they had stepped back into the sixteenth century, from which the Jews,
barefoot and bareheaded, hailed them with “Viva, viva, Elizabeth the
Second!”[4]
Xauen’s claim to mystery lies in the fact that it is so deeply embedded
in a cleft of the mountains as to be invisible till one is fifty yards
from the walls. “We have arrived,” said the driver, and I looked blankly
at the rocks and the deserted slopes. In another moment there was a town
before us. By magic, white houses climbed one above another, madnas,
tiled with the old faded green, soared from hedges of prickly-pear, and,
below this huddled mass of roof and court, slipping like a cascade from
the mountain-side, lay the great Berber castle, time-mellowed, sun-
bleached, relic of an Empire whose very history is lost. We left the
twentieth century outside the gate with the car, which could take us no
further, and, preceded by a black slave carrying my luggage, passed into
the days of Haroun er Rashid and the Thousand and one Nights. Veiled
women stole into doors that looked as if it was the first time they had
been opened since the beginning of time. Each arch, each window, was
carved exquisitely and differently. A muazzin[5] cried the noon prayer
from a mosque which overlooked the Qubba of a Rashid from Bagdad. The
dim musk-perfumed shops framed the grey beards of Xauen’s “ulema,” a
rosary between their fingers, their drapery flowing over the street.
One of these was a cousin of Raisuli’s, a man prematurely bent and worn.
“He has been called upon to defend the Sherif at moments when he would
rather have been listening to his singing birds,” murmured a Kaid. A
tiny scarlet door, with a lantern that once must have belonged to
Aladdin, led us into the Qadi’s house. Slender Moorish arches surrounded
a fountain, babbling to the swallows which perched in serried ranks upon
the balconies.
Our host received us in a room whose ornamentation was particularly
garish and crowded after the courts below. He had but two teeth, which
hung from his mouth like tusks, but his manners were beautiful and
unhurried. “The blessing of Allah, for you go to see the Sherif. He is a
great man and the last of them.”
Seated on cushions and leaning against a wall lined with strips of
satin, yellow, blue and red, we conversed gravely and with long
silences, as befitted a first visit. “With el Raisuli will pass much of
Morocco,” said our host. “You will not understand his ways—perhaps he
will not speak at all—but, Ullah, his mind works all the time while he
watches you. Nobody knows what he thinks, but he reads the minds of all
men. That is his power.”
“It is true,” said the Spaniard. “He is an astute psychologist.”
The complicated apparatus necessary for a tea of ceremony was brought in
by slaves, whose waistcoats paled the heaped-up colour in the room. Our
host beckoned to another greybeard and slowly, meticulously, the tea was
brewed with mint and spice and ambergris. “The Sherif likes mint—it is
his only pleasure. There must always be fresh stores in his house.
Otherwise he cares about nothing. He has no eye for beauty. He has never
known love for anyone or anything.” Someone interrupted, “His son, Sidi
Mohamed el Khalid. El Raisuli offered his whole fortune to anyone who
would save his life when he was ill of fever.” The Qadi made a movement
of protest. “It is his race which lives in his son—the Sherifs of Jebel
Alan. Besides, there is the curse. . . .” “What curse?” But somehow the
question was not answered. Sweet cakes and biscuits were pressed upon
us. Long-stemmed bottles of scent were offered that we might sprinkle
our clothes, but the name of Raisuli was no more mentioned.
In the coolness after the early sunset, while the mountain walls turned
slowly indigo, I explored the town. Its narrow streets ran downwards,
steeply cobbled, by way of the Mosque and the Square where the Jews
might not pass for fear of defiling its holiness. The suq, so narrow
that two could hardly walk abreast, was roofed with mats, till it
twisted abruptly to the cistern of ice-cold water that the Arabs believe
will cure most ills. A leper bent over it, his face distorted to the
semblance of a beast, and the Sheikh who was with me blessed him as we
passed. “In the great war,” he said, “a German came here by night in
disguise. He was the only European to see our town. Perhaps he came on
business for the Sherif.” The German, of course, was Mannismann, the
evil genius of North Africa.
CHAPTER II
THE WILD LAND OF RAISULI
Always there was the echo of the personality which had so impressed
itself on Morocco that the soil of the mountains and the texture of
men’s minds were equally impregnated with its forces. Here Raisuli saw a
drunken Sherif, and, turning to the scornful onlookers, said, “The man
is blessed of Allah. Your eyes see wrongly. He is in the throes of
prophecy. Bring him to my camp.” The Sherif was never seen again, and
legend says he was corporeally translated to Paradise!
Here Raisuli took shelter from the advancing Spaniards and, from the
walls of Berber Castle, made the prophecy that is repeated from one end
of the country to the other: “This is my country and you are my people.
Nothing will be taken from _me_, but after my death it will all go.”
From Xauen it is possible to ride across the steep ridges of Jebel
Hashim direct to Tazrut, but, because I wanted to see more of the
country in which Raisuli had fought, we retraced our steps. Picking up
the old Sherif, Mulai Sadiq, we continued by way of Wadi Ras and the
Fondak of Ain Yerida, which was the Sherif’s headquarters for many
months of war, to Azib el Abbas. There we left the main road and swung
down through a desolate region, grey with boulders, to Beni Mesauer, the
constant refuge of el Raisuli when hard-pressed. The house of el Ayashi
Zellal, his sworn ally and father-in-law, is hidden somewhere among the
crags, but we left the highlands for Wadi Harisha, where the olive trees
are like round tents by a stream lost in vegetation, and whole flocks
shelter under their branches. For the first time I saw barley amidst the
great stretches of millet. “These are the lands of the Sherif,” said the
Mulai Sadiq, who had pulled forward the hood of his jellaba[6] till only
a long nose and a pair of immense orange glasses were visible.
[Illustration: Escort sent by Raisuli to meet Rosita Forbes at Suq el
Kemis. The white horse was for the author]
[Illustration: Powder play by Arabs]
“Everything that you can see from now on belongs to him,” explained Mr.
Cerdeira, the official interpreter between the Spanish Government and el
Raisuli, who most kindly accompanied me to Tazrut, which he was the
first European to visit, I believe. He added that, when Spain
temporarily confiscated the properties of the Sherif during the recent
war, they were valued at six million pesetas. Certainly these rolling
downs, where villages were frequent, appeared to be excellent land for
cultivation, though there were still as many acres of great, heavy-
headed thistles as of grain. The post of Suq el Talata appeared on a
hill-top in a haze of heat, and, after that, we clung panting to the
sides of the car while we negotiated a track that, as the Sherif
expressed it, after he had hit the hood several times, “jolted our
backbones through our heads.” Sidi el Haddi, a valley where the stream
made great pools between trees gnarled with lichen and thickets of the
ubiquitous oleanders, gave us a little rest, and then up again by Sidi
Buqir, a little white Morabit, where is buried one of the seven holy men
of Beni Aros.
At last, when our throats were parched and our lips cracked, we had our
first good view of Jebel Alan, on whose great peak was buried Sidi Abd
es Salaam, the most famous of el Raisuli’s ancestors, and its twin
mountain Jebel Hashim, the guardian of Tazrut. Below them, and most
blessedly near, appeared the last big Spanish post, Suq el Khemis, and
the little police camp of Sidi Ali. With a series of mighty jerks the
car leaped up and over the intervening track and deposited us, much
exhausted, in the centre of a crowd which represented both the old
Morocco and the new. On one side were the officers of the police post,
cheerily apologetic because of a combination of pyjama jackets and
puttees, speaking Arabic like natives, and saying that it was so long
(two years) since they had seen a woman that they had forgotten what one
looked like! On the other were the envoys of el Raisuli, with a guard of
his mountaineers. Prominent among them, because of his bulk, appeared
Sherif Badr Din el Bakali, and behind him, his jellaba turned back over
a purple waistcoat and girt with a huge silver belt, the Kaid el Meshwar
ed Menebbhe. These brought me greetings from the Sherif and expressed
many ceremonious regrets that his eldest son, Mohamed el Khalid, had not
been able to accompany them. I learned afterwards that the said youth,
aged eighteen, having consistently neglected his studies during the
festivities consequent upon his father’s recent wedding, had been put in
irons by the Sherif, so that he might not be able to escape from his
books!
It was then 108° Fahr. in the shade, and, personally, even in Arabia I
have never felt anything hotter than the dry, burning wind, which
appeared to issue from an oven among the hills. It was decided that
while the Moslems prayed at the tomb of Sidi Mared, another of the
sainted seven, fortunately conveniently near, the Christians should eat.
We lunched with the hospitable officers, whose names I never knew, and a
wonderful meal it was, not only on account of the inventive genius of
the cook, but because no two people spoke the same language. Between us
we mustered several different forms of Arabic and various European
tongues, but the Tower of Babel would have been shaken by the efforts of
the guests to communicate with their hosts! We gave it up in the end and
sat outside, in the largest patch of shade, looking over the plain where
the great weekly market is held.
[Illustration: Snake eater at Suq el Khemis, one of the Hedowi gypsies]
Hearing that strangers were in the camp, some gipsies came and stared at
us over the edge of the sand-bags. One man held a snake in his hand to
which he was crooning gently. Without much encouragement they began
their unpleasant performance. A wild-looking youth with hair standing on
end seized a glass and began crunching it up in his teeth. The man with
the snake held it at arm’s-length and adjured it in the names of dead
saints. Then, opening his mouth, from which foam dripped at the corners,
he put out his tongue and let the reptile fix its fangs in it. Blood
stained the foam and, with veins congested and eyes turned inwards, the
gipsy began eating the living snake, first swallowing the head affixed
to his tongue, and then chewing the body, which writhed up and struck
him on the cheeks. All the time, the others kept up a curiously hypnotic
chant which appeared to stimulate the hysteria or fervour of the
performers, for, with a sudden shout, the eater of glass seized an iron
mace which one of his companions was carrying. With this he struck his
head so forcibly that the blood ran down under his matted hair. It was a
disgusting spectacle, but evidently it delighted the remaining gipsies,
who uttered bestial howls and flung themselves into a dance in which the
maximum of contortion was achieved.
It was with great relief that I saw the approach of el Raisuli’s
dignified envoys. “If we would arrive tonight, we must start,” said the
Kaid, and, in another moment, there was the bustle of loading mules and
mounting horses. The Kaid, evidently impressed by my boots, offered me
his mount, a wild, grey stallion. “He is an Afrit[7]; so treat him with
respect.” I did not need the warning. The look in the Afrit’s eye was
quite enough, but, fortunately, it is almost impossible to fall off an
Arab saddle. Immensely wide and padded, with a high pommel back and
front, it is girthed over half-a-dozen different-coloured saddle-cloths
and has silver stirrups rather like coal-shovels.
The procession that moved away from Sidi Ali was imposing, for half-a-
dozen officers, on their way to an outpost at Bugelia, rode with us,
accompanied by their troopers; but, after we had clambered up and down a
series of precipitous ridges, they left us, and we were in the hands of
Raisuli.
The country became even wilder, the wadis a tangle of vine and
blackberry, with high-growing shrubs nameless to me as to the Arabs, who
called them “firewood.” First went the soldiers of the Sherif, stalwart
mountaineers in short brown jellaba, with the rifles across their backs.
They were followed by a couple of baggage-mules, behind whom rode a
servant of the Kaid, a sporting Martini-Henry rifle ready for partridge
or hare. His master was mounted on a gaily-caparisoned mule whose
trappings went well with the gay colours of his turban and waistcoat.
The Afrit and I danced uncomfortably behind him, generally sideways or
in a series of bounds. Then came old Mulai Sadiq astride the plumpest of
saddle-mules, his spectacles still balanced on the tip of his nose and a
white umbrella over his head. Sidi Badr ed Din, his beard dyed with
henna glittering in the sunshine, his horse almost hidden by his ample
proportions, brought up the rear with the interpreter and some servants,
who took off their outer garments one by one, to pile them on their
heads against the fierceness of the sun.
For a couple of hours we rode across the mountains of Beni Aros, passing
mud-built villages huddled under the shade of a cliff, their thatched
roofs covered with wild vine, and wadis where the trees met above our
heads, and grey foxes slipped away into the bushes. After this there was
only a goat track, which ran on the edge of a gully thick with
blackberries, or across open pastures where the shepherds went armed,
beside their flocks. The sun slipped low behind us as we clambered up
the last rocks, blackened by recent fires, to the Qubba of Sidi Musa.
There, at a well under wide-spreading trees, we stopped to rest. The
Arabs said their afternoon prayers, bowing themselves till the earth
grimed their foreheads, but I noticed that they drank out of the same
cup as their Christian guest, without washing it. If the fanatics of
Libia or Asir did such a thing by mistake, they would consider
themselves defiled.
In the sunset we approached Tazrut, a cluster of white houses and green
roofs, with the tower of the Mosque rising beside a thicket of oak. Seen
across a stretch of scrub and rock, it looked an ideal hermitage for a
saint and an admirable post of vantage for a warrior.
Tazrut is the strategical centre of Raisuli’s country. It lies midway
between all his great positions and is within a day’s journey of most of
them, yet it is in the heart of the mountains, commanding a wide expanse
of country in front, where the hills of Beni Aros are piled, fold upon
fold. Behind is the great barrier range, to whose summits the Spaniards
are pushing their advance posts, but which a few years ago was only
inhabited by wild pigs and monkeys. We pushed our tired horses across
the last mullah[8] and found ourselves suddenly among ruins. On all
sides were traces of the Spanish aeroplanes, which had bombed Tazrut for
two days in 1922. Here were rough pits under the rocks, where the
inhabitants had taken shelter, and great holes torn by bombs and shells.
Not a house was undamaged. Roofless, with gaping walls and doors made of
new sheets of galvanised iron or the wood of packing-cases, they stood
among cactus and thorn and curiously shaped boulders. I looked again,
for there was something very odd about these rocks, and then I saw that,
on the top of each, crouched an immobile figure in an earth-brown
jellaba, with a rifle in his hands.
We passed various camps where mountain-men sat at the doors of their
tents, profiting by the coolness, and then, among piled stones and
broken walls, where the earth was gashed open below a mass of plaster,
there appeared a splash of colour. “It is the sons of the Sherifs,”
murmured someone, and I saw two vivid petunia jellabas, from the depth
of whose hoods peered elfin faces with wild, tousled hair. In another
moment we came to the paved road that runs between the mosque,
miraculously untouched by war, the one complete building left in
desolate Tazrut, and the dwelling of Raisuli. Slaves ran to hold out
stirrups before the great arch which still kept some traces of its
ancient carving. To the left was the domed tomb of Sidi Mohamed Ben Ali,
a seventeenth-century ancestor of the Sherif; in front of us the passage
leading into a space, half-yard, half-court. The compound was perhaps
two hundred yards in length and, within its high walls, were various
buildings. At one end was the Zawia, wherein were the rooms of el
Raisuli, communicating with the old house which contained the family
tomb and the women’s apartments. This was sacred ground, and no
Christian might enter, but, during the Spanish occupation, photographs
were taken of the interior court, one of which is reproduced in this
book. Opposite was a large structure, temporarily roofed with corrugated
iron. This contained, on the ground-floor, a series of storerooms and,
above, a couple of reception chambers, where the Sherif ate with his
friends and followers. At the other end of the yard was an old thatched
building, once a residence of the Sherif, now his son’s school, with
rooms for visitors above. Near this was pitched a great black-and-white
tent, with a fig-tree shading its porch, and various smaller tents
behind.
[Illustration: Court of Raisuli’s palace at Azeila]
“This is your home,” said Sherif Badr ed Din, beckoning me to enter,
“and we are your servants.” The pavilion was lined with gay damask and
carpeted with rugs piled one upon another. It was about twenty feet in
diameter and round the walls were mattresses covered with white linen,
and rows of very hard cushions. There was also a table with two huge
brass candlesticks and several long-stemmed silver flasks containing
orange-water and home-made scent of roses, but presumably this was an
ornament, for we always had our meals on the floor. As a peculiar
honour, the Sherif had lent the chair made specially in Spain to suit
his colossal proportions, and, sitting in one corner of its great
expanse, I drank my first cup of green tea at Tazrut.
The moon had risen and, outside the tent door, the breeze stole
whispering across beds of mint and poppies. The figures of Mulai Sadiq
and Badr ed Din looked like ghostly monks, sunk under the hoods of their
voluminous drapery. From far away came the sound of chanting. “It is in
the mosque,” said the Kaid. “Sidi Mohamed Ben Ali is buried there. It
was he who won the battle of Jebel Alan (in 1542), where three kings
were killed. The power of the Shorfa Raisuli began after that day, for
Sidi Mahamed arrived with the tribes of the Jebala, when the Moslems
were hard-pressed. ‘Have courage in the name of Allah,’ he cried, ‘for I
tell you a Christian head will not be worth more than fifteen uqueia
today.’” The three kings referred to by el Menebbhe were Don Sebastian
of Portugal, the Sultan of Morocco, and the Moorish Pretender.
After the prayers in the mosque were over, Sidi Mohamed el Khalid,
released from his irons in order that he might perform his religious
duties, came to see us. Fair-skinned as a girl, with an indefinite nose
and hair clipped two inches back from his forehead and then dyed with
henna and allowed to grow long, the boy greeted us shyly. His manners
were clumsy for an Arab of great race, and he whispered instead of
speaking out loud. When the Sherif Badr ed Din rebuked him, he said,
“All we Moslems are savages, and I am the worst of them. My father wants
to make me into an alim[9], for the ulema[10] of Beni Aros are famous
throughout Islam, but I do not like books.” “What do you like?” “Only
one thing, war. It is a pity that we have finished fighting!” “What do
you do to amuse yourself now?” “I shoot. Will you come into the
mountains and hunt monkeys? It is great fun! We go at night, when there
is a moon, but it is very rough country; so we must leave our horses and
walk. The monkeys come out one after another, screaming, and we shoot
them.” “I have no rifle with me.” “That does not matter. You can have a
choice of all kinds here, German, Spanish, French, or revolvers, if you
like; but hunting is not so exciting as war.”
After this there was silence, and Mulai Sadiq left us, to pray in the
Zawia. Soon his voice was heard leading the aysha prayers. In spite of
his age, his words rang across the compound, and it seemed to me that I
was listening to the voice of old Morocco protesting against the
Christians who trod her borders and penetrated even to the threshold of
her sanctuaries.
CHAPTER III
RAISULI HIMSELF
It is a long way from London to Tazrut and, during the whole journey,
thoughts of el Raisuli had filled my mind. His name met me on the coast
of Morocco and, wherever I went afterwards, I heard legends which
magnified or distorted his personality. Small wonder that, sitting in
his chair, a guest of his house, the moonlight sending fantastic shadows
across the rough garden, my excitement to see this strange man grew
until I forgot my hunger, forgot the tedium of the long ride. I only
remembered that in a few moments I should see el Raisuli.
It was very still, except for the crickets. Even the breeze had stopped.
The chanting in the mosque died suddenly, and Sidi Badr ed Din rose.
“The Sherif comes,” he said. With racing pulses, I turned to meet a
presence which blocked the way beneath the bushes. An enormous man stood
before me. At first glimpse he seemed almost as broad as he was tall,
but it was the breadth of solid flesh and muscle, not of fat. His round,
massive face was surrounded by a thicket of beard, dyed red, and a lock
of long terra-cotta hair escaped from under his turban. The quantity of
woollen garments he wore, one over another, added to his bulk, and when,
seating himself in a chair which seemed incapable of supporting his
weight, he rolled up his sleeves, baring arms of incredible girth, I
found myself looking at them fascinated and repelled, while he gave me
the usual courteous greetings. “All the mountain is yours. You are free
to go where you will. My people are your servants, and they have nothing
to do but to please you. I am honoured because of your visit, for I have
great friendship with your country.” His voice was guttural and rich,
but it appeared to roll over his thick lips from a distance which made
it husky. His manners were gracious and his dignity worthy of his
ancient race. After a few minutes’ talk I had forgotten the unwieldy
strength of his body and was watching his eyes, the only expressive
feature in Raisuli’s face. They were watchful eyes, dominant and fierce,
in the midst of flesh, which it seemed to me they used as a veil.
Sometimes, when he spoke of small things, they softened till they were
almost wistful, but generally they watched and judged and revealed
nothing.
I presented the gold-sheathed sword I had brought, with the Arab saying,
“There is but one gift for the brave—a weapon.” The Sherif smiled. “You
ought to have been a man,” he said, “for you have speech as well as
courage.” Then I offered him some rolls of vivid-coloured brocades,
purple, orange, rose-red and emerald-green, with heavy patterns in gold
and silver.
“I heard, even in England, that you had been recently married, and I
hoped, perhaps, that you would give these to the Sherifa with my
greetings.”
Raisuli accepted the gifts with the simplicity of every Arab who
considers that generosity is as common as sight or hearing, and it is
rather the donor than the recipient who is blessed. Then a row of slaves
appeared, with brass trays on which was every form of meat, with
chickens, eggs, watermelons and grapes. These were placed on a leather
mat on the floor of my tent, and the Sherif, with a soft “Bismillah,”
bade me enter. “Tomorrow I will eat with you, but today I fasted all the
day; so I ate an hour ago, after the aysha prayers,” he said, and sat
down on the thickest mattress, to make conversation while we fed.
Occasionally he picked up a quart-jug of water and drank it in two or
three draughts. Mulai Sadiq crouched beside him, looking like an old
hawk, as he peered at one dish after another, picking out the tenderest
portions with bony, but unerring, fingers.
It was hot inside the tent, and the Sherif moved restlessly in the
middle of a discourse which revealed an intimate knowledge of European
politics. I offered him one of those little mechanical fans which are
worked by pressing a button, and I think he preferred it to any of my
expensive gifts. “Allah, it is good! In this way one has the wind always
with one.” But his thumb was so thick that it was very difficult for him
to hold and work the slight machine.
We talked far into the night, till my head was whirling and my eyelids
fell with automatic regularity. For us the day had begun before the
dawn, and there came a moment when, my answers having become so vague as
to be incomprehensible, the Sherif noticed my exhaustion. “In the
pleasure of your conversation, I forgot that, after all, you are a
woman,” he said. “Sleep with peace.” Without any loss of dignity, he
heaved himself up, and his face was unexpectedly kind as he made his
formal farewell. “Tomorrow we will talk of many things,” he promised,
“and you shall begin your work, but Mulai Sadiq is my biographer. He
knows my life better than I do, and as for these two men,” (he indicated
Badr ed Din and the Kaid) “one has been my political adviser for fifteen
years, and I have been in no battle without the other for twenty-five.”
. . . . . . . . . .
During the time that I stayed with el Raisuli, I was hardly ever alone,
and counted myself lucky if I had four hours uninterrupted sleep at
night. By 6 A.M. the place was astir, and I used to hear the Haj
Embarik, a man from Marrakesh, who had travelled a good deal and
understood my Eastern Arabic, murmuring outside the tent. I knew that he
was wandering about with a ewer of hot water, kicking the tent-ropes to
attract my attention; so I had to throw off my tasselled blankets of red
and white camel’s hair and prepare for a strenuous day.
Breakfast consisted of a bowl of thick vegetable soup with bits of fat
floating in it—the “harira” that is given to children during the great
fast of Ramadan. After that there was a painful gap so far as food was
concerned till 3 or 4 P.M., when an immense meal of many meat courses
made its appearance, borne shoulder-high by a line of slaves. Sometimes,
when Mulai Sadiq announced that he was tired, we were provided at odd
hours with green tea and very sticky pastry, sweet and heavy.
El Raisuli is always out by 6 A.M., and any one of his friends or his
household may approach him in the garden, where he holds an informal
council, seated on a broken wall or the steps inside one of the doors.
Before noon he retires into the Zawia, where none may go to him unless
he specially sends for them, except his eldest son and the ten little
slaves, all under twelve years old, who attend on the harem. These small
boys are rather like monkeys, but sometimes, when they are feeling
important, they wear huge cartridge-belts over their inadequate shirts,
and oil their top-knots till they look like coils of silk. Besides these
minute servitors, there are fifteen slaves, coal-black men from the
Sudan and Somaliland, under the orders of old Ba Salim. They are not
allowed into the house, but two of them, Mabarak and Ghabah, are the
personal attendants of the Sherif. When he rides on his roan stallion,
they walk one at each stirrup. In battle they range their horses on
either side of him and each carries a spare rifle, for el Raisuli never
fights with less than three. During my stay at Tazrut, they were
assigned to my service, which was one of the highest honours the Sherif
could pay to a guest.
[Illustration: General view of Raisuli’s compound. Author’s tent in
foreground]
[Illustration: Arrival of my dinner at Tazrut]
About 4 or 5 in the afternoon, el Raisuli makes a second appearance,
and, from then till midnight, or a much later hour, he transacts work
and receives messengers, with the numerous reports and petitions that
come to him from all over the country. The interviews I had with him
were nearly always in my tent, or in the garden, or in one of the guest-
rooms where a slave would hurriedly spread mattresses and rugs. The
Sherif is a facile raconteur, and his memory is astounding. He never
hesitates for a date or a name, but his eloquence consists more in the
wealth of his similes than the richness of his language. His vocabulary
is small, and he uses the same words continually. He recounts
conversations word by word, with an annoying repetition of “qultu” (I
said to him) and “qali” (he said to me). Obviously he is used to telling
the story of his life, but this is natural, for very little Arab
biography is written, in any case, till long after the death of the
subject. Facts and anecdotes are handed down verbally, and it is part of
the work of disciples to know by heart the life of their master, of
schoolboys to learn the history of their ancestors.
The Sherif did not tell me a consecutive story, for often he would think
of incidents that he had omitted, and indulge in much repetition in
order to bring in a certain anecdote, but at different times he reviewed
most of his life with a wealth of detail. Of course the episodes that
most interested him and upon which he dwelt at length were often not
those which would appeal to a European biographer. On the contrary, he
showed no interest in events which to me were of historical value, and
it needed a great deal of tact and patience to induce him to talk of
them at all. At times his point of view was so biassed that it was
palpably incorrect, but his story, even though it often either
exaggerates or lacks detail, is a record of an amazing life—a web of
philosophy and atrocities, of war and psychology, of politics, ambition,
and Pan-Islamism.
When he became interested in his narrative, the Sherif lost all sense of
time. Once he talked from about 7 in the morning till nearly 3 P.M. and
often he would arrive before dinner and, hardly troubling to eat, talk
without a pause till 2 or 3 A.M. Mulai Sadiq and Sidi Badr ed Din acted
as a sort of Greek chorus, reinforced on certain occasions by the two
favourite slaves, who emphasised the story with murmured confirmation.
When the Sherif was in the Zawia, his cousin permanently kept us
company, while others dropped in for an hour or two’s “short talk.” My
notes were always scribbled in the wildest confusion as I grasped the
meaning of the Moorish dialect, or as the interpreter rendered it in
French, but I got quite used to writing them up while a violent argument
was going on between the Spaniard and three or four Arabs as to whether
a soldier found wounded in the mountains had been fired upon by a
tribesman, or had accidentally shot himself. The Moorish voices rose to
a pitch that would indicate incipient murder in any other country, as
they revelled in the game at which they excelled—prevarication!—and I
admired the persistence of the interpreter in outscreaming them. The
fate of that soldier haunted my stay at Tazrut, and it was with the
greatest difficulty that I managed to exclude him from my book!
CHAPTER IV
PRIDE OF RACE
When a Sherif of Yemen tells his lineage he generally begins with Noah,
and, passing through the legendary Kahtan and Johtan, explains the union
of Ishmael the son of Abraham with an ancestress of the Koreish, of whom
was the family of the blessed Mohamed. Mulai Ahmed ibn Mohamed ibn
Abdullah el Raisuli el Hasani, el Alani, began his with the Prophet.
“My house is of the Beni Aros, who are descendants of Abd es Salam
Sherif, buried on the highest point of Jebel Alan. We are the greatest
of the Western Sherifs, whose power has always rivalled that of the
Caliphs. Go to Tetuan and you will see the veneration paid to the Qubba
of our ancestor, Sidi Ali ibn Isa, and all through the country you will
hear of the Sherifs Raisuli. When we go to visit (the tomb of) Sidi Abd
es Salaam, we are fifteen thousand of the line of Jebel Alan, his
descendants, though of the family of Raisuli there are but seventy. We
have held great posts in the past and stood between our people and the
oppression of the Sultans. It is our duty to protect the people, for
they honour us as holy. For us who have the “baraka,”[11] the blessing
of Allah, they would give their lives and their property. If I tell a
man, ‘Start today for Cairo, or for Mecca,’ he would ask no questions,
but pick up his jellaba and go.
“No one dies of starvation in Islam, but a Sherif may sit at the door of
his house and the whole countryside will come to him to kiss the edge of
his robe and pour their tribute into his basket. I remember when I was a
boy, small so”—he made a gesture towards the ground—“my father, on whom
be peace, was angry with a slave. He ordered him to go out and tell the
others to beat him—so many lashes. I met the man on the way and asked
him where he was going. He told me, to get so many lashes. I asked him
what crime he had committed, and he answered, ‘I do not know, but the
Sherif knows, and without doubt it is a bad one.’
“Once it was necessary that someone should die for a crime that had been
done, and it was not politic that the murderer should be given up at
Tangier. The Sherif sent for a poor man and said to him, ‘Would you have
your family live in plenty, and yourself gain a paradise? If so,
remember that on such-and-such a date, you killed a certain person.’ The
man answered, ‘If the Sherif wills it—it must be that I am guilty,’ and
the Lord gave him wisdom to answer all questions that were put to him.
“Such has been the power of my house, and that is why men follow me in
battle. Death beside me is a blessing, and, were I to kill a man, his
family would know that I had sent him to paradise. Oh! Mubarak, bring me
my keys.” The slave, who had been listening eagerly, brought a great
leather box and, from it, el Raisuli extracted a key. “I will show you a
paper that you may understand my words and see that my family are
greater than the line of Mulai Idris who ruled in Fez.” Here is the
translation of the document laid before us:
“Praise be to Allah. The genealogical relation of our Master the Sherif,
the gifted, the great, the venerated, the excellent, the unique of his
epoch, the chosen among those endowed with majesty and goodness in these
times, the majestuous by his origin, of whom there is no peer or equal
at this moment, my master and lord Ahmed el Raisuli, el Hasani, el
Alani—may Allah grant him holiness and power. My lord Ahmed; the son of
Sidi Mohamed; son of Sidi Abdullah; son of Sidi el Mecki, who was the
first Sherif Raisuli and who, by order of our master, Mulai Ismail—whom
may Allah receive in his bosom, conceding him mercy—for the purpose of
ennobling this city, came to Tetuan, which longed for a bond of union
with Allah, the Almighty, through the baraka (blessing) which, by reason
of descent from the Prophet, this family possesses—May prayer and peace
be with him. Sidi el Mecki was son of Sidi Buker, son of Sidi Ahmed; son
of Sidi Ali; son of Sidi Hassani; our master and lord Mohamed; son of
our lord and master Ali, he who was first to bear the name of Raisuli,
who died in the year of the hejira 930; son of Sidi Aissa and of Lal-la
Raisuli;[12] son of Sidi Abderrahman, son of Sidi Ali; son of Sidi
Mohamed; son of Sidi Abd-Alah; son of Sidi Yunis, brother of Sidi
Mechich the celebrated, very holy and powerful Mulana Abd es Salaam,
most learned Imam, also known as Sidi Abi-el Hassam Chedli. May Allah
keep him in his mercy and pity. Our master Yunis was the son of Sidi abu
Beker; son of Sidi Ali; son of Sidi Hormat; son of Sidi Aissa; son of
Sidi Salaam; son of Sidi Mazuar; son of our master and the Prince of the
Faithful the Sultan of Morocco, Mulai Ali, who was known by the name of
El Hidarat, he who is always in places of danger in battle; son of the
Prince of the Faithful, Sidi Mohamed; son of the Emir Al-mumenina our
master Mulai Idris, founder of the holy capital of Fez, the white city
which shines from a distance, the noble, the generous and beautiful; son
of the Prince of the Faithful Sidi Idris the Great, a Conqueror for
Islam of the Empire of the West, el Aksa. His tomb is in Mt. Serhen,
venerated by all Moslems who believe in God. He was the son of Inulana
Abdallah el Kamel the Perfect, pretender to the throne of his ancestors
in the Orient, which was usurped by the Abasides who, having defeated
him, caused him to die loaded with chains; son of Sidi Hassan el
Muzenna. In the person of Muzenna the trunk of the descendants of the
Prophet divides into two branches; one of these we have already
followed, and the other is that of Alanien, in whose hands today is the
sceptre of empire and who are the descendants of Sidi Mohamed el Nefs
Ezzakia, brother of our master Abdallah el Kamel. They came to Morocco
more than fifty years after the ancestors of the Shorfa Raisuli, which
proves that these Sherifs possess a greater right to the throne than the
present Emperors. Hassan el Muzenna is son of the Emir Almumenina, our
lord and owner, Hassan the 7th—may God receive him in his mercy;—son of
the Prince of the Faithful, the fourth Caliph of the Mehidie (the
Reformers), Sidi Ali; son of Abu Talib, uncle of the Messenger of
God;[13] may peace and prayer be upon him and may his face be venerated
and may he be united before God with our mistress Fatima, the daughter
of our owner, the Prophet of Allah on earth. As the rain from heaven
falls, rejoicing the earth, may there fall upon him prayer and peace.”
The slave kissed the document when it was given back to him, and el
Raisuli continued, his voice rumbling at the back of his throat: “Once,
when I was a boy, I was riding with an important Sherif, and, as we went
by the outskirts of a village, a man was lying on the ground in the
shade of an olive. It was hot and he did not trouble to salute the
traveller, who stopped his mule quickly and asked the reason. ‘The sun
was in my eyes, Sidi,—I did not see,’ answered the man. ‘You do not use
your eyes, so you have no need of them,’ said the Sherif, and, from that
moment, the man was blind.
“It is also told of one of the brothers of the Sultan that when he was
in prison in Rabat, having rebelled against his ruler, he found, by
means of his friends, that the way was open for him to escape. A sentry
stood at the door and tried to stop him, as was his duty. ‘If you do not
let me pass, you will go blind for the rest of your life,’ threatened
the Sherif. The sentry hesitated, but he knew that he would lose his
head if he allowed the prisoner to escape, so reluctantly he still
barred the way. ‘Very well, then, you are blind,’ said the brother of
the Sultan, and the man fell back, putting up his hands to his face, for
he could see nothing.” There was a moment’s silence. Then the slave,
Mubarak, murmured, “These things are well known, and all me know that
those who disobey my master lose their sight.”
“Yes,” whispered the Spaniard, “that is quite true; but by means of hot
coins pressed on the eyelids, not by autosuggestion!”
“How old am I?” said el Raisuli. “I can tell you I was born in the year
of the hejira . . . (1871 A.D.), but what matter the number of my years?
No Arab keeps count of time. Ask Mubarak—oh, man, then, how old are
you?” “As old as my lord wills.” Then, evidently anxious to satisfy,
“Ten, eleven perhaps . . . or thirty. By Allah, I do not know.”
“I was born at Zinat,” said the Sherif. “You have seen the village,
small houses with great roofs that you cannot pick out at a distance,
and the hedges of cactus that even the dogs cannot get through. It was
but a gun-shot to the top of the mountain, which commanded a wide view.
I used to sit up there for hours and look at the country— not like these
hills but a rolling plain, golden with corn. I could see the women
gleaning, and imagine how they cried ‘A-ee, A-ee!’ when the thistles
tore their skin like needles. They used to make a shelter out of a haik
spread on a pole for the heat of noon, and later, when it was cool, they
would sit in a circle among the corn-sheaves and beat out the grain with
wooden flails. I could hear their song like a thread, and away by the
river I could see the boys bathing, but I never wished to be with them.
I was happier alone. On the horizon were the hills of Beni Mesauer, from
which came my mother, and I used to wonder why the others were content
to work in the plain, when there was a great country beyond, full of
valleys and rocks, where one could hunt in a different mountain each
day. The ideas of a boy!
“When I was ten or eleven, I was already a ‘talib’[14] able to read and
write and repeat the sayings of the Prophet. For this reason an ‘alim,’
a very learned man who came to the village, was interested in me and
told me many things. I used to look after his mule for him in order that
he would talk the more. He had the gift of speech, and he could make men
weep or laugh. I decided that I would do the same; so I collected some
of my friends (many were older and bigger than myself), and we went
round the neighbouring villages with small white flags, to collect money
for the alim who, as many wise men, was very poor. Sometimes people
laughed at us, and would not give. Then I spoke to them, and,
remembering the eloquence of my master, my words became swords to pierce
their hearts, and they said to us, ‘Take this and that,’ even more than
they could afford.
“When, after some days, we returned and poured the money into the alim’s
robe, he blessed me and said that I should travel much and acquire much
wealth. After that my spirit was restless, and I would make up speeches
on the mountain and declaim them to the birds and the goats. All that
was told me I could remember, and, to this day, I can repeat every word
that has been said in conversation between such and such people on such
and such days. It is a blessing from Allah, but it astonished my master,
as did my love of history. I wanted to know everything that had happened
in the past, for, in those days, I believed that all wisdom lay in
books. The right was not with me, for it is the study of one’s
neighbours that brings wisdom. What book can tell you that which lies in
the heart of your enemy?—it matters not about your friend, for you will
see your own thoughts there—and how can you conquer him if you do not
know his designs?
“When my feet grew too restless, I collected the same boys once more
and, with white handkerchiefs tied round our heads, and staffs cut from
olive-trees, our jellabas kilted up, we made a pilgrimage round the
shrines of the neighbourhood. You have seen them, perhaps,—a pile of
whitewashed stones under a bush from which flutters a strip of white
stuff, or a Qubba high on a hill. We took nothing with us, neither water
nor food, but the villagers gave to us plentifully—we had no need to
beg—and some of them, who remembered me, said, “Here is the little
messenger. Tell us stories, oh, master! Make us a speech, so that we see
if our ears played us tricks.” I told them many stories, but always of
war.
“It was at Tetuan that I finished my education, and there I lived till
the death of my father, who is buried in the tombs of our family in the
mosque of Sidi Isa. By this time I had studied law and jurisprudence. I
knew the four codes of Islam and could interpret them according to the
Koran. The mountains were shut out by the walls of Tetuan, and I thought
of them no more. It was my intention to be a lawgiver and a poet, for my
world was closed between the covers of my books. When I went back to
Zinat, people said, ‘He is a Faqih,’[15] and came a long distance to
consult me. In the daytime I used to explain to them the law of the
Prophet and the solution of their difficulties, and, at night, I used to
walk on the mountain-side and watch the stars. Have you thought how
great a part the stars play in our lives?—how the Prophet (may Allah
bless him) spent nights in the desert, communing with them, how Jesus,
the Breath of God, and David the father of Solomon, studied them while
they kept their flocks? It was in those nights that I wrote verses, but
none that were worthy of remembrance. Most of my wealth I gave away, for
it seemed to me then that earning and silver did not live well together.
The people heard of this, and, knowing that I had the ‘baraka,’ they
came to me the more for advice, and carried out all that I said to
them.”
[Illustration: Rosita Forbes, on white horse, amidst Raisuli’s people on
the way to Tazrut]
[Illustration: A halt on the way to Tazrut. Author and Mulai Sadiq
seated]
CHAPTER V
EARLY PROWESS IN WAR
“My life was good when, suddenly one evening, about the time of the
fourth prayers, a woman came to Zinat. Her clothes were torn and there
was blood on her arms. She had walked many hours in the heat and her
eyes were a little mad. She said that robbers had killed her husband and
son, and taken all that she possessed. The wives of the village would
have taken her in and comforted her, for hospitality was their duty, but
the woman was from the mountains and she asked only a gun, that she
might go back and take her revenge. ‘Is there no man who will go with
me?’ she said, and the soles of my feet itched, and I saw my mother
looking at me. . . .
“There were many youths in the village, and life was hard, for it was a
season of poor crops. We put the woman on a horse, and all that night we
went with her through the darkness. She took us to her empty house on
the side of Jebel Danet, and from there we followed the robbers step by
step. Many had seen them pass, but had been afraid to stop them because
of the power of their chief. So they went slowly and we came up with
them in a wadi, where they sat and bathed their feet in a stream. It was
wild country, overgrown with oleanders that were higher than a man’s
head, and great trees that would have hidden us, but the woman seized
the gun from a youth’s hand and fired. There was a fight and the noise
of the shots was drowned in our shouts, for it was like a hunt and the
game could not escape for the rocks. We killed every one, and took back
the mules and the furniture which had been stolen from the woman. She
cut off the head of the man who had killed her family, and took it away,
that his soul might be destroyed and his body be incomplete in paradise.
“By Allah, perhaps the life of el Raisuli was decided by a woman, for,
from that day, I was discontented with my books. I had no wish for a
roof over my head, and I remembered that it is said of Beni Mesauer and
the house of my mother, ‘They are born in the saddle, a gun in their
hands.’ I spoke to the young men who knew me, and we formed a band and
went out and lived in the hills, where no man could take us. We were
famous in the countryside, and many came to us for help, but we were
very poor. Our castles were the rocks and the trees our tents. Sometimes
we had only goat’s milk as food; but I was very strong. I could live for
days without food, and master a stallion with my hands.”
From this period date the fabulous tales of el Raisuli’s cunning and
audacity, for he had everything to appeal to the imagination of a
lawless and adventurous race. His physique was Herculean and he was so
much a fatalist that he had no fear. To this must be added the prestige
of his race, his indubitable learning, his eloquence, which throughout
his life has been of great service to him, his skill as a rider and a
shot, together with a curious gift of intuition which accounts for what
he calls the infallibility of his psychology. There were many bands of
brigands in Morocco at that time, for the authority of the Sultan’s
Maghsen[16] was so attenuated as to be negligible. Brigandage was a
paying game, if you had a better gun than your neighbour, but, whereas
most of the famous robbers came to an unpleasant end, such as the
Sultan’s lions or the knife of a rival, Raisuli’s power increased with
the stories of his supernatural power.
“In those days,” said the Sherif, “it began to be told of me that no
ordinary bullet could touch me. I have heard that one of my enemies had
a bullet of gold specially constructed, but, praise be to Allah, it flew
wide, and the man only wasted his money.”
“It is said of my lord,” interposed the slave gently, “that the one on
his right and the one on his left shall fall, but he shall be untouched.
Those who wish to gain heaven swiftly claim these posts in battle, and
it has happened many times. Once, at the great fight at Wadi Ras, it was
a Spaniard who stood beside him, and my lord told him to go, but he
would not, and whutt! he was shot!”
“Many tales are told of me,” said Raisuli, “and some are true, but
always it is due to the ‘baraka’ which is in me, and perhaps a little to
these.” He fumbled in his voluminous robes and produced two small grimy
objects, which he held carefully and would not allow me to touch. One
was the inside of a gazelle’s ear, complete with the long white hair,
and the other a square inch of sticky black amber, tied up with some
shreds of silk from the robe of a sainted ancestor. “A very potent
charm,” said the slave. “Doubtless it saved my lord’s life in the day of
the curse.” The Sherif frowned, and his rebuke was venomous enough to
arouse my curiosity. This was the second time I had heard of the curse.
“It is long ago that we lived in the hills, without shelter, and imposed
our will on the villages, but I still remember the cold of the nights
when our jellabas were old and the sharpness of the rocks when our shoes
grew thin. But a few months ago, a Faqih travelling from Fez stayed to
see me on the way. He had walked so far that but half of his shoes were
left, so he asked me for another pair. Then I remembered my youth, and,
because of the days when my shoes were tied up with a string and stuffed
with leaves, instead of a pair of babouches[17] I gave him two horses,
two mules and two slaves.”
“My lord is generous,” muttered the slave, but the Sherif continued,
unheeding, “When my friends among the villages came to us for help, we
were swift in vengeance. Once some robbers had carried off all the
stored corn of a poor family, who were left defenceless against the
winter. The man came to me, knowing our password, and showed us which
way the robbers had gone, high up over the mountains, where it is very
barren and few men travel. We followed them and caught them while they
slept, and, for a punishment, we emptied some of the sacks into our
jellabas and brought the corn down in this way. Then we tied up the
robbers, and put one man into each sack, securely fastened and weighted
with stones. After this, we left them on a ledge in the mountains and
went away.”
“What happened to them?”
“Allah alone knows.”
There was a long silence. Perhaps the Sherif was thinking of the
villagers whom he had alternately protected and oppressed. Generous in
the extreme, but, of course, with other people’s money, incredibly
daring and astute enough to leave nothing to chance, believing
implicitly in his luck, which it was said that only treachery could
destroy, he soon dominated the mountain country. His host was increased
by volunteers from the tribes of Anjera, Beni Aros, Beni Mesauer and
Wadi Ras, while a noted Sheikh gave him a daughter in marriage. In lieu
of, or in addition to, a dowry, el Raisuli deposited at the Chief’s
gate, all neatly strung on a cord and ready to be used for decorative
purposes, the heads of half-a-dozen bandits who had been annoying his
prospective father-in-law by stealing his sheep!
“As the numbers of my followers swelled like the flocks in spring-time,
we established a sort of customs in the hills. Each caravan had to pay
according to its wealth, and, if it refused, well, then, the sight of a
traveller sitting impaled on a spike probably made the next one open his
purse. It was all business. I never refused a request and never betrayed
my word, but the townsfolk were ungenerous and close-fisted. It took a
long time to teach them their lessons, and by that time Mulai Hassan,
the then Sultan, had heard of my affairs. I had an army in the
mountains, and every man obeyed me because of my strength and my
knowledge. It is well when there is one head in a country, but when
there are many, there is trouble. There are caves in Beni Mesauer where
a company may be hidden and hear the feet of their pursuers overhead.
The country is rough and cushioned with scrub, and between the bushes
run great cracks where a band may hasten, one after another, and no one
know they are coming. In this land I lived and fought the forces of the
Maghsen. When they said, ‘Where is el Raisuli?’ the tribesmen answered,
‘We do not know,’ for they were frightened to give me up. The soldiers
of Mulai Hassan went here and there like dogs which have lost the scent,
for one day it was said, ‘El Raisuli is here. Was he not seen this
morning at the threshing of so-and-so?’ and a few hours later he was a
hundred miles away.
“We had a password, and, one night, some men, riding below our camp,
gave it, and added that the troops of the Maghsen were approaching up a
gully on the right. Away we went to the left. He goes furthest and
fastest who has few possessions! It was a trick, and before we had got
into our stride we had fallen into an ambush, but Allah was with us. We
had come so much sooner than expected that the soldiers were not ready.
They picked me out, saying, ‘We must kill that one! He is the Chief,’
and the bullets went through my jellaba, but did not touch me. Then they
thought I was a magician and, being ignorant men, fled.
“We had some silver buried in the place where we had camped; so I went
back with two men to fetch it. We came noiselessly through the bushes,
and there was the man who had betrayed us, searching for traces of our
hoard. He did not look up till we were quite near, and then, when he saw
my face, he screamed once—only once. . . . He was a coward, that one! We
tore out his tongue.”
El Raisuli told these stories with an immobile face, and his voice was
equally monotonous. One of the charms of the Arabs is the touch of
childishness in even the gravest and the most learned Sheikh. His smile
is a little wistful, and, when he smiles, it is as if he takes you into
his heart, confident of approval, and in his boasting there is always
something of a child’s ingenuousness. His gestures are graphic and his
voice often diffident. El Raisuli rarely moved or gestured, and never
smiled, during the recital of his life. His voice was a sort of soft
rumble. Yet his words were vivid, and his personality so forceful that
he made one see pictures. He spoke of his childhood and of the life of
his village without any touch of youth. There was no impulsive interest
in his manner, no spontaneity, yet, inside my tent, leaning against a
pile of hard cushions and staring at the wall of the compound, I
imagined I saw the olives and the fig-trees of Beni Mesauer, and the
ragged horde they sheltered.
I understood also the gift of speech which has conquered Arabs and
Spaniards alike, but I never knew whether the Sherif believed all that
he told. The superstition of his people and their fanaticism have
credited el Raisuli with miraculous powers as well as with immunity from
all weapons, but I do not know how far the Sherif fostered this belief
for his own purposes.
“It is better to tell a lie than to be discourteous,” he said once, and
again, “If you separate a man from his beliefs, he has no ground to
stand on.” Eloquence is much appreciated by the Arabs, and a battle of
words is to them as exciting as more dangerous warfare. There are
regular trials of skill among orators, to discover which can argue the
best, and I have seen a Bedouin sit rapt and open-mouthed while a
demagogue harangued his tribe. At the end of the oration he has said, “I
did not understand a word of it, but, by Allah, it was fine Arabic.”
El Raisuli, still telling of his guerilla warfare with the Sultan’s
troops, recounted how it was necessary for him to acquire the friendship
of a certain chief. “He was not my enemy, but relations between us
were—um—so, so . . . I went to him one evening, after the sunset,
claiming the law of ‘deafa,’[18] and, as he was obliged, he offered me
food. That night we ate and said nothing, but next morning, after the
dawn prayers, we sat under a tree by the wall of his house, and I talked
to him for seven hours. That was my first speech. At noon he got up to
pray, and, afterwards, he would have eaten, but I said, ‘I would have
further speech with thee,’ and I talked to him till it was evening, and
neither of us noticed that the light was gone. After that he was my
friend. We were together and he helped me against the Maghsen.
“It was not difficult, for the troops of Mulai Hassan had no wish to
fight. There was always one who would say, ‘We go to such and such a
place. Take care that thou art absent.’ They had little money or food,
and sometimes they would sell us their ammunition for a few douros,
after which, if their commander insisted on a battle, they got their
bullets back again in a way which they did not like.
“On one occasion we dressed ourselves in the uniforms of some of the
soldiers we had killed and put their fezzes on our heads. Then we went
between their companies and burned a large farm in the country of our
enemies, and took all that was of value in it, and the people thought,
‘It is the tyranny of the Maghsen. Let us not complain, or worse will
happen to us.’
“In those days we took men from the houses near Tangier and held them
for ransom. No one was safe who was against me, and, because of their
fear and their respect for the Shorfa, the people dared not complain.
“At last the European politicians in Tangier protested to the Sultan,
who sent a letter to Abderrahman Abd es Sadiq, the Bey of Tangier,
demanding my instant capture. ‘Your head or his,’ wrote Mulai Hassan,
and Sidi Abderrahman began to feel the strength of his shoulder-bones!
What is written is written. There is no need for a man to worry about
his fate. How otherwise could one live? There was an outlaw whom even
the Spaniards called ‘The Courageous’. He captured many prisoners and
killed and robbed, but in the end he died by the dagger of his brother,
who was jealous. A knife is clean, but there was one el Roghbi, who was
captured by the mehalla of Mulai Hassan. He was shut in a small cage
made of his own gun-barrels and taken to Fez on the back of a camel.
After he had been hung on the wall for days, for the people to see, the
lions had what was left of him! That was in old Morocco. You have done
away with these arrangements. To what purpose?”
CHAPTER VI
PRISON, TORTURE AND ESCAPE
“Sidi Abderrahman tried many things against me. A wise man uses every
tool, but the tools of the Bey broke in his hands. He could not take
away the mountains, or make flat the whole country, and, wherever there
was a ditch or a shrub, el Raisuli could hide in safety. Perhaps there
would be a small boy driving goats along the hillside. He notices the
troops of the Maghsen. One of his goats goes astray and he runs after
it, crying and waving his stick. Another, threshing in the valley, sees
him and beats his donkey with uplifted arms. So the news is carried, and
no one knows where has flown the ‘Eagle of Zinat.’
“Many joined me in those days, and I grew rich, but I took nothing from
the poor. To them I gave much, and they blessed me. To some of the great
also I rendered service, so that, when it was finished, I had many
friends, even among the Ministers and the Pashas, but the townsfolk
dared not leave their walls. In every shadow they saw el Raisuli.
“With my share of the money we made under the noses of the Sultan’s
troops, I bought land, so that I had farms in many places, but always in
the names of my family. One day a collector of taxes came to my brother
and said, ‘This house is not really yours. It was bought by Mulai Ahmed
and, if the Maghsen knew that, they would confiscate it. Give me certain
cattle and sheep, and I will say nothing.’ It happened that I came to
the house while still my brother was arguing. When they told me what was
happening, I expounded the law of inheritance to the tax-collector,
citing him verses from the Koran and the four Imams.[19] After this, as
he was still obstinate, I cut off his head and sent it in a basket of
fruit to Sidi Abderrahman. The Bey began to wonder if his own head would
soon follow, and, as all his efforts against me had been useless, he
took counsel of Haj el Arbi el Mo-allem of Wadi Ras, a man whose
audacity and courage were equal to any enterprise.
“Truly it is said, ‘In difficulty, consult a friend, for the truth is
not hidden from the minds of two,’ and also, ‘By means of a mirror a man
may see his face, but by means of two he can see also his back.’ El Arbi
was wise, and he knew the minds of men and their desires. So he came to
me in the hills and hunted with me, and we talked of guns and war. Then
he said to me, ‘Have you seen the rifles of the Bey of Tangier? By
Allah, they are the newest and the most wonderful things yet invented.
By means of them you can kill a bird out of sight.’ He extolled these
rifles to such an extent that I became curious and begged him to arrange
for me to see them. ‘That would be difficult,’ answered el Arbi, knowing
that opposition always makes a man more determined, ‘for you are at war
with the Bey, and he is your enemy.’
“‘Tell him that I am willing to treat with him. Arrange a meeting,’ I
urged. El Arbi shook his head doubtfully, but, after much persuasion, he
agreed to try and arrange the matter. You do not know what a gun is to
an Arab—it is his son and his master. Note how lovingly he holds it
across his knee, even at the council, or when eating. Without it he does
not feel himself a man.
“Some days later, I received a letter from el Arbi, saying that the Bey
would meet me and perhaps he would give me one of the rifles, if I would
surrender some hostages I had taken from the outskirts of Tangier. By
Allah, I walked into that trap as the serpent into the hands of the
charmer. Since then I have never made a pact with a townsman! On the
appointed day I went to Tangier, with a few of my men, and the people
ran into their houses, peeping out from behind their shutters, saying,
‘See, he has come! For what reason? What new thing is he plotting?’ I
rode straight to the house of Sidi Abderrahman, who received me with
great honour, but, before I went inside, I asked for bread, and they
brought me some. I ate this on my horse, with my men beside me, their
fingers on the trigger, for, if once you have partaken of a man’s
hospitality, his house is yours, and you are safe.
“‘Welcome, in the name of Allah,’ said the Bey, and took me to the room
where the food was prepared. There were many men present, both his
friends and his servants. Sheep had been cooked whole and stuffed with
rice and eggs—all the things that we do for the honour and entertainment
of a guest. I looked round for el Arbi, but he was not there. ‘With
health, with appetite!’ invited the host, but, as soon as I sat down,
men threw themselves upon me and seized my weapons. I could have killed
many in the open, for there was no man strong enough to oppose me, but I
was seated and cramped for space, so that they overpowered me and
dragged me to another room. All the time I called to Sidi Abderrahman,
for he had broken the law of ‘deafa’ but he would not come; so they put
chains on me and took me away to the prison of Mogador. It was written
that el Raisuli should fall by treachery and not by the weapon of an
enemy. My men, waiting outside, heard the noise, but were told that I
was dead; so they were afraid, and escaped to the mountains.”
So far the Sherif had told his story in the presence of various
retainers, but he would not speak before them of his years in prison. It
was on another occasion, when we were standing on the hillside above the
mosque, from which there was a wide view of the tumbled mountain country
sloping towards Suq el Khemis, that he began suddenly:
“It is good for a man to see far away, that he may judge of things in
proportion. You think this land is empty—you see no one?”
I looked at the rough country and confessed that it appeared utterly
deserted. “Watch,” said Raisuli, and strode forward on monstrous limbs.
He gave a curious sort of cry, which carried very far, and, instantly,
from behind each group of trees or rocks, appeared a tribesman. It
seemed to me even that some of the stones had become men, so exactly did
the rough brown jellabas match the surrounding earth.
“That is one of the results of Mogador,” said the Sherif; “I trust no
man now, and tell none my plans. Each of my tribes sends me a guard, but
they are changed every month, and I am the Captain of my guard; so I
watch over myself. I sleep very little, and, at night, I go out and see
that there is peace. You wish to hear about Mogador? The marks of the
chains are still on my body! My gaolers were more afraid of me than I of
them; so they heaped iron on me, a weight that no other man could have
borne.
“It was the intention of the Government to send me to the island, from
which no prisoner ever returns, being buried there for his life, till
the will of Allah releases him. But the moving of the prisoners takes
place on Saturdays. The first Saturday there was a great tempest, so
that no boat could set out, and, for three Saturdays afterwards, the
wind raged and it was not possible to launch a felucca.[20] Then they
knew it was a sign that the ‘baraka’ was with me, and they said. ‘One
day he will be a Sultan, and it is not the will of Allah that he shall
die,’ because we have a saying that the sea is a sultan and no king may
travel on it, for it is not suitable that one sultan should put his foot
on the back of another.
“At first I was chained in the patio of the Kashba, a collar round my
neck, riveted to the wall.[21] The sun used to creep across the court
till it licked my feet, and then my knees, so that my whole body burned
and the sweat ran down into my eyes. There was no time, only torture.
Days of heat that burned and blistered, nights which froze so that my
bones rattled against the wall. The men of the mountains, who were my
friends, came down to watch over me. They brought me food and water, but
I said to them, ‘Come in the morning; then I will talk with you,’ and
they used to sit with me, and I would lecture on the law and its
interpretation. They went away, saying, ‘He is a Faqih, a saint, and
above afflictions of the body.’ But one of the gaolers hated me, for my
friends had rebuked him for his treatment of a Sherif, and one day when
the sun was like fire, he upset the jar of water that my people had put
beside me. When he saw the drops trickle into the dust he laughed; I
would have thrown myself down to suck them from the filth but for the
chain about my neck. My hand went out for the support of the walls, for
my thoughts were clouded, and it happened that Allah provided a stone! I
threw it with all my force, and the man dropped, the bones of his head
showing and the blood running out faster than the water he had spilled.
“After that they sent for a mason to break the chains from the wall.
‘Allah make you strong,’ said the smith. ‘I had thought to do this only
with your death.’ How long it was that I had been in the patio I do not
know, but, after this, they put me in a dungeon that was dark except for
a little window, so shadowed by a wall that the sun never came in, and
the light but for a few minutes at midday. Here I was chained to two
other prisoners, and one of them was weak and could not support the
weight of his fetters; so we lifted him between us when he would have
moved. Seeing in his face that he would soon die, I occupied his
attention by reciting the Koran, and he asked my blessing and
recommended his family to my care. All this time my friends fed me, and
they would have bribed the gaolers for my release, but for the strict
orders of Sidi Abderrahman, who feared that if I were free, his life
would not be a long one.
“It is good for a man to suffer. Here one sees with one’s eyes and does
not consider. In prison one uses the eyes of the mind. I reflected
deeply on my life and saw my mistakes. I knew that, in the future, I
should be free, for my luck is indestructible, but how soon I did not
know. It is useless to fight against the fate which is ordained before
man is born. All must accept the will of Allah, but poets die in prison
and politicians are born! ‘What will you do when you are free?’ asked
the men who were with me, but, though, I wanted only two things,
vengeance and my books, I would tell nobody my thoughts. The smell and
the filth of the cell bred all sorts of vermin. After a little while
they were the only things that moved, for we were too exhausted. Each
end of the chain that held us together was riveted to a wall and the
sick man was in the middle between us. The sores on our limbs festered
and were black with flies and lice, but we did not feel them. Suffering
comes to an end in time, and I was surprised one morning when the man on
my right did not answer.
“At that time they had altered the chains so that I could not touch him.
We had to wait till nearly noon, when the light came faintly and we
could just see that he was dead. It was summer and very foul, but for
three days his corpse hung there rotting, for the gaolers did not dare
to remove it for fear the Governor should say he had escaped. The rats
came and ate the feet and the legs, and we could not keep them away; but
truly he was mostly bones, and their meal was poor. When at last the
corpse was taken away, the collar had sunk so deeply into the flesh that
they had to tear it off, and it remained empty as a witness of man’s
destiny.
“All this time my friends had worked for me, and even Sidi Mohammed
Torres interceded for me, so that, in time, they gave me a better
cell—one with a barred window, through which my people could pass food,
but the light hurt my eyes and I did not wish to move. Effort seemed to
me in vain. The Arab race is very old and it is used to resignation. You
Europeans are so much in love with your possessions—you care for your
houses and your lands more than your sons. We are different. At one
moment a man has great wealth, with slaves and horses and property. It
is good. Suddenly fortune changes, and he has nothing but a torn mantle
and the shoes on his feet. He keeps the goats of one who was once his
servant, but he is happy, for the time may come again when he will be
great. Carpets and furniture and great rooms are not necessary to us, as
they are to you. See that man asleep in the dust under the tree. He is
so poor that he cannot buy food to keep the skin on his bones, but he is
contented, for he is an Alim of Teledi, and the people of his village
kiss his footsteps as he passes.
“That is why I did not die in prison. I had my thoughts. I cannot tell
you how many years I was there, four or five perhaps, before I escaped
with two others. A man of the Beni Aros brought me a loaf of bread with
his lips pursed between his fingers. I broke it open at night, and there
was a file inside. Then, for many days, months probably, I worked when
it was dark, till I had cut through each bar. A thousand times I thought
someone would hear the noise, like the cry of a small animal; but the
gaolers were careless. I had been there for so long, and, in the
daytime, I pretended to be ill and unable to move.
“Just when my work was accomplished, two men were brought to my cell,
and I was obliged to take them into my confidence, but they were weak
and afraid to try and escape. One had received so many lashes that
strips of his shirt had been beaten into his body and could not be
removed. All day he lay silent and would not move, but the second night
I showed him the broken bars, and the sight cheered him. He said, if I
would wait four days more, he would come. As he was young and of my
people, I would not leave him to die by repeated lashes.
“When my friends came with food, I told them to be ready with a boat on
the fourth night. It was not written thus. The next day it was known
that the Governor would make a tour of the prison, and most certainly he
would discover the state of the bars, for there went with him a smith
who tested the chains and other metals with a hammer. Therefore we
decided to make an attempt that very night; but we had not realized the
difficulty of our chains, which we did not have time to cut. I crawled
out the first, with a noise that should have awakened the town. Then the
man who had been beaten and who still had no strength of his own, was
lifted up and, one pushing, one pulling, we dragged him through the
window. The other followed, and when I found myself in the air, under
the stars, I trembled and could hardly breathe. A soldier by the door
had been bribed and gave no alarm when we climbed the wall where it was
broken. Then we were in the town, dragging our chains and stumbling as
we moved.
[Illustration: Raisuli’s prison in Tazrut]
[Illustration: Xauen with the ancient castle, originally a Berber
stronghold]
“There were some who saw us and hid, for my companion cried, ‘It is the
Sherif el Raisuli, the great, the holy man, who will reward you.’ We got
down to the sea with great difficulty, for our fetters were heavy, but
there was no boat, for the escape had been planned for some nights
later. We prayed on the shore, and said the ‘Fatha’[22] together, and
then, as it was near dawn, we sought a hiding-place in the town. A man
who was a friend of the youth offered us hospitality, but I would not
accept it, for I knew that he would be punished for protecting Raisuli.
My companions went into his house and he sheltered them, but I went on
round the edge of the town, hoping to meet some people, for all the
years that I was in prison men of the mountain tribes watch in Mogador.
“It was the first dawn that I had seen for very long, and I stopped to
watch it and breathe the sea air. Suddenly, while I stood, forgetting my
chains, two soldiers of the Maghsen came round the corner. Hidden by a
doorway, I sprang suddenly upon them before they saw me. Truly it was
not so much a leap as a fall! One went down beneath the weight of iron I
carried, and I killed him with my hands. The other thought he was
attacked by a Jinn, and ran, screaming. There was alarm in the town, and
the news was brought to the Governor of the prison. I could hear a drum
beating as I lay behind a buttress of the wall, but now I had a rifle
and ammunition. I was a warrior again!
“When the soldiers of the Maghsen appeared at the end of the street, I
looked along the barrel of the rifle and said to myself, ‘That old one
on the right, he is not of much use.’ So I fired at him and he died. A
shower of bullets like crickets shot over my head, but, in those days,
the troops did not use the sights of their rifles, so that no missile
went near me. Besides, the buttress protected me. I fired again, and
another man fell, writhing on the ground and crying out. Then I stood up
and laughed when they could not hit me. ‘Don’t you know that I am Mulai
Ahmed el Raisuli, and that no lead or steel can hurt me, for I have a
special blessing from Allah? See, I have twenty bullets here, and for
each of them a man will die.’ They believed me, for there was one there
who had fought against me in the mountains.[23] There was much talk, but
no more shots were fired, and, at last, the Governor came and spoke
persuasively. ‘You are one against three hundred. What can you do? Give
yourself up, and I promise you I will intercede with the Sultan for
you.’
“It was a curious sight for the townsfolk who crowded on the roofs to
see us—a prisoner in chains who treated with the Governor at the head of
a troop! It was written that I should not escape, for the sea was behind
me and the troops of the Maghsen in front. Truly I might have killed
many others, but whether I could have escaped I doubt, for the fetters
impeded my reach—and weighted down my feet. In any case, I was young,
though much of my youth had been robbed, and I wanted life for my own
purposes. So I said to the Kaid, ‘Swear to me before Allah that you will
obtain my release, and say the Fatha as a covenant between us, in the
presence of these soldiers; and I will give myself up.’ He did this, and
I made him promise also that he would not search for my companions.
