Tafilet

by Walter Harris

Soon after my arrival I received a message from Kaid Maclean saying he could not see me until the Sultan’s wishes were known; but that if I wanted anything I could send to him surreptitiously, for he had received strict orders to have nothing to do with me at present. Meanwhile I made a written request to Sid Gharnit that a small tent might be found for me and my men to lodge in, and that was all I asked. Toward evening I received a reply. The Sultan had been informed of my coming, and was very indignant, absolutely refusing to give me a tent or anything else, and I was to remain where I was until further orders.

There was nothing to be done, so each hour growing sicker and sicker, I lay down in the dirty little tent, unable to eat or sleep. Hearing that my health was bad, the French doctor was sent to me, and prescribed a gargle, which, though it temporarily relieved the pain, did not prevent the swelling increasing. Then four days of great suffering, often struggling for breath, unable to lie down for fear of choking, or to swallow even a drop of water to quench my thirst. What clothing I had was insufficient, and the cold at night was as intense as the heat of the sun, beating through the thin and tattered canvas of the tent, was by day. Kaid Maclean had received orders not to see me, and he knew better than to disobey them, yet he did everything in his power to ease my suffering, and constantly saw my servant, Mohammed Riffi, as to my condition. At length things grew serious; at times I became unconscious for short periods, and the indignation of my men and the soldiers in the tent knew no bounds, for nothing was done to relieve me.

Poor Mohammed at length broke through every law of Moorish etiquette, and with a burst of expostulation—and I doubt not a little abuse—forced his way into the Viziers’ tent, and let them know not only what he thought of them, but what would be thought of them at Tangier should I die.

This changed matters. The French doctor was hurriedly sent to me, accompanied by Kaid Maclean, and at sunset on the fifth day the quinsy in my throat and the enlarged uvula and other swellings were lanced.

The relief was instantaneous; but even greater than the relief was the change in the bearing of the Moorish officials toward me. Accompanied by Kaid Maclean, Dr Linares had an interview with the Viziers, and made my condition known, asserting that he would not be responsible for my life if I was not at once moved to other quarters, and that I was in a most precarious state of health.

Terrified at what might be the results to themselves should I die, and my death be laid at their door, they gave permission for me to be removed at once, and a few minutes later, with the doctor supporting me on one side and Kaid Maclean on the other, all of us rejoicing at the turn of events, I was half carried, half led, into the comfortable tent of the Kaid. A wash and a change of clothes, a little wine, and an egg and milk, and I turned over to sleep for the first time for four days and four nights.

It may be thought that I have spoken at too great a length on my own illness; but I have felt, uninteresting as my personal case may be, that it might serve as a warning to any other traveller who, like myself, might think that in reaching the Sultan’s camp the end of his sufferings had come, and that he would find, if not hospitality, at least no hostility. What would have happened had I been in good health I do not know, nor do I like to repeat the rumours which were given me on the best of authority; but there is no doubt that I would have been quickly despatched to the coast, and that in a manner neither pleasing nor flattering. However, enough; I have long ago forgiven those to whom I owe that period of suffering. The Sultan died from the effects of his journey; the then Grand Vizier lies in chains in Tetuan prison, together with his brother the Minister of War, who throughout, owing to Kaid Maclean’s entreaties, had shown every possible desire that my condition might be bettered. Sid Gharnit and I have talked the matter over, and he protested, as I have no doubt was the case, that he was unable to do anything for me against the Sultan’s order. Personally, he remarked with a smile, he would have lent me a tent, if for no other motive, that he thought I should probably have brought him some little present from Europe next time I visited the Court; and with this touch of humour we buried the hatchet and supped together, talking over the great changes that had come to pass since then, and ever and anon referring to the turns of fortune that the Moors look upon as predestination. The great men of that day were dead or in prison, while I had returned to health,—and all in the short space of some six months.

Ay! “How are the mighty fallen!”

I recovered more quickly than I had fallen ill, and in a day or two, under Kaid Maclean’s care, was able to leave my bed and sit in one of his easy-chairs and watch the ever-changing scene that presented itself to me in the heart of the Sultan’s camp.

No one who has not seen the great mahalla of Morocco on the march and pitched can form any idea of the strange mixture of boundless confusion and perfect order that succeed each other in such quick succession. A few words as to how the Sultan travelled and how he lived cannot but prove interesting, and my stay in his camp at Tafilet allowed me to see much of both.