‘Though I loved dearly my foolish child,’ continued the old hunter, ‘I gave way to the passionate language of my son, and consented that, should we discover she danced at the “mesriah,” she should die.
‘We went to Tangier and concealed ourselves near the entrance of a “mesriah” we were told she frequented. We saw her enter, followed by some young Moors. A little before sunset she came out, enveloped in her “haik,” and walked hurriedly towards our village. She did not see us, and we followed her until we reached a path in the brushwood not far from our village, and then we stopped her. My son accused her of leading a disgraceful life, and then struck her heavily with a bill-hook on the head. She fell, never to speak again. We buried her in a secluded spot. My son killed her, but I am really her murderer—I alone am responsible for her death; but my wretched child could not have lived to be a curse and a disgrace.’ Then the poor Hadj trembled in his acute misery, and shook as if he had the palsy.
‘I shall,’ he continued, ‘present myself to the Basha. I shall not say I am the murderer, as the Basha is a Rifian, and will understand all when I declare I wish no man to be arrested on account of the disappearance of my child, and that I alone am responsible for whatever may have happened to her.
‘Now,’ he added, ‘you know, according to Moorish law, no man can be punished for murder unless he acknowledges his crime, and that after twelve months’ imprisonment, should no witnesses appear, the accused can claim to be liberated from prison. If I live, therefore, I shall be released; but I care no longer for life, except it be to work and provide for my wife and remaining daughter. As to the title-deeds of my property, I implore you to keep them until I am released, for, as you know, it is the practice of the authorities to take possession of the property of a prisoner who is a criminal such as I am. You have often lent me small sums of money—for I have been your hunter—and you have not asked to be repaid. Should there be any attempt on the part of the authorities to take possession of my house, garden, or mare, or should my family be called upon to give up the title-deeds, I have directed them to say the “Bashador” is in possession of all our property as a guarantee for repayment of money advanced by him. This will check extortion. The Basha is of my tribe, and will be just and merciful to a poor Rifian in misfortune. He knows that death is better than dishonour and disgrace. Oh! my unhappy child!’ he exclaimed; ‘your life has been taken, and I long for the day when Allah may take mine!’ and again the old man wept piteously.
I took charge of his papers; he presented himself that day before the Basha, and after having a few questions put to him, was lodged in prison. As he left the presence of the Basha, the latter called to the guard who led him away, and said, ‘No fetters are to be placed on this man; his family may visit him.’
Hadj Kassim remained a year in prison, and on his release presented himself to me to recover his papers, informing me that no steps had been taken to seize his property, but, on the contrary, the Basha had shown him kindness in prison, sending him occasionally a little present in money; and that when he was brought before him, on being let out of prison, the Basha said, ‘We are Rifians. The most High and Merciful God forgives the sins of men. I also forgive thee.’
The wretched man never hunted again or associated with his fellow-villagers, whose esteem and regard he had regained. His spirit was broken; he wandered about, pale and emaciated—speechless even—amongst his friends. A few months after his release from prison I learnt that he had died.
The interest which Mr. Hay took in the natives was not entirely confined to the Rifians. The needs and sufferings of his poorer neighbours—whether Christian, Hebrew, or Moslem—always met with his sympathy, and, so far as lay in his power, he sought to assist them in times of distress. In December, 1857, after a severe famine, he writes to his wife, then in England:—
My farm has yielded wheat plentifully: I have enough for the house, for seed, and some hundred almuds over, which I shall give in your name to the poor Christians, Jews, and Moors this winter—equally divided—as there is, I fear, great misery. The poor peasants had no seed to sow this year, so there is a lack of wheat. I have asked the Sultan to lend seed gratis to the poorer farmers, and, to practise what I preach, I shall lay out £100 for the same object. If something is not done we shall have fever and famine again this year. At present the general health is excellent and there are no fevers, but I fear the winter, and poor folk flocking into the town, will bring typhus again.
Only think of a rascally Jew trying to sell me some $10,000 worth of stolen jewels for $2,000. From the stupidity of the Governor’s soldiers, the accomplices in the robbery made off with the jewels before they were seized, though I had given notice. The only person seized was the Jew who tried to bribe me into committing the roguery.