‘They are gone in a boat,’ I said, for sometimes a lie is permitted.
Then I surrendered myself to the Kaid, and they took me back to the
prison on a mule, for I could no longer walk.”
At the end of this story, coloured, I imagine, by el Raisuli’s
appreciation of his own phraseology, my host looked at me suspiciously.
“I tell you this to show that, if I have tortured others, I myself have
been tortured; but it is between me and thee, for it is not good that
such things should be told of the Sherif.”
The Kaid of Mogador kept his promise, and, as Mulai Hassan had died and
his son Abdul Aziz ruled in his stead, there was little difficulty in
pardoning a criminal of the preceding reign. El Raisuli’s prestige must
have been great, for so powerful an individual as Mohamed Torres, the
Sultan’s representative at Tangier, added his intercession to that of
the Kaid. The Minister of the moment was el Menebbhe, a wise and a just
man, whose influence in Moroccan affairs has always been great. In
signing the order of release for el Raisuli, he wrote the prologue of a
friendship which lasted for a long time and developed into a business
association, for the two shared various interests in land and property.
According to el Raisuli, he left his prison imbued with the desire for a
life of study. “I wished to live in a secluded place, where there was
much sun and space, and yet I wished to hear the voices of women
babbling about common things: you permit me to say that generally the
conversation of women does not interest me much, but, in prison, one
loses a sense of proportion. At first I lived in Tangier, where I
collected numbers of books, for there were many things I had forgotten
at Mogador, and I wished to learn them again. I was contented, as men
who have had nothing are contented with little.”
Apparently, however, the Sherif’s desire for vengeance grew as he
recovered his health and strength, for not long after his release he is
said to have instigated the murder of a cousin who had lately become the
wife of a relation of his enemy, the Bey of Tangier. This was perhaps
the most ruthless of all the Sherif’s acts, for, with his own relative,
were assassinated the old, half-crippled mother and young sister of her
husband. El Raisuli would never talk about this affair, except to say
that treachery was hateful in the sight of Allah, and that to live in
the house of a traitor was to merit his fate. “I did not know that Arabs
fought against women,” I told him. “In the countries of the East where I
have travelled, no man would hurt ‘a woman, a Jew or a barber.’” El
Raisuli very nearly smiled. “Here in Morocco, the Jews have much money,
so how should we become rich unless we killed them? In the mountains we
have no dealings with barbers, and, as for women, they fight as well as
the men. It is they who carry the ammunition and load the rifles. Many a
Berber woman can shoot better than a man.”
El Raisuli’s sisters seemed to have been the cause of a good deal of
bloodshed, for it is told that one of them, who had been married for
some years to a Moor of high standing, was very angry when her husband
proposed to take a second wife. Possibly the destined bride was one of
whom she particularly disapproved—history does not relate—for Islam
permits four wives, and divorce is extremely simple, since it consists
merely of saying, “I divorce thee,” three times in the presence of
witnesses. However, on this occasion the first wife appealed to her
powerful brother for help. No answer came, and the day of the wedding
arrived. The feast was over, the musicians had departed, and the
quivering cry of the woman was stilled. The bride sat in state on a pile
of mattresses, awaiting her husband. Her mother was there waiting to
untie the ceremonious knot in her haik. A negress stood by the door,
with a bowl of milk and a platter of dates, signifying fertility and
chastity.
Suddenly there was a sound of galloping hoofs, and shouts of warning
came from the court, “Robbers, robbers!” The men rushed out with their
guns, and the attacking party, after firing a few shots, allowed
themselves to be driven off towards the hills. The defenders followed.
Then, while the house was deserted, except for the women who huddled
together in an upper room, some men crept silently from the bushes where
they had been hiding, and, with a warning cry to the sister of el
Raisuli, “Cover yourself, lady,—we are the followers of your brother!”
they burst into the Harem and dragged out the bride and her mother. When
the men of the house returned, they found the bodies of the two women
lying across the threshold where, only a few hours before, a bullock had
been sacrificed for luck.
El Raisuli did not tell me of this episode, but when I asked him why his
men had killed the girl, instead of merely removing her from his
brother-in-law’s house, he answered, “It was better to kill her. She had
been seen by men who were not of her family,” from which I imagine that
the bride was town-bred and of a good family, for the mountain women
work in the fields with the men, their faces uncovered and their
garments kilted up over sturdy limbs.
El Raisuli explained his return to the wilderness in this manner: “The
ways of the Maghsen were strange. When Mulai Abdul Aziz gave me my
liberty, I had no wish for further war. The people of Tangier respected
me as a learned and sainted Faqih, and I wrote on the interpretation of
Koranic law, which is a high honour in Islam. I had many pupils, but one
day when I wanted money to give to some of them who were in need, I
learned that the Government had confiscated my property in El Fahs. I
was told that it had been given to friends of the Sultan, and some of it
was in the hands of my enemy, Abderrahman es Sadiq. I appealed to Fez
for redress, but nothing was done. There was no answer to my letter and
my property was being wasted by others.
“What I had done once I could do again, but this time, when I returned
to the mountains, it was with the intention of fighting Mulai Abdul
Aziz. My flag flew again in Beni Mesauer, and from the house of Zellal
my messengers went forth to the tribes. All the jebala was discontented
with the rule of the Sultan. There was famine in Fez, and the soldiers
were unpaid. El Roghbi—he of whom I told you—brought his forces to the
walls of the capital, and the Sultan sent to Abd es Sadiq for help. The
tribes of the mountains joined me, and I had an army greater than el
Roghbi’s. News came that the Bey of Tangier had gathered a force for the
relief of Fez. It was to be under the command of Kaid Abd el Melak, who
was hated by all the tribes for his cruelty and rapacity. Abd es Sadiq
was to travel with the mehalla[24] to ensure safety.
I was glad when I heard this, for I thought that, at last, I should hold
my enemy in my hands. We lay in wait in a wadi where the road was a
ribbon between the bushes. It was the hour before night, when a man may
scarce distinguish if a thread is black or white. Below us we saw the
mehalla approaching, but it was difficult to tell where was Abd es
Sadiq. At last I picked out the stallion of the Bey with his personal
guard, and the Kaid Abd el Malak beside him. Then I gave the signal, and
the men rushed down on either side, till the enemy were squeezed between
the two parties like a fruit in the fingers. Many were killed and others
fled, but, when Abd el Malak had been captured, and we fought our way to
the Bey’s horse as it was turned for flight, we saw a party riding
swiftly towards Tangier, and we did not trouble about them, thinking
them but servants or camp followers.
“There was furious fighting in the bed of the stream, while the Bey, cut
off from escape, sat on his horse, watching, with his jellaba over his
face. A man of Beni Mesauer caught his bridle, and the stallion reared,
striking out with his forefeet. ‘Take him alive,’ I ordered, for I
wished to see his face. I had not looked on it since the day he broke
faith with me after I had eaten his bread. At that moment the jellaba
was blown back, and, by Allah, it was a slave dressed in the Bey’s robe
and riding his horse! Sidi Abderrahman was nearing Tangier, and
congratulating himself on the wisdom of a fox. He was right. It is well
to be prepared for everything.
“The tribesmen judged Abd el Malak, and every man’s voice was against
him, so his eyes, which had seen much injustice, were burned out with
two red-hot coins, the size of a peseta. He deserved to die, but, when
he heard of the affair, the Sherif of Wazzan, who was always inclined to
mercy, pleaded for him, and I let him go.
“From that day I was supreme in the mountains, and even Mulai Abdul Aziz
could not question my authority. The tribes of Tetuan joined me, and my
rule extended to the farthest horizon—beyond that to Azeila, where my
sister was married to one of the great, and to Al Kasr, where it is too
hot for men to fight. Against Europe on the one side and the Sultan on
the other I protected the rights of the people, for they were my
people.”
From this moment el Raisuli appeared in a new rôle. He was no longer a
brigand, alternately quixotic and ferocious. All his actions were
governed by a definite purpose. It was as a potentate that he treated
with the Sultan and, in his dealings with European Powers, he showed
himself no mean politician. Before his imprisonment he had been
illogically cruel and equally inconsequently generous. He had never
looked ahead, living for the moment and the adventure thereof. Now he
set to work deliberately to gain the power which would make him secure.
He played off the tribes one against another until he had them all at
his service. He used his scientific and strategic knowledge, his
eloquence and the ever-growing reputation for saintliness as means to
ensure his alliance with other great houses. To the warriors of the
mountains his courage and his still unbroken physique were sufficient
appeal, but it was his fanaticism which won the Ulema[25] and the tribal
Sheikhs. He stood for the old order that was passing, and they followed
him to avoid the change which they presaged and could not understand. It
says much for el Raisuli’s intelligence that, while treating at
different times with various European Powers, and always to his material
profit, he should yet represent to Morocco the champion of Islam against
the Christian, of tradition against innovation.
CHAPTER VII
RAISULI’S TWO HOSTAGES
“Do you know Mr. Harris?” asked Raisuli, one day when we were drinking
green tea. The slaves had poured a perfect bath of orange-water over us,
and our host, holding open his robes, had let the scent trickle down his
chest and back. There had been a great argument as to whether the mint
was fresh, which the Sherif had terminated by growling, “Well, is there
mint or is there not? and if there is, why do you bring me this dung?”
Hoping to avoid one of those fits of morose silence which interfered
with the progress of the memoirs, I remarked that it was a pity that
Europeans could not make such good tea as the Arabs. “You have no
patience,” said the Sherif; “you want to do everything quickly, at once.
Tea is like a man’s acquaintance. It must be made slowly and with care.
Now, Harris,” (pronounced Harrēēs), “is one who knows the ways of the
Arabs, and his conversation is pleasant. He has the gift of speech,
which is admirable.”
It is curious that an Arab will never say of a fellow-countryman that he
is brave, or a good horseman, because he takes these attributes for
granted, but he will praise his eloquence with enthusiasm. Raisuli
continued, “I had known Harris for some time before he was a prisoner,
for he went much into the mountains to shoot, and sometimes he wore the
dress of our country, for he talked our language as well as his own. I
visited his camp one day, and we spoke of many things, for it was under
my protection that he went swiftly through the mountains when he had
need of news for his paper.”
Mr. Harris describes the Raisuli of those days as having a fascinating
personality and being “tall, remarkably handsome, with the whitest of
skins, a short dark beard and moustache, and black eyes, with profile
Greek rather than Semitic, and eyebrows that formed a straight line
across his forehead. He smiled sometimes, but seldom, and I never heard
him laugh. With his followers he was cold and haughty, and they treated
him with all the respect due to his birth.”[26]
A slave approached el Raisuli with a deprecating expression and a bundle
of fresh green-stuff. The Sherif waved him away impatiently. “No, no, it
is finished. I am busy.” He continued his story: “I told you how all the
jebala tribes were with me, and how I ruled as Sultan of the mountains.
When any man had a grievance he came to me for justice, whether it was
against the Sultan or the Europeans. It happened one day that there was
talk of building a cable station for the line from Gibraltar to Tangier,
and it was said the English wished to put it in the territory of the
Anjera tribe outside the town. The Sheikh Abd el Hannan, who was a great
man of Anjera, sent messengers to me, saying, ‘With all my force I shall
fight this new thing that the Christians would do to us. Come to my
assistance with the tribes of El Fahs!’
“It was a good excuse to rise against the Maghsen, which was weak and
full of traitors. The English could do nothing; so they appealed to
Mulai Abdul Aziz, who sent a strong mehalla[27] against us. It camped in
the plain near Tangier, on the banks of a wadi, but, by this time, we
were used to fighting the troops of the Maghsen. We knew that they would
eat first and sleep, and that there would be no danger from them till
they had satisfied their stomachs and were full. So we fell upon them in
the morning while they were unprepared, and killed many, but one party
we did not destroy, and they burned a part of my village at Zinat, and
fled through the land of Anjera, looting and killing as they went. My
people took many captives, and, because of the things that the Sultan’s
troops had done to the tribesmen, burying them alive and hacking off
their limbs, all the prisoners were killed. My people cut off their
heads and other portions of them, which they put in the mouths, so that
the women would laugh when they saw the bodies. This was a common
custom.
“It was on that day that Harris was captured, for, having no fear and
much curiosity, he had ridden out near to the battle to see the burning
of Zinat. The tribesmen took him by surprise, for they were fifty or a
hundred armed men. I was sitting under the trees, when I heard a great
noise and much shouting. Men came to me, running, and said, ‘Sidi, they
have taken a Christian, a European, and they are going to destroy him.’
So I went quickly to stop them, for I have always protected the
Europeans. When I saw that the man was Harris, my friend, I said to the
tribesmen, ‘No—give him to me, for he is my friend; he shall be my share
of the loot of this battle.’ They refused, and there was much argument.
Yet at last they desisted, and I took him to my house; but half of it
was burned, and there was no rest for him. The tribesmen would have
killed him, for the troops of the Maghsen had stolen their goods and
destroyed what they could not carry; but I argued with them at length
and would not leave him. I put a guard at the door of my house, and the
Englishman was safe.”
El Raisuli was evidently determined to present his conduct in the best
possible light, for Mr. Harris’ salvation was, I believe, largely due to
his own wit and presence of mind, and his friendship with some
influential member of the Anjera tribe to whom he had extended
hospitality at Tangier. He describes his imprisonment in Raisuli’s house
in this way: “The room in which I found myself was very dark, light
being admitted only by one small window near the roof, and it was some
time before my eyes became accustomed to the gloom. When I was able to
see more clearly, the first object that attracted my eyes was a body
lying in the middle of the room. It was the corpse of a man who had been
killed there in the morning by the troops, and formed a ghastly
spectacle. Stripped of all clothing and shockingly mutilated, the body
lay with extended arms. The head had been roughly hacked off, and the
floor all round was swimming in blood. The soldiers had carried off the
head as a trophy of war, and they had wiped their gory fingers on the
whitewashed wall, leaving bloodstains everywhere. However, I was not to
suffer the company of the corpse for long, for half-a-dozen men came in,
washed the body, sewed it up in its winding-sheet and carried it away
for burial; and a little later the floor was washed down, though no
attempt was made to move the bloody finger-marks from the walls.”[28]
This episode occurred in June 1903, and the negotiations for Mr. Harris’
release were therefore conducted in the fierce heat of an African
summer. “There was much coming and going,” said el Raisuli, “and, as
some of my people accused me of harbouring a Christian and being in the
pay of a strange Government, I conferred with men of Anjera to arrange
some way of safety for Harris. One night their great men came down from
their villages and took away the Englishman, for they were his friends,
and had promised to treat him as a guest. The Sherif of Wazzan, the same
who had interceded for Abd el Melak, now acted as intermediary for
Harris, but your Government wanted to hurry things, as is the way of
European Governments. At first there was talk of money, but I would not
receive one douro for a friend, and the tribesmen were agreed, so they
asked but the release of certain prisoners, men who had been confined
unjustly in the dungeons of the Maghsen. When this was agreed upon,
Harris was sent in safety to Tangier.
“After this, since the Maghsen still held my lands, and others were
eating my substance, I made myself responsible for the justice that was
denied me. One here, one there, one in the city, one on the plains, I
took men from their houses and held them until they restored to me that
which was mine. There was one who had taken some of my money when I was
in prison, and he had boasted in the suq, ‘See this silver belt and this
dagger set with jewels? These I bought with the gold of Raisuli.’ One
day he fell into my hands, for he could not always watch where he went.
I said to him, ‘Give up the rest of that which you stole, and you shall
go free,’ but he swore, ‘I know nothing of these things.’ Then I ordered
my slaves to beat him with a knotted cord, and they gave him 500 lashes,
but he would not speak, nor even cry out or complain. When he fainted,
they carried him away and washed his wounds. The next day again, I said
to him, ‘Before Allah, I will give you your freedom if you tell me where
my money is hid,’ but he would not open his mouth. Before the 500 lashes
were given, he fainted again, but he did not speak. The third day it was
the same thing, and in silence he died under the whip. Not many men have
conquered el Raisuli in this way.
“Again the Sultan sent a force against me, and I took refuge in Beni
Aros, where all men were my friends. The mehalla established itself at
Suier in Jebel Habib, and ravaged the whole country, so that the
tribesmen came to me to protect them against a government which ate
their harvest and stole their property. They could have given me up and
profited very much from the gratitude of the Sultan, but no man would do
this. Perhaps they feared me. In my life I have been little loved and
much hated, but, above all, I have been feared. I thought, ‘How can I
repay the men of Beni Aros for all that they are losing on my account?’
Then I began capturing strangers and giving the money of their ransom to
the tribesmen whom the troops of the Maghsen despoiled.
“At last I thought I would seize a European, an important man who would
make the world realize my wrongs, so my people watched on the outskirts
of Tangier and, one night, when it was dark, they crept up to the house
of an American, Perdicaris. He was sitting reading, with the light
beside him, and he had no idea of their presence. They rushed in through
the windows, which were open, and dragged him out, with his relative who
was with him. With rifles pressed to their necks—so—the prisoners were
hurried off to the waiting horses, and before morning they were with me
in Beni Aros. At last I could make terms with the Sultan, and show the
nations of Europe what manner of man was el Raisuli. I received
Perdicaris in a tent spread with carpets and sheep-skins. My slaves
waited on him and brought him all that he asked for. Then I spoke to him
as a brother, and I said this and this has the Sultan done to me. At the
end of my speech, Perdicaris shook my hand and said, ‘You have done
right. Had I been in your place I would have acted in the same manner.
From this moment I am no longer your prisoner, I am your advocate.’
After that he wrote a number of letters to Europe and America,
explaining the circumstances, and his family sent me many presents. My
prisoners were my guests, and they lived in comfort, walking about
freely in the mountains and shooting with my guns, for there is much
game in the jebala.”
The Sherif’s eloquence certainly hypnotized the American, for Mr.
Perdicaris wrote of his captor, “El Raisuli is a well-educated man in
every sense of the word. I go so far as to say that I do not regret
having been his prisoner for some time. I think that, had I been in his
place, I should have acted in the same way. He is not a bandit, not a
murderer, but a patriot forced into acts of brigandage to save his
native soil and his people from the yoke of tyranny.”
“While Perdicaris was shooting green plover and eating kous-kous in my
hills,” said Raisuli, “the American Government[29] sent seven men-of-war
to Tangier, and a battleship came also from England. The Sultan was
frightened lest he should lose his throne, but he dare not despatch an
army against me, for the life of the American was in my hands. One of
the messengers who came to me from Mulai Abdul Aziz was an aide-de-camp
famous for his cruelty. When he camped in any country he used to force
the villagers to pay him tribute, the half of what they had, or the
whole. If the money were not forthcoming quickly, he would have the
women of the house seized and dragged out into the road, and beaten
before all the village. If a man came to see him, riding a good horse,
he would say to him, ‘How much will you take for that horse? It pleases
me, and I would like to have it.’ The owner, frightened, would answer,
‘Of course I ask nothing; let my lord take it as a gift.’ The other
would protest. ‘No, no, I must pay you its price. Leave the horse here,
and I will send the money to your house. So the poor man would go away
without his horse, and with no chance of seeing his money.” Apparently
the stealing of a horse and the beating of women ranked in the Sherif’s
eyes as equal crimes.
“When the Sultan sent this man as a messenger to my camp, I said to him,
‘Through you I am going to be very rich.’ He answered, ‘Allah keep you,
Sherif, do you think I am so valuable to my master that he will pay to
get me back?’ ‘No, no, it is not with him that I shall treat, but with
the villages where your name is cursed. Do you not believe that the men
of such-and-such places will be glad to put your head upon their fences
and show your hands and feet to their women?’ ‘It is the will of Allah,’
he said, but I saw his cheeks trembling beneath the jaw.
“To make an end of the matter, I sent news to certain tribesmen that I
had some merchandise to sell them, and, when they came and saw what it
was, they paid me many douros, and I delivered the man to them. They cut
his throat skillfully, while I watched. After that, I think the Sultan
must have had difficulty in finding messengers, but his men were poor
and would do anything for money.
“I had no wish to lose Perdicaris—he had a good heart and much
understanding—but when Mulai Abdul Aziz agreed to my terms, for he was a
weak man and easily distressed, I sent him down from the mountains with
an escort and many gifts. Truly, a high price had been paid for him, and
at last I had vengeance on the Bey of Tangier, for, in addition to a
great ransom (70,000 dollars), my friends were released from prison to
make room for my enemies, and I became Governor of all the districts
round Tangier, in the place of Sidi Abderrahman, who had betrayed me. In
this last thing I was doubly justified, for all the country had
protested against the cruelty and wickedness of the Bey, and had desired
that I should rule in his stead. So at last I gained the power which I
had always wanted. Men think I care about money, but I tell you, it is
only useful in politics. A man of much money has many friends, and often
a man is judged by what he holds in his hand.”
[Illustration: Entry to Raisuli’s palace at Azeila. Prisons on left]
CHAPTER VIII
MORE POWER; GOVERNOR OF TANGIER
“When I became Governor of Tangier, there was much trouble in the
neighbourhood because of the rebellion of Bou Hamara, an ignorant man
who pretended that he was the elder brother of the Sultan, one Mulai
Mohamed, son of Mulai Hassan, who was dead. He had been a secretary in
the houses of the great at Meknes, and there he had seen letters from
the Sultan, and the great seal which was attached to State documents. By
some means he had a copy made of this seal, that he might use it to
provide himself with money. He was a good Moslem and had some skill at
writing, and there are always foolish people who will believe the first
thing that is told them without proof. So, in the country to the East,
between Fez and Taza, he declared himself Sultan, and the tribes joined
him, because the government of Mulai Abdul Aziz was bad. The Sultan sent
a force against him, but it was defeated, and so I thought it wise to
make peace with him.
“Many letters passed between us, and, had it been necessary, I would
have upheld his claim, for he had agreed that I should be Governor of
all the Northern tribes, and independent in my zone. For many years he
ruled like a Sultan, but at last (not until 1912) he was captured and
brought in a cage to the court of Mulai Hafid, who had succeeded his
brother. They hung him on a wall in the sun, and the Sultan and his
ministers shot at him, seeing how near they could place the bullets
without hitting him, but by mistake he was wounded many times. At night,
when he was tired of the game, Mulai Hafid ordered his prisoner to be
put in the lion’s cage, but the lions were well-fed and would not touch
him! In the morning, men came to the Sultan and said, ‘My lord the King,
Bou Hamara is still alive. At this moment he is saying his prayers.’ The
Sultan ordered that the lions should be given no food all the day, and,
because of this, they devoured one of the man’s arms; but, to make an
end of him, he was shot by the soldiers of the guard.
“However, when I came to Tangier, Bou Hamara’s influence was still
great, and no caravan was safe. Men travelled in armed parties for
protection, and made no fire in their camps at night. A lighted window
was a good mark for a bullet, and thieves robbed in the by-ways of
Tangier. I put an end to all this, and under my protection no caravan
was robbed. He who was with the Sherif could go through the hills and
the plains without a gun and with a bag of money in his hand. The great
men of the jebala joined me, and my money flowed in the villages. It is
easy to make money if you are a Governor. You do not understand our
justice, because you do not realize the minds of the Arabs. You think
you give them a great thing with your civilization. You see a man
toiling slowly along the road, his jellaba crooked on a stick to make a
little shade above his head, and you go to him and say, ‘Do not walk in
the dust in this way. It will take you days to reach Fez. Here is a
train which will take you there in a few hours.’ ‘The blessing of Allah
on you,’ he will say, ‘but I have my donkey.’ ‘No, leave your donkey,’
you urge. ‘Here is a motor that will carry you more quickly than the
train, or an aeroplane which will do the journey in forty minutes!’
‘Allah make you strong,’ he will answer, ‘but I am not in a hurry.’
“It is the same with our justice. A man comes to you and asks you the
name of the Pasha of the town, for he has a complaint to make. You tell
him to go to one of your officials. ‘No,’ he will reply, ‘that man is
not a Pasha. He does not kill nor take bribes, nor do his slaves stand
in the court to give lashes. Of what use is he?’ How can a man approve
what he does not understand? When robbers were brought to me, and their
crime was proved, there was a slave ready with the axe. With one stroke
he severed a man’s arm, and the stump was plunged in pitch. If the black
bungled his stroke, he got a beating and learned to steady his aim. Now,
you depend on the evidence of men who can be bought, instead of on the
law and your own knowledge.”
While Raisuli expounded his philosophy in this way, we had been standing
just outside the door of the visitors’ house, to make the most of the
cool evening wind. Suddenly the Sherif led the way inside. The white
veranda was shadowed by the short twilight. Raisuli shuffled forward,
and his heelless yellow slippers made no mark on the spotless pavement.
Our riding-boots, on the contrary, left dark patches wherever we trod.
The Sherif paused on the further threshold and pointed to the floor we
had crossed. “That is like Morocco,” he said. “You cannot see the tracks
of Islam, for it is of the country and suited to its needs, but you,
wherever you go, leave a mark, for your ways are not ours.”
I protested in favour of civilisation, pointing out its obvious
benefits. “You give a man safety,” countered Raisuli, “but you take away
hope. In the old days, everything was possible. There was no limit to
what a man might become. The slave might be a minister or a general, the
scribe a sultan. Now a man’s life is safe, but for ever he is chained to
his labour and his poverty.” “What of the doctors?” I asked, after a
silence prolonged by my reflections. “That is how Spain will conquer the
country,” said Raisuli. “Already our doctors go into the harems when the
women bear children: and there is a Sherif, a friend of mine, whose
sight has been restored by an operation after six years of
blindness.[30] Truly it is a greater miracle to give light than
darkness.”
The Sherif lowered himself ponderously on to the piled mattresses. “I
myself have had a tooth pulled out by one of your doctors. He would have
thrown it away, but my servants sprang forward and took it from him. It
was a very old tooth, so they were able to divide it among them and each
wear a little bit, to bring them the ‘baraka.’”
El Raisuli is surrounded by a group of the most devoted men, who are
more like disciples than servants. They hang upon his words and follow
him about like dogs, looking at him with the same half-puzzled, half-
hopeful expression, as a dog, when it does not understand what its
master is doing. Three of them taste every dish before el Raisuli eats
of it, and others sleep across the door of his chamber. They regard him
with a veneration that is most heterodox in Islam, since the worship of
saints is forbidden. No food that the Sherif has touched is thrown away,
for it is supposed to have acquired curative powers, and the
neighbouring villagers pay heavily for the privilege of eating a few dry
crusts or sucking the bones from which el Raisuli has taken the meat.
“For a long time I ruled in the district of Tangier,” said the Sherif,
gazing fixedly before him, “but the Europeans complained of my reign. I
had brought security and peace to the country, but they feared a little
blood spilt in the market-place or a few heads stuck on a wall. So the
politicians of Tangier wrote to the Sultan. Mulai Abdul Aziz, wishing to
please them, for he did not know which way to look for money, sent an
army against me, under Khad Ba Hamed Khergui.
“I was at my house in Beni Mesauer at that time, and Ba Hamed sent
messengers to me, saying, ‘We have arrived at such-and-such a place, and
I would have speech with you.’ I told him, ‘If you come here alone I
will receive you, and, on my head and my eyes, you shall be safe.’ So he
came in the evening, when it was neither light nor dark. ‘Greeting, O my
brother,’ he said, and I knew he had come to make terms.
“We ate the flesh of a sheep roasted, and then he said to me, ‘It would
be a pity if there were a battle between us, for we should both lose
many men.’ I agreed with him, and he continued, ‘How many of my men,
think you, you could kill in the mountains?’ And I answered, ‘Many
hundreds, for you would be as the blind fighting against those who can
see.’ He said, ‘And how many do you think, oh, my master, that we should
kill of yours?—for certainly few of your men would die.’ I told him,
‘Perhaps fifty, perhaps sixty, if there is much fighting.’ At last he
asked, ‘And how much is a man’s life worth to you, Sidi?’ Then I saw
what he intended, and the matter was arranged. I paid him the blood-
money, so much for each man, and he agreed not to advance beyond a
certain place. In this way there was peace.”
The period of which el Raisuli was speaking was one of the most troubled
in Moroccan history. It was the eve of European intervention, and the
Sultan, ruined and held a prisoner by his ministers, was powerless. The
tribes imagined that he had betrayed Islam and sold himself to the
foreigners. On every side the Maghsen showed itself incapable of
protecting the Europeans within its borders. A Frenchman, Monsieur
Charbonier, was murdered in Anjera, and two young Spaniards imprisoned
in Beni Uriagel. The crew of a Spanish boat (the _Joven Remedias_) was
seized by the tribesmen, off Cap Jubi. In Casablanca Christians were
assaulted and robbed. Finally, Azeila was sacked by the mountaineers.
El Raisuli wished to add Sahel to his governorate of Tangier, and
Mohamed Torres (Minister for Foreign Affairs) held out hopes that he
would obtain the outpost, if he would go to Azeila to put down the
insurrection there.
Mohamed Ben Abdul Khalak had been Governor of the town, but he had many
enemies on account of his extortions, so the Beni Aros who had property
near Azeila plotted to destroy him. “There were no rifles in the city,”
said the Sherif, “for Abdul Khalak was a wise man and knew the danger of
a careless shot; but two men of the Beni Aros, Berrian and Uidan,
arrived at the gates one morning, with donkeys laden with bundles of
straw. The guard let them pass, thinking they were farmers from the
neighbouring villages, but inside the straw were rifles. These were
hidden in the house of a friend, and, afterwards, the tribesmen entered
without arms, as if for the market. One by one, they went secretly to
the place of meeting, and, at night, when the signal was given, they
rushed to the house of Abdul Khalak and took him prisoner. Then the
townsmen joined them, with rejoicing, and the Kaid was kept in a
dungeon, while the Beni Aros ruled the town.
“Remembering this trick, I said to myself, ‘A bird once snared will be
so busy avoiding the same trap that it may well fall into another’; so I
sent many rifles to Azeila by boat. They were hidden under fishing-nets
and smuggled into the town by means of a rope let down over the wall.
Then my followers went in with empty hands, not all at once but by twos
and threes. The rifles were hidden in a mosque whose Imam was my
friends, and, after some of my men had established themselves in this
mosque, and others had taken possession of a house overlooking the gate,
they sent me word that they were ready. During the night they cut all
communications in the town and, in the morning, they opened the doors to
my troops. So was Azeila taken for a second time, and my promise to
Mohamed Torres fulfilled, for I had said to him, ‘my mehallas shall
capture the town and restore the rule of Abdul Khalak.’”
Simultaneously, however, the Corps Diplomatique sent a strong note to
the Sultan, protesting against the frightful corporal punishments
inflicted by el Raisuli, the excessive taxation he imposed, and his
insistence on administering his own form of justice to Europeans within
his jurisdiction. It is notable that the German Minister was, from the
first, opposed to this step. On every possible occasion he upheld the
authority of el Raisuli and assured him that his government considered
the Sherif justified in all his actions. However, the insistence of the
French Minister won the day. By the Pact of Algeciras it had been
arranged that French police should patrol the International Zone outside
Tangier, but Raisuli would not allow them in El Fahs. This was perhaps
the beginning of the friction which has always existed between France
and el Raisuli.
Mohamed Torres was obliged to cancel the proffered bribe of Sahel, and,
on December 11th, 1906, he announced that two mehallas were on their way
from Fez to re-establish the authority of the Pasha of Tangier and to
banish el Raisuli. The Sherif took refuge in Zinat. From there he defied
the European Powers, whose war-ships lay in the harbour waiting to
enforce the Pact of Algeciras, and the Sultan, whose troops arrived
early in January, prepared to act with more decision and vigour than
usual.
“I had a great house at Zinat,” said el Raisuli. “It was a fortress
built against the rocks, with many little windows from which men could
shoot. On the flat roof snipers could lie hidden behind the parapet and,
from the towers, a watchman might see the whole plain. The army of the
Maghsen had camped below us, but out of range, men dressed as soldiers,
yet not knowing how to handle a rifle. The artillery was on the left and
the cavalry guarded the flanks. It was a fine sight in the early
morning, when the bugle sounded the advance. You could pick out the
cloaks of the officers and the flags of the generals, Sidi Mohamed
Guebbas, the Minister of War, and Sidi Mulai Abselam el Amarani. It was
like a toy army as, without discipline, it moved forward, the companies
so close one to another that they could have been mown down by a maxim
like corn before the scythe. No answering bugle came from Zinat, but,
from every hill-top behind us, to the far-away ridges of Beni Mesauer, a
column of smoke arose from the fires of the tribesmen.
“When the army was quite near, so that the faces of the men were
apparent, I said to my followers, ‘Now pick out each of you a man, and
see that he dies.’ The rifles spoke from every loophole and each rock
hid a sniper, but nothing was visible from below, for we used powder
which has no smoke. The army replied with a crash of musketry, but there
was nothing to aim at. They fired at the rocks and the trees, but most
of the bullets went skyward. Then the artillery began. Zut!”
The Sherif banged one hand into the other with a rare gesture. “A shell
whirred over our heads, to kill a few birds—and another—and another—
“Only one hit the house all day, but we took toll of those below. There
were too many cowards in that army, who ran about shouting and firing,
making much noise lest their lack of courage be discovered. The horsemen
galloped wildly, as when we make entertainment for a guest. Plomb!
Plomb! The shells made holes all round, but never near us. There was
much movement, but nobody advanced. At first the women had implored me
to leave. ‘Fly and save yourself, for your life is important,’ they
prayed, and kissed my knees; but I told them, ‘Be assured that nothing
can hurt me, for I have the ‘baraka.’ It is true that I have never fled
from any place before the bullets of an enemy. Where I have been at the
moment, there I have stayed, whether before the shells of a cannon or
the bombs of an aeroplane.
“At the end of that day no harm had been done us, save that a village
had been burned round the flank of the mountain. The soldiers were so
busy looting that they had no time to advance, and, at last, a slave-
woman ran out and cursed them. ‘Aie! are you maidens preparing for
marriage, that you carry away mattresses and furniture? Certainly you
are not warriors, and no woman will be desolate because of your
triggers!’ She stood on a rock, with her haik thrown back, but no one
dared fire on her, for they thought her a witch. She called on my men to
follow her, and, though I had said to them, ‘Let no man show himself,
and hold your fire till you have chosen your enemy,’ they leaped from
the wall and rushed down the rocks, as many as I can count on my fingers
of both hands. At this moment the army retired, for the General had been
hit, and a mule carried him out of the battle, so that these few men
followed, shooting at the backs of hundreds!”
CHAPTER IX
PLOTTING AND COUNTER PLOTTING
“That night there was much business at Zinat. Far away in the plain the
army slept, but there was no sleep with us. In the darkness we slipped
away to the mountains, which are ever hospitable. No one was left in all
the village. The boys drove the flocks before them and the men guarded
them with their rifles ready, but not a stallion neighed, nor a dog
barked, and Allah made the night dark for us. The women carried children
at the breast and great bundles on their heads. Each man took what he
could lift, and piled the rest on mules, together with those who were
old and sick. In a few hours a great company passed out of reach of the
mehalla, but no sentinel gave the alarm and no patrol watched their
movements. When all were gone I stood on the rocks outside my house and
looked across the plain. My servants said to me, ‘My lord, they will
burn your house, and everything will be destroyed.’ I replied to them,
‘For every stone they throw down they shall build me a wall, and for all
that I lose they shall pay me. Have no doubt of these things.’
“Then he mounted our horses and rode up to the top of a hill, from where
we could watch the day’s events, but the rest of my people went on to
Beni Mesauer where they found a refuge with Zellal, of whom it is said,
‘His hand is open like a sieve and his wealth is a wadi which runs into
the purses of others.’
“The troops of the Maghsen had become swollen like barley after the
rain, for reinforcements had come from Tangier, but there was no hurry
to advance. There was a French gunner with the guns this day.[31] The
shells no longer flew wide. Very soon I saw roofs crumble and the walls
fly up like fountains, but I said nothing. That which is destructible is
doomed to be destroyed, but material is everywhere on the ground and,
for the Sherif, labour is but limited by the numbers of the population.
Truly, building a house is no great matter. The sun was full overhead
before the mehalla advanced. They came slowly, waveringly, as you see
birds go down to the water, uncertain if there is a snare. At the
distance where a man may shoot without aiming, they raised their rifles,
and the noise of their firing reached us far away where we sat behind
the rocks. Truly they must have killed every lizard and beetle in Zinat,
so much lead did they pour into the village, but there was no answer.
“Zinat waited silently for what was written. At last the troops charged,
but they were doubtful, each man wishing to keep behind his neighbour. I
know not how soon they discovered that the village was empty, but then
their courage was great. Shouting to each other triumphantly, they
attacked the furniture we had left behind, and in a minute the whole
army was turned into porters. If we had walked in among them, they would
have paid no attention to us. Running to and fro, staggering beneath
their burdens, we watched them, and then, suddenly, the houses burst
into fire. The flames rolled up to the skies, and nothing could be seen
but smoke. . . .”
Raisuli moved his huge body with an effort. “By Allah, a house is like
this flesh of mine, an encumbrance, and a man moves quicker who has no
possessions to guard. After the destruction of Zinat, no one could say
where I lived, for I could move quicker than the imagination of the
Maghsen. At times I would be two or three days in the saddle without
food, pausing only to pray or to drink a little water from the wadi,
and, at others, I would live like a Sultan, eating a young sheep at
every meal. We have a saying, ‘A man has no right to sleep on silk, till
he has walked barefoot.’
“After a while Zellal was obliged to make his peace with the Maghsen,
for he had relatives and much property in the towns, but, before this,
we made a covenant that he should give me warning of any new move on the
part of the Government. I had spies also in Tangier and Fez, who
reported everything to me. Then I went further into the mountains, till
I lived among the Ahmas tribe, who can never be defeated because their
country is like the walls of this room and their houses the eyries of
hawks. There is a story that they have a secret city so hidden that none
may ever see it. It is said that here is an old library, with many books
and marvellous parchments written in a strange language. Concerning this
I made many enquiries, but heard nothing certain. It may be that there
is something, for there are ulema among the Beni Aros who do not learn
their wisdom at the schools.
“The Sultan made many attempts to capture me, and the armies of el
Guebbas ate up the country till the people prayed against him in the
mosques. Now there was in the service of the Sultan an Englishman called
Maclean, a man of great courage and little learning. He was a friend of
mine, for he liked the Arabs and lived after our fashion. When Mulai
Aziz grew tired of trying to capture a man who was like a shadow
changing with the position of the sun, he ordered Maclean, who was an
instructor in his army, to write to me and arrange a meeting.”
Sir Henry Maclean, about whose life el Raisuli seemed to know very
little, was at that time, perhaps, the most picturesque figure in
Morocco. From one who was at the British Legation in Tangier for several
years, I understand that Sir Henry “started life as a subaltern in a
Highland regiment quartered at Gibraltar, but, finding it impossible to
make both ends meet in a crack regiment with but little private income,
he had resigned his commission and crossed over to Morocco, in the hope
of carving out a career for himself. Finding nothing to do in the coast
towns, he had made his way to Fez, at that time an almost unknown city,
as far as Europeans were concerned. After great difficulties he
succeeded in obtaining an audience with the Sultan, to whom he commented
in scathing tones on the state of the Moorish army, and guaranteed that,
if he were given the post of Instructor-in-Chief, he would convert it
into a disciplined force.
The Sultan, favourably impressed by the young Scotsman, gave him the
appointment and saw to it that he was given every chance to make good
his promise.”[32] At the time of which el Raisuli is speaking, Sir Henry
Maclean had held this post for over thirty years, and had completely won
the confidence, not only of the Sultan, but of many of the tribal
chiefs.
It appears that, when he confided to the British Legation his scheme for
the conciliation of the Sultan and the outlawed monarch of the
mountains, he was warned against attempting a personal interview with el
Raisuli. The Sherif told me much the same thing. “When el Maclean
visited me in the neighbourhood of Al Kasr, the place arranged for our
meeting, he related that his government was afraid of some treachery on
my part. I said to him, ‘A man with a clean heart need fear nobody.’ We
discussed the situation for many hours, and he wanted me to accompany
him to Fez, that he might arrange an interview with the Sultan, but I
remembered the darkness and the pain of Mogador, and I said, ‘A bird
does not fly into the same snare twice!’ Then he swore, ‘I will be
responsible for your safety,’ but I trust no man’s word, for my life has
made me suspicious. So I said to him, ‘Go back to Mulai Abdul Aziz and
say to him this and this. Then return quickly, but bring me a letter
from the Sultan, that I may have some surety.’ After this el Maclean
journeyed back to Fez and stayed there a short time. Then I received a
message from him, saying that all was well and that he would meet me at
a certain place, to which I must come with only a few men. He would not
trust himself in the farm where my mehalla was camped, so I thought to
myself, ‘Either he has been warned again by his Minister, or else there
is a snare being prepared for the rabbit, but how strange if the hunter
falls into his own trap!’
“I went to the place arranged, with but ten horsemen, and when el
Maclean joined me at the appointed time, he also had ten followers, so
our forces were equal. Did I not tell you the ‘baraka’ was with me? Now
listen what happened. At Fez the Sultan had written two letters. One was
for me, and in it he called me his friend and said there should be peace
between us. He appointed me a Governor and promised that all my property
should be restored. He assured me that he had given orders for all his
forces to retire, so that I might move freely where I chose. The other
letter was addressed to el Guebbas, his Minister of War, and in it was
written that, in answer to the prayers of Maclean, the Sultan had
decided to pardon el Raisuli and had promised that he should be invested
with the powers of a Governor, as soon as he made his submission. El
Guebbas was to retire with all his army from the territory of the
Sherif, but, at the end, it was written that the General must in all
ways acquire the confidence of el Raisuli, so that when he came down
from the mountains it would be easy to seize him by stealth and imprison
him. ‘Make all necessary concessions,’ wrote Mulai Abdul Aziz, ‘so that
when a suitable moment arrives he will suspect nothing.’
“Now the ‘baraka’ has been very powerful in our family since the time of
Sidi Abd es Salaam, to whose tomb on Jebel Alan all young men who are
bridegrooms turn and make a salutation, saying, ‘I am under the
protection of Allah and of thee, oh, blessed Abd es Salaam.’ Our
ancestor was so humble that he would not allow a Qubba to be erected
over his grave, saying, ‘The place where I am buried shall be flat like
the earth around, for I am of no greater value than the earth.’ Many
great Sherifs who were his descendants wished to build a mosque over his
tomb, as would be fitted for so holy a man, but always it was said that
the special blessing would depart from our family if the wish of Sidi es
Salaam were set aside. So no Qubba has been built, and his protection is
ever with us.
“It happened, therefore, that the wits of the scribes who copied the
Sultan’s letters were muddled, and when Mulai Abdul Aziz had signed them
and affixed the great seal of the Empire, his secretaries put the
letters into the wrong envelopes and gave them into the hands of
Maclean, unwitting of what they had done. It happened that when the
Englishman came to me and found me seated on a carpet before my tent,
for the heat of the day was past, he saluted me and said, ‘I
congratulate you, O, Sherif, for all is arranged with the Sultan. There
will be peace between you. You are to be reinstated as Governor, and el
Guebbas is, from this moment, at your orders.’
“Then he handed me the letter from Mulai Abdul Aziz, and I read it three
times, for it was the missive intended for the Minister of War, and I
saw at once the trick that it was intended to play upon me. Maclean,
seeing me hesitate and being able to read nothing in my face, asked me,
‘Of what are you thinking?’ ‘That I am grateful to the Sultan for his
pardon,’ I answered; but my thoughts were troubled, for Maclean had with
him as many men as I had, so I could not seize him by force, for perhaps
some of my men would have been killed and he would have escaped. I said
to him, ‘Will you come into my tent and rest, while my men prepare for
the march?’ ‘Where are you going to?’ asked Maclean. ‘I must go down to
the army of el Guebbas to acquaint him with the news. I had a letter for
him also, which I sent by a messenger.’ ‘I will write a reply to the
Sultan,’ I said, ‘but first I must consult my brother, who is ill and
could not come to meet you.’ ‘Where is he?’ asked el Maclean, who did
not wish to leave me until he was sure of my intentions. ‘He is only a
little way from here, in a farm. I will send him a message to say that I
am coming.’
[Illustration: Raisuli (centre) (Signature) “Ahmed el Raisuli. God be
with him”]
“Then I left the Englishman in my tent and I called a mountaineer who
was swift of foot and sure, and I told him, ‘Go quickly to the place
where my mehalla is camped and tell them to make ready for a long march.
Let them be prepared to start as soon as I join them.’ He went, running
like a fox, and I returned to Maclean. ‘Shall I ride with you?’ he
asked. ‘As you like.’ ‘Yes, it is better that I ride with you. Then I
can take your answer to el Guebbas.’ ‘Let us ride, then,’ I said; and we
mounted.
“Now at that time I thought he was a traitor, and knew the intentions of
the Sultan, and I said to myself, ‘So the strange thing has happened—who
would have thought it?—and the hunter has fallen into the snare he made
for his prey!’ But it displeased me to ride with him in this way, as if
he were my guest. I would have liked to have tied his arms together and
bound them to my stirrup and made him run thus, but his men were still
with him, and we were not yet in my country.
“We rode in silence, for I was thinking of the future, and I took him by
roundabout ways so that the mehalla might have time to prepare. At last
he said to me, ‘Where is the farm of your brother?’ ‘We draw near to
it.’ ‘When shall we arrive?’ ‘Soon,’ I answered, and pressed my horse,
for I saw the grove behind which were encamped my troops.
“‘What is this? What have you done?’ cried Maclean when we rode into the
middle of the camp and he saw the force ready to march, the tents packed
and each man prepared with his rifle. ‘Here is your answer,’ I said, and
read him the letter of Mulai Abdul Aziz.
“El Maclean listened without speaking. Then he protested, ‘I too have
been tricked. I knew nothing of this.’ With great sincerity he repeated
that he had believed the words of Mulai Abdul Aziz. ‘In any case you are
justified,’ he said. ‘I am your prisoner. I will go with you wherever
you like.’ So we left that place and went up into the mountains of
Ahmas, and I treated the Englishman as a guest.
“The Sultan was very angry that his plans should have been discovered,
for the word of Moslem to Moslem is not lightly betrayed, so he wrote
the Kaid of the district where I camped, saying to him, ‘Take all the
armies that you will. Take all the money that is in my treasury. The
country shall be under your orders, but capture el Raisuli alive or
dead.’ Now the Kaid was my cousin, Mulai Sadiq er Raisuli, but he had
always been with the Government and I had never seen him. There are many
Sherifs Raisuli in the country and all of them have much influence.
Mulai wrote to the Sultan and said, ‘I shall need 1,000 horses and 4,000
men to capture Mulai Ahmed in these mountains,’ and the Sultan replied,
‘I will send double that number.’
“Two mehallas came from Fez and one was under the command of my cousin
and the other under the uncle of Mulai Abdul Aziz. At that time I was at
the Zawia of Sidi Jusuf el Teledi, and with me were fifteen men and
Maclean. How can a handful of men fight an army? The tribesman came to
me for my advice, and I said to them, ‘Do not waste your ammunition,
when the earth is full of it,’ and I showed them the great stones of the
mountains.
“There are few ways by which a man may climb into the Ahmas, and all
night the mountaineers worked to loosen the rocks above them. In the
morning, when the mehalla advanced, it was as if the mountain resented
their presence, for whole cliffs fell upon them and many were killed. I
sat on a boulder across the wadi, and, with a few followers, watched the
rout. My jellaba was white and very clear against the hillside and, when
the troops saw me, they said, ‘That is el Raisuli. He has bewitched the
mountain, but he shall not leave it,’ and they fired at me many times.
My companions cried out, ‘Hide yourself, Sidi—behind these rocks you
will be safe, and you can still watch what is happening with comfort.’
But I answered them, ‘Go and take refuge in a safe place, but there is
no danger for me.’ I stood up at the edge of the rocks, and the spent
bullets, which had not been able to pierce my body, fell out of my
clothes and rattled on the ground. When they saw this the people were
afraid, for they knew it was a miracle. It was told throughout the
country and added to the consternation of our enemies.”
In this way el Raisuli encouraged the superstitious reverence of his
people, but, though the trick of the spent bullets was repeated on
several occasions, the Sherif is not, and never has been, a charlatan.
Convinced that he has the ‘baraka’ and that no man can avert the fate
which is ordained for him, he risks his life and his position with the
same calmness that an inveterate gambler backs his luck when he feels
that it is in. El Raisuli is superlatively ambitious, and astute enough
to realise that the smallest details are often important factors in
success or failure. Thus he makes use of every artifice to strengthen
the position which has been won as much by mental as physical audacity,
aided, of course, by an environment unique in this century.
“When it was known that the mehalla of my cousin, Mulai Sadiq, was
defeated, terror spread through the army on the other side of the
mountain,” continued the Sherif. “In vain the Sultan’s uncle encouraged
the troops. They asked, ‘How can we fight against a man whom even the
mountains help?’ But my followers were afraid, for they said, ‘We have
defeated one army by a trick, but another will not be vanquished in the
same way.’ I said to them, ‘Put your faith in Allah, for has he not
saved us in the past? I tell you again that no harm will happen to you.’
“Before there was time for any other battle, there came messengers from
Fez, telling that the Christians (the French) had landed in Casablanca,
and were ordering the immediate return of the mehalla. Thus my people
realised that I had spoken the truth. Scarcely had the Sultan’s troops
returned to Fez when men came swiftly from Xauen with the news that my
cousin had taken refuge there after the defeat of the army. The
Ashraf[33] and Sheikhs of the town begged that I would bring an army to
their rescue, for the tribe of Ahmas, within whose borders they are, had
sworn to burn every house and level the walls to the ground. They said,
‘Your cousin, our master, sits all day on his roof, firing shots from
his rifle, but we have not enough weapons to defend the town.’ So I left
Maclean with a strong guard and went down from Jusuf el Teledi.
“I took no mehalla with me, but travelled quickly with a few servants,
and the tribesmen joined me on the way, so that, when I reached Xauen, I
had hundreds at my back. All the people came out to meet me, and the
women made their quivering noise as they do for a wedding or the birth
of a son. I could hardly pass through the streets, the crowd was so
great, and men flung themselves before me so as to kiss my robes as I
passed. When I reached the house of the Pasha, the musicians were
playing and all the people rejoicing, for they had been saved from the
slaughter promised by the Ahmas.
“I asked, ‘Where is my cousin?’ They said, ‘He is still in his house.’
So I sent a messenger to him, asking, ‘Why do you not come to bid me
welcome, for you are of my family?’ and he replied by some of his
slaves, ‘I would not come with all the people, for I am older than you,
and it is not good that a greybeard should disturb itself for youth, but
if you will receive me alone, I will come to you at midnight, when the
town is quiet.’ I answered, ‘My house is yours, and you are welcome at
any hour.’ So he came when it was dark, and I made him sit in the place
of honour. Then I said to him, ‘It was you who commanded the army
against me?’ ‘That is the truth. I was the servant of the Government,
and it was my duty to obey the orders of my master, the Sultan.’ ‘It was
you who would have taken me a prisoner, so that I should have died in
some foul dungeon?’ ‘Yes, it was my intention to take you by the neck
and put chains upon you and carry you to Fez, but this was not permitted
by the goodness of Allah.’ ‘Now that you are here with me, in my power,
do you acknowledge that you are beaten?’ ‘Yes. Allah has so willed it.
Your foot is on my neck.’ ‘Then there shall be peace between us, for it
is not good that there be war among the members of one family.’ ‘As you
will.’ ‘I will make you my Khalifa here and you shall govern for me.’
‘By Allah, I will not stay here, for, seeing me defeated and humiliated,
the people of this town have behaved badly to me and have been unwilling
even to salute me in the street.’
“Upon hearing this I called in the great men of the town and said to
them, ‘Do you know this man?’ Seeing my cousin seated on my right in the
place of honour, they were afraid and began protesting, ‘We know him
well. He is our Faqih, our dear Kaid and your honoured cousin.’ ‘You
lie,’ cried Mulai Sadiq in great anger. ‘Because you see me prosperous,
you think to wash out all your faults and negligences!’ but I
interrupted him. ‘In future, their lives are in your hands, for you will
be their Governor on my behalf,’ and so it was arranged.” From that
moment, apparently, the cousins have been the closest allies, and Mulai
Sadiq has held many important posts in the Governorates of the Sherif.
“Maclean was my prisoner for many months,” continued el Raisuli. “It was
spring when he came with me to the mountains, but it was winter when he
left. Your Government was slow to pay, and there was no money in the
treasury of the Sultan. It was a long way to Tetuan and few dared act as
messengers. Maclean was my friend and, to begin with, we hunted together
and I sent to the city for those curious pipes like cushions full of
air, which his people play. They make more noise than our music, and
even the blacks cannot sing against them.
“There was much writing between the Government and myself, and each
tried to trick the other. I said I would send them the head of Maclean,
which I could not do because he had come with me willingly, as my guest.
They threatened to send British troops to rescue him. Allah! but it is a
long way to Jebel Ahmas, so neither of us believed the other. I was
tired of war and I wanted to rebuild my houses which had been destroyed,
so I demanded in ransom for Maclean the protection of England and
twenty-five thousand of your pounds. It was a small sum for a great
nation to pay, for it is known that your wealth cannot be counted, but
there were many difficulties, and Maclean would not help me. After a
while we were no longer friends about this matter, thinking the same
thoughts, and I said to him, ‘You know the ways of your Government.
Write now a letter that will move them.’ But he refused, so I said, ‘By
Allah, it shall be written before you sleep.’ Then he was angry and left
me, so I sent for the drummers, who beat on great instruments of hide,
and stationed them outside his door and ordered them to play.
“All that night and the next day they made a great noise, and then I
sent for Maclean and said to him, ‘Without sleep a man can do nothing,
and it is not easy to sleep beside that music.’ He was wild in his
speech and said, ‘Kill me! and let us have done with this trickery.’ But
I answered, ‘It is not the custom of Arabs to kill a guest. Your life is
safe. Go back and think whether you will write again to your
government.’ All night the drums continued, and in the morning I sent
men to talk to Maclean, but he would not answer them. His head drooped
before them and his eyes were red. I was afraid even the drums would not
keep him awake, so I added to the musicians, men who clashed the
cymbals, and instructed them to make much noise. Truly I disliked it
myself, so I went away to avoid it. The third day Maclean said to me,
‘My head bursts. I hear nothing,’ but by his eyes I knew he lied, and
all his muscles twitched as you see those of a hare when its leg is
broken.
“It was a good idea, that of the drums, for a host is obliged to provide
music and entertainment for his guest and, at the same time, no man can
bear so great a noise and sleep. I left the affair in the hands of a
Wakil[34] whose invention was very great. He proved himself a master of
noise, till all the men in the house held their ears and ran. After five
days Maclean gave in, as he might have done before, for what harm was
there in writing a letter?—but he was obstinate, like all men of great
courage. A slave brought him paper and ink, but, when the drums stopped,
he looked round as if he saw jinns, and his head fell forward on the
couch, and he slept. The Wakil shook him by the shoulders, even lifted
him up on to his feet, but without effect. So I let him sleep, because
he was my guest.
“When he woke, after many hours, he wrote the letter, and perhaps he
told about the drums, for the Government offered a great sum, which I
agreed to accept, but there was not so much money in any treasury of
Mulai Abdul Aziz and there was no one who dared bring it to me. The
Sultan paid £10,000 to the English Minister at Tangier, and said, ‘Treat
with Mulai Ahmed and make him accept the rest in instalments.’
“I would not leave the mountains, for fear of a trap, so still
messengers came and went. At last Harris, the Englishman of whom I
spoke, and another whose name I have forgotten, but he was a friend of
el Menebbhe’s, came out to meet me, at a village near Tangier. I had
several thousand men with me and the whole country was guarded. Not even
a mehalla of the Sultan could have done me any harm. We had a conference
and many things were explained. It was agreed that, in future, the
Sultan should have no authority over me and that I should be under the
protection of your Government. It was arranged also that the money
should be handed over at night, in the house of the English Consul at
Tangier, in exchange for Maclean, whom the Sherif of Wazzan went to
fetch. Had it been an Arab who made the suggestion I would not have
accepted it, for always I shall remember that other time when I went
down to Tangier believing in the word of a friend. But in this manner
the affair was settled.”
The Sherif seemed to be meditating on some subject. At last he spoke,
looking at me directly. “My prisoners have always been my friends,” he
said. “I did not take them for any grudge against themselves, but
because it was necessary that I should have some hostage to treat with
the Governments who abused my people. I made them my advocates, and it
was as if el Raisuli was at the mercy of his prisoners, saying to them,
‘Explain this thing, for I am in your hands, and you are my only means
of reaching the ears of the Maghsen and attaining the justice of my
desires.’”
CHAPTER X
DEALINGS WITH MULAI HAFID
After the successful termination of this episode, el Raisuli could have
lived in peace and waxed rich and prosperous, without fear of
retribution, for it would have been difficult to have haled so peculiar
a type of British subject before the tribunal at Tangier; but, by this
time, the Sherif had learned much of European politics. He understood
that foreign Powers would soon intervene in Morocco, and the blend of
religious fervour and ambition in his nature crystallised into a
somewhat egotistic form of patriotism.
“All my life I have fought for the freedom of my people,” said the
Sherif, “and I had no hairs on my face when I first took up a gun on
their behalf. He who has shaped men cannot be content with building
houses out of dead bricks and plaster. I went to Azeila and brought my
family there, for I had the intention of constructing a great kasbah,
but news came to me that Mulai Hafid had proclaimed himself Sultan at
Marakesh. His brother, Abdul Aziz, had treated me very badly and he had
no consideration for the country under his rule. He spent all his money
on toys unfit for a king—he had a machine to take pictures, like
yours[35] but made of gold and set with jewels. The palace was full of
his playthings, and each one of them was worth the pay of a regiment. He
had carriages which he could not drive because there were no roads, and
all sorts of foolish things, of which perhaps his lions were the most
useful, for he fed them on his prisoners!” The Sherif actually smiled at
his joke.
“He was so much in the hands of his Ministers that, even when Bou Hamara
was at the walls of Fez, he did not know there was a rebellion. Mohamed
Torres was talking to him one day, and he happened to mention the
pretender. ‘Who is he?’ said Abdul Aziz. ‘I have not heard of him.’
Allah Mulai Hafid could not be deceived so easily! The Ministers kept
everything from the Sultan, and, since one man may rule a country, but
not many, it was written that he should fall.
“At that time we all thought Mulai Hafid, his brother, was a good Moslem
and sincere, so I wrote to him saying that I would proclaim him as
Sultan among the tribes, and he agreed, sending me the act of
proclamation and ordering me to pitch my camp at Akbar el Hamara in the
centre of the country. El Menebbhe was with me there, and we sent
messengers to all the headmen, telling them of the new Sultan, who had
now reached Fez. It was necessary that a deputation from each tribe
should travel to the capital to make an oath before the Commander of the
Faithful, so I gathered together ninety men, representatives of all the
Jebala, and, with my cousin, Mulai Sadiq, we proceeded to Fez. Mulai
Hafid received us with great honour, and we were lodged in the house of
Mohamed Tazi in Abba Zarqui. It was a palace capable of sheltering all
the ninety, and the Sultan spent 200 duros[36] a day for our food alone.
“I stayed there four months and three days, for there were many
difficulties. I did not want to give up the protection of the English,
but Mulai Hafid refused me a post in his Maghsen as long as I was a
British subject. There was also the question of the ransom of Maclean,
for only a third of it had been paid. The rest was owing in instalments,
spread over two or three years.
“I had many meetings with Mulai Hafid, and I found him well educated and
worthy of respect. Often I was alone with him in a part of the palace
called Bab el Deaf. There was a Qubba lined with coloured glass and very
splendidly furnished with carpets and mirrors. Here we sat and talked
while slaves kept the door, and I did not know that, from the beginning,
Mulai Hafid was in the hands of the French, who supplied him with arms
and money. I thought that he was loyal and would save his country which
he saw threatened, for he was a man of pleasant speech and the twist in
his tongue was not visible. He gave me many presents of silks, guns,
carpets and furniture, and a horse that no man had yet been able to
mount. Allah, it was killed under me in battle! So there was much talk
and much discussion, and it seemed there was no ending to the matter.
“The tribes were anxious for my return, for my country is always
desirous of war, and it is only my influence which holds it quiet.” He
made a gesture of flattening something with both hands. “At last I
agreed to renounce the protection of your Government and also the money
which was due to me as the ransom of Maclean. I signed a paper to this
effect, and in return the Sultan appointed me Governor of Azeila and of
all the tribes in the district—the Wadi Ras and the Beni Mesauer, Beni
Ider, Beni Leit and the Anjera, the Garbis, Dedrus, Sumata, Beni Isef,
Sahel, the Kholot, who were always rebellious under my enemy the Kaid
Ermiki, Ahel Serif and Beni Gorfet.
“Then, when all these matters were arranged, Mulai Hafid sent a message
to me, saying, ‘I would speak with you alone.’ I thought it was finished
between us, and my men were making preparations for departure. When they
saw the slave whispering in my ear, they said, ‘Allah knows if we shall
leave this place before we die,’ but I went swiftly to the palace. It
was the hour of noon, when no man receives a guest, but I was led
straight to the private apartments of the Sultan and the doors were
closed behind me. Mulai Hafid was sitting on a sofa, with his feet
crossed under him, and he beckoned me to sit beside him, by which I saw
the matter was one of friendship.
“He was troubled, and I thought I saw his thoughts for the first time.
He spoke to me then about the Europeans and his fear that they would
take the country. ‘I feel myself weak before them, and I need your
friendship,’ he said; and I swore to him that I would render him any
service at any time, but he was not satisfied. His mind was undecided
like that of his brother, and he spoke of the future, when all would be
taken from him. ‘My officials are like a flock of starlings fattening on
the land,’ he said, ‘but if the Europeans come they will be like
vultures, and it will be our bodies, not our lands, they will eat.’
“Then he got up and, making sure that we were alone, he brought the
Koran from its case and unwrapped it before me. ‘Swear to me an oath’;
he said, and laid the book between us. I answered, ‘An oath is not
necessary, for my word is well known in the country. Many have broken
faith with me, but my word is my manhood and my weapon. It is
inviolable.’ Still he urged me, ‘In the name of Allah, swear to me that,
till the day of your death, you will be with me for the defence of this
country against the Christians.’ ‘Swear it with me,’ I said, and we
kissed the Book and vowed never to cease from protecting the Moslem land
and the Moslem peoples.
“That oath I have kept, and lost all things by doing it, except my
honour, but Mulai Hafid was already leaning towards the French, and, in
the end, he gave way to them altogether. So he broke faith with Islam,
but not with me, for we swore that neither would deceive the other and
that, whatever the one asked, the other would do. This oath was always
kept, and, for the sake of it, at the bidding of Mulai Hafid, I released
my greatest enemy when he was my prisoner; but that was later.
“So I left Fez in peace, and the Sultan provided me with a mehalla,
furnishing it with arms and equipment and providing the pay of the men,
but the act appointing me Governor was not yet in my hands. Mulai Hafid
said to me, ‘I require 300,000 douros from the tribes, for my treasury
is empty.’ So I went back to Akbar el Hamara and told the mountaineers
what was required of them. Many of them refused to pay this tribute, and
there was war. Beni Ider and Beni Gorfet in Gebel Habib were strongest
against me, for the Sheikh of the latter was a great warrior and a
descendant of Khad Reilan, who fought the English in Tangier. Mulai
Hafid had given me artillery and ammunition so, in spite of the courage
of the tribesmen, I conquered them and made them pay the money the
Sultan demanded, and 300 douros extra for each day they had fought
against me.
“This was not among the hardest of my campaigns, but, at one time, the
three tribes of Anjera, Wadi Ras and Beni Mesauer rose against me, and
they came unexpectedly around the mountain where I was camped. There
were 5,000 men below me—” “Allah knows it,” interrupted the Kaid, lying
on a mattress behind his master, who was enthroned in the mighty chair;
“but it was like sparrows attacking the eagle which flies far above
them.” “With me, were el Menebbhe and perhaps 300 others,” said Raisuli.
“It was the dawn when we began to fight, and we lay hidden behind the
boulders and fired till our rifles grew so hot that we had to put them
into buckets of oil. Mubarak and Ghabah knelt one on each side of me,
loading, till our fingers stiffened on the triggers. But the men of Beni
Mesauer, Beni Aros and Anjera could not climb the mountain against the
rain of our bullets. All day we fought and, at last, when the sun was
low, I stood up on the rocks and picked out men like the hunter shoots
hares, but none could touch me. In all my battles I have never been
wounded. Then the tribesmen said: ‘It is enough! We have finished,’ but
I shouted to them, ‘By Allah, it is not! You have visited me, and your
greetings are buried in the flesh of my men. Be sure that I will return
your visit!’
“It was then night, but the next day, before the barrels of our rifles
had cooled, I led a force against the Anjera and burned their lands.
They had thought, ‘He must be tired after the fight, so we shall have
some days to rest,’ and, when they saw my army, they said, ‘We are lost,
for Allah has strengthened him against us.’ The next day I went against
Wadi Ras with another troop and defeated them, forcing them to pay
tribute, so much for me, and so much for the family of each of my men
who had been killed. Then I would have proceeded against Beni Mesauer,
but they sent messengers to me, suing for peace. I was sitting under the
trees at the edge of my camp when they came, and a red carpet was spread
beside me, for I was about to pray. Then I said, ‘Let them take off
their shoes before entering my camp, for this ground is my house and
worthy of their respect!’ They came and stood before me, with their eyes
downcast, as women in the presence of their master, and I granted their
requests because Beni Mesauer is of my kin through my mother, and
besides, it is not permitted that an Arab refuse a petition.
