A memoir about
SIR JOHN DRUMMOND HAY

The system of orthography used in this book for native names and places is that adopted by the Council of the Royal Geographical Society, the true sounds of words as locally pronounced being taken as the basis of spelling, except in the case of old-recognised names such as Tangier (more properly Tanja). According to this system, vowels are pronounced as in Italian; consonants as in English; kh and gh as the Oriental gutturals.

Morocco, the name of the region of Western Mauritania of Roman geography, has undoubtedly been corrupted from the native name ‘Moghreb’ (setting sun). Maroc, Marocco, Marruecos, Marok, &c., written by different peoples of Europe, are curious corruptions, some even further off from Moghreb than the English corruption of the native name, and no nearer to the old classic corruption Mauritania than in beginning with Ma instead of Mo.

The name of the ancient city which we British call Marocco, or yet more absurdly Morocco, is in the mouth of the natives ‘Marákesh.’

Mention is here omitted of an incident well remembered by his children as related by Sir John’s mother, Mrs. Hay. Some visitors who gained admittance to her house removed surreptitiously her own worn quill pen from Walter Scott’s desk, under the impression that it had been used and left there by him!

Among the memoranda left by Sir John are notes to the effect that when he entered Charterhouse, Thackeray had either just left or was about to leave that school; but Havelock, Leech, and John Murray were his schoolfellows, as also a young Sheridan, who was remembered by him chiefly on account of the readiness with which he would improvise verses on any subject. This boy appears to have been of improvident habits, and was generally in a state of impecuniosity, which debarred him from buying the dainties in which other boys indulged. His schoolfellows would[5] offer to share their tarts, &c., with him if he would make verses in reference to them—to which he would instantly respond with apt rhymes.

During their early school life at Charterhouse the brothers spent their holidays with either of their two grandfathers, the one being the Rector of Hadleigh, Dean Drummond (youngest son of the Archbishop of York of that day, and brother of the ninth Earl of Kinnoull), through whom lay Sir John’s claim to French extraction, as the Dean’s wife was a daughter of the Prince de Vismes et de Ponthieu. Captain J. Thomson was their other and maternal grandfather. A very learned linguist, he had been private secretary to the Marquess of Hastings in India, spoke twenty-five languages, and was author of Etymons of the English Language, which work was completed after his death by his son-in-law, Mr. E. A. Drummond Hay, father of the subject of the present memoir.

At Christmas-time, however, the two boys returned to their parents in Edinburgh, a long, wearisome journey from London, travelling by coach through two days and nights in bitterly cold weather. The return journey to school, in particular, seems to have left a desolate remembrance of arriving in London, cold and stiff after long confinement in the crowded coach, but also a pleasant recollection of the gruff kindness to the young travellers of the guards, who would often forego their customary tip when changing, rather than disturb from their sleep the schoolboys who were going from home.

After the death of Dean Drummond, and the appointment of their father to a foreign post in 1829, the brothers were wont to spend a portion of their holidays at Dupplin Castle with the Earl of Kinnoull, to whom they were then prospective heirs: the elder to the earldom, the younger to the property of Cromlix. In fact, Lord Kinnoull asked their father to allow him to have entire charge of the two boys and of their education, in view of their being his probable successors. But this offer was prudently declined, their father not wishing them—the sons of a poor man—to be brought up amidst surroundings unsuited to adapt them for pushing their own way in life, and in the expectation of a prosperous future which, in their case, might fail to be realised. In this he judged wisely; as, while still in the prime of life, Lord Kinnoull married and had a large family.

[6]The boys, however, continued to spend many happy holidays at Dupplin; posting from Edinburgh to Perth, a pleasanter mode of travelling than by coach.

Another recollection, in connection with their visits to Dupplin, was the ceremonious importance of their attendance at the parish church at Aberdalgie on Sundays. Though only a short distance intervened between this place and the Castle, the family coach, with four horses and postilions, was always prepared, and in this manner the two schoolboys proceeded alone to the church, to occupy on arrival the family ‘sitting,’ and listen, with what patience they might, to the long discourse of the minister.

In 1829 my father was appointed Political Agent and Consul General in Morocco. At that time I was at Charterhouse, and first received the tidings from another boy who had seen the notice in the Gazette. Geography was not taught at Charterhouse, and, as my informant professed ignorance regarding the whereabouts of Morocco, beyond that ‘it was a country in Africa inhabited by naked niggers,’ we got hold of a map and made therein a voyage of discovery until we found Morocco.

My family came up to London from Edinburgh and rented a house in Clarges Street for the season, and my father decided that my elder brother, the late Sir Edward Hay, and I should remain at Charterhouse two or three years longer; then rejoin our family at Tangier, and there be placed under a private tutor.

It was a curious coincidence that before my father was appointed to Morocco, or had indeed any expectation of obtaining any employment in a foreign country, the boys at Charterhouse had nicknamed me ‘Othello,’ or ‘the Moor,’ not only because I was a passionate youngster who resented an injury, but also on account of my dark eyes and hair and olive complexion; typical of a thorough Hay, according to Sir Walter Scott in The Fair Maid of Perth, where he describes the clan as ‘a dark, short race.’

A frigate, H.M.S. Athol, in command of Captain Gordon, conveyed my father and family to Tangier.

[7]Three years later [1832], when I was fifteen, my brother and I, to our great joy, were summoned to join them. Steam communication was very rare in those days, and we sailed from Plymouth in a merchant brig of about a hundred and fifty tons, with only a skipper and four seamen on board. She was a clipper and made the run in seven days.

It was a rough life on board the brig: hard sea-biscuit, salt pork, with now and then currant dumplings, was the fare.

Nothing particular occurred during the voyage, except that after rounding Cape St. Vincent, when off the Spanish coast, a large lateen craft—called a ‘mistico’—gave chase, making signals to the brig to heave to: but our skipper, who declared the ‘mistico’ to be a pirate, responded to the signals by hoisting every stitch of canvas—though a strong breeze was blowing—and we flew through the water, leaving the ‘mistico’ far behind, and she gave up the chase after firing shots which missed us. Probably she was a Spanish revenue vessel and her commander had mistaken us for a smuggler.

There was a six-horned Barbary ram on board, which the skipper had not been allowed by the Customs’ officers to land in England, for fear, I suppose, of its contaminating the British breed of sheep. No provision of fodder had been made for the poor animal, but, as he had become a great favourite with the sailors, he was not made mutton of, and lived on a pittance of hard biscuit, which the sailors gave him from their rations. The poor ram was so ravenous that I mischievously offered him one day a slice of cold mutton between two pieces of biscuit, and this he devoured with avidity!

On our arrival at Tangier, my brother and I were placed under the tuition of a Spanish gentleman, Don Gregorio de Borgas y Tarius, whose father had been Captain-General in Estramadura; but, during the reign of Ferdinand, having taken part in some ‘pronunciamiento’ against the despotic acts of that sovereign, he was compelled to fly from Spain.[8] His property was confiscated, and he and his son gained their livelihood by giving lessons. Don Gregorio was a learned man—not only a classical scholar, but a good mathematician, and spoke French perfectly.

During the five years I had spent at Charterhouse I had studied little or nothing except football, cricket, tennis, and other games; in these I took the lead of others of my age. What I knew of Latin or Greek had been acquired by me when a day-boarder at the Edinburgh Academy—a far superior school at that time to Charterhouse for education, as idle boys were there made to study: but even at the Academy, geography and modern history were not taught. I had learnt the history of the gods and goddesses, and knew much about the doings of Jupiter, Juno, Hercules, Venus, &c., but was left in total ignorance of English history, except what my mother taught me, while knowing little or nothing of the history of Europe, or even of the recent great war with Napoleon.

After we had spent two years in Tangier, my elder brother was appointed a clerk in the Colonial Office, through the influence of our relative, Mr. Robert Hay, then Under-Secretary for the Colonies; so I was left alone under the tuition of Don Gregorio, but made little progress, except in the French and Spanish languages, which I acquired with as much ease as I had experienced difficulty in mastering the classics.

At this time Mr. Hay had become very proficient in Arabic, and his family have still in their possession some examples of Arabic writing, then beautifully executed by him in the highest style of Oriental manuscript; and a friend, writing from London to his mother, Mrs. Drummond Hay, says, ‘I met the other evening Mr. Burchardt Barker, the Oriental translator to the Foreign Office; he told me that a letter from the Sultan of Morocco had been sent home by your son, Mr. John Hay, and that he had never seen anything more beautifully translated by any Orientalist.’

It was either during this stay at Seville, or on a subsequent occasion, that Mr. Hay visited the Alcazar, then in course of restoration.

The architect was employed in reconstructing the beautiful arabesque stucco-work on the walls, by taking moulds of the injured portions, and, after remodelling the defaced parts, casting from these moulds fresh plaques to replace those injured or missing.

After gazing for some time on these restorations, and vainly endeavouring to puzzle out the Arabic inscriptions which enter so largely into arabesque decorations, Mr. Hay asked for the architect and inquired of him whether he was aware that he had reversed all the inscriptions!

The poor man was horrified. He declared he would[17] undo and rectify his work, begging Mr. Hay, for pity’s sake, not to betray to any one his discovery: as, if it were made known, he would be a ruined man, and he and his children would starve. Mr. Hay having shown him exactly what his error had been, left Seville without betraying the architect.

In the summer of 1838 Mr. Hay made an expedition into the interior of Morocco, of which he wrote an account entitled Western Barbary. This little book, written with all the vigour and freshness inspired by youth, and with a thorough knowledge of the wild people amongst whom he travelled and whose sport he shared, was published by Mr. Murray and attracted much attention and praise from the press at the time.

During a visit to England in 1838, Mr. Hay made an application to Lord Palmerston for a diplomatic appointment in the East, and in this connection relates the following incident, which occurred after his return to Tangier in the next year.

A respectable Moor, named Selam Lamarti, who was employed by my father to attend as guard upon my younger brothers and sisters, and who was very anxious about my future career, inquired one day whether I should like to have my fortune told by one who had never failed to predict correctly the life and fortune of any man or woman whom she might have happened to see, and the chief events of whose future life she felt intuitively that she could foretell. I replied, ‘As you say she, you refer, I suppose, to a woman, and probably to an Arab gossip, who expects that I shall reward her handsomely for telling me a parcel of lies about the happiness and good fortune which are in store for me.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘she is not an Arab gipsy, but my first cousin, a young Moorish maiden named Leila, with whom I have been brought up from infancy as with a sister. If she tells your fortune she will not take money, nor even a present, in return for her predictions. The Most High God, who foresees and knows all things, has gifted her with this incomprehensible power, for which she has attained[18] great fame; but it is not every one whose fortune can be told by her, only those whom she occasionally selects, from feeling—as she describes—a sudden innate inspiration which she cannot explain. Last Friday,’ he continued, ‘she and her mother were seated, muffled in their haiks, praying at the grave of a relative in the Mohammedan cemetery. You, whom she knows by sight, were walking with a companion on the high road through the cemetery, and you stopped for some minutes near to the spot where Leila was seated, and she had a good view of your features. After you had passed Leila told her mother, and afterwards myself on her return home, that your future life was seen by her clearly, as in a mirror.’

‘Is she fair? Is she pretty? Can I hear from her own lips my future?’ I exclaimed, foolishly flattering myself that this maiden might have fallen in love with me and sought an excuse for a meeting.

‘Hasha’ (God forbid), cried Selam, ‘that you or any man should visit, or even speak to her, until she meet her bridegroom on her wedding night, except it be her father, or I as her foster-brother, in the presence of her mother. Yes, she is very fair and pretty, with a sweet gentle voice and manner. If you wish to learn the chief events of your future life, Leila says she must see you again and have a long look at your features and expression. I will arrange to-night the hour when you are to accompany me to stand below the lattice window of her house, where she will be able to gaze at you, though, as you know, her features will not thus be visible to you.’

This was agreed upon, and the next day Selam accompanied me to the door of Leila’s house, where, leaving me standing in the street, he entered, but shortly rejoined me, saying, ‘She is now at the window.’ I could just see there was some one behind the lattice, so I looked up and smiled, hoping she might show herself; but not a glimpse had I of the fair Leila. After waiting a few minutes there was a tap at the window, and Selam said,

[19]‘That is the signal that you may leave. To-night I shall learn from Leila, in presence of her mother, the chief events of your future life. She is a clever girl, and, what is rare with our women, can read and write Arabic.’

The following day Selam related Leila’s predictions as follows:

‘John, whom I have so often seen as he passes through the cemetery on Fridays, will in a few months return to London, and will be appointed “Katseb” (secretary) to the English “Bashador” (ambassador) at Stambul; he will rise in favour and become his confidential secretary. He will be sent by the Bashador on missions to several countries in the East and return to Stambul. After a few years he will go back to England, and then on his intended return to Stambul he will visit Tangier, where he will find his father in bad health. His father will die and he will be appointed in his place. He will be in great favour with the present and future Sultans, and will attain to a much higher rank than his father now holds. There are two maidens who will love him—one dark, the other fair. He will marry the fair one, who lives in a distant land. He will have a long and happy life, and when he is old he will retire to his own country with high honours from his sovereign and from other sovereigns of foreign countries. He will live to an advanced age.’

Leila declined an offer of money or a present, and I was never allowed to see her fair face or hear her sweet voice. Without narrating here the various events which have happened in my long life I may say that Leila’s predictions, by an extraordinary combination of circumstances or chances, have all been verified. Though I never had an opportunity of letting Leila know that I had fulfilled her expectations, I hope she may have continued to take an interest in my career, whether she be in this or in the other world.

Waiting with some anxiety to learn what might turn up and be my fate, I stayed for some months in Town, and in May, as I was walking down St. James’ Street towards the Foreign Office, I met Henry Forster, brother of the late General Forster, then a senior clerk in the Foreign Office, who said, ‘Hay, I have to congratulate you, for you have just been marked with our chief’s initial letter.’

On my asking for an explanation, Forster informed me that my name had been sent up by my kind friend Mr. Hammond (the late Lord Hammond, then Senior Clerk) for the post of attaché at Constantinople, and that Lord Palmerston, as usual when he approved a note or a memorandum, had signed P. Before I received this appointment, Lord Palmerston’s private secretary asked me whether I was a Whig or a Tory, adding that his Lordship had directed him to question me, as he had appointed so many members of Tory families to foreign posts that it was his intention in future before making an appointment to inquire of a candidate to which party he belonged.

I replied that, as I hoped to obtain employment abroad, where it would not be necessary for me to take part in[21] politics as Whig or Tory, my party would always be that which upheld the honour and interests of my own country.

I was told that, when my reply was reported to Lord Palmerston, he said, ‘Mr. Hay may be a Tory, but he will do for diplomacy.’

On my appointment I was directed, before proceeding to my post, to attend for some weeks at the Foreign Office to learn the forms, &c.

Before the present Foreign Office was built there was, at the back of the old buildings, a street, the houses on the opposite side of which were overlooked by the rooms occupied by some of the junior clerks. In a window of one of these houses two elderly ladies used sometimes to be seated, sewing, and a youthful clerk was wont to amuse himself dazzling them by means of a looking-glass. The ladies wrote a note to Lord Palmerston, complaining of this annoyance; upon which his Lordship sent a memorandum to be circulated amongst the clerks:

‘The gentlemen in the office are requested not to cast reflections on ladies. P.’

After working for some weeks as an assistant clerk in the Foreign Office I was ordered to proceed, in the first place, to Alexandria, where I was to remain for some time to assist Colonel Hodges, then our Agent and Consul-General in Egypt—as there was a press of work in consequence of the question with Mehemet Ali—and was told that Lord Palmerston desired to know when I should be ready to start. I replied, ‘To-day.’ This pleased Lord Palmerston, but I was given three days in which to prepare, and told that, if I had not a carriage of my own, I was to buy one at Calais and post with all speed through France to Marseilles in order to catch the mail-packet thence to Alexandria. At the Foreign Office I was given £100 to pay all expenses.

Posting down to Dover, I crossed to Calais, and there bought, second-hand, a light britzska, in which I deposited[22] the two huge bags of dispatches, of which I was in charge for the admiral at Malta and our agent in Egypt. As bearer of dispatches I had the preference over other travellers for fresh horses, and travelled very rapidly, day and night, arriving at Marseilles several hours before the packet left. After selling the carriage I had bought at Calais, I took a bath and had dinner at an hotel.

During dinner, I was waited on by two Maltese. Having finished, I requested that my bill should be brought; upon which, one of the waiters observed to the other sotto voce in Arabic, ‘We will not present a bill; let us charge him fifteen francs, and we will divide the five which remain over and above the charge for bath and dinner.’ Knowing Arabic, I understood the plot; so when they told me I had fifteen francs to pay, I replied that I wished to see the landlord before leaving. He was summoned and I then related to him what had passed between these rogues of waiters. Upon which he demanded very angrily what they meant, and one of them, very much flurried, replied foolishly that they had not supposed the gentleman knew Maltese! The landlord dismissed the two waiters from his service then and there, and I paid him his bill of ten francs.

It is remarkable that though Malta has been occupied by a great number of nations—Phœnicians, Romans, Arabs, Franks and English—Arabic is still the language of the inhabitants.

Before arriving at Alexandria, I learnt that the plague was in Egypt, and, having heard so many dread stories about this disease and the dangers incurred from contagion, I landed with my hair standing on end from terror, fearing I should be plague-stricken and die—as I had heard might happen—after a few hours’ illness.

There was much contention at that time between medical men at Alexandria regarding the contagion from plague. The chief Italian doctor—whose name I have forgotten—who was said to be very clever, mounted a donkey covered with oil-skin, the doctor wearing also clothing of a supposed[23] non-contagion-bearing texture. He visited the plague patients, but carried an ivory wand with which he touched their ‘buboes.’

The other chief medical man was Dr. Lorimer, an Englishman, who did not believe in great danger from contagion but rather in the risk of infection from visiting, or living in, unhealthy quarters of the town where there were no sanitary arrangements.

These two doctors were on friendly terms, and when they met in the streets during their visits to plague patients, some banter generally passed. The Italian doctor was wont to salute Dr. Lorimer with ‘Tu creparai’ (Thou wilt die), and the latter returned the gloomy salutation with a ‘tu quoque.’ The Italian died of the plague whilst I was at Alexandria, but Dr. Lorimer kept in good health and was unremitting in his attendance on the sick, doing many acts of charity. He told me, in support of his theory of infection rather than contagion, that there were several houses in Alexandria of a better class, but situated in an unhealthy part of the town, whose tenants, even when observing the strictest quarantine, had caught the plague, whilst there were whole streets in a healthy quarter where no cases ever occurred.

Some years before, in Morocco, I had experience of the danger of going into dwellings where there is disease.

When the cholera morbus visited Tangier in 1836, Mr. Bell—at that time Consul under my father, and who had been surgeon on board Lord Yarborough’s yacht Falcon—devoted his spare time after office hours to attending, gratis, upon cholera patients and had much success: I sometimes accompanied him to interpret when he could not find an assistant who spoke Arabic, and on one occasion he requested me to aid him in giving directions to a poor Moor whose son was attacked with cholera. I accompanied Dr. Bell without fear, but when he requested me to lift the dying man, already looking like a livid corpse, to enable him to pour some liquid down his throat, I shuddered, and,[24] trembling, held the man in my arms till the dose was administered. The patient died shortly after.

I returned home feeling ill and shaken; and, whilst standing before a fire trying to warm myself, was seized with terrible cramps and fell in pain on the hearth-rug. I was put to bed with bottles of hot water on my body. Dr. Bell was sent for, but was not to be found. Having heard that sometimes oil relieved pain in cholera, I got a bottle of good French oil and adding a few drops of laudanum to a full tumbler of oil, drank it off. This relieved the intense pain. When the doctor arrived, he approved of my remedy and said I had an attack of cholera asiatica.

The danger from plague by contagion cannot, however, to my mind be called in question. That dire disease was introduced into Morocco about the year 1826 by an English frigate which our Government had dispatched to Alexandria, where the plague was then raging, to convey from that port to Tangier two sons of the Sultan, returning from a pilgrimage to Mecca. No case of plague or other illness had occurred on board the frigate during the voyage, and the Sultan’s sons and other passengers were allowed to land at Tangier.

The Customs’ officers being suspicious that in the numerous boxes, brought by pilgrims who had been permitted to embark with the Moorish princes, contraband goods were being smuggled, caused some of the cases to be opened. One contained Egyptian wearing apparel, which the owner said he had bought second-hand, and subsequently confessed had belonged to a person who had died of the plague at Alexandria. The two Moorish officials who opened the boxes were attacked with the plague that night and died in a few hours. The disease spread rapidly throughout Morocco, carrying off eighty per cent. of those who were attacked.

Shortly after my arrival at Alexandria, I was presented to Mehemet Ali by Colonel Hodges. I need not give a description of this remarkable man, of whom so much[25] has been written, but I was much struck by his keen eyes, like those of an eagle. The Colonel proved to be no match for him in discussing the grave questions then at issue regarding his desire to be independent of the Sultan’s sway, whilst Mehemet Ali showed markedly his personal dislike to the Irish colonel, who was hot-tempered and blurted out in very unguarded language the views entertained by the British Government at that time regarding Egypt.

On hearing that I was attached to the Embassy at Constantinople, Mehemet Ali fixed on me his eagle eyes with no friendly expression, and I could perceive, from words let drop then and afterwards, the extreme hatred his Highness entertained towards any one connected with our Ambassador, Lord Ponsonby, the persistent and successful opponent of his ambitious views.

About this time a portion of the Mahmud Canal was being dug by the unfortunate Egyptian fellahin, assisted by their wives and children, according to the ‘corvée’ system. Men, women and children dwelt in miserable hovels near the canal, and I have seen the wretched people working by thousands. A platter of bean soup and some coarse bread was all that each person received to keep body and soul together. No pay was given—or if any were made, it was retained by the overseers—and the greatest misery prevailed. I was told that there were two young fellah girls, sisters, who possessed only one garment between them; so whilst one worked the other remained in her hovel until her turn came, and then she donned the long blue shift and the weary one remained nude. Yet have I seen this joyous race, after emptying the baskets of earth they carried, filled with mud grubbed up by their hands, without aid of spade or other implement, singing and clapping their hands as they returned to the canal, balancing the empty baskets on their heads.

The Egyptians have been bondsmen for thousands of years, and are a degenerate and cowardly race.

On one occasion, when the younger son of Mehemet Ali,[26] Abbas Pasha, a cruel tyrant, visited the canal, a wretched fellah, with hardly a rag to his back, walked to a mound of earth above where the Pasha stood and cried out to his fellow-workmen: ‘Slaves and cowards! There stands the tyrant. Strike and destroy him, or—if you have not the courage to strike—spit, and you will drown him!’ This rash but brave fellah was seized and beaten until he lay a corpse.

To give another instance of the cruelty of this monster, Abbas Pasha. It was the custom in Egypt for any one of position to be accompanied, when on horseback, by a ‘sais,’ or footman, who ran beside, or preceded, the rider; and it was astonishing how these men could keep up for miles with a horse going at a fast amble or trot. The ‘sais’ of Abbas Pasha, having run by the side of his master during a long journey, became footsore and, his shoes being worn out, begged that a new pair might be given him at the next village. The Pasha replied, ‘Thy petition shall be granted.’ On arrival at the village, Abbas Pasha ordered that a blacksmith should be sent for, and when he came said, ‘Bind the sais, and nail on his feet two horse-shoes; see that they are red hot before they are fastened on.’ This was done, and the tortured man was left writhing in agony, whilst the Pasha returned to Alexandria.

One day, finding that I was not needed at the office, I went for a ride. When I had gone about four miles beyond the town I met an Arab, mounted on a ‘huri,’ or dromedary, riding at a great pace towards Alexandria, his face muffled up, as is usual with these people. He stopped his animal as I passed, and, showing me a little object he had in his hand, said, ‘I hear you Franks care about these things, and am going to Alexandria to find a purchaser.’

It appeared to be a very beautiful gem, apparently cut in agate, of the head of Bacchus. On my asking where he had found it, he told me in some ruins at a distant spot. I offered him a few piastres for the gem: but he refused[27] my offer, saying that he knew a similar object found on the same site had been sold by a friend of his for a sum equivalent in piastres to about £5.

Though not myself a collector of antiquities, my father was an archaeologist, and possessed a beautiful collection of coins, &c., and I decided on purchasing the gem as a gift to him: so, after some wrangling, I became the owner on paying about £2. The Arab, on receiving the money, turned back and rode off at a rapid pace.

Being very anxious to learn whether my acquisition was one of great value, I returned to Alexandria and called on the Austrian Consul-General, Monsieur Laurin, a collector of gems and other antiquities, and a great connoisseur. On showing him the gem he pronounced it to be a very beautiful work of art, and, if genuine, of great value and worth ten times what I had given; but said he really could not say without putting it to a test whether or no it were counterfeit. He informed me that imitations of all kinds of antiquities were imported from Italy and sold to travellers. When I related to him the incident of my meeting with the Arab, when riding out in the country, and the language and appearance of the man, he said there were Europeans at Alexandria who sold these objects, who were quite capable of hiring an Arab and his camel, and, on seeing that an English stranger was about to take a ride, sending him to encounter the traveller, in the hope of getting a good price.

With my permission, Monsieur Laurin used a penknife to scratch the back of the gem, which he said was agate, but he still hesitated in declaring, though he used a magnifying glass, whether the head of Bacchus was also cut on the agate or was composition. He said there was one way of solving the doubt, which would not injure a gem, but that if it were a counterfeit it would disappear,—which was to plunge it into hot water. He added that the head was so beautifully executed, it deserved to be kept on its own merits and not to be put under the test, as it would[28] be greatly admired, he felt sure, by my father. I insisted, however, on the test being applied, so hot water was brought. Into this I dropped the gem, and in an instant Bacchus disappeared and I found myself the possessor of a flat piece of agate.

My father, as I have said, was an archaeologist. When he lived in the neighbourhood of Valenciennes, in 1826, a French labourer discovered, in the neighbourhood of that town, a beautiful bronze statue of Hercules, about eighteen inches high, and, hearing that my father bought coins and other antiques, brought it to him. The statue was then in a perfect state: the club was of silver, in the left hand were apples of gold; the lion’s skin over the shoulder was in silver, and in the eyes were two small rubies. My father made the man an offer, which he refused.

