As I walked about with the captain, I then for the first time observed the horses of Morocco. They are all small, so much so, that upon my return to Europe, after having become accustomed to them, even middle-sized horses seemed at first enormous to me. They have brilliant eyes, the forehead a little flattened, very wide nostrils, the cheek-bone very prominent, the whole head beautiful; the shin-bone and tibia slightly curved, which gives a peculiar elasticity of movement; the crupper very sloping, rendering them more able to gallop than to trot, indeed, I do not remember ever to have seen a horse trot in Morocco. Seen in repose or merely walking past, even the finest of them make no show; but put to a gallop, they are quite changed, and become superb. Although they have much less food, and are more heavily caparisoned than ours, they bear fatigue much better. Also the manner of riding is different. The stirrups are very short, and the reins very long. The rider sits with his knees almost at a right angle, and the saddle, extremely high before and behind, holds him in a way that makes it almost impossible for him to be thrown. The horsemen wear heelless boots of yellow leather. Most of them have no spurs, but use instead of them the angle of the stirrup; some wear a small iron point in the shape of a dagger, fastened to the heel by a metal band and chain. Wonderful things are told of the great love of an Arab for his horse, the animal of the Prophet’s predilection; he is said to consider him as a sacred being; that every morning at sunrise he places his hand upon his steed’s head, and murmurs Bismillah! (in the name of God), and then kisses the hand, which has been sanctified by the touch; and that he is prodigal of cares and caresses. It may be all true. But as far as I could see, the Arab’s great affection for his horse did not prevent him from lacerating his sides in a quite unnecessary way, or from leaving him in the sun when he could have put him in the shade, or from taking him a long distance to drink, with his legs hobbled, or from exposing him a dozen times a day to the danger of breaking his limbs, out of pure mischief, or, finally, from neglecting his trappings in a way that would put him in prison for six months if he belonged to a European cavalry regiment.
The heat being very great we remained some hours at our resting-place, but no one could sleep by reason of the insects. It was the first warning of the great battle that was to be waged, growing hotter every day, until the end of the journey. Hardly had we stretched ourselves upon the ground when we were assaulted, stung, and tormented on every side, as if we had chosen a bed of nettles. Caterpillars, spiders, monstrous ants, hornets, and grasshoppers, big, impudent, and determined, swarmed about us. The commandant, who had taken upon himself to raise our spirits by always exaggerating the perils of the way, now assured us that these creatures might be considered microscopic compared with the insects that we should encounter at Fez and later in the summer; and he declared that so little would be left of us upon our return to Italy that our best friends would not know us. The cook listened to these remarks with a forced smile, and became pensive. Close by there was a monstrous spider’s web, spread over some bushes like a sheet hung out to dry. The commandant exclaimed that every thing in that country was gigantic, formidable, miraculous! and insisted that the spider which had made that web must be as large as a horse. But we could not discover him. The only ones of us who slept were the Arabs, curled up in the burning sun with a procession of creeping things marching over them. The two artists tried to sketch, surrounded by a cloud of ferocious flies, which drew from Ussi a whole rich litany of Florentine oaths.
The heat becoming less, the escort from Had-el-Garbia, the American Consul, and the Vice-Governor of Tangiers, took leave of the ambassador and turned back, while we pursued our way, accompanied by the three hundred horsemen from Laracce.
Vast undulating plains, covered here with corn and there with barley, further on with yellow stubble or with grass and flowers; here a few black tents and the tomb of a saint; now and then a palm-tree; from mile to mile three or four horsemen coming to join our escort; an immense solitude, a sky of perfect purity, a burning sun: such are the notes I find in my note-book as to the march of May 5th.
The encampment was at Tleta de Reissana. We found the tents pitched as usual in a circle, in a deep and shell-shaped gorge so overgrown with tall grass and flowers that they almost impeded our steps. It seemed like a great garden. Beds and boxes in the tents were almost hidden by tall flowers of every form and color. Close to the tent of the two painters rose two enormous aloes in blossom.