“By these means I collected the money that the Sultan had demanded, so
much from each tribe, and it was Mulai Sadiq who had charge of it to
send it to Fez. Mulai Hafid was glad when he received it, for there were
many who continued to eat his substance, and he sent to me his first
Minister. ‘I bring you greater wealth than you have collected for my
master,’ he said, and gave me the letter proclaiming me Governor of
Azeila and the tribes of which I told you. The Kaid, Ermiki, one of my
worst enemies, for he was chief of the Kholot tribe, was then Pasha of
Azeila. Ullah, he had paid 120,000 douros to the Sultan for this post,
and I do not know how much more to the Ministers, that his petition
might be favourably received. He had not yet made this sum out of the
province he oppressed, so that which had been rivalry between us became,
on his side, hatred.
“I stayed three months at Al Kasr, after which I left my cousin, Mulai
Sadiq, there as Kaid and went to Azeila. Sidi Badr ed Din was also with
me at Al Kasr. Do you remember?” “Ullah, do I not, since it was there
you gave me such a beating!” Old Mulai Sadiq chuckled. “Tell the story,
oh, full moon!” he urged.
“It was not my fault, but the fault of another,” began the secretary,
showing very white teeth in an unlined face. “It was a question of some
letters which the Sherif had received from the Maghsen. They were
private and very important. No one must see them, yet the Sherif had put
them down somewhere, and it was now midnight.” “It was your duty to look
after these things,” interposed Raisuli. “True, Sidi, but, after all, it
was someone else who had moved them. When they could not be found, the
Sherif was so angry that he beat me with his fists and afterwards with
his slippers. Ullah, my master can be energetic! I ran down the stairs
into the street, and he rushed after me and threw stones at me, calling
me a dog! He came so swiftly that you would have thought it was a
gazelle which was behind me.” The idea of the huge bulk of the Sherif
ever having the slightest resemblance to a gazelle was amusing, and
Mulai Sadiq shrieked with laughter.
[Illustration: Mulai Sadiq in his home at Tetuan]
[Illustration: Nephew of El Raisuli, Mulai Ali er Raisuli, Governor of
Beni Aras, and Mohammed el Khalid er Raisuli, eldest son of Raisuli]
“Would you believe it?” he said. “It was thus I found them running
through the streets of Al Kasr, at one in the morning, and the Sherif
had not even waited for his slippers. I said to them, ‘Are you mad? Have
the jinns got hold of you and taken possession of your senses? What will
the people think, that a Sherif should behave thus?” Raisuli’s smile
grew broader. “He abused us like a father,” he said; “but he forgot that
he himself was shouting louder than we were. It is good for a man to be
angry sometimes.” “Allah grant that it is not I who am in the way when
next you are angry, Sidi,” said Badr ed Din piously. But it is quite
obvious that all Raisuli’s household regard him with little less than
adoration, and would not care what he did to them.
CHAPTER XI
BUILDING THE PALACE AT AZEILA
“When I came to Azeila,” said the Sherif, “I found there had been much
injustice, and where there is no justice, there is no security. I made
peace between the tribes and brought safety to the town. As when I was
Governor of el Fahs, merchandise could be left unguarded and no man
needed a gun. When there was a rebellion among the tribes I put it down
with a strong hand—for if you have a sore which is poisonous, it is
better to cut it out at once, rather than to make a great many slashes
which are useless. My name was protection enough for any traveller, and
once again the suqs were full. At this time I tried to turn my enemies
into my friends, for I saw that politics would be difficult in the
future and that Moslems must stand together.
“The worst quality of the Moors is that they cannot look ahead. Every
man and woman in England, perhaps even the children, know that France
works for a great African Empire which shall reach from Casablanca to
Alexandria, but the Arab is like a child who has seen a peseta fall in
the dust, and is so busy digging for it that he can think of nothing
else. France is a strong nation, but she will not share the land, except
as a farmer who drives his mules shares with them the value of the grain
they thresh.” “She has done much for Morocco,” I protested. “The
material and the labour are Arab. Only the head is French. She has spent
no money on the country and taken much out of it; but that is the way of
the strong. It is possible that our sons may bless her, but, as I tell
you, no Arab looks beyond his own life. The civilization that you bring
is like your wine, which goes to men’s heads and makes them foolish. You
cannot make good Europeans out of us, but you can make bad Arabs.
“While I was Governor of Azeila I knew what was passing in Europe. I had
men in Tangier who translated the foreign newspapers for me and sent me
those paragraphs which concerned Morocco. There were others of my people
in the post-offices and the markets, and all that was said came to my
ears. The more I heard, the more I laboured to win the friendship of the
educated, that I might teach them my views. At that time I was blind to
treachery, and many sat beside me and ate my meat whose heads should
rightly have been upon my gates. I said to myself, ‘If you can take the
poison from a man’s heart he may be useful and pleasant,’ so to that
end, my house was open to all men and none were denied.
“I began building my great palace by the sea, for there was no room to
receive my guests in the little house where all my family were living.
Because I wanted it done quickly, I said to all the country people,
‘Bring me material, so much for each man.’ All day they came in from the
plain, bringing stones and bricks baked in the sun. Even the women
carried their loads. Perhaps they hated me, but, doubtless, they
thought, ‘Our Pasha must be very rich and mighty. He will be strong to
protect us.’ They called my house ‘The House of Tears,’ because it had
been built with forced labour, but it was very beautiful and, within a
year, it was nearly finished. There was a great court, with a fountain
which came from Italy. The floor was black and white marble, and the
walls were decorated with mosaic. All day long men used to sit in a row
by the door, with a basket of tiles beside them. The sound of their
hammers was like music, and always, as they chipped, the heap of
coloured fragments grew. There were other men who made the designs and
wrote verses from the Koran in white clay round the walls, and others
who painted the ceilings in bright colours, red and blue and that vivid
yellow which is made from the yolk of an egg.
“There were many rooms in my house, for always my Wakils said to the
country people, ‘Bring more and more stones, and the taxes shall be
remitted to you, and my lord will consider this better than any presents
of sheep and grain that you may give him.’ There was a gallery with a
number of arches, from which I could look out on to the sea, and, on
clear days, I could see Cape Spartel, and the air was good for my
health, like the air of the mountains, for I cannot breathe in towns.”
For once the Sherif’s descriptions were hardly adequate, for his palace
at Azeila is a fine example of modern Moorish architecture. The main
block, which is quadrangular, is approached by a covered way, on one
side of which are a row of prisons and, on the other, a long seat for
the general public who wish to have a speech with the Sherif. This
passage leads into a courtyard, with the house on one side and the
audience-chamber, where, as Governor, Raisuli conducted his tribunals,
on the other. There was a mosque just inside the main door, but, when I
saw the palace, this had been dismantled and was used as a store for
rows of mighty saddles covered with red and green stuff, richly
embroidered with silver. There is a stair-case at each corner of the
court, and, on the first floor, the great rooms, marble-paved, with
gorgeous ceilings and painted walls, run one into another. The furniture
consists of modern carpets, chiefly the work of Rabat looms, with
mattresses covered in gay prints and the cushions peculiar to Arab
houses, which always seem to be stuffed with small potatoes. At present
Raisuli’s nephews, Mulai Ali, Governor of Beni Aros, and Mulai Mustapha,
are living in the palace, and the walls of their rooms are hung with the
newest maps of Morocco, in strange contrast to the riot of colour on the
floor.
Wherever we went in the great house, it seemed that we followed in the
footsteps of invisible women, who fled, whispering, before us, hurried
away by their master’s Khalifa from the contamination of European eyes.
Once or twice we almost caught up with them, and dark-skinned slave-
girls, purposely the last of the scuttling throng, hid behind columns
and peeped at us in a swirl of rose-red kaftans and muslin draperies.
The long gallery has a glazed-in front and, from it, we looked down the
90-ft. drop, over which it is said the Sherif forced the murderers,
taken red-handed, to walk to instantaneous death upon the rocks. It is
also said that one of them turned, unflinching to his judge and
exclaimed, “Thy justice is great, Sidi, but these stones are more
merciful than thou!” At one end of the cliff, half natural, half
masonry, a bastion runs out to the sea, and on the top of it is an
ancient cannon blest for all time, according to the devout Azeila,
because the Sherif once sat upon it and, his beads in his hand, prayed
from dawn till high noon.
“While I was Governor of Azeila,” said the Sherif, “there was no one
hungry in the town. I gave bread and oil to anyone who asked for it, and
in the court of my house there was always a bin full of loaves and jars
brimming with oil from my olives. Men complained that I was severe, but
never that I was unjust. It is sometimes wise to spend the lives of a
few in order to buy the safety of many. The Arab has a short memory. He
forgets his own troubles in a few days, and other people’s at once. You
think, if you imprison a man, it will stop others committing his crime.
I tell you, the reason of a man’s absence is never remembered, but the
presence of his head on the gate is a constant reminder!
“Even in those days the gun was not long out of my hand, for suddenly my
cousin, Mulai Sadiq, whom I had appointed Kaid of Al Kasr, wrote to me
that Ermiki had gathered together the tribes of Kholot and Telig, and
was advancing on the town. ‘Before my messengers are with you, they will
have surrounded it,’ he said. ‘They are 3,000 men, and I have but 500,
and no walls to protect me.’
“Now Al Kasr is an old town and the streets are very narrow, so the
people throw everything out in great heaps beyond the houses. There is a
wall of mud-heaps which are a good protection for a man shooting. So I
sent other messengers to Mulai Sadiq and mounted them on fast horses. I
told him to post some soldiers at intervals along these mounds, and that
they must keep up a great show of firing, so that Ermiki would think the
whole force of the town was concentrated to resist an attack. After this
he was to divide the rest of his people into three parties, and two of
these were to leave the town secretly by night, so that the flank of the
enemy might be cut off. Then I summoned a force of my cavalry without
notice, and told them we should start at once against some farms that
would not pay tribute. There was no opportunity for news to be carried
to Ermiki, for no man knew where we were going. We started at midnight,
and rode for four hours. Then, when I knew that Al Kasr was in front of
me, I told them my plan. It is 70 or 75 kilometres between Azeila and Al
Kasr, and our horses were tired, but I sent one man on to the town to
warn Mulai Sadiq, and, when a cannon was fired as a signal, the third
party issued from the city and we all ate up the camp of Ermiki, which
was still asleep. Many were killed and the rest fled—the Kaid jumped on
his horse without his jellaba, and so escaped, but Ibn Jellali, who was
with him, was captured and brought to Azeila. The Beni Kholot were so
much surprised when bullets came from all sides that they carried away
nothing in their flight. We found even the tea apparatus and the
washing-basins and ewers.
“When I returned to Azeila, I sent for Ibn Jellali and said to him, ‘Is
it not better to serve the lion than the fox?’ and he answered, ‘I
cannot serve both.’ I kept him in my house and treated him as a guest,
saying to him, ‘You are free to go. My horse is at your disposal.’ He
said, ‘I have no gun, and so I am blind before my enemies.’ We were
sitting together in a room upstairs, and I told a slave, ‘Go and fetch
me a rifle, and see that it is loaded.’ He brought me one, and I gave it
to Ibn Jellali, who placed it across his knees. Then I said to the
slave, ‘Go away and tell the men at the gate that my guest departs.’
When we were alone Ibn Jellali said to me, ‘You have put your life in my
hands!’ and I answered, ‘It is in the hands of Allah.’ So he stayed with
me for days, and became my friend and, in the war with Spain, he was
commander of my cavalry. Truly a man’s life is the least of his
possessions. If he keeps his religion and his honour, he need not
concern himself with guarding his life.
“A year afterwards I was at Akbar Hamara, and news came to me that el
Ermiki was in camp some hours distant. The Kholot tribe had given me
much trouble, for their Kaid had become a friend of Abdul Aziz, so I
thought that this was my opportunity to make an end of matters.
“I took with me ten men and the two slaves whom you know, Mubarak and
Ghabah, and we went quickly across the hills. It was a very dark night.
There was no moon, and the way was difficult. We went so fast that the
horses were exhausted and fell, but we had brought two extra animals
with us, which was good, for I killed four that night with the pace and
the roughness of the road. Allah was with us, for we rode with a loose
rein and the spurs driven in, and what should have been a two-days’ ride
we accomplished in eight hours. We came out on the top of a hill, and
saw the tents of Ermiki below us. Then we urged our horses downward,
and, Ullah, they went because they could not stop, and the two men who
had none held to the stirrups and ran. We fell on top of the camp and
went through it, and certainly the ‘baraka’ was on us, for the men
thought we were jinns, and none fired a shot, till we had surrounded
Ermiki, and he cried out my name.
“We took him back to Azeila, and he was my prisoner for eight days, and
then Mulai Hafid wrote to me, asking me to release him, for his family
was large and had much influence. So, though he was my enemy and was
always plotting against me, I set him free because of the oath which I
had sworn to the Sultan. In the same way, whatever I asked of Mulai
Hafid, he did.” After the Sherif had left, Badr ed Din told me that
Ermiki, who is now in the Riff, had offered 50,000 douros to the Pasha
of Azeila if he could arrange his peace with Raisuli.
CHAPTER XII
LEGENDS OF CRUELTY
Many legends have grown up round the government of Raisuli at Azeila,
but most of them are palpably untrue. It is said that he tortured his
prisoners in dungeons where the light never entered, but there is not
even a cellar in the “House of Tears.” The following is a typical fable.
The townsfolk were protesting more indignantly than usual against the
severity of the Pasha’s judgments, so it was decided to arrange a
“miracle” for the benefit of the ignorant. In a yard near the hall of
audience was a pit for baking tiles. The slabs of chalk are put into
this depression and surrounded by live charcoal, after which a domed
clay roof is built over them, with a hole for the smoke to escape. One
day, when the pit was empty, the Sherif put a slave into it, and, after
the cover had been duly erected, there was just one small hole through
which the man could breathe. When the people were assembled, and Raisuli
had pronounced his verdicts, the assembled townsfolk were surprised by
his suddenly appealing to heaven. “Allah, they complain about my
judgements, but thou knowest I am just,” he cried, and, from the depths
of the earth beside him, came a voice which had strange echoes in
it—“Thou art just and merciful in all thine acts, and in all the
punishments which are inflicted by thine orders.” The terrified
listeners flung themselves on their faces and could hardly be persuaded
to look up, for fear of what they would see. When the hollow voice died
away, they crept forward humbly to kiss the robes of the Sherif or the
shoes which he had discarded on the threshold. “The voice of God has
spoken from the furnace,” said Raisuli. “Close up the hole, for it is
sacred and cannot be used any more.” So the slave died of suffocation,
but without uttering a sound, for it was the will of Allah and the
Sherif.
It is obvious that such stories are without foundation, for Raisuli has
always been deeply religious and, while capable of encouraging the
superstitious credence of his followers by tricks, he would neither take
the name of God in vain nor treacherously condemn to death a loyal
servitor. His punishments have, at times, been terrible, even inhuman,
but they have been a just rendering of that law which demands an eye for
an eye and a life for a life. It is often said of the Sherif that he
knows the guilt in a man’s heart from his face, but I have never heard
it suggested by Arabs that the innocent suffered at his hands. He
exacted implicit obedience and he was held in such awe that even his
prisoners did not try to escape.
“Prisons were not necessary,” said Raisuli, “for I had only to tell a
man that he was a captive, and, believing that my eye would follow him
wherever he went, he would sit down in the market-place and say, ‘Allah
is with the Sherif, and no one can escape from God.’ In those days many
men walked freely about the town who were my prisoners, and if I sent
for a man he came without protest, though he did not know his fate.”
“It is true,” interposed Badr ed Din, “for it happened one day that I
was riding from Jebel Habib to Azeila, and I passed a man going slowly
on a donkey. He was a Sheikh, so I asked him the object of his journey,
and he answered, ‘The Sherif has sent for me. There was a dispute in my
village, and my brother stole some of my grain, so I burned his house
over him, and, because there was a wind, the fire spread, and fifteen
perished in the flames.’ ‘Ullah, Sidi, you will not long keep your head
between your shoulder-blades, for the Pasha will put it on the gate,’ I
told him. ‘If Allah wills,’ he returned. ‘But the Sherif has sent for
me, and I must go to him.’”
“These occurrences were rare,” said Raisuli. “On the whole there was
peace, and the country was quiet, till a band of the men of Beni Kholot
established themselves in a certain hill and killed all who tried to
pass. They had a secret hiding-place which my men could not find, and
many complaints were brought to me, for the way was no longer safe, and
the Ahl Serif were cut off from the coast. At last three of the bandits
were killed and their heads were sent to me, for they had fallen into an
ambush when they went to loot a village which they thought was
undefended. Their fate frightened one of their leaders, and he wrote to
me secretly, saying that if I would guarantee his security, he would
come by night to Azeila and describe to me the hiding-place of the band.
“Treachery is of all things hateful in the sight of Allah, but I
promised him his safety in order to ensure the capture of his followers.
He came one morning when the sea was not distinguishable from the land,
and I kept him waiting for many hours. He had much time to wonder if he
had risked his head, and, when at last he was brought to me, he was
uncertain, for a traitor is always a coward. I received him sitting on a
carpet and, in front of me, were the heads of his friends. He trembled,
and would have prostrated himself a long way off, but I beckoned to him
to sit beside me on the carpet. ‘You are the guest of my house,’ I said,
‘and I cannot hurt you, but if ever we meet in the mountains, it will be
your last day.’ Then he told me of the cave where his companions hid and
of the way to reach it. When he ceased talking, I said nothing, and we
sat in silence for a long time. Then I got up and called to a slave.
‘Take this man and put him in safety outside the town. Give him also the
carpet upon which we have been sitting, for it has been soiled by the
dust from his feet, and can no longer stay in my house.’”
There was a pause, while a minute slave crept in and saluted the
Sherif’s sleeve, touching it only with his lips. However unimportant the
message, it was always whispered into the ears for which it was
intended, and was completely inaudible to anyone else. “Perhaps it is a
woman who asks for something, for that is one of the slaves of the
harem,” murmured the Spaniard, but the Sherif took no notice of the
little servitor, except a muttered “Later on; I am busy.”
“If you tell your thoughts to anyone,” he said, “you lose control over
them, and they are no longer your own; but I had a friend who was like
my brother. He was a Spaniard, by name Zugasti, and he was the Consul at
Larache. Europe never had another like him. Whatever he asked me I would
have done, for his spirit was like a mirror and all his thoughts were
good. He had the courage of a lion, but he went about the country
unarmed, for he said, ‘Spain must convince the people by her actions,
not persuade them by force of powder and shot.’ Once there was a ship
loaded with cartridges at the mouth of the Luccus. It was hot, and there
was no one willing to work. The crew slept on the deck, and at first the
men ashore took no notice of a little smoke issuing from her stern. Then
it was seen that she was on fire, and everybody was afraid, for there
would be a great explosion, and even the town might suffer. The crew
woke up, but they could not extinguish the fire. Zugasti, passing, heard
the shouts and, when he discovered what was the matter, he seized the
revolver of a policeman and jumped into the first boat he saw. By force
he made the men row out to the ship, and his coming was life to the
crew. Under his orders they worked to sink the ship and, while people
expected every moment to hear an explosion, he sent the sailors ashore,
but he was the last man to leave, and beneath him the water was sucking
up the flames. Ullah, Zugasti was worthy of respect! The Arabs called
him the Christian Sherif, and he would not gain one douro out of the
country. He came to Larache richer than he left it. He was then about
thirty or forty[37], but he had more wisdom than years. He had studied
the customs and laws of Islam, and talked Arabic better than I do.
“To this man, my brother, I told some of my thoughts, for, like the sun
in the morning, the French were creeping slowly nearer to my country. In
the neighbourhood of Al Kasr I had a mehalla of 500 men, under the Kaid
Bussa el Melsuni, and always it watched the progress of France. I knew
that soon there would be a battle, and then, Allah forbid! we should
have been lost, for the French never go back. Therefore I consulted with
Zugasti and also with your Minister, Lister, and I thought, ‘The
Spaniards are strong enough to help us, but not so strong that they will
oppress us.’
“Then one night Zugasti came to me. He was covered with dust and the
sweat ran into his eyes. His horse stood in the yard where he left it,
and there was death in its eye. An enemy of mine, Tazya of the Beni
Aros, had captured Hamed ben Malek and his two sons and had imprisoned
them in his house at Mesmuda. He had taken their mules, their horses,
all their possessions, and he threatened their lives, if a ransom were
not paid. He demanded 24,000 dollars and a quantity of arms and tents.
Now Hamed ben Malek was under the protection of Spain, as were many
merchants in Larache and Al Kasr. In those days when a man wished to
avoid the just punishment of his actions he put himself under the
protection of a European Power.” “As you did, Sidi, after the capture of
Maclean,” I murmured. “Ullah, your tongue is a sword,” retorted the
Sherif imperturbably. “Zugasti said to me, ‘If these things are allowed,
it will be bad for the honour of my Government,’ but I was glad of this
event, for I had been wondering how I could introduce the forces of
Spain into the country, and what reason I could give to the people; so I
answered, ‘Wait a few days, and all that you desire will happen.’
“Two ships came from Spain and anchored in the Luccus, and the next day
news was brought that Hamed ben Malek had been killed, with his sons.
The bodies had been disembowelled and stuffed with straw, and the heads
had been mounted on posts from which fluttered the flags of the tribe.
In this manner they were taken round the country, while Tazya incited
men to rebellion, saying, ‘The Pasha is afraid to attack us.’ It would
have been easy for my troops to put down the revolt, and I could have
done to mine enemies the double of that which they had inflicted on Ibn
Malek, but I saw that Allah was with me in my design and that the weapon
I had sought was already in my hands. I said to Zugasti, ‘Do not doubt
that the offenders will be punished, but, as you fear for the respect of
your country, let your soldiers land from the boats and make a
demonstration in the town, for if the weather is bad, the boats will
have to leave, and then our opportunity will be lost.’
“The next day there was trouble in Al Kasr. A body of mountaineers rode
into the town and fired on the people in the market. There was much
alarm, and the cavalry turned out. The bandits were chased back to the
hills, and some were killed, but the merchants protected by Spain
appealed to their Consul, who reported the matter to Zugasti. There was
a meeting between the European representatives, and then my friend came
to me and said, “All are willing, but we wait for your help. If a shot
is fired at the landing of our troops, it will echo throughout Europe.’
I replied, ‘If Allah wills, you shall land in peace,’ and I looked out
over the sea which has never belonged to the Arabs. What is written is
written, but my responsibility was great. I remembered the oath which I
had sworn to Mulai Hafid, and I said to Zugasti, ‘My country needs help,
and you have promised to serve her interests, but a man cannot forget
his own nation. Make a covenant with me that you will always be a friend
to the Arabs, and that this thing you ask is for their good.’ He
answered in our words, ‘On my head and my eyes it is so.’ Then I said,
‘You are of my family, and we will repeat the Fatha together, for if I
have made a mistake, Allah witness my intentions were good.’ That is the
only time I have said the Fatha with a Christian.
“The troops disembarked at night, for it was June and very hot by day. A
red flag flew from the Consulate, and Spanish police patrolled the
streets, but the peace of the town was in the charge of the Pasha,
Mohamed Faddel Ben Zaich. The principal men had met in his house, and he
had told them, ‘This is the will of the Sherif, and there must be no
opposition,’ so all the hours of the night my people were in the
streets, calming the citizens and consoling them. Wherever there was a
group whose voices were raised and whose gestures became violent, there
also was one of my men, murmuring, ‘It is in the hands of Allah and the
Sherif. Do not interfere.’ The balconies and the roofs were crowded with
people, who watched in silence.
“There were some who said, ‘We have been sold to the Christians,’ but
others covered their faces and answered, ‘Allah alone knows.’ The Jews
did not hide their rejoicing, for they had been subject to us and of
little account. They were not allowed to wear shoes when they passed
through a street wherein was a mosque, nor might they sit down in the
presence of the ulema. It happened perhaps that a man wanted money, and
the Jews had it, though their wealth could not be judged by their
clothes. The man might go to a Hebrew and demand charity, but if the Jew
was not quick to open his purse, he got a few blows on the skull; yet,
if such things were reported to me, I punished the offender and restored
his property to the Jew, for the Prophet has said, ‘I came not to
destroy, but to construct,’ and ‘Take what is good from every religion
and leave what is bad.’ So, when the light failed, for the moon was
hidden and there was a mist on the river, the Jews brought lanterns and
hung them on sticks so that the troops might see. The Arabs were sad,
but resigned, for they believed the words spread by the Pasha, and
before the dawn it was finished. For the first time the sun rose on
Spanish troops encamped in the Kasbah of Nadir Ras Remel, and all this
was done by my help.
“After this began the mistakes, and nobody can tell whose was the fault.
I thought Spain would be guided by my knowledge and that, very slowly, I
could induce the tribes to recognise her protection, but the Government
sent Silvestre to command the troops which had been disembarked, and he
was impatient and wanted to go too quickly. Truly he has been the enemy
of my life, just as Zugasti has been its friend, but, one by one, all my
enemies have gone, and I remain. Mulai Abdul Aziz came against me, and
he fell. He burned my houses, but they are rebuilt. In the same way,
Silvestre opposed me, and he died from his own bullet, which is a
forbidden thing; but I am still here. It is the ‘baraka’ which is
strong.
“When Silvestre landed, the people of Larache had learned that the
troops would not do them any harm. On the contrary, they spent money,
and the Arab cannot see beyond a douro, so the Colonel was received with
rejoicing and the curious lined the streets to see him. Immediately he
wished to march to Al Kasr, a town in the neighbourhood, which they
regarded as an army in the pay of the Sherif. Truly he is great.”
[Illustration: Sacred tree in Raisuli’s house, now enclosed in a room.
Taken during Spanish occupation]
“Between Larache and Al Kasr the country is flat. It is the richest land
in Morocco, and the only place where there are no crops is in the sacred
forest, where the trees are blessed with healing. It is said, a sick man
may be cured of his illness under their branches, and many lepers used
to go out and live there, hoping to lose their sores. There is no place
for sudden attack, and the Spaniards came safely to Sidi Aissa, which is
on my own property. It would have been better to wait a little at Al
Kasr, for, in Morocco, all things must go slowly. An Arab’s imagination
is like a lantern swinging in the wind, for it distorts the truth. But
Silvestre was impatient. He was a conqueror dreaming of success, and his
ambition was unlimited. Suq el Teleta was occupied by my help, but all
the country was anxious, and, had I not been strong, there would have
been much bloodshed.”
Sidi Badr ed Din, commenting on this story on a later occasion, said to
me, “I have been with the Sherif all my life, and that is the only time
I have seen him troubled. Even then he said nothing, and no man could
tell it from his face, but I knew of his anxiety, for one of his family
had died, and he went to make his Confession to the corpse. You do not
know of that custom? It is common in our country, but, to my knowledge,
Raisuli has only once followed it. You make your confession through a
priest, who is no nearer God than yourselves, but in moments of great
trouble, we whisper it into the ear of a dead man whose spirit is
already with Allah. It is done when life has just passed and the soul is
still linked with its yet unburied body. Its lips are sealed, so the
secret is safe on earth, but the spirit is near enough to hear and carry
the words to God.” It was a revelation of Raisuli’s character, dominant
and determined in his decisions, but aware of the vast responsibility
they imposed on him. It was a great step for a Moslem, and the appointed
champion of his country, to have introduced a Christian army within its
borders. However much the Sherif regretted his action or apprehended its
results, he would never confide in the living, but perhaps he whispered
his hopes and his fears, perhaps even his dawning disappointment, into
the ears of the dead.
El Raisuli once said of Silvestre, “He was a brave man, and in any other
country I could have loved him, but there cannot be two lions in one
forest.” This is the explanation of the wearisome sequence of quarrels
which followed. Silvestre knew nothing of the Arabs and he believed too
much of what was told him. Impulsive, hot-headed and courageous, he was
a typical conquistador, and the last man who should have been sent to
Morocco. He saw a country which appeared to be groaning under injustice,
and he did not realise that even tyranny can be a cherished custom in
the East. He rushed in to save a people who had not the slightest desire
to be rescued, and found himself baffled by endless prevarication, and
fighting, not against one man, but against the most complicated social
system the world has yet invented. There is no place for change in the
traditions of Islam, and the moment an Arab is hard-pressed, he forgets
everything except that he is a Moslem. Full of good intentions and
admirably sincere, Silvestre found himself among people who always said
exactly the opposite of what they meant, and who abhorred strangers as
being little less dangerous than the devil. Most unfortunately, he was
unable to convince his Government, still less in sympathy with Arab
politics, that Raisuli was the only hope of dealing with them.
“After Suq el Telata had been occupied, Silvestre came to see me at
Azeila,” said the Sherif. “He came with one called Ovila and eight men,
and I received them with the greatest honour, and went out into the
courtyard to meet them. It was the first time I had seen the Colonel,
and, like Zugasti, he looked me straight in the eyes, but he was too
quick in his speech. I remember he brought me five Mauser rifles, which
is the best present you can give to an Arab, and he thanked me for my
help, which I assured him would always be at his service. We talked of
many things, but perhaps we were both blinded by our fear of a common
enemy and we did not see the other difficulties which were before us. My
influence has always extended from Al Kasr to Tetuan, and no man moves
in the mountains without Raisuli knowing of it. I explained to Silvestre
that Suq el Had must be occupied, for it was but an hour’s journey from
Azeila, and the French used to go there twice a week to buy provisions
and pay their police. On many of these occasions money filtered into the
pockets of the Kaids, and the only way to stop this was to instal the
Spaniards at Suq el Tzenin, which would cut off the French from the Had.
“It was agreed that this should be done and that Spain should undertake
the payment of the garrisons at Al Kasr and Azeila, that there might be
no question of a French protectorate. All these things I arranged, not
because I dislike the French, for they are warriors, and the side on
which they fight will never lose, but because they are too strong, and I
wanted the boundaries of their country to be fixed. The Governor of
Ceuta had asked for the release of some Angera prisoners, though they
well deserved punishment, so I said to Silvestre, ‘They are yours. Take
them with you. My men will point them out to you in the town,’ and he
was surprised.
“After a while, he asked me how soon his troops could arrive at the
Fondak of Ain Yerida, and I told him, ‘If you wish to reap millet, you
must first plant it. Perhaps the towns are ready for civilisation, but
the mountains are not. You must prepare the ground carefully, and you
cannot use rifles as ploughs. I suggested that he should send out
patrols to make short marches in the neighbourhood, so that the people
would get used to the sight of his soldiers and realise there was no
danger from them. We parted as friends, and I asked him to assure his
Government that the word of Raisuli would never be broken.”
After this memorable interview Silvestre wrote to Madrid, approximately
in these terms: “My personal impression is that Raisuli at present
serves us loyally and that the French work incessantly to bring him over
to their cause, for which reason we should lose no time in assuring his
unconditional support, gathering the fruit of what has already been
conceded to the Pasha. If we do not lose any time, we may avoid that. In
the end, he may, like a good Moor, become venal and change his
affections. Taking advantage of the complications which today menace
France through the exigences and suspicious attitude of Germany, we
should occupy Suq el Tzenin and establish a post 20 kils. from Tangier,
etc. . . .”
This letter shows complete lack of comprehension of Raisuli’s policy,
which has never changed. It has always been to leave France undisturbed
in her zone, but, by means of Spain, to protect his own. His way of
expressing it is more picturesque. “If there is a hornet’s nest across
the mountains, the wise man does not disturb it, but neither does he
leave honey unguarded in his house. . . . After Silvestre came to see
me, he sent an officer to Azeila to instruct my troops, and all my freed
slaves joined the army because they liked his drill. He used also to pay
the garrison, and there were some outside who were angry because no
money slipped into their hands, but they were ‘mesqueen,’[38] for my
servants do not accept bribes.
“There was once a Spaniard who went into Jebel Bu Hashim to look for
birds, and Ghabah went with him, that the mountaineers might know he was
under protection of the Sherif. When they returned, the Spaniard gave my
slave 25 pesetas, and would not allow him to refuse. The next day he
came to me to take his leave and, after we had talked, I gave him a note
for 25 pesetas. ‘What is this?’ he asked. ‘Why do you give me money?’
‘It is yours. Are you unwilling to take it from me?’ I answered. ‘I do
not understand this. I cannot take it,’ he repeated. ‘You were not
ashamed to give money to my slave yesterday,’ I said, ‘so why should you
be ashamed to take it from me today?’” “It is true,” said Badr ed Din.
“No slave would receive a penny from a guest of the house. They are
ignorant men, but very wise in their ignorance.” I remembered how two of
the said slaves had watched a visitor at the camp nearest Tazrut
performing violent exercises with a pair of dumb-bells. “Ullah, he seems
angry! What is he doing?” asked one. “Be quiet!” said the other. “Do not
disturb him. He is saying his prayers.”
The Sherif continued his story. “Silvestre wanted to send flying columns
into the heart of the country, and always he wrote to me of Ain el
Yerida, yet at the same time he had insisted on the release of the
Anjera prisoners, while still men from Wadi Ras were held captives by
the tribe.[39] When I told him of this he believed me, for he saw how
the country waited on my word, but his Government wrote to him often,
urging him to do the wrong things, so that he was between the two blades
of the scissors. At one time he wrote to the Qadi of Al Kasr and ordered
him not to sign any documents for the sale of houses without his
permission, especially in those districts occupied by Spanish troops. At
this the people were indignant and cried out that their liberty was
being interfered with. The French papers published an exaggerated
account of the incident and the news spread through Morocco that
Silvestre had forbidden the Qadi to pass any sentence without his
approval, or to make any disposition concerning the public funds, even
including the auqaf.[40] The Minister of the Sultan, El Guebbas,
protested, and it was expected that there would be a rising throughout
the country. Fortunately, through my secret agents, I heard all these
things before they were whispered in the markets, and I made a little
politics among the tribes, and the story was forgotten.
“Silvestre went on a journey along the Luccus, on the left banks of
which were encamped the French, and was well received by all the people.
He had a troop of cavalry with him and many officers, and the people
brought out bullocks and sheep and sacrificed them in front of him, that
he might listen to their petitions. Many thought, ‘Here is a new Pasha.
Now is the time to triumph over our enemies and be revenged.’ And they
told him numerous stories, while they cut off the forelegs of their
bullocks, so that the animals sank down on their knees in an attitude of
prayer, and so bled to death. Ullah, his camp was like a slaughter-
house, for this was done at his tent-door for the more honour; and
sometimes they cut the throats of sheep and laid them on his threshold
as a gift. I told you the Moors were savages!” By this time Silvestre
was finding his position very difficult, for he was appealed to on all
sides by individuals who had grievances, real or imaginary, and he was
confronted by the impossible task of introducing European law and order
without interfering with the customs of the country. Moreover, in
attempting to do so, he was obliged to undermine the authority of the
man who was his only guarantee of security.
Raisuli watched these manœuvres with considerable impassivity. Sometimes
men came to him and asked the reasons of certain transactions. The
Sherif’s reply is famous. “The blind have a special ‘baraka’—as to the
meaning of these actions, Allah knows, and I would rather not!”
CHAPTER XIII
STRAINED RELATIONS WITH SPAIN
“A great deal of trouble came from the French zone,” said Raisuli, “for
there were many powerful families there who did not understand the
politics of the North. At one time the House of Wazzan was very inimical
to Spain, and they have so much influence in the country that when one
brother went mad and shot men by mistake, thinking they were hares,
people said that death at his hands was an honour and made them sure of
paradise! One married an Englishwoman who lives at Tangier and has done
much good among the Arabs.
“The Sherifs of Wazzan consulted some of the chiefs of the
neighbourhood, among them those of Mesmuda, Guezauia and Beni Mesara,
and it was decided to hold a great meeting which should be a secret. The
news came quickly to my ears, so I sent some of my most trusted men to
mix among those of Beni Zernal, Beni Hamed, Ajainas and others who were
going to Wazzan. The gathering took place in the Zawia of Sidi Ahl Serif
and each man swore that he would repeat nothing of what was said within
those walls. Then one of the Sherifs spoke to the tribesmen and told
them that, as it was obviously the intention of Spain to take possession
of the whole country, it was their duty to combine in order to prevent
such a disaster. He suggested that, as the Europeans were too strong to
be conquered except by a ruse, news should be spread in Al Kasr that
Wassan had been attacked. When this had reached the ears of Silvestre a
deputation would ride swiftly to see him, confirming the news and
offering submission to Spain, in return for the help of her forces to
defend their city. As soon as these had started for Wazzan, the
tribesmen would work round outside the Spanish patrols, till they could
cut off Al Kasr. Then, in two columns and by night, they would fall upon
the deserted town and massacre all Europeans before relief could arrive.
“The tribesmen asked what would be the attitude of the Sultan’s
Government towards such a scheme, and the reply was that it was actually
the Maghsen which would supply the arms and ammunition. The chief of
Beni Zernal wished to know whether el Raisuli was aware of the plot, and
suggested his being consulted. ‘For if the Sherif is not with us, the
plan will fail,’ he said. The speaker answered that el Raisuli, being
the Sultan’s Governor, could not take an active part in such a movement
for fear of implicating the Maghsen, but that he knew of it and
approved. Allah forgive him the lie! But the tribesmen were still
anxious and they began to make excuses. One said there were not
sufficient horses; another that the Spaniards would not leave Al Kasr
unguarded; but, in the end, they were convinced, because of the respect
which they had for the House of Wazzan, and, before leaving, each man
swore that he would be ready when the signal was given to carry out all
that had been arranged.
“All this my men described to me, and I reported it to the Spanish
Legation at Tangier, urging them to increase their vigilance in case of
surprise; but, Ullah, I do not know if they believed me, for politics
were very complicated in those days. It was told to Silvestre that I
wished to exaggerate the value of the services I had rendered, and
perhaps he credited the lie, because every day men went to him and
complained. He thought that all these people would side with him if it
came to a war between us, for he did not understand their feelings. It
is the habit of the Arabs to take as much as they can from the
Christians, but this is very different from fighting for them. Sometimes
it happened even that a man would come to a tax-collector and ask that
such and such a tribute should be remitted. When this was refused, he
would say, ‘Allah be with you, I will now go to the foreigners—perhaps
they will help me to pay it.’ And the official of the Maghsen would
answer, ‘Go, and Allah keep you; but, if you succeed, do not forget that
I am a poor man and your friend.’
“The ways of the Arabs are very curious to you, for our minds are
different. I will tell you a story that is well known in these parts.
There was one tribe which had long fought against the Europeans, for
they were very fanatical and their mountains were so steep that none
could come near them, but, at last, the Christians sent aeroplanes to
drop bombs on their villages. The tribesmen were frightened, for they
said, ‘These are the unbelieving Jinns whom the foreigners have taken
into their service, and they drive great birds whose eggs bring death.’
So there was a consultation among all the headmen, and, for the sake of
their farms which were being destroyed, they decided to make peace; but
the Sheikh was an old man, and he would not look upon a Christian, so he
said to his son, ‘I cannot change my ways and, if I do, I shall lose the
respect of my people. This would be a shame for our house, yet we must
make an agreement with our enemies, or they will conquer us by means of
their magic, and then they will make our cousin, who is an evil man,
Kaid of the tribe.’ The son agreed with the words of his father, but he
said, ‘How can this thing be arranged?’ and the Sheikh replied, ‘I will
not eat my words. Till the day of my death I will fight the Christians,
but go you and make peace with them. Choose your words well and, in
return for your help, they will make you Kaid. Then lead the Europeans
against us, and I will come out at the head of my troops, so that it
will be easy for you to kill me, for I would rather die by the hand of a
Moslem. When I am dead, our people will fly back into the hills, and you
can make an agreement with the Christians and be Kaid of the tribe in
place of our cousin, whose rule would be bad.’ So it was carried out,
and all the headmen knew of the plan and agreed to it. How can a
European understand these things?
“A son of the Shiekh of Wadi Musa complained to Silvestre that his
father had been killed and his village burned, because my soldiers had
not been able to collect the additional tribute I demanded. This was
true, but he did not say that his father had invited my official into
his house and had given him food and drink and said to him, ‘Rest awhile
here, while I go and drive in the bull that I would offer to the Sherif
as a gift.’ While the man slept, the Chief came with an axe that was
used for breaking stones, and hit him on the head, for it happened that
there was a blood feud between their families. So my servant died at the
hands of his host, who avenged the blood of a cousin spilt while he was
still a child; but it was ill done. If an enemy came to your house, he
is safe by the law of ‘deafa,’ so the Shiekh of Wadi Ras had committed
two crimes.”
“There was the story of Musa ben Hamed,” suggested Badr ed Din
tentatively. “There is no interest in it,” answered the Sherif; but,
later on, I heard the tale from the lips of the fat secretary. “It was
when a certain tribe refused to pay tribute to my master, and they
caught some of his soldiers and beat them and cut out their tongues. The
men died on the mountains, and the Sherif swore ‘a head from the Kaid’s
family for every man who has been hurt.’ Very soon the tribe was forced
to submit, by the soldiers of the Maghsen, and then Musa ben Hamed, who
was a clever man but cowardly, broke through the guards and took refuge
one night in the house of my lord. It is not permitted to refuse food
and drink to a guest, so for three days our enemy lived with us and we
served him, but my lord would not see him, and he had a room alone.
Ullah, there was no way to get rid of him, but at last the mehalla
brought back the heads of his two brothers and his son, so, while he
slept, a slave crept in and placed one of the heads beside him, with
green herbs stuck in the eyes—for this is an insult. Musa ben Hamed made
no sign, so the next night the head of his son was placed beside him,
and thus it went on; but our guest said nothing, nor did he turn from
his food. At last the toll of heads was complete, one for each soldier
who had been hurt, but ben Hamed was safe in our house. Then, one day,
he went to the bath and left his outer garments and his arms on the
mattress. When he returned he found a body, clothed in his waistcoat and
jellaba, with his belt girt around it, lying in his place, but it had no
head. A coward is easily frightened! That night he went away, and the
soldiers could not fire on a guest.”
Relations were growing strained between Raisuli and the harassed
Silvestre, who was not allowed to deal directly with the Sherif, but had
to refer everything to the Ministry in Madrid. Thus delays and
misunderstandings were inevitable. “Silvestre might not even come and
see me without the permission of his Government,” said the Sherif, “and
yet he was anxious to have someone watch my actions at Azeila, for he
was worried by the complaints of the tribes and he believed that I
exacted unjust tribute. There were many letters on the subject, and I
grew weary. To deal with Europe one must be cleverer with the pen than
the sword, and, in those days, the moon of Badr ed Din’s face was no
longer full, but like the crescent in its first quarter!
“There was the matter of the officer whom Silvestre wished to send to
Azeila, that he might live on my property and oversee the payment of
tribute. I would not agree, for I was the representative of Mulai Hafid,
and this would have been dishonourable for us both before the tribes.
The Colonel wrote to his Government and said that I levied more taxes in
the part of my province that was in the Spanish zone than on the other
side of the Luccus, which was French. He said that France beat my
soldiers if they took presents from the Kaids, and that, in her
protectorate, I was only able to levy the tribute due to the Sultan.
This was not correct, because there are many ways of reaching a man’s
pocket, and it is a custom that the tribes should give presents to the
Governor. The Sherifs have a right to a certain tribute, and this is not
fixed but a matter of good-will. You have seen the tribes coming to me
now, when I have nothing and am living like a Bedouin. For us presents
are a small thing, both in the giving and the receiving.
“Silvestre wished to employ his own men to collect the taxes, not
knowing that the people would have said, ‘The land has been sold to the
Christians. They have imprisoned the Sherif. See how they take the money
which is his.’ There would have been a rising, and many shots would have
been fired. He thought, if he remitted the tribute paid by the
mountaineers and saved them from the cruelty of which they complained,
he could count on their loyalty; so he wrote to his Government saying
that the country was dissatisfied with my rule and would be glad to
escape from it. Ullah, while there is one alive of the line of Jebel
Alan, and there are 15,000 now recorded, the Jebala will obey no other
house!”
It is probable that, like all Arab Governors, Raisuli did extract a
considerable amount from the tribes to pay for the building of his
palace, in addition to the taxes collected for the Sultan. Doubtless his
subordinates were none too merciful in their methods of ensuring
payment, but, at least, there were no middlemen, no hosts of Kaids and
police officials, waiting with palms open for a bribe before business
could be transacted or judgment pronounced. Any man could go to Azeila
and be sure of an interview with the Sherif. No difference was made
between the rich and the poor. The long corridor leading to the hall of
audience was daily thronged with Sheikhs and beggars; mountaineers and
townsfolks; Ulema who knew by heart the Koran and the works of the four
Imams; and peasants, who had difficulty in remembering their second
names! Raisuli’s worst enemies have always been among the police, who
used to make a fat living out of the tribesmen, until the course of the
stream was altered and the bribes, now known as tribute, poured into the
coffers of the Pasha. The people benefited in one way, for much of the
stream poured out again in lavish hospitality.
The tales of the Sherif’s avarice are only equalled by those of his
generosity. If he squeezed one village, it was to pay for the rebuilding
of another, destroyed by one of those sudden fires, common in the hot
weather, in which the thatched roofs blaze so fiercely that there is
always a heavy casualty-list. If a widow appealed for her family, or the
wife of a prisoner for often quite imaginary children, their names were
added to the immense list of Raisuli’s pensioners.
“What I took with one hand I gave with the other, and but little fell
into my own lap,” said the Sherif. “But Silvestre wished to have
complete control over the villages near his camp, and he was angry when
my men went to collect the taxes there. The people saw this and took
advantage of it. Ullah, under European rule, the Arab loses his few
virtues! At this time there were many disputes between us, and I
despatched a man to confiscate some of the horses of Beni Mesala,
because they would not acknowledge the authority of a Kaid from Beni
Maugud, whom I had sent to them in place of one of their own men who was
dishonest. Perhaps the Chief of Beni Maugud was severe in his
administration, for he was my friend and obliged to uphold my authority,
but the tribesmen were rebellious and left their farms for the hills,
and, when my man came to take their horses, they fired on him and drove
him away. Therefore, at the request of the new Kaid, I sent sufficient
arms and ammunition to restore peace in his district, but the rebels
appealed to Spain, making a great demonstration of affection and
loyalty. All these matters made bitterness between Silvestre and myself.
“I was afraid that he would instigate the tribes against me, so, in
September (1911), I prepared a mehalla to guard my interests, and I
added to my store of arms all that I could buy or that my friends could
bring me as presents. There were many rumours about this mehalla. Some
said it was to fight the Spaniards, others that it was for the aid of
the Kaid of Beni Mesala, whom I had ordered to levy a fine of 5 pts.
Hassani from every one of the rebels; but I told no one my intentions.
The Pasha of Al Kasr, who was subsidised by Spain, was secretly helping
the rebellion in Beni Mesala. It was told me that he sent guns and grain
into the mountains, making it impossible for the Kaid to put down the
revolt. War in the Jebala is like a flame in dry grass, so I wrote to
Silvestre, asking that the Pasha, who was called Ben Asayeg, should be
removed and one who was faithful to me put in his place. Difficulties
were made with regard to my request, so I sent to the Pasha, ordering
him to come to Azeila, but Silvestre, fearing for his safety, and
knowing that no other man would serve their interests so well, forbade
his journey, making the excuse that there was much work and nobody to
put in Ben Asayeg’s place.
“Silvestre’s letter saying all this, and speaking also of some prisoners
which he wished released from a place in the mountains, came to me at
the time of Aidh el Kebeer,[41] when I was busy receiving all the
Sheikhs who came to greet me. My house was full, and each man was busy
with the entertainment of guests, and so there was delay in answering
the letter. Besides when a man is angry, he should never take a pen in
his hand, and I was angry because of the disobedience of the Pasha.”
In the end Raisuli wrote one of the most completely oriental letters I
have read. After polite greetings, wishing “felicity always to the Señor
just and worthy of respect, the well-liked Colonel Silvestre,” he wasted
a page in admirably-constructed sentences which meant nothing, before
pointing out that he had no news of the prisoners. Short of saying that
the Jinns had run away with them, he suggested every unlikely reason for
their non-arrival—that they had lingered on the way, or stopped to rest,
or visited friends, or missed the road—ending with, “although they tell
me that two came out of prison very weak and ill.” With regard to Ben
Asayeg, he insisted, with considerable dignity, that the action of
Silvestre had done much to injure his prestige—“I had the indubitable
right to send for the various Pashas in my Government to come and report
to me, and, if I considered they were not doing their duty, to change
them for others more trustworthy and more faithful. If I had judged good
the conduct of Ben Asayeg, or if I had seen in it any error,” said the
Sherif, “I would either have corrected him, or praised him, as the
occasion deserved; but that he should disobey was bad for the discipline
of my province, and I wished to report the matter to El Guebbas at Fez.
[Illustration: Raisuli’s original house at Tazrut—now his son’s
school—damaged by Spanish aeroplanes]
[Illustration: Raisuli’s palace at Azeila]
“Silvestre wrote to his Minister, saying that if Ben Asayeg were
removed, the Arabs would no longer have any faith in Spain, for all that
the Pasha had done had been in the service of the protectorate. He
reported also that I had been collecting large quantities of arms, and
that a Frenchman from the legation at Tangier had spent several hours in
my house. From this you will see how difficult matters had become.
Silvestre wished to stop the tribesmen carrying rifles and, if a man
passed by his camp with a gun across his shoulders, it was taken from
him; and this is not good, for, without his arms, an Arab is but a woman
and ashamed.
“There was once a Sheikh who was my prisoner, and he was condemned to
death by the tribunal, for he had done much evil in the mountains. They
gave him food and water, but he would not touch them, and he said, ‘My
hands are empty, and I am too old to be deprived of that which I have
held all my life. How can I say my prayers if I cannot make the
Kibla[42] with my rifle before me?’ They told me these sayings, and I
went and spoke to him, for once he had been my friend; and he said, ‘Oh,
Sherif, it is disgraceful to kill a woman. Give me back my arms, that
this shame may not be upon you.’ I made a sign to a slave, and he
brought a rifle, and would have given it to him unloaded, but I said to
the servants, ‘No, put bullets in it, for he is the prisoner of his
word.’ The Sheikh took the gun and laid it across his knees, and smiled.
‘Allah would not have recognized me had I gone to him unarmed,’ he said;
and the next day he was strangled, that there should be no blood upon
his body.
“In the matter of the rifles, I was strong. Silvestre wished that each
man who carried a gun should have a paper, signed by myself, to show he
was in my service, but, fortunately, at this time it was imagined that I
was treating with the French, so the matter was not pressed. When two
men meet face to face, much can be arranged, but a pen alters a man’s
ideas, and he is guarded in what he writes. There was much dispute
between Silvestre and his Government, for neither trusted the
intelligence of the other. Allah knows one was too far removed from the
events, and the other too much in the middle of them, to see clearly,
for if a man is on the other side of the Luccus, he cannot watch a
battle at Azeila, but, likewise, if he is in the middle of the fight,
hard-pressed and defending his own life, he cannot judge of what is
happening.
“At this time I consulted with my friends, and we said, ‘We have gone
far enough. If we give in more to the Spaniards we shall have no honour
left in the country!’ and I altered the taxes, without the consent of
Silvestre, as was my right, and I told the men, ‘Go right up to the
camps and take the aushur (a tenth part) from all the flocks and herds,
even those that supply the army.’ This was done, and the people began to
doubt if they had been wise in complaining to the Spaniards, and they
sent presents to me secretly. When, by the orders of Silvestre, men of
the Jebala, coming down from Ahl Serif or Kholot, were stopped as they
came to the high road and their guns taken from them, I sent some
soldiers to Al Kasr and they went to the door of the prison at noon, and
took out two important prisoners. When the gaolers would have prevented
them, they said, ‘It is by the orders of the Sherif,’ and the men were
afraid, and let them go. I did this to show Silvestre how great was my
influence when there was a question of actions and not words. After this
the Spanish guards were redoubled, but the men who brought arms from the
mountains came now in large parties, so no one dared to interfere with
them when they crossed the plain.
“Silvestre complained that I persecuted those Arabs who worked against
me, but, except for a few merchants who made money out of the
foreigners, all men were with me, either openly or in secret. At last I
wrote again to the Pasha and to Mohamed ben Abal, another of the great
men of the Al Kasr, ordering them to come to Azeila, and this time they
dared not refuse, but asked only time to prepare for the journey and to
make ready the gifts they would bring, for it was the Arab Easter.
Silvestre, believing it was his duty to protect the Pasha and the other,
both of whom came to him, saying, ‘We fear we shall never return, but
our fate would be worse if we stayed,’ wrote to Madrid asking that he
might be allowed to accompany them, or at least to visit me a little
later. At the same time he wrote to me, asking me to guarantee the
safety of Ben Asayeg and Sidi Mohamed, but I did not answer the letter,
for all things were with Allah, and how could I make promises to a
foreigner concerning the safety of my own people? It was a mistake that
he asked it.
“All these things that I have told you happened quickly and (in October)
Silvestre came to Azeila, and I invited him to visit me. My people said
to me, ‘Why do you receive your enemy in this way? Bullets are more
suitable than words,’ but I answered, ‘He will not be my enemy after I
have spoken with him.’ I received him with even more honour than before,
but there was silence between us and, to whatever the Spaniard asked, I
answered, ‘If Allah wills,’ till at last his impatience mastered him,
and he said through his interpreter, ‘None of us may know the will of
God, but I have come here to understand the will of Raisuli.’
“Then I answered, ‘The will of Raisuli has always been to help you, but
you have disregarded it and gone your own way.’ ‘I have tried to bring
justice to the country,’ he said. ‘Who has done that before me?’ ‘My
armies,’ I replied, and, to everything he asked in this fashion, I
answered, ‘My armies.’ Then I spoke to him about Ben Asayeg, and I said:
‘You have made him into a tool, so that he no longer acts wisely, for
fear of offending you. He has no mind left, and is not fit to rule in Al
Kasr. All these troubles with the villages in Sebbah and Utah and the
affair of Beni Mesala were owing to his actions. He is trying to serve
fire and water, which is not possible. He must go, before there is such
trouble in Al Kasr that you yourselves will suffer. Remember, Sidi, in a
Moslem country, it is always the strangers who suffer first. It is my
duty to protect you, for you came here as my friends.’
“We talked for a long time and, at last, I persuaded him to leave Ben
Asayeg in my hands and promised that he should have another post where
he could do no harm. I told him that all matters could easily be settled
if we could meet freely when there was anything to discuss, and he
promised to consult his Government about this. He spoke to me of the
radio telegraph, and I requested him to arrange for both the telegraph
and telephone to be installed in Azeila. Ullah, so much of civilization
is useful and, at the same time, annoying.”
Silvestre welcomed with delight the Sherif’s last suggestion, as it
would give him the opportunity of sending a military operator to Azeila,
which would be the first step to having an office in the forbidden city.
The interview closed satisfactorily and, as the Arabs expressed it, ‘the
Spaniard was the prisoner of the Sherif’s eloquence.’ It was certainly a
triumph for Raisuli, for he had won, at least for the moment, a powerful
ally, who wrote immediately to Madrid, urging the necessity of remaining
on good terms with the Sherif. The installation of telegraph and
telephone were the excuse for several visits on the part of the Spanish
commander, and each time he met the astute Raisuli, he was the more
convinced of his sincerity, so much so that a deputation of Moors from
Ahl Serif, asking to be allowed to appoint their own Kaid in lieu of
Raisuli’s nominee, received an unexpected rebuff.
“About this time,” continued the Sherif, “El Guebbas wrote to me from
Fez, saying that a body of French engineers, interested in the line from
Tangier to Fez, would like to visit me on their way through Azeila. I
received them, as I was bound to do, since my Governorate was from Mulai
Hafid, but I was glad also, because I thought their visit would hasten
the arrival of my own telephone, for Spain was still afraid that what
she did not give me I should receive from France. Silvestre was very
anxious after it had been told him that the French engineers had stayed
with me for hours, so, in order to strengthen his hold on the country,
he wrote to me, saying that Tzenin and Suq el Telata were nearer to
Azeila than to Larache. He begged me to allow provisions to be
disembarked at Azeila, that they might pass straight up to the camps. I
agreed, because I wanted boats to come to the town, in order that they
might bring me the materials I needed for my house, which I was still
decorating and improving. Also it had always been my intention to bring
the Spaniards to Azeila, but I wished to do it slowly, as between
friends, so that the people might not say I was under Christian
influence, for in that case I should have had no more power over them.
In order to be pleasant to the Spaniards, I instructed the new Pasha of
Al Kasr to allow them to acquire all the land that they required for
their camps, and to do everything for their satisfaction; but still
there was argument between us concerning the taxes. Silvestre complained
of their severity, and I replied that they had been much reduced. Truly
it is not worthy that men should talk so much about money.
“In the beginning of the year, according to your counting (Feb. 1912),
Zugasti, with whom I had long wanted to have speech, sent a friend to
see me, for there was a dispute about the payment of the garrisons, but
I would talk of nothing but my telegraph line.”
The unfortunate envoy wrote that he found the Sherif proud and
unyielding, that he had had two interviews, in which Raisuli had not
opened his lips, and that, during a third, his host had been in such a
bad temper that he had thought it better to “give way in everything,
lest the Sherif should refuse to treat further.” Silvestre, still
convinced of Raisuli’s honesty, again travelled to Azeila. “I told him,”
said the Sherif, “that he was welcome, for the sight of a friend is like
morning after the night, but that there was no necessity for speech. I
had already explained that any service I could render to Spain would be
a duty which I should hasten to accomplish. He wished to speak again of
taxes and garrisons, but I said to him, ‘Where is my telephone?’ He
answered that it was on its way. Then he said that many provisions were
being unloaded at Azeila and that it was necessary to build a storehouse
to hold them. I agreed, and added that I would appoint a trusted man to
look after them, and this was in order to test him, for I knew it was a
trick to gain more foothold in Azeila. He answered that, as he would be
responsible for the stores, he must send soldiers to guard them. I said
nothing, and, after a silence, he asked if, for the lodging of the
soldiers, he might build a hotel outside the walls of the town. I
replied, ‘It is a wise man who hides the price of his merchandise till
the bargain is concluded. Ullah, I see now how much my telephone will
cost.’ But we were friends, and, because I understood his mind, I
forgave him. At the end he asked me if I would not become a Spanish-
protected subject, and I answered that this was my greatest wish; for
sometimes the truth is not courteous.”
CHAPTER XIV
ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS
Mulai Hafid had signed a treaty with France in the preceding November,
to the extreme discontent of most of his subjects. On the 17th of April
the rebellion broke out in Fez. The Sultan, besieged within his palace
walls, sent post-haste to Casablanca to ask for French troops. There was
fighting round the sanctuary of Mulai Idris, one of the most venerated
places in Morocco, and several European officers, who had been employed
as instructors to the Sherifian forces, were killed and their mutilated
bodies displayed to the excited populace. The hotel-keeper was shot on
his own threshold, and the mutineers proceeded to massacre everyone in
the building, except a few French officers who, after gallantly
defending an outbuilding until it was set on fire, escaped to the house
of a Sherif who was friendly to their country.
The celebrated Father Fabre, and one or two companions had barricaded
themselves in a room of the hotel, and defended it so well that they
effected the temporary retirement of the enemy. Unfortunately, cries
from the street attracted the priest’s attention and he insisted on
going out to give absolution to the dying. For a few moments the gallant
Father was allowed to move among the bodies lying outside the hotel. He
found one man who was seriously wounded but still alive, and tried to
lift him into the shelter of an archway, for bullets were flying over
them from both sides of the street. This action exasperated the short
patience of the Moors, and one of them struck him down with the butt of
a rifle. His brains ran out over the man whom he had been trying to
save!
The crowds shouted their approbation and proceeded to set fire to the
hotel. Fortunately, the flames did not spread, for old Fez is like a
rabbit-warren, where the eaves of the houses lean together, shutting out
the light from the labyrinthine paths they border. The next day the
massacre continued, and the victims, or such portions of them as
remained after the vengeance of the mob had been satisfied, were hung on
the gates of the town. The atrocities might have been even worse but for
the intervention of the Sherif referred to, who secretly harboured all
the Christians who came to him, and even sent his servants into the
street to rescue the wounded.
French troops made forced marches from the coast, but they had some
days’ fighting before they could take possession of the city. With their
advent, peace was restored, but Mulai Hafid, realising that his reign
was ended, retired to Rabat and spent his last months of sovereignty
arguing with France as to the amount of pension he should receive, in
return for his abdication. The repercussion of all this agitation was
felt in the Spanish zone.
“Silvestre asked for more troops from Spain,” said Raisuli, “and I
agreed with him that the situation was difficult, but the mountaineers
have never had great friendship for the Sultan, and now their anger was
directed against Mulai Hafid, not against the French. They said, ‘He has
betrayed Islam! He has sold us to the Christians,’ and had he remained
long in the country, not all his guards could have protected him. At
this time Silvestre and I worked faithfully together to keep peace among
the tribes, for had there been a Jehad, I should have been obliged,
either to put myself at the head of it, or to lose the respect of my
country for ever.
“The Colonel was now fully persuaded of my sincerity and, when he was
called to Madrid to report on the occurrences across the Luccus he
promised me to press my claims for the Caliphate. Ullah, there is much
mystery in Spanish politics. Do you see that beetle?” I watched a
lumbering brown insect, unpleasantly like a cockroach, scuttling to and
fro in aimless dashes. At one moment its rush brought it almost to
Raisuli’s feet as he sat hunched up in the sagging chair. At another it
scurried equally blindly towards the sunshine which gilded the carpets
by the tent door. “That animal is like the policy of Spain. It has no
decision, and it makes first for one object, then for another. A dozen
times Spain could have conquered this country by force of arms, but
always, at the last moment, her Government has fallen, or her officials
here have been recalled. There are so many different interests, and each
has its own plans. One comes to me here and says, ‘It is only the
soldiers who have power. Make a bargain with them, for they are the
friends of the King.’ Another arrives, and whispers, ‘Do not listen to
the soldiers. They have no influence in politics. All the ministers are
my friends. I can arrange matters for you.’ In war this has been my
salvation, for I have dealt with all parties in turn, but in peace it
has destroyed my influence, and men have said, ‘What is Spain, and what
are her desires?’ It is a pity, for her rule in the towns is good. The
Arabs in Tetuan are more prosperous than those in Tangier. But it is
always ‘to-morrow.’ It is a year since the war stopped, and no agreement
has been made. You are surprised, for it is generally Europe which
hurries and Africa which delays.
“It was the same thing when Silvestre went to Madrid. At one time I
believed that he cheated me, but now I think he kept his word. It was
the Government which did not trust his knowledge, and they were troubled
about France. Perhaps they suggested Raisuli as Kaliph and Paris
refused. Allah alone knows. France would always be afraid if there were
a strong alliance between Spain and myself, and it is her plaything,
Mulai Jesuf[43] who chooses the Kaliph between two names submitted to
him. If Spain had been strong then, and given me in name what was
already mine in fact, there would have been no war, and her flag would
have been on every hilltop.”
As a matter of fact, Silvestre supported Raisuli’s candidature to the
utmost of his ability. The two letters which he wrote on this subject to
the Ministry and to the King are a matter of official record. He made a
considerable amount of propaganda in Spain for the Sherif, but France
was adamant in her refusal, and the Government was divided.
“In the middle of that year,” continued Raisuli, “I believed that
Silvestre and I were friends, but two bulls cannot rule the same herd.
The Colonel came to see me, and said his Government feared that he was
too much under my influence and was not busying himself with the
occupation of the country. He wanted to go by way of Beni Mesauer to Ain
el Yerida, and, from there, join the General Alfau, who was at Ceuta. I
did not like this plan, for Wadi Ras is dangerous country—any stone may
hide a rifle, and the streams are so thick with flowers and trees that
no man knows what is hid among them. Nevertheless, I offered to send
soldiers with him and I resolved to write secretly to the Kaids of the
tribes, warning them of the approach and saying, ‘Your head for his, if
he dies,’ but the Government changed its ideas and wrote hastily,
saying, ‘Do nothing until we have consulted on this matter.’
“Silvestre was anxious to bring his soldiers to Azeila. For long this
had been his aim, for he feared the French, who were working on the
telegraph line from Fez to Tangier. I said to him, ‘This is my town; the
only one I have kept for myself. You would blacken my face before the
inhabitants if you come here,’ but he persisted, for there had been some
more trouble over prisoners from Anjera, which tribe was always against
me. Ullah, they were daring in their raids. Once they intercepted my
mother, under whose feet is paradise, on her way to Beni Mesauer, where
she went to visit her family. I was at Zinat, and they sent the news to
me there, saying, ‘If you do not come to our village and submit to us,
we will kill your mother.’ I answered, ‘A man is responsible before
heaven for his mother. By Allah, I will come.’ So they were rejoiced,
and thought their plan had succeeded, but I gathered together seventeen
men, my closest friends, and we went by night over the hills, taking
with us petrol and matches. I sent a small boy with a message to my
mother, and he, crying because he had lost his goats, which had got
mixed up with the Anjera flocks, came to the village to complain, but
was not able to see my mother till nightfall. Then, when all were at
prayer, he found her, and said, ‘My master sent me; and when, in the
dawn, you hear the cry of a bird[44] on the hillside, go swiftly from
the house and hide among those trees,’ and she answered, ‘If Allah
wills, it shall be done.’