A few days afterwards he brought back the statue in a mutilated state—the club, apples, lion’s skin, and ruby eyes were gone, having been sold to a jeweller. My father gave the man 100 francs for the statue, and this beautiful work of art became his idol; though offered a large sum to part with it, he declined, and in his will bequeathed it to the British Museum, where it can be seen amongst other gems of ancient art. His collection of coins and other antiquities he left to the Museum of the Antiquarian Society in Edinburgh, of which he was for many years honorary secretary.

Dated June 27, 1840, Cairo, I find among my notes the following entry:—

‘Heard a good story of the last of the Mamelukes, a fine old Saracen, one of the very few who escaped the massacre at Cairo.

‘The old fellow had been invited to an evening party at the house of the former Consul-General, Colonel Campbell, where there was assembled a large party of ladies, to each individual of whom he determined, in his politeness, to address what he imagined to be the most flattering remark[29] possible. Thus he made the tour of the fair sex, saying to each, “I see you will soon make a child!” accompanying his words with an expressive gesture. Married and unmarried were greeted alike! and to a young widow, a flame of the Colonel’s, notwithstanding her persistent denial and offended dignity, he repeatedly asseverated she would “make a child!”’

Sir Stratford seems to have been satisfied with his selection of Mr. Hay as his confidential attaché, for shortly after he writes in a note dated from Buyukdere to Mr. Hay[51] at the Embassy, ‘I have welcomed your first communication to me in writing. All quite clear. Everything necessary, nothing superfluous.’

In 1843, the British Consul at Broussa laid before the Ambassador complaints against the Pasha of the district where he resided, and the latter had also brought under the notice of the Porte grievances of a serious character, alleged to have been suffered from the proceedings of the Consul. Attempts were made by both the Porte and the Ambassador to bring about a settlement of the differences but without success. British subjects, Ionians, and Turks whose interests were affected by this state of affairs, appealed to the Embassy and to the Porte, urging that steps should be taken to secure the ends of justice.

Sir Stratford Canning proposed to the Porte that an officer of the Embassy should be sent to Broussa to make an inquiry into the conduct of the two functionaries, and that he should be empowered both by the Porte and the Ambassador to bring about a settlement of these differences, which had been a constant source of vexatious correspondence.

Sir Stratford selected me for this duty, and delivered to me letters from the Porte to the Pasha and from himself to the Consul, acquainting them respectively that I had been authorised to inquire into the various questions at issue, and to endeavour to bring about a settlement.

Accompanied by a Greek servant, who knew the country and could act as guide, I embarked in a steamer which took us to a port where we hired horses and proceeded to Broussa.

Both the Consul and Pasha, on my arrival, offered me hospitality, which I declined under the peculiar circumstances in which I was placed by my mission.

The day after my arrival the Pasha summoned a Divan of several local notables, who were to give evidence, and the Consul was also requested to attend.

[52]When I entered the Divan, being then a youth of about twenty-six, I was much shocked at seeing that the Pasha, Consul, and other notables—upon whom I had, as it were, to sit in judgment—were men with white and hoary beards and of a venerable appearance.

After pipes and coffee, the hearing of the various subjects in dispute commenced. Though I refer to this scene, as it affects the end of my tale, it is needless to relate what passed, further than to mention that I found both Pasha and Consul were in the wrong, but that neither had acted in a manner to require any severe censure on the part of the Porte or Ambassador, and I drew up a report in that sense. On my return journey to the port, having heard that game was plentiful, I gave my horse to the Greek to lead and wandered over the country. I had good sport; and the Greek frequently warned me that unless we kept to the beaten path and rode on quickly, we should not be able to reach the port before dark.

Continuing however to shoot, I wandered after game many miles from the road, or rather track, until it became so dark that I could no longer see the birds rise. On remounting, I told the Greek to lead the way, but he declined; he knew not where we were, nor even what direction to take. It was a bright clear night, and at a distance of about two miles I espied a light; thither I decided to direct our steps and to ask for shelter for the night, or for a guide.

We arrived at a large building, with lattice windows several feet from the ground, surrounded by a high wall enclosing what appeared to be farm-buildings, with a large double gate where carts and cattle could pass. After knocking loudly, an old Turk appeared. Telling him I was an English traveller and had lost my way, I begged to have shelter for the night anywhere in the farm-yard; a feed for my horses and some bread and coffee, if nothing else in the way of food was procurable, for myself and servant, for we were very hungry.

[53]The Turk replied that his master was ——— Bey, who had formerly been in the service of the Porte; that he was a landed proprietor; that as his family dwelt with him, no man could be admitted into the house; but he offered to ask the Bey’s permission to allow us to pass the night in one of the outhouses and to put up our horses.

The gate was again closed, and after waiting a few minutes, a Turkish gentleman, dressed in a handsome fur pelisse and fez, appeared.

After the usual salutations, he said, ‘Are you an Englishman?’ I replied that I was, without making myself known as one of the Secretaries of the British Embassy. He bade me welcome in a hearty manner, and turning to the old man who had just opened the gate, directed that my attendant should be lodged in a room in the farm-buildings and given whatever he might require, and that the horses should be stalled and fed.

Then taking me to the door of his house and opening it with a large key, he stopped on the threshold and said, ‘You are an English gentleman, and therefore a man of honour. I am about to do that which no Mohammedan will or ought to do, and admit you to my harem amongst my family. I have heard how English gentlemen visit the houses of friends and live as men of honour with their families, without restraint. I shall do the same, for I have special reasons for my conduct, which I will relate when you have rested. It is my earnest hope that you should feel as if you were with one of your own countrymen; but I beg you to keep secret from every one your visit to my house, and never to mention whom you may see within it.’

He then led me up a narrow staircase into a well-lighted room, handsomely furnished with beautiful carpeting, comfortable divans, mirrors, Turkish tables, arms hung on the wall, and a couch with pretty embroidered cushions and silk quilt, which he said was to be my bed.

Again and again he bade me welcome, adding, ‘I shall leave you to repose—you must be hungry. Supper is[54] ordered. A pipe and coffee will be brought to you, order what you please;’ then as he withdrew he repeated again in a kind manner, ‘An English Effendi is always a man of honour.’

Whilst inspecting the room and wondering what all this meant, I heard a gentle step, and a tall graceful figure of a girl about seventeen entered. She was dressed handsomely in a jacket used by Turkish ladies, with a bodice open in front, like the square dresses now worn by English ladies of an evening. She had on yellow silk ‘shalvas’ fastened by a white muslin sash, the ends of which were prettily embroidered. Her complexion was olive, with very large dark eyes and long eyelashes; her nose aquiline, and her mouth like a ring set in ruby lips. She looked grave and sad, but blushes diffused her cheeks as she bowed gracefully, and with a sweet smile put a ‘chebúk’ to my mouth, and then retired. Her hair was braided in tresses around her head and adorned with coins. Two long braids hung down her back.

This vision of a Turkish maiden seemed like a dream, and whilst pondering over the pretty figure that had just left and wondering whether she would return, another damsel appeared bearing a cup of coffee in a ‘finjan’ studded with precious stones. Bending before me, she put it on the little table.

She appeared to be about fifteen, dressed like the bearer of the ‘chebúk,’ but of a fairer complexion, with dark blue eyes, her nose retroussé. She was not so demure in her looks or manner, and standing before me blushing and smiling with a mirthful expression, said in a very sweet voice, ‘My father bids me ask if there is anything you wish for, and to say your supper will soon be ready.’ After thanking her, I held my tongue, remembering I was an ‘honourable man.’ She retired, turning at the threshold to look at me, with a pretty smile of mischief. Shortly afterwards the elder damsel reappeared, bringing sherbet. I thanked her, and she bowed and withdrew.

[55]Then the host followed to announce that supper was ready and inquiring whether I had been properly attended to, led me to a lower room, remarking that he thought I should be better able to enjoy my repast without his presence, but that he hoped in the evening to converse with me.

During the supper I was waited on by both the fair maidens, who brought me in succession a number of savoury dishes, with fruit and sweets of all kinds, for which the Turks are famous.

I partook of everything largely, to the evident amusement and pleasure of the maidens. The elder was no longer so demure in her manner, and the eyes of the younger sparkled with fun as she waited on me; but I indulged in no conversation further than to thank them now and then, saying ever to myself, ‘my host says I am an honourable man;’ but I fear my looks betrayed my admiration.

After supper the Bey conducted me to my apartment, where coffee was brought to us by the damsels, both of whom, I learnt, were his daughters. I expressed to the Bey my warmest thanks for his hospitality, and for the great confidence he had shown by admitting me amongst his family. Upon this, he said he would relate why he had broken through the Mohammedan custom and usages and bidden me welcome in his harem. He was fulfilling a vow made years ago, that whenever he had an opportunity, he would endeavour to give proof of his gratitude for kindness received from the captain of a British merchant vessel.

‘When I was a young man,’ continued the Bey, ‘before I was married, I went on a pilgrimage to Mecca. On my return I embarked from Alexandria on a Turkish vessel bound to Constantinople. We encountered a heavy gale; the vessel was old and rotten; leaks were sprung, and the captain, crew, and myself who was the only passenger, had barely time to get into the ship’s boat, when the vessel sunk. I lost all my clothes and money, with the exception[56] of a few piastres. We expected every moment the boat would be swamped by the heavy seas breaking around us, when a ship hove in sight. Signals of distress were made, and she came to our assistance, and we were all taken safely on board. She proved to be an English vessel bound for Salonica. The captain, a kind-hearted but rough-looking sailor, gave us dry clothes, dressed me in a warm suit of his own and supplied us with food.

‘We arrived at Salonica and I was enabled through the pratique master, who understood a little English, to express my gratitude. I offered to pay for my passage and food. The captain was indignant, and said he would not accept a farthing; but, on the contrary, having learnt that I had no money to continue my voyage and had no friends at Salonica, put a small sum into my hands which would enable me to proceed to Constantinople.

‘You,’ he continued, ‘are the first Englishman to whom I have had an opportunity of showing feelings of gratitude, long pent-up, to your countryman who saved my life.’

I then told him that I was one of the Secretaries of the British Embassy at Constantinople, and what had been the object of my visit to Broussa. I said I should make known to the ‘great Elchi’ his hospitality and kindness. He again impressed upon me his anxious wish that I should keep my reception in his household a secret, and, above all, the fact that I had been waited on by his daughters—for he said it would be a serious matter if this was known to his co-religionists. He consented, however, to my telling the Ambassador confidentially all that had happened; but to my Turkish friends at Constantinople I was only to mention that I and my servant had received shelter for the night. He also requested me not to tell my Greek attendant that I had seen any women in the house.

At sunrise next day I was up, and going into the courtyard gave directions to my servant to have the horses ready for a start as soon as I had breakfasted. He informed me that he had been well taken care of. I gave the Greek[57] several gold piastres, which I directed should be distributed amongst the dependants of the Bey. He informed me that he had learnt from the old gatekeeper that the Bey had only one wife, and no other inmates of the harem except his two daughters and some black slaves.

A good breakfast was ready for me as I re-entered the house, and again the pretty damsels waited on me without the presence of their father; and though I had lost my heart (it was an easy matter in those days) to the blue-eyed little maiden, I refrained from saying more than expressions of thanks in the most polite Turkish, keeping steadfastly in mind that an ‘English gentleman is an honourable man.’

On going away, the Bey accompanied me to the door, and whilst I reiterated my warmest thanks, he put into my hand a little sealed packet, observing, ‘You will pardon me for returning the handsome “bakshish” you had directed the Greek to distribute amongst my dependants. The latter have made known and returned to me what they had received; I shall reward them, but I cannot allow that you should do so. It would have given me,’ he added, ‘great pain if they had retained the money, and it would have deprived me of the pleasure and satisfaction I have felt in welcoming an Englishman to my house.’ I said not a word, and put the money into my pocket. As I left the house I could not help looking back as long as the lattice windows were in sight, and thought I espied bright eyes peering out at the parting guest; but I refrained from waving hand or handkerchief.

Sir Stratford Canning, to whom I related this adventure confidentially on my arrival, made known to the Porte that I had received hospitality and great kindness from this Bey when benighted on my return from Broussa, and expressed a hope that the Porte would in some suitable form mark approval of such kindness shown to a member of the Embassy.

The Turkish Government announced their satisfaction and thanks for the report I had presented, through the[58] Ambassador, giving the result of my inquiry into the conduct of Pasha and Consul, and sent to H.E. a Sultan’s ‘berat’ or edict, placing the Bey under the special protection of the Porte and of His Imperial Majesty, and recommending him to the good offices of the Pasha and other officials.

This ‘berat’ I forwarded in a letter to the Bey; but, alas! I could not send the messages I should have wished to have done to Fatima and the ‘dil bere’ (heart-robber) Aisha.

That year Sir Stratford Canning, accompanied by all his family and all the members of the Embassy except myself, who was left in charge for a few days, made an excursion to Broussa and were received with great attention and hospitality by the Pasha. In 1844 the latter was removed from his government and returned to Constantinople, where he resided in a large kiosk on the Bosphorus.

In the summer of 1844, having obtained leave of absence from Her Majesty’s Government, I made arrangements to embark in a French steamer bound for Marseilles.

On taking leave of the Ambassador, he told me he had ordered his ‘kaik’ to convey me from Buyukdere, where his Excellency then resided, to the steamer in Pera harbour, but that he was anxious I should call on the ex-Pasha of Broussa and present to him a gold chronometer, worth about £60, as a token of his—Sir Stratford’s—friendship, and acknowledgement of the hospitality shown to himself and family on his visit.

His Excellency added, ‘I am especially anxious you should present this gift, and renew your acquaintance with the Pasha, and thus remove any feeling that might possibly exist in his mind regarding the inquiry made by you into his and the Consul’s conduct, and the decision that was come to by the Porte in consequence of your report; for the Pasha will probably be employed again by the Government, and when you return to the Embassy it is desirable[59] that you should both be on friendly terms.’ In pursuance of these instructions I called on the Pasha, who received me very kindly and told me he had a lively recollection of my visit to Broussa, and of my statement in the report that both he and the Consul were in the wrong and had been quarrelling upon trivial matters.

He laughed and added, ‘You were quite right; the Consul and I made it up and became good friends, so I feel indebted to you for not having unduly taken the part of your Consul.’

I presented the chronometer, with a suitable message from the Ambassador, and then told the Pasha I could not wait for the usual pipes and coffee, as I had to embark in a steamer which was about to start. He replied that he should only detain me for a moment, and left the room. He returned immediately, bringing a small green leathern case, suspended in a little muslin kerchief, which he put into my hands, saying, ‘You are going to your own country and you may not return, so I beg you to keep this as a little souvenir of my friendship.’

Though I knew not what were the contents of the leathern case, I thought by the shape it was a ‘finjan’ or Turkish saucer for holding a small cup; but as it is against the established regulations for a diplomatic officer to accept presents from a foreign official, I told the Pasha my scruples, and that it would affect me injuriously if I accepted even the smallest gift.

He said all he could to induce me to waive my objection; but finding me resolute, he became very grave, took the little muslin kerchief containing the case from me, as I held it towards him, and handed me back at the same time the case containing the watch, saying that ‘if a Secretary of the Embassy cannot receive a little token of friendship on going away, from a man who no longer holds any appointment, neither can I, a retired Governor, accept this chronometer from the Ambassador; have the goodness to make this known to his Excellency, with my[60] best thanks and excuses.’ As I felt that Sir Stratford would be excessively annoyed if the gift were returned, and might think I had not managed to present the gift in a proper manner, I came (after some parley) to a compromise with the Pasha, that he should retain the chronometer and I his gift; that I should write a note at once to the Ambassador explaining all that had happened, and dispatch it to his Excellency by the ‘kaik’ that brought me; that if the Ambassador disapproved of my accepting the gift I should be allowed to return it to the Pasha, with a letter of explanation, and in such case he would retain the chronometer; but if his Excellency approved, there was an end of the matter, and under any circumstances, I told the Pasha, I was much pleased and most grateful for his kind intention.

I sent off the ‘kaik’ to the Embassy, and proceeded in another to the French steamer, which was about to leave. On getting into the ‘kaik,’ I opened the little leather case. It contained a small gold ‘finjan’ encrusted with rose diamonds, worth about £70.

Just as the steamer was on the point of leaving, the Ambassador’s ‘kaik’ came alongside, with a messenger bringing a note from Lady Stratford Canning. The note stated that the Ambassador entirely approved all I had done, and directed that I should keep the Pasha’s gift.

On my way to England I stopped at Paris for a few days to make the acquaintance of Admiral Lalande, who had commanded the French fleet which had been sent to Besika Bay during the Egyptian question in 1840. He was married to the sister of my brother-in-law, the late M. Mauboussin.

The Admiral received me very cordially. He was looking ill, and told me it was probable that he would be in his grave before the end of three weeks, as he was suffering from an internal disease and lived entirely upon milk. He was not confined to his couch but walked about the room whilst conversing, as if full of vigour both in mind and[61] body. He asked me if I should see, whilst in London, Lord Ponsonby; saying he was very anxious to send him ‘the message of a dying man.’ I replied that I should make a point of calling on his Lordship, from whom I had received much kindness. The Admiral then observed that he entertained the highest opinion of Lord Ponsonby, though he was aware that he had successfully opposed French views and projects in Egypt, and had assumed an ascendency over the minds of the Sultan and his advisers which redounded to his credit as a diplomatist, though antagonistic to France.

‘From the fact,’ said the Admiral, ‘of my having such a high opinion of the character of your Ambassador, it has been very painful to me to have learnt, from communications which have been imparted to me by my Government, that Lord Ponsonby is under the impression that I took a prominent part in inducing the Turkish Admiral to be a traitor to his sovereign and deliver over the Turkish fleet to Mehemet Ali. It was of course,’ he said, ‘an event to which much importance was attached by those who had desired to support Mehemet Ali’s independence; but,’ he added, ‘no possible advantage to French interests would ever have induced me to advise or encourage any man to turn traitor to his sovereign, and I hold the Turkish Admiral in utter contempt for that act of infamy. I am now,’ he continued, ‘as I have told you, a dying man; in a few days you will hear I have passed away, and I desire that you should convey to Lord Ponsonby the following message:—“I swear, as a dying man, that whatever may have been done by other French officials, I took no part in the matter, nor indeed was I aware, until the Turkish fleet was delivered over to Mehemet Ali, of the intention of the Turkish Admiral.”

‘It is my anxious desire, as I have the highest opinion of Lord Ponsonby as an honourable man, that any erroneous impression on this subject should be removed from his mind before I die, and that he should give me[62] credit also for being an honourable man, and incapable of counselling any one to turn traitor to his sovereign.

‘Take his Lordship,’ he added, ‘this message, and let me know before I die whether he gives credence to my declaration.’ This I promised to do.

Admiral Lalande related to me that, during the time the French and British fleet lay together in Besika Bay, he had become very intimate with Admiral Sir Robert Stopford, that they dined frequently together and had become fast friends.

He observed that I was no doubt aware that it was then expected, at any moment, that a declaration of war would take place, and that an engagement would follow between the two fleets. ‘It is all settled now,’ he said, ‘and we are at peace, so I can tell you confidentially that we two old men talked over the probability of a sudden declaration of war one evening after dinner, and as we each expressed a sincere desire that no undue advantage should be taken by either through receiving earlier tidings of a rupture, we concerted that a private signal should be hoisted on our respective flagships, the object of which should be unknown to the officers of our fleets, when either of us received tidings that war was declared, so that each might be prepared, without undue advantage, to take measures for a fair fight. Every morning and evening we were wont to look for this signal. At that time,’ the admiral continued, ‘the French fleet was in first-rate order, and we had one vessel more than the English at anchor, as the latter had a vessel or two on the coast of Egypt.

‘Your fleet,’ he said, ‘was also in admirable order, but we were quite your match; and I tell you frankly that though I have no unfriendly feeling towards your nation, I die a disappointed man in that I lost the opportunity of a fight; for I had hoped, if not victorious, to have been able to wage such a battle as would have wiped out the defeats our squadrons and ships had almost always experienced in the last great war.’

[63]Lord Ponsonby was in town when I arrived; he took the greatest interest in the message I brought him, and requested me to inform Admiral Lalande it was perfectly correct that he had been led to believe he had induced, or secretly encouraged, the Turkish Admiral to deliver up the fleet to Mehemet Ali; but that Admiral Lalande’s declaration was sufficient to convince him that he was mistaken, and that he greatly regretted having joined with others in putting forward such an accusation. He requested me also to say that he was much pleased and gratified that the Admiral should have desired to have this matter cleared up, and told me to thank him and to express a hope that he would yet live for many years to serve his country.

I wrote to Admiral Lalande and made known Lord Ponsonby’s reply. My letter reached him a few days before his death, which occurred within the three weeks, as he had prognosticated.

In the same year I was directed, by order of Her Majesty’s Government, to accompany Colonel Barnett to Egypt, on his appointment as Political Agent and Consul-General, and remained there several months. After a few weeks’ residence at Cairo, I was offered by Lord Palmerston, through Colonel Barnett, the post of Consul at Alexandria, which the latter endeavoured to persuade me to accept as he urged it would lead to my being appointed his successor; but the climate of Egypt did not agree with me and I declined, preferring to return to the Embassy at Constantinople.

Commodore Porter was at this time Minister of the United States at Constantinople.

He was a distinguished officer, who had rendered important services during the war with Great Britain. The commodore was very eccentric, a type of the rough sailor of by-gone days, but pleasant and amusing, and, when spinning yarns about actions between British and United States ships, always careful to avoid—even when the story[64] related regarded the capture by himself of one of our ships—any expression which he thought might wound my susceptibilities as a ‘Britisher.’

He lived at San Stefano, a village about ten miles from Constantinople. I had made the acquaintance of his nephew, Mr. George Porter, the Secretary of the United States Legation, who frequently invited me—when there was a passage of quail—to a day’s shooting and to dinner with his uncle; but I was the only member of the Diplomatic Corps at Constantinople thus favoured.

Since he had presented his credentials to the Sultan, and made the usual formal visits to his colleagues, he called upon no one—not even upon the Vizir or any member of the Turkish Government.

One day, after dinner, I happened to relate to the Commodore a political event that had recently occurred, in which he appeared to take great interest; so, finding him in good humour, I took the liberty of observing that, as he had mentioned he never visited or received visits from members of the Turkish Government or of the Diplomatic Corps, I thought he must find it a difficult matter to keep his Government properly and correctly informed upon passing events, which were at that time of the greatest importance to the political world.

The Commodore replied, his eyes twinkling with humour, ‘I am very careful to keep my Government fully informed of all that takes place, and I receive replies expressing satisfaction with my interesting reports and the foresight they declare I show in predicting events which are likely to happen.’

‘Now,’ said the Commodore, ‘I will make known to you, in the greatest confidence, how I acquire the information which enables me to draw up those very able reports. I take Galignani’s Messenger, which reaches me regularly, and this paper—as you know—contains extracts from the English and foreign journals, with reports from their correspondents at Constantinople, regarding the various[65] questions which are taking place and other occurrences of a political character. I have all these under my careful consideration, and, assisted by the local knowledge of my nephew, draw my conclusions and transmit, with some slight alteration in language, copies of the articles which appear in the Galignani. I may be sometimes three or four days later than my colleagues in forwarding reports of passing events to our respective Governments, but I flatter myself that the digest of the views entertained by the able reporters at Constantinople is preferable to, and less likely to mislead the United States Government than the reports which many of my excellent colleagues, carried away sometimes by personal motives, may transmit to their Governments.’

In the time of Sultan Mulai Abderahman it was not infrequent to hear that some Basha, or Sheikh, who may have been supposed to have taken part in an insurrection or given other serious cause for displeasure to the Sultan, was summoned to the Court, and placed in confinement.

The ‘Mul Meshwa’ or chief Usher of the Court acted on such occasions as executioner, and bearing a cup of coffee, would visit the victim and say, ‘Our Lord and Master sends you this,’ adding peremptorily, should the unfortunate man hesitate, ‘Drink: it is our Lord’s order. You are in the hands of God. What is written is written.’

During the time that Abd-el-Kader carried on hostilities[72] against the French in Algeria, Sultan Mulai Abderahman had given strict orders to his Ministers and Governors not to hold any communication with this active and daring chief, as H.M. feared the French might find some pretext for a quarrel with Morocco.

Sid Mohammed Ben Dris, a very clever man, was at that time chief Uzir, and was suspected of being in communication with Abd-el-Kader, and even of having suggested to him that (as he thought it most probable Abd-el-Kader would succeed in turning the French out of Algeria) he should enter Morocco, upset the Sultan, and usurp the throne.

There is little doubt that, had Abd-el-Kader listened to these suggestions, he might have succeeded in such an enterprise.

A courier, who had been dispatched secretly by the Uzir to Abd-el-Kader, was arrested by the Governor of ‘Hiazna’: his letters seized and sent direct to the Sultan. Amongst them, the Sultan found a letter from Ben Dris to Abd-el-Kader with treasonable propositions. Ben Dris was summoned to the presence of the Sultan, who exhibited to him his letters asking, ‘Whose handwriting is this?’ Ben Dris threw himself at the feet of the Sultan, crying out, ‘Amán (mercy)! It is mine.’ ‘You are a vile traitor,’ said H.M. ‘Approach; put out that tongue with which you solemnly swore, only the other day, you had never written, and would never write, to Abd-el-Kader.’

The Uzir put out his tongue, of which the Sultan took hold and, with one wrench, tore[5] it from its socket, leaving the tongue paralysed and useless. ‘Go,’ said the Sultan; ‘your tongue can no longer lie.’

The Uzir withdrew, his tongue swelled in a frightful manner, and he died shortly afterwards in great agonies; but few persons at the time knew the cause of his disgrace and death.

French journals, and Frenchmen in general, accused the[73] British Government and their Representative in Morocco of being in communication with Abd-el-Kader, and even of sending emissaries and money to assist that chief in carrying on hostilities against the French. But the accusations were without the slightest foundation, and though on one occasion Abd-el-Kader addressed me a letter asking for British intervention on his behalf, no reply was sent nor was any notice taken of his communication, and certainly not one farthing was ever given by our Government to this gallant and patriotic chief. On the other hand, advice was unceasingly tendered to the Moorish Government by my father, and subsequently by myself, that they should hold no communication with Abd-el-Kader or his followers, and should oppose his making the Rif country a basis for hostile operations against the French, when driven out of Algeria.

