Our impressions on this our first acquaintance with the outer region of the Great Atlas were very agreeable. The country appeared populous and fruitful. There was, indeed, little space for tillage, and that was of the rudest kind; but besides the olive, which attains a great size, the carob (Ceratonia Siliqua) and walnut, both growing to perfection, combine beauty with economic value. The common Opuntia, or Indian fig, also grows luxuriantly, and supplies an item in the diet of the natives.
Before we started, about 3 P.M. a body of miserable-looking Jews presented themselves, and offered a mona of olives, chilis, cakes of repulsive appearance, and some terrible spirituous liquor served in a battered tin teapot. When we excused ourselves on the ground that we had but just finished eating, they insisted that we should, at least, partake of the liquor. Abraham explained that we could not possibly drink out of a vessel so indescribably foul as the earthenware cup presented to us; whereupon one of the women lifted the skirt of her filthy petticoat, and proceeded to polish the cup to her own satisfaction. There was something pathetic in the abject air of these poor people, of whom there are many communities in this part of the Atlas. Born to suffering and oppression, they yet contrive to hold together, and even increase their numbers, thanks to superior intelligence and skill which make them almost indispensable to their neighbours. They are forced by law or custom to wear none but black outer garments, and the older men have high brimless cylindrical hats, tapering somewhat towards the top. They had taken it into their heads that Christian strangers travelling with a large escort must be persons of influence and authority, and had come to implore our favour and protection. The men concluded by kissing the skirts of our jellabias; and, as we were riding off, the women, who stood in a group behind, advanced and kissed our knees, in true Oriental fashion. We were assured by our interpreter, who naturally sympathised with the people of his own race, that they often suffer from ill-usage, for which there is absolutely no redress; but it does not appear that their condition is practically as bad as that of the same people in Roumania and some other so-called Christian States. In some respects, indeed, they are better off than their Mohammedan neighbours. Not suspected of wealth, their head-men are not liable to be ‘squeezed,’ and, living apart, they are not engaged in the intestine feuds of adjoining tribes, and not often victims of the cruelties that accompany them.
During our afternoon ride from Tasseremout to the Ourika river, our course lay to the SW., along the base of the escarpment which had so much attracted our notice from a distance; and much discussion arose as to the origin of the vast masses of boulders that were spread along the comparatively level shelf along which we rode, and descended, in some places at least, to the margin of the plain.
During the ascent from our camp of last night to Tasseremout, we first made acquaintance with these deposits, at a height of about 3,000 feet above the sea, that of the olive grove at Tasseremout being 3,534 feet. On the slope to the right of our track a mass of irregular weather-worn blocks of sandstone lay in disorder, the most prominent characteristic being that they were all of large size (measuring from ten to twenty cubic yards, according to Maw), with little or no intermixture of finer materials. Maw was disposed to consider these as glacial deposits;[5] but, among other difficulties, it was urged that the moraines of glaciers descending from a great mountain chain always include a large proportion of finer materials along with large blocks, and that these include fragments of the various rocks through which the glacier flows, while it was primâ facie improbable that such a mountain chain as that before us should be altogether formed of the sandstone of which, so far as we could see, the blocks before us were exclusively composed. Soon after leaving Tasseremout, we came to the opening of a narrow valley or ravine cutting through the escarpment, and exposing to view great piles of boulders similar to those seen below, but on a larger scale. After this, the escarpment showed an unbroken face for a distance of about ten miles. Seen near at hand the slope, which from a distance seemed nearly vertical, appeared to have an inclination of from 35° to 45°, and rose to an average height of about 1,000 feet above its base. The upper beds, whose exposed edges were everywhere seen, seemed to consist of hard limestone with siliceous concretions; while the lower beds were of less consistent shaly limestone.
The ground over which we rode in a SW. direction, parallel to the base of the escarpment, was very irregular in form, rising in places into mounds sloping inwards towards the cliffs as well as outwards towards the plain; and, although in great part covered with vegetation, it appeared pretty certain that the whole was composed of irregular masses of sandstone intermixed to some extent with fragments of the rocks forming the barrier beside us. To those who did not admit the probability of the boulders before seen being deposited by glacial action, the phenomena here presented offered strong confirmation. A glacier descending from a main valley necessarily flows down the slope towards the plain, and could not turn aside at right angles to its previous course, and to the line of maximum inclination, unless there had been a barrier of solid rock stopping the way, of which there was here not the slightest indication. Whether or not materials that are borne down a steep incline by sub-aërial denudation form a talus with a diminishing slope resting against the face of the escarpment, or form mounds at a greater or less distance from the base, is a question depending upon the momentum with which they descend; and this again depends on three elements—the weight of the blocks, the steepness, and the length of the slope. If the greater portion of the materials consist of large blocks launched down a steep and long incline, these will travel to a considerable distance from the base of the cliff, and gradually form a barrier that will stop the course of other similar masses, until these accumulate into considerable mounds, as may be seen in many instances of berg-falls in the Alps. Whatever be the origin of these accumulations in this part of the Great Atlas, it would appear that the conditions that gave rise to them have now ceased, as we saw no instance of any large block that appeared to have been recently borne to its present position.