I divided my men in two parties and, when we arrived, before the light
was clear, I stationed one in a thicket beyond the village. These made a
great firing with their rifles and allowed themselves to be seen by the
villagers, who thought they were attacked only from that side, and
rushed out to drive away the enemy, who were few. Then we crept silently
from behind the stones, each man in his earth-brown mantle, and, when we
reached the first house, we poured petrol over it and set it on fire.
The flames roared up from roof to roof, and the smoke belched forth like
the breath of an army in winter. The Anjera were frightened, and
returned in haste to save their families and their property. I called
out to them, ‘Why are you disturbed by my visit? You invited me, and I
have come.’ ‘By Allah, you have destroyed your mother!’ screamed
someone, but I knew she was safe behind the trees I had indicated, for
the small goatherd had tied his kilt to his stick and was waving it to
prevent his animals going back into the village, and this was the sign
agreed upon.
“The men whom I had stationed in the grove joined me, and there was so
much confusion in the village, where the fire was sucking up the houses
as a wave gathers the sand in its maw, that no Anjera knew his friend
from his foe. When a man fell, a woman picked up his rifle and fired,
and one, who was but a girl, hid among the cactus and shot steadily at
the place where I stood, but, as always, the ‘baraka’ was with me.”
The Sherif seemed to think the story was ended. He picked up a great jug
which stood on the table and drank half its contents. “This water is
tainted by the goatskin. I send specially to a spring in the mountains,
where the water is very clear and cold, and they bring it down in jars,
so that there is no taste. My cousin should have seen that you had this
to drink, for the wells here are not good.” The Kaid cut short the
apologies of Mulai Sadiq. “The Sherif has not told you what happened
that night,” he said. “After we had put the Sherifa on a mule and sent
her with an escort on her way, I said to my friends, ‘We have forgotten
something,’ and we returned and lay hid among the rocks till some of the
Anjera came out. They were quite close to us and we could see the hairs
on their faces before we sprang up and killed them, each one choosing an
enemy and using his knife so that no sound should reach the village. We
cut off their heads and turned swiftly, but a woman screamed among the
cactus, and we saw men issuing from the ruins. Ullah, we did not wait,
but ran like the foxes in the mountain, but each man carried a head,
and, when we came to our own village, we set them up on posts, as a
witness that Raisuli was still strong.
“That night we feared an attack from Anjera, who surely would revenge
their dead, but it was a long way and none came. Guards had been posted
all round the village, and there was a watchman on the hill, but they
travelled far and were tired. Perhaps they slept. When it was near dawn
I heard a shot, and I ran out, with my finger on the trigger, expecting
the crash of musketry from the hedges, but there was only a faint cry,
like an animal when it is wounded, and the sentry, who had fired, could
not say what he had seen.
“He spoke of something white at the gate. ‘Fool, thou hast wasted my
bullet on a donkey,’ I told him, but he insisted that it was a jinn, for
it is in the early hours, when the light is neither white nor black,
that the jinns come and do harm, wounding men and otherwise annoying
them. After that, I woke up those who slept, in case some strategy was
intended, but the sun rose and all was quiet. ‘Where did you see the
jinn?’ I asked, and the man took me to the place, and, strange thing!
there were but three heads on the posts instead of four. The Jebali was
frightened. ‘Did I not tell you so, Sidi? But it was a ghoul who eats
human flesh!’ ‘Empty words,’ I answered him. ‘These creatures do not
leave blood upon the ground,’ for truly the earth was trampled hard by
our feet and the dry stalks were red. I called to a slave, and he came
with me.
“Together we followed the track, and a group came out of the village
behind us. ‘Your jinn was badly wounded,’ I said. ‘It could not have
gone far,’ but I was wrong. The blood ceased after a time, and we walked
a long way, for there was but one path towards Anjera. At last the slave
said, ‘This is dangerous ground, master; let us return,’ but I was
curious, and went on. We found a strip of white cotton stuff by the way,
but it was soaked with blood, and after that the grass was red again.
Very soon, under an olive-tree, we found our quarry. It was a girl, and
she was dead. Her hair was matted with sweat and her garments stained,
but she was little and young, and, in one arm, wrapped in the cleanest
bit of her skirt and pressed against her bosom, she held the head of her
man.” The Kaid stopped. “Women always make trouble,” said Mulai Sadiq,
with a glance at me, but el Menebbhe went on, shyly, as if rather
ashamed, “We covered her with a jellaba and sent news to her village
that there was a truce, and that if they came to our town, they could
return in safety with that which belonged to them.”
Raisuli looked at me curiously. “You like that story, eh? But the Kaid
has a soft heart for women. His wife has just borne him a son, and, by
Allah, I have not seen him for days. One would have thought it was he
who gave birth, so anxious was his face.” There was general amusement,
amidst which the Sherif sent for green tea, and I had to wait for the
continuation of his story till several cups had been drunk, with loud
sucking noises, expressive of supreme appreciation.
“Tea is very useful,” said Raisuli at last. “It mellows a man’s thoughts
as well as helps his digestion, for there is no trouble between the
teapot and the cup. I was telling you how Silvestre wished to occupy
Azeila, and how I asked him to wait. Truly the blood was in his head and
he was mad, for, one night, news was brought to me that a Spanish
mehalla was marching from Larache to attack me. I said, ‘It is not
possible, unless Allah has muddled their wits!’ but when I discovered it
was true, I made hasty preparation in the town and said, ‘Any man who
fires will never see the sun again.’ The people wondered and whispered
among themselves, but they feared me, and so peace was kept.
“I had the gates of the town shut, and sent a messenger to Silvestre,
saying, ‘When a guest is uninvited, he is still welcome, but you should
have given me warning. This is an unwise action which will have bad
results. Do not come into the town, but make your camp at Aox.’ This was
a height which was a convenient place for an army. I was angry with
Silvestre for what he had done, for discourtesy is worse than treachery,
and both are bad. I complained to the Legation at Tangier, but I
received kindly the officers who came into the town, for I knew it was
only politics, and done to prevent the French having influence in Azeila
by means of their telegraph. Worse news came to me soon, for it was
rumoured that Mulai el Mehdi, of the family of the Sultan, a weak man
who has no standing in the country, was to be appointed Kaliph. Then I
thought to myself that the Spaniards had broken faith with me and were
no more to be trusted.
“The tribesmen came to me in large numbers and said, ‘Is this thing
possible? We thought that the Sherif was well with the foreigners.’ In
this way my prestige suffered, for Mulai el Mehdi was straw blown in the
wind, and his minister, Ben Azuz, though an honest man and worthy of
respect on that account, had no force behind his words. I told myself
that I had been foolish to believe in any Christian promise, and, from
that day, I have not put too much credence in the words of generals and
ministers, for it seems to me that in all countries, when Europeans
arrange treaties with natives, they make reservations, saying to
themselves, ‘If this be to our interest it shall stand,’ but, if there
be trouble between two of your Powers, no compacts and no pledges will
keep the Arab from being trampled on.
[Illustration: Mulai Ahmed el Raisuli]
“At this time I had a mehalla at Bu Maiza. It was supported by the money
of the Maghsen and it kept peace on the borders of Ahl Serif, which is
always a rebellious tribe. Silvestre asked me to disband it, that there
might be only one force in the country, and I said, ‘I will do this
slowly, so that the Ahl Serif shall not think I am weak before them,’
but the Colonel pressed the matter, sending letters daily from Larache.
I replied always, ‘The time is not suitable. There is much trouble among
the tribes, and you should assist me to keep peace, not destroy my means
of doing so.’
“I thought he had understood my words, but, suddenly, without any
warning, he fell upon my mehalla, sending out two columns by night to
eat it up. Kan haram! It was criminal, for my men were killed before
they had time to defend themselves, and, when the Ahl Serif saw their
distress, they came down from the rear and butchered those who remained.
The commander of my army had been severe with the villages who refused
to pay tribute, so the rebels took some of his men away into the
mountains and buried them in the earth up to their necks, and left them
there to die. The flies ate their eyes and the sun burned them, but it
takes much to kill the men of Jebala, for they are strong, so at last
the Ahl Serif brought their horses and galloped up and down over the
heads, till they were knocked to pieces. When I heard this I swore
vengeance.
“The destruction of my mehalla is one of the things I have never
forgiven. The other is the murder of Alkali, of which I will tell you
presently.
“The camp at Bu-Maiza was looted and nothing was left in it, not even
the posts to which the horses had been fastened. Remember, I was still a
Governor of the Sultan, so the matter was not between Spain and me. An
imperial force had been destroyed without reason, and it was no more
possible to enforce my authority, nor could I control the tribes who
wished to avenge this insult. I went to Tangier to protest to the
Spanish Legation against this action of Silvestre’s, for I knew there
was no accord between them and I had the intention of never returning to
Azeila. The Minister (it was really the First Secretary, Lopez Robert)
received me well, and made many apologies, and would have persuaded me
to go back to my province, but he never answered any of my questions,
nor would he say anything definite. Ullah, this is a bad policy with
Moslems, for procrastination is our heritage, and if a European is
evasive, it is easy for us to defeat him at this game. So nothing was
settled, but the Government congratulated itself on keeping my
friendship. They assured me that all questions would be answered at
Azeila, and, because I had left my family there and news came to me that
my mother, the peace of Allah be with her, was ill, I agreed to return
there, spending several days on the journey and speaking to the tribes
as I went.[45]
“I had no communication with Silvestre until it was nearly winter, when
he came to present to me an officer whom he had stationed in the town. I
delayed three days in receiving him, for a man must be polite to his
guest and I considered that no speech could undo the wrongs which lay
between us. I said I was ill, or that I was busy, or else that I was
praying, by which polite answers an Arab would have understood that I
neither wished to offend, nor to see him. Silvestre insisted, and
entered the yard of the palace, saying that he would wait at the door
till it was opened. I therefore received him with the honour which I
have always paid to his Government, for I still see in it our help.
“He talked to me of business before the mint was in the tea, and
persisted in demanding the release of three Sheikhs of Beni Kholot, whom
I had imprisoned because they would not pay tribute. I said to him, ‘I
will free the men you speak of, if you wish, but do you not realise what
you are doing? When you came to my country, all the people obeyed me,
and, for that reason, I was able to help you. My assistance then was
powerful. Now there are five tribes who dispute my rule. This is the
result of your actions, and, if Raisuli falls, who do you think will
keep peace? Every village will be at the throat of its neighbour, and no
man’s life will be secure.’ I think in his heart he agreed with me, and,
since the matter of Mulai el Mehdi was not yet settled, perhaps he hoped
to prevail upon the Government in my favour.” “Thy words, Sidi, have
always been of more value to thee than the blades of the jebala,”
muttered Mulai Sadiq, but Raisuli gave no sign of hearing. Impassive and
apparently bored, he continued, “Silvestre asked also for the release of
the Ramla prisoners and, concerning this, I said we would talk later,
for these villages had disobeyed my orders and fought against the Kaid
whom I had appointed.
“I hoped then that the Colonel would leave, for it was late afternoon,
and an unsuitable hour for speech, but he said to me, ‘How is it that
you never return my visits nor offer me lodging in your house? The
people talk of it and say it is your intention to avoid me and that
there is no agreement between us.’ ‘I have no such intention,’ I
answered, ‘but as for agreement, there are certain promises made to me
by Zugasti and yourself which are still unfulfilled.’ There was silence,
and I spoke no more, but he would not leave until I had agreed to
accompany him round the camp at Aox, to show the natives that there was
friendship between us. ‘This I do out of respect for Spain,’ I said, but
I was convinced that he was not dealing straightly with me. Ullah,
perhaps I was wrong, for truly there is much harm in pen and paper, and
each one reads a different meaning into the written word.
“When there is no sincerity, whatever the one does the other disapproves
of. So it was with Silvestre and myself. He accused me of taking
possession of land belonging to the Maghsen and using it for my own
purposes. When I produced documents to prove my rights, he said they
were forged. The land at Sahel had been mine for many years, but
Silvestre would not believe it. Then I too became angry, and I
imprisoned those Arabs who had been working for Silvestre against my
interests. I heaped chains upon them and allowed no food to be given to
them except a little oil. The Spanish minister at Tangier wrote to me
asking for their release, but I did not answer, for I had begun building
in two places, at Rekada and at Bir Musuk, and it was very annoying that
my claim to the lands should be questioned. I had paid the man much
money to make out the deeds properly, and no one was the poorer because
of this arrangement.” Raisuli’s voice expressed mild indignation and he
pressed together his thick, moist lips as if to hold back a flood of
words.
“Silvestre went again to Madrid,[46] and, because I hoped something
might be arranged from this visit, I released the prisoners they asked
for. When he returned it was the feast of Aidh el Kebeer, when all the
tribes brought tribute and, in addition, such presents as they could
afford. Some men of Beni Aros went to Larache to complain that I had
kept five of their men in prison for a long time and demanded 8,000
douros for their release. This was true, for it was the amount of the
tribute they had failed to pay, being obstinate people loving money more
than freedom. It was many months that they had been in prison, chained
on the same chain. The tribesmen sacrificed bullocks in front of
Zugasti’s office and implored him to intercede for them, for they said,
‘You are the friend of the Sherif and he calls you his brother. Anything
that you ask he will give you.’ They were right, and, had Zugasti come
to me, all would have been well, but Silvestre was always between us,
and I never saw my friend.”
About this time the Spanish police intercepted a letter to Raisuli from
the commander of a small force which he had stationed in Beni Aros, to
ensure the payment of a long-delayed tribute. It was signed by one Sid
Hemed ben Musa and two others, and described in detail the burning of
certain houses in Beni Ider, owing to the refusal of the “traitors” to
pay the sum demanded. It is undoubted that deputations of indignant
tribesmen constantly visited Silvestre, demanding relief from the
extortions of the Sherif and complaining of the way their relations were
imprisoned without a trial “during the pleasure of the Pasha.” It was
also reported to him, but from not very reliable sources, that Raisuli
was inciting the tribes to rebellion by means of letters which were to
be read aloud by the Kaids. Rumour said that the Sherif proposed to lead
an army in person against the mutinous Beni Aros, and Silvestre wrote
hastily to Tangier urging the Minister to prevent Raisuli leaving that
town, whither he had gone to make further complaints. As usual, however,
the Legation was not in agreement with the military authorities, and the
Sherif’s return to Azeila was unopposed. More tales of horrors were
repeated to the unfortunate Silvestre, and he appealed to Raisuli by
letter. The latter replied, “Let me govern in my own way, or let us
break altogether.”
A number of tribesmen who had been friendly to Spain took refuge in the
camp at Aox. Fearing the reprisals of the Sherif, they poured their
grievances into the ears of the Spaniards. Another letter was
intercepted. This time it was from Raisuli’s Khalifa to Abd es Salaam at
Taieb, one of the commanders of his mehalla, and it ordered the
immediate imprisonment of all the “traitors” of Jaldien and other
villages.[47] In obedience to this letter, which had been sent in
duplicate, a section of the mehalla duly attacked the miserable Beni
Aros and burned several farms. By this time both parties were “seeing
red,” and neither thought of the results of their actions. Raisuli went
to Zinat, and it was rumoured that he meant to visit the sanctuary of
his ancestor, Sidi Abd es Salaam. This would have been a signal for a
gathering of all the tribes. The mountain would have been alive with
rifles, and, with the cry, “There is no God but Allah and Mohamed is his
Prophet.” The Holy War would have been proclaimed from one end of the
country to the other.
A few Moors from Beni Aros came with their arms and horses and offered
to fight for Spain, upon which the Beni Mesauer promptly pillaged their
houses. In Suq es Sabt the tribesmen cut off the head of a Kaid
appointed by Raisuli, and, a few days later, the mountaineers swept down
upon the village and murdered several merchants.
“Nobody knew my intentions,” said the Sherif, “and, until I made known
my will, there was no security in the country. My brother, in whom I had
great confidence, came to me and asked, ‘What are your intentions
concerning Spain? Tell me, that I may know how to act, for there is but
one will in our family.’ I said to him, ‘You are the son of my father,
and it is your right to ask my plans, but, tell me, where have you left
your family?’ He replied, ‘They are in Al Kasr with my uncle.’ Then I
said to him, ‘You have not seen them for some time. Go and visit them.
Spend a few days with them, talk to them and take them gifts. Then
return here and ask me my projects.’ He was surprised. ‘Why should I
make this journey?’ he asked. ‘For the occasion is not suitable.’ I told
him, ‘We are of the same house and I have confidence in you, so it is
just that you should know what is in my mind; but, if I tell you, you
will never again see your family. Therefore I advised you—go and visit
your household now, and afterwards I will speak with you—for no man
knows my plans and lives.”
CHAPTER XV
WAR WITH SPAIN
“It was written that there should be war between Silvestre and myself,”
said Raisuli. “We had tried to escape the fate that was intended for us,
but at last (in January, 1913) he came to see me at Azeila. I was
annoyed, for I did not wish to receive him and he had given me no
warning. He waited below in the hall of my house, and he would not sit
down, but paced up and down, up and down, like a beast which is caged. I
sent my wakil to him that he might not be alone and worried by his own
thoughts, but he pushed the man aside and tried to mount the stair-case.
My slaves stopped him and I heard loud voices arguing. Then I said to
myself, ‘It is the will of Allah. Let him come up.’ I greeted him
restrainedly and wished him peace, but he did not even answer my
salutations. ‘I want to see the prison,’ he said. ‘Let us go at once. I
have no time to waste.’ I took no notice of his words, for certainly one
does not talk business in this fashion at the beginning of an interview.
I led him into the gallery, where there were mattresses and carpets, but
he would not rest. ‘I have heard so much of your cruelty,’ he said, ‘so
many complaints have come to me—I must see with my own eyes.’ ‘Justice
is not cruelty,’ I answered, ‘and the eyes of a European are not a good
judge of our ways.’ ‘Let us go at once,’ he interrupted sharply. I was
surprised at his manner, for, though impatient, he was generally
courteous.
“I sent for tea, hoping to calm him and make him see reason. It was long
in coming and we sat in silence, but all the time the Spaniard fidgeted
and at last, when the trays came, I thought he would throw the glasses
across the room. My secretary was making the tea, and the slave had
forgotten the mint, so there was another wait.—Yes, Sayeda, you have
guessed right. It is possible that this was done on purpose, for I did
not want him to see the prisons and I wished to wear out his patience so
that, in the end, he would leave me in anger.—After the first cup had
been drunk he said, ‘I will taste no more until I have seen your
prisoners,’ and the slaves looked at him, surprised at these new ways.
He had been two hours, perhaps three, in the palace, and I could
restrain him no longer. I said, ‘Today is not a suitable day, for
tomorrow they will be fed and ready for your visit,’ but he went out of
the room without answering, and stood outside the door, saying, ‘I am
waiting. Are you ready?’
“A host is always under the orders of his guest, and it is not
hospitality to sit while he stands, so I got up and went with him. In
silence we went out of the house and walked towards the prison, he
hastening in front, I slowly following, returning the salutations of
those who came forward to kiss my sleeves.
“At the door there was no gaoler, and while the man was being found, I
said, ‘You know best if what you have done is good or bad, but it is not
thus in my country that matters are dealt with among the great,’ and he
answered nothing. The gaolers came with the keys, and we went in. It had
been cold outside, but here the air was fœtid and the heavy smell was
like a blow to Silvestre, who grew pale on the threshold.
“‘Come in,’ I said. ‘It is your wish,’ but he stood there, staring as if
his eyes were on sticks which pushed them out of his head. ‘Dios! are
all the men in the country criminals?’ he asked. It was a small place,
not much bigger than this tent, so it looked crowded, for there were
nearly 100 prisoners there. To make room, half of them had been fastened
to the same chain, and one or two were perhaps dead, for the gaolers are
always careless, and perchance there was no smith to break open the
irons. It was very dark, and nothing could be seen clearly. The eyes of
the men were like green lamps. Do you know when you look into a hole
and, unexpectedly, you see twin points of light, and it is a face
watching you? So the prisoners watched without moving. Some of them were
almost naked and shivering. Others were so thin that their bones tore
the rags which were on them. Truly the will of Allah is strange. The
pleasure of crime is momentary and its punishment eternal.
“Silvestre would have spoken to them, but the smell caught him in the
throat and drove him out. He held something across his face. ‘This is
horrible; inhuman! I will not stand it in a country which is under our
protection! How dare you do it? Are you not afraid of the consequences?’
‘It is a weak man who fears what will arise out of his actions. I fear
nothing but Allah.’ ‘Do you feed them?’ he asked. ‘They do not expect
food in prison. It is not right that evil should fatten at the expense
of the virtuous; but their friends bring them food, and few die of
starvation.’ ‘But what have they done?’ he insisted. ‘They have broken
the law, and my justice is exact.’ ‘Is there a register of their
crimes?’ ‘Perhaps the Qadi has one. Have you seen enough?’ But here all
the prisoners began to protest, moaning and crying out that they were
innocent. ‘Do not listen to them,’ I said, ‘for they have become like
dogs. A good Moslem never complains against the will of Allah.’ ‘It is
_your_ will only—’ interrupted Silvestre, but I put up my hand to stop
him. ‘I have no will but Allah’s,’ I said.
“Silvestre would not return to my house. He went straight to his office
and sent messengers to bring him the register of the prison, but none
could be found. The Qadi was busy and said, ‘Come tomorrow. Imsha-Allah
I may have it then.’ Other officials were in the mosque, for it was now
sunset and the day’s work was finished. ‘Later on,’ they said, ‘we will
do as you wish, but this is not the time.’ Certain ‘mesqueen’[48] of the
town, having heard of the affair and ready to fill their sails with his
new wind, went to Silvestre and complained that their relations had been
put in prison without cause, or because they refused me the money
necessary for my houses at Tazrut and Zinat. Certainly I had to rebuild
the last one, for it had been destroyed by the guns of Mulai Abdul Aziz,
but I took only the presents which were my due and the labour which is
always at the service of a Governor. It is the custom.
“Silvestre came again to my house and, standing at the door like a
beggar, insisted that I should see him. Was it right that the
representative of a great country should behave in this way? My servants
told him that I was praying, but he said, ‘It is an excuse not to
receive me,’ and he pushed past them and opened the door. My steward
came to him in the hall and said, ‘The Sherif is in the Mosque. Listen;
you can hear the prayers, but Silvestre was unbelieving, and he came and
stood at the door of the room where I prayed. I took no notice of him
and went on with the prescribed Raqua-at.
“At the end, and when I had finished my meditation, I turned and saw him
still waiting. I gave him no greeting, but said, ‘Come,’ and led him
upstairs, making him enter the room before me and sit in the place of
honour. He was not long in speaking. ‘I have come to end this matter,
for there has been too much delay. No register has been shown me, and
certainly your prisoners have committed no greater crime than failure to
satisfy your greed. You have extorted all they have, and, because they
could not pay more, you have condemned them to a living death. Spain
will not permit this to be done under the shadow of her flag. These men
must be released today.’ Then I spoke to him. ‘Spain has other and
greater purposes than to interfere with our justice. The Sherif law
permits my actions, no, insists on them. You should uphold my authority,
not weaken it, as has been your purpose for a long time. Spain swore to
support our religion and our law. You misunderstand your mission. You
have no more right to meddle with our traditions and our customs than I
have to tell you the food you eat is unclean. To each country its laws!’
But he would not listen. He ordered my slaves to bring some of the
prisoners before him. The man looked at me questioningly. ‘My house is
at the service of Spain,’ I said. ‘Do as he wishes.’
“There was silence between us, but, while I contemplated the breadth of
wisdom that is in Islam, Silvestre fidgeted and moved first one foot,
then another, hitting his boot with a stick. At last they brought three
men into the room, and something had been done to cover their nakedness
and their sores, but they were dreadful to look at. Silvestre said to
them, ‘What crime have you committed? Why are you in prison?’ and one
answered, ‘By Allah, I am innocent of all intention to offend,’ and
another, ‘I could not pay the money demanded by the soldiers of the
Sherif, for the harvest was bad and I had no grain to sell.’ Then
Silvestre turned to me and asked loudly, ‘Do you hear that? What have
you to say?’ I answered, ‘My justice is true and there is no further
appeal.’ He insisted, ‘But don’t you understand of what they accuse
you?’ I pitied him at that moment, for it was he who did not understand.
‘It is not I who am accused,’ I said, ‘and words are the least valuable
of a man’s merchandise. It is well not to trust them too implicitly.’
“Silvestre got up in anger and ordered all the prisoners to be released,
but, before he could leave, I took him to a window and showed him a man
sitting in the court. ‘Do you see that Faqih?’ I asked. ‘He has been
sitting there for three days, and he has not eaten nor moved, except his
lips for prayer. Do you understand that man’s mind? for he is content,’
and he answered, ‘No.’ Then I showed him a row of Sheikhs gathered in
the shade of the wall. ‘These men have waited six days to see me, and
they have not complained. They are content following the shade from wall
to wall, and life is good for them. Do you understand their patience?’
Once again he said, ‘No.’ Lastly, I pointed across the roofs to a barred
window very high up, and I said, ‘Behind that grille are women who have
never seen the day. They live in one room, where they sleep and eat and
bear children. They never leave the house until they go out to be
buried; yet they are content. Do you understand their lives?’ ‘No’ he
answered. ‘Then do not be so sure that you can judge our laws and our
customs, for ignorance is a steep hill, with perilous rocks at the
bottom,’ I said. And he went.”
There was a pause, and the Sherif looked at me gravely. “You, too, are
wondering,” he said, “but purposely, I have made this affair neither
black nor white, for you know something of the ways of the East. When I
told you of my imprisonment at Mogador, you said, ‘How could you bear
it? I should have died in three days,’ but it was not true. Death is in
the hands of Allah, and it comes only by his will. What it is written
that a man shall endure, that is his portion and he cannot get away from
it. You trouble yourselves with much rebellion, and you eat up your
years the quicker, but we do not fight against that which is sent us,
and that is why we can endure.”
It is impossible to express the heavy fatality of his voice, unhurried
and devoid of emotion. I wanted to argue, but it would have been to
fling oneself against something as hard as granite and as immovable. The
words died breathless in my throat and I felt as if they had been
crushed by a great weight. “Patience is the only thing left us,” said
the Sherif. “Once our race was great, and you learned your science and
philosophy at our feet. Our armies conquered the West and Islam was
invincible, but we were not a productive people, for the mind of an Arab
is always more agile than his fingers. You took our knowledge and
manipulated it to your purpose. Our strength was expanded, and the East
fell before your vigour. Now it is your turn to teach, and we are slow
to learn, for there is with us yet the memory of greater things than you
ever knew, but it is dim. Perhaps we must lose it altogether, before we
can meet you in the open and wrest back our sovereignty. Do you see that
man at the well, and how he draws the water? When one bucket empties,
the other fills. It is so with the world. At present you are full of
power, but you are spilling it slowly and wastefully, and Islam is
lapping up the drops as they fall from your bucket. Some day, when we
have profited by your schools and your factories, we shall retake what
is ours, but it will not be in our lifetime nor yet in that of our
children’s children. So Allah has given us patience.” There was another
pause.
“Before Silvestre returned to Larache, he ordered his men to see that
the prisoners were released—so there was war between us. My people came
to me and said, ‘Why do you permit this thing? There are enough rifles
to turn the Spaniards out of the country.’ But I answered, ‘The time is
not yet come.’ Nevertheless I began sending rifles and ammunition to the
mountains where they would be safe. Every tribesman who came into the
market with his sheep went out with the panniers of his mules stuffed
with cartridges. Many carpets were bought in the town those days, and
each roll hid a bundle of rifles. There were many ways of doing these
things. Women going out to work in the fields carried ammunition packed
in their skirts, for no man may look under their haiks, and truly, in
those days, the stature of women swelled till all went to their work
with hips so heavy that they could scarcely walk. In time this was
reported to Silvestre, for, wherever there are strangers in a country,
there also are traitors. Scum rises to the surface when the water is
stirred. Hamdulillah, most of my stores were already in the hills, for
the tribesmen brought in great bundles of thatch for the roof, and other
villagers chose to buy it in the town, instead of procuring their own
from the countryside, and this straw covered the journey of many guns.
When the Spaniards put a guard on the maghsen,[49] more than the half
was gone, but still they took possession of many thousand cartridges and
quantities of rifles of all kinds.”
Spanish writers state that on this occasion they took 501 rifles,
Martini and Gras, and 133,000 cartridges. They place the number of
prisoners released as 98 or 91, and insist that nearly half of this
number were Sheikhs who had refused to pay the tribute demanded by
Raisuli. The Sherif’s story continued: “I have told you before that, as
Governor, I was an official of the Sultan, so this action of Spain was
an insult to his authority. Among the prisoners who were released were
many thieves who had stolen even the jewellery of women and cut off
their breasts when they struggled. There were also murderers, two of
whom were notorious throughout the country. It had taken my soldiers six
months to catch them, for they lived among the trees of the mountains
like apes, and existed on the fruit and the herbs. The tortures they had
inflicted on people are beyond my telling, and they took boys from their
homes and tortured them as is forbidden by Islam.
“These men were let loose, and two lions could not have done a tithe of
the harm which was laid at their door. In place of these scoundrels, the
Spaniards imprisoned my friends and the teacher of my son, because he
was loyal to me and would not tell where certain of my papers were kept.
They took also the gaoler of the prison, el Hiffa, whom they made
responsible for the condition of the prisoners, saying that food sent by
their friends never reached them, but was given by this man to his
family. Some of the prisoners died, and there was more trouble; but I
had left at once for Tangier to report the matter to the Legation.
“The Minister received me well, and wrote hastily to Silvestre, saying
that he had been too overbearing in his actions, considering the
necessity of maintaining good relations with the Sultan’s Government.
Ullah, there were many words wasted in letters, but the harm was done. I
had the intention of never returning to Azeila, but Silvestre, guessing
this, put sentries at the doors of my house and allowed no one to go in
or out. My son was there, whom you know, and all my women, and there was
one whom I wished to have with me. I should not even have been told of
Silvestre’s action, but for the wit of a slave, who was carried out of
my house in a bundle of rugs which the servants said they must beat in
the street, for there was much dust in them. The soldiers would not let
them go out without permission of his officer, so the bundle was put
down beside the door, and no one noticed it while the argument
proceeded.
“How many hours the slave lay there, half stifled among the wool, Ullah,
I know not, but at last, when the attention of the guard was distracted,
he slipped out and hid in the house of a friend, for he was well known
as one of my favourites. The friend dressed him in women’s garments and
put on him a haik and the handkerchief that is tied across the face,
and, above that, the big hat which the peasants wear in the field. Then
he put a rope of onions round his neck, as if he had just come from the
market, and, in this way, my servant escaped from Azeila and came to me.
I asked him, ‘What news?’ and he answered, ‘The news is bad. Allah
forgive me for bringing it.’ I said, ‘The darkest day is better than the
night. You are free, whatever your news,’ and he told me that my mother
was ill and wished to see me before she went.
[Illustration: Raisuli’s house at Tazrut during Spanish occupation]
[Illustration: Raisuli’s qubba at Tazrut during Spanish occupation]
“I did not desire war, but, if attacked, only a coward does not defend
himself, so I took counsel with el Arbi, and sent him to Wadi Ras to
warn the tribes to prepare. I wrote also to Zellal and asked him to
prepare the flags of Beni Mesauer, so many men to each flag, and each
from a different section of the tribe. I had a few hundred men waiting
for my orders in the mountains, for I was unprepared for the struggle.
These I sent out among the tribes, distributing rifles from my store and
ordering them to be ready. There was a great meeting of the mountaineers
at Jebel Habib, the home of the Bakalis, and the Sheikhs of Wadi Ras,
Beni Mesauer, Beni Ider, Sumata and others consulted together as to how
the flags (companies) should be arranged. Mohamed es Siba was appointed
chief of the loyal men of Beni Aros, with the Sumata, Beni Gorfet, and
Ahl Serif.
“It was circulated among the Jebala that the women of my household had
been killed at Azeila and that all my property had been looted. I did
not deny the rumour, for it was as wine in the throat of an unbeliever,
and great oaths were sworn in the mosques. It would have been a bad day
for the Christians if I had loosed the leash. In peace, an Arab will say
of the Europeans, ‘The word of the English is good,’ of the Frenchman
that ‘he is brave,’ of the Spaniard that ‘he has a good heart,’ but, in
war, he recognises no nationality. They are all Christians, and he is a
Moslem. So it was now, and to add fuel to the fires which blazed from
mountain to mountain, came the news that the Sherif was a prisoner at
Tangier. It was already known that the arms and ammunition of the
Maghsen had been confiscated at Azeila, and each man who had hoped to
find his fingers on a new trigger vowed vengeance for the theft.
“There was a secret meeting in Beni Aros—down among those hills which
you can see. Do you remember a wadi where the flowers (pink oleanders)
grow over your head and the partridges call from thickets that even the
hunter may not penetrate? It was there that each man came with his gun.
Many of them were of the race of Jebel Alan, whose sons I shall always
have at my back. Each mountaineer brought his food, and those who had
horses left them where they would be ready for the march. ‘Praise to the
Prophet—the messenger of God’ was whispered from mouth to mouth, while
under the starlight the Kaid spoke to them in many words and told them,
‘It is your duty to protect the descendants of the Prophet, and the
country that is yours. Life under the heel of the Nasrani[50] is hard,
but death is an easy gate to paradise.’ So eloquent was his speech that
they would have started at once for Azeila to exact vengeance for the
blood of women.
“We do not treat our women as you do, but, if a tribesman lays his hand
on the family of another, a gun will be hid for him behind every rock
till the last of his men-folk is dead. I remember in Beni Aros, a woman
ran away with a man of Beni Gorfet, and, her husband being killed in the
raid that followed, there was only left her brother, whose face was as
smooth as yours, and he had no gun, for it was a poor family. So he sold
himself for so many years’ labour as the price of a rifle, and he went
out stealthily and lay hidden behind stones and trees, waiting for the
men of Gorfet. He had great patience, and, one by one, he killed them
and, before he himself was slain, he had shot seven and also cut the
throat of his sister. . . .
“Surely Azeila would have had short mercy before the weapons of Beni
Aros, but this was not my purpose, for I still hoped for peace by means
of the Ministry at Tangier. I sent other messengers to the hills to hold
the people in check, telling them that, when the time was ready, I
myself would lead them to victory. There was indecision among the
Spaniards, for some wanted to make peace with me, believing that this
was to the benefit of both our countries, while Silvestre longed to
occupy Zinat. My house there was rebuilt with strong walls and gates,
and the people believed that any who attacked me would go blind, for
they said, ‘Disaster has overtaken all his enemies, but he remains
strong.’ The Government was afraid of the newspapers, which for long
were my best friends. Ullah, you are surprised, but it is true. All
through the war it was like this. My strongest allies were in Madrid,
and they were worth more to me than all my guns and cartridges. There
would be a battle, and perhaps many of my men would be killed, and only
a few of yours, but, immediately, the Spanish newspapers would begin
their cry: ‘Mothers, why do you send yours sons to die in a country that
is not theirs? Sisters, why sacrifice your brothers in a cause which is
sterile and unprofitable?’ I cannot remember all the words, but they
were read to me at the time. Truly, my heaviest cannon came into action
after the battle was over, and the echo of their firing could be heard
in the conferences at Tangier.
“It was difficult for the Government, for, on one side, the Spanish
people feared they were fighting to no purpose, since the country is not
rich and it is only for her honour and the protection of her coast that
Spain would remain here. On the other, the soldiers, led by Silvestre,
urged that the land must be taken by force, and in order to do this
Raisuli must be imprisoned in Tangier. Perhaps even my life was
uncertain, but Allah guarded it from all snares.
“When there is no leader, destruction forgets its purpose. So it was in
Morocco. Men were killed in the suqs and on the highroads, whether they
had arms or were without protection. The tribesmen attacked Tetuan by
night and many were killed within the walls. A Jew had his throat cut,
almost within sight of the Tabor at Ain Yerida, and the police would not
interfere, for they did not know which side was strongest. The tribes
themselves were waiting, but whenever there is war, there are evil men,
thieves, murderers and brigands, who hang about on the edge of the
armies and commit many crimes which are attributed wrongly to those who
are fighting.
“Silvestre doubled the guard at Azeila, but there was always someone who
brought me news. At first it was done by pigeons, for two or three
carriers were smuggled in among a basket of fowls, but this was found
out, and then it was more difficult; but walls have ears in Africa, and,
from the roofs, every eye watched for the Sherif.
“Some of the discontented Arabs went to Silvestre with their arms, and
offered to fight against me, but these were men of the plains who were
afraid of attacks from the mountaineers. The plainsman suffers in war,
for his country is the open road over which all armies pass. The
Legation in Tangier was still trying to make peace with me, but I
refused to return to Azeila and demanded that my family should be sent
to me in Tangier.”
The _modus vivendi_ proposed by Spain was that Raisuli should send his
brother, Mohamed, immediately to Azeila with full powers to act as his
Khalifa; that he should follow himself within three weeks, and remain
there until the appointment of Mulai ed Mehdi as Kaliph had been made
public, after which he could remain as Pasha of Azeila if he wished;
that his brother should take with him letters to the tribes confirming
him as Raisuli’s agent, letters to be opened and to be read by the
Spanish officer at Azeila before being sent on to their destination;
that the native troops should be under the orders of the Spanish
officers only, who would be responsible for keeping order throughout the
country, while the Sherif would have the civil administration in his
hands. In order to prevent a repetition of the horrors reported and
witnessed by Silvestre, a Spanish official was to have the right to
intervene if necessary. All orders were to be signed by Raisuli and, if
Spanish intervention occurred, it was to be arranged in such a manner
that the Sherif’s prestige should not suffer. Criers were to proclaim
throughout the towns and villages that an agreement had been signed
between the Spanish Government and Raisuli. As soon as Sidi Mohamed
arrived at Azeila, the Sherif’s friends who were in prison were to be
released, but nothing was arranged about his wives and family. Spain for
once held the strongest cards, and wisely refused to give them up.
Raisuli played for time. He had not, I believe, the slightest intention
of returning permanently to Azeila, but he wanted to secure the liberty
of his household, and he knew that, if he delayed long enough, the
friction between civil and military interests would serve his purpose.
“I knew my family were safe with the Spaniards,” he said, “but an Arab
without his son is as one who has lost a limb.[51] Also I did not trust
Dris ed Riffi, who was acting as my steward. At one time he was a very
loyal servant, knowing not the value of money and having no interests
but mine. Then he came under the influence of foreigners, and would have
asked a reward for his services, so I said to him, ‘The labour that is
paid is without confidence. Are you a slave that I should give you a
gift when you please me?’ He was angry and muttered, ‘Anyone can accept
service. It is only the great who serve.’
“Still I thought him faithful, till, one day, I sent him with my mehalla
to exact tribute from a certain village. He returned, saying, ‘There has
been a plague among their cattle and most of them are dead. Therefore
the money is short, for there is nothing wherewith they can pay it.’ I
knew then that he had been bribed by the Sheikh of the village, but I
said, ‘It is the will of Allah.’ Later, I sent messengers to the tribe
to find out exactly how much he had received, and this was not
difficult. I thought to myself, ‘He has been my friend. Perhaps shame
will drive the greed from his heart.’ So I sent for him and said, ‘It is
nearing the feast, and I have a present for you.’ He looked surprised,
but answered, ‘God make you strong.’ Then I made him sit down beside me,
and I sent a slave for some money. He brought a bag and counted it out
as I told him, and, when he reached the exact amount paid by the Sheikh,
douro for douro, he stopped and went away. ‘That is my gift,’ I said.
‘Take it, and the blessing be with you.’ But he was afraid, and asked,
‘Why have you done this, Sidi?’ ‘Ullah,’ I said to him, ‘it is a pity
that a man’s honour can be bought for so little, but I also have paid
the price.’ Then he got up and would have left the money between us, but
I said to him, ‘There is no need to fear. Take the money, for you must
surely have great need of it,’ and he went away.”
CHAPTER XVI
ARABIAN ASTUTENESS
“When Silvestre heard that his Government was treating with me,” said
Raisuli, “he was very angry, for he had been told nothing about it, and
believed that at last the policy which he had recommended would be
followed. He sent in his resignation, but Spain would not accept it. Had
she done so, the war might never have been fought, for, of all men,
Silvestre was most unsuitable for this country.
“There were difficulties also in Azeila, for when Dris er Riffi heard
that he was to be supplanted by my brother, Sidi Mohamed, he began to
make friends with Spain. Since then, whatever time he can spare from the
purpose of enriching himself, he has devoted to preparing traps for my
life. Silvestre found him a blade which he had no need to sharpen!
“My brother had hardly started for Azeila when from Ziat, I went to
visit some of the Anjera tribe. These people had never been my friends,
but, at this moment, there was much hatred against the Christians and,
when I received presents and messages from a certain village, I believed
it was not so much for my sake as for Islam. I set out on a white horse
which was a mark for all the countryside, and with me were Mohamed el
Kharaji, who was later killed just outside Tazrut,[52] and perhaps six
or seven others. When the sun was high we passed some tents, from which
men greeted us, crying, ‘Sit down and rest yourselves. The meat is on
the fire and there is nothing lacking but the guests.’ One of my men
said, ‘It is the Sherif. Do you not recognise him?’ and the other
answered, ‘Allah keep him. We know him, and we know of his journey, and,
for that reason, we have prepared food that my lord may bless our tents
with his presence.’
“With us it is discourteous to refuse such a request; so we dismounted
and sat in the shade of the tents. But as it was cold when the sun was
not on us, they said, ‘Come inside, Sidi; all is prepared that you may
honour us.’ We sat on sheepskins spread over the mats, and these men,
who had come from the plains, told us the news of Azeila and how each
night there were shots fired in the neighbourhood of the town. ‘But the
war is won, Sidi,’ said one, ‘for the Christians have not yet learned to
shoot and the bullet of an Arab is never wasted.’
“Meat was brought and set in front of us, but I was not hungry, for it
was early, and a wise man eats at the end of his journey, not in the
middle of it. However, it is not polite to refuse what the host offers;
so when the sheep, roasted whole with its feet and its head, was placed
before me, I took pieces of it in my fingers and ate with much noise, to
show my appreciation. As we sat in the tent, with the flaps lifted to
let in the air, a dog came up and lay behind me, sniffing at my
garments. I thought to myself, ‘Here is a friend in my need,’ and I gave
it a piece of meat that it should stay beside me. Ullah, the others ate
so heavily that there was not much left of the sheep, and even Mohamed
el Kharaji loosed his belt with satisfaction.
“Then my host took up the head of the animal and made great play of
cracking it open with his fingers, which is a strong man’s feat and an
honour done to the guest, but I noticed that the skull was already
split, and I thought, ‘My friend, you are more powerful with your tongue
than your hands.’ Then, holding the head in front of me, so that the
brains were apparent, he offered it to me, ‘In the name of Allah—with
health, with enjoyment.’ I took the brains, as a refusal was not
possible, but Allah, in his wisdom, caused there to be pain in my
stomach, and I had no desire to eat. I thought, ‘If they are not
looking, I will give it to the dog,’ but I expected every man’s eyes to
be upon me at this moment of honour. Yet each looked at his fingers or
spoke to his neighbour; so my hand stole out quickly, and the dog
profited exceedingly. After this the tea came, and there was little
ceremony in making it; then suddenly all spoke of the length of my
journey and the difficulty of my road. I wondered then if there was an
ambush prepared, for the plainsmen are not as loyal to their guests as
the mountaineers. So I signalled to el Kharaji, and we rose and went
out.
“The horses were brought quickly, and one held my stirrup as I mounted,
kissing the skirt of my jellaba—was it not with a kiss that Issa,[53]
whom we call ‘the breath of God,’ was betrayed? At that moment the
yellow dog who had lain behind me ran out, howling as if a jinn had
seized his tail. Someone threw a stone at him, but he paid no heed and,
crying mournfully, with lips drawn back and gums bared, he writhed on
the ground before us. ‘What has taken him?’ said el Kharaji. ‘Ullah, he
has eaten poison!’ The dog raised itself on its haunches, but its hind
legs moved no more. Its body was convulsed as if it were about to burst
apart, and it died while we watched it. ‘A shot is a more merciful
death,’ I said to our host. ‘Remember that when your time comes.’ Our
eyes met and, for a minute, the hand of each man felt for his rifle. ‘It
was well done, and worthy of your house, O Sheikh; but my life is under
the baraka; none but Allah may take it,’ I said. We turned our horses
swiftly, but as they would have sprung forward, the Sheikh flung himself
on his face in front of me. I pulled my horse aside that its hoofs might
not touch him. ‘I will repay your hospitality,’ I said, ‘but not in your
house or mine.’
“That was the work of Dris er Riffi, but it was not ended.
“When I returned to Tangier, I heard that Silvestre had been commanded
to deal patiently with me, in order that the tribes might be pacified.
Ullah, if a man has hunted a fox from its hole and set his dog on its
heels, it is too late to tame it! The Colonel had forbidden my brother
to visit my family, still imprisoned at Azeila. He wrote that much
discourtesy was shown him and that he had been kept waiting with many
others outside the door of the Political office. He wrote in his own
hand, ‘Finish this matter quickly and let there be an end of it, for it
is impossible that fire and water shall exist in the same place.’
“This was difficult for me, because of the hostages held by Silvestre. A
son is a warrior and must endure the chances of battle, but women are to
be protected, and it was my duty to look after them. Our women fear many
things, but most of all the unknown. They are not like the peasants who
work in the fields and who know the use of a trigger as well as any man.
They are shy when there are strangers without, and their feet are too
curved for rough ways. So I was evasive in my answers, saying, ‘Wait
until my mourning is over,’ for my mother, the peace of Allah be with
her, was dead, and for forty days I might not travel or take part in
councils. I wrote carefully to the tribes, telling them to wait, but my
letters were difficult to understand.
“The mountaineers were surprised at the delay, and no doubt some of them
said, ‘He has been bought by the Christians,’ but the wise men knew
about my family. The messengers who took my letters were frightened, for
they were ordered to read them aloud to the tribes. One came to me,
limping and ragged, saying ‘Sidi, I took your paper to Suq el Habib, and
when I called the people together in the market, they said, “It is the
order to march,” and they were glad, and the Faqihs blessed them and
everyone shouted, “Salli en Nebi er Rasul Allah,” and “God keep the
Sherif!” Then I read the letter, and the noise died. They looked at each
other and asked what it meant. Then one said, “The Sherif is very
learned and we are but ignorant men,” and another, “The language is
beautiful but the meaning is not in my head,” and others shouted, “It is
not from the Sherif. The messenger lies. He has been bought by the
Spaniards!” They flung themselves upon me, and I thought I was a dead
man, but Allah saved me and the influence of my master. When they had
finished beating me, I crept away and put oil on my wounds, and told one
or two who would listen, “On my head, it is from the Sherif, and he but
waits an opportunity, so be patient.”’ Then he showed me the cuts on his
back, and they were deep; so I sent my intimates, who were known to be
with me, among the tribes, and they explained matters to the Kaids.
“Still there were disturbances. The messengers who went to Beni Aros
were beaten and put into prison, for the rifles of the tribesmen had
been oiled for a long time! One day I received a letter without
signature or date, ‘Allah keep the Sherif if he be with us, but our
steel grows rusty and our fingers are stiffening from disuse!’ You have
seen the Fondak of Ain Yerida? It is the key to Wadi Ras, which has ever
been the gateway of Tetuan. A post of native police kept the key, but
one sunset the hills above them were alive with men who cried, ‘The
country is in arms, and this road but for Moslems.’ There was no fight—a
few shots fired in the air, and the police, who had become too used to
the safe end of a rifle, were driven out, closing the gate to the East.
Thereafter no man went along that road, except with a paper from
Raisuli. The tribesmen heard of this, and, once again, I had difficulty
in restraining their bullets. Ayashi Zellal of the Beni Mesauer, the
Bakalis of Jebel Habib, Haj el Arbi of Wadi Ras, some of the Kaids of
Beni Aros were with me in my efforts. Each gathered the leaders of his
flags and told them that the final ammunition had not yet arrived, and
that the Sherif was waiting for a last consignment of rifles. At the
same time, they sent their own servants to mix among the mountaineers,
saying that Raisuli was rich and powerful, that he was the Sultan’s
representative, and would supply rifles and grain to all who fought with
him.
“Enthusiasm spread like a flame, and in the weekly market of Beni Yusuf
there was no trade done. The Sheikhs of Sumata and Beni Aros moved among
the people, answering their questions and reassuring them—‘You have
waited for years. Can you not wait for a few days?’ ‘When shall we
march, Sidi?’ ‘When Allah wills.’ ‘What shall be the first work for our
bullets? Where shall we go.’ ‘Where Allah wills.’ So the country waited.
Yet there were deeds that I could not stop. A Berber girl who worked in
a Spanish farm was shot by her brother as she returned from her labour,
and another, who was suspected of warning the Jews whom she served, died
at the hands of her father and her body was buried hurriedly as if it
had been a dog’s.”
It is probable that Raisuli followed his usual policy of playing off one
party against another. The Spaniards were forced to realise his
ascendancy over the Jebala, but they were allowed to believe that the
Sherif would still treat with them on certain terms. “I will never fight
Spain,” he said, “but I will fight—and conquer—Silvestre if he comes
against me.” As a last resort, the Legation at Tangier arranged a
meeting between Raisuli and the leader of the military party. Besides
the two principals, there were present at this historic encounter the
Marquis of Villasinda (the Spanish Minister), Colonel Barrera, and
Zugasti, still Consul at Larache.
Raisuli’s description of the conference was as follows: “I had not
thought to see my enemy again till one of us was approaching death
before the rifle of the other, but when I found him waiting for me with
his countrymen, I saluted him as if he had been my ally, for the guests
of the same host share his friendship, and enmity dies on a threshold
that is hospitable. Silvestre began at once to accuse me of breaking my
word and I saw that this would be a repetition of our interview at
Azeila, but, because of Zugasti, I answered quietly, ‘The tribesman who
made such an accusation would die before the last word had fallen from
his mouth, but you are safe under the same roof as my brother.’ ‘It is
your influence which has raised the tribes against us,’ he accused me.
‘You are right; and it was _my_ influence which kept them quiet for so
long,’ I returned. ‘The country is full of complaints concerning your
barbarity.’ ‘When a man is idle he finds time to complain. War is the
best medicine for tongues which are too garrulous.’ ‘If you plunge the
country into war, there will be enough bloodshed to separate us for this
generation,’ he said. ‘It is not my work,’ I answered. ‘You have sown
the crop, though I told you the ground was unprepared. Now you will reap
it.’
Zugasti interposed, asking if there was no way of making peace between
us, but Silvestre cried out, ‘He is a bandit! What is the use of
speaking to him? My patience was exhausted long ago.’ ‘That is why I am
stronger than you,’ I answered, ‘for, while I have life, I shall have
patience.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is a matter of temperament. I
am not willing to wait for things to be done next year or after twenty
years! There can never be agreement between us, unless you are honest.’
‘It is true,’ I replied, ‘that there can never be peace between us, for
you are the wind and I am the sea. You blow mightily and I am enraged. I
am like the waves which fling themselves on the beach, crested with
foam, and you are the tempest which drives them, but you cannot move
them out of their boundaries. Yes, you are the wind and I am the sea.
The wind passes, but the ocean remains.”
“I would have saluted them all and left, for words were of no further
use, but the Minister interposed. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘To
my house at Zinat.’ ‘Wait until tomorrow,’ he urged, ‘for the Prime
Minister has sent you a present from Madrid, as a proof of the affection
and friendship of his Government. It is a collection of carpets which
have been specially woven for you. At least you will accept this?’
‘Sidi,’ I replied, ‘this is not the moment for gifts, for a present
received by me from you would be called by my people by another name.’
He insisted, ‘They are very fine carpets, designed to your taste.’ Then
I said, ‘I congratulate you on your sense of justice.’ ‘What do you
mean?’ ‘I will explain, if Allah has blinded your eyes—they say justice
is blind! I had a house at Azeila, and you took it. I had a great store
of guns and ammunition, and you took it. I had furniture, carpets and
mattresses—you took them, leaving me not so much as a handkerchief. Now
you offer me a roll of carpets. No, Sidi, let those go with the rest.’
“The Minister frowned when my speech was translated to him. ‘Nothing has
been taken from you. All is waiting for you at Azeila,’ he said.
‘Inshallah, I shall never return to Azeila, for if the sea and the wind
are in the same place, there is much turmoil.’ ‘Will you not go to visit
your family?’ ‘My family is large. It is all over Morocco.’
“The Minister insisted that I would not speak frankly, and that I was
becoming an enemy of his country, and I answered, ‘I am the enemy of no
country, but I am, first of all, the friend of my own. As for honesty
between us, is it honest that you keep my family as prisoners? I did not
know your nation made war on the harem.’ This struck him, because he had
always been against Silvestre’s policy, but the Colonel, seeing it,
broke in ‘I will give you my son as a hostage,’ he said. ‘Then each of
us will have a pledge for the faith of the other.’ I remembered how, in
Europe, you care for your children, giving them to others to look after
and educate, but I answered, ‘It is to your honour that you think of
such a thing.’ He went on, ‘I have only one son, and he is the child of
the woman I love most in the world, but I will give him to you to ensure
your friendship.’ Then I said to him, ‘Allah bless you with strength. Do
you know what the son of an Arab is to him? We have no love of women, so
there is but one person on whom our hopes are fixed. Our sons are our
surest defence and the hope of our race. A man who is sonless is ashamed
before his people, for Islam is the poorer because of him. Yet I would
leave you my son and, knowing him in your hands, I would still be your
enemy!’ So the conference ended.
“Silvestre returned to Larache and I went to Zinat, where the Legation
still tried to communicate with me. Mulai el Medhi was proclaimed as
Kaliph, but there was no road by which he could travel to Tetuan. The
heart of the country was closed, and the people said, ‘Who is this
friend of France who has been imposed upon us?’ El Mehdi went by sea to
Ceuta, and, from there, Alfau, who was the first High Commissioner,
occupied Tetuan. The Beni Hosmar would have opposed his advance, but I
restrained them, for it was my idea that this city should be the capital
of the Protectorate. Before we disputed over other matters, I had talked
to Silvestre about the project, but I would have had Spain go slowly,
strengthening her supports as she advanced. The situation was strange.
On the one side of me there was peace, and on the other, war, but both
came from the same nation. Alfau wrote to me saying my help was
necessary if Spain were to advance further, but he did not dare suggest
what was in his mind. Tetuan had been occupied without the loss of a
life, and, their pockets fattened by Spanish pesetas, a crowd welcomed
the arrival of the Kaliph, but, when he wrote to the tribes, announcing
his accession and demanding their allegiance, his letters were met, each
one, with a bullet. None of his messengers returned, but, El
Hamdulillah, cartridges have always been cheap.[54]
[Illustration: Mohammed el Khalid, Raisuli’s eldest son]
“Then the Government wrote to Silvestre and told him that the only way
of strengthening the authority of El Mehdi was that I should go and
visit him. No Spaniard was foolish enough to write to me on the subject.
They sent one of their men to me, a mesqueen who, because he wore
suspenders, thought he was a European. The spirit of the Arabs was dead
in him, and he had acquired more of your sins than your virtues. He sat
in front of me and smoked, so I sent a slave for a brazier and ordered
him to wave it round the room. After this he placed it beside the
visitor, who was not pleased at the fumes, for I had told them to make
it strong. ‘I have difficulty in speaking,’ he said. ‘You permit—?’ and
would have ordered a slave to remove the brazier, but I looked at his
cigarette—‘I thought you had so cultivated your speech that you had lost
the power of smelling . . . but I have all my senses, as Allah intended
them.’
“Then he stopped smoking and made excuses, and told me why he had come.
‘If you will make peace with the Kaliph, the Spaniards will give you all
that you ask,’ he said. I looked out of my house and was silent, for I
marvelled that a man could be so stupid; but, after a long pause, when
he had repeated his arguments many times, I said to him, ‘Look out into
the fields, and tell me what are those birds circling in the air?’ He
said, ‘I see a few kites, and one great bird that is perhaps an eagle.
It is flying straight for the mountains.’ I answered, ‘Does the eagle
make peace with the field-mouse, when the kite is preparing to pounce on
it?’ and he was without words. When he would have left, I said to him,
‘How much have you lost by this failure? Tell my slave, and he will make
it up to you, for you were once a man and of my people.’
“After this the Government forced Silvestre to send my family to
Tangier, and they came with an escort in all comfort. This was in the
spring, when the sun was just beginning to eat the grass, and the
tribesmen who were against me were frightened, saying, ‘He has prevailed
again over the Government! We are on the wrong side.’ They began burying
all their possessions in caves, where they would be safe from my
vengeance, and they wrote hurriedly to the Government, but some of their
messengers fell into my hands and were killed.
“One of their letters was brought to me, and I found it full of prayers
that I should not be allowed to leave Tangier. ‘Ullah, they think they
are dealing with Moors,’ I said. ‘But the blades of Europe are slow. If
my death is planned, I shall know it a week in advance,’ for they
implored that the Government would have me imprisoned or murdered, as a
proof of its strength. ‘Your nation is strong,’ they wrote, ‘but he is
stronger, for you have been able to do nothing with him. We dare not
sleep by night nor eat by day, for fear he will attack us when we are
unprepared. Tell us why you have not been able to hold him or kill him.
Now that he has received back all his family and his goods he will have
a still greater authority over us, for the tribes will say that even the
Government cannot prevail against him.’ Ullah, they were frightened, so,
to add to their fears, my men disembowelled the bodies of the
messengers, stuffed them with straw and took them by night to the lands
of the village which hoped for my death. Then, putting the letter in the
mouths of the dead men, they impaled them on sticks and left them to
greet their relatives in the dawn. It was a warning.
“The village was rich in rifles, so, to dry their blood and stop the
wailing of the women, they lay in wait for some of my men whom I had
sent on a mission to Beni Aros. It was well planned, and, where the
rocks were steepest, my soldiers were fired upon from a distance, and
two of them killed, but the others, seeing that there was no enemy to
shoot at, flung themselves down as if they had been hit, and lay still,
waiting. The villagers, who had been so well hidden that no bullet could
have found them, sprang up with the battle-cry of their people. So
anxious were they to mutilate the bodies and bring back to their women
the proof that would still their voices, that they ran heedlessly
towards the slain. My soldiers waited until they could see the gleam of
the knives prepared for them. Then the bodies sprang to life and fired,
for the enemy was now visible and in their hands. The slaughter was
great on both sides, but at last the villagers fled. It was not safe to
leave the wounded who could not walk, for the women would have come and
destroyed their manhood, so they were dragged down the hill and buried
swiftly before the breath was out of their bodies, and, if one
protested, he was told, ‘Bismillah, you will soon be in heaven. Trouble
not!’
“When the summer was already in Tangier, I sent my family away and rode
out openly to Zinat, for the way to the mountains was ready. From my
properties near Al Kasr much grain and other foods had been sent up to
Tazrut, and I had more rifles than men. The country was flooded with
them, and arms were sold openly in the markets of Jebala. In the Zawia
of Sidi Jusef el Teledi, after the Hezb had been said, the Imam
addressed the people and told him that the war was holy, and Raisuli the
chosen leader. Their lives were to be under his feet, and they were to
carry him on their heads wherever he would go. A letter from the Sheikh
of Beni Jusef was read to the assembly and, when they understood that it
spoke of war, each man under his own flag, their ranks broke and they
rushed forward to kiss the letter and hold it over their eyelids.
Fragments were torn from the paper, and the tribesmen struggled each one
for a morsel, believing that it would be an amulet and save him from
danger. One man, afraid that he might lose a most precious particle on
which it happened was written the Name (of Allah), cut open the flesh of
his arm, buried the paper in the wound and sewed it up with leeches.
These insects are better than stitches, for, when a row of these are
placed across a cut, they bite hard, and no one can force open their
mandibles. The bodies are severed and removed, but the pincers remain
holding the skin closely together, and, by the time they fall to pieces,
the wound is healed.
“About this time Silvestre wrote urging the appointment of a new Pasha,
for, under the mandate of the Sultan, I was still Governor of Azeila.
Alfau protested. There was no war in his zone, and he still dreamed of a
peace won by scribes rather than by soldiers. Silvestre retorted that
there must be someone to rule, and suggested dividing my province into
three parts under Dris er Riffi at Azeila, Mohamed Fadal ben Zaich at
Larache, and my enemy Ermiki at Al Kasr. Certainly his weapons were
tarnished, and the rust must have stained his hands, for er Riffi had
deserted me when he thought I was weak. Poison had failed him, but I
knew he would try some other means to destroy me, for as long as I
lived, he would wake suddenly and feel his head rocking between his
shoulder-blades. Truly a coward dies a thousand deaths before Allah
summons him.
“As for Ermiki, his history is well known. I told you of his attack on
Al Kasr, but, long before that, he was known as a man who had no truth
in him. Accused of robbing the treasury of the Pasha who then ruled the
town, he was sent to Mulai Abdul Aziz, who did not know enough to
distinguish between the false and the true. All that Sidi el Ermiki had
robbed from the Governor he paid in bribes to the Ministers who
surrounded the Sultan. Consequently, instead of being punished, he
returned to Al Kasr as Pasha, and his ferocity was such that men paid
him their last ‘real’ rather than suffer his tortures. Much of this
money he sent to Mulai Abdul Aziz, who was delighted, thinking that at
last he had found a source to swell his sinking revenues. He ordered
Ermiki to go out at the head of a mehalla and collect the taxes from the
rebellious Beni Ahmas. Leaving blazing villages as torches to light his
troops, Ermiki went through the country of Ahl Serif, Beni Jusef and
Sumata and, to this day, people date their lives as before or after ‘the
burning’ which is the name they gave to his journey. Allah was with the
Beni Ahmas and they were strong among their mountains, which are
invincible, so Ermiki could do no more than fire at the cliffs, which
returned his shots slowly, each bullet finding its mark.
“The Ahl Serif, with much blood to avenge, fell upon him from behind,
and he was defeated. His army vanished among the crags, and only the
kites told where it lay. In the dress of a mountaineer, and riding a
mule which had no saddle but a sack, Sidi Buselhan[55] escaped to the
plains, but by this time Mulai Hafid had taken his brother’s place upon
the throne. The oath had been sworn between us, and the province was
given to me as a Governorate, so Ermiki found himself dispossessed of
everything at the same moment.
“It was this man whom Silvestre proclaimed as Pasha of Al Kasr, and
there was no more hope of peace. I could have raised 10,000 men on the
day the news was known. The Riffs came to join me from Gomara, 300 men
with their rifles. The men of the plains by the Luccus sent word that
they waited only to gather their harvest. My brother left Azeila for
Zinat, and Zellal came also with his tribesmen. Flames signalled on the
mountains by night, and smoke carried the news by day. The rifles were
ready and everywhere they threatened the Christians.”
CHAPTER XVII
RAISULI’S STRATEGY
“War, with us,” said the Sherif, “is not as it is in Europe, for it is
hidden among the rocks and trees.
“In the West there is a plain, and across that country Silvestre
advanced. I could not fight him in the open, and there was little cover,
so all my men did was to harass his movements and make raids where his
posts were weakest. Sometimes they got right through his lines and
attacked the towns on the coast, but my policy was defence, not attack.
In this the Arabs are strong, and in the mountains, where even your
aeroplanes are useless, they can hold up an army with a few rifles. At
first my headquarters were at Garbia, from where I controlled all the
tribes who were with me. Each tribe had its own commander and, under
him, were so many flags,[56] with perhaps 200 men to each. These were
led by their Kaids, or by men whom the Sheikh appointed, and they fought
independently, but according to the plan which I made known to them.
With me there was no army, only a guard of my own people, and a ‘flying
column’ of messengers who took my orders to the tribes. This consisted
of 100 men on foot and 50 on horses, and they were paid 10 pesetas and
15 pesetas Hassani a day, for their work was dangerous. Among them were
spies who brought me news of the enemy, and men eloquent in speech, whom
I could send among the villages to stimulate the fervour of the people.
The tribesmen brought their own food and rifles, but, when necessary, I
provided the ammunition, which I was always able to get through Tangier.
Each Sheikh was entrusted with a store of guns from which to supply
deficiencies among his people. My idea was, not to attack Silvestre when
my men would have been butchered by his cannon, but to let him see that
the whole country was hostile, that death might come at any moment from
the most unexpected place. At this game the Arabs excel, and no man’s
life was safe, even were he locked into a room in his house.
“A soldier walking along the high-road between Ceuta and Tetuan saw
nothing but a cart with many empty sacks in it. The old man who led the
horse was half-clothed and had no weapon, but, hidden under the sacks,
lay a mountaineer who killed the soldier as he passed. Some Spanish
farmers lived in the middle of wide country where there was no shelter,
for even the grain was cut. When they came out one morning there was
nothing in sight except the stack beside the threshing ground, which
they had made the previous day, and the mules who nibbled at the dry
stalks. Yet the stack had been hollowed out in the night and, when the
farmers approached, they were shot by the men whose rifles peeped out
amidst the straw. At Rio Martin, soldiers were killed as they walked
between the houses of their people. A camp of engineers was destroyed,
when their agents reported no enemy within twenty miles. In every hedge
of cactus lay a tribesman, his rifle ready for the unwary, till at last
Alfau commanded that all hedges should be cut down and the country left
bare as a youth’s face.
“In the towns it was easy, for there were always many who would help. It
was necessary to have two parties and to choose a dark night. One group
fired from a distance, emptying their rifles wildly at the flashes which
had come out of the blackness. Instantly the other group, who had crept
much closer, often wiggling like snakes on their bellies, charged the
guard before they had time to reload and, without anything more than a
few scratches, they would be in the town, five or six against hundreds.