Mr. Hay’s appointment at Tangier was as yet only a temporary one. His chief at Constantinople, who evidently awaited his return, writes in December, 1844:—

The reference to ‘less sacrifice to your eyes,’ it may be inferred, was a jesting allusion to an occurrence which had taken place at Stambul, when Mr. Hay was Acting Private Secretary. The story is told by Mr. Stanley Lane-Poole, in his Life of Sir S. Canning, how the fiery Ambassador and his not less hot-headed young attaché,[74] both worn out with over-work, lost their tempers and their self-control[6].

In 1845, Mr. Hay succeeded his father as Political Agent and Consul-General in Morocco. As will be gathered from the following letter addressed to him by Lord Ponsonby, congratulating him on his appointment, Mr. Hay considered that in diverging from the direct line of a diplomatic career by becoming Agent and Consul-General, he endangered his hopes of future advancement. But he decided on incurring this risk, in order to assist his widowed mother, who had been left with slender means, by undertaking the education of his younger brothers. For many years he devoted half his salary to this object, and, at a later period, to starting them in life or assisting any member of his family who was in need of aid.

I am off for the exalted Court of His Sherifian Majesty Sultan Mulai Abderahman, and alas! it is Tuesday, an unlucky day for ‘the faithful’: for ‘Telatsa felatsa,’ say the Moors—on the third day (Tuesday) all fails; but good omens have attended the start, and, as I am taught by my favourite trooper, Kaid Abd-el-Kerim, now snoring at my tent door, good omens such as I have experienced this morning will counterbalance the unlucky day: ‘God forbid,’ said he, ‘that its name should be repeated.’

Yes, as I put my foot in the stirrup, a holy dervish, one who would be profanely called in Europe a madman,[78] rushed up and threw his patchwork and party-coloured mantle over me, and, lifting up his hand towards heaven, cried out, ‘God’s blessing and the Sultan’s favour be with you!’ I threw his Holiness a small coin, for no doubt I had deprived him of much virtue,—at least I should suppose so by the otherwise unaccountable creeping and itching I experienced; but perhaps my fancy may have misled me.

Kaid ‘Bu Jebel’ (‘the Father of the Mountain,’ grandfather, I suppose, of the Mouse!), with his doughty followers, compose my escort—some thirty in all. I found them drawn up in zig-zag line in the little Sok (market-place), headed, though not commanded, by young Sid Abd-el-Malek, the son of my old friend Kaid Ben Abu, governor of Rif, who, at my particular request, is to accompany us.

In the outer market-place all the corps of foreign Representatives, a host of chevaliers, but very mal à cheval, joined our party, and a scene commenced, which continued till they left us, of snorting, rearing, kicking, and exclamations. Apologies, mille pardonizing, ‘et mille et mille’ were offered, when the heels of one of their chargers passed within an inch of my knee-pan.

Powder-play was commenced by the Kaid, and some of my colleagues became suddenly pedestrians. I think I can match any one of them on horseback, although the pen may yield. God be praised! we parted without injury.

An honest countryman from the village of Suanni, on passing by, offered me his bowl of milk to drink. It was not to be refused, and as I lifted the weighty earthen vessel to my mouth, my horse made a slight plunge, and a copious libation gushed over my gilded armour[7] and accoutrements.

‘Oh! what good fortune,’ shouted my escort. ‘Peace and plenty!’ Omen the second.

Our baggage had started some time before us, and had[79] halted at ‘Ain Dalia,’ or ‘the fountain of the vine;’ the encampment, consisting of some thirteen tents, enlivened the scene and the wild country around.

A camp is a pretty sight, and these people, lately enfranchised, as it were, from their nomad life, well understand the arrangements and economy expedient on such occasions. Our nags were soon picketed round the tents, and the camp attendants, drawn up in line, called down, as I approached, God’s blessing on their work, with a prayer for a safe journey and return.

A quarrel or two, with much screaming and uttering of the most guttural sounds, followed this momentary calm. The Moors are children, and children will quarrel. Kaddor swore at the Hadj’s great-great-grandmother, and the Hadj burnt all Kaddor’s ancestors. Their friends intervened, and there was much mediation, but peace could not be effected. My turn then came, and I said, ‘God’s curse on the devil, who causes men’s hearts to be blackened by passion. Love each other, as God loveth you.’ So the Hadj gave Kaddor a hearty buss, and Kaddor, with pouting lips, kissed the Hadj’s grizzly beard, and each cursed the devil.

At coffee time I invited the Kaids and the Taleb to sip with me, and wondrous tales ensued on their part, and in return I talked of Stambul, its magnificence and fame.

Kaid Abd-el-Kerim informed me he commanded as ‘Kaid Erha,’ or colonel, a body of cavalry at the battle of Isly in 1844, when Maréchal Bugeaud invaded Morocco with a force of twelve thousand men and attacked the Sultan’s army.

Kaid Abd-el-Kerim described the strong position that Sid Mohammed, the eldest son of Sultan Mulai Abderahman, had taken up with his forces on the brow of a hill, and how earthworks had been thrown up, on which field-pieces were placed, under the command of a Spanish renegade, who had been a sergeant of artillery in Spain. ‘But,’ said the Kaid, ‘I do not consider the conflict with the French can be called a battle.’

[80]‘How is that?’ I inquired, ‘for the Moorish forces were routed, the Sultan’s camp and the field-pieces taken possession of.’

‘Yes,’ said the Kaid. ‘Still I maintain it could not be called a battle, for we never had an opportunity of a fair fight, so as to be able to judge whether the Mussulmen or the French were the braver warriors.’

I then asked the Kaid to describe what took place, as also his reasons for not considering it a fair fight.

The Kaid replied: ‘When the French force first came in sight, at a distance of about an hour’s walk (3½ miles), we observed that neither cavalry, infantry, nor artillery were spread out—as ought to be done—in line, before a battle. They had formed together a compact mass like a “berod” (swarm of bees), and thus advanced towards us without a halt, banners flying, and music playing. It was a “fraja” (a very fine sight).

‘Sid Mohammed ordered our cavalry to advance on the plain below the encampment, and the infantry, chiefly composed of tribes of mountaineers, to take up their position on our flanks on the adjoining slopes.

‘On came the French, on, on, without halting, or firing a gun, notwithstanding that our artillery played upon them, and the tribes kept up a running fire from the heights on each flank. On came the French, without a pause that would give us an opportunity of a fair fight to test the prowess of the contending forces.’

‘Explain,’ I interposed, ‘what you consider would have been a battle.’

‘Why,’ resumed the Kaid, ‘the French force ought to have halted when they got within half a mile; then we should have ordered a body of cavalry to advance and charge; the French might have done likewise; the troopers would have met, and a hand-to-hand conflict would have ensued. Those who got worsted would have retreated; other bodies on either side would have charged, and then likewise the infantry would have advanced and joined in the[81] affray. Finally, when either force retreated, the artillery would have covered their retreat, the battle would have been brought to a conclusion and we should have known who were the best and bravest warriors: but no—on came the French without a halt, and when our cavalry charged, the French infantry fired and mowed them down, even killing with their bayonets some of our troopers who had charged right up to the mass of French soldiers.

‘On they came; our cavalry, after repeated charges, having no opportunity of fair fight, retreated, and so did the tribes. The renegade fired his field-pieces as the French advanced upon our camp, and he, as also many of the artillerymen, were killed standing at their guns.

‘What was to be done? It was quite a surprise. Sid Mohammed fled with all the cavalry, abandoning tents, ammunition, and many thousand animals.

‘It was not a fair battle, and therefore I do not consider it a defeat.’

The Taleb then gave us the following dialogue between the ‘fellah’ (farmer) Ben Taieb Zarhoni and the wise F’ki Sid Mohammed Ben Nasr.

Ben Nasr. ‘God has permitted the cursed Nazarenes to take possession of Algiers, as a punishment for the sins of the Mussulmans of that territory who had neglected to follow the precepts of our Prophet—may God’s blessing be upon him! Ere long we Moors shall likewise be punished for our sins and wickedness by the anger of God, who will permit the Christians to take possession of the country of our forefathers.’

Zarhoni. ‘I do not comprehend why an all-just God should punish, without discrimination, in this manner; for, in so doing, he punishes the innocent as well as the guilty. Why should the man who has obeyed God’s precepts from his youth upwards, become subject to the law of the accursed Christian because some of his brethren are sinful? How comes it that the Deity, in His wisdom, has not found more just ways of inflicting punishment on the guilty?’

[82]Ben Nasr. ‘After the Deluge and the destruction of mankind, Noah’s mind was troubled with the same fallacies, and he prayed to God to enlighten him and teach him why the innocent were drowned as well as the sinful. He was thereupon thrown into a trance, and God sent a great number of fleas which crawled up his leg; upon one biting him, Noah awoke and rubbed his hand over the bitten part, killing not only the offending flea, but many others.

‘An Angel then appeared and said, “O man! Why killest thou fleas which have not injured thee?”

‘Noah answered and said, “O Lord! These fleas are insignificant and noxious creatures.”

‘To which the Angel replied, “As thou hast destroyed these insects and not distinguished between the guilty and the harmless, on account of the offence of one flea, thus also had the Almighty ordained the Deluge for the destruction of mankind—who were, in His sight, but noxious creatures upon earth.”

‘Noah bowed his head to the ground, and was dumb.’

Zarhoni. ‘If I had been Noah, I should have replied to the Angel—“An almighty, an all-seeing God could distinguish the guilty from the innocent: but a poor ignorant man, awaking from a dream on being bitten by a flea, could not be expected to select which was the offending, and which the harmless flea.”’

Ben Nasr. ‘It appears Noah was not so ready with a reply as you are.’

Next we had the history of the son of Tama, who would not say ‘Enshallah’ (God willing).

‘“Say Enshallah! when you propose to make a journey or to undertake anything: then fortune will attend you,” said the learned F’ki Bitiwi to his young friend Selam Amu.

‘Know you not what the other day befell Abd-el-Kerim the son of Tama the widow of the Sheikh of Amar? Hear then.

‘Abd-el-Kerim, last market day, told his mother he was going to the Sok of Had-el-Gharbía to buy a cow.

[83]‘The widow Tama, a devout good woman, reprimanded her son for not adding “Enshallah.” To this Abd-el-Kerim replied, in a taunting and blasphemous manner, that he needed not God’s assistance, either to go to market, or to buy a cow; for, said the rash young man, “Have I not here in the hood of my jelab more than sufficient money for the purpose? Have I not legs to carry me to the Sok? Are there not always cows to be sold?”

‘His mother again rebuked him, saying, “Without God’s will and His assistance, no man can succeed in life.”

‘Abd-el-Kerim laughed at her and, shaking the money in his hood, set off to the market which was only about an hour’s journey from their village.

‘On reaching the river Gharifa he found it unusually swollen and was obliged to wade more than waist deep.

‘When he reached the middle of the stream, the current was running very strong and there came on a heavy shower of rain. Abd-el-Kerim forgot the money in the hood of his jelab and pulled it over his head to prevent his getting wet, and the coins fell into the river and were lost in the mud.

‘In vain did Abd-el-Kerim dive and endeavour to recover his money. The river was rising, the current became more rapid every moment and he was obliged to retrace his steps and return in a very wretched state to his village. Wet to the skin, without his money or his cow, bitterly repenting that he had not followed his mother’s advice, he vowed he would endeavour to be a better Moslem in the future.

‘On entering the village, he met his cousin Husain, who, having seen him set out in the morning for the market, inquired what brought him back so early.

‘Oh, said Abd-el-Kerim, it has pleased God that I should not listen to the advice of my mother, who desired me to say “Enshallah.” I intended to have bought a cow, but God ordained I should reach the river just as it pleased God it should begin to rain. And then it was His will that I should forget the money in the hood of my jelab: so I pulled the hood over my head and by God’s will it was ordained that[84] my money should thus be lost in the river. Now, if it please God, I vow with God’s assistance, never to say or do anything without asking the aid and blessing of the Almighty—Enshallah!’

Another story was that of ‘the lion and the lark.’

A lion was prowling, on a hot summer’s day, in the plains of Sahel, and was about to tread on the nest of a lark, which was brooding over its unfledged larklings, when the bird thus addressed the royal beast: ‘O greatest and most powerful Sultan of the forest, have pity on a poor bird and her helpless young!’

The lion, looking with the greatest contempt on the little lark, replied, ‘Is it for thy wretched offspring, or for thee—despicable bird—that I should swerve one step from my course?’ And at the same moment he placed his paw upon the nest, and crushed the young larks.

The mother flew up towards the heavens, wailing piteously, and trilled out, ‘O cruel tyrant! God created me and my little ones whom thou hast now destroyed: from His throne do I seek justice and retribution. With Him all creatures are equal: thy strength, O lion, in His sight, is not more regarded than my helplessness.

‘O God! I place my confidence in Thee! Thou art our Defender. Thou art the Judge of all creatures.’

‘A curse,’ said the lion, ‘upon thy babbling tongue!’

The lark, soaring higher and higher, continued her song of lamentation and woe; when suddenly she heard a voice from heaven, and Gabriel, the messenger of God, thus addressed her, ‘Thy prayer, O lark, is heard, and justice shall be done unto thee. Seek the aid of the winged tribes, God ordains that they shall succour thee.’

The lark had hardly recovered from her astonishment at the heavenly voice, when a falcon and a host of flies and gnats surrounded her. The falcon addressing her said, ‘Thou seekest justice and revenge. They shall be thine, for I am sent by Allah. The powerful one shall be humbled[85] and shall be made to learn God’s strength and might; even through his humblest creatures.

‘Hark ye, O gnats! Seek the lion in his den in the thicket; torment him with myriads of stings until he flies into the open. I shall then pounce on his back and tear his flesh with my talons. Then—O flies! do ye enter into the wounds in his body and fill them with maggots and corruption. Thus shall the strong be humbled. Thus shall those who despise God’s creatures, and who rule with wanton tyranny over the weak, be made to know that there is no power nor strength but in God Almighty, the Most High.’

The directions of the falcon were carried out, and the lion, tormented by myriads of gnats, fled from his lair unto the plain. There the falcon pounced on his back and tore his flesh. Innumerable swarms of flies filled his body with maggots and corruption.

In a few days the tyrant of the forest, the terror of man and beast, died in a loathsome and miserable manner.

Thus was the lark avenged.

March 4. Our tents were struck at daybreak. More prisoners at the muleteer’s tent, and again I had to play mediator. The accusation was that sufficient barley had not been provided for the soldiers’ horses. On examining the case, I found that more than enough had been brought; but that a Kaid, who had followed us from the town by way of compliment, was now returning and wanted to carry with him a rich harvest from these poor people. This I put a stop to and released the prisoners.

Crossing the line of hills called Akba el Hamra, we passed Dar Aklau, or house of Aklau—a famous robber—and reached a wide plain traversed by the rivers of Kholj and Hashef, in which is found much ‘shebbel[8],’ a fish like a salmon, though the flesh is white and a most dainty dish when roasted or fried. The fisheries are a monopoly of the Government. Here we were met by the Kaid Sheikh of[86] Gharbía and about seventy cavalry who, after welcoming us in the name of the Sultan, wheeled round and headed our party.

Our place of encampment is again a well-chosen site. A ‘mona’ of sheep, fowls, shebbel, eggs, butter, bread, milk and oranges was now brought, and a horrid cutting of throats ensued. I wish we did not know that mutton belonged to a sheep or the wing of a fowl to a chicken. A camp scene sadly reminds me that man is a bloodthirsty creature.

March 5. Rain! Rain in torrents!

About midday we had half an hour’s fine weather, and I sallied out in search of antiquities, and found numbers of large square hewn stones covering the green turf. Here and there were remains of a well-built wall—but of no height or form to enable me, in my ignorance, to say what these ruins had been. Every appearance around indicated the remains of a town of importance, probably Roman. The Moors tell me that in digging they find many ruins underground. In one place, however, called Uhara, there were the ruined remains of what would appear to have been a castle or barrack. This the Arabs declared to have been the palace of the Sultan of Portugal’s daughter. It is possible that this building is Portuguese, for they—the Portuguese—possessed all this line of country, and would naturally select the same advantageous position for a castle as their predecessors the Romans. The material of this building was thin flat stones, not hewn, but apparently collected from the surface of the soil and built with a hard cement—not mortar—as far as I could judge. The remnant of an arched well was near the building. We also came across what appeared to have been an amphitheatre, formed in part by the natural rising of the ground and in part by the hand of man. Not far from this site, some years ago, I stumbled by chance on a much more perfect amphitheatre[9], in which were still the[87] steps or seats for the spectators and the dens for the wild beasts and gladiators.

On returning to camp I found that the Sheikh of Ibdaua had arrived with his cavalry to present his salams; but had come empty-handed—‘not even a bowl of milk’—as I was informed by Kaid Serbul, who has been sent by the Basha to provide ‘mona.’ So this Kaid-caterer has not allowed the Bedouin to approach my ‘Exalted Presence.’ I must, however, make friends with this gentleman, and show him by and by, if he prove a tame Moslem, that the Englishman is not so hard upon him as his own countrymen. A good name is what I wish to leave amongst these poor people. Some day it may prove of importance.

March 7. Starting our baggage at an early hour, so as to give time for the animals and baggage to be taken in boats across the river, and the tents to be pitched, we followed in the afternoon.

El Araish was soon in sight, and its fine river El Kus (the Lixus of the ancients). The Sultan’s fleet, consisting of four dismantled and rotten brigs, lay in this river. The captains of these vessels hoisted their flags as I passed. A twelve-oared boat, with the captain of the port and crew in full dress, awaited me; and two or three boats for the horses. One of these boats, by way of compliment, was destined to convey my horse all alone! At the port-gate was the Governor of the town, with a guard of honour drawn up to receive me, and in the Custom House the administrator and other authorities welcomed us with the usual salams and compliments.

The cat is out of the bag! Every night since we have started I have heard loud disputing and high words, in which fowls, eggs, mutton, &c., prevailed. It appears that from the plentiful mona I receive, a large surplus of live-stock remains, though my servants and followers eat to their hearts’ content and are looking twice as sleek as when they left Tangier. These sheep and fowls had been appropriated by them without my knowledge, and sold as they thought[88] best, and one of the ‘Faithful’ complained to me because my Arab secretary, Sid Ben Yahia, insisted upon having his share of the spoil. I have put a stop to this shameless proceeding and have let them know that, as the food is given to me by the Sultan’s orders to be eaten, it shall be eaten and not an atom sold. So what my friends can’t eat, David Sicsu and the Arab secretary shall; and what they cannot, my servants shall; and what they cannot eat, the muleteers shall devour; and what the muleteers can’t eat, the poor shall; and what the poor can’t eat, they shall keep till they can. I have made one or two Moors discontented by this arrangement, but have pleased the majority: this is my aim, and to be just to all.

March 8. Rain again in the morning, but we made a start, and it turned out a most delightful day. Our path was over undulating hills of a red sandy soil, covered with rich grass, and the ‘klakh[10],’ an annual fennel-like plant, growing nine and ten feet high; the ‘silphion’ of the Greeks, producing gum ammoniac, the ‘fasogh’ of the Arabs. Here and there we passed patches of fine wheat and barley, the latter already in the ear. It is distressing to see this wide extent of country almost uninhabited, and its rich soil only cultivated where the wandering Arab happens to pitch his tent; yet capable, I should judge, of competing with any corn producing country in Europe. There was little or no variety of scenery on the road, and we did not meet half a dozen persons, or see en passant more than two Arab ‘duars,’ till we reached the spot of our encampment, near a limpid stream, called ‘Gla.’

March 9. On approaching an Arab duar, we witnessed a curious spectacle. The Arabs were flitting, and conveying their mosque on two mules’ backs. This place of prayer is a conical hut, about nine feet high and five in diameter. The priest alone enters at the time of prayer, the congregation going through their devotions in the open air.

Our encampment we found near a lake or marsh called[89] ‘el Kra.’ St. Leger and myself waded in up to our middles after coot and duck, but only got a ducking and one coot.

Later, we Nazarenes sallied out to visit the Arab tents, accompanied by Moors with sticks to keep off the dogs, which seem to have a great dislike to the Christian, and bark their curses in as guttural sounds as their masters. The women and children peeped at us when distant, but scuttled into their tents as we approached, though two old Arab hags, dressed in the dirtiest of woollen rags, held together with large silver brooches (of the same form as the Scotch brooch made for the plaid, and used much after the same fashion for confining their dress at the shoulder), held their ground and scrutinised us with witch-like eyes. One fine girl, however, took courage and showed herself: her features were very good, and oh, such eyes!

March 10. Off at 7 o’clock. Delightful weather. Came in sight of the great lake of Ras-ed-Daura, which extends some twenty-five miles to the southward, though only three or four miles wide in the broadest part. This lake is of fresh water, and runs parallel with the sea-shore, but at some four or five miles’ distance, and hidden from it by a line of hills. It swarms with duck, flamingoes, black storks, Numidian cranes, swans, egrets, plovers, and curlew; coots in some places blacken the water. All these birds were very wild, so that I only succeeded in killing a few curlew. A great number of leeches are fished from this lake: upwards of ten thousand annually. It is famous also for a large kind of eel, which the Arabs fish for in canoes, made of sedge, called ‘maada.’ I examined one which an Arab was punting with a long pole, in search of coots’ and ducks’ eggs, of which he had a plentiful supply. This boat was about seven feet long and two broad, and made of bundles of sedge tied together, and coming to a point for the prow. The Arabs say they can bear two men, and cannot be sunk entirely, or even upset. As we passed several Arab duars near the lake, troops of men were washing their clothes at the margin; this they did with their feet, beating[90] time to and accompanying their labour by a grunting noise. These wild fellows were almost naked, and finer limbs I never saw.

As we passed the Arab ‘duars,’ troops of women and children assailed me with bowls of milk and presents of eggs, calling down a blessing upon the Christian going on a friendly mission, with presents to their lord the Sultan. I spoiled my dinner with all this milk, but could not refuse the peace-offering.

In describing the ‘maada’ or sedge canoe, I should have mentioned that the word means ferry or means of traversing. This sedge is called by the Arabs ‘skaff,’ whence perhaps the Arabic word for a ship, ‘shkaff,’ as having been first made out of that material, and an English word for a boat, ‘skiff’—not touching upon many similar terms in other languages.

In the afternoon we met a party of cavalry escorting a litter, containing the sick son of the Kaid of the tribe of Beni Hassén, Hadj Abderahman Ben el Amri. The litter, which was borne by two mules, halted, and Dr. Simpson visited the patient. He had been ill for a year, and complained of nausea and want of sleep. He was going to Tangier with a letter from the Sultan to Sid Buselham to get European medical assistance. It is whispered that the young man has been poisoned by his wives—often the fate of wealthy Moors who marry many women and show more favour to one wife than another. My Kaid tells me he has three wives, and yet can live in peace; but he owns that he thinks it a bad practice and unjust to the ladies. He tells me he once overheard two of his wives conversing on this subject; one of them was complaining that man should have assumed this right, whilst women, whatever might be their position in life, could never have more than one husband—and that one, in most cases, without her choice or option; adding, moreover, that she thought she could govern or manage four men much better than any man could four women. ‘Yes,’ exclaimed the other, ‘but God has happened to give[91] man greater strength than to us women, and they club together against us and manage matters as they please. So the Prophet was a man, and issued laws that pleased him best as a man. Then our Sultans are all men, and our Bashas and our Kadis! What justice can we expect? Men will support one another, and we must put up with the third of a husband!’

After dinner I received a message from the Arabs of a village near our camp, to say that they proposed to serenade us in honour of the Sultan, and asking permission to perform. We consented, and accordingly three of the villagers appeared; one with a Moorish drum called ‘tebél,’ each of the others having a ‘ghaita’ or pipe, which is shaped like a flageolet, but when played produces a sound like a bagpipe. The musicians commenced by playing an air called ‘haidús’: it was a wild and lively tune, and played in good time. Several of the Arabs and our camp-followers began to dance, singing words which I could not comprehend.

It was a fine moonlight night, and the Arabs, men, women, and children, assembled round the musicians and dancers. Another air was now called for, and the ‘Hamádsha’ was played. This was very quick and wild, but, barbarous as it seemed, there was something most warlike and exciting in it; so much so that I could feel my blood curdle as when I have heard a pibroch in the land o’ cakes. The Arabs commenced a dance which consisted in taking hold of each other’s arms in a semicircle, and jumping, throwing about the head, and making a grunting noise. The dancers, men and boys, were wrapped in the haik, and their heads were bare. In the midst of them was the leader of the dance, a gaunt old Arab, who, with frantic gestures and contortions of the legs and arms, urged on the maddening dance until the sweat rolled down in streams from their swarthy faces. Sometimes he seized a stick, and after twirling it in the most accomplished style of the Moorish gun dance, presented it at our heads, and, taking fixed aim, advanced with a shuffling pace, crying out, ‘There are the enemies![92] There are the enemies!’ His eyes at the time rolled with the most savage expression, every muscle in his body seemed to be strained to keep his aim steady. Suddenly, when the stick was within a few inches of my nose, he made a motion as if he had fired his gun, and leaping round, commenced the dance again.

The women, I am told, often join in these dances, but—as in our country-dances—form a separate line from the men, advancing towards each other with all the motion of courtship or love; which indeed is the origin of the movements in all dances. Several Arab women had flocked around me, and I observed two or three fine-featured girls; one especially had a gazelle-like expression such as Arab eyes alone can give. I asked them to dance; I begged them; but they said they were ashamed before strangers, and my nearest companion told me her husband was of the party, and would be jealous if she danced before the strange Moors in the camp. She acknowledged, however, that she could hardly refrain from joining in the dance. The music and dancing were kept up until a very late hour, and I was so interested and struck by the wild scene that I could not leave till the conclusion. It appeared to excite most fiercely the Arabs and our people.

