Swani pushed forward, and placed himself beside me on his mule; so pushing, striving, cursing, and dripping with the rain, we reached a second gateway, which opened into a court; and here the travellers, herdsmen, and the rest entered, and left us, with our escort, standing in semi-darkness below the arch. For a full hour we waited—I, sitting on my horse, partly from pride and partly from the instinctive feeling of a horseman that he is always safer on his horse; the others dismounted, and sat down on a stucco bench, looking the picture of misery and discontent. We did not talk much—though I felt inclined to laugh—the position striking me as comic enough in all its aspects; and at last a fat man, in immaculate white robes, holding a bunch of keys, came through the rain across the inner court, and asked my name. I told it to him, and he seemed edified, and asked what I was doing, and why I wished to go to Tarudant. This was most difficult to explain, for in Morocco few people journey out of curiosity, so I replied I had business with the Governor. The man then turned towards Lutaif, and said: “You are a Mohammedan, why do you travel with this Christian? You are a taleb, and should know better than to connive at a Christian travelling in Moorish dress.” Lutaif had to explain he was a Christian, and the fat man then turned upon Mohammed el Hosein, and said: “You are no Christian, and the Kaid says he will shave your beard, give you the stick, and put you into prison with some comfortable irons on your feet.” To such a speech there was no very obvious answer but “Allah Kerim,” which poor Mohammed el Hosein mumbled piteously enough; and the fat man, kilting his snow-white robes, waddled across the court, and went into the house, without another word.
And so we waited, as it seemed hours, till again across the court came the fat, snow-white-robed official, accompanied by a short, broad-shouldered man with a full black beard, who, walking up to me, held out a hand, and said, “Bon jour.” I answered, but his French extended no further, and he tried Turkish—of which I did not know a word. Lutaif, who spoke it well, entered into a conversation with him, when it appeared he was a Persian—a sort of wandering minstrel—who was staying with the Kaid and had been sent, upon the strength of his “Bon jour,” to find out who we were. As I was still uncertain if the Globe Venture Syndicate’s steamer was off the coast, we took good care to make it plain we were friends of Basha Hamou, for, had the vessel arrived, we should have been thrown into prison at once, and sent in chains up to the Sultan’s camp. However, no suspicion of this seemed to cross the people’s minds, and we sat on talking to the old Persian in a jargon of mixed Arabic and Turkish for some time, whilst gradually a crowd of people had assembled, who—sitting on the ground, on stones, and on a low divan which ran right round the arches—glared at us silently, like men looking at wild beasts. A boy or two threw a few stones, but they were stopped immediately—the order having evidently gone out to treat us well. Considering all things, and how completely we were in their power, how far removed from any Europeans, and how strong the spirit of dislike is to all strangers, especially amongst the Berber tribes, the conduct of the people was quite wonderful; and I question very much if in a European country we should, in similar conditions, have fared as well. Still, the uncertainty made waiting anxious work, and we were pleased to hear from the old Persian that the Kaid was in a dilemma as to what he should do with us—whether to send us back, let us go on, or write for instructions to the Sultan as to what course to take. At last the Chamberlain, wrapped this time in one of the Atlas brown goat-hair cloaks—called by the Berber an Achnif—came back again, and said the Kaid had made his mind up to extend his hospitality to us, and that he had placed a tent at our disposal on the Maidan. The phrase admitted no discussion; and so following the Chamberlain—and preceded by an attendant with a long gun—we rode to the Maidan, and found a tent pitched on the wet ground above the bank of the N’fiss, into which all of us, with saddles and baggage, were glad to pack, to get out of the rain. The tent was large, and circular in shape, ornamented outside with rows of blue cloth decanters—after the Moorish fashion—and lined with a chintz of the most pre-Morris kind. In addition to its beauties of form and decoration it leaked in several places, and was so loosely pitched that we had to turn to at once to make it safe, and dig a trench to carry off the water, which stood about an inch in depth upon the floor. Five men with packsaddles, bridles, and guns, and all the requisites for camping, left very little room to move about. A forlorn crew we must have looked as we sat, shivering and hungry, on the damp floor. Closing the door, I drew from my saddle-bags a bottle of brandy which I had in reserve for snake-bites, and administering a dose (medicinally) to believers and infidels alike, a better spirit soon prevailed, and we got beds made down—placing some stones to keep the blankets off the ground. A fire was lighted; and as we drank our tea—flavoured with some mint which Ali drew out of his bag, where it had lain for days amongst tobacco, pieces of string, and the “menavellings” of a muleteer’s profession—we set about reviewing our position, after a joke or two, as to the enjoyment of the hospitality so generously provided by the Kaid. For myself, I was not in much trepidation, knowing the worst that could occur was to be sent under a guard to the Sultan’s camp—a matter of from five to six days’ journey. As to Mohammed el Hosein, that was more serious. Already he had been threatened with the stick, imprisonment, and with the loss of beard—the greatest insult which can be put on a Mohammedan. But the poor devil (and we ourselves) knew well that in his case the stick most probably meant death, and that he would not live to undergo the other punishment. Still, he was not so much downcast as might have been expected, but sat in the wet mud—a bellows in his hand—blowing the charcoal for the tea; and said, resignedly, “We are in Allah’s hand; but it is a pity I was but newly married before leaving Mogador.”