They would rush down one street killing all they could see, for the
loyal people had been warned to stay behind their locked doors, and,
when the pursuit grew too furious, they would take refuge in the
friendly houses of which they knew.
“No man gives up a guest, but once el Mudden and two others were hard-
pressed, and when they slipped through the back door of an ally, the
police were banging on the front, for it happened that the man was
suspected. Four friends were sitting talking to the master of the house
and the tea-trays were in front of them. The servants hurried in with
wails of distress, but without a second’s hesitation, the Sheikh bade el
Mudden and his followers lie flat beside the walls. Then he pushed the
mattresses against them, arranged the cushions over them and sat down
again with his friends. The police found the old man leaning against a
few bolsters and drinking mint-scented tea, while they discussed the
value of crops. ‘We must search the house,’ said the officer of the
Tabor. ‘You are harbouring the assassins who broke in at the gate.’
‘Empty words! You will find nobody but my servants. The house is at your
disposal. Search everywhere, but return and drink with us before you
go.’
“So it was all over the country. I ordered my men to take hostages
wherever it was possible, so that I might have some goods to market! A
brother and sister were captured within sight of the walls of Larache,
but the Government would not treat quickly, and they died on the journey
into the mountains, so after that I forbade the capture of women. Thus
it was the first year. Silvestre advanced slowly, for his transport was
bad, and often his men were as hungry as the tribesmen. Little came to
him from Spain, and the doctors cried out for instruments and the
gunners for ammunition; but after the first harvest, we suffered badly,
for the grain had been destroyed and there was no ploughing or sowing.
“In the East, the situation was different. Alfau advanced to Laucien,
but it was a peaceable march and he was in communication with me all the
time. He made no secret of his desire for peace, and I believe there was
much argument between the leaders. As soon as Laucien was occupied, the
tribesmen barred the way to the interior. I stationed three forces
across the ways to Xauen, Suq el Khemis and Ain Yerida; and Alfau knew
that he could advance no further without bloodshed.
“Ain Yerida is the gate of Tangier, for there the Tetuan road runs out
of the mountains towards Zinat. Xauen is at the foot of Beni Ahmas and
guards the last hiding-place of my people. Suq el Khemis is the sentinel
at my own gate, and these three places are the most important positions
in the West.
“When he found the tribesmen hostile, Alfau gave up his plan of joining
Silvestre by way of Ain Yerida, and all through the first war I ordered
Wadi Ras and Beni Mesauer to keep his attention occupied in the
neighbourhood of Laucien. There was but one big fight between us, and
this was at Ben Karrish, where I had a house. Slowly, and by way of many
skirmishes, the Spaniards advanced towards the village. They paid toll
at every olive-grove and the price was heavy.”
The Sherif paused to order the tent door to be closed, for the sun was
creeping in across the carpets. Menebbhe raised himself from his
crouching attitude behind the brazier, whose perfume drifted slowly on
the hot, heavy air. “The Spaniards are brave,” he said, “but foolish. I
remember we lay out on the hillside above the first fort beyond Tetuan.
There was neither wire nor bags full of sand, and every morning the
officer used to make a walk (reconnaissance) with a few men, to see that
the country was quiet. Ullah, we waited for the music that announced his
coming, and while it was scarcely light we heard the bugle”—he beat the
time merrily. “The gate opened, and out came six or seven riders, the
captain leading on a white horse. They could be seen from every rock on
the mountains, and we thought, ‘Allah has certainly delivered them into
our hands.’ I said to my men, ‘Choose each of you one, and be sure that
he falls. Take you the brown horse and you the grey. I will account for
the leader myself.’
“On they came, riding by twos, with the captain in front, but, when we
fired, they scattered like partridges. Ullah, my aim was bad. The white
horse fell but the captain got up unhurt. His revolver was in his hand,
and he looked round, as if uncertain. His men were running back to the
fort—those who were still alive. The officer called to them, but they
did not hear. Then he came up the hill alone, straight towards us, who
were hidden from him. His hat had fallen off and his eyes were staring
as if he would look through the rocks to the earth. He was talking to
himself as he stumbled upwards, and I said to my men, ‘Wait. This is not
the time to waste a bullet,’ so we lay still until he fell right among
us, and then, before he could use his revolver, we dragged him down and
cut off his head. He was brave, but he had no chance.” “How
extraordinarily cowardly!” I exclaimed. “Why didn’t you take him
prisoner?” The Kaid crushed up his lips between his fingers, and looked
at me sideways. “We took no prisoners. Ask Badr ed Din. How could we?
There was not enough food for ourselves.”
The Sherif continued his story as if there had been no interruption.
“Ben Karrish was difficult to take, for we held the hillside above it.
There was fierce fighting, and a man came to me as I prayed in the
mosque, and said, ‘Save yourself, Sidi. If you are killed, we shall be
defeated.’ The blessing was with me, and I told them, ‘This is not the
only place where the bullets will fall round me, for we shall be driven
back to the walls of our country, but we shall not lose it. Fear for
yourself, but not for me. I shall never fly before the rifles of the
Christians.’ As he stood in the door of the mosque the man was killed,
and I continued my prayers.
“In the night we went away, for thirty of my men were dead and nearly
200 Spaniards.[57] It is always the attackers who lose in this country,
for the land protects its own. The news of this defeat was brought to
the men of Beni Hosmar, and, disobeying the commands of their leaders,
they flung themselves on Tetuan. It is not possible to take a walled
city armed with cannon, but the Arabs had the blood of kinsmen to
avenge. The war cry rippled along the ranks, and no one heeded the
slain. It was like a hunt, and each man would be the first at the kill,
and they shouted and laughed as they ran, but they could not approach
Tetuan. In the flat stretch which is below the city the guns swept them
away like thistle-heads in the wind and, when they returned to their
villages, there was not a house without its mourning. The death-cry
echoed through the night, but, in the morning, the Sheikhs gathered
together their people and told them, ‘You would not listen for us, and
you threw away the protection which Allah has given you. Now heed our
advice and let there be no sleep in the town at night.’ So it was
arranged and all the Christians feared the darkness, when the very
cobbles in the streets seemed to rise up and shoot them. Many merchants
moved their households and their goods to Tangier, and others took
refuge at Ceuta, where they said, ‘The sea is our friend.’
“Alfau sent again to treat with me, but the tribesmen did not understand
this method of making war. They said, ‘What is in the mind of the Sherif
for with one hand he fights the Spaniards and with the other he welcomes
their messengers?’ In the West, Silvestre was strengthening his line,
for he wished to cut off all my communications with the coast. In this
he was helped by Dris er Riffi, who stole everything that was in my
house. Even the lamps he took, and the railings which were cemented to
the floor. All my properties were confiscated, and in one of my houses
there was a hospital, but the Arabs thought this was unlucky. ‘The
enemies of the Sherif will surely die under his roof,’ they said.
“In June, Al Kasr was attacked, not because the town could be taken, but
to cover the exit of some stores which had been collected for me in
secret. My men hid in an olive-grove and when the Spaniards charged
through it, firing their rifles as if in play, the trees showered
bullets on them instead of olives, for the tribesmen hid among the
branches and shot carefully and without hurry. On that occasion many
Spaniards were killed, and, under cover of the tumult, my caravan
slipped away through my own properties, where there were always men
ready to help.
“After this I went to Tangier to see the German Minister, who had been
my friend. His country was very strong and I thought her support would
be useful. I would have no enemies in Europe, but only one friend, and
that my own country. He told me that he could send rifles and grain to
the hills, if I could supply the beasts to carry them, and he talked of
the aim of Germany, which was different from yours. France, England and
Spain always wish to divide the land of the Arabs. You set one tribe
against another, hoping to profit by our quarrels. You support a ruler
until you think he is strong enough to interfere with your plans, and
then you instigate others against him. It is a bad policy. Germany
wished to unite all the north of Africa under the Commander of the
Faithful.[58] Turkey is not popular in Morocco, though all men prayed
publicly in the mosque that she might win the war, but her rule is
better than that of Europe, and Stamboul is far away. Each country would
have its Kaliph,[59] and all the tribes would have been united under one
ruler. This was a good policy, for, unless there is a strong head, the
Arabs cannot unite. They do not understand how Europe makes use of them
because of this. The prophet foretold it, and, as was written, we are
divided into many sects, but there is still Islam, and, when Allah
wills, it shall be again as it was in the time of the Omeiads.
“When I returned to Zinat, and heard of the famine in Beni Gorfet, whose
villages had been burned by the Spaniards, so that the people were
living in caves and eating herbs, I sent them many sacks of grain and as
many arms as they desired. Then I wrote to the Kaids of Anjera, for it
was in my mind to unite all the tribes to stand firm against Silvestre.
Remember this first war was never with the intention of driving Spain
from the country. It was forced upon us, and, though the tribesmen used
the term ‘Nasrani’[60] as a match to their powder, this was never my
idea.
“I thought, ‘If Spain finds she cannot advance, she will make peace,’
and I spoke in this way to the Shiekhs, saying, ‘Be patient, for your
sufferings are fertile with the seed of the future. The foreigners will
have learned a lesson from our stubbornness, and we shall be able to
live with them in peace.’ With regret I found the spirit of Moslems
hardening against the Christians, for I knew that this would be the
worst arm turned against peace. Yet, so difficult is it to unite our
people, I was obliged to make use of this spirit to counteract the
bribes offered by Silvestre, who sent his spies among the tribes to
visit the Sheikhs and talk to them of the benefits they would receive
from Spain. The people who were nearest the plains, such as the men of
Jebel Habib, were inclined to listen to his promises, for their farms
were open to attack, but, as they dared not break with me, they tried to
be friends with either side, and generally betrayed both.
“About this time, a journalist came to visit me in Zinat. He wore Arab
dress and spoke our language as one of us. He came in poor clothes,
dusty, with torn shoes, and said he had travelled with his companions
from Tetuan, and was seeking my protection that he might go further. My
men caught him and would have killed him, for they suspected his
disguise, but I came out and saw him among them, and thought I might
make use of him. I brought him into my house, and he told me his name
was Benani, Ahmed or Mohamed, and I did not let him see that I knew his
trick. I talked to him much of my life, not as I have told it to you,
for, being a woman, you love stories; but I told him my politics in the
past. I said again, ‘I am not fighting Spain. I am defending myself from
one who is my enemy; and Spain is not fighting Raisuli. She is battling
with ignorance and savagery, and she cannot conquer it. The foreigners
say to themselves, “If we take the road from Tetuan to Tangier, we shall
have conquered,” but the tribesmen retire further into the mountains,
and still there is war. Then they say, “If we capture Tazrut, it is the
end,” but they are wrong. There are still the mountains on every side.
If you destroy an Arab’s house, he goes and takes shelter with a friend.
If you burn his crops, he eats figs. If there are no figs, he lives on
grass and what game he can shoot. If all his villages are burned, he
goes away, saying, “It is the will of Allah,” and he sits down behind a
rock and digs a little hole to sleep in. When that is discovered, he
finds another and, always, he cleans his gun.’ It was a long
conversation, and, after it, I sent the man to Tangier, but I said to
him, ‘Do not come back, for I shall not speak twice through the same
trumpet.’
“Dris er Riffi was still my worst enemy, for a man’s hatred is always
bitterest against those he has wronged. Silvestre wished to destroy
Zinat and, with that purpose, er Riffi gathered a force of discontented
tribesmen, promising them the loot of my house; but their women were
afraid and came out of the villages and clung to their relatives,
weeping and saying that a curse would be on their children and
misfortune would always be with them. So the harka[61] melted away, and
nothing happened. You have seen one of those little whirls of dust,
blown up above the fields by a wind, which dies as suddenly as it was
born?
“My letters to the Kaids of Anjera had borne fruit and the rising spread
among their tribesmen. Every day we grew stronger, and, when I sent some
Sherifs to the neighbourhood of Ben Karrish to find out what was the
attitude of the East, they reported this answer: ‘No peace with the
Christians till even Tangier is returned to us!’
“It was full summer, and the posts of Silvestre crawled nearer across
the plains, but el Binagri and his warriors held the roads. No man could
pass without his authority, and there was no communication except by
sea. The telegraph-posts were used in the rebuilding of our farms and
the wire took the place of cut fences. Alfau resigned, for he was
strongly opposed to the war, and each encounter seemed to him a new
disaster. Spain had many thousand troops in the country, perhaps
50,000,[62] but Silvestre could not cut the line to Tangier, from which
I drew all my material.
[Illustration: Raisuli’s house at the Fondak of Ain Yerida. “The great
do not need great houses”]
[Illustration: Raisuli’s house—the Zawia—at Tazrut, the sacred tree
appearing through the roof of an inner room]
“Marina came out as High Commissioner and, for some time, was
indecisive. He would not support Silvestre because of my friends the
journalists, who still cried, ‘Soldiers, lay down your arms, for you are
shedding your blood among strangers, without profit to your country.’
Ullah, do all writers conceive such nonsense? Zugasti was then in the
Arab Bureau at Tetuan, and, doubtless, he influenced Marina, for, once
again, the negotiations began.
“I was in Jebel Habib and Silvestre had occupied Questa Colorada, which
was a great step on the way to Tangier. When the summer was nearly over,
there was a battle at Xarkia, and I moved out to see the extent of the
fight. I pitched my camp in a wood at Meyabah, and there messengers
reported to me. My men had not sufficient ammunition for this kind of
fighting, but I could not risk losing the control of the roads. Binagri
arrived when the tribesmen were tiring before the Maxims of the
Spaniards. It was a pretty sight, for he charged the rear with his
warriors, shouting and standing up in their stirrups as if it had been a
race. They rode through the rear-guard as hares through corn, and hardly
a saddle was empty. The Spaniards swung round to face them, but they
were gone, and re-forming among the hills. My men took courage and their
firing steadied, but, though Silvestre stayed his advance, we could not
drive him back.
“The year of your great war arrived, and still we were fighting. Mulai
Buselhan, Kudia el Abid, many places that you do not know of, were taken
from us in the West, but the mountains were untouched, and, still, from
the East and the offices where Marina and Zugasti bent double over their
correspondence, came offers of peace. There could be no peace for me
while my enemy was still in the country. It has never been wide enough
for us both.
“The war had become more general. All the hillmen took part in it and,
at last, they proclaimed me Sultan of the Mountains. It happened in
Xauen, where I had ridden to meet the Ulema[63] of Beni Gorfet, Ahl
Serif and Ahmas. I came with a tired horse and men footsore from the
pace of our journey, and, without warning, the people fell down in the
streets and hailed me, ‘Allah keep my lord the King!’ Then the wise men
said to me, ‘It is the will of the people. Be Sultan among us, for Mulai
Jusef[64] is in the hands of the French and there is none to govern us,’
but I said, ‘Wait a little. These things must go slowly.’
“Next day there was a great gathering in the market-place, below the old
castle where one of my race ruled 300 years ago. The people shouted,
‘The Commander of the Faithful may not be under Christian protection. So
it is written. Therefore take the place which is empty, and we will obey
you.’ They spread carpets in the streets and the women peeped out of the
windows and threw scent upon us as we passed. The Ulema prepared a
proclamation and it was read to the people before the last prayers. The
market-place was ablaze with torches and every house had a lantern. It
was an old man who read it, a Sheikh of much honour, and his voice was
lost among the murmur of the people like the sea which will not be
withheld. At the end they went into the mosque, and every male who was
of age was present, so that there was no room within the walls for the
worshippers. Men bowed themselves outside till the dust was on their
foreheads, and the thronged suq took up the prayer and repeated it under
the stars.
“The brown robes of the mountaineers were indistinguishable in the
darkness, and it seemed as if the whole earth worshipped God.
“I did not sleep that night, nor was there any rest in my house, for,
till dawn, I talked to the Ulema and we said the first prayers together.
Always I thought of the peace which must soon come, and I did not wish
to complicate my policy with Spain. I wanted to treat with her as the
representative of a united country, but not as the Kalipha of Islam, so
I urged the Sheikhs to keep secret the doings of the night. I told them,
‘You look ahead but a year or two, and you see us victorious over Spain,
but, if that is your object, look still further into the future, for the
French bayonets will press hard upon the heels of Spain’s departure.’
They listened to me, but they were not convinced.
“I returned to Jebel Habib, and there I found news that Dris er Riffi
wished to make peace with me. From the first I could not believe this,
for he is not one to leave a successful master. I guessed that he had
conceived a new plot against me, but I agreed to receive his messengers,
for how else could I discover his purpose? They came, but they would not
look at my face, and their words were evasive. They insisted that er
Riffi desired to see me, but they were embarrassed about fixing the
place of meeting. I thought it was because they meant to arrange an
ambush, so I led them on and suggested a village at the foot of the
mountains, without any intention of going, but in order to see what
excuses they would offer. But they became worried and agreed to
everything, saying, ‘If it is the will of the Sherif, our master will
submit.’
“The interview ended uncertainly, and I was puzzled, so, after the
messengers had gone, I went to the mosque to pray. I had received the
men in a hovel at the outskirts of the village, for I thought they might
be spies come to see our strength, and there was nothing of mine there
except the carpets that we sat on. When I came to the mosque I ceased
troubling over the reason of er Riffi’s mission, though men came to me,
asking anxiously, ‘What has happened between you?’ and I reassured them,
saying, ‘The wisdom of Allah will make it plain. Come with me to pray.’
We entered, but had scarcely accomplished the first raqua-at, when
thunder burst from the village. The explosion shook the mosque, and my
companions would have run out, fearing that their people were being
bombarded, but I restrained them—‘Nothing will happen to you, and what
is more important than prayer?’ They stayed, and we finished the
appointed raqua-at, but, though their lips moved and their bodies bowed
themselves automatically, each man’s mind was outside.
“It was clear to me, of course, as soon as I heard the explosion, that
the mission of er Riffi had been to place a bomb in my house. Possibly
his messengers had hidden it under the cushions while they drank my tea
and wished me peace in the name of their God! When we left the mosque
and I saw the crowd all hastening in the same direction, I said to my
friends, ‘You remember I told you that Allah would explain our
difficulties? See now, how he has done it,’ and still they did not
understand, but, when they saw the ruin of the house where I had
entertained the envoys, they cried, ‘Sidi, the baraka is indeed with
you! Allah has preserved you, praise be to him!’
“The story was spread among the tribes, so, out of the treacherous hand
came good instead of harm, for the people believed it a miracle and knew
that a special blessing was with me. My honour grew among Moslems, and
many who had been uncertain joined me. The country would no longer
proclaim me Sultan, and the hillmen brought me wild pigs, for it is said
there must always be one of these animals, a young male, in the stables
of the king, to bring him good fortune and because the horses eat better
on account of the boar’s smell.
[Illustration: Facsimile of a letter from Raisuli to Rosita Forbes]
“At Tazrut the proclamation was read at the door of the mosque where my
ancestor is buried, and, throughout Ben Aros, at each of the seven
shrines of my family, a messenger repeated it to the tribesmen who
gathered from every side with offerings of beasts. But the sacrifice was
not permitted, for, in war, there is a dispensation and each family had
need of its cattle. Only one bullock was killed, dying on its knees
before the Qubba, and its blood was splashed on the threshold and on the
lintel. Men dipped their hands in it and left their finger-marks on the
wall, believing that they would be recognized in heaven by this means.
“After this I withdrew from Jebel Habib to Tazrut, which is the centre
of my country, but, though my illness had already begun and I suffered
such pain that I groaned in the middle of my speech, I did not stay
there for long. I went backwards and forwards among the mountains with
Mubarak and Ghabah and a few chosen men. We travelled so fast and by way
of such difficult places that the legend grew that the Sherif was in all
parts at once. Men fought more fiercely because they never knew at what
moment I would be with them, and often there was a cry of, ‘Here is the
Sherif,’ stimulating the fervour of those who grew hopeless, when really
el Raisuli was at the other end of the country. It was told that I could
make myself invisible at will, and leaders shouted to their followers,
‘The Sherif watches us. He will reveal himself when we are victorious!’
“There were many nights when we slept on the ground, with our saddles
for pillows, and there were days when we rode without food, but I always
ate less than my men, and watched often while they slept, so that they
might realise my strength. There were hours when I could not eat because
of the pain, but my foot was always ready for the stirrup and my hand
the last to draw rein.”
CHAPTER XVIII
PLOTTING FOR PEACE
“Towards the end of 1915,” announced Raisuli, fingering a Spanish map,
“Silvestre occupied a line through Questa Colorada, Kesiba, Mulai Bu
Salam and Tarkutz, to Al Kasr.” He pointed out the places with an
unerring finger. “I think that the last big battle was fought near
Megaret. Silvestre was anxious to push forward into the mountains, for
he knew he had little time before peace would be signed. On that
occasion I was fighting with my people, and we were hard-pressed. I rode
on to a little rise, from where I commanded the enemy, and I sat there
firing steadily till they noticed me. There was a shout of ‘The Sherif
is here!’ My people raised their war-cry, but the Spaniards were
determined to capture me. A party crept forward to surround my hillock,
and, as I turned to find another post of vantage, my horse was shot
under me. He fell like a stone, and I could hear the shouting of the
enemy. A tribesman offered his horse, but, as I mounted, the servant
holding my stirrup was killed, and the stallion, terrified, reared up
before I was in the saddle. My slippers fell off as I struggled with
him, and then, suddenly, all round us were foreigners, and I shouted,
‘Salli en Nebbi, Rasul Ullah!’[65] and we charged them. Allah alone
knows why we did not fall headlong as we crashed down the hill, but we
went through them and away before the main body came up.”
“That is one of the occasions on which the Sherif was invisible,” added
the Kaid gravely, “but his shoes were found by a rebel, who brought them
to the Spaniards. It is said that Dris er Riffi, when he recognised them
because of their size, bent and kissed them, though they were muddy and
covered with the blood of the servant.” I suppose I looked surprised,
for Raisuli explained, “In the most treacherous heart there must be some
shame. The cloth which had covered my saddle, and which was very
beautifully embroidered, was sent to Spain to the King. I was glad of
this, for I have much admiration for him. He is a strong man, and, if we
two could meet, there would be no difficulties between us. When I was in
Tangier, Zugasti almost persuaded me to go to Madrid to see him, but my
friends were afraid and, when the boat was in the harbour, they
prevailed on me. If I had gone, perhaps there would have been no war.
Recently I have written three times to the King to arrange a treaty that
shall be permanent.
“After the affair near Megaret, I had to go back quickly to the high
mountains, for I heard that Beni Ahmas and the Guezauia were fighting
among themselves, and who knows how the feud would have ended? In our
country a battle may begin with ten men and end with 500. In the morning
a few men fight because there is blood between their houses. Shots are
heard by their neighbours, and each man seizes his rifle and rushes to
join one side or the other. After all, man is born for war, and woman
for his relaxation and comfort. When a tribesman has nothing to do, he
will always fight if there is a chance of loot. So by noon the encounter
has swelled, and after that, perhaps, the Kaid comes along with his
followers, to see what is happening; but his finger itches on the
trigger, and he soon joins the party which is nearest to him. By sunset
there is a great battle, and nobody knows for what reason. So it was
with the Ahmas and Gezuia.
“I sent news ahead that I was coming, but I found them still fighting,
so I left my men at a distance and I rode between them on my big horse.
They saw me coming down the Wadi alone, and they were surprised. There
were still some who fired, and the bullets went over me and round me,
but they did not touch me, and the sound of the rifles died away
quietly. After that I made peace between the two parties and swore them
to keep it, for it was a small matter that had begun the feud—a few
goats which had gone astray, and, believing they were stolen, their
owner had burned a farm for vengeance. For this thirty men had died in
battle and many been wounded.
“When I returned to Tazrut, I had learned the extent of the famine which
was oppressing the country, for some of the tribesmen were like shadows,
so thin that their clothes would hold two of them. I saw dead children
and women who had no milk for their babes. The hunger was terrible, for
there was no harvest of any kind, and the people ate fungus and insects.
“Abd ul Melek wrote to me, saying, ‘If you make terms with Germany, you
will have money enough to feed the whole people, for the Germans are
very generous. It is certain that they are going to win the war, and
they will make you Kalipha over all Morocco, as far south as Mogador.’ I
remembered that the German Minister had promised me grain, but, so far,
he had sent only rifles. I spoke to my nephews, Mulai Ali and Mulai
Mustapha, who were with me in Tazrut, and it was decided to communicate
with the Germans, but to make no agreement with them.
“I wrote also to the tribesmen, encouraging them and assuring them that
Allah would give victory to the Faithful, reminding them that those who
die fighting the infidel live for ever in the highest paradise.
“At the same time, Marina sent Zugasti and Cerdeira, who is called by
the Arabs ‘Abderrahman, the nephew of Raisuli,’ to see me. I said to
them, ‘There will be no peace while Silvestre is in Morocco,’ and I told
them the terms I desired, of which the most important was that the
mountains should be left to the Arabs and not be entered without my
permission. ‘Take all the towns,’ I said, ‘and when there is agreement
between us, I will help you to occupy them, but leave me to keep peace
in the mountains, and I will be responsible to you for their security.’
“Even while we were talking, Silvestre was occupying Sahel Haman, and
his captain, Rueda, by means of the police, who were always my enemies
since I stopped their depredations, was spreading propaganda against me
in Jebel Habib. Rueda himself visited Sheikh Tazi and much of their
conversation was reported to me. Sidi Abselam Tazi feared for his farms,
and preferred the sound of threshing to the music of rifles, but he
feared me more, so he tried, by vague promises, to make friends with the
Spaniard. He alleged that he had rendered many services to Spain, but he
asked, ‘What are your intentions towards the Sherif? It is said that you
will make him Kalipha of all the country, and will pay all his armies
for him. He has the Germans with him already, and they say there are
many French deserters in his camp.’ So my propaganda was, after all,
better than Rueda’s! Tazi wished to detach from me Ayashi Zellal, who
had the whole of Beni Mesauer behind him, for he knew, if that tribe and
Wadi Ras went against me, I should be cut off from Tangier, where
Menebbhe[66] was my friend and served as my eyes and my ears. Now Zellal
has always been my ally, and his word is the best thing in this country,
so that he would not listen to Tazi, but I think some of Sidi Abselam’s
men were with Silvestre when he took Rogaia on the road to Tangier. This
was in the winter (Nov. 1915), and, from this post, it is a very little
way to Zinat. If your eyes are good, you can see the windows of the
houses and the hedges which surround them.
“I realised that, at last, peace was necessary, and I sent my secretary,
Sidi Ali Alkali, to Tangier to speak of these matters to my friends.
Already Silvestre saw himself in the eagle’s eyrie, but Marina opposed
his march to Zinat. Then Dris er Riffi made his last effort against me.
The Kaid and Badr ed Din both saw it. They will tell you, for, by Allah,
I remember only noise!”
“We were both very frightened,” began the secretary, “for we thought the
Sherif had been killed. Some strangers had come amongst us, saying that
the Spaniards had driven them out of their village, and we talked to
them and offered them hospitality, but they did not see the Sherif. He
was with Mulai Sadiq in a small house, and we had been ordered not to
disturb their conversation. Suddenly, as we sat under some trees at a
little distance, there was a great roar, and the house fell to pieces in
front of us. It was as if the earth was sick and vomited destruction. We
ran forward, shrieking, for no man could live after the explosion, and
dragged away the roof, which had fallen in a heap with the walls. All
was destroyed except two beams, which, propped one against the other,
made a tent among the rubbish. Under this sat the Sherif and Mulai
Sadiq, talking quietly as if nothing had happened. Ullah! I have never
been so frightened in all my life!
“When the villagers heard what had happened they crowded to kiss the
robes of the Sherif and the earth where he sat, and each one cut a
fragment from the beams, using it as an amulet. Certainly their
protection was assured!”
Raisuli made a gesture of distaste. “There was much treachery in those
days, but the worst has not yet been told you. I was now anxious to
prepare the way for peace, and, being afraid that the Spaniards would
begin to treat separately with the different tribes, I called a great
meeting in Jebel Habib, in order to assure a unity of front against the
foreigners. Representatives came from the Guezauia, Sumata, Beni Aros,
Beni Mesauer, Beni Issef, Ahl Serif and Kholot, Jebel Habib, and I spoke
to them of the famine that decimated their villages, and of the
necessity of giving way a little, in order to obtain much. Some of the
Sheikhs asked me, ‘What of the Germans?’ I answered, ‘The war in Europe
is not yet won, and it seems to me that the Germans will not help us
unless we agree to raid the French borders. Consider, is this the
cheapest way of feeding your families?’ and they were silent, for all
knew the strength of France. I continued my speech, saying, ‘It may be
well to hand over the towns, where the Spaniards will build hospitals
and schools, in order to save the mountains, which have no need of these
things.’
“One answered, ‘The Spaniards will not leave us alone—they wish to
Christianise all the Arabs.’ But I argued with them and said, ‘They can
do nothing against us if we are united. It is a shameful thing that
Moslems should quarrel among themselves when the foreigners are at our
doors. From this day let it be known that each Moslem who disputes with
his fellow is firing a shot for the Christians.’ Then it was agreed that
a proclamation should be sent to all the villages and cried aloud in the
Suqs, saying that Raisuli pardoned all who had fought against him, on
condition that they would now join him. Each village was asked to supply
five armed men, who would be paid 1 peseta 50 a day, and the Kaids were
invited to come to Jebel Habib for the feast of Mailud, in order to
settle the form of the new government.[67]
“The meeting took place in the open, for there was no house large enough
to hold us, and sentries were posted that we should not be disturbed. It
was very cold, and each man had his jellaba muffled over his face, so
that only his eyes could be seen. It was a strange council, for our
seats were the rocks and the tea cooled before it reached our lips.
There were men present from the Tuagena, Bu Maisa, Beni Mesare, Ulad
Ali, Erhama, Guezauia, Beni Zecar, Beni Serual, Ahl Serif, Beni Aros,
Beni Mesauer, Ben Ider, Jebel Habib, Beni Said, and the Riffs of Gomara,
Beni Hasan and Sumata. Each man held his rifle across his knees and, one
by one, with his finger on the trigger, swore the oath of allegiance, ‘I
will be with thee in the name of Allah and our religion until the day of
my death.’ Then we stood up and said the Fatha together, with our hands
raised to heaven, and the Wakils of the new Government were appointed,
one who was treasurer, one for the feeding of the people, one for
propaganda among the villages; but the direction of war I kept in my own
hands, for I thought I saw its ending.
“Of the great tribes, only Anjera sent no delegate to this meeting, and
they had 6,000 rifles behind them. They have never been loyal to me, for
they are near the coast and much in contact with foreigners.” The Sherif
made a gesture of counting money. “It is like that with them. Gold is
pleasanter in the sight of their youths than the first bride when she
opens her haik. Many times Spain thought she had the whole of Anjera
with her, but her money was taken by small men who had no influence.
They promised great things, but they had no power to carry them out.
“The best weapon of my enemies was certainly Dris er Riffi, for he was
known to have been my servant, and, when he visited the tribes to make
propaganda against me, the Kaids would say to him, ‘You were once in the
house of Raisuli. How is it that you fight against him?’ and er Riffi
would answer, ‘I grew tired of his cruelties and extortions, as you
would have done. Let your hearts speak freely, for the Spaniards are
generous and help all who come to them.’ Often the Kaid would protest,
‘Germany is stronger than Spain, and it is said that she is with the
Sherif. What is the news from Europe? Are the Turks winning?’ Dris er
Riffi had his answer ready. ‘This I tell you between your ear and my
mouth, for you are worthy of confidence. The war in this country is only
a pretence, though it costs you so many lives. Haven’t you observed how
Marina stays his armies? How every week he writes to the Sherif? Raisuli
is deceiving you. At this moment he receives 20,000 douros from Spain,
and is meditating how he can hand you all over to the foreigners.’
‘Ullah if that is the case,’ would exclaim the indignant Sheikh, ‘I
would rather make peace with them on my own!’ ‘It is well said. I will
arrange an opportunity,’ asseverated er Riffi.
“The native police officers were also very active against me, so I
forbade the loyal mountaineers to have any communications with them,
and, out of this, sprang the incident of Beni Aros. A policeman arrived
late one night at a village where lived some of his kinsmen. He rested
and ate at their farm, and they saw him on his way in safety, but before
he was outside the limits of the village, he was shot by one who was
most zealous in obeying my orders. The flash betrayed the sniper’s
hiding place, and he was set upon by the friends of the policeman, who
burned his house, while his women took refuge on the hillside, making
the night noisy with their cries. When I heard of the affair, I sent a
party to enquire into it, but, by this time, there was war in Beni Aros,
some upholding my authority, others protecting the family whose guest
had been shot before the taste of their meat was out of his mouth. My
men were ambushed as they approached the village, and there was fierce
fighting. Two were killed, and three taken prisoners, but the latter
were well treated, for it was known that my hand would be heavy on the
village. Next day, reinforced by many loyalists, my people returned to
the attack, but none fired on them till they reached the Suq. Then shots
came from the windows and the roofs, and a Kaid was killed. There might
have been a great battle after this, but one of my men, who was skilled
in speech, picked up a spent bullet and, in the midst of the fighting,
called out to the villagers, ‘Who wasted this cartridge? By Allah, he
has saved a Christian life!’
“The men stopped fighting to listen to him, and he got up on a high
place and addressed them. ‘Each bullet that we have spent should have
accounted for the life of a foreigner! This is how the Christians
conquer us, for we spend ourselves in quarrels which have no purpose,
while the enemy takes our country.’ His eloquence was so great that all
men put away their rifles and the women stole down from the hillside to
wash the dead. The same night he led the chief among them to Jebel Alan
and made them climb to the sanctuary which is on its highest point.
Throughout the centuries Sidi Abd es Salaam had heard many vows. The
Beni Aros swore that no man’s rifle should be turned against his
neighbours, until the Christians had been driven out of the country, and
he who broke his oath was to forfeit his possessions to the village.
“By this time I had made two journeys to meet Zugasti, who always urged
me to make peace, but I insisted in my demands—‘The mountains for the
Arab,’—and Marina hesitated. Almost Zugasti persuaded me, for he was
honest and he told me of the opinion in the towns, where there was no
trade, and in the Western plain, where the farmers were ruined and
eating the mules which should have threshed their corn. Zugasti had an
English mother, and sometimes, when people pressed him to some action
which was unpleasing to him, he would say, ‘Leave me alone. Don’t make a
fuss. At these times I remember I am half English!’ Certainly it was
impossible to embarrass him, for, like Zellal, he spoke nothing but the
truth. His words made me think, and I sent for el Mudden and told him to
bring me news from the coast.
“He went down to Larache with his men. Hiding their rifles in a suitable
place, they dressed themselves in ragged shirts, took sticks in their
hands and waited till the herdsmen slept in the heat of noon. Then they
stole 80 cows from their pasture outside the walls, and the animals
belonged to the Maghsen. They took also some beasts which were the
property of a sergeant and, in order to confuse the wits of the
pursuers, they broke up the herd which remained, and drove them in all
directions, two here and three there. When the herdsmen awoke, they were
obliged to chase their cattle from the sea-shore to the hills, and it
was a long time before they discovered how many were lost. El Mudden
brought most of the cattle to Jebel Habib, and, for a little while, the
tribesmen grew fat on their flesh, but the ‘wild one’ brought me no
news. So I decided to capture a merchant, a portly man of a certain age,
who would know all that was happening in the towns and who would be able
to pay well for my hospitality. Such a one was Abselam Bulifa, a protégé
of Spain, and his piety was unfortunately his downfall, for he went in
the evening to say his prayers at a sanctuary outside the town, and he
never came back. In spite of his years, his struggles were so violent
that my men had to tie him up and put him in a sack. In this way he
looked like a calf kicking, for he did not cease to protest till he was
brought into my presence.
[Illustration: Tazrut—Tomb on left, where Raisuli’s ancestors are
buried]
[Illustration: Mosque at Tazrut]
“I said to him, ‘Salaam aleikum, O Sheikh, but it is not right that one
of your honour should oppose the will of Allah. I had meant to ask 3,000
douros for your entertainment, but perhaps your spirit will be less
rebellious if I double the sum.’ He said, ‘The Sherif is joking. I have
not so much money, not even if I sell all my possessions.’ Upon which I
answered, ‘The money is of little account. Pay it as you like, but show
not so much avarice in your speech.’ At first he was evasive, and would
tell me nothing, but the food at Tazrut was poor at the time and, when
his face began to shrink, there was more room for his tongue. I learned
from him that the disagreement between Silvestre and Marina was at its
height, and that it was whispered the Colonel would disobey orders and
occupy Zinat. ‘If he does that,’ said el Bulifa, ‘the Anjera tribe will
join him—for a long time they have wanted to see your house in
flames—and the whole army will advance to Ain Yerida. It will then be
too late for Marina to interfere.’
“I thought a great deal over this news, and I sent a message hastily to
Zugasti, saying, ‘My mind was inclined to make peace with you, but now I
hear that Silvestre is preparing such and such things. If this is the
case, how can I control the tribes and persuade them to treat with you?’
I ordered the messengers not to pause even to drink water at a stream,
and to deliver the letter into Zugasti’s own hands. Then I sent for Ali
Alkali, who was still in Tangier, saying to him, ‘Come quickly, for I
have decided to sign the peace, and you must go to Tetuan on my behalf.’
“I spoke to you of treachery. Listen now how it happened. Sidi Ali was
known everywhere as my agent, and he had a pass, signed by Marina,
permitting him to go to and fro through the lines as he would. He was
not a fighter and carried arms only to protect himself against robbers.
It was the same thing with Zugasti and Cerdeira. They had papers,
bearing my signature, and they could go through the country as they
chose. I sent escorts with them when they desired it, and no man raised
his rifle against them. As soon as Alkali received my letter, he started
from Tangier with his servant Hamed.[68] He arrived at Questa Colorada
towards evening and was well received by the commandant, who exchanged
news with him and begged him not to go till morning, as it was the hour
when the Spanish police were withdrawn from the roads, and it was no
longer safe for travellers. Sidi Ali insisted that he must be in Tazrut
before morning, so the commandant rode a little way with him, as he
himself was going to Larache, but, at the next post, the officer was
less amiable.
“In spite of the passport, which he declared to be a forgery, the
captain detained the travellers, and for two days they were in prison,
unable to communicate with me. When the commandant of Questa Colorada
heard this, he was very angry and ordered the immediate release of my
agent. More than this, he went to meet Sidi Ali on the road, apologised
for the mistake and offered him an escort. Alkali replied that much time
had been wasted, and that he must ride faster than the horses of the
escort would permit. It was then nearly sunset;[69] and the next thing
that was heard of the travellers was that their horses had been seen in
Zerska, but that Alkali had returned to Tangier. This I did not believe,
and I sent my own men to enquire secretly what had happened. Zellal also
sent men from Beni Mesauer, but, for three days, there was no news. Then
a fisherman on the banks of Sidi Hakhes announced that he had seen the
body of a man floating near the estuary. The commandant of Questa
Colorada sent his people to search in the river, but my spies were also
there, and everything was reported to me.
“At first only a mutilated trunk was found, which nobody could
recognise, for all but the drawers had been stripped from it. Then, when
they dragged the bottom of the wadi, they brought up a sack made of a
haik and filled with stones. In it was a body, headless and wearing a
shirt which was supposed to be that of the servant Hamed. The corpses,
which had been cut and disfigured to prevent recognition, were taken to
Sidi Hamed and handed over to the family of Alkali, but the heads were
not found. I sent privately, offering many douros for the head of my
friend, for this would have brought comfort to his house, but it was
useless.
“Many stories were told about the death of Sidi Ali—may Allah give him
peace, which is his right, since he was murdered by Christians. They
said that men of Beni Mesauer and Wadi Ras had lain in wait for him,
believing that he carried letters from the Spanish Government which
would force peace upon them. It was also said that a woman had caused
him to be killed, because he had taken her husband and sent him as a
prisoner to Tazrut; but these were empty words. Zellal held Beni Mesauer
in his hands, and, as for the woman, it was a lie invented by the police
to save themselves. Other rumours came to me that the assassination was
arranged by the French, who had no wish for peace between Spain and el
Raisuli.
“At last men whispered that Silvestre had investigated the murder, in
order to make a breach which even Zugasti could not span. This story was
generally believed, for it was known that the Colonel would do anything
to prevent an agreement being signed at the moment when his success
seemed to be assured. For a while I, too, wondered if this were
possible, but I have known Silvestre, and he was brave. When his blood
was hot, he might have attacked with his sword or with his bare hands,
but he was incapable of planning a murder for others to commit.
“It was not long before the truth was revealed . . . Sidi Ali and his
servant had ridden swiftly till they came within sight of a Spanish
post. Then, the place being suitable, for there was no fear of robbers,
they dismounted for the evening prayers. The officer of the post, who
was called Sota, saw them and sent messengers asking them to come in and
drink tea with him, for he had been warned of their coming by Rueda.
Allah alone knows why my friend accepted!—perhaps to rest his horse,
perhaps to get information about the country. In any case, he entered
the house and drank with his host, who begged him to stay the night,
saying the country was not safe. Alkali refused, but Sota would not let
him go without an escort. He said that he was responsible for the safety
of travellers, and he kept his guest talking till it was very late. Then
he came to the door and saw him mount. A dozen policemen were waiting,
and they ranged their horses round Sidi Ali and his servant. ‘You will
doubtless go quickly,’ said Sota, ‘but I myself will follow you for a
little way, as I am anxious about your security. Do not wait for me.’
And he wished him ‘Ma salaama’ (With safety)!
“My friend had ridden only a little way when he noticed the demeanour of
the police, who kept looking back as if they expected some signal.
Alkali asked what was the matter, but the answers were evasive. At last,
when the road was deserted, a shot was heard from a distance, and the
police flung themselves off their horses and seized the bridles of the
men they were supposed to protect. ‘We are going to be attacked! We must
hide!’ they cried, and pulled Sidi Ali and Hamed from their saddles, in
spite of their protests. Two stayed to hold the horses. The others
dropped all pretence and, hitting their prisoners on the heads and
shoulders to stop their cries, they dragged them a little way from the
road and strangled them.
“By this time the Lieutenant Sota had come up and ordered the heads to
be cut off and the bodies mutilated, for fear of recognition. This was
done, and the remnants tied up in native garments, which had been
brought specially so that the blame would fall on Arabs. When the police
rode back, they carried with them strange bundles tied to their saddles,
and these were taken to the river and sunk in it with stones. One man
was sent on with the horses, and he loosed them far away, leaving their
saddles and bridles, which was a mistake, for by these they were
recognised. So the story was told to me by one who had known the truth
for some time, and I believe it is exact.”
The official version of the tragedy was sent by wire from Commandant
Orgaz of Questa Colorada to General Marina, who had been telegraphing
daily to insist on a thorough investigation. The message ran thus: “The
death of Ali Alkali was effected by the Moors, Benbihas, El Metagui and
Koroan, in the presence of Lieutenant Sota y Morales, ordered by Capt.
Rueda, and the assassination was inspired by the Pasha of Azeila.”
General Marina lost no time in ordering the arrest of the accused
Spanish officers and the suspension of Dris er Riffi, but he saw in this
murder the ruin of all his hopes for a peaceful settlement. Though he
made no secret of his intention of punishing his fellow-countrymen with
the utmost severity of the law, he felt that Raisuli would neither
forgive the outrage nor place any further confidence in the word of
Spain. He set out immediately for Questa Colorada, and requested
Silvestre to join him there. The meeting must have been dramatic. “We
have failed!” exclaimed the High Commissioner, ignoring the other’s
greeting. “I do not consider I have failed,” retorted Silvestre. “I have
always stuck to the same policy.” But General Marina would not be
comforted. Overwhelmed by the treachery for which he held himself
responsible, since he represented Spain, he insisted on his colleague’s
resignation, and sent in his own at the same time.
Dris er Riffi and the two Spanish officers were imprisoned, the Moors
were executed, and, as Raisuli said, “There was but one lion left in the
forest.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE TREATY OF PEACE
Raisuli sat staring at the carpet when he had finished the story of the
ill-fated Alkali. I was afraid of meeting his eyes, so I occupied myself
with killing two or three bugs which had ventured from their comfortable
quarters inside the mattress. “It is better to spare the life of a flea
than to give a dirhem to a beggar,” quoted the Sherif suddenly. “I am
tired of killing.”
There was another pause. “When I heard the true history of my friend’s
death, I broke off relations with the Spaniards. For six days I saw no
one, not even my own family. I had thoughts of proclaiming a Jehad (Holy
War) and thus revenging the blood of my servant, but I was oppressed by
the future. It is strange that the face of Allah is so persistently
turned against his people.” The last sentence was muttered and almost
inaudible.
“Jordana[70] was appointed High Commissioner. Villalba[71] took the
place of Silvestre, but there was no further war. Since my enemy had
left the country, the armies on the West were harmless, and there was
traffic between their camps and ours. I waited for Jordana to move
first; I made no sign that I knew of his arrival, and, when he sent to
me Zugasti, Barera and Cerdeira, I received them gravely and asked what
had been done to avenge Sidi Ali, though already I knew of the steps
taken. They apologised many times for that betrayal, but they insisted
that it was no more to be attributed to Spain than the most foolish
attempts of Dris er Riffi with his bombs.
“I asked if er Riffi still lived, and they were embarrassed. ‘It is
certain that he suggested the crime,’ said one, ‘but there is no
evidence against him.’ ‘Cannot all your scribes and your men learned in
law invent some?’ I asked, for I wanted to disturb them. Certainly I
would have defended the life of Sidi Ali with my own, but, since he was
dead, he had put a new weapon in my hand. The Spaniards argued most
eloquently in favour of peace, and I believed that, with the departure
of Silvestre, I might realise the aims which he had frustrated.
“I took Zugasti aside and I said to him, ‘Do you remember the day we
said the Fatha together at Azeila? Much blood lies between us now, and
the country has suffered greatly, and you have not achieved the good
that you promised. The land is divided into many parties, and where the
tribesmen once kept the money which he received for his produce he now
hoards bullets that he may add to his troubles.’ Zugasti said, ‘The
fault is with you, for you have not always worked loyally with us,’ and
I answered, ‘Do you nourish the snake which has crept into your house?’
He said, ‘There have been many mistakes between us, but there is a new
policy now. With your help, there may still be peace in the country,’
and he repeated to me that the desire of Spain was to cooperate with the
Arabs for the development of the country and the improvement of the
people.
“At last I said to him, ‘I will not ever again say the Fatha with a
Christian, but swear to me in your own way that the new policy is good.’
He said, ‘I am your friend, and so is Jordana. All that is promised will
be fulfilled.’ I answered, ‘Return then in a few weeks, when I have
consulted the tribes,’ for I knew my greatest difficulty would be, not
with Spain, but with my own people.
“When I spoke of peace to the Kaids, they said, ‘You are selling us to
the Christians.’ I replied, ‘If it were not for me, the Christians would
be in these mountains,’ but they were stubborn. This was in early
summer,[72] before the great heat, and I sent messengers to every
village in the mountains to make known my intentions to the tribesmen.
Sometimes these messengers were ill-treated, but more often men listened
in silence, for they remembered they had chosen me as Sultan.
“When Zugasti came to see me again I had gathered a great army of those
who were loyal to me, and I was strong enough to enforce my orders. Also
I had sent much grain to the hill villages, and the women blessed the
name of the Sherif. So peace was signed in the autumn (September, 1915,
the Peace of Khotot), and, by it, I regained all that had been taken
from me. My properties were restored, and it was agreed that those of my
houses which had been damaged should be rebuilt. The mountains were
closed, and no one might enter my zone without my permission, but, with
my help, the Spaniards were to occupy all the lowlands.
“For this purpose they supplied me with eight hundred rifles and much
ammunition, charging themselves with the pay of one of my forces, which
numbered a thousand. It was arranged that I should be Governor of all
the tribes who submitted to the Maghsen, and that a large sum of money
should be paid me, so that I could at once relieve the hunger of the
Jebala. This treaty was not without its difficulties, for, when it was
announced by criers among the villages that there was friendship between
Raisuli and the Spaniards, the people were divided. Some said, ‘The
Sherif is clever and strong, for he has forced the foreigners to make
peace, and now he is the only ruler in the land,’ but others protested,
‘He has betrayed us. He has taken money from the Christians.’
“I saw that the best policy was to impress them with my power, so I kept
a great force always with me, and I fed a thousand men daily in my camp.
I had a great tent made, as large as a house, and I put sentinels round
it, and would see no one but my family and a few of the great Sheikhs
who had always been my allies. When the Kaids came to see me, they were
entertained lavishly, but kept waiting for several days, and then,
perhaps, they only spoke with my secretary. I had musicians in the camp,
who played the reveille at dawn and the buglers sounded every call to
prayer. Afterwards, in Ramadan, I asked the Spaniards for a battery, and
guns were fired daily for the beginning and the end of the fast. In
those days I lived like a Sultan, and the people were much impressed
and, from all sides, men came to join me. I imprisoned Tazi, the Sheikh
of Jebel Habib, who had tried to serve both parties during the war, and
the people said, ‘The Sherif has certainly conquered, for the foreigners
cannot even protect those who served them.’
“There were still many who were against me, but, while I was with my
mehalla, they could do nothing. When I went back to Tazrut, travelling
with only a few men, they thought that their opportunity had come. A
force from Beni Hassan, Beni Aros, Beni Leit, Beni Sif, Sumata and Beni
Mesauer gathered quickly among the mountains and hastened to Tazrut.
They killed all my people whom they met on the way, and they carried
pickaxes to destroy my house, intending to leave no two stones together.
News of their coming was brought to me, and my servants wished to take
refuge in the mountains, but I said to them, ‘How many times have you
asked me to fly, and has any evil yet happened to me? Put your faith in
Allah, who is strong.’ Then I posted my riflemen in the best places,
from where they could command the approach of the enemy, and, when
movement was seen among the hills, I ordered them to fire. There were
less than a hundred men with me, but even the women took up rifles and
boys carried guns which were bigger than themselves. The fight was not
long, for Allah strengthened us. Before night the enemy retired, but
they left many dead behind them. In this way the victory was given to a
hundred men over nearly a thousand, but that is my ‘baraka.’”
Other accounts of this curious encounter differed very little from the
version of Raisuli. Again and again, disaffected tribesmen would decide
to attack him, but their courage always failed at the last moment.
Firmly believing that he was under divine protection and that his life
was miraculously preserved, their rebellions were invariably half-
hearted and, when they saw him at the head of defence or attack, they
fled, after exchanging a few shots.
“My cousin, Wuld Sid Lahsen, who led the force against me, had been
proclaimed by his followers as Sultan in my place. He had been chief of
my harka at Ben Karrish, but had deserted me when I made peace with
Spain. As soon as the rebels had scattered before our bullets, I sent a
summons to Jebel Bu Hashim, where I always keep a small force as an
outpost. They came in to Tazrut by night, and I mounted them on my
fastest horses and led them myself against Tagzat, the residence of my
cousin. We came down upon them like a thunderbolt from the hills, and
were through their defences before they knew what had happened. The
first ranks carried rifles with which they shot any who opposed them,
but the others bore blazing torches and, as they galloped through the
village, they tossed them onto the the thatched roofs, and fire leaped
up behind us. Our pace carried up on into the darkness, and we looked
back upon a sheet of flame, against which every man was a mark. We sat
down comfortably, not even trying to hide ourselves, and shot everyone
who came out of the village. Lahsen escaped only because of the
swiftness of the horse upon which he fled, leaning far down from the
saddle, so that it appeared to have no rider.
“When the dawn came there were no men in Tagzat, but women crouched
weeping beside the still smoking ruins. I sent to find the family of my
cousin, but they had hidden themselves under a pile of half-burned
timber, so that it was some time before my men discovered them. When
they were brought to me, the daughter flung herself on her knees and
kissed the hem of my mantle, praying that I would have mercy on her
mother. ‘You do not ask for yourself?’ I said, but she answered, ‘My
life is under your feet, Sidi, but my mother is old and weak.’ I took
them to Tazrut, and perhaps I wished that there was no feud between our
houses, for the girl was pretty when she knelt to me, and her eyes were
like those dark flowers beside the well. I gave them in charge of my
family and said, ‘Give them of your clothing and your ornaments,’ for
part of their garments had been burned and there was hardly enough left
to cover them. My daughter came to me later and said, ‘The girl is like
a sister already, but we cannot calm her fears!’ and I said to her,
‘Tell your guest that her father is safe as long as she remains in my
house,’ for already I had decided what I would do. Not long after, when
peace had been arranged with my cousin, the girl was given to me as a
wife, and so the dark flowers bloomed in my garden! . . .
“When I returned to my mehalla, I found that there were many
difficulties between the Spaniards and my people, but Jordana acted
loyally towards me, and, when some Sheikhs of Beni Ider went to Tetuan,
asking to be protected against me, he sent them to my camp with a
letter, and I made peace with them. Affairs in the West were less easy,
for it had been arranged that I should not interfere with the zone
occupied by the Spaniards and that they should not enter the territory
which I ruled. Consequently there was intrigue along our borders, and
thieves who wished to escape the justice of Spain sought refuge in my
country, while those who feared my vengeance fled to the plains for
security. It was said that I harboured deserters from the irregulars in
the service of Villalba, but it was not true, for, if such men found
shelter in my country, it was under the roofs of their friends, and
their hiding-places were unknown to me. The police were always ready to
make trouble, and at last I forbade them again to cross my borders or to
have any dealings with my people.
“Still there were incidents which annoyed Jordana, for most of the
tribesmen thought ‘The Sherif is more powerful than the Spaniards. He
rules them and they do as he directs.’ It happened that in Jebel Habib
an officer with a few soldiers rode from his frontier post to the Suq el
Madi, but the Arabs murmured as he passed and drew away from his horse,
turning their backs. The women were more violent in their actions, for
they cried out that they wanted no Christians, and threw stones and mud
at the foreigners. Before the officer could either explain or retire,
there appeared some of the band of el Mudden, who would have hustled the
Spaniards away, shouting that, without a pass signed by Raisuli, no
stranger could enter the town. Many words were exchanged, so many,
fortunately, that the bullets cooled in the barrels, for when a Moor
employs his tongue he has no use for his trigger finger. Nobody was
killed, though the tribesmen fired a few shots after the retiring
Spaniards in order to show their good-will.
“I wrote at once to the Kaid of the village, but the Arab does not
understand two masters and, because Jebel Habib was always hoping to
profit from the foreigners and there were many who worked secretly to
undermine my influence, there was often trouble on that border.
Nevertheless, there was a great sowing that year, and men grew fat in
anticipation of the harvest. I had agreed with Jordana to help Spain to
occupy the road between Tangier and Tetuan, but I did not wish them to
hold it too strongly, lest, in case of another war, I should be unable
to communicate with the coast. I kept my promise and, by my aid, many
places were occupied without firing a shot. Amersam, El Barch, Sid
Tellia, Melusa, Ain Guenen all became Spanish posts. At the repeated
request of Jordana, I agreed to effect a junction between the armies of
East and West, but I stipulated that Ain Yerida should be held by my
troops in the name of Spain, for Fondak is the key to the whole country,
and the wise Arab does not give the key of his house to any but a
Moslem.
“The Spanish army was encamped at Rogaia, so between them and Tetuan lay
the rebels of Wadi Ras, who would not come to terms with an infidel, and
whose Sheikh proclaimed that he would rather lose his life than join
Raisuli under a Christian flag. The men of Wadi Ras were strong, so it
was arranged to attack them on two sides. I pitched my camp in Beni
Mesauer, and there, among the great rocks, I had eight thousand men of
my regular mehallas, with a small force of cavalry and some irregular
levies drawn from tribes recently submitted. The Spaniards were to
advance along the road to the Fondak and occupy the heights of the
Amersam which overlooked the wadi. I sent them guides who knew the
country, and suggested that they should move in several small columns,
in order that there should be no suspicion of a great attack. It would
be rumoured only that some small place was to be occupied. I posted
spies by the way who were to give me warning of the Spanish advance and,
when I saw the smoke curling up from the appointed hill-top, I came down
from Beni Mesauer with the whole of my army.
“I had expected to hear shots as Villalba occupied Amersam, but this was
achieved in the early morning with no sound to arouse Wadi Ras. I pushed
my cavalry to the top of a hill on the other side of the valley and,
from there, I could see the Spaniards fortifying the position of their
guns, but when the rebels woke, it was to find the sun glinting on steel
behind them and in front. There was instant alarm in the wadi—shouting
and waving of flags. Men rode swiftly towards the West, where the land
opens into a plain. Here the millet was so high that it covered their
saddles and, when they dismounted, they disappeared altogether amongst
it. The brother of Haj el Arbi gathered a few hundred of the fighting
men and, ignorant of the hidden guns, charged the bayonets of Spain.
They rode in a long line, each man a few yards from his neighbour,
crying on the name of the Prophet and shouting their war-cry. Long
before they saw the enemy they had emptied their rifles and the warrior
who led them made his horse dance, and waved his gun above his head as
if it had been a game. The Spaniards waited till they were quite near,
and then the guns spoke and the army toiling behind me through the
ridges of Beni Mesauer must have heard their voice. The long rank broke,
hung for a moment, then dispersed, each man seeking cover from the sons
of the cannon.[73]
The river was very low, and its overhanging banks provided shelter, so
that, when the Spanish cavalry charged, expecting to ride through a
beaten enemy, they found every crevice held a rifle. With several
wounded they were forced to retire.
“By this time the signal fires blazed on every hill. The women seized
great bundles of straw, and, indifferent to the bullets, carried them to
the nearest eminence and set fire to them. One girl was shot as she
reached her goal, but she had just strength enough to light her burden,
and was scorched by the flames as she fell beside it. Her body was
scarcely recognisable, but she had been promised marriage to one of my
men, so I heard of the deed. You see, our women, also, are brave!
“I saw the plight of the enemy, so I gathered a few hundred riders, with
the great Kaids who were with me, and some of my own slaves who ran,
holding our stirrups. We came down the mountain at a gallop, the red
flag flying before us and the green standard of Islam in the rear. I
stood up in my stirrups and shouted, and my mantle flew out like a sail.
Rank upon rank took up the cry—‘God is great,’—and each rider drove home
his spurs. Like ships in full sail, the Kaids swept down the hill, and
the music of the drums and cymbals went with us. Each man had a
different cry, but the ‘Saleh en Nebbi’[74] pealed highest. No one could
have withstood us that day, for all the great of Jebel Alan were with
me, and the flag was the flag of our ancestors who had fought for it,
died for it, but never lowered it. Allah, it was good!”
Raisuli had been almost chanting the last words, but, with a long sigh,
his voice dropped to its usual level. “We rode straight across Wadi Ras
and, after our passage, there was no man left on the banks. El Arbi was
wounded, for he held his fire till we were almost upon him, and he only
saved himself by creeping between the cane, where he lay hid till the
night. Still from the millet-fields and the lower ridges came a galling
fire, so I turned my horse in the bed of the stream and answered it,
with a few of my men. My slaves stood round me, holding my rifles and
field-glasses, the stool with which I mounted, a gourd of water, for
always I had a great thirst, and my prayer-carpet, which was of silk and
came from Egypt.
“My horse was impatient, and his movements interfered with my aim, so I
dismounted and stood, firing first a Spanish rifle and then a German, as
Ghabah and Mubarak loaded for me. It was better than hunting, but a
slave said to me, ‘Sidi, the men among the millet are watching you. In
the name of Allah, take shelter.’ I replied, ‘You are right. I did not
see them,’ and I turned round and altered the sights of my rifle, so
that I might fire at them more easily. Then the slave touched my sleeve
and said, ‘Sidi, it is the hour of prayer,’ and I knew that he said it
in order to lead me away from the battle, so I answered, ‘Spread my
carpet here.’
“They were afraid, but, putting my rifle in front of me for a kibla,[75]
I turned towards the East and began the prescribed Raqua-at. One man was
killed beside me, and his blood stained shoes, which I had placed at the
edge of the carpet. I did not move nor interrupt prayers, for I wished
to give them a lesson, but, hardly had I finished the last words, when
Cerdeira ran towards me, crying, ‘You must take cover. Your life is too
valuable to risk!’ And I answered, ‘What is going to happen today was
written before you or I were born, and we cannot escape. Also I have
noticed that, when men aim at me, it is my friends who die. The man on
my right and the man on my left may fall, but I remain unhurt.’ I fired
several more shots at the enemy, but there were few in the whole of Wadi
Ras. Then I called to a slave to bring my horse. My foot was in the
stirrup when I turned to say something to Cerdeira, who stood beside me,
and, at that moment, he was shot. ‘I told you the one on my left would
fall,’ I reminded him, but, Hamdulillah, it was not a great wound.
“I pitched my camp opposite the heights occupied by the Spaniards, and
the drums summoned the Kaids to pray with me. This was performed in the
space outside my tent, and I acted as Imam for the rest. Then all the
heads were collected that we might know how many had been slain, but the
Spaniards protested against this custom and requested me urgently to
bury them. The same thing happened whenever I fought with my Allies, and
much time was wasted on burial.”
The point of view was so amusing that I could not help asking if it
would not have been simpler to have ordered his men to refrain from
cutting off the heads at all. “My people would not have understood,”
said Raisuli, “for it is a custom. I have told you often that we are
savages, but it is not very long since you were worse than we. I have
read your history, and I know how long men took to die under your
tortures. Your executioners were well paid for the inventiveness of
their cruelty, and you did not spare women and children.[76] Now you
have forgotten the crimes you committed a hundred years ago, and you
call us barbarians. In another century or two, perhaps we shall say the
same of you.”
In connection with the Sherif’s remarks, it may be apposite to quote a
remarkable document now in the possession of the Capitania General del
Deposito Maritimo of Cadiz. It is dated Ceuta, March 11th, 1799, and is
a list of the charges to which the executioner is entitled.
“Plaza de Ceuta.
“To hang one 150 reals.
“To cut a hand 75 reals.
“To dismember and cut one in quarters 375 reals.
“To cut the head 75 reals.
“To hang up the head, the members and the four quarters, 210 reals.
“To fry the hand 75 reals.
“To hang the head in public 30 reals.
“To flay a man with whips 32 reals.
“To any other form of justice 22 reals.
“In addition to this, the price of acid, coal and a stove. The
executioner of this place is a government employé. He shall receive
daily from the King 8 pennies and a bread; two reals from the city; and
four from the military, every day; as well as a flail and a pair of
tongs, with the obligation of keeping the scaffold clean and tidy.
ANTONIO MONDRAGAN,
Colonel of Infantry.”
“There had been peace between us for many months before I saw Jordana,”
said Raisuli. “I could not visit him, for I have never recognised the
Kaliphate of Mulai el Mehdi, but he is a good man, and I would not
insult him by going to Tetuan and passing his door without entering.
Therefore I never go to the city, though my ancestors are buried there.
Jordana would not come to visit me, for he thought it was not consistent
with his dignity.
“At last a meeting-place was arranged between his country and mine, and
tents were sent out from Laucien to the hill of Guad Agraz. The
conference was to be at midday, which is certainly a bad hour for
talking, for a man, having just prayed, is thinking of food. We say,
‘Lunch and rest. Dine and walk.’ I started with my mehalla before there
was any light to discover the colour of our jellabas and, at every
village on the way, a party waited by the roadside, with their mantles
muffled across their faces. The Kaid came forward to kiss my shoulder
and ride beside me. His men ranged themselves behind him. When each wadi
and each hill had contributed its party of armed men, we were a great
host, and the dust of our hoofs was like a cloud around us and behind.
The standards of Islam and the Sultanate were borne in front of us, and
each Kaid had his own flag. Beside me rode el Arbi, great in years and
in beard, and each man knew his place, so there was no disorder in the
ranks, as ever new bayonets joined us, with the sun glinting on them
like snow in the mountains. The pipes played on either side and the
drums were beaten loudly, so that the horses became excited and, when we
saw in front of us, but a long way off, the tents of Jordana, they could
no longer be restrained. Three hundred riders gave rein to their
stallions, and, for a moment, the dust blinded us. High above it swirled
the green flag and the red. Then fire pierced the cloud and, with
shouting and songs, shooting over their heads, the tribesmen raced for
the tents.
“I wonder if it was the first ‘Jerid’ the General had seen. To do it
well, a man must be able to stop his horse at full gallop in the length
of a gun. Riding now ahead (in orange waistcoat and dark-brown mantle,
with the rolled turban of the Jebala), I watched them in full charge,
and then, scarce five men’s lengths from the Spaniards, saw them pull up
in a swirl of dust. The lines were unbroken. Each horse fell back on to
its haunches, with its rider bent flat over the pommel. Cerdeira and
others came out to meet me, and I dismounted in front of the great tent
which had been spread with carpet and mattresses, as is our custom, but
there were also chairs, and, Ullah, I looked anxiously to find one big
enough. Jordana came forward to meet me and would have shaken my hand,
but I saluted him as I should have done the Sultan, yet even after that,
he insisted on taking my hand.
“We sat down and looked at each other, for both wondered what would be
written between us. He was a good man but perhaps not a great one, and
he was always my friend. He loved Spain and for her sake he kept peace
with me even when he believed I was wrong. He had a strong will and
would not let others dictate to him. Like Silvestre, he was impatient,
but he restrained all emotion, and only his eyes told his feelings. Had
Jordana come to Azeila at the beginning, there would have been no war
and no distrust, but, however much we two wished to walk together, there
were many difficulties on either side.