March 13. The approach to Rabát is very picturesque. The town is built on an eminence near the river side, flanked on one side by the red-brown turreted walls of the old castle, and on the other by the grand ruins of the ancient Mosque of Hassan, whilst above the tomb-like houses of a glaring white, arose the tall minarets of the Moslem’s house of prayer.

The face of affairs has changed! Disregard, neglect, and ignorance have taken the place of kindness, honour, and goodwill. At the river, not a boat on the part of the Government, not a messenger to receive me. The Consular Agent, Mr. J. Serruya, a Hebrew of Gibraltar, a good young man though not a Solomon, came to meet us in a boat he had hired from a Portuguese vessel. I asked[93] him the reason why the local Government had made no preparation, as is usual, for the reception of a Consul-General going on a mission to the Sultan. Serruya told me that he had been three times to the Governor this morning to announce my approach; that the Governor had promised to afford every facility for passing the river, and to pay me the usual honours.

Hadj Abdallah Tif is the name of the Governor, and he has lately been placed here by the Sultan to succeed Governor Zebdi, who had been elected a few months ago by the Rabát people, when they revolted against their former Governor E’Suizi.

The Sultan temporarily confirmed Zebdi in the post and put Suizi in irons. Then H.S.M. came to Rabát, ‘ate up’ the town, as the expression goes, and before his departure seized all the chiefs of the late insurrection and their Governor-elect, and sent them in irons to prison at Fas, nominating, though against his will, this said Abdallah Tif as Governor. He is reported to be very wealthy and, as he had lived a retired life and not mixed himself up in Government affairs, had been beyond the clutches of the Sultan. It is said that His Sherifian Majesty now awaits the first opportunity to receive sufficient complaint against Abdallah to seize his property. Alas, poor Morocco! poor Moors! poor Sultan! How fast you are rushing to ruin; for as sure as there is a God in Heaven, such a system, such iniquity, cannot thrive.

Crossing in our agent’s boat I sent my saddle-horses over in a barge.

Half a dozen artillerymen, in no order, had been sent to meet me, but not one of the authorities, though it is always customary for the Governor of the town to receive the Consul at the Custom-house on such occasions. I therefore told my interpreter to acquaint these artillerymen that I must decline their attendance, and should pitch my tents outside the town.

The news flew like wildfire, and I received a message to[94] say that the Governor had been waiting for me with the Moorish authorities at the Custom-house. This was not true; for I had disembarked at another port-gate, having heard from my agent that the Governor did not intend to give me a reception.

All this indeed to me, as John Hay, is of little importance—for I hate the miserable parade—but if a Spanish or Neapolitan Agent, or a French Interpreter be received with these forms (as all have ever been), it will not do to let myself, as British Representative, be slighted. For then indeed, in this country of forms, it would be adieu to the British name and adieu to our influence, unless great guns were our Ambassadors. I don’t ask for more than others, but, by Jupiter! as British Agent, no Moor or man shall slight me!

On getting the message of the Governor, I told the bearer that I regretted having come to the wrong landing-place, but that the mistake had been committed from no boat having been sent or communication made to me by the Governor, when I was on the other side of the river. I agreed, however, in order to mend matters, to take no notice of the past and ride to the Custom-house. Some other soldiers and artillery had now joined the first half-dozen, and in we marched through the town, an immense crowd following.

At a narrow street I was halted and told to dismount, as the Governor was ready to receive me. I asked if it were the Custom-house and port, and receiving a reply in the negative, said, ‘Tell the Kaid, with my compliments, that I cannot have the honour of making the acquaintance of his Excellency—except at the port, as is customary.’ No answer was given, but out bolts the Governor—ferreted from his hole, but supposed to be incognito—and marches down to the Custom-house, whilst whispers of reproach reach my ear from the Rabát people, that the English Consul is right and their Governor a fool. I drew in my nag to let his Excellency pass and then followed, on horseback, till I reached the Custom-house.

The Governor had taken up his position on a plain stone[95] seat, with a mat on it, and his soldiers were drawn up round him. No chair or stool was placed or offered to me; so, saluting his Excellency in the most polite style, I accepted the seat (which was not offered me!) next his ungracious Excellency.

After the first phrases of Moorish compliment, I told Mr. Abdallah Tif that it was with much regret I had witnessed the want of attention and regard paid to myself, as the British Representative; mentioning, at the same time, the honours that had been paid to me on the road and the receptions I had met with—the established practice, from the most ancient times, for the reception of a Consul-General bearing letters of credence to the Sultan. As regarded myself personally, I told the Governor, it was of no importance, nor consequence; that I could shake hands and break the bread of friendship with the poorest Moslem; but that as British Agent I expected to receive the attention and honour due to me as the Representative of the ancient ally and best friend of Morocco. The Governor begged pardon and pleaded his recent nomination and his ignorance of former practice.

He then announced that he had prepared a house for me. This house I knew to be in ruins, and a most wretched hole. I therefore replied that, with his Excellency’s permission, I should pitch my tents outside the town, that I had every comfort with me, and should be more at my ease in my own tent than in a house. This, he said, he dare not permit, as he would be responsible if I were insulted. I then said, ‘I cannot accept from your Excellency the house in which you propose to lodge me. When Monsieur Roche, the French Interpreter, came here—accredited by his Consul and not by his Sovereign—you lodged him in the house of Mulai Hamed, a palace of your princes. As English Consul I ask not for such hospitality, but I decline accepting less than what has been granted to others, whether Spanish, Dutch, French, or of any other nation. I demand nothing, but will accept nothing, except my due.’

[96]The Governor finally agreed that I should go to the British Agent’s house; the soldiers and tents to a spot fixed upon within the walls (where, Kaid E’Susi told me, the fleas were so large that they had ears!—meaning thereby that they were not mere insects, but animals), and he said he would let me know in an hour’s time whether I could have Mulai Hamed’s house. On taking leave I told the Governor that I regretted much to have had such cause for complaining of my treatment; that I came not to create disturbance, but to endeavour to bind the Mussulmans and the English by stronger bonds of alliance, friendship and good-will; but that unless that feeling were mutual, it would prove of no avail.

I am determined to act with every moderation and prudence, but will not be imposed upon and made the butt of low intrigue. It may yet be all right. The Sultan’s letter shall be the mirror by which my future conduct shall be guided.

March 18. Young Ben Abu has just announced the arrival of a courier from the Court. A cavalry soldier was the bearer of my letter, and had accomplished the three days’ journey in twenty-four hours, having been ordered by the Sultan to travel until his horse dropped and then to continue on foot.

The letter from the Court is most satisfactory. The amende honorable is made; the authorities here are reprimanded. Already have I received messages from the Governor, crying ‘peccavi!’ The palace of the Sultan here is being prepared for me, and a most plentiful ‘mona’ has been brought.

The Sultan’s orders are that tenfold honours are to be paid to the British Envoy.

As soon as Ben Dris receives my answer, I am to proceed to the Court escorted by the Governor of each successive district until I reach the Sultan.

I have told the authorities here that I have forgotten all; and like good friends or lovers, a little quarrel is going to make us better friends than ever. With Moors, and indeed most Orientals, you must be kind, but very firm, or the end would be great guns.

[98]March 20. Our house is charming; a jewel of Moorish architecture. It is quite new, and the workmanship is almost as good as that which is seen in the Alhambra. The walls are highly ornamented in gypsum, and very tastefully painted. The pavement is mosaic, and a fountain stands in the midst, from which a jet of clear water plays; the ceiling is carved and decorated, and intricate and mystical figures adorn the walls. The huge folding doors and small windows are all in the same style; in fact, the whole is perfection. On the walls are written many verses of the Koran, and among other expressions which I could decipher in the flowery writing, were ‘God is the true wealth,’ and ‘Health is alone with the Everlasting;’ or, as we should say, ‘Lay up your riches in heaven.’ Adjoining our rooms are all sorts of intricate passages with small apartments, fountains, baths, &c., and, quite separate, are quarters for the cook and other servants. Then there is a pretty garden, run to weeds, with a charming alcove of tastefully-turned woodwork, from which may be seen, on the other side of the narrow street, the ornamented mausoleum of a saint, shaded by a lofty palm-tree. Upon this house of the dead sit a couple of storks, pluming themselves, billing and cackling the live-long day; they are wild, but all their race in this country are fearless of man, and on the house they choose for their nest, ‘no evil befalleth.’

‘Meteor’ has saluted; Salli and Rabát have replied. I walked to the castle to witness the firing of the Moors; an immense crowd followed, and although I was alone, except for one black soldier, not a whisper or a curse was heard. Smiles and kind words were the order of the day, and a murmur ran through the crowd that the English are the Moslem’s best friends and are honoured by the Sultan.

Accompanied by Kaid Ben Abu (‘the Father of the Mountain’ is ill) and a troop of cavalry, we rode towards Shella, passing through the old part of the town of Rabát, of which the walls are still in good preservation, and appear[99] to have been formed of red tápia[11]. The Governor informed me that tradition says they were built without any foundation, and that thirty thousand Christian prisoners, whom he said were from ‘Irak’ (I don’t know how this is to be explained, except that they were Persians), worked at the walls, and that many thousands of the bodies of those that died, or happened to be punished with death, are embedded in the tápia.

We passed the gate called Bab-el-Haddad or the Smithy Gate. The ancient town of Shella lies within a few yards of the old walls of Rabát, and is built on one side of a conical hill.

The walls have a very ancient appearance, and the architecture looks Saracenic.

Neither Christians nor Jews are allowed to enter Shella; though Mr. Urquhart, who was here the other day, penetrated into the sacred town, and his foolhardy curiosity very near cost him his life; for a Moor with a gun happened to be there and fired at him, as I am informed, but the gun missed fire. Urquhart was stoned by those who had seen him enter, and was obliged to shut himself up in Rabát, and ultimately take his departure. The town is not inhabited and is in ruins. I could perceive the remains of a mosque or chapel. Ben Yáhia, my Arabic secretary, tells me there are many inscriptions but no dates, that one of these mentions the Sultan Assuad[12] as having built a gate. ‘Sultan Assuad’ means the black Sultan.

[100]I had much desire to see the interior of the town, as one has for all things forbidden, but make it a point of duty never unnecessarily to go contrary to the prejudices of the people, however gross they may be. I believe at this moment, if I were to insist upon it, the Governor would let me go anywhere and do anything.

We rode to the river side near the town, passing near some saltpans. The valley had several fine gardens, abounding in orange and pomegranate trees; the former were covered with their golden fruit. Oranges are sometimes sold on the trees at the rate of about a shilling a thousand—and such oranges!

March 23. Went over in a boat to Salli, as invited by Hadj Kassem, the contractor for supply of bullocks to Gibraltar.

Hadj Kassem met us on the shore and, surrounded by half a dozen of our own troopers and the same number of the Rabát soldiery, we entered Salli, the hot-bed of fanaticism. Here a host of boys began to muster round the party, but Hadj Kassem’s house was at hand, and we took refuge there before the mob molested us. The Hadj was very civil, and took us all over his house, which was furnished in good Moorish style, with carpets of all kinds, looking-glasses, and clocks, which latter generally indulge in indicating any hour they please and never seem to be unanimous as to time after falling into the hands of the ‘Faithful.’ I caught a glimpse of one or two of the Hadj’s ladies: they appeared well-favoured. There was a charming little girl of three or four years old, who was admitted to our society; she sat in all the glory of full dress, on a cushion, looking on with the gravity of a ‘Kadi.’ The Hadj feasted[101] us with Moorish tea of all kinds, and we were threatened with ‘siksu’ and other delicacies, from which, indeed, we had a most narrow escape.

Whilst talking to the Hadj, a great hubbub and shouting were heard in the street, emanating from a mob of boys waiting to attack the Christians as soon as they should appear. Hadj Kassem proposed a retreat by the garden; and this was agreed upon. So out we sallied, with half our soldiers in the front and half in the rear; backed by one of our attendants, a young Sheríf, a very daring and active youth. We had not gone a hundred yards before we were assailed at the corner of one of the cross streets by a host of men and boys, who pelted us with brickbats and stones of all sizes. Don José received a blow on the shoulder. The Sheríf and some of our soldiers charged the mob, one of whom was knocked down by a stone hurled by the Sheríf.

On we went at a rapid pace, and after us came a shower of stones. Dr. Simpson received a blow on the head, and a Portuguese skipper, who happened to have followed our party, ditto. Again and again was the mob driven back by the Sheríf and our soldiers; but, urged on by many a grey-headed fanatic, they rallied and pursued us. At the town gate we found some rascals had got to the top of the walls, intending to hurl down rocks upon our devoted heads. We dislodged the enemy, however, with brickbats, from their stronghold and then rushed into the open, making for the Hadj’s garden. A madman, a dancing fanatic, had joined the mob and was yet urging on the pursuit of us, whistling, jumping and twirling, in the most savage style. We got safe into the garden, refreshed ourselves with oranges, and wended our way towards the river.

The mob had again collected in force to oppose us, and a battle of stones (or, as we should say in ‘Auld Reekie,’ a bicker), took place. The ‘father of the red cap’ distinguished himself by cracking the pate of one of the enemy—though only to ‘kill him a little,’ as an Irishman would say. We reached the boat, and I sent back one of my soldiers[102] to the Governor of Salli to say that I was extremely surprised to find he had not sent any guard to prevent this uproar, and that, unless some satisfaction was given me, I should report him to the Sultan. I received a reply, brought by the Sheikh of the Jews, a Moorish Kaid, and some others, apologising for what had taken place; the Governor of Salli declaring that he was very unwell and that he had been totally ignorant of my intention to visit Salli that day (this I rather doubt, as the Governor of Rabát tells me he had written to inform him of our intention), that he had put twenty of the offenders in prison, and would not let them out until he had my permission.

I did not receive the Sheikh or the Moorish officer, nor did I accept this apology as sufficient; for the story of the prisoners might or might not be true, and public atonement is what I must require for such a gross outrage. I therefore told my interpreter to tell the messenger that, if the Governor of Salli wished to hear further from me, he must come himself to my house in Rabát; or that, if he were ill, he must send the Lieutenant-Governor and some of the prisoners, and then I should see what was best to be done. The messengers left us, very crest-fallen.

In Salli we saw nothing of interest: narrow streets and high town walls were all that we had seen.

March 24. The Governor of Salli, his Khalífa and a Kaid, the Governor of Rabát and Hadj Kassem, came to apologise for yesterday’s outrage, bringing with them ten prisoners. The Governor of Salli looked indeed very ill, as he had declared himself to be. He made many apologies for the misconduct of the people of Salli and for not having come to me himself, or sent some guards. He told me he had taken twenty prisoners, that he had brought ten with him, to be punished as I desired, and then to be taken back to prison to remain there till I pardoned them. After giving him a lecture for not keeping his people in better order, and pointing out the serious consequences that[103] might have attended any misfortune happening to one of our party, I agreed to forget the past and requested him to free the prisoners. The Governor of Salli then begged I would visit his town another day, if I remained here for any time, adding that he would come himself, with his guard, to meet me and would engage that not even a word should be uttered against us.

No doubt yesterday will be long remembered by the people of Salli, who are the worst of fanatics in Morocco. I am told the crews of European vessels, taking in ballast on the shore, are often attacked, with knives and swords, by these demi-savages. I trust what has now passed will show them that Christians can command respect and are not to be insulted with impunity.

I care little for all this, in fact I hate palaver; but look to increase our influence—which perhaps has been somewhat on the wane since French hostilities of last year—and trust I shall succeed by pursuing a very firm, but friendly and just course towards all. Young Ben Abu declares that what has occurred will cause Christians to be better respected by the people, and will make the authorities more on the alert and on their good behaviour towards Englishmen.

March 25. The brother of the Governor of Salli came this morning to make professions of good-will. I sent Dr. Simpson with him to Salli, to visit his brother who is ill. Simpson returned well pleased with his reception; not a word, not a look, of insult from the crowd as he passed; all was silence and respect.

On March 28 Mr. Hay left Rabát for Marákesh. In his diary he records the events of the journey, the cordial receptions he met with from the governors of the various provinces through which he passed, and the savage parade which they made in his honour.

The account is too long to be given here in full detail; but a few of the more striking incidents which occurred during his march are found below.

[104]On March 29 he writes:—An Arab, with a small dagger between his teeth and making low bows, presented himself in the middle of the road, saying, ‘I put myself under the hem of your garment.’ I thought the man was mad, and was preparing to meet some act of fanaticism, when Kaid Abd Selam explained the mystery by telling me that this man had killed another in feud, and had been condemned to death, or, if the relatives of the deceased would accept it, to pay blood-money. This they had agreed to do, and the individual, being very poor, was travelling to collect the sum fixed upon (generally about twenty or thirty pounds for a man) before a certain time. I gave the poor wretch a trifle.

We have now entered the district of Shawía, famous for its ladies and horses. The Sultan’s harem is principally supplied from this part of the Empire. I have caught a glimpse of two or three very fine-looking damsels. Their features are very delicate, eyes as black as jet, with eyelashes that hang on the cheek when the eyes are closed. Their figures also are graceful, but the rags they wear would completely spoil their appearance, were it not that they barely conceal their well-turned limbs. The country was better cultivated than any we had yet seen, the barley and wheat already far advanced in the ear and looking splendid. On the uncultivated ground a rich grass, vying in luxuriance with a variety of wild flowers, carpeted our path.

I sigh to think of the word ‘scarcity’ being ever used in this ‘blessed land,’ when such an excellent tract of country is allowed to remain a neglected waste. But this is the result of a system of government which destroys all security in property or life. To cut the throat of the goose that lays the golden eggs is the blind system of the Sultans of Morocco.

On passing a ‘duar’ several Arabs came to meet us, one of them having a sheathed sword in his hand. This he laid across the crupper of the saddle of the principal person of our party. A marriage has taken place to-day, and[105] these people have the custom of collecting ‘mona’ for the bridegroom in this manner.

On April 3 he writes:—There have been two Arab thieves about our tents during the night: one was caught, the other escaped. The rascal was taken before the Khalífa of the Governor of Dukála and has been most severely bastinadoed. My informant reports the following scene.

Kaid. ‘Who are you?’

Culprit. ‘Mohammed Ben El Amrani.’

Kaid. ‘Down with Mohammed and lick him.’ (Six soldiers advanced, four held his hands and feet, whilst two striped him with cords.) After some three dozen, the Kaid says, ‘Who was your companion?’

Culprit. ‘Abdallah.’

Kaid. ‘Down with him and see if that was his name.’ (Soldiers beat the culprit, who sings out, ‘Selam Hamed Sodik.’)

Kaid. ‘Very well. So it was Sodik. Now what were you doing about the tents?’

Culprit. ‘Nothing.’

Kaid. ‘Down with him.’ Culprit is licked, and sings out, ‘I came to pick up anything that was abandoned.’ (More stripes.)

Culprit. ‘I came to rob.’ (The soldiers stop.)

Kaid. ‘So you came to rob! Beat him again.’

Culprit. ‘I will never commit a theft again.’

Kaid. ‘No: that you shall not.’ (After some more stripes, the poor wretch is led off prisoner.)

The approach to Marákesh is thus described:—

April 7. Struck our tents an hour before sunrise and continued our journey to the southward, over a vast plain extending to the east and west farther than the eye could see. About eight a.m. we reached the foot of the hills called Jebíla, where there are many wells and a kubba-topped sanctuary. A few tents were pitched in the neighbourhood. The place is called Suánnia.

[106]After taking a hasty breakfast we ascended the Jebíla (meaning in Arabic, small mountains); they are almost barren. Here and there a shrub of the ‘sidder[13]’ and a sweet-smelling acacia is to be seen. At half-past ten, on descending the Jebíla, we came in sight of the Moorish capital, in which stood most prominent the lofty tower of the mosque called Kutubía. In the foreground lay a forest of palms, and in the background the snow-capped gigantic range of the Atlas. Owing to the intense heat of the day a waving atmosphere veiled in great measure the grandeur of the scenery. The soldiers pointed out to me the mountain which my father had ascended as far as the snow on his first mission to the Sultan, when he visited the high-perched village of Mesfíwa. At noon we entered the palm forest; these palm-trees are valuable property and belong to the Sultan and the townspeople. There are no enclosures, but each proprietor knows the trees that belong to him. The trees had begun to put forth their flower, which consists of a white stalk, with a mass of small flowers in a sheath, looking in the distance like a white leaf.

At half-past twelve we reached the river Tensift, a fine clear stream, over which there is a bridge of twenty-five arches, built, I believe, by a Spaniard some years ago. Here we pitched our tents, as we are not to enter Marákesh until the morning.

April 8. On crossing the river this morning a body of cavalry of the district of Erhamna met us, with their Kaid and twenty banners, in the midst of a fierce powder-play. After another hundred yards we were met by the Bokhári guard with their Kaid and twenty-five banners, who were succeeded by the troops of Mulai Dris, the native soldiers of the city, with twenty-five banners of all colours, white predominating; lastly, by the immediate followers or body-guard of the Sultan with the green Sherifian flag and other banners. Lab-el-barod, which a Frenchman might translate into ‘La belle parade,’ never ceased along the whole[107] road, some three miles, to Marákesh. The dust was insufferable; the troops kept charging, reining in and firing their guns within a few feet of us. The road was narrow, as a wood of palm-trees flanked us on the right and left, and the rush of cavalry was terrific. Every moment you would have supposed they must have trampled down our party before they could check their horses. Several messengers, the immediate attendants of the Sultan and Uzir, came to welcome me on the part of His Majesty, repeating the word ‘Mahababek,’ you are welcome. I cannot tell what may have been the number of cavalry that met us; but as I am told there are a hundred to each banner, there ought to have been from seven to eight thousand men. It is said that the Sultan ordered every horseman in the city of Marákesh and the camp to meet us. By the wayside I observed a number of people begging, with large straw hats on their heads. The straw hat in the neighbourhood of Marákesh is a sign that the wearer is a leper: there are numbers of these poor wretches; a separate town is given them—called Hara—and they are not allowed to enter the city of Marákesh or communicate with the inhabitants except on a Thursday, on which day they say this horrid disease is not catching, as a great Moorish saint pronounced that on that day leprosy should not be contagious.

After riding some half-mile along the town wall of this great capital, we entered the gate called ‘Bab Hamár.’ At the entrance were the tents of the troops (infantry).

In a letter, written on this expedition to his friend the Hon. A. Gordon, Mr. Hay gives some interesting notes on the habits of the Moors. He says:—

My friend N. was right when he said the Moors do not smoke. The Moors are perhaps the most fanatical of the Mohammedan sect, and much stricter in observance of the laws of their prophet than their brethren in the East. Smoking is looked upon as a sin; for smoking is supposed by them to produce intoxication—or at least a slight aberration of the senses—and can therefore be placed in the same category as wine, which was forbidden by Mohammed solely on that account.

A Mohammedan sage was once asked what was the greatest sin a man could commit. He replied—‘To get drunk,’ and told the following parable: ‘A certain man of good repute drank large potations of the juice of the grape until he became intoxicated and lost his senses. When in that state, he lied, he stole, he committed adultery and murder; none of which sins would he have been capable of committing had he not sinned against the Koran by drinking wine.’ The Moor, however, when he does drink wine, drinks to get drunk, and when he smokes he uses a herb called ‘kif,’ a species of hemp, which produces much the same effect on the senses as opium.

Here and there you find a Tangerine with a cigar in his[125] mouth; but then you may be sure he is a worthless fellow and has learnt the vice from the ‘Nazarenes.’ Tobacco is much used in the form of snuff, and the snuff of the town of Tetuan is deservedly famed for its pungent flavour.

‘Ahel tanbakko lil Jinnats yasbakko’ is a Moorish doggerel couplet meaning, ‘Snuff-takers enter heaven first.’ This may be said to reconcile many a snuff-taker to his box of vice, whereas those who do not so indulge take the proverb in another sense as inferring that the snuff-takers have a short life.

The Moor takes his snuff as we Highlanders do; not in a pinch, but by laying it along the hollow of the back of his thumb. Very small cocoa-nut shells, having a narrow ivory mouth-piece, form the usual style of box, to which is attached by a small chain an ivory pin to stir up the snuff, which is jerked through the orifice. But I am growing tiresome, and though snuff may keep the attention awake, it will not do so, I fear, when taken in this manner and in so plentiful a dose.

You ask about the Jews in this country; much may be said, and I will endeavour in subsequent letters to tell you all I know. They are a sadly degraded race, full of bigotry and superstition, but retaining their activity, cunning, and love for each other, together with an extraordinary firmness in their belief—for which, indeed, these persecuted people have been always famed in every clime.

The Jew of Morocco, next to the Negro in the West Indies and America, is the most persecuted and degraded of God’s creatures. In Tangier and the seaport towns, through the Christian Representatives, the Jews have ever received a certain indirect countenance and support, but in the interior their fate is a very hard one.

The subject of the Jews in Morocco was one that greatly interested Mr. Hay. In subsequent notes and letters, as the following extracts show, he redeemed his promise to Mr. Gordon. Thus he writes:—

With respect to the Jews, I have knowledge of there[126] being a population of about four or five thousand in the Atlas mountains beyond the city of Marákesh, and they are said to have lived there ever since the time of Solomon.

These Jews are armed, but are not independent; each Jewish family having its Moorish master, or protector. In the feuds of the Moors in the mountainous regions they take part and, by their active and warlike life, acquire a far more independent spirit than their brethren of the seaport towns and of the capitals. There is some tradition about their Rabbis possessing a document containing the signet of Joab, who was sent to collect tribute from them in the time of the son of David.

In 1844 there still existed an ancient inscription in Hebrew graven on a stone in the Dra country, which was said to be as follows: עד כאן הגיץ יואב בן צרויה לקבל המס which is interpreted thus, ‘So far as this place came Joab Ben (son of) Serruia to receive the tribute.’

Joab, chief of the army of King David, is called in the recognised translation of the Bible ‘the son of Zeruiah.’

A drunken Rabbi, named Judah Azalia, called on me the other day; he has been travelling for three years in the southern districts of Morocco, and he visited also many of the towns and villages bordering on the Great Desert beyond Dra, which province you will find marked in the map. Judah was half intoxicated, as usual, when he visited me, and he left Tangier before I could entrap him in a sober moment. Judah had travelled much in the East, had read a number of curious old books, and was full of traditions he had picked up in the interior of this country; but all he told me was in such a jumbled state that I could not retain it, but requested the learned and drunken Rabbi to commit to paper the subject-matter of our conversation.

