Of the Maroquine Sahara, I have only space to mention the interesting cluster of oases of Figheegh, or Figuiq. Shaw mentions them as "a knot of villagers," noted for their plantations of palm-trees, supplying the western province of Algeria with dates. We have now more ample information of Figheegh, finding this Saharan district to consist of an agglomeration of twelve villages, the more considerable of which are Maiz, counting eight hundred houses, El-Wadghir five hundred, and Zenega twelve hundred. The others vary from one or two hundred houses. The villages are more or less connected together, never farther apart than a quarter of a league, and placed on the descent of Wal-el-Khalouf ("river of the wild boar") whence water is procured for the gardens, containing varieties of fruit-trees and abundance of date-palms, all hedged round with prickly-pears. Madder-root and tobacco are also cultivated, besides barley sufficient for consumption. The wheat is brought from the Teli. The Wad-el-Khalouf is dry, except in winter, but its bed is bored with inexhaustible wells, whose waters are distributed among the gardens by means of a clepsydra, or a vessel which drops so much water in an hour. The ancients measured time by the dropping of water, like the falling of sand in the hour-glass.
Some of the houses in these villages have two stories, and are well built; each place has its mosque, its school, its kady, and its sheikh, and the whole agglomeration of oases is governed by a Sheikh Kebir, appointed by the Sultan of Morocco. These Saharan villages are eternally in strife with one another, and sometimes take up arms. On this account, they are surrounded by crenated walls, defended by towers solidly built. The immediate cause of discord here is water, that precious element of all life in the desert. But the imaginations of the people are not satisfied with this simple reason, and they are right, for the cause lies deeply in the human heart. They say, however, their ancestors were cursed by a Marabout, to punish them for their laxity in religion, and this was his anathema, "God make you, until the day of judgment, like wool-comber's cards, the one gnawing the other!"
Their wars, in fact, are most cruel, for they destroy the noble and fruitful palms, which, by a tacit convention, are spared in other parts of the Sahara when these quarrels proceed to bloodshed. They have, besides, great tact in mining, and their reputation as miners has been a long time established. But, happily, they are addicted to commerce and various branches of industry, as well as war, having commercial relations with Fez, Tafilett and Touat, and the people are, therefore, generally prosperous.
CHAPTER VII.
London Jew-boys.—Excursion to the Emperor's garden, and the Argan
Forests.—Another interview with the Governor of Mogador on the
Anti-Slavery Address.—Opinion of the Moors on the Abolition of Slavery.
We have at times imported into Mogador a stray London Jew or so, of the lower lemon-selling sort. These lads from the Minories, are highly exasperated against the Moors for treating them with so much contempt. Indeed, a high-spirited London Jew-boy will not stop at Mogador, though the adult merchant will, to get money, for mankind often learn baseness with age, and pass to it through a golden door. One of these Jew-boys, being cursed by a man, naturally cursed him again, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." Mr. Willshire did not think so; and, on the complaint of the Moor, the British Consul threw the British Jew-boy into a Moorish prison, where he remained for some days. This is one more instance of the disadvantage of having commercial consuls, where everything is sacrificed to keep on good terms with government authorities.
A fire happened the other night, breaking out in the house of one of the rich Jewish merchants; but it was soon extinguished, the houses being built chiefly of mortar and stone, with very little wood. The Governor got up, and went to the scene of "conflagration;" he cracked a few jokes with the people and went home to bed. The Moors were sorry the fire did not extend itself, wanting to have an opportunity of appropriating a few of the merchant's goods.
I accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Elton, with other friends, to spend the day in the pleasant valley of the Saneeates-Sultan, (Garden of the Emperor) sometimes called Gharset-es-Sultan, three or four hours' ride south from Mogador. The small river of Wad-el-Kesab, (overlooked by the village of Deeabat, where watch-dogs were barking apparently all day long as well as night), lay in our way, and was with difficulty forded, heavy rain having fallen up the country, though none on the coast. These Barbary streams are very deceptive, illustrating the metaphor of the book of Job, "deceitful as a brook." To-day, their beds are perfectly dry; to-morrow, a sheet of turbid water dashing and foaming to the ocean, covers them and the country round, whilst the immediate cause is concealed. Abrupt and sudden overflowings occur in all rivers having their source in mountains. The book of Job may also refer to the disappointment of Saharan travellers, who, on arriving weary and thirsty, dying for water, at the stream of the Desert, find it dried up, and so perish.
The country in the valley of the Emperor's garden offers nothing remarkable. Bushes of underwood covering sandy mounds, a few palmettos and Argan trees, in which wild doves fluttered and flew about, were all that broke the monotony of a perfect waste. There were no cultivated lands hereabouts, and I was told that a great part of Morocco presents this desolate aspect. We visited, however, the celebrated Argan tree, which the people pretend was planted by the lieutenant of the Prophet, the mighty Okba, who, having spurred his horse in the roaring rebellious surge of the Atlantic, wept and wailed before Heaven that there were no more nations in whose heart to plunge his awful scimitar—so teaching them the mercy of God! Alas! the old hoary tree, with a most peaceful patriarchal look, seemed to belie the honour, stretching out its broad sinewy arm to shelter a hundred people from the darting fires of an African sun. A more noble object of inanimate nature is not to be contemplated than a large and lofty branching tree; in its boughs and leaves, endlessly varying, matted together and intersecting each other, we see the palpable image of infinity. But in the dry and hot climate of Africa, this tree is a luxury which cannot be appreciated in Europe.
We sat under its fresh shade awhile, gazing with security at the bright fires of the sun, radiating over and through all visible nature. To check our enthusiasm, we had strewn at our feet old broken bottles and crockery, the débris and classic relics of former visitors, who were equally attentive to creature-comforts as to the grandeur of the Argan monarch of the surrounding forest.