“A few years ago the Arab and the Spaniard would have met, both (‘aqil’)
wise and desirous of using their wisdom for Morocco. Now it was a
conference between a Christian and a Moslem, and between them was the
memory of treachery and death. Yet I liked Jordana and I respected him
as I have done few Christians. Like Zugasti, he did not even see money
when it lay before him, and, though he was not young, he had that hope
which is in the heart of a boy when he stalks his first partridge and
shoots it tremulously before it rises. Men say that I killed Jordana. He
tried to change that which is unchangeable. It was not I who killed him,
but the country and the burning of his own heart.”
CHAPTER XX
GOSSIP OF THE HAREM
There came a day when el Raisuli would not talk. Seated on a slab of
stone in the garden, with his chin sunk between his shoulders and his
eyes downcast, he emitted a series of guttural grunts in answer to all
questions. The mass of flesh, relaxed and shapeless, under the jellaba,
appeared hardly human. Once the intense virility of the eyes was hidden,
the face became expressionless, and there was something monstrous in the
muscular folds which creased round the neck and wrists. Without paying
the slightest attention to remarks made to him, the Sherif began
twisting and tearing a piece of silk. His fingers were very strong, in
spite of their shape, and, as I watched those gross rolls of flesh
destroying the stuff, I realised quite suddenly the ruthlessness of the
man. There was no reason for it. It was an instinctive picture. The
tufts of hair on the knuckles rendered the hands peculiarly coarse, and
they worried the silk as an animal worries the throat of its victim.
With a shiver, I looked at the Sherif’s face, and now I felt it was
blank not so much from indifference as from a tremendous concentration
of will-power. The spirit of the man had withdrawn itself, and somewhere
beyond those creased, moist lids, it was watching and appraising.
“Did you feel he could see us all the time, though his eyes were
closed?” asked the Spaniard when, after unheeded farewells, we walked
back to the end of the compound. “Yes, I did.” Thoughtfully I went into
my tent, feeling that I wanted to talk to someone exceedingly simple and
human.
It was very hot and, as there seemed no possibility of lunch, I lay down
and tried to sleep. The flies rendered this difficult, and, suddenly, I
noticed one of the little slaves peering round the edge of the screen
while he tried to attract my attention. I thought that perhaps the
Sherif wished to speak to me, so I followed him into the yard, but, with
finger on lips, he hurried me out of the main door and into the old
house through a little court adjoining the Qubba. In another moment I
found myself in the women’s quarters.
It was a big room, carpeted with modern rugs and hung with stuffs of
different violent colours. Most of these were embroidered with tinsel to
match the cushions below them, so that the place was like a box of
striped candies tied up with Christmas-tree ribbons. At one end stood an
enormous iron bedstead, canopied, frilled, quilted in the crudest pink,
and covered with what looked like a pair of Nottingham lace curtains.
Huddled in a corner of this erection was a small, pale girl in the dress
of a bride. She did not look up when I came in. Her eyes stared straight
in front of her with an expression of shy dreaminess. The ochre on her
face, her stiff brocade robes, and the jewelry which seemed too heavy
for her fragile figure, accentuated her youth. She had the feet and
hands of a child.
“We have tried to talk to her, but she will not answer,” said a mountain
girl with glossy black ringlets and features reminiscent of a Roman
coin. “Too much thought is bad—the jinns are haunting her.” “Allah
forbid!” broke in an older woman. “What empty words your tongue lets
loose. Have you no work that you can do? Who will make tea for our
guest?” With a good-natured shrug, the girl shuffled away, while the
woman who had rebuked her leant forward, her finger on her lips. “She is
frightened—you understand.” Her eyes wandered to the figure on the bed.
“She is young, and but a few days married. It will pass.”
Other women joined us, and we went through the usual questions and
answers—how old was I, how many children had I, why had I left my
husband. Tea interrupted the embarrassing monotony of the conversation.
One Aysha (almost a generic name in harems) measured the leaves with an
expression of intense mental pain. “We will keep the mint till the last,
and then we will tell stories,” she murmured to her neighbour, who
agreed. So, when the perfume of fresh herbs mingled with the scent of
orange-water, an old black slave was urged to tell something to amuse
the guest. With a cackle from toothless gums, she said, “All stories
here are about our master.” Without more ado I was regaled with a series
of personal anecdotes, all of them quite impossible, and of which,
perhaps fortunately, I only understood about half.
At last the Jebala girl said she knew a story which was very funny. “You
have perhaps seen Ahmed el Hamri,” she began. “Not long ago he was a
very strong man, the swiftest of all, the best shot, the best rider. The
Sherif was pleased with him and asked what he should do to reward him.
Ahmed replied only, ‘Marry me, Sidi, marry me!’ ‘You are too young,’
said the Sherif. ‘Wait a little’—but every day Ahmed came to our master
and said ‘Marry me, Sidi. Marry me!’ At last the Sherif, to gain peace,
searched for a wife for him and found one, young, ardent. No more was
Ahmed seen in the rooms of the Sherif. Men asked for him and were told,
‘He is in camp with his wife.’ Ullah, how he was changed! He shot no
more. He rode no more. All day he sat drooping and quiet, till they
rallied him and said, ‘Where is thy spirit gone?’ but Ahmed would not
answer. Then one day there was a stir in the camp. One of the Sherif’s
stallions had got loose. It was a fine horse and very valuable, so
everyone tried to catch it, but, snorting, plunging, it outdistanced
them all, till it reached the tent where Ahmed sat unmoved, gazing at
the ground. ‘Ya Walad! Don’t you see the horse? Catch it! stop it!’
Ahmed did not exert himself, and the horse disappeared in the distance.
‘What can we do?’ shouted the pursuers. ‘Allah knows the animal is
always doing this.’ ‘Marry it,’ said Ahmed. ‘Marry it. I was once like
that!’”
I think I went to sleep during the murmur of conversation that followed,
for it was hot and stuffy in the women’s quarters and such air as
percolated through the shuttered windows was heavy with scent. When I
looked round again, the bride had not moved. She was like a Neapolitan,
with her smooth olive skin and dark eyes, heavily fringed. Her mouth was
a little open, she gazed fixedly at the nearest wall, and a strong gleam
of sunlight played on the emeralds and rubies which weighted her fingers
and trembled against her young, slim throat.
Most of the other women had withdrawn to the further corner, where there
was a pile of mattresses. One very old dame stayed beside me. She was so
wrinkled and seamed that she appeared to have gone beyond age
altogether. Her voice came in a husky whisper, and her hands fascinated
me, for they were like the claws of a vulture. “Pay no heed to her,” she
said. “In time she will sleep and forget.” “Forget what?” “Her
home—perhaps—her people. And, besides, the Sherif frightens many at
first. It is foolish, because he is very kind, and whatever a woman asks
he will do.” I stared at the old eyes which had seen so much that they
no longer expressed anything at all except weariness.
“There was one, I remember, not so long ago, who cried and cried. When
my lord went to her, she screamed. She had never seen a man like that.
She ran out of the room, and the slaves could not catch her—out of the
house. Everyone searched, and there was much trouble. Then at last they
heard someone crying. It seemed as if it came from the earth, so they
were puzzled, and looked down, and thought perhaps it was the jinns.
But, after a while, they came to a pit where corn was kept, and there
was the girl, buried in the grain and crying, always crying. So they
took her back to my lord, and all the husks were in her hair.”
The woman told the story without emotion or amusement, and, when it was
finished, she said, as if it were part of it, “Ullah, I am tired!” and
began rocking herself to and fro. “She will sleep like that,” said a
slave. “She never lies down. By Allah, she has seen many weddings.”
“Tell me about your weddings in this country. What are they like?” The
black girl showed a row of surprisingly white teeth. “There is much to
tell. It is the mothers who say to each other, ‘My son would be a
suitable husband for thy daughter,’ and ‘Of a truth my daughter would be
a good and pleasing wife to thy son.’ Then on a certain day the father
of the boy visits the parent of the girl, bringing with him one of the
learned men or a Sherif who has the ‘baraka.’ They discuss the matter of
the dowry, which the bridegroom shall pay. One says so much, in dollars
or cows or sheep, but always oil and corn and slippers for the girl and
her family. Another says, ‘No, that is too much!’ but in the end it is
the Sherif who arranges it. Perhaps the girl gets furniture for her
house, a mirror, a carpet and a mattress, with some haiks, very fine and
made of wool. Then the young men come and congratulate the girl’s
father, and he gives them tea and kous-kous.”
“How much does a man pay for his bride?” “The Sherif must pay 200
dollars, perhaps more, and give many presents to the girl’s family, if
she belongs to a tribe, but the poor man pays only ten dollars.” She
looked at the girl on the garish bed. “That was the matter of politics,
so—” She made the gesture of arranging things, smoothing things, with
expressive fingers. “She is a daughter of Sidi Zellal of the Beni
Mesauer, and the Sherif wanted the friendship of the tribe. Zellal is a
friend of the Spaniards, and he is a just man, well loved. They call him
El Kilma—the Word,—for his promise is as his life. If he tells you,
‘Come,’ go, with all your jewels and all your money, and you will be
safe. Our master is of his kin and he would ally himself more strongly
with him.”
[Illustration: Spanish escort in Beni Aras, leaving author on her way to
Tazrut]
[Illustration: Spanish port (Dar Jacobus) opposite Jebel Waja, on top of
which the Arabs say Noah’s daughter is buried]
“Well, what happens when the dowry is settled?” “There is rejoicing.
Guns are fired in the yard; there is a great heap of corn sprinkled with
salt, to keep away the jinns. An egg is buried under the threshold of
the house, that life may be white and without trouble. In the house of
the bridegroom, the night before the wedding, there is music and drums.
In the house of the bride, one who is blessed with many children, who
has the love of her husband, being his only wife, comes to dress the
bride and paint her hands and feet with henna. The next day all the
unmarried girls bring presents of meat and kous-kous, but the bride
weeps and none may stop her. At night the mule comes to her door with a
beautiful box on it. Everybody sings while the bride is carried out to
the box, and she clings to her people and weeps. They try to prevent her
going, but the friends of the bridegroom lead away the mule, and even
her brothers cannot stop her.”
The black girl was evidently visualising many nuptial scenes, for she
began making the quivering, bubbling sound that always haunts an Arab
wedding. “Is it thus that _she_ was married?” I asked, nodding at the
pink couch. “Lady, that is for a first wedding, when a youth has not yet
untied his girdle, but my lord has been married many times, as befits a
Sherif.” “It is an honour and a blessing to be married to my lord,” said
the old woman, flinging back her haik. “The mother of his sons is sure
of paradise.
“Min zamaan—a very long time ago, a girl of the Ait Uriagel ran away
from her family that she might be the servant of the Sherif. She could
not approach his tent, so she hid among the trees till hunger overcame
her, and then it was told to the Sherif that she was there. He gave her
food and presents, and sent her back to her father, who beat her, for
had she not brought dishonour on his family? Three days, four days
afterwards, she came back again and found her way to the women’s tent,
showing the marks on her back. The Sherif ordered that she should be
beaten again, that the example of her father might be upheld.” The
leather of the crone’s face wrinkled into something that might once have
been a smile. “The girl stayed, for she was honoured by the interest of
my master.” “She is here now?” I asked. “She has a daughter, whom you
see there, but she herself has gone.”
Arab women never speak of death, if they can avoid it. They always say,
“He went. The mercy of Allah is upon him.” “How many children has the
Sherif?” I asked. The old woman pointed round the room, which seemed to
have grown more crowded. “There are nine daughters, and the two oldest
you see there, Zahrah and Mariam. None are yet married, for my lord is
busy with war and politics. He has no thoughts for women.” I learned
that there were three boys, of whom the eldest, Mohamed el Khalid, was
the son of a Sherifa of Beni Halima, which house is also descended from
Abid es Salaam; the second, Mohamed Juni, was the son of a slave, and
the youngest, called Hashim, because he was born in Jebel Hashim, was
the child of a Sherifa of Tagzat, who had died about a year ago.
The Sherif had been married five times, but only two of his wives were
living, and I only saw one, the speechless Khadija. It appears that her
father gave her six slaves as a wedding present, for one of whom he paid
about £90, which was considered a very high price. I saw the girl, a
plump Sudanese, rather light-skinned, with better features than is usual
with her race. She was almost as grandly dressed as the bride, in a
purple silk kaftan, with a waistcoat of olive-green edged with silver,
and a white over-garment belted with silver. I understood she was
particularly skilled in the application of henna and in painting the
hands and feet with a delicate tracery that gives the appearance of
lace. Generally female slaves cost about £50, but the small boys can be
bought for 100 douros, approximately £15. “Women are more expensive,”
said Mariam, “because they are always useful. They stay in the house and
serve, but the boys, once they grow up, are dangerous. The Arabs do not
need blacks to fight for them, and what else can men do? So most grown-
up slaves are given their liberty, for they cannot come into the house.”
The conversation languished, and I was thinking of taking my leave, when
the old woman began whispering into my ear. It was difficult to
understand her, but when she mentioned the word “curse,” I made a great
effort to follow her story, and this is what I gathered. “It is said
that my lord shall have no knowledge of love. All other things he has,
but he may not love, for, if so, the person who holds his heart between
his hands shall be killed. That is the curse, and truly my lord does not
love easily. He is kind to all, for his heart is great, but women are as
children to him. He takes care of them and is gentle, but he is a father
to his wives, and one is no more than the other.”
The human remnant looked round her nervously, but no one was listening.
“It happened so long ago,” she said. “None of these saw it, but I was
with the mother of my lord, and I saw many things. It was a time when my
master made war on one of the tribes, before men knew of him, and,
having attacked the house of the Sheikh at night, he killed two of his
sons. For a long time there was war on this account, for there was blood
to avenge, but at last my lord made peace with the men of that tribe,
and the Sheikh gave him a daughter as a bride. It was said that the girl
was unwilling, for much harm had been done to her people, and one of her
brothers who had been killed was born at the same time as herself, of
the same mother. But the men arranged the affair, and she had no choice.
“When she was brought to the house of el Raisuli, she would take no
food. Neither water nor bread passed her lips, nor would she listen to
the musicians, nor take part in any of the festivals. At last my lord
went in to her, and I was one of the servants who stood at the door. She
got up suddenly, and her hand was behind her back. The Sherif spoke to
her with the blessing of Allah, and she answered, ‘There can be no
blessing from thee to me, for we are enemies. There is the blood of my
brothers between us, which there was no _man_ to avenge. I have not
touched thy gifts, but I bring thee a gift—see—” and she drew her hand
from behind her, and in it was a knife. She struck swiftly, but my lord
did not move, and the ‘baraka’ was with him. The blade slipped on the
clasp of his belt, and he was not wounded. The knife fell on the floor
between them, and the other woman who was beside me screamed; but the
Sherif ordered us to be silent. He picked up the knife and gave it to
her, who stood trembling but fierce—she was not like our women. ‘Take
it,’ he said, and her fingers went out to it slowly. ‘You cannot hurt
me. Your aim was bad, but try again, and do not hurry.’
“Then she stood back and cursed him—Allah have mercy on her!—and told
him that the ‘baraka’ would bring him no peace. His life would be
without time for love and without rest, and there would be one person
that he would care for, and he would be killed in his youth. Then, when
I thought she would have struck my master, and I was afraid, she drove
the knife into her own breast, and fell. My lord looked at her, and said
nothing. The poor one! she had lived for so few years, and life had been
hard for her. That is long ago, and it is best that such things are
forgotten, but see now the way the Sherif looks at my master Mohamed. He
would make him into an ‘Alim’ learned in books, but knowing nothing of
war, yet the boy craves for a gun and a horse. Truly he will be a
warrior in his time.”
I wondered much about this story, for I could get no confirmation of it.
Harem women weave the most curious tales—it is their one occupation—and
the life of el Raisuli lends itself to much romantic exaggeration. It
was, of course, impossible to ask the serious councillors if such an
event had happened, for curiosity dies at the door of the harem. They
would not even have mentioned the name of their master’s wife. “Of that
I know nothing,” would have been the answer.
However, because the story haunted me, when Mulai Sadiq and Badr ed Din
joined me in my tent, I turned the conversation to women, and the Sherif
of Tetuan was quite eloquent on the subject. “Of what use are women?” he
said. “If the Sherif had had nine sons, he would have had nine rifles at
his side in battle, but daughters are a misfortune. They eat up a man’s
substance, which is very hard. Sons go with their father wherever he
travels. They serve and defend him; but daughters must always stay in
the house, and a man must leave servants to guard them and provide them
with food and slaves.”
“Don’t you care for your daughters at all?” I asked. The answer was a
most emphatic “No. The only time that a woman is useful is when she
marries and brings a man into the house, and then it is not always
certain whether he will be good or bad.” “Don’t listen to him!” laughed
Badr ed Din. “He married his daughter to a man of Xauen, and he spent
4,000 douros on the wedding. He won’t let his son-in-law leave Tetuan,
for fear that he should do something bad, though the poor man wishes to
return to his own town.” “Ullah! It is not my daughter I protect, but my
honour,” assured Mulai Sadiq. “Men of my race do not like daughters.
Before Islam they were buried alive, as babies . . . a good custom!”
He looked at me with something very like a twinkle in his faded eyes.
Emboldened by this, I asked the old man if he had ever felt affection
for any of the ladies he had married. The negative was scornful this
time. “No! If they are ill, I give them medicine. When they are hungry I
give them food, but no more. We Arabs are savages. I am capable of dying
twenty times for a guest in my house, and no man may touch a woman of my
kin, for that affects my honour; but what is this talk of love?
Intelligent men do not know it. It is only the stupid who indulge in it.
A wise man does not trouble himself with women’s affairs!” “Do not
believe him,” said Badr ed Din. “He is like all Moors. When we desire
one thing, we say just the reverse.” “He is an egoist,” I said. “_Après
moi, le déluge_,” quoted the reprobate unexpectedly. “It is true,” said
Badr ed Din, with an air of reflection, “when I was last in Tetuan, all
the women of his family came to me and said they wished to leave his
house altogether unless they received better treatment.”
After this I put in a few words as to the position of Englishwomen, and
the Sherif el Bakali laughed. “You have investments of your own,” he
said, “so you are free. Our women come to us with nothing but a
futah[77] and the henna on their feet!” “You need not complain,”
retorted Mulai Sadiq. “Marriage is cheap in your tribe.” “That is true.
It costs but a sheaf of grain, a sheep and the pay of the musicians. For
six douros one may be married in the mountains.” At this point someone
told Badr ed Din that he was a great fighter with his tongue, but
expressed some doubt as to his courage with a rifle. The Bakali
chuckled. “The man who follows a lion must be brave,” he said, “and I
have followed el Raisuli for twenty-five years.”
By the time the long-delayed lunch made its appearance, after a
succession of such remarks as “You told me we should eat, but was it
today or tomorrow that you meant?” and “Allah knows if we shall eat
before we go to paradise,” we learned that the Sherif was ill. Mohamed
el Khalid, wearing his petunia jellaba over jade-green waistcoat and
trousers, whispered the news into the secretary’s ear. “It is the will
of Allah,” said the latter. “But does he suffer much?” Another whisper.
“Ullah, they have put a cord from the ceiling, that he may pull on it
and relieve his pain.”[78]
Our lunch was more silent than usual, though there was kous-kous with a
chicken buried in it, mutton cooked with almonds and onions, a fruit
which tasted like stewed wood, reposing upon piles of marrow, and a row
of skewers on each of which were impaled a dozen bits of liver rolled up
in fat. Mulai Sadiq insisted on fasting, as is his habit on Mondays and
Thursdays, and after he had seen us satisfy our appetites, he went and
sat in an isolated corner of the compound, and remained contemplative
and completely immobile for several hours.
Just before sunset the news went round that the Sherif was better, and,
when the last rays were slanting over the hills of Beni Aros, he came
out into the garden, a sky-blue jellaba on top of all his other robes.
It was the feast of Aidh el Fatr, and, for some days, a deputation of
the tribesmen of Guezauia had been waiting to see the Sherif. This tribe
is really in French territory, a three-days’ journey from Tazrut, so
their presence was a witness to the extent of el Raisuli’s influence in
Morocco.
Having seated himself outside the room used as a mosque, the Sherif
suddenly decided to receive the tribesmen. There was much bustle in the
compound, and the little slaves ran about with the agility of monkeys.
Sidi Badr ed Din stood on one side of Raisuli and the Kaid on the other.
The mood of the morning had passed, and the Sherif was smiling. It is a
rare thing, this smile of his, and infinitely charming. Seeing it, one
realises that the essence of the man’s ‘baraka’ is his power of making
friends. “No enemy goes out from the presence of Mulai Ahmed,” say his
people, and it is true. When he talks earnestly, his sincerity is
obvious, and his dignity so impressive that, however long the tribesmen
have waited to see him, however much they have suffered at his hands,
when leaving him they are his warmest partisans.
Hidden behind a tree, I watched a procession of the Guezauia come up the
tiled path, led by Shiekh Ueld el Abudi. The headmen wore white jellabas
with the hoods pulled forward like cowls; their followers were muffled
in earth-brown camel-hair, and each man led a mule or a horse with
bulging panniers—gifts of oil, grain and skins for the Sherif. Live
sheep were tied one on each side of the saddles, and all this tribute of
goodwill was laid before el Raisuli as he sat, reserved and still,
before the scarred walls of the Zawia. Shell-marks and bullet-marks
seamed the plaster above him. His house was in ruins, his people
scattered, but something remained, a force and a patience that was
unconquerable. The Sheikhs bent and kissed his knees, murmuring a
salutation in the name of Allah. The tribesmen pressed their lips to a
fold of his jellaba. There was a little grave talk, and then the Azzan
rang out from the mosque of Sidi Mohamed. One by one the mules clattered
out of the compound. The hooded figures stole swiftly after them. There
was a moment’s peace, broken by the murmur of the hezb from the Zawia.
Then, loud and triumphant from the hillside, pealed the tribesmen’s
prayers. “Haya alla fella, Haya alla sala! There is no God but God! and
God is Great!” The old appeal to warrior Islam stirred the night with
passion, and I imagined the thousand thousand swords that had flashed to
meet the cry in the centuries that are dead.
CHAPTER XXI
MORE FIGHTING
“By my help,” said the Sherif, “the telegraph was established between
Tangier and Tetuan, by way of the Fondak, and, after Wadi Ras had been
occupied, for the first time Spanish troops camped in Ain Yerida. Three
columns came from Ceuta, Tetuan and Larache, and I welcomed them in the
great square of the Fondak, the Kaids with me, and our horses stabled in
the surrounding patio. There were many thousand Spaniards with Villalba
and Jordana, and it was the first meeting of the armies of the East and
West. I felt again as I had done when I let the Spaniards into Larache,
for this was a great step and one that could never be retraced. These
men had been my friends and then my enemies. They were my friends again,
but, while the tribesmen fired salvos of rejoicing, I wondered how long
it would be before they found another use for their bullets. The flag of
Spain was raised over one of the houses, but twice the post fell,
because the supports were not strong enough. I looked up at the green
flag over the Fondak, and thought perhaps it was a sign.
“The troops did not stay long in Ain Yerida, for I kept this place as my
headquarters against the Anjera, who, well armed and well led, were our
worst enemies. They got as many rifles as they wished from Tangier, and
their Kaids were rich men who had interests with the merchants of the
coast. Until this tribe submitted, there could be little peace in the
country, for their emissaries went everywhere, stirring up the Jebala
against me. There have been many battles in Anjera, but never another
like El Biut. I pitched my camp at Harkha, from which I commanded the
easiest road to Anjera, by way of Wadi Khemis. It was agreed that the
Spaniards should attempt to cut off the customary retreat of the Anjera
to the International Zone, and they accomplished this by occupying
Trafuatz and Dar Ain Said.
“The main attack was in my hands, and I divided my mehalla, which
numbered 5,000 of my best warriors, into five columns, hoping that at
least one or two of these would be able to approach unnoticed. We
marched quickly, not even waiting to destroy the villages, and everybody
who fled in front of us was killed, whether man or woman, lest warning
should be given to the enemy. I flung out a line behind us, with orders
to shoot anyone who tried to break through. The wadi gave us good
shelter, for the trees were thick, and men held their jellabas over
their rifles, so that the sun should not gleam on the barrels, but the
columns on the hills travelled more slowly, for they had to climb up and
down and pick out the best way among the scrub.
“Maaden and Beni Khelu were occupied while a man’s shadow was still
longer than himself, and communication was established with Ovila, who
commanded a mehalla of the Kaliphate. The first fight was at Suq el
Khemis[79] but I had agents in the town who spread terror among the
people, saying the whole of Jebala were at their doors. We wasted few
bullets, but surrounded the town and let no man pass out armed, and none
towards the front. We took such a quantity of arms and ammunition that,
after this, most of my people carried two rifles, one on the back and
one in the hand. If I had not been with the army, there would have been
no more fighting that day, for Khemis is a large town and loot was
plentiful. I left my place at the head and rode in the rear, my gun
ready, but not for the enemy. If a man dropped out to empty his shoes,
or even turned to look back, he ran the risk of a bullet. In this way
the march was swift and we were in the heart of Anjera before they knew
of our coming.
“The worst stronghold of the tribe was El Biut. The gates were always
decorated with the heads of the innocent, and bodies rotted outside the
precincts. From far away kites could be seen hovering above the fortress
of the brigands, and, by this sign, every traveller made a great circle
to avoid the ‘house of death.’ This place was left to the Spaniards, and
they lost several hundred dead before they took it.[80] At dawn three of
their columns left Ceuta, but they had to fight their way from village
to village. At last the heights of Haj el Hamara, Kudia Xerija and Ain
Yir were occupied; but many wounded were left to the kites, who some
said were jinns and familiars of the Kaids Abd el Kadu Kheragin, and el
Jarru.
“El Biut was well placed for defence, for the country is very rough,
with wadis which hid the snipers of Anjera and cliffs which acted as
walls against an enemy. The tribesmen made sorties down the beds of the
streams, and fighting was so fierce that, when a Moor died, his friends
had no time to take his rifle and cartridges. The women, who generally
load for their kinsmen, took up the guns of the dead and fought beside
their fathers and brothers, firing, with a babe wrapped in the haiks,
believing that, because of this, their sons would the sooner be
warriors, with a blessing on their arms. The wounded dragged themselves
into the bushes and fired painfully, till their blood clotted their
triggers. The Anjera were outnumbered and surrounded, but they were
fighting in their own country against men untrained to find a target for
each bullet, and they might have prolonged the battle, but for the guns
which tore up their walls and blew their roofs into powder.
“Warships bombarded El Biut from the sea at El Marsa, and the men of
Anjera, seeing their possessions destroyed, made a great charge, under
the leadership of Ali el Hannani, and fought their way through the first
line, but they could not face the guns. About 300 Spaniards died and
many tribesmen. The castle was destroyed and the rest of the enemy
mounted their horses, taking their women behind them, and fled into the
wild country where Spain could not follow.
“It was a useful victory, for El Biut had always threatened Ceuta, which
is only a few kilometres from it. The kites fed well for a week, and
then they dispersed, for their meat was gone. Anjera could not be
defeated with the loss of El Biut. With you, if a town is taken, it is
the end. With us it means a few more guns in the mountains. I had pushed
my columns through Ben Ayib, where three men would have held up our
army—the Sheikh and his two sons, lying flat behind their roof only
firing when they could see the eyes of my men! We came that night to Ait
el Khamra and dispersed ourselves round the hills to sleep. Sentinels
kept watch on every high place, and I visited them all during the night,
but there was no disturbance. With the first light we came down and took
the villages below, burning them after we had supplied ourselves with
food and such arms as the tribesmen left. The women were sent back,
behind my rearguard, which advanced always half a day’s journey behind
us, keeping the ground clear of the enemy. I communicated with them by
means of cavalry, divided into small parties and well mounted. I also
had a force of irregular riders, who took no part in the battles but
held themselves always ready to go to the aid of the rearguard.
“It was my intention to say the evening prayers at Sidi Ali, which is
near the boundary of Anjera and el Fahs, and then I proposed to turn
north-eastwards and, cutting off the stragglers from El Biut, march
right through the Anjera country to the sea. I lost many men in
skirmishes, but we were too powerful an army for a great fight.
Tribesmen would charge down on our column and harry it like a flocks of
ibis round a herd, and then, when a few shots had been exchanged,
scatter among the gullies, brown riders on dark horses, seen for a
moment against the green, and then lost among the rocks which they
simulated. The only way of enforcing submission was by burning the
villages, and this I did systematically, for an Arab will risk his life
to guard his property, but never pay money for his life! At last there
were signs of distress, for the men of Anjera saw their wealth
disappearing. Small Kaids came to treat with me, but I refused to speak
to them. I said, ‘Let your Sheikhs come,’ and named certain of them,
‘and let them come with all their men, as it is right they should visit
the Sultan.’
“It was then Ramadan, and, though men fight the fiercer for hunger, it
is a bad month for negotiations. Peace should be arranged on a full
stomach, when a man has no ill-will for anyone. The day’s fast was the
longer because it was summer, and the sun rose early and set late. While
we marched, every wadi seemed to contain a stream, which was a
temptation of the devil, but there was no chance of surprises, for few
slept at night. After sunset the whole camp was a kitchen, and,
fortunately, the Anjera sheep were plentiful. Songs echoed among the
mountains, with the sermons of the Imams and the cry, repeated even
while men satisfied their hunger, ‘There is no God but God.’ One
morning, when my servants were preparing the early meal which must be
finished before the first rays come over the horizon, news was brought
of the approach of many horsemen. There was no shouting, and they came
openly with their flags flying, so there was no question of battle.
‘There are many hundreds, Sidi,’ said my slave, whom I sent to discover
the truth. ‘They come to make their submission with the Chiefs of their
villages.’ A few minutes later came the rattle of many shots and the
answering salute from my guards.
“My tent was in the middle of the camp, a great black and white pavilion
like this one. The two flags flew on either side, and, in front, turned
towards the House of Allah (Mecca), which they saluted night and
morning, were four cannon. From where I sat, not moving or hurrying
myself, I could hear all kinds of music, punctuated by occasional shots.
Drums, pipes, cymbals, all the noise of the country was there in my
honour, and my own men, not to be outdone, began beating military drums,
and each man played differently, but the bugles were the most full of
sound! Slowly up the hill came the white army, for each man wore his
best jellaba, and the saddle-cloths of the Kaids, green and red, were
decorated with silver and hung with fringes. Their bridles were heavy
with silver and the manes of their horses plaited with tassels. Each
tribesman was armed, except the Kaids, whose servants carried their guns
before them. I still sat in my tent, but, when the music was very near,
I called one of my captains and ordered him, ‘Tell the Sheikhs that if
they would see me they must enter my camp without shoes. They have
perhaps forgotten, but I told them this on another occasion, a long time
ago.’
“There was a halt on the edge of the camp, and then a slave ran in to
me, whispering, ‘They are coming.’ An army of many thousands was ranged
behind my tent and the great of Anjera came to me alone, except for
their drummers and their standard-bearers, but the bareness of their
feet could not be hidden. They stood outside my tent and I did not
invite them to enter. I sat as I was, in silence, as if I did not know
they were there. So it was for some minutes. Then they began to murmur
among themselves, and, at last, one entered and kissed, not my shoulder,
as was his right, but the edge of my sleeve. The others followed and,
when they had all saluted me, I spoke to them, using the phrases of a
Sultan to his subjects. I told them that they should have prostrated
themselves and placed their turbans under my feet, and that I could not
accept their submission until I had considered the matter with the
Spaniards.
“While I sent messengers to Jordana, they were to camp in a certain
place beyond the tents of my army, and I chose this spot because, to
reach it, they would have to pass through the whole of my mehalla and
would be impressed by its strength. They answered, ‘Allah has given us
into your hands, but not into those of the Christians,’ and I replied,
‘If I choose to put a Christian foot on your necks you cannot prevent
me; but I have made peace with Spain in order to preserve your liberty,
not to destroy it.’ They would have disputed this with me, but I said,
‘Go now, for a man’s word is according to the number of his rifles.
Judge now if mine is strong,’ and they said, ‘Your strength is great,
but, Allah forgive us, you mistake the enemy.’
“All that day beasts were slaughtered before my tent, and, because of
the heat and the flies, the smell was intolerable, for they died slowly,
bellowing because of their cut knees, and, since it was Ramadan, no one
might remove the meat till after sunset. But the night which followed
was like noon in the camp. The men of Anjera had long been hungry, for
their villages had been destroyed as a blight passes over barley, and
there was no time for them to save their stores, so each man took a
portion of a bullock or sheep and, in every corner, there was a fire.
The Kaids remained in their tents, consulting anxiously, for they had
heard there were Spaniards in my camp; but the tribesmen ate together,
mixing their songs with their music and, by the dawn, none could tell
which was enemy and which friend.
[Illustration: A view of Tetuan, showing tower of mosque]
“With the submission of Anjera, the Spaniards should have been content.
The sea coast was now clear for them, and what can they gain from the
mountains, where a man lives by the toil of his women and the prowess of
his own rifle? Near Melilla there is much wealth under the ground, and,
for this reason, the Germans interested themselves in the country. When
they said to Abdul Melek, ‘Raisuli shall be Kaliph of all Morocco and
you shall have as much money as you wish,’ they asked in return all the
mining rights in the mountains, as well as what they already possessed
in the East. Yet I think our hills are barren. To this extent has Allah
blessed us, for there is nothing to tempt the greed of Europe.
“By the end of that year of which I have been telling you, there was no
more need to make war. Those of the tribes who were not with me were
afraid to be against me, and, with my pass, a man might travel from one
end of the mountains to the other. I remember a Spaniard was once with
me, and he wanted to shoot hares or foxes in the Jebala. He had expended
all his ammunition on the way, for game was plentiful, so he asked me,
‘Will you lend me some cartridges?’ I answered, ‘Count the grains of
flour in that dish,’ for he was eating kous-kous. ‘I will give you a
bullet for each one.’ He laughed, for the dinner had been prepared for
many, and asked, ‘How far can I go with safety?’ I looked out over the
hills, which fell in innumerable folds, like a mantle that has been
crumpled on the ground, and I answered, ‘Choose a horizon where you
will, and go to it. Then look all round you, and choose another, the
furthest. Go also to that, and you will be safe, if you say, ‘I am with
the Sherif.’”[81]
After this Raisuli seemed inclined to keep silence for the rest of the
day, but, urged to continue his story, he muttered, “War may be good for
a man, but politics are certainly bad. While we fought together the
Spaniards and I were friends, and when, in the spring,[82] Jordana sent
20,000 of his troops back to Spain, I was content, for I thought that at
last matters were going as I had planned. It does not need an army to
hold this country. It needs but two men who are in accord. I moved my
great camp to Keitan, near Tetuan, so as to be in touch with Jordana,
and, at one time while I was there, I had more than 10,000 men behind
me. This was only for a few days, the time for which a man may bring his
own rations, for I fed none but my own mehalla. The levies from the
tribes supplied their own food, and when at war, every man lived on the
country. This is the quickest way of forcing peace upon the enemy.
“Several times Moors came from Tangier to see me, saying, ‘The Germans
are winning many battles. Why don’t you join them and make war on
France?’ My answer was always the same, ‘Wait,’ for I thought,
‘Certainly if the Germans are strong enough to beat the whole of Europe,
they are strong enough to crush Morocco until there is nothing left of
us, not even our graves.’ In this case, it would be wise to be their
friends, but I had given my word to Jordana, so I did nothing except
keep hold of the Fondak and the way to Tangier. It was about this time,
I think, that Abdul Melek[83] paid me a last visit, but, Ullah, he had
wasted millions of marks among the tribes and was no nearer his purpose.
We met among the hills of Beni Mesauer, for I would not see him openly,
and he spoke of Ahmed es Senussi, whom Germany would make ruler of all
Egypt, and said to me, ‘This man is not even a Sherif. Would you be less
powerful than he?’ I said to him, ‘My power does not depend on titles.
Take care that you do not stretch your hand too far.’ He said, ‘If you
were Kalipha I should be your Wazir in Taza, which is a profitable
post.’ Truly he thought of nothing but money, and yet, a little later,
when he fled from Tangier hoping to reach Marnei, the Anjera caught him
and took all his wealth. They might also have taken his life, but that
Zellal interceded for him and brought him into his house. The French
offered a great prize for him, but el Ayashi (Zellal) would not give up
his guest.
“This was perhaps the time of my greatest power, and my camp was never
empty. Always some of the great Kaids were with me, and, as in Azeila, I
gave food to all who asked for it, not according to the ways of the
East, which says, ‘For two days shalt thou be my guest, but on the third
day, by which time all that thou hast eaten on the first shall have
passed out of thy body, thou shalt go thy ways,’ but for as long as they
desired. The old trouble was growing with Jordana, in spite of the many
gifts he made me, furniture and Spanish mules and great sheep from his
own country. He wished me to acknowledge Mulai el Mehdi as Khalifa and
to become his Grand Vizier. I told him often, ‘If I do this I shall have
no authority left with the tribes, for no mountaineer will respect me if
they see me inclining before a man of nothing.’
“I asked him what he complained of in my rule of the mountains, and he
said, ‘Your men pass freely through our zone and come in and out of the
towns, but it is not possible for a Spaniard to move in the hills. You
impose your own taxes without the permission of Spain, and we have no
control over your justice. Men complain of cruelty and extortion, and
why is this? You are so rich that you cannot need any more. Half the
International Zone is yours. You have farms which contain the best land
in the plains, and your houses are in every town. Why do you make the
people discontented by taking so much of their produce?’ I answered, ‘It
is the custom, and if I asked from them but one centime in the thousand,
they would be just as indignant. It is the habit of the Arab to
complain, and he is happiest when he has a good reason for his plaints.’
“Jordana said, ‘You have dispossessed the Kaids who were friendly to us
and, without my authority, you have appointed many who were our enemies
and who, even now, are not willing to work with us.’ I answered, ‘If a
man can control his people it does not matter to me whether he is your
friend or mine. It is a bad policy to put a man in a position of
authority just because you are grateful to him. It is also bad to sell
posts, as was the way of Abdul Aziz and Mulai Hafid, and truly the
French are wise in this matter, for they make friends with the strongest
Arabs and allow them to rule their own people.’
“Since the time when I was Governor of Azeila I have tried to keep peace
with the great Kaids, and some were always with me, and I consulted them
about the affairs of their own tribes. Mohamed el Kharaji was my most
trusted adviser, and Zellal, who could have been Sultan in my place had
he wished, Hamed el Harras of Beni Ider, Mohamed el Hartiti, Chief of
Beni Hosmar, who regarded Tetuan each morning and prayed that it might
be delivered into his hands. After the fall of El Biut, Abderrahman
Bulaich of Anjera joined me, and others of my companions were Abdul
Ramin of Gaba, el Melanain, el Arbi Belkhidar, and Ben Hassem, another
Sheikh of Anjera. There were more beside these, for this was my
strength, and by means of my friends I ruled the land. A man who cannot
use the strength of others will never make full use of his own.
“There were some tribes or families which never submitted to me for
long, and of these were the Chiefs of Kherba, two brothers of whom the
oldest was the leader. The land of Sumata is not fit for an army, so,
when the villages refused to pay tribute, I sent a few men only, with
the intent of arranging the matter peaceably, but el Kherba seized two
of my soldiers and beat them before his women, which was a disgraceful
thing. When this news came to me, I sent my nephew with a mounted
column, telling him exactly how he was to surprise the village. The men
of Sumata were watching. Night and day they posted sentinels among their
hills, but my men left their horses with a friendly Kaid, and,
scattering, came in twos and threes till they were within sight of the
village. Then they hid themselves among the bushes, which are very low
so that a man must creep on his knees, and even then his head may be
seen. My soldiers tied branches round their rifles and plaited twigs and
leaves over their heads, so that if any sentinel noticed a movement
among the scrub, he would think it was the wind blowing, or some animal
crawling into cover. In this manner they crept very slowly towards the
houses, wriggling like snakes between the sentinels. Two they dragged
down and killed before they had time to cry out, and at the time of the
aysha prayer, when the Sheikhs were in the house of the Imam, they
dashed into the village, shooting everyone whom they saw and setting
fire to the thatch.
“El Kherba crept out of a window of his house, while men broke in at the
front, and, mounting his horse, fled straight into another party of the
attackers. They took him prisoner and brought him down to Tazrut,
though, three times, his men tried to rescue him. When he was led into
my house with his hands tied, I said to the guards, ‘This is not the
right treatment for a Sheikh,’ and they released him. Then I told him,
‘It is written in the Book that death shall be the punishment of the
subject who rebels against the Sultan,’ and he answered, ‘I am not your
subject, but it seems the will of Allah that I die.’ ‘It is a pity to
waste good men,’ I said, ‘for the country needs them. Let your section
of Sumata pay tribute to me, and there shall be peace between your house
and mine.’
“He agreed, and went back to his people unhurt, but he did not keep
faith for long. A caravan was attacked in his country and, when I sent
men to enquire into the matter, they disappeared, and not even their
bodies were found. I was very angry, and I sent el Kharaji with a picked
force, telling him to bring back the head of el Kherba. I said, ‘Do not
trouble about the village, or he may escape during the fighting. Hide
yourselves well, and wait till you see where he goes; then kill him, or
take him prisoner. Afterwards his tribe will submit, for it is only he
who excites them against me, hoping to profit by his independence to
enrich himself.’
“They did as I had ordered, but, as they went stealthily through the
hills, a goatherd suddenly threw down his stick and fled towards the
village. El Kharaji thought, ‘Even if he has seen us and warns the
people of our approach, it does not matter, for we are double their
number.’ He had divided his party and sent some round to the rear of the
village and others to command it from a convenient height. Soon there
was a sound of firing, and el Kharaji was puzzled. Thinking that perhaps
one of his other columns was being attacked, he advanced quickly up the
hill till, hidden among the stones, he could see the village across a
hollow. The firing came from among the houses and, when music broke out
with shrill quivering of women’s songs, el Kharaji knew it was a
wedding. With his field-glasses he could even see the mare standing
before the house of the bride. Then women came out and hung two sacks on
the saddle, one containing ‘taria’ (thin cakes of unleavened flour) and
the other raisins. ‘It would be a pity to disturb the wedding,’ said el
Kharaji. ‘Besides, many of the men will go out with the bride, and there
will be few left to defend the village.’ So they waited, for it appeared
that the goatherd had not given warning of their approach.
“Towards sunset the bride came out of the house, and she was wrapped in
a new mantle which covered her completely, and many handkerchiefs were
hung over her face, above which was a great straw hat sewn with silk
cords. There was much shouting as the mare was led away, and stones were
thrown after it to make the marriage happy.[84] Women sprinkled milk
before the bride but she did not turn her head nor look at any who went
with her. A girl walked beside her, holding the end of her haik, and the
young men of the village ran in front and behind, firing their rifles
and shouting. ‘Let us also salute the bride,’ urged one of my soldiers,
but el Kharaji restrained him, and the procession passed out of sight.”
Raisuli looked at me expectantly, and Badr ed Din was laughing whole-
heartedly. “She does not understand!” he teased. “Ullah, nor did Sidi
Mohamed, for he waited till the last sounds had died away and the bride
was, no doubt, in her new home! Then he gave the arranged signal, from
all sides his men closed in on the village. . . . It was empty except
for the women and children and the old men who could not make two teeth
meet. There was no sign of el Kherba, or of anybody else who could carry
a gun. Under the eyes of my soldiers all the fighting men of the village
had gone forth with their rifles, and with them rode the Kaid, in the
disguise of a bride! Ullah, the old fox had even taken his latest wife
with him, in the person of the maiden who held the end of her sister’s
haik! After that day it was unwise to talk to el Kharaji of weddings.”
Badr ed Din chuckled. “His daughters ran the risk of dying single, for
the word ‘bride’ was a curse in his mouth!”
Raisuli continued, “A second time I made peace with el Kherba, for I
thought a man of such resource would be useful in my councils. He wrote
to me from the mountains, where he lived as an outlaw, begging that if
he was to die, his head might be left on his body, and saying that, if
this were promised, he would come down to Tazrut to surrender. I
replied, ‘I have need of your head and your body together. Separate,
they are no use to me. Return in peace to your village, but, if you
break faith with me again, I will come at the head of a mehalla to
punish you.’
“After this there was a truce between us, and he paid the tribute
demanded, but unwillingly, making many excuses. At last he joined a
section of the Beni Gorfet who had risen against me, and for some time
he evaded my men. When the revolt was put down, he was captured, hiding
in a cave where his friends brought him food secretly, when they could
evade the eyes of my sentries. I had no wish for a blood feud with the
Sumata, so I delivered him for trial to a tribunal of Qadis who were
learned in the law. He was condemned to death, as was just, for he had
murdered and stolen, and broken faith, as well as rebelling against his
ruler. His brother also, who had aided him, was captured and should have
had the same fate, but all the women of their family came to me and
threw themselves on the ground, putting their foreheads in the dust,
wailing and weeping. They said, ‘These are the only two men left in our
house, for the others have all been killed in war. If these also die,
who will protect us?’ They kissed the edge of my robe and would not let
me go.
“At last I said to them, ‘It is not I who condemn them, but the law of
Islam,’ and they cried out, ‘My master the King may interpret the law
with mercy. Do not make our sons fatherless, and may Allah make you
father of many warriors.’ I answered, ‘Truly it is my right to modify
the law, and, in this case, I will show mercy and spare the lives of
your masters, but the hand of one shall be forfeit and the eyes of the
other.’
“This was carried out as far as the younger brother was concerned, for
with his own rifle he had shot two of the men who travelled with the
caravan, and this was proved against him; but a trick was played on el
Kherbi. It was told him that his eyes should be burned out with hot
metal, and he said, ‘It is the will of Allah.’ Hot discs were put upon
his eyelids and he made no sound. When it was finished and the smell of
burning flesh was in his nostrils, they said to him, ‘Your sight is
gone! Where your eyes were, there are now two pits.’ He could see
nothing, and the pain made him stupid. They put a handkerchief round his
head and left him in the prison. After some days I sent for him and
said, ‘Have you repented of the crimes which you committed not only
against me, but against Allah?’ and he said, ‘I have, for your
punishment is just.’ Then I told him, ‘If your repentance is sincere,
your sight will come back to you,’ and he was amazed and asked how this
could happen, and I answered, ‘I do not know how or when, but my word is
given that, if you speak truth about your repentance, you will see the
sun.’ He went out doubtfully, saying, ‘The truth of the Sherif is
known.’ In a few weeks his eyes were healed and all Sumata acknowledged
the miracle. Since then the tribe has been with me. But, in truth, only
the man’s eyelids had been burned!”
CHAPTER XXII
JORDANA’S DEATH
“One of my worst disputes with Jordana,” said the Sherif, “was
concerning some of his police from the neighbourhood of Larache, who had
attacked a farm on my land and murdered one of the owners. This was a
case of thieving. The men left all their clothes under a convenient bush
and rubbed their bodies with oil so that they could not be held. They
came at night to the farm, naked, but with their rifles in their hands,
for they knew that the farmer had lately sold his grain and had the
price of it still in his house. A boy saw their approach and gave the
alarm. There were but two tribesmen in the place, and one was shot as he
laid hands on his rifle. The other would have fought, but they
overpowered him and demanded where the money was. He would not speak, so
they lit a fire and put his feet into it, but still he was mute. He
would have died under their tortures, but that one of them discovered
the money at the bottom of an old sack. They waited to add a few more
blows to the injuries the tribesman had already received, then fled with
their booty.
“It is difficult to keep a thing secret in Morocco, and it was soon
known who were the criminals, but justice was laggard, so I ordered el
Mudden to fetch me the bandits. This was not difficult, for there is
nothing more ready[85] than the hand of a policeman when he hears the
chink of money! The robbers were sent to patrol a certain road, and el
Mudden was waiting for them, but it was a short fight. I imprisoned them
in chains at Tazrut, waiting their sentence, and I sent an account of
the matter to Jordana. He insisted that they were employees of Spain and
liable only in her courts. I retorted that, by the pact of Khotot, it
had been agreed I alone should be responsible for the people living on
my properties. He answered that there was no evidence against the men,
and demanded their immediate release. I answered, ‘It shall be as you
wish, because of the friendship which is between us and because my
desire is to serve Spain in all ways,’ but, before I released the men, I
cut off the right hand of each, as a lesson that my people were not to
be molested, and I said to them, ‘I have shown you great mercy, because
of the intercession of the Governor, but your heads are still loose upon
your shoulders. Take care that you do nothing to lose them.’
“When he heard what had happened, Jordana wrote to me angrily, accusing
me of barbarity and injustice, but I replied, ‘Their lives were in my
hand, for they were murderers. In justice I should have beheaded them,
for this is our law. How could I rule my people, if it were known that I
could not protect them? I have shown mercy, as you desired, and if, as
you say, one of the men has died, it is the Will of Allah.’”
This affair was typical of the many which disturbed the relationship
between the High Commissioner and Raisuli. Jordana was a man whose
patriotism was only equalled by his nervous sensitiveness. He came to
Morocco aware of the mistakes of his predecessors and determined that
Spain should present a united front before the Moors. Convinced of the
importance to his country of the turbulent colony he was sent to rule,
but hampered on all sides by criticism, distrust and the kaleidoscopic
changes which marked the foreign policy of his Government, he decided
that an alliance with Raisuli was the only way of stabilising the
situation. He realised that the original occupation of Larache and Al
Kasr was due to the influence of the Sherif, and he hoped that, with
this once again on his side, further peaceful penetration would be
possible. What he did not understand was that the Arab rarely forgets or
forgives, and that these qualities would be essential on the part of
both Spain and Raisuli.
It is obvious from his correspondence that he regarded the Peace of
Khotot, with its rigid demarcation of zones, as but the first step to a
better understanding which would open up the country for material
development. His disappointment was great when he realised that, not
only were the mountains finally closed to Europeans, but that the Sherif
was fulfilling only the minimum of his promises with regard to the
coastal districts. The Tangier-Tetuan road was nominally occupied, but
no stranger might use it without a pass from Raisuli. Roads came to an
end as soon as they neared the hills, because of the mysterious
difficulty of procuring labour. The water supply of Tetuan remained
inadequate, because Raisuli refused to allow the construction of an
aqueduct from the mountains. The railway from Ceuta to Tetuan stuck at a
certain bridge, on account of inexplicable disturbances. Whenever the
Spaniards wished to occupy posts essential for the protection of the
main road, the Sherif protested that such a step would rouse the dormant
hostility of the tribesmen, alert for a recrudescence of war. In fact,
Jordana found himself struggling against well-organised, but passive,
resistance.
It is certain that, during the war, Raisuli played a waiting game. The
Spaniards say that only their influence prevented him from entering the
lists against France. This is unlikely, for the Sherif’s policy was one
of consistent neutrality in order that he might be able to secure good
terms from whichever side won. Doubtless some of the German money which
poured into Morocco found its way into the Sherif’s coffers, but he was
too astute to commit himself to any definite aggression. As his power
grew among the tribes, and with Arabs no propaganda is more popular than
a display of force and prosperity, the Sherif used the powerful weapon
which Jordana had unwittingly put into his hand.
Whenever his autocratic actions were questioned, he hinted at the
possibility of a rupture, and the High Commissioner, interpreting such a
possibility as the seal set on his failure, renewed his endeavours to
propitiate. If it was an undignified situation, it was the result of
Jordana’s passionate desire to serve the interests of his country,
without costing her blood or money. The alternatives with which he was
faced when he arrived in Tetuan seemed to him equally disastrous. They
consisted in the evacuation of the country, which would be followed by
the triumphal entry of France and the total loss of Spanish prestige, or
a war which, judging by the fruitless efforts of his predecessors, he
believed would have to be one of extermination.
He was tempted to take the middle course and the most distasteful to
him. He forced himself to labour with a persistent patience wholly at
variance to his nature, towards a solution which, though humiliating to
his pride, would satisfy the conflicting interests in Madrid. Towards
the end of 1918 he found that Raisuli was in the position of dictator,
while the High Commissioner was regarded as a puppet. Under insistent
orders against interference with the natives, inefficiency and laxity
were rife among all classes of officials. In fact, the prestige of
Spain, which Jordana hoped to vindicate at the cost of his own opinions,
had been persistently lowered by giving way to the exigencies of the
Sherif and his horde of deputies.
In one of the most pathetic letters ever written by a great pro-consul
to his Government, Jordana traced his course of action from its
initiation and, acknowledged that he had, himself, undermined the road
“which led to the forbidden mountains,” foreshadowed the possibility of
that rupture which would prove how unprofitable had been his years of
conciliation. With a hand that shook, he signed the long document, and
the pages bear repetitive evidence of a mind strained beyond endurance.
Then, dropping the pen, he fell forward over the table and died while
the ink of his apologia was still wet!
“The news of Jordana’s death was brought to me at Tazrut,” said Raisuli,
“and I was certain that this would mean the end of my relations with
Spain, for I had been watching the course of politics, and the Madrid
press was clamouring for change. I returned to my camp and at once
offered to give up the arms and ammunition entrusted to me for the
duration of the campaign against the rebel tribes. My offer was refused,
and I was assured that there was no alteration in the attitude of Spain.
Messengers came to me almost daily from the Residency in Tetuan, urging
me to stay at Kheiton, and to keep a strong hold of the tribes until the
new Governor should arrive.
“Certainly this was necessary, for, on all sides, there were displeasing
incidents as a result of a rumour that the foreigners would soon attack
us. A man was killed within a few yards of Tetuan, and some Jews robbed
in the open Suq. I sent a column to patrol the neighbourhood of the
town, and warned the Beni Hosmar that my arm was still strong enough to
punish. News came that bandits from Beni Gorfet had attacked a Spanish
farm. The landlord had been killed, his goods stolen and his wife
carried away as a captive. Immediately I sent a strong force to Khemis,
demanding the release of the woman, but the Kaid was obdurate, for he
hoped for a ransom. There was a fight, and his house was burned. While
all men rushed to put out the flames, my soldiers saw some women running
towards the hills, dragging one who went unwillingly. They pursued the
party, and the women seized stones and earth to throw at them, abusing
them for saving a Christian, but my troops took the Spaniard and brought
her in safety to my camp.
“That is the first time a European woman had been my prisoner, though my
house has always been at the disposal of your men! She was in rags, and
I had none of my family with me, so I sent to Tazrut for clothes, and
she dressed as an Arab. I had a tent pitched a little way off for her,
and put soldiers to keep anyone from staring at her. I said to her, ‘You
may go whenever you choose, and, if you tell me your destination, I will
send an escort with you.’ My men recovered the half of the goats which
had been stolen, and I told her the whole had been brought back, making
up the number from my flocks. She stayed in camp for a few days, till
she was no longer afraid, and then I sent her down to her people.
“There were many incidents of this sort, though the tribesmen concerned
themselves only with men. Farmers were captured near Larache and forced
to pay a tithe of their crops and their beasts before they were set at
liberty, but, whenever this happened, I punished the offenders.
“There was a long gap between the death of Jordana and the appointment
of a new High Commissioner. Nearly three months passed, and several
times I wrote to Tetuan announcing my departure for the mountains, for
the news from Madrid was disturbing, but each time I was held back with
promises.
“At last[86] Berenguer came out as High Commissioner, and it was known
at once that he wished to occupy the Jebala by force. He spread abroad
that he would waste no time in making effective over the whole country
the Protectorate with which Spain had charged herself, but when I sent
my cousin, Mulai Sadiq, to greet him, he received him courteously.
Ullah, thou wert deceived in him, son of my relative!” The old man
protested indignantly—“He spoke affectionately to me, and told me that
his one wish was to help all Moslems and to make the towns safe for
trade. He said his mission was peaceful and that he wanted only to
restore order in the districts where there had been trouble.” “So you
wrote,” remarked the Sherif, “but Berenguer’s first message to me was a
reproach that I had not welcomed him personally in the city. I replied,
‘Never will Raisuli be seen in Tetuan.’ Then he wrote to me by the son
of Jordana, who put the matter politely, but it was not difficult to see
what lay behind.
[Illustration: Door of mosque at Tetuan, where Raisuli’s ancestors are
buried]
“I answered that letter with many pages, and I remember the words which
a Badr ed Din wrote for me. The sense of them was thus: ‘You say that I
have not served the interests of Spain, but do you not know of the
innumerable battles I have fought for you, and all the difficulties and
suspicions I have suffered on your behalf? It is not I who have caused
the trouble in Morocco, but the indefinite policy of your Government
which is always changing. How often have I been told one thing in the
morning and another in the evening! How often has the Governor applied
to Spain for a pressing remedy, and received nothing, because of the
political commotion! You say I have not written to welcome you, but to
do this was impossible after the injudicious actions of Barera. Have you
not heard how the military commanders of your posts lose no opportunity
of detaining the tribesmen in the cities, of interfering with their
fields and their sowing, taking from them their money and leaving many
wounded by blows and other injuries? This has been the situation for a
long time, and I was so angry at the passive attitude adopted by your
officials that, as a protest, I dismissed the two telephone engineers
who were working at Ben Karrish in my zone. This was a sign to the
tribes that political relations would soon be broken between your
Government and mine.
“‘During the months before you came, I was instrumental in pacifying the
tribes who would have risen to destroy your posts, but I told them that
peace and tranquillity on our side must be unbroken, lest it should be
said that war was the result of our actions. You say the root of your
policy is your desire for peace and order. It would not appear thus, at
least outwardly, for nothing is so true as actions which are
unpremeditated. Since your arrival, incidents have been more frequent,
and the offenders have not been punished. In proof, I will relate to you
certain facts, and you will see that my silence was justified by the
alarming news which was brought to me daily. Some of my labourers who
were working at the edge of Beni Gorfet, in the vicinity of the Khotot,
informed me that the chief of the military post at Tzenin had attacked
them, taking away their herds, which were feeding peacefully in the
stretch of grass, and had restored none of these, nor had they set at
liberty the servants whom they had captured with the beasts.
“‘Tn Jebel Habib, artillery was employed against farms, not once but
five times. Shells were dropped among the beasts, and it was impossible
to continue the cultivation—all this because it was suspected that a
soldier, who had deserted from the police, had passed through that
country. The desertion of a policeman is not a strange thing. It occurs
frequently, whether from your forces or mine, and it is impossible to
avoid it. On the contrary, the use of cannon is a grave wrong, for it
was agreed between the two parties[87] that artillery should not be
employed against farms whose inhabitants were faithful to us and only
wished to live in peace and security under our rule.
“‘On the same day Your Excellency was expected in Tzenin, coming from
Sidi Laimani, the captains of the military posts at Maila and Tzenin set
out with mixed forces to round up the peoples of Bedauin and the
labourers of Beni Aros, all subjects of my jurisdiction. Your soldiers
forced these men to leave their walls by weight of blows, killing even
the dogs who barked at them as they passed, and not omitting to tear off
the clothes which the tribesmen wore upon their shoulders. They drove
them into the town and ordered them to make a crowd to receive the High
Commissioner. This was done to show the large numbers of those who had
submitted to Barera, a false action, because, if I ordered these
tribesmen and these labourers to leave all their possessions and join
me, not one of them would delay for a night. All those who escaped from
Tzenin and would not wait for Your Excellency’s arrival, were forced to
pay a fine.
“‘Another thing—the chief of the military post at Sania in the Garbia
attacked, during the night, certain farms situated in Jebel Rik, near
our own fort of Gahar Ru Gas. Your troops took away the cattle and left
one herdsman dead and two wounded, and the village lost a great quantity
of beasts, many of whom died from the wounds received from your rifles.
After this, the soldiers laid hold of a Sherif, a relative of mine, who
had been peacefully occupying himself with the care of his crops and his
herds. They maltreated him, despoiled him of his clothes and took him
away, naked. They still hold him a prisoner, without taking into
consideration that the Sherif is a personage of renown and fame, known
as a peaceful and prudent subject of great discretion.
“‘These and many other occurrences, deplorable and scandalous, occurred
in your zone precisely when Your Excellency had established yourself in
the Commissario.[88] Your officials have redoubled their campaign
against my people, molesting them in every way, ill-treating them and
giving as a reason that your jurisdiction extends over the whole
country, without any difference between my subjects and yours. Added to
this, there is the policy which Your Excellency is following with those
of Anjera, who have always been against me and who were outlawed after
the recent war, in which my forces fought by the side of your own. Your
Excellency receives these traitors, appoints them as Sheikhs, and then
attributes their nomination to Ben Azuz,[89] who, everyone knows, is
your salaried captive, and who sits, like a blind man, with his mouth
open, waiting for the charitable to come and drop food into it. It is
the same thing with Ben Torres, who now promenades in his best silk
clothes and would rule the Beni Hosmar. He forgets that, if it were not
for my arms and my sentinels, he would not be able to wear such fine
garments in security.
“‘Those who eat well and wear silk in Tetuan, who lie on soft carpets
and have nothing to do but talk, spread lies about me. I live in a camp
in the hills, with no comforts and no women. My foot is always ready for
the stirrup, my finger for the trigger, watchful night and day, in spite
of the illness Allah has sent me. I am too occupied with keeping peace
in the mountains to have time to exchange words with them.
“‘It is the harder for me to put down disorder and revolt because of the
conduct of Your Excellency. It is known that you are in communication
with that worst of all devils, Darkan ben Sadiq, who leads a rebellious
section of Gomara. It is even reported that, when Your Excellency next
embarked for Melilla, you have promised to speak with him as you pass by
the Bay of Targa, and will receive him, with various of his followers,
in your boat. Your Excellency receives men who have no standing in the
country, which surprises and flatters them, and you believe the things
which they promise you, but which they have no power to realise. Do you
not understand that these tribesmen of Anjera and Gomara were all
severely punished by our troops and have steadily refused to live in
peace with us, preferring brigandage and the capture of travellers? For
this reason, my mehalla is still camped, one portion near Xauen and one
on the sea coast.
“‘In your letter you say that the end we pursue is the same; but, under
these circumstances, I can see no similarity in our objects. If Your
Excellency decides to hold a conference with me, it is very necessary
that Zugasti should be present, in order that there may be complete
confidence between us. You refer to the full and ample powers which are
vested in you, but Jordana said the same thing. I have now in my
possession many letters written in such terms, yet nothing was
definitely completed, since, as soon as a project was begun, it was
abandoned.
“‘Even yesterday we heard the sound of cannon from the region of Ben
Aros. The firing lasted from three to six, and I do not know yet what
has happened. This cannot continue, if the people are to have faith in
my protection and your word. There is no peace anywhere in the country,
except in the town of Tetuan where men fight with their words. You know
well that the wound made by the tongue is more serious than that caused
by a sword. For this last there is a remedy, but for the first there is
none. You know well that the wall of wickedness is very low, and to jump
it is not necessary to have either wisdom or intelligence. The most
stupid of beings and the most undecided can easily jump it, but the
difficulty of all difficulties and the most arduous and the greatest, is
to do good—such is the will of Allah, from whom are patience and
resignation.’”
This letter from which Raisuli quotes is typical of his epistolary
style, and it consists of between 6,000 and 7,000 words, as do most Arab
screeds referring to any matters which the writer considers important.
It still exists in the archives of the Spanish Government and is quoted
at length in a recent work on Morocco.
Berenguer sent a frigid reply to the Sherif’s letter. Possibly he had in
mind a not dissimilar list of Arab offences, for, at this period, there
was a sort of guerilla warfare between the Spanish police posts and
Raisuli’s irregulars. Attacks and reprisals may have been equally
frequent on both sides. The High Commissioner wrote that his joy would
be much greater on the day he received from Raisuli the spoken word
rather than the written, but the Sherif knew that, if he once entered
Tetuan, he would be obliged to acknowledge the authority of Mulai el
Mehdi, so he remained in the hills and sent polite but somewhat
equivocal messages. There was no further suggestion on his part of
returning the Spanish munitions and guns. On the contrary, many
innocent-looking caravans went up into the hills laden with stores and
rifles for the Sherif. It is curious that Raisuli did not make a greater
effort to meet the new High Commissioner, for, so far, his eloquence had
served him at least as well as his mehallas. It is possible, judging
only from Marina’s half-hearted campaigns and the little that Silvestre
was allowed to do against him, that Raisuli underestimated the strength
of any European Power, armed with the modern implements of war.
His reflections on the situation showed a surprising comprehension of
Western politics. “The war in Europe had come to an end on the very day
that Jordana died. Had he lived, I could have worked with him more
sympathetically, for the need of keeping in touch with Germany was past.
The friendship of Spain was more than ever necessary to me, for France
had counted her graves and she looked to Africa to supply substitutes
for her dead. If she makes another war, it will be with her Arab
citizens, and their way to Europe will be through my country. It is easy
to see that, and why the roads are not swept in Tangier and the filth
lies piled before the houses! This is also the reason why Abdul Krim is
never short of rifles and why he boasts that he has gunners and
engineers. The French-trained Moors are helping him, just as they helped
me against Berenguer.
“When I saw that war was necessary, I went to Ben Karrish to arrange for
the defence of the road to Xauen. It was told me that Barera, whose
courage was undoubted, had ridden from Tetuan by way of the Fondak and
Suq el Khemis, to the plains. This was the first time a Spaniard had
gone without my passport. I sent word to my mehalla to close the road,
and to cut down the telegraph, which was the main communication between
East and West; but I was determined that the first shots should come
from Spain. No warning had been given me. One day there were letters
passing between my camp and the Residency. The next, troops were
disembarked at Alcazar-Seghir, and a march forced through Anjera with
the help of those chiefs who had always been rebellious. My spies
brought me news of one of these traitors, and I was able to catch him
while he hastened to poison the villages against me. Ullah, his journey
to the mountains was not comfortable, for they tied his hands to the
stirrups of two riders, one hand to each, and dragged him in this manner
across the country, and, when he clamoured, they spurred their horses
apart till his arms cracked. He arrived at my camp half-dead, but he had
enough time to recover before I let him go, for I demanded a large sum
for his release, and, though the man of Anjera could not write his
entreaties, I added them by means of an ear. Ullah, he was a bad Moslem,
and deserved death!”