I send you a translation of the Hebrew original.

From the preface you will expect much; but, alas! there is only the phantom of a skeleton, whose doubtful apparition leaves us big with fancies and uncertainty. The man knows nothing of geography or history, except the Bible.

[127]You will be struck with the tradition of the Jews of the interior respecting the tribe of Naphtali, the tombs, &c. I regret he has curtailed greatly his verbal statements; for, amongst other curious matter, he told me of a burial-ground of the Jews in the interior—some mile or mile and a half in circumference.

The story about the Israelite warriors is curious, but the staining of the hair before battle looks more like the Goths.

Judah supposes that Wadan is much nearer the Red Sea than it really is; but if the Naphtali tribes fled from captivity, through Central Africa, towards Dra and the South of Morocco, one of the first towns or villages at which they would have found means of subsistence, would have been Wadden or Yaden.

The names of the places and towns are so different from those given in our maps, as indeed they always appear to be when mentioned by natives of the interior, that I can hardly recognise them, and have no time just now to refer to my maps of Africa.

Judah has promised to send me a further memorandum, but the fumes of ‘agua ardiente’ will, I fear, stifle all recollection of his promise.

Mulai Hashem, a native of Tafilelt, tells me that the Jews are very numerous in his country. He says there are two races of Jews among them, one race has been in Tafilelt since eight years previous to the Hegira of Mohammed, the other having been brought in by a chief named Mulai Ali, the son of Mulai Hassan.

Mulai Ali, says my informant, had purchased these Jews from some distant country of the East—where he found them in great distress—and he gave fifty pieces of money for each: what money he does not know.

Mulai Hashem says that these two races are thus distinguished. The older race have the whole head shaved. The colony brought by Mulai Ali leave a small segment of a circle unshaved on the top of the forehead. These latter also wear a black cap, somewhat pointed at the top, where it is made to curl down on one side of the face.

The Jewesses are not dressed like those that live in[130] Tangier, but in the costume of the Moorish woman, and wear rich dresses with jewels. They are however to be distinguished from the Moorish woman by the arrangement of their hair, which the latter draw backwards from either side of the forehead over the temples to the back of the head; whereas the Jewesses (unmarried) twist their hair in circles on the top of the head. The married Jewesses are not allowed by the law to show their hair. This law, by the way, is not from the Bible, but is an invention of the Rabbis.

The Jews, said Mulai Hashem, are well treated in Tafilelt, whilst they behave well and according to the rules laid down for them; which, by the specimen of one that he gave, appear sufficiently humiliating—viz. that should a Jew pass or be passed by a Sheríf, he, the Jew, must take off his shoes; or, if mounted, must dismount, unless specially absolved by the Sheríf.

He tells me that they exercise all the crafts which are practised in the country, except tilling the soil. It appears that the Jews themselves seldom, if ever, accompany the ‘kafilas’ (caravans), but, he says, they have commercial dealings with the Sudan country.

It would appear that the Tafilelt Jews are much at their ease, if one may judge from the joking adage—according to Mulai Hashem common in Tafilelt—that ‘forty Mohammedans work for one Jew.’ Mulai Hashem said that the Filali Jews, or Jews of Tafilelt, speak the Shloh tongue as well as the Arabic, and whenever they wish to say what they would not have known to Moors or others they speak in Hebrew.

A learned Jew of this country tells me that all Arabs and Moors whose names are composed with Ben are of an Israelitish origin.

Mulai Hashem tells me that the following oath is administered in his country to the Jews, and that they will rather give back anything they may have come by unjustly than take so grave an oath:—

[131]‘By God, there is no other God but He, the Eternal and Just—who uttered His word upon the mighty hill—and by the truth of the existence of the two palm-trees which meet together over the river Sebts, and by the Book of Moses—peace be upon him—and by the Ten Commandments delivered unto Moses, and by all that is contained in his Book, the Gadi, God forbid that I should add or diminish in this affair, else may God destroy my memory, and may the name of my family be never mentioned in the world.’

Sebts is the Arabic for Sabbath, and is here applied to the fabled river called by the Jews Sabbatyon.

It is not clear what is meant by Gadi.

A Jewish Rabbi, named Benshiten, tells me that two and a half tribes of Israel are the portion which make up the number of Jews that are found in Europe and Africa—and the remaining nine and a half are found to exist on the East of a river which is named Sabbatyon, and is said to be to the East of Mecca. This river, said he, has the peculiarity of the stones in its bed fighting with each other all the week excepting the Sabbath, on which day Hebrews cannot travel; so that the nine and a half tribes cannot communicate with their separated brethren.

Mr. Hay, it may be added, was the first to break through some of the despotic rules imposed by the Moors on the Jews. On his arrival at Tangier in 1844 the Hebrew interpreters attached to the different Consulates were obliged to remove—as did their brethren—their slippers on passing a mosque or other sanctuary. When he paid his visit of ceremony to the Basha, on succeeding his father as Consul-General and Political Agent, Mr. Hay went, according to the custom of those days, in full uniform. He was accompanied by his staff, of which one member—the Interpreter, Mr. David Sicsu—was a Jew, a shrewd and able man, who had been attached for some years to the British Consulate. On their way to the Basha’s residence they passed the great mosque. Mr. Hay noticed that Sicsu stopped and took off his shoes; so turning, he called out to him in a loud voice, that all might hear, ‘What are[132] you doing? Put on your shoes. Remember you are an English employé and, as such, have all the privileges of British subjects. If ever you do that again, I shall dismiss you.’

Also, on his first visit to the Sultan’s Court, in 1846, Mr. Hay insisted on his Jewish interpreters being allowed to ride about the capital on mule-back, and to enjoy the same rights and privileges as granted to other members of his staff.

It is only within the last thirty years that Jews in Morocco—not foreign employés or protected subjects—have been allowed to assume the European dress, or to wear yellow slippers or red caps when in native costume. Formerly they were compelled to confine themselves to black slippers and caps and the Jewish gaberdine.

Before the year 1856, vessels becalmed on the Rif coast between the Algerian frontier and the Spanish fortress Peñon, which is situated about sixty miles to the eastward of the Moorish port of Tetuan, were frequently captured by Rifian ‘karebs,’ large galleys manned by thirty or forty men, armed with long guns, pistols, and daggers.

When a vessel becalmed, drawn by the current, approached the Rif coast, especially in the vicinity of the village of Benibugaffer, near Cape ‘Tres Forcas,’ about fifteen miles to the westward of the Spanish fortress of Melilla, the natives launched their ‘karebs,’ hidden in nooks on the rocky coast, or buried under sand, and set out in pursuit, firing volleys as they neared the vessel. The crew, if they had not escaped in the ship’s boats when the piratical craft hove in sight, were made prisoners, but were not in general ill-treated unless they attempted to offer resistance.

On landing, they were compelled to labour in the fields, receiving a daily allowance of very coarse food. The captured vessel was rifled of cargo and rigging, and then burnt, so as to leave no vestige.

In the year 1851 a British vessel was taken by the ‘karebs’ of Benibugaffer.

In pursuance of instructions from H.M.’s Government, a strong representation was made by me to the Sultan of Morocco, then Mulai Abderahman, demanding that the pirates should be chastised, that compensation should be given to the owner of the vessel, and that energetic steps should be taken by His Sherifian Majesty to put a stop to these piratical acts of his lawless subjects of the Rif.

[145]The Sultan, on the receipt of this demand, dispatched officers from his Court to the Rif country with a Sherifian edict to the chieftains, directing that the sums demanded for the destruction of British property should be paid, and threatening, if further piracies were committed, to send a force into the Rif to chastise his rebellious subjects.

No attention was paid to this edict, for though the Rifians acknowledge the Sultan of Morocco as ‘Kaliph[24] Allah,’ H.M. being a direct descendant from the Prophet, and though they allow a governor of Rif extraction to be appointed by him to reside amongst them, they do not admit of his interference in the administration of government or in any kind of legislation, unless it happens he is voluntarily appealed to in cases of dispute.

The Rifians, however, pay annually a small tribute, which is generally composed of mules and honey, the latter article being much cultivated on the extensive tracts of heather in the Rif mountains. This tribute is collected by the Governor and transmitted to the Sultan.

After a lengthened correspondence with the Moorish Court, negotiations were closed by the Sultan declaring he had no power of control over the mountainous districts in the Rif, and therefore declining to be held responsible for the depredations committed on vessels approaching that coast. The British Government then dispatched a squadron to Gibraltar under Admiral Sir Charles Napier, with orders to embark a regiment at that garrison, and to proceed to the Rif coast to chastise the lawless inhabitants.

On his arrival at the Spanish fort of Melilla, which is about fifty miles to the westward of the Algerian frontier, Sir Charles called on the Spanish Governor and requested him to invite the chiefs of the neighbouring villages to come to Melilla to meet him.

On their arrival, the Admiral demanded compensation[146] for the losses sustained by the owner of the British vessels which had been captured. The Rifians cunningly evaded discussion by replying that they could not accede to demands which did not emanate from the Sultan, whose orders they declared they would be prepared to obey.

Sir Charles accepted these vague assurances[25]; and with this unsatisfactory result returned with the squadron to Gibraltar, and addressed to me a communication, making known the language held to him by the Rifians, and requesting that I would dispatch an express courier to the Moorish Court to call upon the Sultan to give the requisite orders to the Rifians who, he declared, were prepared to obey, though he admitted he was ignorant of the names of the chieftains with whom he had the parley.

In my reply to the Admiral I expressed my belief that the Rifians had cunningly given these vague assurances to induce him to depart with his ships from their coast, and that I apprehended the Sultan would express his surprise that we should have been led to suppose that the piratical and rebellious inhabitants of the Rif coast would pay compensation or give other satisfaction, in pursuance of any orders which H.S.M. might issue.

In this sense, as I had expected, the Sultan replied to my note; holding out, however, a hope, which had been expressed in past years, that he would seek at a more favourable moment to make the Rif population, who had been from time immemorial in a semi-independent state, more subservient to his control.

Some months after the squadron had returned to England, a British vessel, becalmed off the village of Benibugaffer, was taken by a Rifian piratical craft, and the English crew were made captives.

Tidings having reached Gibraltar of the capture of the British ship, a gunboat was sent to Melilla to endeavour to obtain, through the intervention of the Spanish authorities and an offer of a ransom, the release of the British[147] sailors, but this step was not attended with success. Having heard that the Englishmen who had been captured had been presented by the pirates to a Rif Marábet (or holy man) named Alhádari, who resided on the coast, and as I had in past years been in friendly communication with this person regarding some Rifians who had proceeded in a British vessel to the East on a pilgrimage to Mecca, and had been provided by me with letters of recommendation to British Consular officers, I wrote him a friendly letter, expressing the indignation I felt at the outrages which had been committed by his piratical brethren on British vessels; that I had been informed the authorities at Gibraltar had endeavoured, when they heard British sailors were in the hands of the pirates, to pay a ransom for their freedom, but had failed, as exorbitant demands had been put forward; and that since I had learnt my countrymen were in his hands, I felt satisfied they would be well treated, and that he would facilitate at once their release and return to Gibraltar; that I entertained too high an opinion of him to suppose he would not consent to their release except on the payment of a ransom, and therefore I would make no offer to purchase the liberty of my countrymen, but renewed those assurances of friendship and goodwill, of which I said I had already given proof in the past treatment of his brethren.

Alhádari replied that the sailors were under his care, had been well treated, and would be embarked in the first vessel which might be sent to receive them.

This engagement was faithfully executed, and at my suggestion the authorities at Gibraltar sent a suitable present to the worthy Marábet. I wrote also to thank Alhádari, and to beg that he would use his influence to put a stop to the disgraceful outrages committed in past years by his brethren on the lives and property of British subjects, and to say that I should probably take an opportunity of seeking to have a parley with the chiefs, in the hope of coming to an understanding with them to bring[148] about a cessation of these outrages; adding, that if my friendly intervention did not put a stop to the piracy of his brethren, the British Government would be compelled, in concert with the Sultan, to resort to hostile measures on a large scale, and send forces by sea and land to chastise these rebellious subjects of His Sherifian Majesty.

In the spring of 1856 H.M. frigate Miranda, Captain Hall, arrived at Tangier with directions to convey me to the coast of Rif, and I embarked on April 21, taking with me a Rifian friend, Hadj Abdallah Lamarti, who was Sheikh of a village near Tangier called Suanni, whose inhabitants are Rifians, or of Rif extraction.

Hadj Abdallah had left the Rif in consequence of a blood feud. He was the chief of the boar-hunters at Tangier, and was looked up to with respect, not only by the rural population in the neighbourhood of that town, who are chiefly of Rif extraction, but also by the local authorities, who frequently employed him in the settlement of disputes with the refractory tribes in the mountainous districts of the Tangier province.

We steamed along the rocky coast of Rif and touched at the Spanish garrisons of Peñon and Alhucema. The former is a curious little rock, separated from the mainland by a very narrow channel. A colonel and a few soldiers garrisoned the fortress, which is apparently of no possible use, though the authorities at that time might have aided in checking piracy by stopping the passage of the Rif galleys. The rock is so small that there was not a walk fifty yards long on any part of it.

On the island of Alhucema, so called from the wild lavender that grows there, we also landed. The Spanish authorities were civil, but held out no hopes of being able to take steps to put a stop to piracy.

This island is also an insignificant possession, about half a mile distant from the mainland. The inhabitants had occasional communication with the Rifians, hoisting a flag of truce whenever a boat was dispatched to the[149] shore; but Spaniards were not at that time allowed to make excursions on the mainland, nor were they permitted to obtain provisions except a few fowls, eggs, and honey.

On our arrival at Melilla, the Governor, Colonel Buceta[26], received us courteously. I made known to him that the British Government had directed me to proceed to the coast of Rif, to endeavour to come to an understanding with the chiefs with the view of putting a stop to piracy on that coast, the Sultan of Morocco having declared he had no power of control over his lawless subjects, who had shown an utter disregard of the peremptory orders which had been issued to restore British property captured by their piratical galleys; that in order to carry out this object I was anxious to have an interview with some of the chiefs, not only of the villages on the coast where the owners of the piratical galleys dwelt, but more especially with the chiefs of the neighbouring inland villages, as the latter derived no immediate benefit from the plunder of shipping.

Colonel Buceta endeavoured to dissuade me from this purpose, reminding me that Sir Charles Napier had failed in obtaining any beneficial result from his parley with the Rifians who had an interview with him in Melilla.

Perceiving from the Governor’s language that he entertained those feelings of jealousy which prevail with Spaniards regarding the intervention of any foreign Government in the affairs of Morocco, I let him understand that, should no beneficial result be obtained by my visit in putting a stop to the outrages committed on merchant vessels approaching the Rif coast, it would become a serious matter for the consideration of our Government whether steps should not be taken to inflict a chastisement on the Rifians by landing a force, and in conjunction with the Sultan’s troops which might be dispatched, at our instigation, for that purpose, to destroy the hamlets[150] and boats on the coast. The question might also arise, perhaps, of erecting a fortress in some sheltered spot where a gunboat could be placed to guard the coast against pirates, which I observed the authorities at Spanish fortresses had hitherto been unable to effect.

This language sufficed to decide Colonel Buceta to accede to my wishes; but he informed me that, in consequence of late acts of aggression on the part of the natives, all communication with the garrison had been cut off, and that no Rifians were allowed to enter; it was therefore out of the question that he could admit any chieftains into Spanish territory. Neither did he think the latter would be disposed to venture into the gates of the fortress.

I then proposed to be allowed to dispatch my Rifian friend Hadj Abdallah Lamarti with an invitation to some of the neighbouring chiefs, both on the seaboard and inland, to meet me on the neutral ground.

Colonel Buceta assented, but he repeated that he could not admit any Rifians into the garrison, nor send an escort to accompany me, should I pass the gates to go into the Rif country, adding that he thought I should be incurring a serious risk of being carried off a prisoner by the Rifians, if in the parley I should happen to express myself in language such as I had used to him regarding the outrages committed by these lawless people.

His predecessor, he informed me, in consequence of the frequent hostilities which had taken place between the natives and the garrison, had proposed to have a meeting with some chieftains within the garrison. This they declined, fearing, as they alleged, some act of treachery; but it was finally agreed that they should meet the Governor on the neutral ground; that he could bring an escort of twenty-five armed men, and that the chiefs would also be accompanied by an equal number of followers; that the Governor and one chief, both unarmed, were to advance to a central spot that was selected about 150 yards distant from where their followers assembled,[151] and that the Spanish Governor could also bring with him an interpreter.

This arrangement was carried out, and a Rifian chief, a man of gigantic stature and herculean frame, advanced to meet the Spanish Governor.

The parley commenced in a friendly manner; propositions were made by each party regarding the conditions upon which peaceful relations were to be re-established; but without bringing about any result.

The Spanish Governor, finding the demands put forward by the chieftain to be of an unacceptable character, expressed himself strongly on the subject. A warm dispute ensued, and on the Governor using some offensive expression, the Rifian seized in his brawny arms the Governor, who was a little man, and chucking him over his shoulders like a sack of grain, called out to the Spanish detachment of soldiers to blaze away, and at the same time to his own men to fire if the Spanish soldiers fired or attempted to advance, whilst the chieftain ran off with the Governor, who was like a shield on his back, to his followers.

The officer in command of the Spanish detachment, fearing that the Governor might be killed, did not venture to let his men fire or advance, and the Governor was carried off prisoner to a village about three miles off on the hills, and notice was then sent to the fortress that he would not be released until a ransom of 3000 dollars was sent.

The Rifians kept the Governor prisoner until a reference was made to Madrid, and orders were sent for the ransom to be paid. ‘Now,’ said Colonel Buceta, ‘your fate if you trust yourself to these treacherous people will probably be the same, and I shall be quite unable to obtain your release.’

I thanked the Governor for the advice, but declared that I must fulfil my mission and was prepared to run all risks, having been accustomed for many years to deal with Rifians at Tangier.

[152]Buceta then consented that I should be allowed to pass the gates of the garrison and invite the chiefs of the neighbouring Rif villages to a parley on the neutral ground.

Colonel Buceta, a distinguished officer well known for his great courage and decision, was I believe, on the whole, pleased that I held to my purpose, though he warned me again and again that I was incurring a great risk, and that in no manner could he intervene, if I and the English officer who might accompany me were taken prisoners.

My messenger returned and informed me that the neighbouring chiefs, both of the inland and of the piratical villages of Benibugaffer, would meet me on the neutral ground as had been proposed to them.

Accompanied by Capt. Hall, who commanded H.M.’s frigate Miranda, my friend Hadj Abdallah, and a ‘kavass,’ we proceeded to the rendezvous.

Five or six chiefs awaited our advent, attended by some hundred followers, stalwart fellows, many of them more than six feet high.

The chiefs wore brown hooded dresses, not unlike the costume of a Franciscan friar; but part of the shirt-sleeves and front were embroidered with coloured silks. Handsome leather-belts girded their loins. A few of the elders wore white woollen ‘haiks,’ like unto the Roman toga or mantle without seam, such as our Saviour is said to have worn.

Some of the wild fellows had doffed their outer garments, carrying them on their shoulders as they are wont to do when going to battle. Their inner costume was a white cotton tunic, coming down to the knees, with long wide sleeves fastened behind the back by a cord. Around their loins each wore a leathern girdle embroidered in coloured silk, from which on the one side hung a dagger and a small pouch for bullets; while on the other was suspended a larger leathern pouch or bag prettily embroidered and having a deep fringe of leather, in which powder is carried; containing[153] also a pocket to carry the palmetto fibre, curiously enough called ‘lif,’ used instead of wads over powder and ball. Their heads were closely shaved, except that on the right side hung a long lock of braided hair, carefully combed and oiled. Several of them were fair men with brown or red beards, descendants perhaps of those Goths who crossed over into Africa.

The wild fellows reclined in groups on a bank, immediately behind where the chiefs were standing to receive us. After mutual greetings I addressed them in Arabic, which though not the common language, for Berber is spoken in the Rif, yet is understood by the better classes, who learn to read the Koran and to write in the ‘jama’ or mosque school. The Berber is not a written language.

‘Oh, men! I come amongst you as a friend; an old friend of the Mussulmans. I have been warned that Rifians are not to be trusted, and that I and those who accompany me are in danger of treachery; but I take no heed of such warnings, for Rifians are renowned for bravery, and brave men never act in a dastardly manner. My best friends at Tangier are Rifians, or those whose sires came from the Rif, such as my friend here, Hadj Abdallah Lamarti. They are my hunters, and I pass days and nights with them out hunting, and am treated by them and look upon them as my brethren; so here I have come to meet you, with the Captain of the frigate, unarmed, as you see, and without even an escort of my countrymen from the ship-of-war lying there, or from the Spanish garrison, for I felt sure I should never require protection in the Rif against any man.’

‘You are welcome,’ exclaimed the chiefs. ‘The English have always been our friends,’ and a murmur of approval ran through the groups of armed men seated on the bank.

‘Yes!’ I continued, ‘the English have always been the friends of the Sultan, the ‘Kaliph Allah,’ and of his people.

‘You are all Mussulmans, and as followers of the Prophet every year a number of your brethren, who have the means,[154] go to the shrine of the Prophet at Mecca, as required by your religion. How do they go? In English vessels from Tangier, as you know, and they are therefore, when on board, under the English flag and protection. They are well treated and their lives and property are safe. They return to Tangier in the same manner, and many of them have come to me to express their gratitude for the recommendations I have given them to English officers in the East, and the kindness they have received at their hands.

‘These facts, I think, are known to you; but let us now consider what is the conduct of certain Rifians,—not all, I am happy to add, but those who dwell on the coast and possess ‘karebs,’ for the alleged purpose of trade with Tangier and Tetuan, and for fishing.

‘The inhabitants of these coast villages, especially of the neighbouring village of Benibugaffer, when they espy a peaceful merchant vessel becalmed off their coast, launch a ‘kareb’ with forty or fifty armed men, and set out in pursuit. The crews of these merchant vessels are unarmed, and generally consist of not more than eight or nine men. When they observe a ‘kareb’ approaching with a hostile appearance, they escape in their little boats to the open sea, trusting to Providence to be picked up by some passing vessel before bad weather sets in, which might cause their small craft to founder. The merchant vessel is then towed to the beach, where she is stranded, pillaged of cargo and rigging, and burnt.

‘I now appeal to all true Mussulmans whether such iniquitous acts are not against the laws of God and of the Prophet. These pirates are not waging war against enemies or infidels, they are mere sea robbers, who set aside the laws of the Prophet to pillage the peaceful ships of their friends the English, to whom they are indebted for conveying their brethren in safety to worship at the Holy ‘Kaaba’ of their Prophet.

‘To these English whom they rob, and also murder if they attempt to resist, they are indebted for much of the[155] clothing they wear, for the iron and steel of which their arms are made, and for other commodities. I now appeal to those Rifians who dwell in inland villages, and who take no part in and have no profit from these lawless acts, and I ask whether they will continue to tolerate such infractions of Allah’s laws? Can these men of Benibugaffer who have been guilty of frequent acts of piracy, can they be Mussulmans? No, they must be “kaffers” (rebels against God).’ As I said this, I heard from the mound behind me, where the Benibugaffer people were seated, the sound of the cocking of guns, and a murmur, ‘He calls us kaffers.’ Looking round, I perceived guns levelled at my back.

One of the elder Chiefs rose and cried out, ‘Let the English Chief speak! What he says is true! Those who rob and murder on the seas innocent people are not Mussulmans, for they do not obey the law of God.’

I continued: ‘Hear what your wise Chief says. I fancied I heard a sound like the click of a gun being cocked. Some foolish boys must be sitting amongst the assembly, for no brave Rifians, Benibugaffers included, would ever commit a cowardly murder on an unarmed man who has come amongst you trusting to the honour and friendship between the Rifians and English from ancient times.

‘You have, I think, heard that the English Government has frequently complained to the Sultan Mulai Abderahman, the Kaliph Allah and Emir El Mumenin (Prince of Believers), of the commission of these outrages, and has put forward a demand for reparation and compensation for damages.

‘The Sultan, who is the friend of the powerful Queen of England, my Sovereign, under whose sway there are fifty million of Mussulmans whom she governs with justice and kindness, issued his Sherifian commands to you Rifians to cease from these outrages; but you paid no attention to the orders of the Kaliph of the Prophet.

‘The Queen then sent a squadron to chastise the pirates and obtain redress; but the Admiral took pity on the[156] villages, where innocent women and children dwelt, and did not fire a gun or burn a ‘kareb,’ as he might have done. He had a parley with the Benibugaffer people and other inhabitants of villages where boats are kept.

‘They made false promises and pretended they would cease to commit outrages, but, as was to be expected, they have broken faith, and since that parley have been guilty of further acts of piracy. So now I have come to see you and hear whether the Rifians in the inland villages will continue to suffer these outrages to be committed by those who dwell on the coast, which may expose all the honest and innocent inhabitants of the Rif to the horrors of war.

‘I have begged that no steps should be taken by my countrymen, lest the innocent should suffer, until I make this final attempt to come to an understanding with you; but I have to warn you, as a true friend, if another outrage be committed, my great and powerful Sovereign, in conjunction with the Sultan, will send large forces by sea and by land to carry fire and sword into your villages, and bring the whole population under subjection. H.S.M. may then think fit to compel the Rif tribes dwelling on the coast to migrate to the interior of his realms, or, at any rate, they will no longer be allowed to possess a single boat for trade, or even for fishing.

‘I now ask—Will you inland inhabitants tolerate the continuance of piracy on the part of your brethren on the coast?—Will you brave inhabitants of the coast continue to set Allah’s laws at defiance, and thus expose your lives and property, and those of your inland brethren, to destruction?’

The old Chief again spoke, and others stood up and joined him, saying: ‘He is right. We shall not allow these robberies to be committed on our friends the English; such outrages must cease, and if continued, we shall be prepared to chastise the guilty.’

The Benibugaffer Chiefs said, ‘We approve.’

