CHAPTER X.
WITH THE SULTAN AT TAFILET.
Mohammed the Riffi was a long time before he gained an interview with Sid Gharnit, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and when he did so it brought no promise of a pleasant reception for myself. In fact, my unlooked-for arrival caused that elderly gentleman no little concern, for though I was well known to him personally, and bore a firman from the Sultan to travel in his dominions, he seemed much upset. There was, however, one item of news that my man brought me on his return that cheered me much. Kaid Maclean, the English officer attached to the Sultan’s suite, was in the camp. Had he not been there, it is difficult to say into what straits I might have fallen, but, fortunately for me, he was; and with everything else against me, his pleading, as will be seen, eventually much bettered my condition.
A few words must be said here to explain the presence in this remote corner of the Sahara of the two European officers who were accompanying the Sultan; and I am sure that Kaid Maclean will forgive my meddling in his affairs and writing a few words about him.
Some seventeen years ago Mulai el Hassen asked the then British Minister, the late Sir John Drummond Hay, to find him a young English officer to drill his troops. Maclean, then a lieutenant in a line regiment, had previous to this applied to Sir John for some such post, and was speedily appointed. Entering upon his work with much zest and spirit, he soon discovered what good stuff was in the Moors as soldiers, and they in turn began to appreciate cleanliness and smartness, so that in a year or so the men placed at the Kaid’s disposal reached a stage of competence in drill, while he gained their respect and admiration. But jealousy at Court put an end to the disciplined army, and with little exception drill was discontinued. Meanwhile, however, Maclean had become a trusty servant of the Sultan, useful to him in a thousand ways; while his British moral standard, so different to that of the Moors, had forced his Majesty to perceive his probity in all matters, and he bestowed confidence and affection upon the British officer. From that time Kaid Maclean has continued in the Sultan’s service, and is perhaps as well known as, and certainly more popular than, any official at Court. His position throughout has been a difficult one; but so carefully has he avoided entering into any duties beyond his own, so skilfully and openly has he shown no desire to encroach upon the prerogatives of others, and so steadfast throughout has been his wish to do nothing that did not further the interests of the Sultan and the Government he has allied himself to, that he has been able to keep himself free from the jealous quarrels that are of everyday occurrence at the Moorish Court.
On the Sultan’s leaving Fez in April of the year in which I made my journey, 1893, he took with him as far as Sufru, a small town some few hours’ journey south of the capital, all his European staff—that is to say, the military missions of France and Spain, some three officers of each, attached to his Court. But from Sufru, for reasons which are not quite apparent, he ordered the Europeans to return to Fez, with the exception of the French officer, Dr Linares, who was commanded to accompany him throughout his journey. Kaid Maclean returned with the rest; but shortly before my leaving Saffi, he, without my knowledge, had proceeded to Tafilet to join the Sultan’s camp, as usual accompanied by his guard of troops. Yet in spite of the fact that he was in his Majesty’s service, wore the Sultan’s uniform, and was accompanied by troops and bore a special firman from his master, he was several times roughly treated, and was more than once in danger of his life upon the road. He had arrived some ten or twelve days previous to myself at Tafilet, and I look back to the fact that he was there to urge my cause with the Sultan and the Viziers with no little feeling of thankfulness and pleasure. To Dr Linares, too, I owe a word of thanks. Had not he been present to perform an operation on my throat, in all probability this book would never have been written, nor I have returned to tell the tale of my journey. Fortune, which has never deserted me in any of my long journeys, stood by me then, to ease my suffering and, I think I may almost say, save my life. But I have progressed too far.
At length Mohammed returned with the welcome news of Kaid Maclean’s presence, and a couple of soldiers to bring me into the camp, where some shelter would be afforded to me until the Sultan’s opinions and wishes as to myself should be known. Meanwhile I was told to “lie low,” and that no communication must pass between myself and either of the European officers, or even the native officials. In a few hours’ time, when Mulai el Hassen should leave the privacy of his tents for his office, my fate would be known.
So I followed my guides into the great camp.
It was a sight well worth seeing—worth almost the long journey to Tafilet; for, though not the first time I had intruded my presence in the camp of the Sultan of Morocco, I had never previously witnessed a following of so large a number of troops and others, or so vast a quantity of tents.
Threading our way through the camp, we at length arrived at a spot near which I recognised the European encampment of Kaid Maclean. There, with a few words of welcome from my guides, I was shown into a small and much-dilapidated bell-tent, of the fashion in use in the Moorish army for the soldiers, of whom it was already half full, and a place was made for me by its occupants—a rough set of men, it is true, but none the less ready to make me as comfortable as the circumstances would allow. In that little tent I spent five days, of which I shall have more to say, and I learned that the Moorish soldier, be he never so ill paid and ill clothed, be he dirty and rough in his language, can when he likes show a solicitude and kindness far greater than one would ever expect from such; and my five days of illness and watchful care from the handful of men who shared my little quarters—or rather, I shared theirs—was an experience gained in the strange character of the Arab people. Scanty as were their rations, the best of everything was specially cooked for me, notwithstanding the fact that I could not even swallow water for the greater part of the time; and these great rough fellows, brought up and trained to every crime and brutality, became like nurses in a sick-room. With voices lowered lest they should wake me when they thought me asleep, with no noise in setting their tiny tea-tray or stirring the little fire of charcoal, they spent their time in trying to amuse me and stir up my wretched spirits. I met two of them this last summer in Fez, whither I had proceeded to meet the young Sultan on his way thither, a month after his accession, and we spent a riotous night of revelry, laughing over the hardships we had shared in the camp of the late Sultan at Tafilet, and amusing ourselves in a way than which we ought to have known better; for so pleased was I to be able to repay in a small degree their kindness to me, that we must have kept the neighbourhood of my residence awake all night with music and singing.