Perhaps Raisuli noticed my expressions, for he broke the thread of his
discourse. “I will tell you a story,” he said. “Once a Spaniard sat in
my tent and talked with me of matters that were very important. In the
middle of our words, a slave came to me and whispered in my ear. I said
to him, ‘Wait awhile,’ but he returned again and repeated his murmur.
‘If it is anything serious,’ said the Spaniard, ‘let us continue our
conversation another time,’ but I answered, ‘It is of no importance. In
a minute I will be at your service,’ and I whispered some directions to
the slave, who said, ‘It is as the Sherif wills!’ and went away.
‘Forgive me,’ I said to my guest, ‘and let us finish our talk. I was
only ordering a man 500 lashes, so it is not sufficient matter to
disturb us.’ We continued our discussion concerning the policy of a
certain tribe, but I observed that the Spaniard was nervous. He fidgeted
and answered at random. At last I said to him, ‘Is anything the matter?
It seems something troubles you,’ and he replied, ‘It is only that I
cannot bear the cries of that man. Poor wretch! It is awful!’ I
listened, and, certainly, the criminal had a strong voice, but presently
it died away and my guest fixed his attention on his words.
“The slave returned after a while and said, ‘The will of my master has
been carried out.’ I asked him, ‘Are you sure that you have given him
the full number of lashes?’ and he answered, ‘I counted them myself,
Sidi.’ ‘And the man lives?’ ‘He is very strong, Sidi.’ ‘Ullah, just give
him another 500, to make sure. Perhaps, after all, you made a mistake.’
The Spaniard jumped up and protested. ‘This is abominable,’ he said.
‘Have you no mercy, no pity?’ ‘What do these words mean in your
language?’ I asked, and he explained, while I listened attentively.
‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘if you were walking between hedges of cactus and the
road was barred behind you, and if a very poisonous and dangerous snake
came out in front of you, what would you do? Supposing there were a
heavy stone at hand, but otherwise there was no way of escape, tell me
what would you do?’ The Spaniard laughed. ‘I should thank heaven for the
stone, and pray it to guide my aim!’ he exclaimed. ‘Would you not have
mercy or pity on the snake? No? Nor shall I have pity on one who is
worse than a snake. Go out, and ask my slave what that man has done, for
such crimes are not talked about among Arabs.’ We sat in silence, but no
cries reached our ears, and at last the slave entered. ‘We could not
carry out your orders, Sidi,’ he whispered, ‘for the man died before the
fourth hundred was completed.’”
CHAPTER XXIII
LEADER OF A HOLY WAR
“One of the first acts of Berenguer,” said the Sherif, “was to release
Dris er Riffi from the prison in Tetuan where he had spent the years
since Alkali’s death, and to reinstate him as Pasha of Azeila. His next
blow was given in the name of Mulai el Mehdi, in the form of a second
confiscation of my properties. Notice of this was spread through all the
villages—‘Forfeit all that he possesses of goods, in cities, and camps,
his horses, his herds, his farms, as well as all things which he has on
his lands, and that which is in the hands of his bailiffs. He shall also
be despoiled of those goods which he confiscated from the Zawia and the
Aukaf.[90] It was a very fine notice, and it must have delighted my
enemies, but the only goods that I cared for at that moment were rifles
and grain. I knew that there would be another famine in the hills, and I
tried to guard against it by storing quantities of millet and barley at
Tazrut. Soon I heard that my old enemy Silvestre had been sent back to
Morocco. He must have been glad of this chance to defeat me, but I swore
that the end of the war should also be his end or mine. Men said to me,
‘It is a sign that no quarter will be given,’ and I answered, ‘He has
returned to this country for the last time, nor will he again see his
own.’ Silvestre was given a command at Ceuta, and it was my intention to
meet him face to face.
“This time the Spaniards had arranged their plan beforehand. They
operated with several columns, making themselves masters of a circle of
villages and then destroying whatever lay between them.” This plan of
dividing the country into triangles and occupying the angles of each in
turn was followed with success by the French in their zone. Berenguer,
who was an able general, chose Larache, Rogaia and Tzenin as the first
triangle; the famous Fondak, Al Kasr and Suq el Arbaa as the second; and
Tazrut-Teffer-Xauen as the third.
“In this war,” said Raisuli, “the Spaniards received less help from the
tribesmen than the first, for the Arabs remembered the fate of el Tazi
and others, whom Jordana had not protected, when he made peace with me.
Still, there were some who went against me, notably Haj el Merkadi, who
was responsible for my defeat at Ben Karrish. This was the first battle
of the war in which I fought myself. The Spaniards pressed us hard, for
Ben Karrish is not easy to defend, and their guns forced us to retire to
a hill beyond the village. From this height we commanded their advance,
and our rifles picked them out, one by one, on the road. Here their guns
could do us little harm, for, to kill one man, they expended many shells
and blew up much of the hillside. We lay comfortably among the grass and
fired at our ease. Suddenly behind us there came a body of men galloping
and I thought we had been outflanked, but they rode openly, calling our
names and shouting greeting. One said, ‘It is Ueld el Faqih (el
Merkadi). He has brought his flag to our aid.’ The horsemen stopped over
the brow of the ridge, and I went to meet them with some of my men.
“When we were quite close and the salaams were on our lips, el Merkadi
put up his rifle. It was a signal, and every man followed his example.
My people died before they had time to lift their arms, but I went
forward untouched and some followed me. Ueld el Faqih turned in his
saddle and cried, ‘He will not die. We have finished. Let us go!’ My men
came over the hill to support us, forgetting the Spaniards below. There
was a short fight and some of the traitors were killed, but el Merkadi
had chosen a good horse. He escaped, and his treachery was profitable to
Spain, for a line of rifles had been pushed forward and the houses of
Ben Karrish were in flames.
“I stayed some time on that hill and, through my field-glasses, I
watched men struggling with the fires, till there was only a little
smoke to tell of the battle. This was the second time the village had
been taken from me, but no shot ever touched the mosque. From Ben
Karrish we retreated to the Fondak, and there I remained many months. I
lived in a hovel where the roof was so low that a tall man could not
stand upright, but its beams were made of the telegraph-posts which we
had cut. The great do not need great houses, but I regretted that I
never saw my family. As soon as I occupied the Fondak, I set about
preparing its defences, for I knew that soon there would be aeroplanes
and we should not be safe above ground. No preparation is needed in the
mountains, for there Allah has provided an abundance of caves, but at
Ain Yerida the hills are bare, so my people dug ditches where the
riflemen could lie, and holes under the earth where they might hide from
the ‘jinn-birds who laid eggs of death.’[91] Ullah, the tribesmen were
always frightened of aeroplanes! They thought the machines would sweep
down and pick them up by the hairs of the head and drop them from a
great height.
“From the Fondak I wrote to Sidi Abdesam ben Thami, who was my friend,
and told him of the treachery of el Merkadi, saying to him, ‘It would be
a good thing and pleasing to Allah, if you invited this wicked man to
have an interview with you, but outside your house, that he may not be
your guest. Then you can arrange an ambush for him, or else send men to
kill him in his own village.’ I wrote also to my friends in Tangier,
asking for more ammunition. El Menebbhe and the son of Alkali who was
killed, arranged this matter for me. There was also a farmer in the
international zone whose house was at my service, and under his roof
many curious changes occurred. Ben Alkali was head of my secret service,
and he sent me warning of the movements of my enemies. When the road was
clear of ambuscade, he would inform Menebbhe, who would arrange a
caravan of mules, laden with goods for Azeila or Larache. Permission was
obtained from the Spaniards for these harmless stores to pass into their
zone. Fifty or sixty beasts would go out of Tangier, their panniers
burdened for the needs of Larache, but, at a certain farm where they
always arrived at night, their loads would be changed, as also the
direction of their journey. Before dawn my ammunition was at my gates!
“Besides these supplies I had hand-grenades which Jordana had given me
for use against the common enemy, and a certain number of guns, but few
of my men knew how to use them. As always, my policy was to defend, not
to attack, and, for this reason, I lost fewer men than my enemies. Great
masses of troops are useless in this country. They are cramped and there
is no room for them to disperse, when swept by hidden fire. I have seen
Spaniards fall as quickly as hail in the mountains, because there were
too many of them together. Berenguer’s advance was methodical, and he
crowned each hill with a fort, surrounding it with wire or sandbags, but
it is not difficult to besiege such places, and a good number fell into
our hands. My men made a collection of Spanish uniforms, and sometimes
wearing them, they would approach quite close to a column, throw their
bombs, and escape in the confusion.
“Once this had been done very successfully by some men of Beni Aros.
Retiring swiftly from the fight, leaving the enemy with several dead,
they came to a small wadi where the water was good. ‘Let us stay here
and rest,’ said one. ‘The Spaniards are busy now with their spades.’ The
leader urged that it was too near the lines of the enemy, but it was hot
and there appeared to be no danger. So they stayed by the stream, and
some lay down and opened their uniforms, for they did not like the tight
jackets of the Spaniards. An hour or two passed, for there is no time in
our country, and with an Arab a thought is always more valuable than a
deed. Suddenly the watch they had posted looked over his shoulder and
signalled the approach of an enemy. Before the others could hide
themselves and while they still stared back the way they had come,
imagining they were pursued, a Spanish column appeared from the opposite
direction and walked almost on top of them. ‘Give us water,’ said the
first rank, and fumbled for a second too long. Even then they got in the
first shots, but one was killed and one wounded as they retreated, their
leader shouting, ‘Buen Dios, you may have all the water that is left!’
He was determined to show off his Spanish!
“This was at the beginning of the war, when men still laughed and
believed that the ‘baraka’ of the Sherif was stronger than the artillery
of Spain. In those days I said often to the Ulema, ‘Allah will save us
when it is his will, but we shall be driven to the edge of our country,
and safety will not come from our arms.’
“At first the Spanish troops were insufficiently provided with material
(of war), and my people rejoiced, for they thought it would be an easy
matter to defeat them. Berenguer did not realise how many men he would
lose, so there were not enough hospitals. The transport was delayed by
the roughness of the track. Maps were not reliable, and columns lost
themselves among the hills. My captains were confident of success, but I
knew that it would only be for a little. The Government at Madrid was
composed of my enemies, for the Liberals have always been against me.
Soon new troops would be disembarked and, though their very numbers
might tell against them, we should be crushed by the weight of their
metal. Under Allah, I trusted to two things—first, that the Government
would fall in time, secondly, that the Spaniards would get disheartened
by their heavy losses and that my old allies, the journalists, would
come to my aid! It is easy to take every village in my country, but you
cannot take the country itself. When every rock and cave is armed
against an invader there is no one upon whom he can retaliate.
“All through the summer my headquarters were at the Fondak, which we
held without much difficulty, though the Spaniards made a great effort
to occupy Wadi Ras. It was in the hottest days of the year,[92] when
sleeping is preferable to fighting. The Spanish columns advanced from
Ceuta and Tetuan in order to take the hills north of the Wadi, but I had
prepared a stratagem. The two columns were to come in sight of each
other at a certain place, but they would not join until their objective
was reached. Men of Anjera were to guide them through the tortuous
defiles, and the Anjera have never been difficult to bribe! Money was
the one thing that was always plentiful with us, for my wealth was
banked, beyond reach of the Spaniards. The chosen guides lost themselves
happily with a bag of douros, and some loyal men took their places. Thus
one column was skilfully guided South-east and one South-west, and, when
the officers complained, they were told it was in order to avoid ground
unfit for artillery. As the gap widened between them, a third column
appeared, apparently also marching from the coast. It consisted of
nearly two hundred men, dressed in grey uniforms, with mounted officers,
who marched in European fashion, putting handkerchiefs and leaves under
their helmets as a protection against the sun. With them were the mules
of a mountain battery, and the leaders gave them orders in Spanish. In
time, communication was established between this force and the one on
their left, and the first waited on a ridge for the second to pass below
it into the valley.
“The battery was out of sight of those beneath, and it should have
worked havoc, but my men were slow at mounting it, and only one gun
spoke. When the strange column halted on the high ground, the men had
moved apart, as if to watch their comrades below, and each man was
standing carelessly by a stone or a bush. The leader raised his field-
glasses to look at a distant hill, and, at the signal, every soldier
disappeared. In a second the ridge vomited fire, and the Spanish column
was trapped. A few snipers had been posted opposite, and these made a
great show of their firing, that the enemy might think they were between
two large parties.
“There was slaughter in the valley, as you see before the hill Zawias on
a feast day, or in the butcher’s precincts after a market. At first the
Spaniards did not understand, and they fired wildly, not knowing where
was the enemy. As half of them were killed and a man had only time to
see that the one at his side was dead before he fell across him, panic
arose, for there was no way out of the trap. Men screamed and dropped
their rifles, stumbled over dead bodies, and were trampled among them. A
few lay amidst the rocks and shot steadily at the smoke which rolled
above them. One, who was brave, lay still with the dead, and, when my
men thought it was finished, and came down to take the rifles and
cartridge-belts from the bodies, he killed two and wounded a third
before they cut off his head. I think the Spaniards lost a hundred or a
hundred and fifty men that day, and our casualties were perhaps six; but
this did not occur again! Many heads were brought into the villages, and
the women stuck twigs in their eyes and put them upon the topmost spikes
of the hedges.
[Illustration: Azeila from the air]
“When their work was done, the Anjera guides slipped away and found
shelter behind our lines, but the man who led the other column was
suspected of treachery, and they tied him to the tail of one of the
horses, so that he could not escape, and, to save his life, he was
obliged to lead the enemy to the point they had indicated to him. Things
did not go much better for them there, for they had not enough food or
ammunition with them, and I had posted a party of men with bombs to blow
up the troop who brought their supplies. There is no wide road in Wadi
Ras, and, everywhere, a few men can hide and do much damage. The bombers
divided into several groups and threw their grenades from convenient
places above the heads of the Spaniards. A few men were wounded, and
three mules killed, but the others pressed on, thinking that the ambush
was passed. A few hundred yards further on, the same thing happened,
and, in great confusion, carrying their wounded on such mules as were
left, the troop fell into the third trap. After this they retired,
thinking that the whole valley was lined with death. This left the
column at Wadi Ras isolated among the northern hills, where, if we had
put a ring of snipers round them and besieged them, they would have been
helpless, for their ammunition was low and they wasted their bullets.
“News had been brought to me that a force (under Barera) was on its way
from Larache, so I saw that an end must be made of the affair. I sent
messengers from Beni Aros, of such families as had had dealings with the
Spaniards, to inform Barera that he was too late. With much distress,
they were to explain that the remnants of the columns had retired
towards Ceuta and Tetuan, and that the forces of the sheriff were in
strength at Wadi Ras. That night we set forth to render the words true!
The enemy occupied a ridge which was steep on one side, but easy of
access from the other. A few tribesmen made a pretence of attacking the
gentle slopes, firing and shouting the war-cry of their people, as if it
were only a sortie from some village which wanted to collect a few
rifles. After they had drawn the attention of the Spaniards, some
horsemen galloped up in a long line and blazed over the heads of the
first party. They were good targets and a few were killed, upon which
the others made a feint of retiring, but, in reality, as soon as they
were out of sight, they dropped down among the scrub and waited. The
horsemen stood up and urged their horses up the hill at full speed,
firing as they rode, but, when the enemy would have met this charge,
they wheeled round and fled, sliding over the rough ground on their
haunches, still discharging their rifles and shouting. The enemy
followed, but there were few wounded, for the voluminous robes of the
Moors received more bullets than their bodies.
“The clamour was intentional, for it had covered the approach of the
real force which crept goat-like up the crags, in single file. On this
side the ridge was scarcely guarded, and the few sentries were easily
overpowered by the first tribesmen who climbed, with a knife between
their teeth. The end was very easy. My men were on the ridge before the
majority of the enemy turned from chasing the horsemen of el Arbi. They
fought stubbornly, sending several tribesmen to paradise, but they were
overpowered and driven backwards down the slopes to the ambush which
awaited them.
“That was the second night of the battle in Wadi Ras, and on the third
there was little left to do. The column from the West had not arrived,
but there were still stragglers who had reformed from the others, intent
on reaching the coast, and some isolated posts which had lost
communication with the main body. Excited by their victory, the
tribesmen would not be restrained, and they killed many hundreds of
wounded and threw themselves recklessly upon any Spaniards who were
still in the country. Once again there were murders in the coast towns,
and, in one place, the Arabs laid a plot to destroy all the Christians.
It was arranged that the tribesmen should enter the city secretly in
small numbers, with no rifles and in the clothes of townsmen, but, under
his waistcoat, each man would carry a revolver. They would meet in the
square and mix separately with the people in the hour after sunset, when
all the Europeans come out to profit by the cool. Then, at a given
signal, each man would fire, and kill as many as he could.
“Allah was not with them, and there was a mistake. Many had entered the
town safely, but the guard challenged one group at the gate. Frightened
that the plot would be discovered, the tribesmen fired and killed some
of the guard. They broke into the town, but warning had been given to
the citizens, who rushed for their arms. The tribesmen were scattered,
and there was little fighting, though some were killed with bullets
which were fired without purpose. Three men were captured, but they knew
nothing of the plot and had only used their weapons to be in company
with the rest.
“After the battle in Wadi Ras, the tribes gave praise to Allah and
thought that shortly there would not be a Christian left in the country.
It was useless that I said to them, ‘Our success has signed the judgment
against us,’ for I knew that Silvestre would crush Spain between his
hands for men and money to destroy me. I redoubled my efforts to supply
the needs of Jebala against a long campaign. Even the prisons were used
as stores, and no man was allowed to sell his harvest. Much grain had
been destroyed by the enemy, and they had taken the beasts, or killed
them, if they had no time to drive them away. This is against the law of
Islam, by which it is forbidden to destroy the food, or poison the
water, of an enemy.
“For two months we had little fighting, for the Spaniards were waiting
for reinforcements. I knew what was before us, for I heard that the
harbours were never empty of ships, and that, from them, were landed
aeroplanes, and armoured cars, and bombs with gas in them that men
cannot breathe. Ullah, what strange people you are! You say it is savage
to cut men’s heads off when they are dead and their bodies without
feeling, but it is civilised to stifle the living man with poisonous
fumes, so that he dies slowly and his body decays while his spirit is
still in it! Allah will decide between us!
“While all these preparations were being made against us and the coast
was covered with troops, the wharves piled with ammunition, a deputation
came to me from many tribes, including the Guezauia, the Riffs of
Gomara, the Beni Gorfet, and the Sumata, who were the last to stop
fighting against the Christians. They asked me to go up to Sidi Abd es
Salaam to meet the Sheikhs of all the loyal tribes and to swear an oath
with them. I agreed, for I knew that still more armaments must come
before the attack would be renewed. I took with me my nephew and el
Kharaji and the Jellali who commanded my cavalry; and the oldest of all
my slaves, Ba Salim, held my stirrup as I rode.
“We started early in the dawn, and I remembered that other ride to meet
Jordana at Guad Agraz, but this time my salutations were for my own
people—who knows the intentions of Allah! We stayed one night in Tazrut
where I was joined by the Kaids of Beni Aros and two hundred of my
soldiers. The next day we rode up Jebel Alan, but the start was delayed
because, from all over the country, men hurried to ride with me, and the
women were busy cooking rice and bread. When all had been fed and the
morning prayer had been said in the mosque, for there was no room for
the multitude in the Zawia, we left Tazrut and started up the first
slopes. Below us the village was white and prosperous under the
protection of the tree which is sacred in my family. If anything should
destroy it, the fortunes of the Raisuli Sherifs would wither, so my
house is built round it, and there are walls to protect its growth.
“It is said that my ancestor, Mohamed, said his prayers under a
venerable oak,[93] and, because he was then hiding from his enemies, and
had no food, he ate the acorns[94] that fell from it. The mercy of Allah
turned them into bread in his mouth, and his hunger was satisfied. He
renewed his prayers, and when he noticed that the old tree above him was
falling, he planted one of the acorns in the ground and blessed it.
Later on, when some of his disciples were restored to him, he brought
them to Tazrut and showed them the acorn sprouting from the ground. ‘It
is the child of the tree whose fruit saved me,’ he said, ‘and my
children shall serve it.’ Then he told his disciples to build a fence
round it and watch it, ‘for,’ said he, ‘my strength is ebbing with that
of the old tree, but all shall be given to my house, more than my tongue
can speak of, or my words embrace. They shall be the most powerful in
the land as long as they remember the gratitude the Sherifs owe to this
oak.’ It is said, also, that on the day he died, and there was mourning
among the villages of Beni Aros, a great wind came and blew down the
tree, but the seedling remained, and it is now nearly as old as its
ancestor. Some of its branches have been destroyed, but no bombs touched
it, for it is the will of Allah that the Raisuli still live.
“We rode up to Jebel Alan in a long line which reached halfway down to
the village, and it was sunset before we reached the sanctuary. Each man
dismounted and said his prayers where he stood, and the mountain was one
voice praising Allah, for there were many thousand tribesmen, more than
I have ever seen before Sidi Abd es Salaam. There were strangers to me,
even among the Kaids, and I knew that some great thing would happen. All
kissed my sleeve, or even my shoe as it was in the stirrup, or the
trappings that were on my horse, but there was no speech. In silence we
reached the summit, and the tribesmen fell back, ranging themselves upon
the ground, till every space was covered. The Ulema from the Zawia of
Teledi, the wisest men in Morocco, had come down from the peaks of
Ahmas, and the Sheikhs of Beni Aros were there in their full number,
though some were so great in years that their strength had gone from
their eyes to their beards.
“No man broke his fast that night, but all waited for the hour when the
Hezb would be chanted. The moon was full, and there was no other light.
It seemed as if the clouds of the sky had descended and the whole earth
gathered itself together and listened. The Sheikhs’ white robes were
immobile by the wall of Abd es Salaam, but the brown jellabas of the
tribesmen stirred in the shadows. Murmurs that were not words ran among
them, and Allah was in our midst. At last the cry of the first Azzan
broke against the rocks, and the thousand voices echoed it, till all
Jebel Alan was a tongue in prayer. The Imam of Teledi repeated the Hezb
and the mountain bowed itself towards Mecca. There were those who said
the earth really moved and trembled under our feet. At the end of the
prayers there was silence, and then, in moonlight, that was brighter
than the day, the Sheikhs of the tribes spoke, each one in his turn.
They told how it was ordered that battle should be made against the
unbeliever, and they recited the life of the Prophet, showing his
victories and also his defeats. They told how paradise waited for the
slayer of the Christian and how the Prophet suffered when he, too, was
homeless and fled from Mecca. ‘If your villages are destroyed by the
enemy, your house is Islam,’ exclaimed a Sheikh of many years, whose
voice tore the strength out of his body, and the tribesmen cried out
that a foreigner should never rest his foot in the mountains.
“Men rocked themselves backwards and forwards, and repeated the name of
Allah, till some foamed at the mouth and were sightless. Still the
Sheikhs spoke of war, and the men of Beni Aros leaped up and shouted,
‘We follow the Sherif!’ Far away the cry echoed, like stones falling
into a valley, and every throat bore it back again—‘We follow the
Sherif! Allah protect the life of our master!’ Then the Imam of Teledi
mounted on the wall and pointed over the falling hills. ‘That way lie
the Christians, and it is _your_ way; but the man who leads you is
Sultan of the Jehad!’”[95]
Raisuli’s voice rang in momentary triumph. Then he was silent. Menebbhe
gripped my arm and would not let me speak. . . . It was much later that
the Sherif, rousing himself with an effort which was apparent,
continued, “In this manner I was proclaimed the leader of the Holy War
against the Christians, and it is against the echoes of that night that
the Spaniards fight today in the Riff. When the Ulema had finished
speaking, sound roared up the mountain like flames in a wind. Men
laughed and sang, shouted and prayed, and nobody knew what his neighbour
was saying. A single shot rose above the voices, and instantly every
rifle spoke. It was the voice of the mountain again, thundering her
challenge against the threat of the Christians. When the shots
ceased—and this was after a long time, for some were slow and some were
far away, but all would swear their loyalty by the oath of lead—a Sheikh
of Sumata spoke: ‘Your bullets are for the Christians. Do not waste them
even before Allah.’ Then I mounted and would have ridden down a little
way, but my horse stepped on men’s bodies, for the tribesmen threw
themselves before me.” Again there was silence. A bee blundered against
the curtain, buzzing, and, from outside, came the shrill, thin sound of
a pipe. “You are greatly honoured,” whispered Badr ed Din. “I have never
heard the Sherif talk of that day, nor has he ever spoken in this manner
before.”
CHAPTER XXIV
SIEGE AND RETREAT
After Raisuli had left us, Menebbhe and Badr ed Din murmured together
under the shelter of their hands. Then the Kaid said, “Since the time of
which he told you, the nature of the Sherif has changed. It is obvious
to all of us, and many who are not in his confidence have observed it.
Before that day, he cared for different things, but now he wishes only
to make his peace with Allah. He fasts till, of a truth, the serpents
eat his belly, and he prays even more than Mulai Sadiq. He accepts
nothing from the Christians or from the Jews. There was once a case of
tea which was sent up from Tetuan and, on the outside, was a picture of
a woman dancing. The Sherif would not permit the tea to be used, for
images are forbidden in Islam.
“In all things it is the same. Before Abd es Salaam, he had no regard
for a man’s life, knowing it to be already forfeit to Allah, but since
that day he has killed no man except in war, or by the order of a
tribunal. Even his cousin who rebelled against him and laid an ambush
for his son, Mohamed el Khalid, did not lose his head. He deserved death
as well as any man, but the Sherif said, ‘If it is the will of Allah, he
will die,’ and he sent him up to the mountains beyond Tazrut. There he
was put into a covered corn-pit, dug in the ground, with only one small
hole for him to breathe. It was very cold and he had but one mantle.
Food was given him through the hole, only a little oil and some black
bread, for the Sherif hoped that he would die. He was imprisoned in this
manner for three months and kept in chains so that he could not move
about, yet he lived, so my master released him, saying that his death
could not be pleasing to Allah.
“On one occasion some of the men of Beni Aros were ambushed among the
hills of Mesauer, and it happened in this way. A village which had never
acknowledged the authority of Zellal sent messengers to the Sherif,
saying that their cattle had been taken by the Spaniards and they feared
for the safety of their houses. My master sent a force to help them,
and, by Allah, it would have fallen into the prepared trap, only that it
was much stronger than they had expected and the tribesmen were divided
among themselves. Some said, ‘Let us shoot,’ and others, ‘Let us fly,
and make another opportunity when we have more men’; so a few shots came
from uncertain hands, and the soldiers were warned. The tribesmen,
seeing the result of their hesitation, fought furiously, taking
advantage of the ground they had chosen, but the harka[96] forced them
out of their cover, killed many and took some prisoners. When these were
brought to the Sherif, he looked at them without speaking, and said,
‘Return them to me after the last prayers.’ So we brought them into his
house at night, and they stood before him, in chains, with bare feet. My
master did not speak, but sat for a long time staring at them, and they
grew nervous. At last he said, ‘Allah has not given me a weapon against
my brothers. Go with peace, but take your chains with you, that you may
turn them into bullets to fight the Christians.’”
The Kaid dropped on his elbow, and Badr ed Din promptly used his
shoulder as a cushion. “It is the truth. I have not known so great an
alteration in any man as I see in the Sherif, since I rode behind him up
the mountain.”
Raisuli never made any reference to a change in his outlook. Next time
he came to my tent, in a rose-pink kaftan smothered below layers of
white woollen garments, with a dark jellaba over all, he began at once
to talk about the Spanish occupation of the Fondak. “It was a day of
triumph for Silvestre,” he said, “but it had been long delayed. It was
in the autumn that I knew we could not hold Ain Yerida.[97] Since the
meeting on Jebel Alan, the country was united against the propaganda
which issued in a stream from Larache and Azeila, like the words of a
woman when the thing she covets is denied her! Dris er Riffi was
eloquent against me, and Barera, as clever in his politics as he was in
his generalship, sent well-known townsmen to his outposts with
instructions to talk to the people in the Suqs, impressing them with the
power and generosity of Spain.
“If you can defeat an Arab in argument, you have won him to your side,
for the educated among us love words as your men love women. Barera knew
this, and his orators were skilful in their speeches, but, though Anjera
and some others were with Spain, many of their own Kaids were doubtful.
‘Even if Spain wins,’ they said, ‘she will make peace with el Raisuli,
for he has the ‘baraka,’ and, in one way or another, we shall certainly
be given back into his hands, whether he rules for Spain or for
himself!’ So there was doubt, and even men who had no friendship for me
held back.
“For some time aeroplanes had bombarded Ain Yerida, and few of my
followers lived above-ground. My house was always untouched, and the
great square of the Fondak only lost a little plaster. At first men were
terrified of these birds, and would fly, screaming, dropping their
rifles as they ran, but I never moved from the place where I sat, and,
seeing the little damage that was done, the tribesmen regained their
courage. There were some who thought they could shoot the aeroplanes
with a rifle. When they flew low, this was tried, and the Spaniards
could not waste a bomb for every sniper. But my men always thought the
red mark on the body must be the heart of the bird, so they did little
harm.
“The advance to the Fondak was slow, for the Arab troops[98] were not
loyal, and sometimes they fell on the end of a Spanish column and ate it
up, escaping to the mountains with their loot. The attack was delayed
several times by incidents of this sort. Once there was a general
rebellion among the police, and several Spanish officers were shot, but
this was because the men complained that they had not received their
pay, and that even the fodder for their horses was sold to others.
“Three columns converged on Ain Yerida, coming from Larache, Tetuan and
Ceuta. The path of each was disputed by horsemen who harried their
flanks, and by riflemen who lay hidden, a few here, a few there, where
the aeroplanes could not find them, but it was impossible for any body
of men to move against them, because of these birds who hovered more
persistently than the kites of El Biut. Whenever a column moved,
villages blazed in its wake. This is the way of your civilisation. Blood
flows before it and fire follows behind. It is not so great a change
from the campaigns of Mulai Hassan, whose troops ate up the country like
flies on a corpse. The homeless people fled to the mountains, women
carrying their children, boys shouldering the rifles of the dead. I
feared for the supply of grain, and ordered that it should be rationed
in the villages, but the people thought that money was still a thing
which had value, and they offered it to the distributors who should have
hoarded the grain. So the douros changed hands, and soon there was
nothing left that they could buy.
“The way to Tazrut by Suq el Khemis was always open for our retreat, for
the columns advanced by the coast, the one from Larache fighting its way
within sight of Zinat, down the road which I had closed for so long.
“Since the war the only road had been the sea, and this was the great
difficulty of our enemies, for, as soon as they put up a telegraph-line,
it would be cut down in the night, though there was no enemy in the
neighbourhood. Ullah, I do not know how many troops were employed
against the Fondak,[99] but there were many thousands, more than all the
fighting men I had in the country. The enemy halted before the final
attack, and made some of their little forts on the hill-tops, to guard
their communications, while the artillery bombarded every yard which lay
between us. I watched the shells bursting, and the explosives were so
close that it reminded me of snow on Bu Hashim. All the bushes were
burned, being first saturated with oil that destruction might be the
swifter. All day the women toiled through our lines, homeless, often
wounded and with singed clothes. The aeroplanes flew above us, and,
after their passage, the earth was torn open at our feet. It was time to
go.
“From the hills beyond we watched the Spaniards advance, preceded by a
storm of shells, but none touched the red flag which we left guarding
our property. The green standard we took with us, and it followed us to
Sellalim and to the last outposts of the mountains. Before sunset the
red strip had been torn down—it was the will of Allah. But today it
flies again in Ain Yerida. Ullah, it is a pity that Silvestre cannot see
it!
“The Spaniards concentrated a large force at the Fondak, making it the
base from which to operate against Suq el Khemis. This action cut my
communications with Tangier, for Barera and Silvestre now held the line
between Azeila and Ain Yerida. They began a methodical envelopment of
Beni Mesauer, and I saw that, if this succeeded, I should not be able to
get any more supplies, so I went to see Zellal, and I stayed with him
some days at his house. It was agreed between us that he should make
peace with the Spaniards, so that his men might pass freely to the
coast. Mulai Mustapha, my nephew, was my agent at Tangier, and it would
be easy for him to send the things which I needed to Beni Mesauer and
Zellal could arrange for their further journey. At that meeting, el
Ayashi promised me his daughter, that the marriage might be a bond
between us, and it was agreed that, when the war was over, she should be
brought to my house.
“The next day Zellal sent messengers to the Spaniards, offering his
submission, and they were delighted, and received it gladly, for his
influence was well known. At the same time, the portion of Anjera which
was with me deserted and made peace with the Christians. There is no
honesty in that tribe, and they look no further than their pockets! At
this moment their Sheikh, Mulai Ali, is living in Tetuan and talks much
about his friendship for Spain, but I think his eyes are already turned
in another direction.[100]
“Beni Ider and Beni Hamid now lay across the path of Spain, and for many
months there was fighting among their hills. The Spanish force had three
objectives. From Tetuan and Ben Karrish an army advanced towards Xauen,
and Mulai Ali, my nephew, was at the head of the flags which fought
them. From Larache, Barera pushed forward into the mountains of Beni
Gorfet, hoping in this manner to draw a circle round Tazrut, but the
Sumata, who were my best fighters, came south and blocked their passage.
The third army operated from the Fondak, and Silvestre, looking up
across the hills of Beni Aros, dreamed of the day he would set foot in
the Zawia at Tazrut.
“There were no great battles, for the Spaniards had learned a lesson,
and there were many days when they laid aside their rifles for spades
and occupied themselves with shovelling earth into bags. Some of their
small positions we took, but, though daily men died at the hands of
hidden enemies, their artillery forced us back. Often their vanguard was
on our heels as we slipped away into the hills, after eating up a post
or breaking a column on the march. Often I have been so near them that
Spanish soldiers dreamed of wealth, for the Government had offered a
huge price for me, dead or alive. Ullah, I don’t think they would have
complained of barbarity if my head had been brought to them, but the
idea of so much gold unnerved their soldiers, and the bullets, as usual,
went wide.”
“Allah was between you and your enemies,” broke in el Menebbhe, “and so
it was made clear to me that time in the Wadi. In those days, the Sherif
was more easily divided from his rifle than from me! Allah alone knows
how many miles we have ridden together. Once we had fallen on the enemy
in the early morning and killed some, but a relief came, and we were
obliged to fly. My horse was lame, so the Sherif sent on all the others
and stayed behind with me, with his two slaves. At noon we came to a
wadi with high banks, and, in the bed of it, there was some sand and
some clear pools. ‘It is the hour to pray,’ said the Sherif, and ordered
Ghabah to hold our horses on the bank, while we went down to the water.
The Spaniards were close behind us, so I urged him, ‘My master, let us
go on a little further till we come to a safe country.’ And he answered.
‘It is already past the appointed time.’ ‘At least, then, let us hide
ourselves in a place from which we can see the approach of an enemy?’
But the Sherif would not listen, and Mubarak and I followed him into the
wadi.
“We performed the ablutions in a pool, and the slave spread out the red
carpet for his master. The Sherif laid his rifle in front of him and,
looking neither to the right nor to the left, he began the prayers.
Hardly was the first raqua-at finished when Ghabah signalled from above,
but the Sherif paid no attention. Then I saw two policemen on the bank
opposite, and each had a rifle aimed at my master. I cried, ‘In the name
of Allah, save yourself!’ but the Sherif never turned his head. ‘Have
you so little faith in God? In truth, you are a bad Moslem,’ he
reproached me. Mubarak would have picked up his rifle, but el Raisuli
forbade him. We stood there, the three of us, while, fifty yards away,
the men covered us. I wondered why they did not fire, but I would not
appear less brave than the Sherif, so I only looked sideways out of the
corner of my eye, and then I saw that the two were fighting. At this I
was so surprised that I almost missed a prostration. I looked again, and
saw one man knock the other down and take possession of his rifle and
his horse. The other ran away, and the first came down the bank towards
us, leading both animals, with the two guns in his hands.
“The Sherif continued his prayers, paying no attention to anything that
had happened, but, when he had finished the last raqua-at and saluted
the angels on his right and on his left, he said to me, ‘Did I not tell
you there was no danger?’ Then the policeman came up and kissed the
shoes of the Sherif and held them for him to put on. ‘Why have you come
to me?’ asked my master. ‘Why did you not shoot and earn the money that
has been promised?’ ‘Allah forgive me! that was my intention when I
first remarked you, but, when I saw that you took no notice, trusting to
the protection of Allah, I said to my brother, “We cannot kill such a
good Moslem.” He argued, and would have fired, but I took his rifle. The
blessing is with you, Sidi. May my service be under its protection?’”
[Illustration: Gallery of Raisuli’s palace at Azeila]
The Kaid looked up, smiling, with a gleam of strong teeth amidst the
black of his beard. “Ullah, I was frightened that day, but the Sherif
has never known fear!” Raisuli’s eyes wandered out of the tent to where
Mohamed el Khalid was sitting on the edge of the well, and he made no
comment.
“Xauen was taken after much loss on both sides,” he said. “Weight of
guns and weight of men captured the hidden city (in October, 1920),
which had been sacred to Moslems, and it was fitting that the Jews
should rush out to welcome the sacrilege. It was again as at Larache, so
many years before. The Arabs shut the doors of their houses, saying, ‘It
is finished!’ while the Hebrews thronged the streets, singing and
shouting in their joy. Since the war ended the Spaniards have done well
in that country, and the new Pasha is a wise man and a friend of the
Government. It was his influence which prevented a great massacre when
the news of Melilla became known in Xauen. The bridges are no longer
broken. The road is good. There will soon be a railway. Perhaps, after
money has begun to drip into the hands of the Ahmas, and there is no
more disease among their people, they will be content with that which
has been sent them.” Raisuli paused, his thoughts evidently occupied
with the future.
“When the mountains of Beni Ider had been crowned with their army, the
Spaniards thought the war was at an end,” he said at last. “They could
see the white houses of Tazrut on the side of Bu Hashim, and they wished
to revenge themselves on these for the dead they had left in each wadi
through which they had passed. Berenguer sent Dris er Riffi from Azeila
to start his propaganda on the outskirts of Beni Aros. Men wavered while
they listened to his words, and thought of the harvest which had been
wasted. We had been fighting for a year, and, step by step, we were
crushed back into the hills; yet it was not the soldiers who defeated
us, but the new inventions which they used against us. The air was thick
with metal and the earth was mined under our feet. My people were
frightened, for there seemed no end to the weapons of our enemy. As yet
there was no famine, but men began to pull in their belts and lick their
lips when they saw game on the hills.
“Barera pushed forward among the high peaks on the French frontier,
urging that the army which occupied Xauen should come out to meet him
beyond Bu Hashim. One of the largest forts was at Akba el Kola, a place
difficult to hold, because of the cliffs which overlook it. In spite of
this it was used as a base, and fortified with much wire. There were a
good many troops there, with artillery and maxims which had been brought
up with great difficulty, for this is on the edge of our worst
mountains. The Ahmas tribe have never tolerated strangers. They waited
only to be assured of the help of Sumata. Then they fell upon the fort.
A small force hid in Beni Scar, with the help of the inhabitants, whose
cattle had been taken by the enemy. Two other parties occupied the
heights on either side of el Kola, and they all began firing together.
The attack must have been unexpected, for, in order to escape a rain of
bullets, many of the Spaniards tried to leap the wire, and became
entangled in it. They were shot down as they struggled, and their bodies
hung on the fence. A few gathered under the shelter of some rocks and
attempted to defend themselves, but they had no time to use their
artillery, and the tribesmen picked them off from the high ground. There
was scarcely a man left unwounded after the first hour, for some had
fled before the fierceness of the attack.
“On the hills of Jerba and Bulerus there were smaller posts, and these
too were surrounded, but they held off the Beni Ahmas till sunset, when
they were eaten up by reinforcements from Sumata. This was one of the
few battles that we won, and the slaughter was great among the
Christians. The tribesmen secured many rifles, as well as the cannon
that were left in the post; and the women came out by night to take the
clothes of the dead. The Ahmas are savages, though good fighters, and
they did not do more for the corpses than cut off their heads. Some
bodies they stuck in the ovens where the soldiers’ food had been cooked.
Others they left in the wire and, when the smell became bad, they went
up onto the cliffs. Money was found in the office and a good many tinned
stores, but the tribesmen could not use these for fear of pig-flesh
being among them.[101]
“This defeat was a check to our enemies, for Barera saw there was no
chance of the two armies joining south of Tazrut. In truth, their maps
or their guides must have deceived them, for I have told you about those
mountains whose sides are like the walls of a house. You can fire a gun
across a ravine, and perchance hit a man on the opposite ridge, but it
will take you a day to reach his body. Mulai Ali, my nephew, still held
the Spaniards in the intricate country west of Xauen, and here the
Christians paid heavily, for they had to build bridges before they could
get their guns over the wadis, and, when winter came, the rains washed
away half of their work. The Beni Hosmar hung on their rear, and there
was no safety for them at any point. I have told you often that, in this
country, taking the largest town is no more advantageous than taking a
rock or a tree. The Spaniards were slow to learn this.
“The second winter was hard on the tribesmen, and often there was only
monkey-flesh in the pot. Once again the children died, and women fell
before me, as I rode, and begged for food for their sons. I gave all
that I had, and much came from Beni Mesauer. The Kaids were growing
anxious, for the Spaniards had made a new plan, and the two armies crept
forward from Larache and Xauen towards Bab es Sor, narrowing the
triangle that was left to us. Berenguer had to go round Jebel Alan by
way of Beni Leit, and here there was much fighting. Mulai Ali, my
nephew, had five hundred men with him in the mountain, and they watched
for opportunities of attacking the army which, divided into several
columns, was struggling over the rough ground.
“At that time it was difficult to say who was loyal and who a traitor,
for, in order to save their villages and their families, many had given
the service of their tongues to the enemy. Perhaps one brother was with
Spain and the other in my harka, but this was a matter of policy. Now,
on one occasion, during the passage of Beni Leit, some relatives of
Hamed es Succan, my dear friend, were guiding the enemy, and it happened
that men of the same family were with Mulai Ali. It was therefore
decided to lead the Spaniards into a trap. It was necessary that guides
who were loyal to me should be substituted for those who were with the
enemy. ‘That is an easy matter,’ said one Mohamed. ‘These men are my
cousins. I will send them a message to run away in the night.’ ‘There is
no use in that,’ protested another, ‘for the Spaniards would suspect
treachery and take no more guides from our family.’ Mohamed thought for
a few moments. ‘Ullah, we must then kill the sons of my relative, and it
must not be known from where came the shots. After this, I, and one
other, will go down and claim their bodies and make much mourning,
clamouring against the Sherif and swearing to take vengeance. Thus the
Spaniards, trusting us, will be rejoiced to take us as guides, and we
can lead them into the trap in whatever manner is arranged.’
“The wisdom of Mohamed was applauded, but one said to him, ‘Since the
last surprise, the enemy have never trusted the honesty of their guides.
They place them in the middle of soldiers, who have orders to shoot them
at the first alarm. This is known to your relatives—otherwise they would
have betrayed their new masters a long time ago.’ ‘It is known also to
me,’ answered Mohamed, ‘and it is good, for thus will the blood of my
cousins be avenged, and there will be no feud between our houses.’
“All agreed to the plan, and it was carried out as Mohamed had
suggested. The Spaniards were led into a narrow place, where the rocks
were rough under their feet and bushes clothed the hills on either side.
Mulai Ali waited until they were in the centre of the Wadi. Then fire
came from all round them, and the first ranks fell back upon the last,
so that there was confusion and my people charged down upon them and
completed their killing. The body of Mohamed was found without a rifle
in the middle of the dead. It was sent back to his village, and his
women mourned, but the men of the family were glad, for his bridge to
paradise was covered with Christian heads.[102]
“There were many ambushes of this sort, and one of the best was
concerned with cattle. The Spaniards would risk more for a fat herd than
for a village, so some beasts used to be driven into a convenient wadi,
where they could be seen from an enemy camp. A party would come down to
capture them, and none of them would return. This trick was turned
against us in the end, for one day, when the tribesmen were lying in
wait above the feeding cattle, they watched vainly for the approach of a
troop. Instead of soldiers eager for fresh meat, came shells which
destroyed the herd and tore up the hillside. The tribesmen fled but
three of their number were killed as they ran.
“This was the time when men did not try to save their lives but thought
only of killing many Christians for one Moslem. There was not a house
left standing in the wake of the enemy, and even the women defended
their villages. Once a Spanish column pushed into a wadi unexpectedly,
and found no men in the place. The women watched them, afraid, but the
officer ordered his men not to fire. Then he asked for the arms that he
knew were hidden among the houses, and the women brought out old flint-
locks and ancient weapons that would not have done harm to the birds,
swearing that their kinsmen had taken the rest.
“The Spaniards made a long search among the hedges and outbuildings.
Then he drove the women up on to the hillside, in order that he might
burn the village. They scattered quickly among the bushes till there was
not a haik in sight, but the one who led them, an old woman, who was
called the Sorceress, because she could read the future by the sand or
the fall of leaves in the wind, took them quickly to the place where the
arms were buried. They dug with their bare hands and with staves, while
the enemy looted the village and the police, who were with the column,
stuck live fowls in their holsters and tied sheep across their saddle-
bows. At last the earth gave up her secret, and the women seized the
rifles and loaded them, creeping down the wadi with the weapons hidden
under their garments. There was one place where the hills narrowed, but
there was no cover, so they had to hide far up on the hillside.
“The Spaniards came slowly, with the flames roaring behind them and
their horses burdened with loot. The women waited, with eyes fixed on
the first riders. As the ranks closed between the slopes, a cry rang out
above them, the long, quivering cry of rejoicing that hails the new-made
bride, or the new-born son. Fifty rifles spoke among the hills, and the
Spaniards reeled from their saddles. Riderless horses charged backwards,
and men, encumbered by their burdens, fired without aim or thought. The
captain’s horse was shot under him, but he seized the bridle of another
and called to his men to follow. At full gallop they charged through the
wadi, and returned no fire till the land was open before them. Thinking
the ambush was the reason for all the men’s absence, they imagined it
strong and would not go back for their wounded. Shots echoed after them
as they rode out of range, and by these, the truth might have been
guessed, for no tribesman wasted bullets after the first year.
“When it was dark the women came down to strip the bodies and take the
heads and the weapons of the dead. They caught also the horses and got
back some of their own property. Then they mounted their children on the
horses and, with the heads tied to the Spanish saddles and the rifles on
their backs, they walked swiftly up to the mountains, telling the story
as they went.
“These are small incidents of a great war, but generally there was
nothing but hunger and burnt villages, crops destroyed, cattle taken,
the killing of a few hidden snipers and the death of many Spaniards.
Always the country narrowed around us, till Tazrut was shelled and the
aeroplanes dropped bombs near my house. The door of the mosque was
broken, but the building was preserved by Allah. Half my men were behind
the lines of the enemy or among them, living like foxes in holes and
shooting desperately whenever a Christian was within range. The Sheikhs
came to me and said, ‘It is the will of Allah that we perish. Is it not
time to make peace?’ and I answered always, ‘Wait.’ They asked, ‘For
what, Sidi?’ and I replied, ‘For that which Allah will send.’ I knew
what was preparing in the East,[103] for communications had passed
between Abdul Krim and myself, though I would not agree to an alliance,
for he is a bad Moslem and our ways do not go together. For this reason
I assured the people, ‘Have patience. The power is with Allah, and he
will save us.’ They went away, saying, ‘The Sherif has no fear, and he
is certain of success,’ but I knew that I could do nothing more. If it
was the will of Allah, Abdul Krim’s blow would not be too long delayed.
“As the days lengthened (1921) it was a race. With every yard that we
were pushed back, a new rumour of trouble came from the East. Disease
spread in the villages, for the cattle were unburied in the pastures.
The walls trembled from the shock of the cannon. There were no roofs
against the rain. Men had ceased to tighten their belts and their eyes
were like wolves. My illness grew so that I hung on the cord all day,
and at night I prayed, with my face towards the East, where our succour
delayed. All this was from Allah.” The heavy voice dropped on a note of
finality. I looked up, passionately rebellious against the fatalism
which suffered and accepted. The Sherif spoke sternly. “Much you have
taken from us in the last centuries, but it was the will of Allah. Many
marvels you have in the North, but we have our Faith. God is Great.”
CHAPTER XXV
POPULAR MYTHS AND SUPERSTITIONS
“I have told you nothing about Ali Ueld el Mudden,” said Raisuli, “but
he was a good friend of mine throughout the war, and he was so clever
that many thought he was possessed by jinns. He had a band of sixty men,
living nobody knew where. Beni Aros was his headquarters and every cave
in the mountains his house. It was like the time of my youth, when I had
an army of boys encamped in the woods, for el Mudden was just as
audacious and reckless as we were, and all the tribesmen said of him,
‘He has a laughing heart and a sixth finger which is a knife.’
“It was he who captured Lentisco, the railway engineer, and held him a
captive for months, because the company refused a ransom. El Mudden had
only fifteen men with him, and half of these he left to guard his
retreat. With the others he appeared suddenly in the middle of the
engineers’ camp near Tzenin and got hold of Lentisco. There was not much
fight, for the Moors who were working on the line either ran away or
stood still and looked on. Two Spaniards were killed and Lentisco
slightly wounded. It was a great feat, for the prisoner was hurried off
through the enemy country, without anyone daring to rescue him. A few
shots were fired after the raiders, but these turned round and replied
seriously, wounding several labourers. After this they were left in
peace, and they went quickly to Harex, where the Spaniard was shut up in
a house. He thought himself very miserable, because there was little
light and no bed to sleep on except a few sacks, but this was in the
late spring,[104] and it was warm. He complained of the food, but he had
the same fare as the tribesmen, black bread and oil. El Mudden came up
at once to Tazrut to tell me of his escapade, and I told him, ‘Turn your
prisoner into your friend but do not let him escape,’ for hostages were
valuable to us, and, while still we had food, I said to my people,
‘Bring me Christians, that I may use them for negotiations,’ but the
foreigners did not venture abroad, and it was difficult to catch them.
“I sent one of my secretaries back with el Mudden to question his
prisoner, for, if he were a poor man, little ransom would be paid for
him. Whatever was the prey of Sidi Ali, he always brought me the half,
whether it were horses or cattle or money, and, truly, he was everywhere
at once, burning an enemy village, cutting Spanish wire or capturing
their herds, destroying their telegraph posts and even attacking their
guards under the walls of the towns. Ullah, he had never heard of fear!
Lentisco was not a satisfactory prisoner, for he quarrelled with his
guards and demanded things which they could not give. Water is scarce in
many of our villages, so, when they did not bring him enough, he
complained that they wasted it performing their ablutions before the
prayers. This angered the tribesmen, and they washed their feet and
hands under his eyes and, when their devotions were finished, they
offered him the dirty water, saying it was good enough for a Christian.
‘Ullah, it is too good,’ said one, ‘for it has contributed to the
performance of the true religion,’ and he threw the water on the ground.
Thereafter, for a few days, they gave the prisoner no water, but that
which was dirty, and he became ill and wept.
“I learned of these things, and ordered that he should be better treated
and given cooked beetroot with his bread. Food was sent to him from
Tangier, but the tribesmen kept it, saying a weapon had been contained
in it. The railway was slow to pay the ransom, in spite of the many
letters written by Lentisco. For five months the Spaniard was in the
hands of el Mudden, who got tired of him at last and put chains on him,
threatening to kill him if the money did not arrive. This I forbade, but
the engineer suffered much fear, not knowing that his fate was already
written and according to the will of Allah.
“At last the police of Larache began to treat for his release, and the
officer suggested a meeting at the village of Saf near Megaret, where
there was a Spanish post. El Mudden made conditions that the rescue
party should come without arms and consist only of the officer and a few
men, whose safety he guaranteed; but no answer came to this letter, so
he suspected a trap. When he got to the appointed place, it was told him
that a troop of police were advancing, but the officer was not with
them. Swiftly an ambush was prepared and the enemy walked straight into
it, emptying their rifles without effect on the hillside. El Mudden sent
the men back on foot. ‘Tell the officer who disobeyed my instructions
that some day I shall revenge myself,’ ordered Sid Ali, and took the
police horses and rifles, most of which he sent to Tazrut.
“When his mind was not occupied with the hundred thousand douros which
he hoped to receive for Lentisco, el Mudden was my best spy. He had the
eyes of a kite and the ears of a lynx. It is easier to keep the stallion
from the mare than news from that man! In the end the money was denied
to him, for Lentisco persuaded one of his guards to release him, whether
by the glamour of his words or the gold promised, I do not know. They
fled in the middle of the night to Megaret, and the affair was finished.
“I wish I had had el Mudden with me in my youth, for he had in his mind
many things that I never thought of. Beni Aros was full of his
disguises, and there were different ones in each house that was friendly
to him. He had uniforms and European clothes, but, when these were not
under his hands at the moment he desired them, he despoiled some citizen
or soldier, assuring the former that it was an honour for a non-
combatant to serve a warrior, but generally the man was dead and could
not hear. With his band he would remain hid for days among the furthest
mountains, not stirring when the cannon that heralded the Spanish
advance tore up the hillside whereon he lay. Many of his people were
killed in such affairs, but none moved, and, at last, the enemy would
advance, believing that the country was empty before them. Then el
Mudden would revenge the deaths of his men and for each unspent bullet
there was a Christian head. Many villages would have submitted to the
Spaniards, but that they feared the vengeance of el Mudden. Dris er
Riffi’s words were as honey, but the retaliation of Sidi Ali was like
burning oil.
“One day he knocked at the door of a Spanish house and told the farmer
that he had come with a warning of attack by the band of el Mudden. The
man must at once repair to the nearest Spanish camp with his family and
all he could save. There was little time, for already the brigands were
approaching. The farmer fled with his wife and children and his
labourers, el Mudden guiding them tenderly to the post which was on the
next hill. While he did this, his own men advanced swiftly, looted the
farm and drove off all the beasts, without firing a shot, which would
have aroused the attention of the neighbouring post well provided with
artillery.
“On another occasion he dressed himself as an officer of police and,
with a number of men mounted on police horses, with every detail of
their uniform and saddlery correct, he rode down to a village near
Azeila which had submitted to the enemy. He told the Kaid he had come to
arrange the new taxes, and, when the man demurred, he threatened him
with his gun. Vainly the Sheikh pleaded that the Government had remitted
his taxes and that all tithes had been paid to the Pasha. The police
insulted him and tore off his turban, till he swore he would make his
peace with the Sherif. Then el Mudden beat him, and, under pretext of
warning him not to put himself into power of Raisuli for fear of his
vengeance, told him of all the Sherif’s successes and how afraid the
Spaniards were of him. Then he took the arms that were left in the
village and drove away all the cattle, taking the calves across the
saddles and the lambs about their shoulders. When the Kaid complained to
the Pasha, he was told that he lied, which made him more angry. Then er
Riffi sent to him, saying it was a trick on the part of Raisuli, and he
was enraged, saying, ‘Am I so great in years that my eyes cannot see?’
and he waited for the first opportunity of deserting the Government.
“Such escapades were common even in the last months of the war. I myself
have been among the enemy and they have not known me. Once, I remember,
we were a few men and, of those you know, only el Menebbhe was with me.
We were tired, for we had ridden from the valley below Ahmas, and we
were now in Beni Aros. Also we had not broken our fast for two days. We
saw a few houses in a hollow and went towards them to get food, but they
were deserted, except for a woman who ran out crying to us to go back.
‘The Christians are coming,’ she said; ‘you will be surrounded, for
their posts are also in front.’ I asked what the enemy consisted of, and
she told me, besides the Spaniards, there were many Arab irregulars. So
I hid the horses among the olive-trees, and some of us lay in the barn,
where there was a pile of figs which we ate and appeased our hunger.
Then we looked out and saw the enemy coming, but they paid no attention
to the village, for there were only a few houses and the crops had
already been burned by the advance party.
“We waited till the Spaniards had gone on. Then we slipped out and mixed
with the irregulars, who were tribesmen from the plains and unknown to
us. Ullah, it was an amusing march, but we regretted the few figs we had
left. On we went, turning west of the Spanish sentinels, and no man
suspected us. Then when the road was clear to Bu Hashim, we slipped to
one side of the column, ready for retreat. It was after sunset and, when
the firing began, all men feared an ambush. For a moment none knew where
the shots came from, though bodies dropped on all sides. Then they
shouted that traitors were among them, and each man was suspicious of
his neighbour, but we crept away while their rifles were still
uncertain. Many had died because of our stratagem, and we had had an
escort to the gates of our country!”
At the end of this story I looked doubtfully at Menebbhe. It seemed
impossible that anyone could mistake the bulk of the Sherif, but the
Kaid nodded his confirmation. “Allah blinded their eyes and they could
not recognise my master. It is the ‘baraka.’ Many times I have thought I
was alone, and, Ullah, there was Mulai Ahmed beside me. There was
another occasion, when we were hiding in a wood. A Spanish column passed
below us and we were but five men, so we dared not fire. We put our
hands over the nostrils of our horses, and waited. It happened that just
beside us there was a fig-tree, and one of the officers, seeing it, rode
up to gather the fruit. The Sherif was as close to him as if they were
both sitting in his tent and it was full day. I had my rifle ready,
intending that, if he looked round, he should die, but he went on
plucking the figs, eating them as he stood in his stirrups. Then he
turned, and I looked along the sights of my gun, but an insect or some
of the fruit-juice was in his eyes and he rubbed them as he kicked his
horse blindly down the hill.”
“His greed saved his life,” I suggested. “Allah forbid. It was the
blessing of the Sherif, which is like a cloak around him. Even the
Christians speak of it and believe.”
Raisuli sighed and pulled up his wide sleeves. “It is very hot, and we
have talked much. Perhaps you are tired,” he said, and then, rather as
an afterthought, “Would you not like to eat?” The suggestion was
received with enthusiasm, for it was nearly three o’clock! but a slave,
despatched to ascertain what progress the cooks were making, reported
that the meat was still red. “With health, with appetite!” wished the
Sherif, and departed to the Zawia. “The appetite is here, certainly,”
said Haj Bu Meruit, an erstwhile henchman of Mannisman, who had been
meekly waiting outside, “but of the health I am not so certain.” He felt
his neck carefully. “The Jinns were about last night, and I think one
twisted my shoulder-bones.” I thought it was a joke, and smiled
politely, but Mulai Sadiq answered seriously, “You should have said
‘Bismillah!’ There is only one thing that affects the jinns, and that is
the name of Allah.”
“In Asir,” I ventured, “the women smear the lintels and threshold of the
door with white of egg, which is supposed to be a most potent charm.” “I
don’t think that can be of much use,” retorted the Haj with contempt,
“for I was once in a store when a man was hit on the head by a jinn, and
the place was full of boxes of eggs.” “You are right,” returned Mulai
Sadiq. “There are two kinds of jinns as you may read in the Koran. Those
who are believing do not trouble Moslems, but the unbelieving kind are
most dangerous, unless you have learned to control them. This is a
science which you must study carefully. It is called Ulm el Issem, and I
worked at it for five years before I tried to have conversation with a
jinn. I had been warned that he should appear in human form, with
jellaba and turban, and, seating himself beside me, should talk to me in
an ordinary voice and answer such questions as I put to him. But, if he
came in any other form, it was bad, and I must have no dealings with
him. I made all the necessary exhortations and, at the end, I saw a
shape in front of me. It had two legs like a dog, with human feet, and
its body was also a dog’s, but its neck was so long that it reached to
the ceiling. I was in my house at Tetuan, and it seemed that the roof
had become a funnel, so that the head of the beast was in the sky.”
Mulai Sadiq spoke as if he were relating a most normal experience, and,
when I asked, somewhat breathlessly, what he had done in view of the
unexpected appearance of the jinn, he answered impatiently, “Well, of
course I knew I had made a mistake, so I began praying as hard as I
could and, at each repetition of the name of Allah, the beast grew
smaller and smaller, till finally it vanished altogether.” “Have you
ever tried again?” “No, I have been much too frightened; but it is all a
matter of learning. There is nothing that a man cannot do if he have
enough will-power,” and he began talking of the mystics who can leave
their bodies at home and make a spiritual pilgrimage to Mecca, being
able to describe every scene and action of the Haj when it is over.
At this Bu Meruit loudly protested, feeling, perhaps, that he had wasted
the few well-spent weeks of a life which, from his face, would appear to
have been chiefly evil, but Mulai Sadiq countered swiftly, “Have you
never heard of Mulai Abderrahman es Siuti? He was one of the most
learned in El Azhar, and it happened that each one of his forty pupils
asked him to dine on the same night, without the knowledge of the
others. The next morning there was much argument, for each declared that
the Master had sat at his table, and it was only when it was proved that
es Siuti had, in reality, dined with some of the other ulema, that his
pupils realised it was the spirit, not the body, of their master they
had entertained.” The Haj’s eyes brightened. Perhaps he saw vistas of
endless simultaneous dinners, for he was comfort-loving and greedy, but
fortunately at that moment lunch arrived, carried by breathless slaves
who had evidently run down the garden, holding the food on the plates
with hot black hands. “El Hamdulillah” said Mulai Sadiq, “I had nearly
telephoned to Tetuan for them to send up a meal from my house.”
[Illustration: The Sorceress mentioned by Raisuli]
This was a new joke, and we welcomed it appreciatively, but with our
gaze fixed on the various dishes. I am afraid I was half-way through the
wing of a chicken before I noticed that our hosts were not eating. “We
fast,” said Badr ed Din, “but let not that interfere with your
appetite.” Mohamed el Khalid, however, was not so stoical. He wandered
out of the tent and looked wistfully at the sun. I noticed that the Haj
was doing his best to make up for the abstinence of the others. “Because
he has made the pilgrimage, he thinks that all is permitted to him,”
said Badr ed Din. I pointed out firmly that a noted lawgiver had
emphasised the necessity of at least eleven pilgrimages to Mecca before
a man could be quite certain of heaven. “Ullah,” ejaculated the Haj,
looking up, with greasy cheeks, “and did he ever come back to say if he
got there?” The argument was unanswerable and the sinner continued
triumphantly, “There will be a great deal of surprise in heaven when it
is seen who is there and who is not. As for me, I do not need to fast,
for I am well with Allah.” In answer to a murmur of protest, he
explained further, “I have committed no crimes. I have not cut off any
heads or killed any people, which has been your daily business”—this to
the Kaid—“so what have I to repent of? By Allah, were I in your shoes I
should fast six days a week.” After which remarkable statement, he
applied himself voraciously to his food. “He is a bad Moslem,” murmured
Badr ed Din, “but one cannot turn out even the worst dog, if it belongs
to the house!”
That evening Raisuli did not rejoin us. The sun set in a flutter of
orange feathers across the hills, and I heard Mulai Sadiq asking
wistfully, “Is there any Harira that I may break my fast?” and the
answer of the dark-skinned henchman from Marrakesh, “Come to my house,
Sidi, and I will give you some. Ullah, ullah, do not fear—you may walk
knee-deep in the grain.” (Meaning that everything was plentiful.) I went
out and sat beside the fig-tree, from where I had a good view of the
Zawia. The procession of tribesmen from the mountains still came with
their offerings. I watched ancient, white-bearded men struggling with
saddle-bags and panniers, while the murmur of prayer swelled in the
mosque. Badr ed Din and a visitor from the House of Wazzan were
preparing to pray in the open.
I observed them standing among the shrubs, each with a mat in front of
him, and I could not help thinking that the Sherifs of Morocco were most
prosperously fat. Another huge figure loomed up beside them, and I spoke
my thoughts aloud. “It is a contented mind,” said Ghabah, “for
everything that a Sherif does is right. Even if he drinks wine it turns
to milk upon his tongue, and so there is no sin in him.” “Perhaps,” said
Mubarak, a darker shadow by my elbow, “it is also the offerings of the
faithful, for, whenever the people want a charm or an amulet, whenever
they need a blessing, they go to their Sherif, to ask for it.” “Why do
they want charms?” I asked dreamily, for the night was still and very
white, with pools of velvet blackness under the trees. “Against the evil
eye, which every man has at some time of his life, though generally he
does not know it himself. Unless one wears an amulet one may suffer
greatly by a chance meeting with it.” “Do you wear one?” “I am
fortunate; I have some hairs from the head of the Sherif, so nothing can
hurt me! The Sherif has long hair, down to his hips, so there is a
blessing for many, if it is his will,” added Ghabah, “but he winds it up
under his turban, and none see it.”
I should have liked to enquire more deeply into the danger of the evil
eye, but Ba Salim appeared, his smile playing among a network of
wrinkles, with a dish heaped high with dates, nuts and raisins. “This is
part of the tithes which the tribes bring to my lord, and he sends it
with his greeting, for, on this feast it is our custom to eat such food.
The dates are from Marrakesh, so the goodwill has travelled far.”
At that moment a young man came in at the gate. Lean and strong, he
walked with something feline in his gait, unlike the usual stride of the
mountaineers, which is at once shambling and sure. His head was shaven
and bare in the moonlight, for he had thrown back his dark jellaba, till
it hung over his rifle like a shawl. Restless-eyed, firm-lipped, he
stared at me for a minute, in contrast to the other Jebali, who kept
their lids down as they passed. Then, noiselessly, he was gone, and I
wondered if I had imagined the line of the cruel, clean jaw, and the
hollows that threw up the cheekbones above it. “Who was that?” I asked
abruptly. “It is Abd es Salaam Ben Ali Ueld el Mudden, about whom the
Sherif told you. By Allah, he is almost as famous as Raisuli!”
