Tafilet

by Walter Harris

A word of praise must be said for the organisation of, and order maintained amongst, so large a number of men as are collected in these vast camps. It must be remembered that every tribe and every district is represented by a certain number of members, conscribed by the Sultan previous to his setting out. These are often at open warfare with the surrounding tribes, members of all of which are also in the camp. Yet in spite of the fact that the men who have been at war with one another for generations perhaps become neighbours in the camp, few or no broils occur, and the general behaviour, to the onlooker, is excellent. At night the stillness and quiet were remarkable, considering the class of men, and the camp seemed almost deserted, few moving about, though no doubt this is owing as much to the fact that any man not carrying a lantern is liable to be shot by a sentry as to anything else—for the price of a lantern is beyond the reach of the ordinary soldier. From gun-fire at sunset to that at sunrise one can rest in absolute quiet, except for the band that plays at nine o’clock outside the Sultan’s tent, first on the native ghaita and then on European instruments—very badly it must be acknowledged on the latter.

By day it is more lively: soldiers hurry hither and thither, bright specks of colour in their gay, though often ragged, clothing; horses and mules, kicking up the suffocating dust, gallop to and fro; bugles sound; guns fire; and there is all the stir and bustle of townlife. I never tired of sitting in front of Kaid Maclean’s tent, under its awning, and watching the scene around me. As far as the eye could reach in any direction extended the tents, some the great circular kubbas with their gilt globes and patterns in blue, some two-poled utok, and many resembling the ordinary regulation tent of our own army. From my vantage-ground I could watch the Sultan himself, a white figure seated under the tent of red and green cloth, and even recognise the Viziers as they stood before the open tent listening to his commands. I could see him, too, as he left and entered the private enclosure, and it was an interesting sight to watch how the whole life of the camp depended upon that one figure; how, when the time arrived for him to appear, the bodyguard ranged themselves into long line and bowed their heads as he passed them, crying, “Allah ibarek amar Sidna!”—“God grant blessings and his ‘fulness’ to our Lord!” It was easy to perceive how one and all, from the greatest of the Viziers to the least of the soldiery, lived in terror of, and with it almost adoration for, their Sultan. For of all autocrats there is none who holds power as does the Sultan of Morocco. Life and death, imprisonment and confiscation, as well as advancement and wealth, are all in his hands. A nod of his head, and a man rises from poverty to riches; another nod, and he dies secretly in prison. Yet in spite of the immense power wielded by Mulai el Hassen, he was a man of justice far above the general order of his people—a man who hated bloodshed, yet brave and cool in danger. Now and again his acts were cruel, but his cruelty was often justified by the crimes that had been committed by his victims. Tolerant to an astonishing degree, no people mourned his death more than the Jews, who, when he commenced his reign, were harshly persecuted in Morocco, and to-day possess a liberty far above that enjoyed by his Moorish subjects; and I doubt not that their mourning was far more sincere than that of the Moors, though, to tell the truth, they did not mourn to any very great extent, being either too busy getting in their harvest, or else too glad to pay off old debts and settle old blood-feuds without fear of immediate punishment, to make many signs of grief. Yet those who held the country’s welfare at heart must have sincerely felt the loss, for it will be long, no doubt, before Morocco can boast as capable a ruler, taking everything into consideration, as the late Sultan.

One curious custom in vogue in the law of Morocco came under my notice while at Tafilet. This is the question of property left at death by officials in the native Government—everything becoming the property of the Crown. Unjust as this law may at first seem to be, there is no doubt that there is at bottom a certain amount of reason for it. A man, when appointed Kaid of a district or town, is usually possessed of no wealth of any sort. The Sultan it is who gives him his appointment, and any treasure or loot made out of his office is all owing to the fact that the Sultan put the man into the position to make it. It is, moreover, illegally made, for the extortions of governors are supposed to go to the treasury, with an allowance deducted for the maintenance of the Kaid and his family and retinue. Of course it would be far more just if the residue were handed back to the people from whom it had been extracted; but in Morocco such a course would not be, to say the least, considered at all a satisfactory method. During my stay in the Sultan’s camp the Kaid of Shragna died, and before he had quitted this life more than a few hours a cordon of soldiers was drawn round his encampment and the entire concern brought into the Sultan’s treasury—slaves, horses, mules, tents, furniture, and a large sum of money. However, Mulai el Hassen behaved with his customary leniency, and returned all the property with the exception of the money, at the same time expressing his regret at the death of so old and trusted a servant. There is no doubt the Kaid had been a good governor—for Morocco—and the return of his valuable women and slaves and horses and mules showed that his Majesty could appreciate obedience to his word when combined with a general system of justice and kindness to the tribe under him, and could reward in the manner he did, as an example to others, the men who practised it.