Swani, as a man, so to speak, without caste, was safe, and the most he could expect was a few dozen blows with a stout stick, a matter about which he did not seem to care a halfpenny, for he knew that he could plead he came under compulsion as my servant, and the plea would almost certainly be held sufficient at least to save his life.
Ali, of course, could not be held an accessory before the fact, as he left Mogador without the least idea of our intention, and I assured him if he lost his mule that I would buy him one fit for the Sultan’s saddle.
As we sat talking, we perceived that a group of tribesmen, all fully armed, had sat down just outside the tent, the rain having ceased for a little, and were regarding us quite motionless, but with their eyes not losing any action that we made. Of course, we were the strangest spectacle they had ever seen, and after half an hour, their curiosity well satisfied, they moved off silently and sat down in the same manner to watch a game of football, which was proceeding on the Maidan, and in which all the young men, from slaves to the Kaid’s sons, were taking part. So we resumed deliberations, and discussed the position of Lutaif. He was perhaps, of all of us, in the most dangerous case. A Syrian and a Turkish subject, without a paper of protection from any European Consul, as he said himself: “If the Kaid wants to kill me, he will do so as if I were a dog, and you may be certain that my Sultan will not claim compensation for the death of any Christian.” I thought about Armenia, but the time was scarcely opportune for joking; and just as all our spirits and our stomachs were at the lowest ebb, a slave came from the Kaid, bringing a dish of couscousou, [146] which we devoured at once, and could have eaten at least five times as much. The canvas door was lifted, and, with a cheerful but irrelevant Bon jour the Persian entered, sat down without a word and, after looking at me for a moment or two, said “Mezquin” (that is, “poor fellow”), “how far you are from home.” This, though a truism, had not occurred to me, but put thus, à brûle pourpoint, it seemed to come home with great force to Lutaif, to Swani, and to Mohammed el Hosein, and for a moment they seemed about to weep, after the fashion of the two aged men who wept because they both were orphans.
The Persian promised “to stand before the Kaid and speak for us,” and to return to-morrow and relate his life to us. We all bid him good night with great effusion, as he had been a valued friend, and watched him walk across the Maidan into the castle, and perceived that round our tent, some fifty yards away, on every side, squatted a sentinel.
Whilst we sat trying to dry our clothes, from the castle mosque broke out the call to prayers, called by the Persian in a voice like the last trumpet’s sound, the tower seemed to rock, and the hills gave back God’s name from every crag and hollow, till the whole valley quivered with the sound, and the night air was all pervaded by the echoing cry. If God is God surely Mohammed knew his nature when he appointed men to call by night, bidding the faithful rise to pray, and speaking as it were with Allah face to face, as standing on some tower in the night, they tell his attributes.
CHAPTER VI.
Next morning rain was still coming down in torrents and we awoke to find our tent, in spite of all precautions, swimming in water. Nothing to do, even without the “hospitality” of the Kaid, but to cower over a charcoal brazier, and to send Swani to try and buy provisions for our breakfast. After a little he returned bringing the chamberlain, who informed us rather tartly that the Kaid Si Taieb ben Si Ahmed El Hassan El Kintafi [148] sold no provisions, but that we and our animals would be cared for at his expense. In about half an hour two negro slaves appeared, bringing couscousou and meat cut up and stewed with pumpkins, and so we fell to with an appetite improved by the past days spent on short commons. People arrived in bands and squatted down before the tent, and when one band had seen enough, another took its place and sat on doggedly for half an hour with the rain dripping down their backs. Till about midday, when the rain began to slacken, no one addressed us, though a man, shod with sandals of oxhide with the hair on, after the style of those used in the outer Hebrides till a few years ago, and once worn by all Scotchmen, as the name “rough-footed Scot” implies, looked at us, opened his mouth, but then thought better of it and passed away. Had he but spoken, it would have been in Shillah, but still I wish I knew what that poor tribesman was about to say.
After the midday prayer, a jet-black negro walked into the tent, dressed all in white with a large silver earring hanging from one ear and with three stripes tattooed or scarified upon his cheek. He sat down in a friendly manner on my cloak, which I drew to me and he then sat quite as contentedly on the wet mud. He spoke good Arabic, and to my observation that it was cold, replied “Yes, but not half so cold as London.” Thinking it was a joke, I said, “That is extremely likely, but have you been there?” and I then learned he had been there twice, in the suite of a Sheikh from the Sahara who had been in London about some business of the Cape Juby Company. The Cape Juby Company was one of those strange ventures which when they fail, men say that their promoters were all mad, but if they prosper make their projectors founders of empires, and people think their brains effected that which was really chance. There is no really sane head either on horseback [149a] or the Stock Exchange.