‘I know,’ I continued, ‘you Rifians do not sign treaties[157] or like documents; but the words of brave men are more worthy of trust than treaties, which are too often broken. Give me your hands.’ I held out mine. As the pledge of good faith I shook the hands of the chiefs, including the Benibugaffer.

‘Remember,’ I said, ‘it is not English vessels, but all vessels without exception must be respected on approaching your shores.’

‘We agree,’ they cried.

Upon which I exclaimed, ‘I have faith in your words. May God’s mercy and blessing be on you all and grant you prosperity and happiness! The Rifians and English shall remain true friends for ever. I bid you farewell.’

‘Stay,’ said the chief of a neighbouring village, ‘come with us and be our guest. We shall kill an ox to feast you and our brethren here, and bid you welcome. You are a hunter; we shall show you sport, and become better acquainted with each other. Upon our heads shall be your life and those of your friends.’

Pointing to the frigate, I said: ‘That vessel has to return immediately, and I have to report what has been done, in order to stop all preparations for seeking through other means to obtain the satisfaction you have so readily offered. I should have been delighted to have gone with you and should have felt as safe as if amongst my own countrymen. You are a brave race, incapable of doing a wrong to a true friend. I shall never forget the manner in which you have received me.

‘I bid you all farewell. I believe in your promises, even those made by the Benibugaffer. Send messengers at once to the villages on the coast and let them know the promises you have made, which they also must be required to carry out strictly.’

The Chiefs and their followers tried all they could to persuade me to accompany them but finally consented that I should depart, on promising that I would some day revisit them.

[158]Colonel Buceta was surprised to learn the result of my visit, but said the Rifians would never keep faith, and that we should soon hear of fresh acts of piracy. ‘In such case,’ I replied, ‘we shall have to land a force and burn every hamlet and boat on the coast; but I have every hope the Rifians will keep faith.’

They have kept faith, and since that parley near Melilla no vessels, either British or of other nationality, have been captured or molested by the Rifians[27]

It was amongst these wild and lawless Rifians that Mr. Hay found the most thorough sportsmen, and also men capable of great attachment and devotion. Always much interested in the history of this race, in their customs and mode of life, he wrote an interesting account of the tribes which inhabit the north of Morocco and of his personal intercourse with them.

The Rif province extends along the Mediterranean coast to the eastward from a site called Borj Ustrak, in the province of Tetuan, for about a hundred and fifty miles to the stream marked in maps as ‘Fum Ajrud’ (mouth of Ajrud), the northern boundary between Morocco and Algiers.

The Rif country to the southward, inland from the Mediterranean coast, extends about thirty-five miles and on the westward is bordered by the Tetuan province and the mountains of Khamás and Ghamára.

The population of Rif amounts, as far as can be calculated, to about 150,000 souls. The Rifians are a Berber race, and have never been conquered by the various nations—Phœnicians, Romans, Goths, and Arabs—who have invaded Mauritania: they have always maintained their independence; but on the conquest of Morocco by the Arabs, the Rifians accepted the Mohammedan faith, and acknowledged the Sovereigns of Morocco as the Kaliphs of the Prophet.

The country is mountainous, the soil in most parts poor, and though the Rif is rich in iron, copper, and other[159] minerals, there are no roads or means of conveyance to the seaboard. There are large forests of ‘el aris[28],’ which the Rifians convey in their ‘karebs’ (sailing boats) to Tetuan and Tangier. They have no saws, so when a tree is felled it is cut away with a hatchet until a beam or plank is shaped, generally about ten feet long by a foot wide. This timber has a strong aromatic odour, and when not exposed to damp is more durable than oak. It was used for the woodwork of the Alhambra at Granada and other Moorish palaces in Spain, and though many of the Arabesque ornaments in plaster or stucco have fallen into decay and walls have crumbled, this woodwork remains sound.

The Rifians are an industrious race; but their barren hills do not produce sufficient grain to provide food for the population. Large numbers migrate every year to different parts of Morocco, especially to the northern provinces, and are employed to cultivate orchards and gardens round Tangier and Tetuan. The majority of the inhabitants of the town and neighbouring districts of Tangier are of Rif extraction.

In the Rif the natives do not submit to any authority except upon religious or legal questions, such as marriage, inheritance, and title deeds. The ‘f’ki,’ or chief priest in a village mosque, draws up, with the aid of ‘tolba’ or public notaries, all legal documents regarding marriage or property. In other matters the Rifian does not submit to legislation; his gun, pistol, and dagger are his judge and jury—yet crimes such as robbery, theft, or outrages on women are rarely known, but murder from feud is rife throughout the country to a frightful extent. No man’s life is secure, even though he be a distant relative, such as the great-grandson, of some one who may have taken a life thirty years before in a blood feud. The widow of a murdered man will teach her son, as soon as he can carry a gun or pistol, how to use those arms, and daily remind him that[160] his father must be avenged lest the son be looked upon as despicable.

The men always go armed even in their own villages. Cursing, swearing, or abusive language, so common amongst the Moors, are rarely heard in Rif; for the man who ventures to use an opprobrious epithet knows that he incurs the risk of being stabbed or shot. A Rifian never forgives or forgets an insult.

They are distinguished for their courage. During the war between Spain and Morocco in 1859, they did not obey the appeal of the Sultan for assistance; but the inhabitants of the district of Zarhon near Fas, who are of Rif extraction, sent a contingent of 1,500 men to Tetuan. They arrived a few days before the battle of ‘Agraz’—the last which took place between the Moors and Spaniards before the peace of 1860—and fought so determinedly that two-thirds of their number fell during that battle.

Polygamy is extremely rare in Rif. Few men venture to take a second wife lest offence be given thereby to the father or brother of either of the women they have married. Even in Tangier, where there is a population of over 9,000 Mohammedans, chiefly Rifians by descent, I never heard of more than four or five Moors who had two wives. When an exception occurs, it has generally been at the request of the wife, who, having had no child, begs her husband to marry some cousin or friend, selected perhaps by herself.

Immoral conduct on the part of married women or maidens is unknown; for, should they be suspected of leading an irregular life by father, husband, or other male relative, such disgrace is wiped out by death.

Rifian women do not cover their faces. If a man sees a young woman fetching water from a well or walking alone, he will avoid meeting her, and even turn back rather than run the risk of being seen by some relative of the female and be suspected of having communicated with her by word or gesture. He will shun the woman who may be alone, as a modest girl in Europe might try to avoid[161] a man whom she should happen to meet when walking in some lonely spot.

Some years ago an old Rifian, one of my boar-hunters, who dwelt at a village near Tangier, presented himself before me looking very miserable and haggard. ‘I take refuge under the hem of your garment,’ he exclaimed, ‘and deliver into your hands these title-deeds of my hut and garden, also a document regarding a mare; these are all my possessions. I am about to deliver myself up to the Basha of Tangier, Kaid Abbas Emkashéd, and to ask that I be sent to prison.’

On inquiring of the old hunter why he thought of taking such an extraordinary step, and also what he expected me to do with his papers and property, he replied, whilst trembling from head to foot, with tears running down his rugged cheeks and his teeth chattering as he spoke, ‘My youngest daughter, whom I loved so dearly’—here he gasped for breath—‘is no more. I have buried her. She was put to death with my consent.’ Poor Hadj Kassim then covered his face and sobbed violently, paused to recover himself, and continued, ‘The authorities have heard that my daughter, who was very beautiful, has disappeared, and have given orders that some innocent persons who are suspected should be arrested, as it is supposed she has been carried off or murdered. I cannot remain a passive spectator whilst innocent men suffer, feeling that the whole blame of the disappearance of my child rests on me alone. My daughter was of a joyous character, and, like a silly girl, thought only of amusement. Both her mother and I had repeatedly punished her for going to weddings or other festivities without our permission. She had been warned that misconduct on her part, as a Rifian maiden, would never be forgiven; but she took no heed. Some neighbours reported that she had been seen going to Tangier to dance in the “mesriahs.” Her shameless conduct became a source of great scandal in the village, and as it was supposed that I countenanced her misconduct,[162] I was shunned by my friends. They no longer returned my salams, and when I joined the elders, who are wont to assemble of an afternoon on our village green, they turned their backs on me.

‘Life had become a burden, and my son, who was also taunted by young men for having a sister of bad repute, came to me yesterday, when he heard that she had again gone off to the town, and declared that as Rifians we could not allow a daughter and sister who did not obey her parents, and brought disgrace on her family, to live.

‘Though I loved dearly my foolish child,’ continued the old hunter, ‘I gave way to the passionate language of my son, and consented that, should we discover she danced at the “mesriah,” she should die.

‘We went to Tangier and concealed ourselves near the entrance of a “mesriah” we were told she frequented. We saw her enter, followed by some young Moors. A little before sunset she came out, enveloped in her “haik,” and walked hurriedly towards our village. She did not see us, and we followed her until we reached a path in the brushwood not far from our village, and then we stopped her. My son accused her of leading a disgraceful life, and then struck her heavily with a bill-hook on the head. She fell, never to speak again. We buried her in a secluded spot. My son killed her, but I am really her murderer—I alone am responsible for her death; but my wretched child could not have lived to be a curse and a disgrace.’ Then the poor Hadj trembled in his acute misery, and shook as if he had the palsy.

‘I shall,’ he continued, ‘present myself to the Basha. I shall not say I am the murderer, as the Basha is a Rifian, and will understand all when I declare I wish no man to be arrested on account of the disappearance of my child, and that I alone am responsible for whatever may have happened to her.

‘Now,’ he added, ‘you know, according to Moorish law,[163] no man can be punished for murder unless he acknowledges his crime, and that after twelve months’ imprisonment, should no witnesses appear, the accused can claim to be liberated from prison. If I live, therefore, I shall be released; but I care no longer for life, except it be to work and provide for my wife and remaining daughter. As to the title-deeds of my property, I implore you to keep them until I am released, for, as you know, it is the practice of the authorities to take possession of the property of a prisoner who is a criminal such as I am. You have often lent me small sums of money—for I have been your hunter—and you have not asked to be repaid. Should there be any attempt on the part of the authorities to take possession of my house, garden, or mare, or should my family be called upon to give up the title-deeds, I have directed them to say the “Bashador” is in possession of all our property as a guarantee for repayment of money advanced by him. This will check extortion. The Basha is of my tribe, and will be just and merciful to a poor Rifian in misfortune. He knows that death is better than dishonour and disgrace. Oh! my unhappy child!’ he exclaimed; ‘your life has been taken, and I long for the day when Allah may take mine!’ and again the old man wept piteously.

I took charge of his papers; he presented himself that day before the Basha, and after having a few questions put to him, was lodged in prison. As he left the presence of the Basha, the latter called to the guard who led him away, and said, ‘No fetters are to be placed on this man; his family may visit him.’

Hadj Kassim remained a year in prison, and on his release presented himself to me to recover his papers, informing me that no steps had been taken to seize his property, but, on the contrary, the Basha had shown him kindness in prison, sending him occasionally a little present in money; and that when he was brought before him, on being let out of prison, the Basha said, ‘We are Rifians.[164] The most High and Merciful God forgives the sins of men. I also forgive thee.’

The wretched man never hunted again or associated with his fellow-villagers, whose esteem and regard he had regained. His spirit was broken; he wandered about, pale and emaciated—speechless even—amongst his friends. A few months after his release from prison I learnt that he had died.

The interest which Mr. Hay took in the natives was not entirely confined to the Rifians. The needs and sufferings of his poorer neighbours—whether Christian, Hebrew, or Moslem—always met with his sympathy, and, so far as lay in his power, he sought to assist them in times of distress. In December, 1857, after a severe famine, he writes to his wife, then in England:—

In proof that his kindness was not unrecognised by the natives, the following anecdote is told by Mrs. Chapman, Sir John’s only surviving sister:—

Another instance of the gratitude of which these wild people are capable may be inserted here, though the actual occurrence took place a few years later, and after another and similar bad season with failure of crops in the Rif.

In the stress of famine the starving mountaineers crowded, with their families, to Tangier in search of work and food. Strenuous efforts were made by the people of Tangier and the foreign Representatives to assist these unhappy folk. In reply to an appeal from Sir John, a large subscription was raised in Gibraltar, and expended in flour, which was[166] sent for distribution to the care of the British Legation at Tangier.

Some of these unfortunate Rifians found work near Tangier; others, their immediate wants relieved, as tidings came from Rif that rain had fallen and prospects were better, returned to their homes in small detachments; but many remained. Cholera and smallpox broke out amongst these, and numbers died, leaving orphan children, too young, in many instances, to be able to give any account of themselves or their families. These were adopted by charitable townsfolk, and are now many of them prosperous, well-to-do individuals. But when the cholera and famine were ended, several hundred Rifians, with their families, remained. These poor people were finally dismissed in a body to their own country, provided with the means of purchasing seed-corn, and with clothing and food for their journey. When leaving Tangier they assembled at daybreak outside the gates of the town. There, raising their hands to heaven, they called down a blessing from God on the town and people, and more especially on the Christians who had shown them such charity and kindness.

Not long after they gave good proof of their gratitude. A ship was wrecked on the coast inhabited by some of these very Rifians. The crew were succoured and sheltered by them, and a contingent personally conducted them in safety to Tangier.

Kaid Ben Tahir, he writes, Governor of Azamor—a great fanatic—hated the sight of Europeans, but in pursuance of express orders received from the Sultan, came out with the chief officials of Azamor and some troops to meet me some distance from the town and conducted me to our camp.

The following day, according to etiquette, I called on the Kaid at his residence. As I entered the porch, the ‘m’haznía’ (military guards), about forty in number—instead of being drawn up standing in line to receive me—were squatting on the ground, forming a double rank, reaching close to the kiosk in which the Governor was seated, thus leaving only a narrow passage for me to pass through. Some even had their legs sprawled out in my way. These I trod upon heavily, or kicked aside, much to their dismay.

The Governor, who was seated, counting the beads of a rosary, on a small divan, remained seated as I approached, without attempting to rise or salute me; neither had he any chair or other resting-place to offer me, and merely held out his hand saying ‘You are welcome.’ Taking his hand with a firm grip I lifted him gently from his divan and said, ‘I am glad to see you.’ When I got his astonished Excellency well on his legs, I wheeled him round suddenly and dropped on the middle of the divan where he had been seated, leaving him standing.

Kaid Ben Tahir looked bewildered, gazed first at me and then at his guards, and I think was still meditating whether to bolt or to call his scowling attendants to seize and bastinado me, when I addressed him—‘How thoughtful and attentive of you to have prepared this comfortable divan for me to sit upon without providing for yourself a chair or even a stool where you could sit to entertain me.’

He murmured, ‘The divan is my seat.’

‘Ah!’ I said, ‘So you intended to remain seated whilst[170] the Representative of the greatest Sovereign in the world, accredited to your Lord the Sultan as Envoy, came to call on you! How do you like the position in which you desired to place me? I shall report your conduct to the Sultan, as also the behaviour of your guards, for I consider your and their conduct a marked insult.’

Kaid Ben Tahir faltered out, ‘I have erred through ignorance. You are the first European Representative whom I have received and I never offer a seat to Moorish officials who call upon me—I ask your pardon.’

Moving a little aside on the divan, I said, ‘Come, there is room for us both to sit down and I hope we shall be able to understand each other.’

The Governor sat down and we made friends, so I told him I should not report the occurrence to his Lord and Master the Sultan.

As I left, he rose and accompanied me to the threshold, the guards were all standing at attention, looking aghast at the Nazarene who had treated their tyrannical master with such ignominy; but the chief Kaid (or captain of the guard) whispered, as I passed, ‘Andek el hak’ (you are right), ‘respect is due to the Envoy sent to our Lord the Sultan.’

Further on the way to Marákesh Mr. Hay traversed the province of Shawía, where a curious incident of a more pleasing character took place, which he describes as follows.

Orders had been given by the Sultan that the Governor of each province through which we passed should meet the Mission with a body of cavalry, and escort us until we were met by the Governor of the adjoining province.

I found these ceremonial meetings very tedious, so frequently left my Tangier escort and, taking a man on foot to carry my gun, wandered from the beaten track towards the next encampment, in pursuit of game. As I was clad on such occasions in shooting attire, an ample[171] cloth cloak was borne by one of the troopers of my escort, and this I donned when a Basha or other officer came in sight. ‘Buena capa, todo tapa’ (‘a good cloak covers all’)—the Spaniards say—and as the Moorish officials present themselves with their followers on these occasions, en grande tenue, it was not seemly that the British Representative should have the appearance of a second-class gamekeeper.

One morning, whilst thus shooting in a field of corn, the man who was leading my horse came running to say he could see within half a mile the Governor of Shawía, with a body of cavalry, approaching.

Mounting my nag, I directed him to call the trooper who carried my cloak—but he could not be found.

As the Governor approached, riding with his Khalífa (Lieutenant-Governor) and two sons in front of the Arab cavalry, who formed two lines, I observed the chief was beautifully dressed, as were also his followers, and their horses richly caparisoned.

They advanced till within fifty yards of where I had taken my stand, for, as my Queen’s Representative, I always required that these Governors should, according to Moorish etiquette on encountering a superior, advance first towards me, and when within a few yards I would move forward to meet them.

The Governor had halted, waiting for me to approach, so I directed my attendant to say that I was very desirous to have the pleasure of making his acquaintance, therefore would the Governor come forward.

This staggered the great man, who, for the first time during his Governorship, had been sent to meet a European Envoy, and I overheard the following dialogue:—

My Attendant. ‘The Envoy says that he will have much pleasure in making your Excellency’s acquaintance, if you will have the goodness to approach.’

Governor Reshid. ‘Is that shabbily-clad Nazarene, whom I see mounted on a “kida” (pack horse), the Envoy, and does he expect me to go to him?’

[172]Attendant. ‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘Mashallah!’ exclaimed the Governor, and spurring his horse rather angrily, which made it bound forward, curvetting, he approached and held out his hand.

I then advanced also, and we shook hands. The Governor, looking rather amazed at my appearance, bid me welcome in flowery language, and, placing me between himself and his Khalífa, we commenced the march towards the camp, which he informed me was distant about a two hours’ ride.

Kaid Reshid was dressed in a caftan of pale unicoloured cloth, embroidered in silk, over which hung gracefully a transparent white ‘haik’; a fez and huge turban covered his head. The red saddle on which he rode, and the horse’s breastplate, were beautifully embroidered in gold on red velvet. The bridle and trappings were of red silk, also embroidered with gold. His massive iron stirrups were engraved in gold arabesques. By his side walked a slave carrying a long Moorish gun.

The Kaid was a handsome man, with Caucasian features, complexion olive, but not darker than that of the inhabitants of Southern Europe. He kept eyeing me and my horse from head to foot. After a pause he addressed me in polite language, though evidently much amused at my shabby appearance and English saddle, and said, ‘I am sure our Lord the Sultan will present you with a better horse to replace the “kida” you are now riding.’

As the Moors are generally big men, horses below 15 hands are not used by the cavalry; and Bashas, Kaids, and other officers ride horses standing about 16 hands. My mount was a small Barb of about 14.2, well bred and very fast. Ponies of this size are called ‘kidas,’ and are never used as saddle-horses, but merely as pack animals.

‘I thank you much, Kaid Reshid,’ I replied, ‘for your good wishes that I may enjoy the favour of the Sultan. Allow me to tell you that, from the moment I had the pleasure of riding alongside of your magnificent charger,[173] I have been wrapt in admiration both of your own appearance and of the trappings of your high-bred steed, reminding me of the paintings and sculptures I have seen of the ancient people of the East and of the early Christians.’

With a haughty, angry expression, Kaid Reshid replied, ‘Are you mocking me, saying I am like a Nazarene? What resemblance can there be between us Mussulmans and the Románi[29]?’

‘I said not that your appearance resembled that of the modern, but of the ancient Christian. The graceful, flowing robes you now wear, are like those depicted in pictures of the early Christians. Your “haik”—a garment without seam—is such as it is described our Saviour, “Sidna Aisa” (our Lord Jesus), whom you call the “Spirit of God,” wore on earth. Your saddle and stirrups are precisely of the form of those which Christians used in early times, and even two centuries ago, before the invention of fire-arms, when the lance was their chief weapon on horseback. Your bridle and the trappings about the neck of your horse are precisely those I have seen depicted in ancient Greek sculptures. Know you not, Basha, by the respective dates of the Christian and Mohammedan era, that the former are the more ancient people who believe in God Almighty? The Christian as well as the Mohammedan religion, and I may add, art and science came from the East. It is no shame, therefore, that your costume should be like unto that of the early Christians. As to my present garb, I gather from your expression that you find it very uncouth as compared with that of the Moslem; and my saddle and bridle no doubt appear to you scrimp and mean; but Europeans, when they progressed in warfare and manufactures, cast aside the flowing robes, which encumbered their movements, and adopted this tight-fitting clothing, by which they obtain greater freedom for the use of their limbs. They found the saddle, such as the Moslem[174] now uses, too heavy, and that the breastplate, large stirrups, &c., needlessly overweighted the horse and hindered his speed. I am not surprised you regard with contempt my “kida,” and that you express a hope the Sultan may give me a better mount. Now, in order that I may give you proof of the truth of what I have said, I challenge the best horseman you have amongst your chiefs to race with me to yonder rock in our path (about a quarter of a mile distant), go round it, and return to you. I see the Khalífa and your sons are mounted on magnificent steeds—I challenge them.’

One of the Basha’s sons spurred his horse angrily, so that it reared and curvetted, and said, ‘Oh! my father, the Envoy is making fun of us.’

‘No,’ I replied, ‘that is not my intention. Let us have the race, and I swear that if this “kida” does not win, I dismount and make it a present to the winner.’

‘The Envoy is in earnest,’ said Kaid Reshid, and, turning to his sons and the Khalífa, added, ‘You are to gallop to that rock, go round it, and return. Whoever reaches me first wins. I remain here with the troops in line.’

Our four horses were placed in a row, and at a signal from the Basha we all started. My three opponents dashed off at full speed, ramming in their long spurs till the blood streamed, whilst I held in hand my swift little nag, riding about six yards behind one of the sons, who, turning round as we galloped, and holding out his hand, said, ‘Shall I help you along?’ I laughed and replied, ‘Thanks, I am coming.’

As we approached the rock I closed on them and my nag, having a good mouth, turned sharply round it and we were all four abreast, their horses being much blown as they had been ridden at full speed. I had no spurs, but merely pressing my little Barb and giving him his head drew well in front, leaving the three horses twenty yards behind and had time to reach the Basha, wheel round by his side and see them finish, spurring furiously.

[175]‘The Envoy has won,’ said the Basha, with a dejected countenance.

‘Yes,’ said one of his sons, who was second in the race. ‘He has deceived us. That animal he rides is no doubt a Saharáwi (a horse from the Sahara desert), who has been bought for his weight in gold, or sent him by the Sultan as a “Shrab Reb[30].”’

‘You are mistaken, my friends,’ I replied. ‘This “kida” is not a Saharáwi horse; he was bought by me in the market at Tangier for $22 (£4 8s.), when he was two years old. He was then like a sack of bones, but, as you see, has capital points. My saddle and bridle are light compared with yours and do not encumber his movements. He is too in good training, being the horse I usually hunt.’

Along the line of troopers there was much excitement and talking, but many of them looked very troubled and dejected.

‘Can you use your gun on horseback?’ inquired the Basha. ‘Can you shoot a bird or animal?’

I replied that I did not often shoot from the saddle at a bird on the wing; but that I could do so, as my nag stood fire capitally.

The Basha then requested me to shoot from my horse any game that might be started. The cavalry formed a long line—we were riding over a stony plain, clad with grass and other herbage. The day was very hot; game therefore lay close, and every now and then partridges or other birds rose, but were too far for me to shoot. At length, fortunately, a ‘hobar,’ or great bustard, rose about twenty-five yards off. I put my horse at a gallop, and before the huge bird could get into full swing to soar away, I was beneath it and brought it down.

A shout of admiration was raised by all the troopers, and their shrill cries of joy were repeated, as I also had the good fortune to knock over a partridge which happened to rise immediately after I had reined in my horse.

[176]The Basha came up, holding out his hand and shook mine warmly, saying, ‘You have won our hearts. All you have said about dress, horse, &c., you have proved to be true. God forbid that we should ever have to fight against warriors like yourself.’

I replied that neither as a horseman nor as a marksman could I compare myself with many of my countrymen, and that I felt persuaded if only the Moors would adopt the saddles and firearms of Europeans, they would not only be able to do all that we could, but that, as a grand race of men, blessed by God with muscular power and great intelligence, they might surpass us, as their forefathers had done in Spain a few centuries ago, when they taught the world literature, science, and warfare.

The Basha and I became great friends. He invited me to his tent, where he had prepared a feast. Many of the chiefs crowded round me when I dismounted and asked to shake hands with me. They examined my horse, saddle, and bridle with interest.

The Basha and I had a long conversation, and I told him of the wonders of Christendom. Before we parted next day, when we were about to meet the Governor of Dukála, I put on my fine cloak, and told Kaid Reshid that it was the garment I had intended to have worn the day we met, and thus to have hidden beneath its folds myself and my ‘kida,’ but that the trooper who should have attended me had failed to accompany me.

‘It is better as it happened,’ said the good-natured Basha, ‘we have learnt much and part good friends. You have taught me and my followers a lesson we shall never forget.’

On March 18 Mr. Hay reached Marákesh, and writes to his wife ‘I do not despair of doing some good, but shall have up-hill work.’

Days passed, still the promised interview with the Sultan had not been suggested.

It was while he was thus waiting at the Moorish Court that Mr. Hay witnessed a curious performance of the ‘Hamadsha,’ a sect which in some respects resembles that of the Aisawa—or snake charmers—described in Western Barbary. The origin of this sect is remote and obscure, and probably its rites date from pagan times.

The Hamadsha, like the Aisawa, have a curious dance of their own; but the votaries of the former sect, unlike the Aisawa, cut themselves with knives and hatchets, run swords into various parts of their persons, and generally mutilate themselves when under the excitement of their fanatical rites. A large iron ball is carried in their processions, and this is constantly thrown in the air and caught on the heads of the Hamadsha as it falls. The dances of this sect are accompanied by ‘ghaiatta’ (pipes) and curious drums in the form of large earthenware cylinders with skin stretched over one end, that give out when struck a peculiarly pleasant, deep note. These drums are borne on one shoulder and beaten in that position by the bearer. Like the Aisawa, they dance in a circle, linked closely together by placing each an arm over the next man’s neck. Their Sheikh and fugleman stands with the musicians in the centre of the circle and directs their movements, as they jump in the air, rocking their bodies forward with a peculiar sidelong stamp of their feet.