As it was important to reach our night quarters by daylight, we collected few plants during the afternoon ride; a fine Asperula, with numerous flowers varying from white to pink, seemingly not different from the Spanish A. hirsuta, was a great ornament here, and in several other places on the skirts of the Atlas.
As we approached the opening of a considerable valley, it was apparent that the escarpment ridge here comes to an end, and is not again traceable as a distinct feature in the scenery on the west side of the Ourika river. The name Ourika, with which we now became familiar, appears to be that of a district, governed by a Kaïd under the orders of El Graoui, which includes a fruitful valley running deep into the heart of the Great Atlas. Having descended from the hummocky ground over which our course lay, we struck the valley just where the stream issues from between the hills below a village named Achliz. Nearly all the water was at this season diverted from its natural bed into irrigation channels that are carried through the plain of Marocco. We rode some way along one of these channels, bordered by tall reeds, and a grand Senecio, fully eight feet high, but not yet in flower, probably S. giganteus of Desfontaines. The wide bed of the stream, nearly quite dry, afforded the most convenient situation for our camp, which, by the mean of two observations, stood at 2,889 feet (880·6 m.) above the sea.
Though the more we afterwards knew of him the less we liked him, we observed, on this and some other occasions, that our disagreeable Marocco leader, Kaïd el Hasbi, shared in a quality that is common enough among uncivilised people, and especially noticeable among the Moors, of which due account should be taken by travellers. It is not the desire to please, still less real benevolence; but a certain impressionableness, an involuntary sympathy, that makes these people thoroughly uncomfortable when they see a stranger annoyed or disappointed. In common phrase, ‘they can’t bear to see you put out.’ An Englishman, a German, or a Swiss may travel with you the whole day, when you are suffering from annoyance, perhaps at something in his own behaviour, but will either not notice, or, if he do notice, will not heed, your humour. In this country a man who would see you killed or tortured with perfect composure, can be made more uneasy than you are by seeing you vexed or out of spirits. The disappointment we felt at our first failure to penetrate the inner recesses of the Atlas from Tasseremout, had been very perceptible during the afternoon; and though our Kaïd was quite resolved to let us go no farther than he could possibly help, he wished to do what he could to keep us in good humour. Accordingly, we were scarcely housed in our tents when El Hasbi appeared with a supply of fruit, oranges, dates, and walnuts, that he wished us to regard as a present from himself, but were doubtless part of the ample mona that was obtained from the village authorities. Later on, the Kaïd of the valley made his appearance, civil, but no way cordial, and the result of the interview was not very favourable to the prospect of penetrating to the head of the valley.
We were led at the time to suppose that the more or less overt resistance which we encountered here and elsewhere in South Marocco, was altogether due to a fanatical dislike to Christian strangers; but we afterwards doubted whether that feeling, undoubtedly prevalent among the Moors, is equally general among the Shelluh population; and as we came to know more of the practical results of our visits to these remote valleys, the less surprised we were to know that they were unwelcome to the inhabitants. The Sultan’s order, as we learned from El Graoui, had gone forth that we were not to be put to any expense for the living of ourselves and our attendants during our journey. So far as our personal consumption went that was but trifling, as we largely relied on the provisions we had carried with us. Our attendants no doubt consumed an ample share of food at the one serious meal of the day, usually after nightfall, and were ready to set to again in the middle of the night when a good opportunity was offered; but it was the rapacity of our soldier escort that made our visit a calamity in a poor district. Not satisfied with gorging themselves with meat, cakes, and fruit, they demanded luxuries such as green tea and white sugar, and in such quantities that, as we afterwards learned, Kaïd el Hasbi used to send from each valley in which we halted a mule laden with provisions to his family in Marocco. An altercation which we heard this night, and which was repeated more than once on subsequent nights, arose from our usually pacific Mogador Kaïd, who revolted at seeing the lion’s share of the spoil taken possession of by his colleague from Marocco. On this occasion the quarrel threatened to become serious, and the long guns were actually drawn out of the red cloth cases; but it seemed that on one or both sides discretion overcame valour, as peace was ultimately restored. Our interpreter, Abraham, as a prudent man, wished not to embroil himself in these disputes, and it was only gradually that we got to learn the real mischiefs and hardships of which we were the involuntary occasion.
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