The Passing of Morocco

by Frederick Ferdinand Moore

I did as he bade and disappointed him.

‘Me woman,’ he continued.

‘A bearded woman,’ I suggested; at which he laughed and explained (still lying on his back) that he had been to Earl’s Court once, in a show, that he had had no beard then, being but sixteen, and because he wore what seemed to Londoners to be a feminine attire they all thought he was a woman.

The Arab quarter of Tangier is entirely Moorish. The kasbah or citadel, high above the water of the Straits, has its own walls, as is customary, and within these, though the architecture may not be so fine as that at Fez, there is yet no Christian and no Christian way; it is thoroughly Moorish. The tourist may enter without a guide and poke his way through the heavy arches and the stair-like streets. He may go into the square where the Basha governing the district, like the Sultan at the capital, receives delegations and hears the messages of tribesmen in trouble; but the infidel, even though he be a foreign minister, may not enter mosque or fort or arsenal, or any other place except the residence of the kaid who is in command.

He may look in, however, at the door of the prison and even talk to victims crowded within, but there is much grumbling and no doubt some cursing if he goes away forgetting to distribute francs among the dozen jailers whose ‘graft’—to use an expressive American term—is to make a living in this way from Europeans. There is one man in prison here who speaks a little English and tells you that he has been in jail for more than ten long years and will be there for ever, for he has no money and his friends are far up country. He was imprisoned, so he says, because a rival told the Basha that he had smuggled arms from Spain. Now smuggling arms is a trade that meets, in ports where consuls do not interfere, with speedy execution. Not many years ago this punishment was meted out to some offenders even in Tangier. There is a graphic story of one such killing told in a book by an Italian, De Amicis, published many years ago:

‘An Englishman, Mr. Drummond Hay, coming out one morning at one of the gates of Tangier, saw a company of soldiers dragging along two prisoners with their arms bound to their sides. One was a mountain man from the Riff, formerly a gardener to a European resident at Tangier; the other, a young fellow, tall, and with an open and attractive countenance. The Englishman asked the officer in command what crime these two unfortunate men had committed.

‘“The Sultan,” was the answer—“may God prolong his life!—has ordered their heads to be cut off, because they have been engaged in contraband trade on the coast of the Riff with infidel Spaniards.”

‘“It is very severe punishment for such a fault,” observed the Englishman; “and if it is to serve as a warning and example to the inhabitants of Tangier, why are they not allowed to witness the execution?” (The gates of the city had been closed, and Mr. Drummond Hay had caused one to be opened for him by giving money to the guard.)

‘“Do not argue with me, Nazarene,” responded the officer; “I have received an order and must obey.”

‘The decapitation was to take place in the Hebrew slaughterhouse. A Moor of vulgar and hideous aspect was there awaiting the condemned. He had in his hand a small knife about six inches long. He was a stranger in the city, and had offered himself as executioner because the Mohammedan butchers of Tangier, who usually fill that office, had all taken refuge in a mosque.