No doubt these Hamadsha are more or less under the influence of ‘majun’ (a preparation of hemp), but there is also little doubt that the votaries of the sect are carried away by excitement when they hear the sound of the drums, or see their fellows jumping, and Mr. Hay related[178] the following anecdote of what occurred at one of these performances when a passing body of Hamadsha entered the precincts of the house where the Mission was quartered.

Mr. Hay and his friends assembled in an upper gallery to watch the curious rites of the sect in the courtyard below, where were gathered the native attendants and the escort with their Kaid, a grave, elderly man, always scrupulously attired in rich clothing and of an obese habit, being much addicted to ‘siksu.’

The Hamadsha, in a closely woven circle, gyrated and rocked to the sound of their sonorous drums, much to the delight of the natives, but somewhat to the perturbation of the Kaid, who, it appeared, was himself a member of the sect. The respectable old gentleman, reclining on his cushioned divan, presently sat up straight and gravely nodded his head in time to the beat of the drums. The music quickened. The Kaid’s agitation increased; unconsciously his body swayed in time to the movements of the Hamadsha.

Quicker and yet quicker moved the measure of the drums. The Kaid dashed aside his turban, exposing his bare skull. A few more moments passed and the strain became too great: the fat commander leapt to his feet, and, casting his garments from him, naked to the waist, he joined the circling, rocking fanatics.

At one side of the courtyard, near a fountain which spouted from the wall, were placed several monster earthen jars, intended for keeping drinking water clear and sweet. After jumping with his fellows for a short time, the Kaid cast his eye on these and, springing aside he seized one of them, and pitched it into the air, catching it as it fell on his shaven crown where it was dashed to pieces. He would have proceeded to do the same with the remaining jars, had not Mr. Hay called out and protested against further destruction. The Kaid therefore returned to his exercise of jumping till he was exhausted; when he retreated to another fountain, which spouted in a marble basin in the middle of the court, and sat on the top of it, in the midst of the spray, until cooled after his exertions.

Delay after delay occurred, and a man less experienced than Mr. Hay in the dilatory tactics of the Moslem might have been baffled by the ‘feather-bed resistance’ that encountered him at every turn. Again and again he writes to his wife in the same strain, ‘I do not despair[179] of doing some good, but there are some sad rascals here.’ ‘I am riding them with a tight hand and spurs. What a faithless set they are.’ And after an even more discouraging day than usual, he comes to the conclusion that ‘In Morocco a man can be certain of nothing.’

Of the ignorance, combined with cunning, of the generality of Moorish officials, Mr. Hay frequently related the following story.

On this Mission to the Court of Morocco, he took with him a large map of Great Britain, her possessions and colonies, also maps of France, Germany, &c., as a present to the Uzir, with the idea of impressing that functionary with the extent and importance of the British Empire.

Having presented them to the Uzir, he proceeded to explain the different maps, and proved, as he thought, to that dignitary, the fact that our Sultana reigned over the largest territories and was therefore the greatest Sovereign in the world.

‘Sebarkallah,’ said the Uzir, ‘God is great. And you say all these countries belong to Great Britain?’

‘Yes,’ replied Mr. Hay, ‘Our Queen rules over them all.’

The Uzir stroked his beard, considered for a while and resumed, ‘These are very beautiful maps. Where was that one made?’—pointing, as he spoke, to the map of Great Britain and her foreign possessions.

‘In London,’ was the reply, ‘and it has received the approval of the British Government.’

‘Ah,’ said the Uzir, ‘if we made a map of Morocco, we might also make out, on paper, that we possessed immense territories!’

At last, however, Mr. Hay’s resolution triumphed over all obstacles.

Yet early in the following year H.S.M. repudiated his engagements.

Six months later he is still engaged in negotiating the Treaty with Sid Mohammed Khatíb, the special Commissioner appointed to draw up the Treaty. He writes on July 11, 1856, to his wife who had left for England:—

But his hopes were premature. On August 10, he writes again:—

Ten days later, the goal was still distant.

Sid Mohammed Khatíb resided at Tetuan, and was one of the Moors who are descendants of those expelled from Spain. He owned Boabdil’s sword, until it was taken from his house in Tetuan during the occupation of that town by the Spaniards. He also possessed the title-deeds of his ancestors’ property in Granada and the ancient key of their house in that city.

After the Spanish war, Khatíb was appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs, to reside at Tangier, and during the years he held office Mr. Hay found him always upright and honest, and ready in every way to promote any reform or improvement in the system of Government in Morocco; but after some years, he obtained permission from the Sultan to retire, because, as he told Mr. Hay, he found the work too hopeless, fighting against the constant intrigues and ignorance of the Sultan’s Ministers, and that he was too old for such a task.

In October, a couple of months later, Mr. Hay writes:—‘Final orders have been sent by the Sultan to conclude the new stipulations; things are being smoothed and I do not go to the Court again.’

So his efforts had at last been crowned with success, and though Sultan Mulai Abderahman, adhering to the retrograde policy of his forefathers, had thrown constant obstacles in the path of reform advocated by Mr. Hay, the latter had certainly won the esteem of this potentate. Of this esteem the Sultan gave the strongest proof by requesting him to take charge of the conduct of Foreign Affairs on behalf of[182] the Moorish Government, and with the view of inducing him to do so, engaged that he would abide by Mr. Hay’s decision in all questions with Foreign Governments. But as Mr. Hay knew that such an office would raise the greatest jealousy and objection on the part of several Foreign Governments, he declined—even before reporting to Her Majesty’s Government the offer that had been made to him.

According to the Treaty ratified by the Sultan in December 1856, Her Britannic Majesty acquired the right to appoint one or more Consuls in His Sherifian Majesty’s dominions. They were to be inviolable in house or person, and to have the right to establish a place of worship under the protection of the British flag.

British subjects were to enjoy the right to pass through or reside in any part of the Sultan’s dominions. They were to have the right of hiring houses and to claim the assistance of the Moorish authorities in so doing. They were to be exempt from all taxes or impositions whatever; from all military service by land or sea, from forced loans and from all forced contributions. Their dwellings were to be respected, no arbitrary searches or examination of books and papers were to be permitted, except with the consent of the Consul or Consul-General.

All criminal causes and all civil differences between British subjects were to be decided by the Consul without any interference on the part of the Moorish authorities. In cases between a Moor and a British subject, the matter was to be referred to the authorities of the country to which the defendant belonged; if a Moor, the trial was to take place before the Kadi, the British Consul being present; if a British subject, before the Consul, the Governor or Kadi being present. The Consul-General and the Moorish Minister for Foreign Affairs were constituted judges in the last resort—as a Court of Appeal.

Provision was also made in case of war between the two Powers for the security and protection of the interests of their subjects.

The commercial advantages gained were, amongst others, the abolition of monopolies—hitherto a crying evil—on most articles of trade, and the right to export, under fixed and more reasonable duties, most of the products of the Empire. The Sultan, however, reserved the right to grant or withdraw permission to export grain.

[183]By an article in the new Treaty, the Sultan was also bound to repress and punish piracy, and to aid Her Majesty’s Government in their efforts to do the same.

This convention was hailed with much satisfaction by British merchants, and was eventually adopted by all other nations. Mr. Hay received, in July 1857, a deputation from the Gibraltar Chamber of Commerce, who expressed their gratitude for his ‘unwearied efforts on behalf of trade, and for the prompt and courteous manner in which he invariably treated any representations made by that body.’

The Queen was pleased to make Mr. Hay a C.B. on the conclusion of his labours in connexion with this Treaty.

The Basha of Tangier, Kaid Mohammed Ben Abdelmalek, better known as ‘Benabu’ (Anglice, the son of his father), was Governor of that province in the year 1857. He had previously held the post of Commander-in-Chief of the Sultan’s Cavalry, was distinguished for bravery when His Sherifian Majesty, whom, it is believed, ‘Allah protects,’ marched annually against rebellious tribes ‘to eat them up,’ an expression very significative of a Moorish monarch’s plan of campaign.

Benabu had also been for many years Governor-General of the Rif Provinces. He was a Rifian by extraction, as are most of the inhabitants of Tangier. One of his ancestors, in the time of Charles II, when the English were in possession of Tangier, commanded an army sent to invade[185] that place. In a sanguinary conflict which took place between the Moors and the English, when the latter stormed the heights where the Moorish forces had encamped above the river of Bubána, about two miles from Tangier, Benabu’s ancestor was killed.

The site is called to this day the ‘Mujáhidin,’ or ‘Warriors of the Faith.’ It is considered holy ground, as those who fell in that battle against ‘Infidels,’ were buried on the spot. Kubbas, or cupola-formed mausoleums, were erected, in which the bodies of the Moorish chieftains were laid. A regiment of our Foot-guards took part in the action, and it is said that the member of the Guards’ band who plays the cymbals used to wear an Oriental costume, in commemoration of this battle.

When Mr. Bulwer was sent to Tangier on a Mission by the British and Spanish Governments, to settle the differences between Spain and Morocco, in 1845, I gave him a long rapier which I had found at low water in the ruins of the fine old mole which the English blew up, from a dog-in-the-manger policy, when they gave up the place. The hilt had on one side a C. on the other a rose. Though it had lain for nearly three centuries in salt water, I managed to restore the weapon, which proved to be of beautiful steel, and before I introduced the lance for pig sticking, I had at full gallop killed boar with this rapier on the plains of ‘Awara.’

One night I had donned my dressing-gown and was about to go to bed. It was late; lights had been extinguished and the servants had retired, when the porter at the gate of the Legation, a Moorish soldier, lantern in hand, appeared. He was trembling with excitement and could hardly articulate as he addressed me. ‘The Basha is here, alone in the porch. He came on foot and is without an attendant. He wishes to see you at once. He has commanded that “I shut my tongue within my teeth.”’

I received the Basha, who was an old friend, in my dressing-gown. He was about six feet three in height, and[186] of a Herculean frame. His features were very marked; a prominent Roman nose and massive jaw, with eyes like a lion; shaggy locks hung beneath his turban over each ear. The general expression of his countenance was that of a stern tyrant, but in conversation with those he liked, his face beamed with good humour, and he had a pleasant, kind manner.

Benabu was very intelligent, and not a fanatic, as Moorish grandees generally are. After friendly salutations, and bidding him welcome, I inquired the cause of his visit at such an unusual hour.

The Basha, having looked around repeatedly, to satisfy himself that there were no eavesdroppers, said, ‘I come to you as the only friend I can trust, to beg a great favour. This evening an officer arrived with a letter from the Sultan, summoning me to the Sherifian Court. I leave to-morrow at daybreak. You know,’ he continued, ‘what this means—either it is to extend my government to the district of Anjera, which I have applied for, or it is to place me under arrest, and then, by long imprisonment, or even the bastinado, to extort, under the pretext of arrears of taxes or other dues, the little wealth I have accumulated during my long and arduous services, both in campaigns and as Governor of the Rif. I am an old soldier, and it is my firm intention, even if I were put into the wooden jelab[31] or other torture, not to give one ‘fels’ either to the Sultan, the Uzir, or other rapacious satellites of the Court, who, no doubt, expect to fleece me as they do other Bashas and Sheikhs, even if it is the Sultan’s will that I am to receive some mark of his goodwill.

[187]‘The favour I have to beg of you,’ continued Benabu, ‘is that you allow me to leave in your possession some bags of gold I have brought with me.’

I looked at the Basha; he had nothing in his hands, but, beneath the ample folds of his ‘sulham,’ I observed that his huge chest and body were distended to an extraordinary size.

‘I am very sorry,’ I replied, ‘to hear of the sudden summons to the Court, which, I fear, bodes no good. I shall be happy, as an old friend, to do anything to help you; but,’ I added, ‘it will be a delicate matter for me, as British Representative, to receive in deposit a large sum of money, which might hereafter be claimed as arrears of taxes due to the Treasury, and the British Government might disapprove of my having placed myself in a false position.’

Benabu replied that he had paid up all arrears of taxes; that the money he wished to leave with me was not only savings effected during a long career of forty years, but money inherited from his father. He added, ‘I have also other money, which I secretly placed some time ago, for safety and profit, in the hands of a wealthy Jew, who is under foreign protection.’

Benabu reminded me, that when war broke out between Spain and Morocco I had allowed the Moorish Minister for Foreign Affairs—Sid Mohammed Khatíb—to deposit about £10,000 in my hands, and he pleaded so earnestly that I gave way.

Taking the key of a cellar where I kept a stock of wine, and which my butler never visited unless I accompanied him, I led the Basha to it.

‘Can no one hear or observe us?’ asked the Basha, as we descended into the cellar. I replied that the servants were all in bed, and that the porter at the gate could not intrude, as I had locked the front door of the Legation.

Bag after bag was extracted from Benabu’s portly person, and deposited in an empty bin, which I selected for that purpose.

[188]I observed to the Basha that the bags were not sealed, being merely tied with string, and offered to fetch sealing-wax, requesting him to mark on each bag its contents.

He declined, saying he really did not know the amount of money each bag contained; and had neither time nor inclination to count the coin, but added, ‘it is all good, and safer in your hands than in a bank.’ By laying some laths on the top of the pile, and then bottles of wine, the treasure was well concealed.

On returning to my study, I took up a sheet of paper and pen, and told the Basha I was about to prepare a receipt, stating that a number of bags without seal, contents unknown, had been deposited by him in my cellar, and that I was not responsible for losses occasioned by fire, robbery, &c. ‘Do you think,’ said the Basha, ‘I am “hamak” [mad] to take such a receipt? Don’t you understand that, going as I am to the Court, I may be searched? If I leave such a document with my wife—no woman can hold her tongue—the secret would be betrayed. My sons are spendthrifts, and not to be depended on.’ I suggested that he should take my receipt and hide it in his house, or bury it in his garden until his return from the Court.

He declined, saying, ‘Walls have ears, trees have eyes, so not only must I decline to take a receipt, but I beg that you will keep no record of having received these bags from me.’ I remonstrated, saying, ‘I may die; my heirs will find the money in the cellar and will rightfully appropriate it, even if you or your heirs were to claim the money, for there will be no proof that you are the rightful owner. You also,’ I added, ‘are in the hands of “Allah,” and may die.’ Benabu replied, ‘We are all in the hands of “Allah.” What is written[32] by the Almighty is written. I have entire confidence in you, and if you die, as you say might happen, and your son and daughters, whom I know and love as my[189] own, got possession of the money—it could not fall into better hands.’

He then took leave, and wishing him ‘God speed,’ I let him out by the garden-door. Summoning the porter, I told him the Basha was leaving for the Court in the morning, and had come to announce his departure; I warned him not to let any one hear of the visit, as it might give offence to other Representatives, upon whom he had not time to call to take leave. ‘Remember,’ I said, ‘you are a soldier of the Basha, and if you betray his visit he may some day mark his displeasure.’

Benabu departed for the Court the following morning, leaving his elder son, who had been his Khalífa, or Lieutenant-Governor, in charge of the government of the province.

On the arrival of Benabu at the Court, he was summoned by the Uzir, who informed him that the Sultan was dissatisfied with the accounts rendered by him of receipts of taxes and dues during his government both of the Tangier and Rif provinces; that a house had been allotted to him, where he was to reside, and consider himself under arrest until more regular accounts were presented. Benabu replied that the Uzir knew the Rifians never paid tithes upon land or agriculture; that he had transmitted regularly to the Court the presents of mules and other gifts which the Rif population had delivered to him, as their customary annual tribute to the Sultan, as ‘Prince of Believers and Allah’s kaliph;’ that as to the Tangier province, he had presented annually an account of receipts of taxes, and other dues; that the receipts had greatly diminished on account of irregular protection being extended by Foreign Ministers and Consuls to rich farmers, and to the peasantry in general, and that all protected persons were held by the Foreign Representatives to be exempted from the payment of taxes or other contributions to the Government.

Guarded by the Uzir’s kavasses, Benabu was taken to the small house that had been prepared for his confinement.[190] He was allowed to retain one of his followers; the bodyguard he had brought from Tangier was dismissed, and ordered to return.

Months passed, Benabu remained under arrest; his son, the Khalífa at Tangier, died. This misfortune, and the harsh treatment he had received as an old and loyal servant of the Sultan, preyed on his mind. Prostrated by an ague, followed by typhus fever, Benabu petitioned the Sultan to be allowed to send for his younger son Fatmeh. This was granted, and Fatmeh arrived a few days before his father’s death.

On the return of Fatmeh to Tangier, I waited some days expecting him to call and claim the money left in my possession; but he did not appear, so I sent for him.

After expressions of condolence about the death of his father, I inquired whether he had found him still sensible on his arrival at the Court, and whether his father had given him any message for me. He said he had found his father in a dying state, but perfectly sensible, and that he was able to give him full directions about his property: that he had spoken of me and had used the words—‘God’s blessing be on his head, he has been a true friend to me and to the Mohammedans!’ ‘Did he not mention,’ I asked, ‘that he had seen me the night before he left Tangier and had placed money in my hands? Did he not mention also that he had left property in the hands of a Jewish friend?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘a large sum with ———, which I have had the greatest difficulty in recovering, though my mother had a receipt. Two thousand dollars were paid by my family to recover the money left in the Jew’s hands.’

‘Did your father not tell you,’ I repeated, ‘that I had also received a deposit in money for which, as requested, I did not give a receipt?’ On Fatmeh replying in the negative, I told him to return to his mother and ask her whether her late husband had ever mentioned his intention of secretly depositing money in my hands; adding, ‘Come back, unattended, to the Legation at midnight, and without[191] knocking enter at the garden door, which you will find open.’

At midnight Fatmeh returned. I awaited him. He informed me that his mother had never heard or supposed that any money had been deposited with me. We then descended into the cellar and, pointing to the bin where the bags lay, I told him to remove the bottles and laths.

‘These bags,’ I said, ‘contain coin left me by your father, who refused to accept a receipt. They now belong to his heirs. I know not the amount, but wish you to open each bag before you leave, and to bring me to-morrow some proof that you have delivered the money to your mother.’

Fatmeh took down a bag, and opening it, exclaimed in a very excited manner, ‘Gold!’ Each bag was opened with the same exclamation, his excitement increasing. Having finished the examination of the bags, I told him to put them as his father had done, in the ample folds of his dress, above the girdle. ‘All?’ he said. I replied ‘all.’ He hesitated, and then turning to me, observed: ‘Shall I not leave you half?’ ‘You are “hamák,”’ (mad) I replied. ‘Don’t you understand, that if I had wanted this money I might have kept all?’

So he interned bag after bag in the ample folds of his dress until they could hold no more, for he was a smaller man than his father.

Three bags remained, which he said he could not possibly carry in his dress, and begged that I would keep them. I replied angrily, and fetching a basket, put the remaining bags into it, and, bidding him ‘Good-night,’ I passed him through the garden gate.

Next day I received, through a mutual Mohammedan friend in the confidence of the family, a message from Benabu’s widow, to say her son[33] had delivered to her all that he had received from me.

[192]A week passed, and Fatmeh again asked me for an interview. He informed me he had come with a message from his mother and sister to reiterate their thanks, and to beg that I would not refuse to accept, as a token of their gratitude, a Spanish ‘three-decker,’ of which Fatmeh gave the following history.

‘In the last great naval war between Spain and England, my great-grandfather was Basha of Tangier. He was on the most intimate terms of friendship with the Spanish Representative, and was a strong partisan of Spain and unfriendly towards the English. Having granted to the Spanish Representative some special privilege unauthorised by the Sultan, his intrigues and proceedings came to the knowledge of His Sherifian Majesty. An officer and an executioner were dispatched forthwith to Tangier: my ancestor was decapitated, and his head was placed by special order of the Sultan over the gateway of the residence of the Spanish Representative.

‘Amongst other gifts which had been presented to my ancestor by the Spanish Government was the model of a Spanish three-decker, in a glass case, about four feet long. It was much prized by my late father, and my mother and our family beg you to accept it.’

I accepted the gift of the line-of-battle ship. It was a curious old model, very complete, with figures of sailors in the rigging, and Spanish flag flying.

This model may have been of the ‘Santissima Trinidad,’ one of the largest three-deckers sunk by the English at the battle of Trafalgar. Her masts were washed ashore on the Moorish coast not far from Cape Spartel, were taken possession of by the Moorish authorities and floated down to the mouth of the river Wad el Halk, which enters the bay near the site called ‘old Tangier[34],’ an arsenal built by[193] the Romans wherein to lay up their galleys. The masts were floated as far as the village of Sharf, and placed across the high banks of the river; parapets of masonry were built on each side to form a bridge for horse and foot-passengers.

The bridge was still in use twenty years ago, and I have often crossed it; but one of the masts having given way, it was taken down by order of the Sultan, and a Portuguese architect was employed to erect a stone bridge in its place. The Portuguese had nearly completed the work, when a freshet from the hills levelled it to the water’s edge, hardly leaving a vestige of the fabric. The Moors declared the bridge was accursed by Allah, as the Sultan had employed an Infidel ‘Nazarene’ instead of a Mohammedan architect. A Moor was then dispatched from Fas by the Sultan to rebuild the bridge, which he executed in a satisfactory manner on three arches and sluices.

An aged Tangerine, some twenty years ago, told me that he and many other Moors witnessed from the heights of the hills near Cape Spartel[35] the great battle, and that their hearts were with the English. He said the firing was terrific, with an occasional explosion. Wreckage and many bodies were cast upon the African shore.

Benabu was the best Governor I have known during the forty years I was at Tangier. Under his iron but just rule, murder, robbery, and even theft became unknown after the first year of his government. He made terrible examples of all criminals.

Cattle-lifting was, and still is, a common practice throughout Morocco. On his first appointment as Basha he sent the public crier, on a market-day when the mountaineers and peasantry flock in to make their purchases, to[194] proclaim that the severest punishment would be inflicted on robbers or other criminals.

He kept his word, for the next market-day two cattle-lifters, caught red-handed, were brought before him. After hearing the evidence, they were severely bastinadoed. Benabu had caused an iron brand to be prepared with the letter س (‘sin’), the first of the word ‘sarak’ meaning robber. On the forehead, just above and between the eyebrows, these robbers were marked with the hot brand.

Their property was seized and confiscated, and after issuing a fresh proclamation that any criminal who had been branded, would, on a second conviction of crime, have his hand or foot or both amputated, according to circumstances, Benabu liberated the robbers, and reported his proceedings to the Sultan, making known to H.S.M. that he had found on his appointment murders, robberies, and crime of all kinds prevailed, and that there was no security for life or property outside the walls of Tangier, and he requested the Sultan’s authority to cut off the hand or foot of any person branded with the ‘Sin,’ who was again convicted of a murder or robbery with violence.

The Sultan approved of his conduct, and complied with the request.

Six months after the branding of the two robbers, one of them was caught, having robbed some cattle and wounded the herd in charge.

The delinquent, stripped to the waist, was mounted on the back of a donkey. The animal was led through the principal streets and market-place; two soldiers followed with the bastinado, which is a rope of twisted leather about four feet long. The lash was applied every twenty paces to the back of the prisoner, who was compelled to proclaim his crimes in a loud voice. He was then taken off the donkey in the middle of the market-place, where a fire was lit, and on it an earthen pot stood filled with boiling pitch.

A butcher, the first the soldiers could lay hands on, was seized, and ordered to sever a right hand and left foot.

[195]The unfortunate butcher remonstrated in vain. The condemned man was laid on the ground, his hands were untied; the right hand was taken off at the joint, and the stump plunged into the pot of pitch to stop hemorrhage and prevent gangrene.

The left foot was amputated in the same manner. Charitable bystanders carried off the victim to a small house in the town called ‘Morstan[36],’ where paupers seek shelter at night. There he was provided with food and water for some months. He recovered, and could be seen crawling about the streets or sitting at the gate of the town, begging[37].

Murder, robbery, and cattle-lifting ceased throughout the Tangier province. Life and property were safe. Thus this cruel and barbarous mutilation of one ruffian saved hundreds of innocent men from murder, and women and helpless Jews from outrage.

On a shooting excursion to a district about eight miles from Tangier, I found in a sheltered spot about forty beehives[38]. There was no village within a mile of the hives, and there was no hut even for a guard. Passing a cowherd attending some oxen, not far from the hives, I inquired to whom they belonged. He said they were the property of the village of Zinats. I asked whether there was no guard to watch the property, which could easily be carried[196] off at night. Pointing towards Tangier, he exclaimed, ‘Benabu.’

There was a very beautiful young Mohammedan widow at Tangier, who led a dissolute life. Fatmeh, the Basha’s son, was a constant visitor at her house. Benabu had repeatedly warned his son to discontinue his visits. He summoned also the widow; and after censuring her misconduct, he told her that if she again admitted his son into her house he would mar her beauty, which was the cause of his son’s disgraceful conduct.

Some weeks afterwards, Benabu was informed that Fatmeh had again visited the house of the widow. He was arrested and imprisoned, and the widow was brought before the Basha.

‘You have not,’ said the Basha, ‘kept your promise to me, or taken heed of my warning. Your beauty has brought disgrace upon my son and myself.’

Turning to the guards who attended in the ‘Meshwa,’ or Hall of Judgment, he said, ‘Bring a barber.’

The barber was brought.

‘Cut off,’ said Benabu, ‘below the cartilage, the tip of this woman’s nose.’

The barber, trembling, begged that the operation might not be performed by him. ‘It shall be as you wish,’ replied the Basha; ‘but then your nose will be taken off for disobedience.’ The barber obeyed, and the tip of the nose of the pretty widow was cut off. ‘Go,’ said the Basha to her; ‘you will now be able to lead a better life. May Allah forgive you, as I do, your past sins!’

When Benabu, as a young man, was Kaid in command of a body of cavalry, he received orders from the Sultan to escort with his troopers a foreign Envoy to the Court at Marákesh. During the journey to the capital, the camp had been pitched in the neighbourhood of a large village, where a ‘Marábet’ or holy man dwelt, who was looked up to with great veneration by the villagers.

