“Give me the signs of such a place” is a common Arab question if, in talking of some place, he doubts you have been there. Most of the famous places in the Mohammedan world are well known by description to all believers, and nothing is more common than to hear one man “giving the signs” of Mecca, Medinah, or some other holy spot with the minuteness of a lady novelist describing scenery. As we sat eating under our olive trees, people kept passing on the road continuously. Thus in the heart of one of the most unknown ranges of mountains (to the Nazarene) in the whole world, there is no solitude, no sense of loneliness in spite of all the grandeur of the hills, the snow, the precipices and the brawling streams.
Though I know no single Oriental country but Morocco, and that is known to all Mohammedans as Mogreb-el-Acksa (the Far West) I yet imagine that throughout the East the interest lies entirely in mankind, for nature, at least to judge by what is seen throughout Morocco, is as dominated by man as is the docile soil of England, which gives its crop year in year out, suffers and has endured a thousand years of ploughing, dunging, reaping, draining, and the like, and thinks as little of rebellion as does the mouthy Radical who on his cart thunders against the Queen, and slavers doggishly before a new created lord. Still, for a thousand (perhaps ten thousand) years the Oriental life has altered little, nothing having been done to “improve” the land, as the Americans ingenuously say. And so may Allah please, bicycles, Gatling guns, and all the want of circumstance of modern life not intervening, it may yet endure when the remembrance of our shoddy paradise has fallen into well-merited contempt.
Our local guide, a long, thin, scrofulous-looking Berber, dressed in a single garment like a nightgown, but most intelligent, said that close to where we sat, two hundred years ago lived El Kalsadi, a writer on arithmetic. Casting about the corners of my recollection I recalled having seen the name in Quaritch’s Catalogue of Arab books; thus Gentile, Jew, and True Believer for once concurred about one circumstance. I took my saddle cloth and under some oleanders by the stream fell fast asleep, but fifty yards removed away from the men and animals, and, waking, found two Berber tribesmen sitting near to me washing their feet. They turned upon my moving and said something in their own tongue. I, not understanding, put on a grave demeanour and answered, Allah, which seemed to satisfy them as entirely as if I had been able to rejoin as St. Paul advises, with my understanding; but no doubt, the gift of tongues and all duly allowed for, he had often found himself similarly situated when on the tramp. Just at the crossing of this stream we paid and dismissed the guide who had accompanied us from the wayside mosque; he straight departed by a road fit for but partridges alone, across the hills, and I think somehow or other in conjunction with the Maalem from Amsmiz, contrived to pass the word along the road, of their opinion of my adherence to the Christian faith.
Struggling along over the shingly bed of the Wad N’fiss for about two miles, we came again to a funnel-shaped gorge, which led by degrees to a terrific staircase of rocks, known to the local muleteers as N’fad Abu Hamed, the Knees of Father Hamed, as being so steep that no one could ascend it except upon all fours, or from its effects, upon the knees of the unlucky mules, or from some other reason as to which commentators have disagreed. Just at the top I looked back over the finest range of mountain scenery I remember to have seen, and thought that with good luck and patriotism some few score Afridis in such a place might hold in check a regiment of marauding Britishers, but on reflection I saw clearly that the word patriotism was out of place when used against ourselves. To the west towards the Sus the mountains seemed to dip, and Ouichidan, the highest peak in all the Southern Atlas, towered right above us a little to the east of where we stood, whilst far away in the dim distance rose the far distant mountains of the anti-Atlas, which rise above the province of the Draa, and on whose snow no Christian has ever trod. Descending rapidly we passed a strath in which some country people were engaged in burning down a tree, an ancient poplar which the wind had partly shifted from its place, and which, when it fell, must fall inevitably across the road. In a small patch of Indian corn an aged negro was at work, dressed all in white with a red fez, and illustrating (in the middle distance) the mystery of creation in a fantastic fashion of his own.
Stumbling and tripping, leading our exhausted beasts, we came long after nightfall to a miserable house perched on a ledge of rocks over a river, and with a garden between the hillside and the stream; the place is called in Shillah, Imgordim. Nothing was to be had either for love or money, and we went supperless to bed save for green tea, sadly reflecting that had I been a Moor indeed, food would have been obtainable, for I could have sent a man to take it in the usual way, by force; and as it was, perhaps the people thought me a fool for not following out the course adopted by all respectable Sherifs when travelling about. Throughout Morocco Sherifs, especially from Fez, are a positive curse to the poorer class of Moors; for being “holy” they behave exactly in the same way that the two Jewish Sherifs Hophni and Phinehas behaved in Holy Writ; but most unfortunately, the people are so unresisting, that punishment which overtook their prototypes seldom is meted out to them, and they pervade the land, begging and taking contributions from the poor, for Allah’s sake. One of the really wise laws the French have made in Algeria is that forbidding the Sherifs to go round sorning on the people. Imagine if religion had the same hold in England as it has in Morocco, and recognised descendants of St. Paul [132] perambulated up and down, taking by force when the faithful were disinclined to give, and you may have an inkling of how onerous the burden was upon the poorer villages before the French put down the practice in Algeria. All the night long the people keep passing on the road, and a small black mosquito, resembling the Jejen of Paraguay, was most impertinent.