Very different was the fate of Kaid Ben Bu Shaib, one of the governors of the tribe of Dukála, who owned a great castle not far inland from Mazagan, on the Atlantic coast. The goings on of this man’s sons had become a byword throughout Morocco, and no young girl in the district was safe from their molestation. The old man himself may have been innocent enough of all crime; but the native Government very justly remarked that a man who could not govern his own sons could scarcely be trusted to look after a tribe of his fellow-men. So troops were despatched secretly to Dukála for fear of his treasure being carried away by members of his family, and the same day as he was seized at Tafilet his house was surrounded and his property carried off. One of his sons, I believe, escaped; the other was taken prisoner. The old man in the camp was seized by a guard in the presence of the Grand Vizier, Haj Amaati—who himself, only some six months later, was to share a like fate—and received some rough treatment before the irons were adjusted to his legs. It is said that during the years he had been governor he had amassed a large fortune, and that 120,000 dollars were discovered in his house; but for this I cannot answer for certain. He was taken a prisoner to Marakesh and there incarcerated, much to the joy of the people he had governed, for his extortion and the worse crimes of his sons had drawn the hatred of the whole tribe upon them. The law of responsibility for one’s relations’ doings is by no means a bad law in Morocco, though in cases it may come hard upon individuals. So largely do the Arabs congregate in clans, and so easily can a single member of a clan escape after crime, that if it were not that his relations were held responsible, no punishment could ever be meted out. But to take an imaginary case. A village contains one or more separate families—that is to say, the village may be divided into two or three small clans, as the case may be. A member of one commits a murder, and steps over the boundary into the tribe governed by another Kaid. He thus escapes the jurisdiction of his own governor, who is incapable of seizing him, for fear of trespassing upon the prerogatives of his neighbouring official. It is only the relations in this case who can accomplish his capture, and wherever he goes he will probably be in touch with them. Therefore when the Kaid puts a couple of his brothers, for instance, in prison, it stirs up the remainder of his clan to obtain their release by handing over the culprit to justice. They set off and catch him and bring him a prisoner to the Kaid, who probably lets the innocent men out of prison with a fine. At this they are so much exasperated that they take good care to confiscate amongst themselves the real culprit’s property, and when he is freed from prison drive him out of the village, lest any more of his goings on should bring them into the same unhappy circumstances on a second occasion. Though not a very direct way of dealing out justice, this interfamily law of responsibility answers its purpose extremely well.

I had not intended to enter at all into the ways and manners of the natives of Morocco in this book; but the case of Kaid Ben Bu Shaib suffering for his sons’ sins—as well, no doubt, as for his own extortions—an example of the system in common practice, was more or less forced upon me.

The sight of all others that I witnessed in the mahalla at Tafilet was the Sultan’s procession, when he went to pray at, and returned from, the tomb of Mulai Ali Shereef, his ancestor, who lies buried near Abu Aam, and of whom I shall have more to say in my chapter on the oasis of Tafilet.

I have often witnessed the great pageants of Morocco; and since this very one, which took place at the end of November 1893, I have seen two others—the last entry of Mulai el Hassen into Marakesh the following month, and the first entry of Mulai Abdul Aziz, his successor, into Fez in July 1894. But for picturesqueness neither approached the procession that accompanied the Sultan from the camp to the tomb of his ancestor at Tafilet, for here there was every feature to add to the oriental appearance of the scene. The background of palms and desert, the thousands of tents, the gay uniforms—though the word is ill applied to costumes of every hue and colour—of the foot-soldiers, the long white robes of the cavalry, the gorgeous velvet saddles and still more gorgeous banners of gold brocade and embroideries,—all formed one of those strange scenes that one can witness now and again at the Court of the Moorish sovereign, so much in contrast to the usual dull colouring of the country and its inhabitants.

Nothing more beautiful could be imagined than the long procession of cavalry and infantry, of wild Berber and Arab tribesmen. A gentle wind unfurled the banners to the breeze, and raised the dust under the horses’ feet just thickly enough to cast a white glamour over the whole scene, through which sparkled and glistened the flags and the golden globes of their poles, the bayonets and rifles of the infantry, and the heads of the spears of the guard. Then, mounted on his great white horse, saddled and trapped in green and gold, with the canopy of crimson velvet and gold embroidery held over his head, rode the Sultan, while huge black slaves on either hand waved long scarfs to keep the flies from his sacred person. In and out of the city of tents, for such the mahalla is, wound the procession, the line of march guarded by troops on either side.

Another example of the kindness and solicitude of the Sultan was manifested that day, for, on account of the heat, he countermanded personally the order that the infantry were to accompany him on his ride of two hours or so, and sent them back from a couple of hundred yards beyond the limits of his camp.

Quantities of slaves were on sale in the mahalla, and it was a pleasure to witness their absolute indifference to what was going on. They were free to run about round the slave-traders’ tents, and merry were the pranks they played upon one another and on the Moors. Just opposite Kaid Maclean’s tent, where I was installed, was a man who possessed seven, most of them young girls and boys, and a happier band I never saw. They laughed and gambolled from morning to night, and in their mischief often came and had a peep at me, running away again half frightened at their temerity. No doubt the freedom of the camp and the many strange sights it presented formed a delightful contrast to the desert journey they had so lately accomplished, for none of them had as yet learned to speak Arabic. Poor little things! they had yet much to suffer in the cold Atlas before they reached their various destinations in Morocco.