The Italian Consular Agent from Laracce met us here. He was Signor G——, an old Genoese merchant, who had lived for forty years on the Atlantic coast, jealously preserving the accent of his native town; and toward evening arrived, from no one knew where, an Arab who wished to consult the doctor of the Embassy.
He was a poor old man, lame and bent; Signor Miguerez, who spoke Arabic, questioned him about his ailments, and searched in the portable medicine chest for a remedy. Not finding the right one, he sent for Mohammed Ducali, and made him write down a prescription in Arabic, by means of which the sick man was to be treated when he got back to his family and friends. It was a medicine much in use among the Arabs. Whilst Ducali wrote, the old man muttered prayers; and when it was ready, the paper was handed to him.
Instantly, before there was time to say one word, he crammed it into his mouth with both hands. The doctor called out: “No! no! spit it out! spit it out!” But it was of no use. The poor old fellow chewed the paper with the avidity of a starving creature, swallowed it, thanked the doctor, and turned to go away. They had all the pains in the world to persuade him that the virtue of the medicine did not reside in the paper, and that another prescription must be written.
The incident cannot surprise any one who knows what the science of medicine is in Morocco. It is almost exclusively exercised by quacks, necromancers, and “saints.” Some juices of herbs, blood-letting, sarsaparilla for certain diseases, the dry skin of a serpent or chameleon for intermittent fevers, a hot iron for wounds, certain verses from the Koran written upon the medicine bottles, or on bits of paper worn round the sick man’s neck; these are the principal remedies. The study of anatomy being forbidden by their religion, it is easy to imagine to what a pass surgery is reduced. Amputation is held in abhorrence. The few Arabs who are within reach of the aid of European surgeons would prefer to die in atrocious spasms rather than submit to the cut that would save their lives. It follows that though cases of injury to a limb are frequent in Morocco, especially from the explosion of fire-arms, there are very few mutilated persons; and those few are for the most part poor wretches whose hands have been cut off by the executioner with a dull knife, and the hemorrhage stopped by the application of boiling pitch. These violent remedies, however, especially the red-hot iron, sometimes obtain admirable effects; and they apply them themselves brutally, boldly, without any aid. Either by reason of small nervous sensibility, or from their souls having been hardened in a fatalistic faith, they resist the most horrible pain with tremendous force of will. They go through the operation of cupping with an earthen pot and enough fire to roast the spine; they open boils with their daggers, driving them in at the risk of cutting an artery; and they will apply fire to an open wound on their own arm, blowing away the smoke of the frizzling flesh without a groan. The maladies that are most prevalent are fevers, ophthalmia, scald-head, elephantiasis, and dropsy; but the most common of all is syphilis, handed down from generation to generation, altered and reproduced in strange and horrid forms, with which whole tribes are infected, and of which a large proportion die; and the mortality would no doubt be even greater but for their extreme sobriety in eating, to which both their poverty and the exigencies of the climate compel them. European physicians there are none excepting in the cities of the coast; in Fez itself there are none, unless some renegade quack who has fled from Algeria or the Spanish garrisons may be counted such. When the Emperor, or a Minister, or a rich Moor falls ill, he sends for a European doctor from the coast. But this is never done except in cases of extremity, and they hide their infirmities for years, so that when the physician does arrive, it is often only to see his patient die. They have great faith in the skill of European doctors; the sight of the drugs, the chemical preparations, the surgical instruments, give them an immense idea of the power of science; they promise themselves prodigies, following the first prescriptions with the docility and cheerfulness of people quite certain of a prompt cure. But if the cure is not immediate, they lose all faith, and go back to their quacks.
The evening passed without any event worth noting, beyond the discovery of a monstrous scorpion of preternatural blackness on the pillow of my bed. I was seized with a momentary terror, and carefully threw the light upon him as I approached with cautious steps; whereupon I was able to read upon his back the following reassuring inscription: “Ceasar Biseo made it—May 5th, 1875.”