The Basha of Djedida is a little old man, very rich indeed, and the terror of the entire Dukala province. I like to watch him as he sits day by day under the wall of the Kasbah by the side of his own palace, administering what he is pleased to call justice. Soldiers and slaves stand by to enforce his decree if need be, plaintiff and defendant lie like tombstones or advertisements of patent medicines, or telegrams from the seat of war, but no sign of an emotion lights the old man's face. He tempers justice with—let us say, diplomacy. The other afternoon a French-protected subject was charged with sheep-stealing, and I went to the trial. Salam acted as interpreter for me. The case was simple enough. The defendant had received some hundred sheep from plaintiff to feed and tend at an agreed price. From time to time he sent plaintiff the sad news of the death of certain rams, always among the finest in the flock. Plaintiff, a farmer in good circumstances, testified to the Unity of Allah and was content to pray for better luck, until news was brought to him that most of the sheep reported dead were to be seen in the Friday market fetching good prices. The news proved true, the report of their death was no more than the defendant's intelligent anticipation of events, and the action arose out of it. To be sure, the plaintiff had presented a fine sheep to the Basha, but the defendant was a French subject by protection, and the Vice-Consul of his adopted nation was there to see fair play. Under these circumstances the defendant lied with an assurance that must have helped to convince himself; his friends arrived in the full number required by the law, and testified with cheerful mendacity in their companion's favour. The Basha listened with attention while the litigants swore strange oaths and abused each other very thoroughly. Then he silenced both parties with a word, and gave judgment for the defendant. There was no appeal, though, had the defendant been an unprotected subject, the plaintiff's knife had assuredly entered into the final settlement of this little matter. But the plaintiff knew that an attack upon a French protégé would lead to his own indefinite imprisonment and occasional torture, to the confiscation of his goods, and to sundry other penalties that may be left unrecorded, as they would not look well in cold print. He knew, moreover, that everything is predestined, that no man may avoid Allah's decree. These matters of faith are real, not pale abstractions, in Morocco. So he was less discontented with the decision than one of his European brethren would have been in similar case—and far more philosophic regarding it.
EVENING, MAZAGAN
Quite slowly we completed our outfit for the inland journey. Heaven aid the misguided Nazarene who seeks to accomplish such matters swiftly in this land of eternal afternoon. I bought an extraordinary assortment of what our American friends call "dry-goods" in the Jewish stores, from the very business-like gentlemen in charge of them. These all wore black gaberdines, black slippers, stockings that were once white, and black skull-caps over suspiciously shining love-locks. Most of the Jewish men seemed to have had smallpox; in their speech they relied upon a very base Arabic, together with worse Spanish or quite barbarous French. Djedida having no Mellah, as the Moorish ghetto is called, they were free to trade all over the town, and for rather less than a pound sterling I bought quite an imposing collection of cutlery, plate, and dishes for use on the road. It is true, as I discovered subsequently, that the spoons and forks might be crushed out of shape with one hand, that the knives would cut nothing rougher than Danish butter, and were imported from Germany with a Sheffield mark on them to deceive the natives, and that the plates and dishes were not too good to go with the cutlery. But nothing had been bought without bargaining of a more or less exciting and interesting sort, and for the bargaining no extra charge whatever was made. The little boxlike shops, with flaps that served as shutters, were ill-adapted for private purchase; there was no room for more than the owner inside, and before we had been at one for five minutes the roadway became impassable. All the idlers and beggars in that district gathered to watch the strangers, and the Maalem was the only one who could keep them at bay. Salam would merely threaten to cuff an importunate rogue who pestered us, but the Maalem would curse him so fluently and comprehensively, and extend the anathema so far in either direction, from forgotten ancestors to unborn descendants, that no native could stand up for long against the flashing eye, the quivering forefinger, the foul and bitter tongue of him. There were times, then and later on, when the Maalem seemed to be some Moorish connection of Captain Kettle's family, and after reflecting upon my experience among hard-swearing men of many nations, seafarers, land-sharks, beach-combers and the rest, I award the Maalem pride of place. You will find him to-day in Djedida, baking his bread with the aid of the small apprentice who looks after the shop when he goes abroad, or enjoying the dreams of the haschisch eater when his work is done. He is no man's enemy, and the penalty of his shortcomings will probably fall upon no body or soul save his own. A picturesque figure, passionate yet a philosopher, patiently tolerant of blinding heat, bad roads, uncomfortable sleeping quarters and short commons, the Maalem will remain alive and real in my memory long after the kaids and wazeers and other high dignitaries of his country are no more than dimly splendid shadows, lacking altogether in individuality.
I learned to enjoy Djedida by night. Then the town was almost as silent as our camp below Mediunah had been. The ramparts left by the Portuguese and the white walls of the city itself became all of a piece, indistinct and mysterious as the darkness blended them. Late camels coming into the town to seek the security of some fandak would pad noiselessly past me; weird creatures from the under-world they seemed, on whom the ghostlike Arabs in their white djellabas were ordered to attend. Children would flit to and fro like shadows, strangely quiet, as though held in thrall even in the season of their play by the solemn aspect of the surroundings. The market-place and road to the landing-stage would be deserted, the gates of the city barred, and there was never a light to be seen save where some wealthy Moor attended by lantern-bearing slaves passed to and from his house. One night by the Kasbah the voice of a watchman broke upon the city's silence, at a time when the mueddin was at rest, and it was not incumbent upon the faithful to pray. "Be vigilant, O guardians," he cried,—"be vigilant and do not sleep." Below, by my side, on the ground, the guardians, wrapped warm in their djellabas, dreamed on, all undisturbed.
By night, too, the pariah dogs, scavengers of all Mohammedan cities, roamed at their ease and leisure through Djedida, so hungry and so free from daintiness that no garbage would be left on the morrow. Moorish houses have no windows fronting the road—decency forbids, and though there might have been ample light within, the bare walls helped to darken the pathway, and it was wise to walk warily lest one should tumble over some beggar asleep on the ground.
SUNSET OFF THE COAST