When he was appointed basha, a royal letter from the Sultan was sent to Tetuan and read aloud in the mosque: then he entered upon his duties. He must needs go warily from day to day; and even then luck may desert him at any moment, and a summons may arrive from the Sultan—he is to go to Court at once. I recollect in what abject terror, one basha, who was sent for at a day's notice, set out upon his journey, only to find, when he got to Court, that he was to have a more lucrative billet and a higher post of honour. Many who have departed in terror, all unknowing of the future, have found, when they reached Fez or Morocco City, where-ever the Sultan might be, that their worst fears were realized. Either placed under arrest, tortured, imprisoned, or bastinadoed, the little wealth they had accumulated is extorted from them, under the pretext of there being arrears in taxes or other dues, which must be made good. The wooden jellab is used for the purpose of extorting confession in the case of imaginary wealth supposed to be hidden (and much often is hidden): it is made of wood, resembling in shape a long cloak, and placed in an upright position; the inside is lined with iron points, which prevent the body from resting against it without suffering. Inside this "jellab" the basha is squeezed, standing up, and he remains there on a sparse diet of bread and water till he divulges.
Both the Prime Minister and the Minister of War were sent to the prison in Tetuan soon after the accession of the present Sultan; but that was for plotting against his life. In the common gaol, heavily chained, under the same roof with the herd of common prisoners, all they were allowed was a curtain across one corner, behind which they sat. The Prime Minister died there. The Minister of War is there to-day, March 1902, and, after over seven years' confinement, getting fat. Some members of the Rahamna tribe are there also. This tribe, which belongs to the far south, near Morocco City, about eight years ago was in a state of rebellion, to quell which the Sultan sent his army with orders to eat them up. Their fat lands and fine gardens were ruined; men, women, and children killed and taken prisoners; while six hundred of them were sent to the Tetuan prison, and a great number—I do not know exactly—went to Rabat. That was eight years ago. Sixty of them are in Tetuan prison now, the remnant of six hundred. There is a kaid among them who is very ill, dying: the eight years have done for him.
Since this was written, an order has come from the Sultan for the release of the Rahamna tribesmen. In Rabat, unfortunately, almost all who were in the Kasbah prison died long ago. Its insanitary condition has earned for it the name of Dar-el-Mout (the House of Death). But in the other prison there were survivors. These came out with traces of the late governor's butchery.
For trying to send a written petition to the Sultan three years ago, which set forth their condition, and prayed that after five years' confinement they might be considered to have paid for their rebellious deeds, and be allowed to return to their own land for the last years of their lives, the late governor, Ba Hamed, gave orders that their hands should be mutilated. A knife was drawn across the back of the wrist, cutting the extensor tendons of the hand: the hand was packed with salt, and sewn up in wet cow-hide. When this was taken off or wore off, it was not recognizable as a hand.
Miss Hanbury, who did her best to institute reforms in Moorish prisons, and succeeded in Tangier, left at her death a sum of money, out of which £5 came to Tetuan to be spent on their behalf. It fell into the hands of the lady missionaries, and they spent it in making jellabs for the prisoners to wear, whose garments are worse than filthy. Unfortunately £5 was not nearly enough to clothe all; it only provided a jellab for one out of every three of the prisoners, and the poor wretches fought like dogs for them.
"They will wear them in turns," the gaoler said. He and another Moor had superintended the distribution of them; and to their lasting disgrace, deaf to argument and remonstrance on the part of the missionaries, they each appropriated a jellab to himself, saying, "This is my share; this goes to me." They were of coarse material, such as neither gaoler nor under-gaoler would ever wear themselves: all they would do would be to take them into market and convert them into money.
"Moors have no feelings," people say, and say wrongly; but that, to a great extent, it is true take just one instance—the state of the prisons and prisoners. It was enough in the distance to "wind" the Tetuan prison. There remains the reflection—call it comforting if you like—that a people who consent to endure such filth, and misery, and harsh treatment, are not affected by them in the same way in which a highly civilized people would be affected.
It is absurd to blame the Moorish Government; it is absurd to say, "The people are obliged to endure." No people can be forced to endure: a point comes beyond endurance, and they rebel, choosing death rather. The vigorous and progressive race endures least. Therefore on the Moors' own heads be the state of their prisons, the treatment of their prisoners: to that cursed spirit of laissez-faire half the blame is due; the rest comes of their indifference to suffering, to bad smells and dirt and a sedentary existence. It is manifestly unfair to blame certain ministers and officials. Taking into consideration the manners and customs, hopes and fears, of the Moorish people, their prisons probably suit them right well, and they need no pity.
It was not always easy to get provisions, except life's bare necessities, in Tetuan. Provision Stores, which were long out of their goods, always had the same answer when asked for them—"Mānana" (To-morrow); and to-morrow never came. But it is unwise to "hustle the East": men have died trying to find a way of doing so. Therefore we chewed with philosophy the cud of the Moorish proverb:—