It was the Southerner, Imbarek, who spoke, and he leaned against a tree-
trunk, evidently prepared to tell stories. “Ullah, he has the devil in
his heels and will never be caught. He can make himself look so
different that not even his brother would know him. They say there is a
jinn who helps him, for he has made many studies.” The Haj fingered an
amulet nervously. “He has one horse which goes faster than the wind, and
there are some who believe it can fly. Certainly no ordinary man travels
as he does, and one day, when he was known to be in Tangier, a stranger
appeared suddenly before his house and pushed his way in. The servants
tried to stop him, for he went towards the women’s place. He shook
himself free, but they caught at his sleeves and held him. Then he
turned round, and they saw it was their master!
“Once, Sidi Abd es Salaam heard that a man whom he had posted in the
Spanish Consulate at Larache, in order to keep him informed of the
doings of the enemy, had betrayed him, so he went down to kill him. The
whole Spanish army lay in his way, for he had to cross the plain, where
even the tribesmen were his enemies, so he advanced carefully to the
first hillock. There he hid in the long grass and waited. In time two
soldiers came out towards him. They both had rifles, but they were
talking carelessly and did not see him. He waited till they were quite
near. Then he fired several shots, that it might be supposed there were
a number of attackers. One Spaniard fell. The other fired his rifle into
space and ran back to the post.
“El Mudden leaped up, picked up the dead man—Allah save us, he has the
strength of the jinns!—and ran with him on his shoulder till he came to
a little cave. He was one man alone against an army, but, while still
the post waited, fearing an attack, the brigand tore off the Spaniard’s
uniform and dressed himself in it. He forgot nothing, and every button
was fastened. The only thing he regretted was to exchange the Spaniard’s
rifle for his own, which was a better one! He crept a little further
away, to hide more securely, and as soon as the light grew grey, he got
up and went down into the plain. He passed through the lines of Spain,
and no one discovered him. When challenged, he answered that he was
going to Larache with a message from the post, where he had killed the
soldier, but, as much as possible, he avoided the camps, and the next
night he was within sight of the town. What a trick!” Haj Imbarek’s
voice was full of admiration. “He passed through the gates and got right
into the hall of the Consulate, before his disguise was discovered.”
“What happened then?” The Haj shrugged his shoulders. “With all the men
round him saying, ‘This is surely el Mudden!’ he disappeared. Perhaps,
like the Sherif, he has the power of making himself invisible.” And that
was the end of the story, as the man from Marrakesh knew it.
“There was another of his deeds, but perhaps you know of this one. It
was the affair by the International Bridge, on the road to Tangier. El
Mudden had heard that a motor was coming from the hills, full of Hassani
piastres.[105] It was evening, and they could not see clearly, but at
last they heard a car approaching quickly. There was little movement on
the road in those days, so el Mudden thought it must be the expected
motor, and he instructed his men at what moment to fire. There was a
volley. The driver fell dead over his wheel, and a woman screamed. Then
Sidi Abd es Salaam knew that there had been a mistake, and it was not
the right car. They rushed up to it, and found the woman dying and a
man, her husband, was trying to move the body from the driving-seat.
There was another man, who had jumped out, and they took him prisoner,
but when they found it was empty of money they let the motor go on. It
was a pity that it was a woman.”
“What happened to the unfortunate hostage?” “He died while he was up on
the mountain, but not from ill-treatment. He had been sick for a long
time and there was little food among the tribes in those days.” A
reckless country, Morocco! I wondered what it would feel like to ride
out of Tazrut and back again into the twentieth century, where death and
starvation are still grim words.
That night, while some of us talked in the starlight, the guardian of
the telephone, a wild-looking mountaineer, with bare feet and a shirt of
torn sacking, rushed towards us. There had been a battle in Tetuan, he
said. This was enough to surprise even old Mulai Sadiq, but further
enquiry proved that a few Arabs had fired at the guard at the main gate,
who had emptied their rifles into the dusk without effecting any
casualties. Finding themselves unexpectedly successful, the bandits had
rushed into the town, killing two people in front of the hotel which is
not 100 yards from the walls. By this time everyone had picked up the
nearest rifle and there was a good deal of indiscriminate shooting,
during which at least four Spaniards and five Arabs had been killed. The
originators of the mischief disappeared in the middle of it. Three men
were captured with rifles in their hands, but this was no criterion of
their guilt, for civilians and soldiers, Arabs and Europeans were all
prepared to defend themselves against—nobody quite knew what or whom!
The most heroic part was played by a Spanish officer who, wounded
himself, limped down the street, across which bullets were flying
without target or aim, and dragged into cover two men lying helpless
under this fire.
Now, the Secretary-general was ringing up Tazrut to know if the Sherif
thought the Beni Hosmar were attacking the town. Mulai Sadiq was frankly
terrified of entering the Zawia at such an hour, upon such an errand,
but everyone else was insistent. He went and put the question to his
cousin, doubtless wrapping it up in many apologies and excuses. Raisuli
was magnificent. Driving one huge fist on to his thigh, with a force
that seemed to shake the room, he said, “While Mulai Ahmed is alive and
a friend of Spain, never, never shall the tribesmen set foot in Tetuan.”
Mulai Sadiq did not dare to speak. “Go!” said the Sherif. “It is
nothing—a few robbers perhaps,” and almost drove his cousin from the
room.
CHAPTER XXVI
PEACE AGAIN WITH SPAIN
“When Tazrut was first shelled,” said Raisuli, “there were many who were
terrified and would have fled, but I ordered that no one should leave
the town, and set guards on the hillside above it. It was summer, and
still there was no news from the East. I had made all preparations for
leaving the Zawia and already ammunition and a few stores had been
hidden in different caves in Bu Hashim. It is hospitable, this mountain
of my family, and all my people could take refuge in it in safety. There
are great trees which make roofs against the sun, and streams whose
waters are healing. Allah has provided cliffs that are ramparts against
an enemy, and the earth is full of strange holes and shelters. I have
always kept a reserve force in Bu Hashim, and there, too, I have a few
houses and a prison.
“It was during the bombardment of Tazrut that there was a dispute
between Mulai Ali and the brother of his father.[106] My nephew had been
my best commander throughout the war, for his courage was also in his
head, and his strategies were good.
“In the time of suffering that was long, many of my house had said to
me, ‘The hour for peace has arrived. Send messengers to the Spaniards,’
and there were not few among my women who said it also. When the plaster
fell from our walls and the roofs struck our heads, my relatives would
have fled to Bu Hashim. Disobeying my orders, they crept out at night,
and fell into the hands of the guards. I was very angry when they were
brought back to me, and I said, ‘Since it is only safety you want, you
shall indeed be safe,’ and I sent them to my prison in the hills and put
chains on them and set a guard at the door.
“Then they were sad, and sent messengers to their relative, Mulai Ali,
and begged him to intercede for them, saying that they were old and
their courage had left them. My nephew was then on the east of the
mountain where his flag defended the Ahmas, but he came in six hours to
Tazrut and spent a long time with me, praying and eating. At last he
spoke of the prisoners, and said, ‘They are poor people who are weak and
afraid. This is their only crime against you, and it is unjust that they
should suffer. Have mercy upon them, for Allah has made them miserable,’
and I answered, ‘There is no appeal against my judgment.’
“I should have spoken of the bad example set to the whole country, that
my own household should fly before the Christians, but he was under my
orders, and I was angry that he should argue with me. In the end, he
said, ‘Is this your last word to me, that you will not release them,
though I make myself responsible for their actions?’ ‘No man can bear
the responsibility which belongs to another, and punishment is in the
hands of Allah. He can remit it, but it is written in the Book that men
must suffer justly for their sins.’
“He went out without saluting me, and, from that day, we have never
spoken together in friendship. Mulai Ali rode straight into Bu Hashim,
with his men behind him, and, when they came to the prison, they
overpowered the guards and broke open the doors. The chains of the
prisoners were cut, and they were set free. Some of them went to the
mountains, but others returned to Tazrut after many days. Mulai Ali took
a heavy fetter that had been on the feet of his relative and gave it to
the guard. ‘Go down to the Zawia,’ he ordered, ‘and give this to the
Sherif. Tell him his nephew has sent him a new chain for his watch!’ But
the man was afraid and the message was brought to me later by others.
“I said nothing when I received it, nor did I answer when my family
knelt to me and begged my forgiveness for my nephew. It was soon told me
that Mulai Ali wished to lose his life, and, since suicide is forbidden
in Islam, he placed himself always in the most dangerous places and ran
towards the rifles of the enemy. The ‘baraka’ must be with him, for,
though he exposed himself recklessly, attacking when there was no chance
of success, and showing himself in a white robe when the artillery was
in action, no missile touched him. When I heard of these deeds I sent
some of my own men to join him, ordering them secretly to stand between
him and the enemy. They carried out this duty and made a guard around
Mulai Ali whenever he fought, saving him against his desire.
“When there was talk of peace, and Cerdeira came with Zugasti to see me,
my people said again, ‘Will you not forgive Mulai Ali? He has been the
most faithful and the most courageous.’ I answered no word, though they
renewed their prayers each day, wearying me with their words. At last
Mulai Ali came to the door of my tent and I saw him, but made no
movement. He came in and kissed my sleeve, but I sat in the same
position, without speaking. Then he bent himself before me and took off
his turban and put it under my feet. This is our way of making
submission. For ten minutes, perhaps more, he remained prostrate in
front of me, but I neither looked at him nor spoke. At last he jumped up
and put on his turban. ‘By Allah, I will have no more relations with
you,’ he cried, ‘nor will I ever come into your house as a friend. It is
finished between us’; and he left the tent angrily. After this no one
dared mention his name to me.
“When the war was over, the Spaniards said to me, ‘We want a strong man
in whom you can rely—one who has your complete confidence—to govern the
Jebala,’ and I answered, ‘I have only one such in the country—my nephew,
Mulai Ali.’”
There was a pause, and Badr ed Din murmured behind me, “There is
business between them, and the young man[107] comes to take orders from
his uncle, but neither has made peace with the other.”
The Sherif continued a little more grimly than usual: “In the middle of
the summer (July, 1921), when all men despaired and in every village
they cried that Allah had delivered them into the hands of their enemy,
news came to Tazrut at dusk. The Riff had risen as one man, had broken
through the great Spanish army and poured down to the walls of Melilla.
Many thousand prisoners were in the hands of Abdul Krim. Silvestre,
rushing forward with his usual impetuousness, found himself cut off from
the coast and hemmed in by a triumphant enemy. His desperate eyes saw
nothing but his own dead and the magnitude of his mistake. He shot
himself, amidst the panic which his death rendered ungovernable. Though
he was my enemy, I was sorry, for he was brave.
“All through that night men came to me, discussing the news and asking,
‘How will this affect us?’ I listened to them for a little, and then I
said, ‘Allah has sent this thing to save us. Praise be to him, for it is
just in time.’ They asked, ‘What will be the action of the Spaniards?’
and I told them, ‘Allah alone knows, but one thing is certain. The
Government will soon fall, and there will be a new High Commissioner.’
“For the first time in two years men walked boldly through the
mountains, not fearing an enemy, and I wrote hurriedly to Zellal,
saying, ‘Take this opportunity to send me grain and cartridges.’ Very
soon there arrived a letter from Cerdeira, suggesting that a way should
be found to make peace. I did not reply hurriedly, nor let him know how
urgently needed was the respite. News came that Berenguer had gone to
Melilla and that, with a great army, he was trying to retake the
country. I said, ‘Allah strengthen the hand of Abdul Krim until my
stores are here,’ for I knew Berenguer. If matters went well in the
East, he would not willingly let me escape from his net. For six weeks
there was talk of peace, but, even while Cerdeira wrote letters
imploring me to restrain the tribes who would have attacked Larache and
Azeila, Barera continued his propaganda. ‘Spain has only one enemy,’ he
announced, ‘and that is Raisuli.’
“There was a panic on the coast. The townsmen boarded the first boats in
their efforts to escape the vengeance of the mountaineers, but there was
no danger. There were a few incidents on the borders of Jebel Habib, and
the tribesmen went boldly to the Suqs in armed bands and bought food
under the eyes of the police. When the East winds began,[108] Barera,
reassured by the reports from Melilla, made a sudden advance on Beni
Yusef and, without warning, while the ink was still fresh on their peace
proposals, again there was war.
“The hills beyond Xauen were occupied in the autumn and the main road to
Ahmas was cleared. For so many months there had been fighting among
these hills that each wadi was a graveyard and each ridge had its
history. In the winter[109] Berenguer returned to Tetuan, and I was
surprised, for I thought he would certainly have been recalled. With
fierce energy he pushed on the campaign, and it was told me that he was
like an old man, bent and grey, with but one idea left to him. Suq el
Khemis was taken, and Dris er Riffi made it the base of his campaign
against me. Ullah, some have called me a murderer, but in Beni Aros, my
own land, would there not have been many who would have brought me his
head? Had I wished, there would have been a rifle by his bed, a knife in
his food, for my spies were everywhere.
“For the first months of the new war, we had sufficient food, for many
caravans had come up through Mesauer during the short truce. But that
winter was terrible in the mountains. Almost all the villages had been
destroyed. There were no roofs to shelter the people, who lived in caves
and holes in the ground. The very old and the very young died from
exposure, for there was much rain. The cattle had been almost
exterminated, and the game had grown cunning and retired to the higher
mountains. The wise men said nothing, for there were still ten thousand
prisoners in the Riff, and it was known how Abdul Krim treated them; but
the ignorant reproached me—‘The wisdom of Allah is with thee, Sidi, but
our condition is worse than before. How can we now find safety?’
‘Suffering is from Allah,’ I replied, ‘and by his will, it will end or
it will continue. Allahu Akbar!’ They went away ashamed, but I waited
for the newspapers as women waited for the scarce goat’s milk that might
save their sons. All that time I had the news of Europe from Tangier,
and my agents never failed me.
“Many of my friends were killed in those months, and the list of the
Sheikhs who had been with me from the beginning, those who had seen the
ceremonies of Xauen and Sidi Abd es Salaam, was daily shortened. Hamed
es Succan, my blood brother, of Beni Aros, was shot in the defence of
Afernum, which was taken by a combined attack of three columns, and
Mohamed el Kharaji died in the last skirmishes before Tazrut. As soon as
the slopes of Afernum were lost to us, Jebel Alan could be raked by the
artillery, and it was certain that Tazrut must soon fall.
“I sent all my family into the mountain to Dar el Haik, so called
because the stream falls like the white garments of a woman. There was
one old lady of my relatives who would not move. ‘I have lived all my
life in the Zawia, and I will end it there,’ she said. I went myself to
urge her to go, but she would not be persuaded. The servants came to
her, crying, and saying, ‘Even the cats have left. They are wise
animals, and they have gone ahead of our master to his camp.’ ‘I will
die where I have lived,’ she repeated, and, in truth, she stayed there
through most of the Spanish occupation. They were good to her, giving
her food and all that she asked for, and leaving her room untouched, but
she was a good Moslem, and said, ‘It is Allah who has ordered their
minds.’
“When Tazrut was bombed for the second time, there were few men in the
village, and these hid themselves securely in the holes which they had
made. Everything was destroyed except the Mosque, the Qubba of our
ancestors, and the tree which is the guardian of our house. These are
the most prominent objects in the village, yet not one tile fell from
the madna nor a fleck of plaster from the sanctuary. The walls of my
house were made bare and the roofs torn off the Zawia. The building
which is now made of iron was shattered, and only a few beams stuck out,
as the teeth of those who are old. Where there were no ruins, there were
pits in the heart of the earth, and, in the darkness, a man could not go
two steps in safety. When my women went to Dar el Haik, I sent with them
all my furniture, my carpets and mattresses, with the cushions and the
tea services, and all the brass trays and other goods. Afterwards I sent
my horses and mules, including the tall brown one which Jordana had
given me, but I waited in my house till the last minute, for I knew I
was safe.
“At the height of his success Barera was recalled, and his place taken
by Sanjurjo,[110] who immediately made a determined effort to occupy the
high mountains. There was great fighting in Jebel Feddan at the entrance
to the Ahmas, and many of my people were killed, for they showed
themselves recklessly on the hills, charging the Spanish guns. A
messenger came to me from the famous Zawia of el Teledi, and said, ‘If
this holy place is taken by Spain, it will be the end of the war’; and I
answered, ‘Bring me a map.’ When it came, I pointed out the Spanish
posts one by one, and the messenger, who was a Sheikh of standing,
watched me. ‘How many mountains and valleys are there between these
camps?’ I asked, and he told me such-and-such. . . . Then I said, ‘When
every hill and every wadi is in the hands of Spain, it will not be the
end, for there will still be the rocks and the trees which will fight
for us. Tell this to the Ulema of Teledi. When Allah gives us victory,
then the war will end.’
“Every day in Tazrut could be heard the thunder of artillery either in
the Ahmas behind us or in some mountain below. Aeroplanes flew around Bu
Hashim and dropped bombs, but these were not dangerous, for the steepest
slopes were out of their reach. As a precaution, I divided my mehalla
into small parties, posting them in different parts of the mountain,
where they commanded all the approaches. The tents of my family were
covered with branches, so that they could not be seen among the trees.
There was fierce war in the Ahmas, for still Berenguer and Sanjurjo
dreamed of completing the circle which besieged us. The Valley of
Menzora was occupied, but two hundred Spaniards were killed in that
campaign. At last, in the first months of summer, the enemy advanced to
Tazrut, fighting at every ledge. A curtain of shells heralded their
march, but my people lay snugly among the rocks and waited till the
columns were so near that they could pick off the officers. Many of the
enemy died during the three days of the advance, and I waited in the
Zawia till Sidi Musa should be in their hands.
“Mubarak held my stallion at the further door, and Ghabah stood on a
height to give notice of the Spanish movements. While we waited, a
Sheikh said to me timidly, ‘Insha-allah, we shall not be long in the
mountain?’ and I said to him, ‘How long was the Prophet of God an
outcast? It is an honour that is done to us.’ ‘Is there no talk of
peace, Sidi?’ ‘When Allah wills, the Spaniards will talk of it. There
are still many camps between Tazrut and submission.’ A shot sounded
above us, and we knew it was from Ghabah. As the Spanish outposts
approached the village, we rode quickly up to Bu Hashim, which has
always been the shelter of our race.
“Dris er Riffi moved his office of propaganda to Suq el Khemis, and the
echoes of his eloquence reached me in Bu Hashim. ‘Spain has only one
enemy,’ he repeated, ‘and that is Raisuli.’ The men of Sumata were still
inviolate among their crags, and none of their Kaids would submit, but,
among the other tribes, there were many weak ones who came to me,
afraid. I said to them, ‘Go and make submission to the Christians, if
that is your desire. Fatten your bodies on their grain, but I tell you
the time draws near when the Faithful will be rewarded.’
“I knew that the Government must fall, but its hour was delayed, and we
suffered. There was no flesh in our pots and little grain. The
mountaineers used to bring small gifts, humbly, ashamed of their
insignificance, and I told them of how a man of Medina gave a few dates
to a beggar, and behold it was the Prophet of God, who returned to his
benefactor gardens of palms and all the land that could be seen from
them. Women would bring two eggs or a thin fowl wrapped in their skirts.
Men came with a few figs, or a hare they had shot, but often there was
only a little bread and oil for our meal. A daughter of my house, who
was a child and weak, died on the mountain, and the Spaniards allowed
her body to be buried in the Zawia at Tazrut. In those days my rifle was
idle and my tongue busy, for men came to me at all hours for
reassurance. I said to them always, ‘The time is near,’ but I wondered
whether el Teledi or the Government would fall first.
[Illustration: Gate of Raisuli’s Palace at Azeila. His bailiffs]
“It was the will of Allah that the Zawia should be lost to us.[111] For
many months the Ahmas had defended their sanctuary, and, in the end,
even the students buried their books in a secret place and took up guns
to protect themselves. The ulema fled to the edge of the country,
carrying with them as much of their property as they could save, for
there were interesting documents at Teledi, telling of the first coming
of Islam and the war against the Berbers. Emissaries from Gomara came to
me at this time, begging me to take refuge in their country and lead the
Holy War against the Christians, but I told them that this was not the
will of Allah, and that soon Spain would make peace with us. They
answered, ‘This is a miracle that you speak of, Sidi!’ but I insisted,
‘Before the first snows there will be peace.’ After their visit I sent
down to Beni Aros, to urge the house of Succan to procure me a little
grain, that I might be able to entertain the missions who came to me.
“Before I had expected a reply, Mubarak told me that one Mohamed, the
nephew of my friend, was in my camp. When he had saluted me, I asked
him, ‘What news of my stores?’ and he answered, ‘Sidi, I know not, but
Berenguer has gone to Madrid.’
“Ullah, there was rejoicing that night among my tents, and as there were
no gifts to reward this bearer of good news, the women sent him silks
for his family, and I said to him, ‘When peace is signed, whatever you
ask I will give you.’ After this it was soon known that the Government
had fallen and Berenguer would return no more. From all sides, the
mountaineers came to me, and those who had been faithful I welcomed
gladly, assuring them that, as we had shared the evil, so, under Allah,
we would share the good. To the others I said, ‘Allah deal with your
weakness and reward you as you have deserved.’ Stores soon came to me at
Sellalim, sugar, tea and candles, besides grain to feed the two hundred
who were still with me. For the last weeks I had been moving my camp
from one place to another, because of the aeroplanes which bombarded us,
killing some of my people but leaving my tent and the green standard
untouched. In all the war, the flag of the Prophet was inviolate.
“When the new High Commissioner, Burguete, arrived at Tetuan, his policy
was not known, and there were some of my people who were still anxious;
but, as soon as it was rumoured that Zugasti was with him, the signal
fires leaped on the hills and the tribesmen whispered that the Sherif
was responsible for ‘the miracle.’ The slopes of Bu Hashim were crowded
by those who would kiss my robes, and amulets were cut from the bark of
the trees, which had sheltered my camp.
“News came swiftly. The Riff was declared a civil Protectorate, and my
enemy, Dris er Riffi, was sent there as Governor. Cerdeira wrote asking
me to arrange a meeting, and in due time I appointed the village of
Adiaz, which was in ruins. I sent my servants to prepare a place for the
conference, and they spread carpets and cushions within some walls where
there was still a portion of roof to shade us. Cerdeira and Zugasti
arrived with Castro Giria, all of whom were my friends. I rode down to
meet them on my roan, with a green saddle-cloth embroidered in silver
and the green umbrella of a Sultan carried over my head. All my slaves
went with me, and, behind me, came a hundred warriors with those who had
been my captains, Ueld el Muddan, el Tayeb and el Hartiti.
“One of my cousins prepared the food which Bu Hashim had been ransacked
to produce. There was flesh, but Allah knows what it was, and curdled
milk and pastry with eggs and rice, for in hospitality I was bound to
feed my guests. Ullah, the slaves’ eyes were wet as they watched each
morsel that was eaten!
“We talked till the sunset and I explained the things that I
desired.[112] A month later there was another meeting at Sellalim, where
I had tents pitched for my guests. This time we talked frankly, and I
asked for many conditions—that all my properties should be restored to
me and that my family should be allowed to live in my palace at Azeila,
that Tazrut should be returned to me and that Spain should rebuild the
portions of the Zawia which she had destroyed; that the Governors of the
tribes should be chosen among men of great position who were my friends,
that my army should receive all the pay which they had missed during the
war, for, under Jordana, it had been agreed that certain forces should
be supported by Spain. The delegates told me, ‘These things may be done,
if you will go to Tetuan and make your submission to the Khalifa,’ but I
replied, ‘Neither my policy nor my words can be changed. Raisuli will
never set foot in Tetuan.’
“There was much journeying to the mountains in those days, and I was
hard-pressed between those tribesmen who were fanatical and opposed to
any peace with the Christians and the Spaniards, to whom I said truly,
‘I have always been your friend. I have resisted the armies which you
sent against me, but I have never fought your nation.’ On one occasion
journalists came to see me, and they talked to me at length in my tent.
After they had gone, I said to my servants, ‘Take up the carpets and
carry out all the cushions. Clean them well, for the Christians have
left the dust of their feet upon them.’ This was told afterwards to the
Spaniard who was my friend, and when he protested, I said to him, ‘I did
this thing on purpose, for the sake of the chiefs of Sumata. Do not
think it is easy for me to make peace with you, after you have done us
so much harm. By all means I must keep my influence with the tribes, in
order that your country may benefit by it.’
“The conferences were prolonged through the autumn, but, at last, I
agreed to send the men of my family to Tetuan to visit the Kalipha, and
some months later three hundred of my people rode down to the city.
Among them were many who had been with me on Sidi Abd es Salaam, and
they were led by my nephews, Mulai Ali and Mulai Mustapha. El Mudden
accompanied them, and the Sheikhs of Beni Hosmar, Beni Leit, Beni Ider,
and Beni Aros. All these were received by Mulai el Mehdi, and there was
a great rejoicing at Tetuan.
“In return for this, it was agreed that those Spanish officials who had
persistently worked against me should be withdrawn. Ben Azuz resigned
his post, before it was possible to take it from him, but others of my
enemies were superseded by loyal men who would work with me. The
Spaniards offered to make me Governor of Beni Aros, but I would accept
no post under the Maghsen, saying, ‘I acknowledge and will serve the
Protectorate, as has always been my intention, but the Kalipha can never
have any authority over the mountains.’ I refused also the great sum
they would have paid me, equal to the sustenance of Mulai el Mehdi,
accepting only the pay of one hundred and fifty soldiers who are my
guards. I agreed to disband all my armies, except the small personal
force which I keep in Bu Hashim, and to assist the Spaniards in the
occupation of the whole Jebala.
“I have done this to such good effect that there is scarcely a hill
which has not its camp. They must have at least a hundred and twenty
thousand men in Morocco, though most of these are in the East. My
nephew, Mulai Ali, is the Kaid of Beni Aros and his brother, Mulai
Mustapha, is Governor of Azeila. Burguete fulfilled all his promises,
and el Mudden was made Kaid of Beni Gorfet, el Hamali of Beni Kholot, el
Fahilu of Wadi Ras, for it is necessary that there should be a friend to
protect the communications between Tetuan and Tangier. In this manner
peace was arranged, and it is now the Spanish forces which are
responsible for the security of the country, for I have no soldiers.
Lately, the Government asked me if they could reduce the garrison by a
hundred and fifty posts, and I answered, ‘Not unless you give me back my
Mehallas.’ In spite of this they took away eighty camps, and sometimes
there is a shot in this place, and a man killed in another. That will
always be, for the country will rebel against that which is new, until
the new has become the old.
“If Spain would make an agreement with me, and England would act as
guarantee, there need only be twenty thousand foreign troops in the
country, and I would be responsible for its peace. It is not that I do
not trust Spain, for there is affinity of blood between us, but I have
seen the variability of her policy, and her Governments are of short
duration. A protectorate should be as a wise older brother training the
younger one so that, when he comes of age, he may be rich and powerful,
but not interfering with his ideas and habits. Spain has advanced by
twisted ways, and now civil administration cannot be imposed on the
Jebala with much hope of success, for fear of driving the mountaineers
to the side of the Riff. The Kaids must be responsible for law and order
among the people and, gradually, more and more authority can pass into
the hands of the Maghsen. I said all this to the envoys whom Spain sent
to me, and I told them also, ‘I have no good opinion of Abdul Krim,
because he is fighting against that which is fore-ordained, instead of
trying to benefit by what Allah has sent us.’ But, if Spain does not
stick to one policy and keep faith with me, I shall have to reconsider
my opinion about Abdul Krim.”
CHAPTER XXVII
FAREWELL
“And that is all.” The Sherif gave a sigh and hitched up his jellaba
till the rose-red kaftan[113] showed below it. “Now you know my life as
well as I do.” “But not your mind, Sidi.” Dinner and its attendant tea-
making were over, and we were sitting outside my tent in the moonlight.
A little wind stirred the leaves of the fig-tree. A yellow cat sat in
the shadows and regarded me with eyes which had turned into green lamps.
“The mind of man is open at this hour,” said Raisuli. “Ask me questions,
and I will answer them.”
“Tell me of the future. What is going to happen to Morocco?” “It is in
the hands of Allah,” answered the Sherif. “But I am tired, and I would
go to Egypt to rest.” “If you go, you take with you the one chance of
peace.” “If I go, perhaps Spain will realize that I have been more her
friend than her enemy. It is always the same thing. There is no change.
What I said to the Spaniards at the beginning, I say to them now—there
is only one medicine for Morocco, but they will not administer it. You
have seen their forts and their soldiers, and, Ullah, all the country
that they have taken is my country and under my influence. Had they gone
the way I wanted, they could have occupied it without firing a shot. The
people trusted me, and, if I had said to them, ‘This is good,’ they
would have made no opposition.” He looked up at the stars, which were so
big that it seemed as if one could pick them out of the flower-bed that
was the sky.
“If you allied yourself definitely with Spain, would not the people say
you had sold yourself to the Christians, in which case you would lose
your influence in face of their fanaticism?” I asked. “In any country
that is ignorant, there are always ten per cent. who loathe the Nasrani,
but the other ninety per cent. are willing to live in peace with him, as
long as their laws and their religion are not interfered with. If they
find that there are many changes, they join the ten per cent. who are
savages.
“France rules for the mass of the people, without making exceptions. If
she imposes a tax, it has to be paid without discussion. Spain rules for
the individual, and that is good, for she searches how such and such a
tax will affect different men, but a foreign rule must be very light. A
protectorate should protect those who suffer from an injustice, but not
interfere in the customs of the land. This is difficult, unless there is
one man who can make things clear between the Government and the people.
A tribesman runs from the Qadi, who has punished him justly, to an
official who does not understand the matter, and the respect of the Qadi
is lessened. In the police posts, an Arab has a grudge against another,
so he goes to the officer and says, ‘This man has stolen the goats of
So-and-so,’ and how is the Spaniard to know that the accused is his
enemy? All ignorant men are liars, and it is only their own ulema who
can convict them.”
There was a prolonged silence, and the yellow cat crept up and wound
itself round and round the Sherif’s foot. He bent to stroke it.
“Civilization must come slowly, and its interpreter must not be an army.
The people see soldiers with rifles, and they think that some harm will
be done them or that they will lose their lands, so their fingers fly to
the trigger, and for them civilization means death. The way must be
better prepared.”
“Perhaps the next generation,” I murmured. “They will be worse,”
retorted Raisuli, “for they have seen the evil that has been done to
their parents. At present you are teaching our sons your knowledge that
they may use it against you. Abdul Krim el Khattabi was educated at
Madrid and studied to become an expert in the mines.[114] He is low-
born, so he found no better use for his learning than destruction.”
“What about the Riff?” I asked. “If you had an agreement with Spain,
could you deal with the Riff?” A chuckle came from old Mulai Sadiq, but
the Sherif was impassive. “It would be an easy matter, for I have still
many friends among the Riff. Abdul Krim is the result of circumstances.
When he was a little boy, his father wrote to me and said that he wanted
to send his son to Madrid to study. He asked me if I would use my
influence with the Spaniards, or if I would take the child into my own
house. I answered, ‘Wait until he is older.’ It is the same medicine
which is required in the Riff.”
“How would you administer it?” “At present, Abdul Krim makes much
politics (propaganda) against me, and I say nothing, for I am waiting;
but if there was an agreement with Spain, the Riff would cost few
Christian lives. Abdul Krim can raise 30,000 men against the Nasrani,
and not one will betray him, for the Riffs are fanatical, though they
are not good Moslems. But do you think a quarter or a fifth of the
number who would be with me, would fight the Ashraf? When Moslem fights
Moslem many of the bullets go wide. In fact, there would be some
fighting by my mehallas and much propaganda, but peace would be swift.
Yet I think no Christian could rule the Riff—at least not in this
generation—but others, well chosen, might do it in the name of Spain.
“It was thus that I thought things would go in the beginning, but there
have been mistakes and misunderstandings. When the Spaniards landed it
was by my help, and in the towns there were three kinds of men. There
were some who bought a European hat and stick, and walked about the
streets and thought they were equals of the Pasha. There were others who
went into their houses and shut the doors, and said, ‘This is the end,
but it is the will of Allah’; and there were some who did not even
realise that anything new had happened. Only I looked ahead and hoped
for the benefit of the country, for I liked the Spaniards. We have much
in common—you see, we are all liars together!! I have fought against
strangers, for all the Spaniards whom I met became my friends.”
“And now?” I queried after a silence. “Every man loves his own country,
but I have written three times to the Government asking that I may go
away, for what is the use of pretence in this land which only strength
can control? The force is in my hands. You have seen it. You have felt
it. There are posts on all the hills, but only my word keeps them there.
The country is waiting and uncertain, but I hold it down—”
Our eyes met, at last, and I knew that the same thought was in both our
minds. In a palace at Tetuan the ill-fated Kalipha was struggling with
the effects of a poison administered in small doses by a cook who had
been bribed by the Grand Vizier, now languishing in chains at Xauen. The
doctors had ordered change of air, a journey to Ronda, but it was
whispered that Mulai el Mehdi, weak, amiable and high-minded, would soon
go on a longer journey. The pretence was wearing very thin.
“Much has been written against me,” said Raisuli, “by men who do not
know Africa. There have been many parties in Spain, and each one has
followed his own policy, but here in Morocco there is no policy, only
strength. Abdul Krim knows this, and he tolerates no dissension and no
hesitation among his people. Each day that Spain delays, his power
increases. She must choose quickly and finally. Either she can withdraw
to the coast towns, and in that case Abdul Krim’s greed will stretch out
to the West and yearly more will be lost to her, or she can make use of
the weapon I put into her hand at Larache.”
The song of the crickets was persistent and the wind grew cold as it
blew over the hills. “The same things I tell you tonight,” said the
Sherif, “I told the Spaniards long ago, when I was great and powerful,
not as I am now.” “If el Raisuli had but one tent and one mule,”
interrupted Mulai Sadiq, “he would still be powerful.” The Sherif did
not deny it. “Things do not change in Africa,” he said. “But you,” I
asked, “have you changed?” “No,” answered el Raisuli, “I am a friend of
Spain and of my own people, which should be the same, for all things
come from Allah.” “There is but one God, and God is Great,” murmured
Mulai Sadiq.
There were few hours left for sleep that night, for it had been arranged
that we should start shortly after sunrise and arrive at Suq el Khemis
while it was still moderately cool. Accordingly I got up yawning in the
darkness and saw the dawn creep between the hill-tops. The chief of all
the slaves, old Ba Salim, came to me, smiling. “Breakfast arrives,” he
said, but of course it did not, nor did the mule for my baggage, and the
world was very much awake when, at last, the familiar procession
appeared.
This time our bowls of soup were reinforced with coffee and bread full
of caraway seeds, thickly buttered on all sides. After we had dealt with
these luxuries, Ghabah brought an unexpected second course, consisting
of very sweet pastry stuffed with rice. “Allah be praised—that is
finished,” said Mulai Sadiq, who hated riding in the heat. “Not at all!”
I replied woefully, and pointed down the path. Mubarak was approaching
leisurely with an enormous platter, on which was a mountain of rice
decorated with a chicken or two and some very hard apples. Inwardly
groaning, we did our best to destroy the symmetry of the mountain, but,
by this time, even the cats were surfeited.
“The Sherif comes,” announced Badr ed Din. “Now you will soon start.” We
waited another hour, and it began to get hot. Then one of the small
slaves was seen scuttling down the path. He kissed Mulai Sadiq’s sleeve
hurriedly and almost choked over his whispered message. It appeared that
the Sherif wished to see his English guest in the Zawia. This was a
supreme honour, and quite unexpected, for, as long as Raisuli is within
his house, no one may approach him or send him a message, and even
Moslem visitors are received in the building opposite.
I followed the small messenger to the door, and there he disappeared,
curling himself up under a ragged cloth and apparently going peacefully
to sleep. After a few minutes the bolts were withdrawn, and Mohamed
Khalid came out, took me ceremoniously by the hand and led me across the
threshold. Still hand in hand, we went down the length of the porch, to
another door, this time bright blue, which was opened by unseen fingers.
The next moment I found myself in the room which had been built round
the great tree supposed to be intimately connected with the fortunes of
Raisuli. The light was dim, because it filtered through windows of
coloured glass. The floor was paved in black-and-white marble, the walls
had a wide dado of mosaics, and the ceiling was carved and painted. In
the centre, was a quadrangle of Moorish arches, slender, with fretted
curves, and, between these, stood the tree. All that was visible was a
portion of the trunk, its girth so wide that two men could not span it
with outstretched arms, for the rest soared through the roof which had
been built around it.
Raisuli stepped out of the shadows to meet me, and I saw a different
man. Without losing any of his dignity, he had put aside his reserve.
His face was extraordinarily kindly and the size of it seemed to magnify
its smile. “I want to show you my family,” he said. “They were very
curious about the one European lady who has been to Tazrut.” He took my
arm in fatherly fashion and pushed me gently towards a group of women,
some of whom I had seen before, though I hardly recognised them in their
splendour.
“They are all very shy,” he said, and beamed on them with obvious pride.
The little bride kept her lashes down, but she no longer looked
frightened. Her black hair was parted in the middle, and smoothed over
her ears like silk, and the ends were plaited round a thick purple cord
which fell to her feet. This apparently is the fashion on state
occasions, for every woman had the same silk rope hanging from her head
and caught in a loop at the waist, so that it looked like a tail. The
bride, Khadija, was exquisite in gold-embroidered muslin over yellow
silk, with a wide belt of brocade that slipped over her slender hips,
and a mass of heavy jewellery. There was another wife, Zobeida, who was
fair-skinned and plain, with faint pit-marks on her face; and the
daughters ranged from the tall Kheizrana in flaming orange, who might
have been a Circassian, to a child of four or five, who promptly toddled
forward and caught the Sherif’s hand in fearless fingers. Raisuli beamed
on her. “This is the smallest of them all,” he said, and patted the mop
of red-dyed hair.
I felt myself growing more and more bewildered, while I watched a
benignant patriarch smiling on a flock of children, the sort of smile
that, in Europe, denotes sweets in a grandfatherly pocket! In the
background a group of slaves peered round the edge of the door, their
waistcoats of bright purple or scarlet gleaming against the dim
background. Twenty pairs of eyes watched me with growing curiosity, but
the Sherif’s voice, with its new warm note, brought them expectantly to
his face. “They want to give you a present,” he said, “as a remembrance
of your visit.”
There was much smiling and whispering. Then Haula, the least shy, pushed
something into her father’s hand. “It is not from me, but from them,”
added the Sherif, and held out two heavy gold bangles. Vainly I
protested. The throng closed round me like eager children, and Raisuli
slipped the bracelets over my wrists. “We were afraid they might be too
small, for you are taller than any of my family, but they fit well, el
Hamdulillah!”
The interview was terminated by my incoherent thanks, while the youngest
daughter sat down on the floor and solemnly stroked my riding-boots. As
the Sherif passed them, the girls bent to kiss his knees, while he
patted them on the shoulder, but, when the bride stooped, he caught her
wrist and drew her up with murmured words, which made her fold closer
the white shawl that half covered her head.
Out in the portico, with the blue door shut behind us, I looked
curiously at Raisuli, and wondered how much of the real man I knew, for
here was but a courteous host speeding a guest whom he was anxious to
honour.
There was a crowd of servitors at the gate. Mulai Sadiq was already
astride his red-saddled mule, his scarlet prayer-rug, the only luggage
he had brought with him, laid across the pommel. A one-eyed mountaineer
led the Afrit, who was doing his best to upset the composure of the
baggage-beast which bore my depleted suit-cases, in panniers obviously
designed for grain. Badr ed Din and the Kaid murmured farewells—“Ma
Salamah,” With safety—“Let not this be your last visit!” “Allah keep
you—may the way be easy.”
Then Ghabah seized my stirrup, and I mounted amidst a chorus of good
wishes. “Allah take you in safety to your country, and may your desire
bring you back to us,” said the Sherif, and, as he stood framed in the
archway, with his people a step or two below him, I caught a last
glimpse of the other Raisuli, who could never refuse the prayer of a
woman, and who sent three times to the mountain to fetch a half-starved
yellow cat. . . .
The expression vanished as he turned to speak to the Kaid. Swiftly we
clattered over the cobbles towards the hills of Beni Aros. Mulai Sadiq
was determined to make up for lost time. It was not till we were nearing
the sanctuary of Sidi Musa that he asked me, “Well, was your visit good?
Are you satisfied?” I nodded, remembering, rather wistfully, those days
spent in a strange world, wondering how much or how little I had learned
in them. “Ullah,” said the old man, peering at me over the edge of his
yellow spectacles, “this will not be your last visit, for the Sherif’s
‘baraka’ has affected you already!”
INDEX
Abd el Melak, 54, 55, 61
Abderahman, Abd es Sadiq, 40-3, 46, 53-55, 64
Abd es Salaam, 11, 80, 207, 288, 291, 334
Abdul Aziz, 51, 53, 55, 58, 63-4, 66, 69, 77, 79, 82-3, 88, 90, 103,
112, 181, 254
Abdul Melek, agent of Germany, 201, 253
Aeroplanes, Spanish, 15, 278, 286, 293-4, 305; Arab description of,
122, 278, 329
Ain el Yerida, 5, 10, 117, 139, 164, 186, 209, 222; Spanish troops
welcomed to, 244, 278; capture of, 293-4
Alfau, first Spanish High Commissioner, 176, 184, 186, 189, 192
Algeciras, Pact of, 72
Alim, word defined, 18; used, 3, 30, 47, 239
Al Alkali, 203; murder of, 145, 209-13, 276
Al Kasr, 55, 96, 102, 109-10, 127, 130-2, 151, 180-2
Anjera, 36, 58, 92-94-5, 115, 117, 140-3, 168, 190, 192, 205, 209,
244-6, 270, 281, 283, 293, 296
Arab, biography, 23; hospitality, _see_ Guests, imagination, 113,
ingenuousness; love for a gun, 43, 115, 129; regard for sons, 176;
resignation, 47; saddle, 14
Arbi, Haj el, 42-3, 223, 224, 228
Ashraf, plural of Sherif, 85, 339
Azeila, 71, 72, 96, 99-101, 104, 115-6, 124, 130-3, 139, 143-4, 152,
160, 165, 168, 253, 279, 293, 296
Badr ed Din, escort from el Raisuli, 12-21; shared in conversations,
24, 50, 104, 106, 113, 117, 123, 124, 187, 203, 239-41, 257, 290-2,
316, 325, 342, 344
“Baraka,” a special blessing, 25, 27, 32, 35, 44, 69, 74, 79, 80, 84,
112, 119, 141, 170, 196, 219, 238, 242, 280, 293, 312, 345
Barera, a Spanish colonel, 174, 215, 267, 269, 273, 283-4, 293, 300,
301, 326, 329
Beni Aros, 14, 25, 36, 47, 61-2, 71, 95, 109, 148-50, 161-3, 173, 179,
204-7, 218, 271, 288, 292, 334, 345
Beni Kholot, 107, 147
Beni Mesauer, 36-8, 54, 70, 73, 75, 92, 94-5, 139-40, 150, 161, 173,
186, 202, 204, 211, 218, 223, 235, 296
Ben Karrish, 5, 186, 188, 192, 277
Berenguer, Spanish High Commissioner, appointed, 266; letter of el
Raisuli to, 267-72; confiscated el Raisuli’s property; methods in
fighting, 279, 299, 302, 326, 329; return to Madrid, 332
Biut, taken by Spaniards, 246-7
Blindness, penalty for disobedience, 29; supposed, of el Kherba, 259
Burguete, Spanish High Commissioner, succeeding Berenguer, 332, 335
Casablanca, 71, 84, 98, 136
Cerdeira, Spanish representative, 11, 202, 210, 215, 225, 226-8, 324,
326, 332-3
Ceuta, 189, 226, 246-7, 263, 276, 281, 294
Charbonier, Monsieur, 70
Charms, carried by el Raisuli, 35; Arab belief in, 316
Christians, assaulted and robbed, 71; burned in Xauen; called Nasrani,
_q.v._; hated by Moslems, 15, 93, 114, 122, 137, 162, 194, 207, 266,
285, _see_ Jehad; protected by el Raisuli, 59-60
Confession to a corpse, 113-4
Corps Diplomatique, 72
Cruelty, stories of el Raisuli’s, 105-119, 152, 274-5
Daughters a misfortune, 239-40
Deafa, word defined, 39; used, 43, 123
Dowries, 36, 234
Dris er Riffi, enemy of el Raisuli, 166, 168, 171, 180, 189, 192, 195,
200, 203, 213-4, 216, 327; methods of, with tribesmen, 205-6, 299,
310, 330; released from prison, 276; made Governor of Riff, 332
Eagle of Zinat, title for el Raisuli, 41
Eloquence, admired by Arabs, 39, 57, 293; el Raisuli’s practice in,
30-1; power of, 34, 38-9
Ermiki, 96, 102-4, 181-2
Europeans, relations of el Raisuli with, 58-61, 69-70, 72, 93, 99,
110, 162, 272; _see_ also, France, Germany, Great Britain, Spain
Evil eye, belief in, 317
Fabre, Father, 136-7
Faqih, word defined, 32; used, 35, 45, 53, 157, 172
Farewell, of author to el Raisuli, 341-4
Fasting, 20, 241, 248, 315
Fatalism, of el Raisuli, 34, 84, 157-8, 199, 225, 306
Fatha, word defined, 49; used, 50, 111, 205, 216
Fez, city of, 77-9, 84, 85, 94, 95, 129, 133, rebellion in, 136-7
Fondak, _see_ Ain el Yerida
France, relations of, with el Raisuli, 72, 98, 109, 115-6, 125, 129,
133, 139, 144, 195, 204, 211; with Mulai el Mehdi, 176; with Mulai
Hafid, 92-4, 136; future policy of, 273
Germany, Minister of, 72, 189, 201; policy of, 190, 204, 251, 253
Ghabah, attendant of el Raisuli, 22, 95, 103, 117, 197, 225, 297, 298,
317, 330, 341
Great Britain, relations of, with el Raisuli, 17, 20, 86-9, 91
el Guebbas, 79-81, 118, 129, 133
Guests, Arab treatment of, 39, 43, 86-8, 93, 103, 107, 124, 146,
169-70, 185, 240, 253, 279
Hamed ben Malek, 109-10
Harem, slaves of, 22; visited by author, 231-41
Harka, word defined; used, 219
Harris, Walter, author of “Morocco as It Was,” 57-61, 88
Heads of enemies cut off, 34, 36, 42, 60, 69, 123-4, 142, 213, 226,
246, 258, 283, 301
High Commissioner of Spain, _see_ Alfau, Marina, Jordana, Berenguer,
Burguete
“House of Tears,” name for el Raisuli’s palace, 99, 105
Holy War, _see_ Jehad
Imam, word defined, 42; used, 248, 255
Islam, betrayed, 137; endures beyond sects, 190; images forbidden by,
291; law of, 259, 286; once invincible, 158; el Raisuli champion of,
56, 108, 289; suited to Morocco, 68; war cry of, 243
Jebel Alan, 11, 17, 125, 287, 288, 293
Jebel Habib, 61, 193, 197, 202, 204-5, 208, 221-2, 268
Jebel Hashim, 11, 117
Jehad (Holy War), attitude of el Raisuli toward, 137, 215, 289; danger
of, 150; proclaimed, 289
Jellaba, word defined, 11; used, 12, 14, 16, 25, 31, 35, 36, 38, 44,
54, 67, 83, 103, 170, 205, 228, 241, 242, 243, 249, 288, 337
Jews in Morocco, 7, 9, 111-2
Jinns, theory of, in Koran, 313
Jordana, General, Spanish High Commissioner, appointed, 215;
conference with el Raisuli, 227-9; character and policy, 220-1, 250,
252-4, 262-5; death, 265
Khadija, young wife of el Raisuli, 237, 343
Kharaji, Mohamed el, 168-70, 254, 256-8, 286, 328
el Kherba, 255, 256-8, supposed blindness of, 259
Khotot, Peace of, 217, 262-3, 268
Larache, 108-9, 113, 133, 143, 145, 158, 176, 208, 210, 266, 283, 293,
302
Lentisco, captured by el Mudden, 307-8
Maclean, Sir Henry, 77-82, 85-9, 110
Maghsen, word defined, 34; used, 37, 39-41, 49, 50, 53, 58-9, 61, 73,
75, 77, 89, 96, 121-2, 148, 162, 208, 217, 334, 336
Mannismann “evil genius of North Africa,” 9, 313
Marina, Spanish High Commissioner, 193-4, 202, 206-7, 209-10, 213, 214
Melilla, 5, 251, 299
Menebbhe, Minister of Sultan, 202
Menebbhe, Kaid Meshwar ed, escort from el Raisuli, 12, 14, 17, 20;
joined in conversation, 51, 88, 91, 143, 186, 279, 289, 291, 297, 311,
312
Merkadi, Haj el, treachery of, 277-8
Mesqueen, word defined, 117, 155; used, 177
Mint, fondness of el Raisuli for, 8, 57
Miraculous powers, attributed to el Raisuli, 39, 83, 197, 199, 203,
312
Mogador prison, 43, 51, 79
Mohamed el Khalid, son of el Raisuli, 8, 12, 17-8, 166, 239, 241, 291,
299, 315
Mohamed el Kharaji, _see_ Kharaji
Money, el Raisuli’s estimate of, 32, 64
Morocco, a veiled country, 4; influenced by el Raisuli, 10, future of,
337
“Morocco as It Was,” by Walter Harris, 58, 60
Mubarak, attendant of el Raisuli, 22, 26, 29, 94, 103, 197, 225, 298,
316, 330, 342
el Mudden, 261; Lentisco captured by, 307; schemes of, 310-11;
miraculous powers attributed to, 318
Mulai Abdul Aziz, _see_ Abdul Aziz
Mulai Ahmed, name of el Raisuli, 25, 88
Mulai Ali, nephew of el Raisuli, 301-2, 322-5, 334-5
Mulai el Mehdi, 144, 147, 165, 176, 253, 276, 334, 340
Mulai Hafid, 66, 90-6, 104, 111, 125, 254; relations with France,
92-4, 136-7
Mulai Hassan, 37, 39-40, 51, 66, 294
Mulai Jusef, present Sultan, 139, 194
Mulai Mustapha, nephew of el Raisuli, 296, 334
Mulai Sadiq, cousin of el Raisuli, 3, 10, 14, 17-8, 21, 24, 82, 84-6,
95-7, 102, 141, 143, 147, 203, 239-41, 267, 313-4, 316, 320, 339, 341,
344-5
Musa ben Hamed, 123-4
Nasrani, name for Christian, 162, 190, 338-9
Oak tree, legend of, 287
Oleanders, 5, 11, 33, 162
Peace, efforts of el Raisuli for, 190-1, 203-4, 209, 216; first treaty
of, 217, 250; second treaty of, 326, 332-3
Perdicaris, 62-5
Poison gas, 286
Pretender, Moorish, 17, 91
Prisoners, el Raisuli’s treatment of, 61, 63, 89, 105-6, 152-4, 156,
159
Questa Colorada, 210-3
Ramadan, customs of, 22, 248-50
el Raisuli, full name, 25; ancestry, 25-8; first references to, 3-10;
appearance, 18-9; habits, 22-4; conversational methods, 20, 23-5, 38,
_see_ eloquence; boyhood, 26-32; first fighting, 33-4; imprisonment,
43-8; vengeance, 51-2; a potentate, 55-6; relations with Walter
Harris, 58-61, with Perdicaris, 62-5, with Sir Henry Maclean, 77-89;
Governor of Tangier; palace at Azeila, 99-101; relations with Spain,
_see_ Spain in Morocco; belief that life is charmed, _see_ “Baraka”;
proclaimed Sultan of the Mountains, 194, of the Jehad, 290; children,
236; wives, 237; reverenced by people, 69, 83, 106, 180, 197, 203,
243; farewell to author, 345
Ransom for Maclean, 87-8, 91-2
Rebellion in Fez, 136-7
Roosevelt, Theodore, 63
Rueda, Spanish captain, 202
Sanjurjo, Spanish general, 329
Silvestre, Spanish commander, early days in Morocco, 112-8; complained
to by tribesmen, 121-4, 149; relations of, with his Government,
124-30; increasing friction with el Raisuli, 130-148; break with him,
152-8; resignation of, 214; return to Morocco, 276, 286, 293; suicide,
325; unsuited to Morocco, 114, 157, 168
Slaves, of el Raisuli’s household, 22, 108, 231; price of in Morocco,
237
Sota, Spanish officer, 212-3
Spain in Morocco, represented by Silvestre and Zugasti, _q.v._;
108-20; strained relations, 120-34; war, 158-65; 183 _ff._; treaty of
peace, 215-7; fighting in alliance with el Raisuli, 244-52; effect of
death of Jordana, 265-72; war again, 273-90, 293-306, 325-31; second
peace agreement, 333-4; present policy, 335; el Raisuli’s summary of
relations with, 337-40
Spanish aeroplanes, 15, 278, 286, 293-4, 305; commander, _see_
Silvestre; consul, _see_ Zugasti; High Commissioner, _see_ Alfau,
Marina, Jordana, Berenguer, Burguete; occupation of house of el
Raisuli, 16, 328; politics, described by el Raisuli, 138; newspapers,
163, 193; troops, landed in Al Kasr, 110, welcomed to Ain Yerida, 244;
woman rescued by el Raisuli, 266
Sultan of Morocco, 17, 61-3, 69-70, 72, 77-8, 85, 88, 136, 146, 159
Sultan of the Mountains, el Raisuli proclaimed, 194
Tagzat, burning of, 219-20
Tangier, 40, 43, 51, 53-5, 61-3, 66-7, 69, 72, 76-7, 88, 90, 94,
120-1, 138, 144, 148, 160, 163-4, 173, 179, 192-3, 203, 252-3, 296,
309
Tazrut, 3, 4, 10-1, 15, 117, 168, 191, 197, 209, 218, 287, 295, 305
el Teledi, 85, 329, 331
Telephone in Morocco, 4, 132-3, 244, 320
Tetuan, 3, 55, 86, 115, 138, 164, 176, 184, 188, 191, 209, 221, 240,
254, 263, 270-1, 281, 294, 296, 320
Turkey, not popular in Morocco, 190
Ulema, word defined, 18, 194; used, 77, 280, 288-9, 329, 331, 338
Villalba, Marquis of, successor of Silvestre, 215, 221, 223
Villasinda, Marquis of, 174
Wadi Ras, 10, 35-6, 94-5, 117, 123, 161, 173, 186, 211, 222-3, 283-5
Wakil, word defined, 88; used, 100, 205
Warfare, Arab methods of, 183, 247, 281-4, 302-3, 311-2
Wazzan, 120-1
Wedding customs in Morocco, 234-5, 257
Woman appealed for vengeance, 33-4
Women, in el Raisuli’s house, 16, 101, 157, 160-1, 220, 231; Arabs
avenge death of, 162-3; Arab estimate of, 241; bravery of, 224, 246,
304-5
World War, 193, 204, 252, 263, 272
Xauen, 6-7, 84-5, 186, 240, 271, 296, 299, 302, 326
Zawia, in el Raisuli’s house, 16, 18, 22, 24, 243, 313, 321, 328, 330;
author admitted to, 342
Zellal, 10, 75, 77, 161, 182, 202, 208, 211, 235, 253, 254, 292, 326
Zinat, 29, 32-3, 72, 76-7, 140, 150, 168, 175-6, 191, 203, 209, 295
Zugasti, Spanish Consul at Larache, 108, 115, 134, 147, 174;
friendship with el Raisuli, 108-11, 149, 216, 271; represented Spain
in conferences, with el Raisuli, 193-4, 202, 217-10, 215, 217, 324,
332-3
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Raisuli is generally called by his people “The Sherif.”]
[Footnote 2: A piece of woolen or cotton cloth worn by Arabs as an outer
garment.]
[Footnote 3: A valley, a river; a ravine through which a stream flows.]
[Footnote 4: A Spanish queen who died 200 years ago.]
[Footnote 5: Muazzin—a Mohammedan crier of the hour of prayer.]
[Footnote 6: A cloak with a hood worn by natives of Morocco.]
[Footnote 7: A devil.]
[Footnote 8: Ravine, gully.]
[Footnote 9: A Moslem learned in religion and law.]
[Footnote 10: A college composed of the hierarchy, the immamo, muftio
and cadio.]
[Footnote 11: A special blessing.]
[Footnote 12: The only woman mentioned in the genealogy.]
[Footnote 13: The prophet, Mohamed.]
[Footnote 14: An advanced student.]
[Footnote 15: A holy and wise Moslem.]
[Footnote 16: Government.]
[Footnote 17: An oriental slipper without heel or quarters.]
[Footnote 18: The custom of hospitality.]
[Footnote 19: The four great lawyers of Islam.]
[Footnote 20: A narrow fast sailing vessel.]
[Footnote 21: When el Raisuli left the prison he had the fetters which
had been on his feet weighed, and found their aggregate weight was fifty
pounds.]
[Footnote 22: The first verses of the Koran.]
[Footnote 23: Sidi Badr ed Din told me this same story, but he insisted
that el Raisuli killed eleven men with a knife before the Governor would
treat with him.]
[Footnote 24: Army of Arabs.]
[Footnote 25: Learned men.]
[Footnote 26: “Morocco as It Was,” by Walter Harris.]
[Footnote 27: Army of Arabs.]
[Footnote 28: “Morocco as It Was,” by Walter Harris.]
[Footnote 29: Roosevelt.]
[Footnote 30: A Spanish doctor in Xauen had recently operated
successfully on twenty cases of cataract, and the natives consider him a
saint.]
[Footnote 31: Here Raisuli was wrong. It was an Algerian, one
Abderrahman ben Sedira, trained by the French Government.]
[Footnote 32: Mr. Frank Rattigan’s Diary.]
[Footnote 33: Plural of Sherif.]
[Footnote 34: Or Vakil—a native representative or authorized agent.]
[Footnote 35: A kodak.]
[Footnote 36: 1,000 pesetas.]
[Footnote 37: Zugasti was born in 1886.]
[Footnote 38: “Rotters.”]
[Footnote 39: Ain el Fondak is in the middle of Wadi Ras.]
[Footnote 40: Religious endowments.]
[Footnote 41: The Great Feast (like our Christmas).]
[Footnote 42: Kibla is the prayer niche turned towards Mecca.]
[Footnote 43: The present Sultan.]
[Footnote 44: I think it was an owl.]
[Footnote 45: This was in August or September, 1912.]
[Footnote 46: December, 1912.]
[Footnote 47: See letter quoted in Appendix.]
[Footnote 48: Colloquialism—“rotters.”]
[Footnote 49: Store.]
[Footnote 50: Christian.]
[Footnote 51: Mohamed el Khalid can only have been about ten at this
time.]
[Footnote 52: In 1922.]
[Footnote 53: Christ.]
[Footnote 54: It is significant that, even at the height of the war,
they could be bought for twopence or threepence each.]
[Footnote 55: Ermiki.]
[Footnote 56: Companies.]
[Footnote 57: The official figures of this battle are 150 Spaniards dead
and 300 Moors.]
[Footnote 58: The Turkish Sultan.]
[Footnote 59: Its ruler under the dominant authority of the Turkish
Sultan.]
[Footnote 60: Christians.]
[Footnote 61: Force.]
[Footnote 62: 40,000, in reality.]
[Footnote 63: Men learned in Moslem law.]
[Footnote 64: The Sultan at Fez.]
[Footnote 65: “Praise be to the Prophet, the Messenger of God!”]
[Footnote 66: Menebbhe, the Sultan’s Minister, not the Kaid Menebbhe.]
[Footnote 67: January, 1915.]
[Footnote 68: May, 1915.]
[Footnote 69: May 11th.]
[Footnote 70: General Jordana.]
[Footnote 71: The Marquis of Villalba.]
[Footnote 72: June, 1915.]
[Footnote 73: Shells.]
[Footnote 74: “Salutation to the Prophet.”]
[Footnote 75: The point towards which Mohammedans turn their faces in
prayer.]
[Footnote 76: I think Raisuli was referring to the Inquisition.]
[Footnote 77: A towel.]
[Footnote 78: This is a common custom in Arab harems at the time of
childbirth, and the woman is supposed to gain some relief from it.]
[Footnote 79: Not the Suq el Khemis of Beni Aros.]
[Footnote 80: June 29th, 1916.]
[Footnote 81: The officer in question was Captain Tubao.]
[Footnote 82: March, 1917.]
[Footnote 83: The German agent.]
[Footnote 84: By killing any evil spirits who might be lurking around.]
[Footnote 85: Open.]
[Footnote 86: In January 1919.]
[Footnote 87: At the peace of Khotot.]
[Footnote 88: The Residency.]
[Footnote 89: The Prime Minister of Mulai el Mehdi, the Kalipha.]
[Footnote 90: Religious Endowments.]
[Footnote 91: Aeroplanes.]
[Footnote 92: July, 1919.]
[Footnote 93: An evergreen oak.]
[Footnote 94: These are round berries.]
[Footnote 95: Sultan of the Holy War—the greatest honour of Islam.]
[Footnote 96: Arab force.]
[Footnote 97: September, 1919.]
[Footnote 98: The irregulars in the service of Spain.]
[Footnote 99: Probably from ten to twelve thousand.]
[Footnote 100: This remark shows the efficiency of Raisuli’s secret
service, for, a fortnight later, Mulai Ali broke with the Spaniards.]
[Footnote 101: It happened in August, 1920.]
[Footnote 102: I think this must refer to the legend that, to gain
heaven, the dead Moslem must walk across a bridge of red-hot iron, but
all his good deeds come and make themselves into a carpet to protect his
feet.]
[Footnote 103: Among the Riffs.]
[Footnote 104: May, 1921.]
[Footnote 105: Two Hassani piastres are equivalent to a Spanish one.]
[Footnote 106: Raisuli.]
[Footnote 107: Mulai Ali is about twenty-eight.]
[Footnote 108: September, 1921.]
[Footnote 109: December, 1921.]
[Footnote 110: In April, 1922.]
[Footnote 111: In June 1922.]
[Footnote 112: This conference was on August 6th, 1922.]
[Footnote 113: Kaftan or Caftan—Long gown fastened by a girdle and
having sleeves that reach below the hands.]
[Footnote 114: A mining engineer.]
Transcriber's note:
In title Changed: "KUFARI" to: "KUFARA"
pg vii Changed: "Mohammed el Khabid" to: "Khalid"
pg vii Changed: "the Fondak of Ani Verida" to: "Ain Yerida"
pg vii Changed: "Raisuli’s house—the Zaura—at Tazrut" to: "Zawia"
pg 26 Changed: "my family are geater than the" to: "greater"
pg 35 Changed: "tied up wih some shreds" to: "with"
pg 76, footnote 31 Changed: "Abderrshman ben Sedirs" to:
"Abderrahman ben Sedira"
pg 81 Changed: "nothing in my face, askd me" to: "asked"
pg 92 Changed: "were arranged, Malai Hafid sent" to: "Mulai"
pg 94 Changed: "Beni Gorfet in Gebel Habid" to: "Habib"
pg 173 Changed: "they were allowed to believed" to: "believe"
Illus. facing pg 176 Changed: "Mohammed el Khabid, Raisuli’s" to:
"Khalid"
pg 182 Changed: "also with his his tribesmen" to: "with his tribesmen"
Illus. facing pg 192 Changed: "Fondak of Ani Verida" to: "Ain Yerida"
Illus. facing pg 192 Changed: "Raisuli’s house—the Zaura—at Tazrut"
to: "Zawia"
pg 206 Changed: "thought it costs you so many lives" to: "though"
pg 217 Changed: "Sometimes these mesengers were" to: "messengers"
pg 229 Changed: "and betwen them was" to: "between"
pg 232 Changed: "series of personal ancedotes" to: "anecdotes"
pg 233 Changed: "was a pile of matresses" to: "mattresses"
pg 235 Changed: "Everbody sings while the bride" to: "Everybody"
pg 247 Changed: "columns through Ben Abib" to: "Ayib"
pg 257 Changed: "nor di Sidi Mohamed, for he" to: "did"
pg 291 Changed: "Memabbhe and Badr ed Din" to: "Menebbhe"
pg 294 Changed: "Three colums converged" to: "columns"
pg 294 Changed: "bceause of these birds who" to: "because"
pg 299 Changed: "thought the war was at en end" to: "an end"
pg 308 Changed: "and be became ill and wept" to: "he became"
pg 312 Changed: "they paid no atention" to: "attention"
pg 316 Changed: "The processsion of tribesmen from" to: "procession"
pg 329 Changed: "his place taken by Sajurjo" to: "Sanjurjo"
pg 332 Changed: "Barguete" to: "Burguete"
pg 334 Changed: "one occasian journalists came" to: "occasion"
pg 335 Changed: "Berguete" to: "Burguete"
pg 345 Changed: "Ghasah seized my stirrup" to: "Ghabah"
pg 347, 348, 350 Changed: "Barguete" to: "Burguete", and its index
entry moved down accordingly
pg 348 Changed: "protectd by el Raisuli" to: "protected"
pg 348 Changed: "Corps Dipolmatique" to: "Diplomatique"
pg 350 Changed: "palace at Angeila" to: "Azeila"
pg 350 Changed: "Sajurjo" to: "Sanjurjo"
Some changes in punctuation and quotation mark placement have been
done silently.
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