Next morning (October 20th) we were early upon the road, as is most generally the case in travel when one goes supperless to bed and rises to get on horseback with but a cup of weak green tea for breakfast. The animals had eaten well as we had barley with us, and, as on the day before, we started climbing staircases of rock, crossing and re-crossing the Wad el N’fiss, passing deserted villages, and interchanging greetings with the various parties of travellers upon the road. A precipitous descent over red sandstone rocks and through a thicket of tall oleanders, brought us to an open space, where the bed of the N’fiss spread out about a quarter of a mile in width. To right and left, at the distance of a mile or two, on either hand perched upon hills were fortalices, and farther up the valley a castle which I was destined to become better acquainted with before night. The mountains, about ten miles away, formed a most perfect semi-circle, and Tisi Nemiri, [133] upon our right, appeared to rise sheer from the river into the clouds.
Mohammed el Hosein, who, all the morning, after the fashion of a hungry man, had been exceedingly ill-humoured, now produced from the recesses of his saddle-bags four rather small pomegranates, which all five of us proceeded to devour with great alacrity. Whilst eating, he informed us that the semi-circle in front was the last ridge between us and the Sus, and that with luck we ought to camp well in the province of the Sus by evening.
Again we fell discussing our plan of action on reaching Tarudant. All now depended upon passing the guard at the N’Zala, [134] where an official of the Sultan was reported to be permanently sitting at the receipt of such custom as might come his way. Mohammed el Hosein was confident that, for a dollar, he could get us past without much risk, I shamming ill and sitting a little apart under a tree, whilst he bargained with the official, the danger being that the man should, out of civility, put some question to me which I must answer, and thus, by my poor Arabic, betray myself, for Mohammed el Hosein was sure that no one on the road had for a moment questioned my identity.
In fact, about an hour before we camped, whilst riding along one of the shingly stretches over which the road went following the bed of the N’fiss, I had been put to a pretty strong test, and had emerged triumphantly. About a quarter of a mile in front of us we saw a band of twenty people sitting on a grassy slope and watching apparently for our passing by. Of course we thought it was a detachment of tribesmen who had penetrated my disguise and were about to attack us, but, as to turn back was quite impossible, and even consultation difficult, by reason of a party of travellers who followed us, we had to face the difficulty, after having deliberated briefly upon my dropping my handkerchief to give Mohammed el Hosein the opportunity to get off and ride beside me to consult. As we came closer I saw the people had no arms and were chiefly young men of from eighteen to twenty years of age. Swani passed on the word it was a Tolba, that is, a band of wandering students, in fact, an Estudiantina, and then I knew what line of conduct to adopt. Just as we crossed the river they came all round my horse, wading in the fierce current above knee deep, and, catching my cloak, kissed it most fervently, invoking blessings on the Sherif from Fez, and calling upon Siddi bel Abbas, the patron saint of travellers, to guard me from all harm. I knew of course that that meant money, and blessed them in my best Arabic, whilst luckily for me the splashing of the horses and the men crossing the stream made so much noise I might have spoken in Chinook for all they knew. I signed to Swani who advanced and gave them a peseta, and some of them kissed my knees, which I permitted graciously as to the manner born, and, stooping down, touched with my right hand the head of one who seemed the cleanest, and rode on, looking as ineffable as a man desperately anxious and engaged in crossing a shingly, violent-running river can be supposed to look. Mohammed el Hosein and Swani, the danger past, and the travellers behind us having halted, laughed till they almost fell off their pack saddles; Lutaif, I think, gave thanks after the fashion of the Lebanon, and Ali looked at me, thinking, I verily believe, I really was as holy as I hope I looked.
Naturally, this little passage raised our spirits, as the students of the Tolba, though beggars, were all educated men, had wandered much about the country, and must have seen Christians at the coast towns a thousand times. I recommend to educational reformers a peripatetic university after the Tolba system. The students might beg their way along on bicycles, listen to lectures in convenient places—upon commons, under railway arches, beside canal locks, and the like—play football, as the members of the Tolba in Morocco play, by the roadsides, and thus high thinking with low diet, football, and bicycle, might all conduce to scholarship, to health, and knowledge of the country roads. In Morocco the system works well enough, although some say that in the Tolbas those customs flourish which have led scholars in England to Malebolge. Even of stationary universities ill-natured things have been preferred. Be all that as it may, it seems a merry life to lounge along, to read under the olive trees, camp near some village, write charms for folk who want them, and recite whole chapters from the Koran, at night, yelling them out in chorus, after the way of children learning their lessons in a kindergarten.