The return journey from Marákesh to Mogador afforded no new features of special interest. On May 2 the sea was reached. Miss Hay describes her father’s entry in her diary:—
‘We were met by the Lieutenant-Governor of the province of Haha and a large body of horse, who after the usual salutations formed up in our rear. Again another body of mounted men appeared, led by the Governor of Haha in person. As the latter advanced to greet Sir John, a number of horsemen, who had been concealed on the road in front, dashed forward at a gallop and passed us, firing. This startling form of salute was intended to convey a compliment.
‘Next came the Governor of the town with another troop of horse and personally attended by a number of running footmen. Drawn up on one side of the road was a long irregular line of wild mountaineers on foot, all armed with long guns and handsome daggers, their blue and white jelabs kilted short—so as not to impede their movements—by means of gay leather belts, and bedizened with many and gay leather pouches and bags.
‘Before these mountaineers stood a tall old man playing on a reed flute, a sweet and harmonious, though scarcely a warlike instrument, but a great favourite with all the native mountain tribes. The various troops of horse having fallen in, the open plain presented a beautiful and animated sight. Flying either past or to meet us, came every moment the charging troopers in their brilliant flowing drapery, firing when close to Sir John. In front of us moved the mountaineers, also firing as they performed the different and curious gun-dances of their tribes; or, if natives of Sus, twirling and throwing their loaded guns and naked daggers high in the air to catch them as they fell.
‘The whole town had turned out to see the show, and when we came within sight of the walls, the batteries fired a salute, to which responded the joyous “zagharit” of the women who thronged beneath the walls.
‘During this ceremonious entry a curious incident occurred. One of the escort cried ‘Jackal!’ and, slinking along before us, we saw one of these beasts hurrying away. In a moment, dignity and etiquette were forgotten, and Sir John, followed by all the riders of our party and a number of the troopers, dashed in pursuit. They followed till the jackal reached a hollow among the sands, where the Moors pulled up, saying there was a quicksand at the bottom which would bear a jackal but not a horseman.
‘Beneath the walls, Sir John was received by the civil functionaries, mounted, as became men of peace, on sleek mules. The crowd was now so dense that the escort had to force a passage through the people to enable us to enter the town gates, which were shut immediately after, to keep back the rabble for a time. The terraces and balconies of the houses were crowded, principally with Jewesses attired in all the splendour of their rich native dress. We rode to the Consulate, where we stayed the night, and next day re-embarked on board H.M.S. Lively.
‘It was Sir John’s intention to call at some of the ports on his return voyage, and Saffi—more correctly E’Sfi, or “the pure”—was the first to be visited.
‘Off this port we arrived early the following day in fine weather, though a heavy sea was rolling on to the shore from the Atlantic. The landing however was effected without difficulty, in spite of the rocks which beset the entrance to the little port. On these rocks men were stationed who directed the boat’s course, by shouts and signs, through the narrow passage, and warned them when to pause and when to take advantage of a lull between two high waves.
‘Sir John met with a cordial reception from the authorities, and a banquet was offered to the Mission by the British Vice-Consul and residents; but just as the party had seated themselves at table to enjoy their kindly hospitality, a messenger arrived in haste to say the sea was rising, and, if we wished to regain the ship, not a moment must be lost. The result was a hurried flight to the beach, where two large surf-boats, manned by natives, were prepared. Into these the party were stowed, each person having first been provided with a life-belt by a kind resident, though had any accident occurred, the life-belts could only have floated bruised and mangled bodies ashore, so numerous and cruel were the rocks on all sides. The bar continued to rise, and the authorities and residents tried to dissuade Sir John from attempting to cross; but he, knowing what a long detention might follow, and never inclined to brook the least delay, decided on an immediate start. Extra scouts were stationed on the rocks. The steersmen, both old men, with keen grave faces and flowing white beards, took their places in the boats. The rowers, twelve to each boat, stood to their short sweeps, each with a foot on the bench before him, the passengers crouching quietly at the bottom of the boats. The chief of the scouts from his post, on a pinnacle of rock which commanded the perilous and tortuous passage through the bar, raised his arms to Heaven and prayed aloud for Divine aid and blessing, the crowd and rowers listening in devout silence and at the close of the invocation joining heartily in the final “Amín.” Then at a signal we started. Each immense breaker threatened to swamp us, yet we rose and fell safely on the great waves while struggling nearer to the narrow dangerous passage through the rocks, yet holding back and waiting for the signal to pass, while from the shore rose the cries of the crowd appealing to God and “Sidna Aisa” (Our Lord Jesu) to help and protect us. At last the signal was given, and, like a flash, the first boat passed through and was safe in the open before another great breaker thundered in. The second boat followed a few minutes later, and when clear of the bar the rowers of each boat, raising their hands to Heaven in a solemn “fatha,” thanked God and Sidna Aisa for help in the hour of need.