Many walks began by degrees to tell upon our boots, for the cobble-stones of Tetuan and the rocks of Morocco in general are meant less for boots than for bare feet, which they do not seem to damage. In time, stress of circumstances drove us to a curly black-headed Jew bootmaker, whose most expensive pair of thick black boots cost nine shillings. Another Israelite made us suits of rough brown jellab material, for the sum of £1 each—stuff which wore for ever.
The mountains on the opposite side of the river were our El Dorado, but the river would not go down in January and allow of our fording it; rain followed rain, and it was higher than ever. One market day we walked down to watch the people from the other side come across, on their way into the sok, laden with country produce. Years ago a bridge had been built over the Wad-el-Martine, but, like other Moorish architecture, it was not built to last, and the immense floods which swing down the Wad-el-Martine in winter-time soon left only a broken pier or two, to point out that a bridge had been thought of. The money to build it was supplied by Government: half of it went into the pocket of the builder; a little went towards the bridge, which naturally could only be built of rubbish, without proper foundations. Now that there is no bridge, it is once more, as it had been for ages upon ages, a case of ferrying across by the big ferry-boat, or of fording. Since ferrying means money, and fording only a wetting, most of the market-goers ford.
It was a sight to see the countrywomen wading through, one after another like a string of ducks, trying to keep dry: the water came just about up to their bodies, and the white haik and piece of towelling for a skirt could be bundled up somehow—a very few wore short white cotton drawers. Their legs were remarkable for an enormous development of muscle in unusual places. Once across, they wrung out anything which had been wetted, shivering somewhat; then arranged their voluminous haiks afresh over the mysterious great bundles on their backs, and, padding off in single file, made for the city. What those bundles, which bent their backs half double, had inside them it was impossible to certify: often part of it was a baby, judging by a round shape like a head under the haik, and the fact that, when it had a knock, there was a cry: the rest might be chickens, oranges, vegetables, baskets of eggs, baskets of coos-coosoo, heads of brooms made of bamboo, honey, and so on. Some of the chickens dangled in front of the women by strings tied to their waists: the chickens were alive, of course.
A Ferry-Boat on Market Day.
On the tops of their heads the women wore enormous straw hats, with brims large enough to act as umbrellas and to keep the rain off their shoulders. The ferry-boat, packed with them and these straw hats, was worth seeing, like a grand-stand in a shower hidden by umbrellas. The weights which the women carry for hours at a time are almost incredible; but they begin as tiny girls, lopping along after their mothers at a half-run under tiny bundles, with the same bent backs; and habit is second nature.
After the string of women came along a youth, with two small donkeys, laden with panniers full of green vegetables. The donkeys jibbed upon the brink; many "Arrahs" and curses and much cudgelling with a stick got them started; the panniers swayed horribly, and threatened to turn completely round, as the current pushed the donkeys over this side and that. Once in, they made pluckily for the opposite shore; but the stream carried them down; the water was well up their bodies; the distracted boy plunged and struggled behind first this one and then the other, whichever seemed in most danger—for the ford was none too wide. Urging them to keep up-stream, he clung on to one refractory pannier. The water rose higher and almost took them off their feet; but that was the worst place; now it was better. The leading donkey was in safety in shallower water, nearing dry land; but the other poor fellow seemed less strong, and was not able to make half such a good fight of it—its load may have been heavier. In spite of the boy it got lower and lower down-stream: suddenly there was an upheaval and a splash; its head went under altogether, pack and everything in a hole. Then the boy surpassed himself; for, deep as it was, he was there in a moment, got hold of the donkey behind, and pushed and half lifted, at no small risk to himself, and pulled, until the little fellow, after several relapses, found his feet. Finally, he waded out, and stood, like a drowned rat, on the bank, pack and all streaming; then he collected himself after a pause, and doddered off towards the sok. The boy shook himself and his soaked clothes, clutched his stick, and ran after his donkeys.
A well-to-do Moor, possibly a sheikh, was the next to go for the ford. He probably farmed, and his sleek mule was full of green corn and "beans." They were things of colour, the pair of them: all the mule's appointments scarlet, himself a glossy brown; while his master, in dark blue, sat tight on his scarlet saddle, his bright chased stirrups flashing, so short as to bring his feet right up the mule's side—his turban, white as snow, with the red peak of the fez underneath, the deepest blot of colour, against the sky. A white garment waved out in the breeze under the blue jellab; he sat straight as a withy, feeling the mule's mouth with a hard hand, and bringing its nose into the air. There were some bravado and a great deal of assurance in the whole. The world used him well. Moors ride everywhere, if they possess anything with four legs. Why should they give themselves the fatigue of walking? But besides that, they are horsemen and most at home on a horse, while their country is not one to travel in on foot.
Having decided that the river was fordable, and that we ought to be able to ride across it, we walked back by way of the city, and went in to tea with a Moor, ordering a donkey to be sent out the next day to Jinan Dolero, which should take us across to our El Dorado. The Moor who entertained us was a certain Ci Hamed Ghralmia, the eldest son of a Government official who had fattened physically and financially on the Customs, and whose fine house represented so many perquisites and bribes, and so much pared off the lump sum which went annually up to the Sultan.
It was as luxurious a house as Eastern could wish: soft Rabat carpets, old Fez silk hangings, round the four-post beds, standing back in recesses in the room into which our host led us,—hangings such as even Fez can no longer produce; such silk is not made. One piece, which was quite as handsome in its way, was made years ago in Tetuan, from Tetuan silk-worms, reared on the slopes outside the Mulberry Gate—spun, dyed, and woven in Tetuan.
