Mohammed el Hosein gave it as his opinion that if he could conduct a Rumi [71b] there, he would make his name in Mogador as the best muleteer in all the south, and all his previous fears seemed to vanish as he descanted on the line of conduct to pursue when once inside. He seemed to think the risk, if known to be a Christian, was considerable, and counselled that we should encamp outside the gates and reach the town a little after dawn when people were arriving to sell provisions, and then go instantly to the Governor’s house which was close to the gates, and claim protection from him. Swani, who, as a native of Tangiers, though he had seen the world and twice performed the pilgrimage to Mecca, yet was a little uneasy in South Morocco, and thought it best that we should go to some caravansarai (called in Morocco fondak) and try our best to escape detection, I shamming ill, and Lutaif giving out he was a Syrian doctor.
Ali the muleteer, who learned for the first time our destination, was in an agony of fear, and said he must return at once; but when we pointed out to him that he would then not only lose his wages but perhaps his mule, he made his mind up, on condition I procured him a letter of protection from the English consul in Mogador. Mohammed el Hosein, before he left the town, had made me sign a paper stating I had engaged him for all his life, and, fortified with this protection, I understand he now bids all his governors and masters absolute defiance, wrapped, so to speak, within a tatter of the British flag. Lutaif, who knew the Governor of Tarudant, one Basha Hamou, who had been Governor of Mequinez—a negro, and a member of the famous Boukhari [72] Pretorian bodyguard—gave his opinion that Mohammed el Hosein was right, and that though Basha Hamou might not be pleased, he would be obliged to give us protection, and that he, probably after the first excitement of the natives had subsided, would send us back under escort to Mogador. I held my tongue, resolving that if we got there I would not return without a good look at the place.
About a mile from where we sat was situated the castle of the local Kaid, a castle set upon a rock, and strong enough apparently to set tribal artillery at defiance; but our Lord the Sultan being “unfavourable” to him, the castle was deserted, cattle stolen, crops all destroyed, and an air about the place reminding one of some of the Jesuit Missions (destroyed to show the Liberalism of Charles III.) which I have seen in Paraguay. In fact the Kaid is only Kaid in partibus, and it is understood a Sheikh in Fez has offered the Sultan 100,000 dollars to be made governor, providing he (the offerer) might have a “free hand” with the tribe; this means to oppress them, and in a year or two to take the 100,000 dollars out of them to pay the Sultan, and as much more for himself. Strange that the Arabs, though so warlike, should in all ages have endured so much oppression. It may be that the tribal system renders them specially liable to this, for inter-tribal jealousies make them an easy prey to any Sultan who can command money enough to set them at one another’s throats.
Ibn Jaldun (in the introduction to his history) says: “The Arabs are the least fitted men to rule other nations, for they demolish the civilisation of every land they conquer. They might be good rulers, but they must first change their nature.” This no doubt arises from their incapacity to govern themselves. Still with all their faults they are a fine race, and if they have demolished the civilisation of several countries, they have in return left their own type wherever they have conquered, and what type in the world is finer. I say nothing of the more doubtful of their legacies, their system of numeration, and the thoroughbred horse.
The grateful spring, fruit trees, and shady little oasis where we rested rejoice in the name of Aguaydirt el Má, a compound of Arabic and Shillah, Má in Arabic meaning the water, and Aguaydirt, no doubt having some meaning of its own in the wild tongue it comes from.
As we ride through a bushy country with some straggling farms, we pass a Sheikh on a good horse, long gun across the saddle, and a tail of ragged followers on foot. It seems he is a tax collector, gathering the taxes in person, and no doubt quite as effectually as the Receivers General used to do in France, including even him who sleeps (his bubble burst) under a flagstone in the door of San Moisé, [74] in Venice, with a brief dog-Latin epitaph, setting forth the usual lack of virtues of a man who fails.
Curious to observe (again per usual) the fatness and good clothes of the collector, and the mean estate of the poor “taxables,” their downcast looks, and all the apparent shifts and wiles they are putting forth to escape the worst outrage that a free man can bear, that is to have his money taken from him under the pretext of the public good.
Pleasant to gather taxes well armed on a good horse; a horse I mean that could do his ninety miles a day for several days and carry something heavy in the saddle bags.
I had a friend who, being for a short time governor of a province in a Central American Republic, and finding things became too hot for him, collected all the public money he could find, and silently one night abdicated in a canoe down to the coast, and taking ship came to Lutetia; and then, his money spent, lectured upon the fauna and the flora of the country he had robbed; and, touching on the people, always used to say that it was very sad their moral tone was low; the reflection seeming to reinstate himself in his own eyes, for he forgot apparently that in his abdication he but followed out the course which law had pointed out to him in his official days.
Night catches us close to el Mouerid, a dullish pile of sun-dried bricks, the lord of which, one Si Bel Arid, is an esprit fort, and knowing me for a Christian, ostentatiously walks up and down talking on things and others to show his strength of mind. Though disapproving of them, most Moors like to be seen with Christians, in the same way some pious men are fond of listening to wicked women’s talk, not that their conversation interests, but to show the asbestos quality of their own purity, and to set forth that, as in Rahab’s case no imputation can attach itself to men of virtuous life. Therefore, as maiden ladies are said to love the conversation of rakes, and clergymen, that of fallen women, so do Moors love to talk with and be seen in public with the enemies of God.