There need be no waste of time in Morocco, even as there is no convention: having decided to start—start. The 31st of March saw us away, leaving Mogador with the intention of marching to Marrakesh, which is the Moorish name for Morocco City, the southern capital of the empire. In order to see more of the country we marched by a zigzag route, crossing, but not following, the beaten track; thus we were once or twice in villages where European women had not been seen: we met no one, and we camped in odd, out-of-the way corners, objects of huge interest to the wandering Arabs with whom we fell in.
Mr. Maddon, the British Consul at Mogador, to whom we brought letters of introduction from Sir Arthur Nicolson, helped us in several ways, and in his turn provided us with letters to an Arab in Marrakesh. We managed to buy two mules: one was from the Sus, with a backbone like a sword-fish and every rib showing, but he was as hard as nails, and would pace along all day without any trouble; the other was a lazy beast, fat and older; but they both of them proved useful animals, answering our purpose for the time being. We meant to sell, when we left the country: hiring is expensive work. Of course it was "just a dear time to buy": it always is. The Jew broker, through whom we bought the mules from the Susi to whom they belonged, asked seven pounds ten for each of them, but came down to six pounds fifteen. We sold them some weeks later for five guineas each: hiring would have cost a great deal more. Ordinarily they are to be bought for five pounds and less in Mogador. No Susi will trade direct with a European, and every bargain goes through Israel's hands, which means a big percentage pocketed by the Jew.
Where Manchester Goods are Sold, Mogador.
Our hotel-keeper, the Scotch lady, provided us with reliable servants, one of whom turned out to be invaluable. Mulai Omar was, as his name indicates, a saint by heredity. Algeria was his birthplace. He was twenty-four years old; and having lived in a French possession, spoke French, not like S`lam, but perfectly. He was a well-educated little fellow, enterprising, energetic; interpreted Arabic and Shillah for us; acted as cook, in which capacity he was first-rate; generally organized the camp; and was our personal servant. Mulai Omar was quite a man to know, and a friend to trust. He was unattractive-looking—small, dark, and dirty; wore a red fez, a short black monkey-jacket, and immense, full, white cotton drawers. Saïd, our second servant, intended to look after the mules, was a lazy Arab, who acted the fine gentleman, and was never without a cigarette in his mouth. He helped Omar more or less, and was responsible for much loss of temper on our parts, before we parted. Another saint by heredity, Mulai Ombach, looked after our camel, which carried the heavy baggage. Our fourth and last man, Mohammed, drove a donkey, nominally for the purpose of carrying provender for the mules and camel, but which often as not bore either Mulai Ombach or Mohammed himself. The two principal servants, Omar and Saïd, rode two mules, which carried light loads as well.
We hired a couple of Moorish men's saddles for our own use, red-clothed, high-peaked, and well stuffed; also two big tents—one for the servants, one for ourselves. Our commissariat was not hard to manage, helped out with stores we had brought from Tangier; for bearing in mind Napoleon's truism that "the army marches on its stomach," we had laid in an ample supply.
Eleven o'clock saw us finally under way on the morning of the 31st. We had intended to start at nine; but any one who has ever travelled and camped out knows the difficulty of getting away upon that first morning—the final wrench between the servants and their old surroundings, the dozen petty obstacles. In this case one of the mules hired for baggage turned out to be in a wretched condition when it came to the hotel, and another had to be found in its place—no easy matter. The camel was started off at half-past ten with our beds, bedding, cuisine necessaries, part of the tents, and chairs and table; but, to our disgust, Mulai Ombach, its driver, stopped short at the bazaar, and there we found them both when we rode through the city. They were hurried up, and the whole party seen safely through the city gates; but once outside, the camel was so slow that we left them behind, R. and myself jogging ahead with Mulai Omar and Saïd, trusting that the heavy baggage would catch us up at lunch-time. One more delay—outside the Jewish cemetery was standing, waiting for us, the wife of Saïd: many tears were flowing, and sobs to be heard under the haik. Saïd produced some dollars, which were no doubt intended to last her during her husband's absence: he then rode on without attempting a farewell, and we were really off at last.
For the first five miles we hugged the coast in a northerly direction, keeping close to the sea: the tide was high; in one place, where we made a short cut, resulting in rather a nasty bit of riding, we were actually in the waves, slipping over black rock, with deep pools on each side. It was a grey day, not hot, and the hard flat sands, across which we rode for the most part, were excellent going.
The only wayfarers we met, tramped along behind camels. Untrustworthy brutes these animals are, especially the bubbling ones, out of whose way we most cautiously kept; for though a camel seldom bites, when he does it is serious. He never forgets an injury. A man in Mogador ill-treated one badly a few years ago: it went into the interior for a year, and came back to Mogador, and met and knew the man at once, taking him by the nape of the neck, as is its habit, and tearing the back of his skull off.
The sandy dunes on our right were covered with r`tam (white broom), slender, waving, silver-green stems, in seed just then. Only r`tam could grow in such poor soil. When we turned inland we found ourselves amongst dense undergrowth, a small forest, consisting chiefly of tugga (a sort of juniper), of myrtle, sidra bushes, and other shrubs, intersected by narrow paths, along one of which we paced in single file, the limestone which crops up all over the country making our pace a slow one. It was the middle of the day when we found ourselves in the thick of this jungle. Omar pointed out a little sandy clearing, and in amongst the bushes, out of earshot of the track, we halted for lunch. The mules had their packs taken off, and rolled themselves in the sand. A carpet was spread on a bank; and there, with the sea still to be seen behind us, the thickets echoing with familiar blackbirds, and every space glowing with thyme, iris, lavender, and other flowers, we spent the first of many lazy hours of the sort. Alas! our camel was still behind us, and never turned up: that was a wretched piece of bundobust. But long before we quitted Morocco we vowed never to have a camel for baggage again.