This fanatic, having observed the Envoy seated in his[197] tent with a light, and the door of the tent open, fetched his long gun, squatted down at about fifty yards, and took a pot shot at the ‘Nazarene Infidel.’ He missed the Envoy, but the ball, passing through the tent, killed a horse of one of the escort on the other side.

Benabu, hearing a shot, rushed out of his tent, and seeing a strange man making off, had him arrested and brought before the tent of the Envoy.

‘This assassin,’ Benabu said, ‘who calls himself a Marábet, has attempted to take your life, and thus placed in jeopardy my head; for had he killed you, the Sultan would have beheaded me.’

Benabu then drew his sword, and, ordering the guards to bare the Marábet’s neck and shoulders, turned to the Envoy and said: ‘My lord the Sultan, whose life may Allah prolong, has alone the power of life and death; but I am ordered to protect your life at all hazards through this country as the Representative of a great friendly Power; and therefore, to deter others, I am determined to make an example of this villain who has attempted to take your life.’ Then, raising his sword, he added, ‘Give the signal, and the head of this assassin shall fall at your feet.’

The Envoy requested Benabu to sheathe his sword, saying that he believed the man to be mad. Benabu, who, no doubt, felt persuaded that the Envoy would never give the signal for the execution of the man, put his sword in the scabbard; the man was then bastinadoed and sent off early next morning to the Governor of the district, with a request that he should be confined in a dungeon until the Sultan’s decision was learnt.

Benabu demanded also that a good horse, with new saddle and bridle, should be sent by the Governor at once for the soldier of the escort whose horse had been shot; this was done.

The name of Benabu went forth far and wide, and the Sultan, on the arrival of the Mission, promoted Benabu to the rank of Kaid ‘Erha.’

Sultan Mulai Abderahman, who was very fond of having wild animals kept loose in the garden or courtyard of his palace, had a beautiful tame leopard named ‘Maimon’ (the ‘trusty,’) nearly as large as a Bengal tiger. It was very good-tempered and a great favourite of His Majesty.

A young negro slave who swept the entrance of the[200] palace happened one day to find the leopard lying on a heap of dust, so he hit the beast with his broom to make it move. This was resented by the leopard striking the lad on the head with his paw, so that he fell dead. H.M. on learning what had happened, ordered that the leopard should be confined in a cage and sent as a gift to me at Tangier and that a Jew should be dispatched to take charge of the animal.

I received a letter from the Uzir, making known the gift His Sherifian Majesty had been pleased to send me and stating that the animal was docile, but dangerous if struck. No mention, however, was made of the death of the slave.

Finding the leopard very good-natured, I dismissed the Jew keeper and took charge of it myself. In the daytime the leopard was allowed to run loose in the little garden of the Legation, for my family were absent in England; but I had it fastened, when visitors came to see it, by a long chain to a palm tree in the garden. I fed the leopard myself, and he gambolled about like a cat, purring and rubbing himself against my legs when I caressed him. If I happened on such occasions not to take sufficient notice, he would strike me heavily with a soft paw.

One day the leopard, finding that the door leading from the dining-room into the garden was open, entered, and passing along a lobby discovered the laundry, and an old Irishwoman ironing there. On seeing the beast glaring at her over the table where she was engaged, she boldly advanced with a hot iron in hand, with the courage of her race, exclaiming, ‘Get out ye dhirty baste.’ The leopard, much offended, withdrew with a dignified gait and passed on to a courtyard near the kitchen, where a Moorish woman, squatted on a mat, was sifting flour. With friendly intentions and hoping to be caressed, the leopard put his head into the old dame’s bosom, but she, thinking this was the preliminary step to being devoured, swooned dead away.

A man-servant, passing, saw the leopard and woman in[201] this compromising position; but, being afraid to interfere, rushed, pale with alarm, to the room where I was writing, to announce that the leopard had killed ‘Titam,’ and was about to eat her.

Running to the rescue, I found ‘Maimon’ covered with flour, purring and rubbing himself in a loving manner against the reclining form of poor Titam, who was still in a swoon, but otherwise uninjured. I told ‘Maimon’ his conduct was most unbecoming, not to say improper, so he left poor Titam, and bestowed his attentions on me, covering me with flour.

At dusk I was in the habit of accompanying the leopard across the street to his cell in the stable-yard. One evening when leading him, he lay down in the street and refused to move. In vain I coaxed the beast. The road was thus blocked; for those who wished to pass, viewing a huge leopard crouching loose in the street, hurriedly turned back. I sent for a piece of meat, and walking with this bribe into the stable, the leopard deigned at length to follow me.

When my family was expected, thinking there was a risk that he might attack them as strangers, I sent the leopard as a gift to the Zoological Gardens. Eight months afterwards, when I was in London on leave of absence, I visited the Gardens, and there I saw ‘Maimon’ lying in a cage. I requested the keeper to allow me to pass the bar in front of the cage to pat the leopard. He replied it was not permitted; but, on telling him I was the donor, he allowed me to cross the barrier, warning me, however, that though the animal was docile, it showed sometimes a surly temper. I approached the cage where the leopard was lying listless in a corner; ‘Ya Maimon, ya habibi, busni.’ ‘Oh, beloved Maimon,’ I cried in Arabic, ‘come and embrace me.’ The animal sprang up and came to the side of the cage, and no doubt would have embraced me if the bars had not stopped him. I put in my hand and stroked his back, whilst he rubbed against the bars of the cage, making a low purring noise. Then I scratched his head, when to my[202] horror he suddenly took my hand in his mouth; but the friendly beast only mumbled, without hurting it, and then let my hand go. A crowd had collected outside to witness the exhibition, so I thought it was time to leave, though I might have gone round with my hat to beg alms for the prisoner. As I left the cage, the leopard watched me with eager eyes, and when some way off I turned to look again, the beast was standing up with his paws on an upper bar, his bright eyes fixed anxiously upon me. During my long life loving eyes have often watched my departure, but none brighter or more anxious than those of my four-footed friend. So we parted, never to meet again, for the leopard was dead when I revisited the Zoological Gardens, after a two years’ absence.

As another instance of this Sultan’s fondness for wild animals Mr. Hay told the following story.

The Master of the Horse at the Moorish Court related to me, that Sultan Mulai Abderahman happened one day to pass through the Court of the palace, mounted on a magnificent white charger, when a lion which H.M. was accustomed to stop and caress, sprang up the side of his horse and placed its paws on the knee of the Sultan. H.M. reined in his steed, which snorted and reared. The Sultan showed no alarm and did not, said the Master of the Horse, change a muscle of his countenance, but turning to the Kaid-el-Meshwa, or Chief Officer of the Court, and putting his hand on the head of the lion to stroke it, inquired ‘How many pounds of meat are given to the lion daily?’ The officer stated the quantity.

‘Let the lion have ten more pounds,’ said His Majesty. The lion’s petition being granted, it quietly dropped off H.M.’s horse and lay down quite pacified.

‘These animals,’ observed the Master of the Horse, ‘understand what is spoken, though they have not the power of speech to tell what they want.’

‘Mashallah!’ I gravely replied.

[203]Many interesting and distinguished persons visited Tangier during Mr. Hay’s long residence there. Amongst these may be mentioned, in 1858, three Royal guests—the Prince of Wales, Prince Alfred and the late Duc d’Orléans. In favour of the Prince of Wales an extraordinary exception was made, and he was admitted to the Basha’s house and there received by the ladies.

Louis Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, was accompanied by his tutor. After introducing H.R.H. to the sights of Tangier, Mr. Hay arranged a boar hunt for him on the Hill. The sport was good; but the object of the hunt was unsuccessful, as the Prince never fired a shot—principally through the mistaken zeal of one of his suite, who, on seeing a pig coming in the direction of the Royal guest, stepped forward and removing his hat exclaimed ‘Mon Prince, voilà le sanglier!’—with the natural result that the pig turned and broke back!

Riding down the rough mountain path afterwards, with Mr. Hay leading the way, the Prince, who was mounted on Mr. Hay’s best pony, soon outstripped with his guide the rest of the party, Mr. Hay’s horses being always selected as good walkers. Commenting on the roughness of the track, the Prince was somewhat astonished to hear Mr. Hay say that he frequently, when out late, cantered down the hills, and H.R.H. inquired eagerly whether the pony he was riding could be trusted to go fast down the broken road, and if so would Mr. Hay gallop down now with him?

Mr. Hay, after a little demur (aware that the sure-footed little Barb, who had often performed the feat, could be trusted), consented: and leading the way, he and the young Prince tore madly down the steep rough path, to the great enjoyment of the latter—though rather to the bewilderment of his worthy tutor, who did not catch sight of his pupil again till they met in the town an hour later.

Afterwards in a letter to Mr. Hay—the Duc d’Orléans, alluding to an accident which had lately happened to him while hunting, wrote:—

When the rupture of relations between Spain and Morocco took place, and Spanish subjects at Tangier were required by their Government to leave Morocco, the ‘Padre Superior’ of the Roman Catholic Mission paid me a visit, and informed me he had received orders from the Spanish Minister to embark, with all the members of his Mission,[209] in a vessel sent to convey them to Spain. He added: ‘We are ordered off in such haste that we have no time to pack and convey to Spain the sacred pictures, crucifixes, and other religious emblems adorning the chapel.’

(At that time the only chapel was that adjoining the Spanish Legation.)

‘All the Foreign Representatives,’ he continued, ‘the Consular Officers, as well as all foreign subjects, both Christians and Jews, have begun to depart, and I hear that no one of them, with the exception of yourself and the gentlemen attached to the British Consulate, intends to remain in the country, fearing that the Mohammedan population may, when the war commences, massacre the Christians and Jews and pillage their dwellings.’

I replied that it was my intention to remain at my post, and that, as I had never acted unjustly or unkindly towards the Mohammedans, I had no grounds for supposing that they would seek to injure me; though, in pursuance of instructions received from my Government, my family would remain at Gibraltar.

The Padre Superior then said that the object of his visit was to ask me a great favour—that I would prevent, as far as lay in my power, the chapel from being broken into and pillaged.

‘After all,’ he said, ‘though we may entertain different views regarding the forms of the Christian religion, somos hermanos (we are brothers).’

I told the Padre it would afford me sincere satisfaction to be of service to him; that I should let the Moorish authorities—and also my native friends in the town—know that the Roman Catholic Chapel was a house of God, and that it would be taken under my special protection.

The Padre expressed his heartfelt thanks, and, shaking hands warmly, we parted.

At the commencement of the war, large bodies of armed men belonging to the tribes of the provinces of Tangier and El Araish arrived at the former town, to buy powder and[210] provisions before proceeding to the Ceuta district—the seat of war. Amongst them came a body of Beni Aros, composed of twelve hundred armed men. They are a fanatical tribe, many of them being Sherífs, and guardians of the sanctuary of Mulai Abd Selam. These wild fellows assembled in the little market-place adjoining the Spanish Legation, which was situated about a hundred yards from the British Consulate, and in the same street.

A Tangier Moor, having overheard some of the chiefs of these Beni Aros, who were purchasing provisions, propose that the tribe should break into and pillage the Spanish Legation and burn the Chapel, ran down to report to my kavasses what they had said. As soon as I received the information, I walked towards the little market-place, accompanied by one of these kavasses, just in time to meet the tribe, who had collected in the market-place, and were moving in a body towards the Spanish Chapel with hostile intentions. I was not acquainted with any of the Chiefs, but my kavass announced to them that I was the ‘Naib Ingliz,’ the friend of the Moors, who—having confidence in their good-will—had remained in Tangier, when all other Christians had fled.

‘Oh, friends and warriors of the faith!’ I exclaimed, ‘where are you going?’

They replied, with shouts,

‘It is our intention to destroy the dwelling of the accursed “kaffer” (unbeliever), and the Spanish place where they worship the devil, and to burn the pictures and idols it contains.’

I said, ‘Are you not aware that this house of the Spanish Bashador and all it contains, as also this place of worship since the declaration of war, is no longer the property of the Spaniards, but belongs to your Lord the Sultan? Moreover, the Spaniards do not worship the devil, but Allah—though their forms are different from yours and mine. That chapel is a house of God, and you would bring a curse on yourselves by committing such a sacrilege,[211] and would be punished by the Sultan for destroying his property. You are brave warriors of your faith, going to the seat of war to defend your country. War not against brick and mortar, the property of your Lord and Master the Sultan, but lose no time and hasten off to Ceuta to join your brethren in arms who await you.’

‘The Englishman speaks the truth,’ the chief Sheikh cried out. ‘He is the friend of the Mussulmans. Come away.’

Many of the wild fellows looked up as they passed and gave me a friendly nod.

Not a door, not even a pane of glass, was broken, and when peace was restored and the Spanish Legation and other Missions returned, everything was found safe and uninjured as they had left it.

During the war, my friend the Superior had died, and was succeeded by another very worthy priest, who devoted day and night to attending on the sick. All that he possessed he gave away in charity to the poor, but he was more fanatical and intolerant towards the ‘hereticos’—as he called all Christians of other than the Roman Catholic creed—than towards the Mohammedans and Jews.

On the return of the Franciscan Mission, after peace had been concluded, the Superior called and thanked me for having guarded the chapel and their property, which, he said, was found just as it had been left. I replied that it had afforded me much pleasure to be of service to the Franciscan friars, always so distinguished for their charity and kindness to the poor Christians and Mohammedans; and, ‘after all,’ I said, ‘Somos Cristianos y hermanos’ (‘we are Christians and brothers’).

The Padre looked very grave when I used this expression, and took his leave. The following day he called again, after dark, and requested to see me in private. He told me that he had been pondering over the expression I had used, ‘Somos Cristianos y hermanos.’ ‘If that be indeed the case,’ he added, ‘I rejoice; but I am surprised[212] that, as a Christian, you never attend at the Chapel. If, on the other hand, you are still a Protestant, then you are not a Christian or a brother, but a heretic, damned to all eternity.’ He continued, ‘Are you a Catholic?’

I replied, ‘Yes.’

‘Do you believe in God?’ ‘Yes.’

‘In the Trinity?’ ‘Yes.’

Then followed questions regarding the Sacraments, and whether I acknowledged the Pope as God’s Vicar on earth.

My responses no longer met the good Padre’s views; for he burst out, ‘I eschew you as a Christian! You are an accursed heretic, and shall burn hereafter in the everlasting fire of hell,’ and he raved in his excitement.

I interposed, ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged. Condemn not, lest ye be condemned;’ adding, with a smile, ‘you have declared that you believe I shall go to hell and suffer eternal punishment. Now, I declare my belief that you, for your good works and charity, will go to heaven, and there I hope to meet you. You see I have the more charity, since you have cursed me; but I say, God will bless you. I return good for evil, as taught by our Saviour. If you inquire,’ I continued, ‘regarding the belief of the members of the Church of England, to which I belong, or of Protestants in general, as you call us, you will find that we have the same moral laws as the Roman Catholics, and that the livery alone and the outward forms separate us from the Roman Catholic Church.’ So saying, I held out my hand to the good old fanatic, repeating, ‘You shall be blessed for your charity and kindness to all men.’

He took my hand in silence, and I bade him adieu.

Throughout these troubled times Mr. Hay rode daily, unattended, on the beach or in the country. One afternoon, when riding along the narrow road leading outside the town walls to the sea, he encountered an armed tribe coming in to join the forces then bound for the Tetuan district, the seat of war. As he passed quietly through[213] them, one of the men, cursing him for an infidel, spat at him. Mr. Hay at once retaliated by bringing his heavy hunting crop sharply down on the head of the offender, abusing him roundly the while.

In a moment the long guns of those who witnessed the occurrence were brought to their knees, and he heard the click of the clumsy flint-locks as they cocked their pieces.

Undaunted, he cried, ‘Shame on you, that would call yourselves men! Cowards, go and fight with women!’

Some of the elders, who were rather in the rear, observing the pause and disturbance, hurried forward and checked the excited tribesmen, and Mr. Hay, turning to them, said, ‘It is most unseemly and unworthy of the warriors of your race that these young men should attack an unarmed and unoffending individual. Is it for these youths to insult and abuse me, an Englishman, and the friend of the Moors?’

The elders soundly rated the offenders, and offered to bastinado, then and there, the chief culprit, which Mr. Hay however declined. They then frankly apologised, pleading that the men were under the influence of great excitement at the prospect of fighting the Spaniards, else they would never have behaved so ill to the ‘Ingliz,’ their friend. The weapons were lowered, and Mr. Hay rode through the midst of the horde, who made way for him quietly.

When peace was finally concluded, in 1860, it was in great measure due to Mr. Hay’s intervention. All the variations between hope and fear are chronicled in his letters home.

At last, on March 29, he is able to write:—

Altogether this period had been for him a time of great anxiety. His troubles were increased by a sharp attack of what is now known as ‘Russian influenza,’ which prostrated him just when affairs were in the most critical condition. He fought against the malady, however, in his anxiety to secure peace; but when his family returned to Tangier they found that the illness had left him with snow-white beard and moustache, who before had not a gray hair.

The three letters that follow were written from Meknes[214] during a mission undertaken by Mr. Hay to the Moorish Court with the object of inducing the Sultan to concede the demands of Spain, and to place the peace just concluded between the two countries on a firm basis.

As will be seen, great difficulties arose with regard to the payment of the indemnity claimed by Spain. The Sultan had asked the British Government to guarantee a loan, to which request they could not accede. During his sojourn at Meknes, Mr. Hay received a proposal from Mr. Forde, a British merchant, to raise a loan in England at 10 per cent., provided the British Government would make a convention with the Moorish Government by which the interests of the shareholders in the proposed loan would be safeguarded by the British Government. This matter was not concluded when Mr. Hay left Meknes, as much depended on the attitude taken by Spain. He writes to his mother from Meknes on July 18, 1861:—

Formal speeches were then exchanged and the Sultan withdrew. The letter continues:—

With the object of bringing negotiations to a conclusion, Mr. Hay subsequently paid a short visit to Rabát, where the Sultan was then staying. After his return to Tangier he writes on October 23 to his mother:—

Finally, in January, 1862, in virtue of a convention between Her Majesty the Queen and the Emperor of Morocco, the loan was issued in bonds amounting to £501,200. The terms of the payment were that half of the custom’s duties were to be hypothecated as security, Her Majesty undertaking to appoint Commissioners to receive the customs duties. The Consuls and consular agents at the various ports were directed to act as these commissioners, and the moneys so collected were delivered to the British Representative to be transferred by him to the contractors in London.

At the time the loan was issued, the customs duties were assessed as follows:—

It was expected that this sum would be increased by a duty on exportation of wheat and barley, which would have added another £100,000, raising the total to be paid to the contractors to £211,452[42].

[219]The other moiety of the customs duties was paid to the Spanish Government to cover the remainder of the war indemnity—they also appointing Commissioners.

When the loan was finally paid off in 1883, the returns were—

as against £322,904, quoted in 1862. This increase was attributable, not only to larger commerce, but also to the improved system introduced at the customs which Mr. Hay persuaded the Sultan to adopt. Hitherto the officials, as was common in Morocco, were a permanent unpaid staff, who were supposed to pay themselves by subtracting a percentage from the duties levied. Under the new system supervisors were appointed, who received a fixed salary, and these officials were changed every three months. This reform worked well. It at once materially increased the revenue derived from customs duties, and, after the loan and war indemnity were paid off in 1883, the Custom House officers continued to be appointed and paid on the same system.

Mr. Hay’s services were recognised by Her Majesty’s Government, and he writes to his wife’s sister in May, 1862:—

This eye trouble had its origin, no doubt, in the attack of influenza from which he had suffered in 1859, accompanied as it was by overstrain and work. It was further aggravated by his hurried journey to Meknes in the great heat of summer. For many years he continued to suffer, and, by the advice of eminent oculists in London and Paris,[220] gave up all reading and writing. All his letters and dispatches were written from his dictation. Though towards the latter part of his life Sir John in great measure recovered the use of his eyes, he was always unable to read much at night, and thus endured what to him was a great deprivation.

The following extract from the Gibraltar Chronicle of July 21, 1883, concludes the history of the Moorish loan.

During one of my hunting expeditions as a young man, I was surprised to see that one of the Moorish hunters, a noted marksman, named Ali Bufra, possessed a gun with a very long barrel of twisted iron, upon which was engraved, in European characters, the words ‘João Renauda, ano 1582.’

Ali was very proud of this weapon, maintaining that no gun barrel, ancient or modern, could be compared to it. Curiosity has since prompted me to inquire into the history and origin of this gun, and from various sources I gathered the materials upon which I have based the following tale.

Mulai Mohammed, Sultan of Fas, having been dethroned by his uncle, Mulai Abdelmalek, fled to Lisbon, where he sought the assistance of Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, to recover his throne.

King Sebastian, then a youth of twenty-two, and renowned for his valour, moved by feelings of compassion and generosity towards the unfortunate Sultan, and also by ambitious projects of conquest, acceded to the petition[242] of Mulai Mohammed, in opposition to the advice of his mother, Queen Catherine, who had been Regent during his long minority.

On June 25, 1578, King Sebastian assembled an army of 15,000 men at Lagos, and a fleet to convey the troops. This fleet sailed to the little port of Azaila, on the Atlantic coast, about twenty miles south of Tangier, and on July 29 the army landed and encamped on the ‘Sahel,’ or plain, six miles from Azaila.

Mulai Mohammed accompanied the army, having left his son at Lisbon as hostage and guarantee of his good faith. He had led King Sebastian to expect that a number of the Moorish tribes would join the Portuguese army, but these expectations were not realised.

Mulai Abdelmalek, Sultan of Fas, had assembled near the town of El Ksar an army of 40,000 cavalry, 10,000 infantry, and thirty-five cannon, besides an auxiliary force of wild tribes from the mountains of Beni Gorfet, Beni M’suar, &c. The Sultan was in bad health, and, being unable to mount his horse, was carried on a litter. He gave the command of the army to his brother, Mulai Ahmed.

On August 4 the Portuguese and Moorish forces met on the plain of Tamista. Mulai Ahmed, seeing the inferiority in numbers of the Portuguese forces, surrounded them, and began the attack on all sides. King Sebastian and his nobles behaved with great valour; and the King, though wounded at the commencement of the battle, charged amongst the hordes of Moorish cavalry, with the hope of rallying his troops scattered by the onslaught of the Moors. The King was slain, as also the nobles who had joined in the charge. Sultan Abdelmalek viewed from his litter the battle, and, though stricken with fever and in a very weak state, mounted his horse, notwithstanding the efforts made by his officers to dissuade him. The Sultan, who was then only thirty-five years of age, anxious to share the glory of victory, declared that he must perish[243] either by the hand of the enemy or that of God. He died on the field of battle from over-exertion. His death was kept secret until victory was assured and proclaimed, and Mulai Ahmed did not hear of the death of his brother until after the defeat of the Portuguese.

Mulai Mohammed was drowned in the river ‘Mahazen’ during the flight of the Portuguese army, most of whom were slain or made prisoners. Don Sebastian was buried at El Ksar, whence, it is said, his body was exhumed at the request of the King of Spain and transferred to Ceuta. Mulai Ahmed was proclaimed Sultan of Fas.

João, a Portuguese gunsmith, was taken prisoner, together with two companions, during the battle. Mulai Ahmed, now Sultan, gave orders that the Christian prisoners, numbering about a thousand, should be put to death or sold as slaves. Amongst the latter João and two Portuguese soldiers fell to the lot of Sheikh Shashon, Chief of the mountainous district of Beni M’suar, who dwelt in the village of Tsemsalla, about fifteen miles from Tangier. In the battle a brother of the Sheikh of Beni M’suar had been slain, so the Sheikh vowed his Christian prisoners should die, and thus avenge the death of his brother—blood for blood.

Cords were bound round the necks of João and his fellow-captives, and, with their hands tied behind their backs, they were led barefooted for two days over mountain passes until they reached Beni M’suar. On arrival at the village of Tsemsalla, a crowd collected of men, women, and children, who hooted and spat on the ‘infidels’ as they limped wearily on; the children crying out the old rhyme of ‘E’ Nesára fi E’ Snara: El Yahúd fi E’ Sfud[43].’ (‘The Nazarenes to the hook: the Jews to the spit.’)

[244]The Sheikh, to satisfy his feelings of revenge and those of his followers who had taken part in the great battle, decided to make the prisoners butts for shooting at with matchlocks, and notice was given to the villagers that on the following day the shooting would take place, so that every man who had lost a relative in the battle with the cursed Nazarene could have ‘blood for blood.’

João had a stout heart, but it quailed when he beheld the scowling countenances of the multitude who thronged around them, and he thought of the morrow. Having lived some time at Tangier, at that period in the possession of the Portuguese, he had picked up a smattering of Arabic from the inhabitants, and he heard the announcement of the cruel manner in which he was to meet his death, and felt that there would not be an eye amongst the hundreds who witnessed it to commiserate his cruel fate.

Iron fetters were fastened on João’s ankles, and locked with a key which the Sheikh took. There was no prison in the village, so two of the prisoners were cast, fettered, into a ‘matmor,’ or underground granary, closed by a large stone at the entrance, and a guard was placed near it; but João, whose appearance and manners showed he was of a better class, was imprisoned in a stable adjoining the Sheikh’s dwelling.

Before the captives were led to their respective places of confinement the women of the village were allowed to come and look upon the hated Nazarenes; so, muffled in their white ‘haiks’—after the men had withdrawn—they flocked around the wretched Portuguese. Many uttered curses, thinking of their husbands, fathers, or brothers who had been slain in the great battle; but João heard expressions of pity proceeding from a group of women as they looked upon the handsome young Nazarene condemned on the morrow to such a cruel death.

As night came on, João was put into the stable with a heavy chain fastened to his fetters and to an iron stake driven deep into the ground. A bowl of water, with some[245] coarse bread made of ‘dra’ (millet) was placed within his reach. João, worn out with fatigue from his long march, soon fell into a deep sleep: he dreamed that he had been placed by the Sheikh as a target, and that the gun which was aimed at his heart missed fire again and again, when he saw the figure of a woman, looking like an angel in a white garment, standing behind the Sheikh, and whenever the latter opened the pan of his flint-lock to put in fresh priming, she sprinkled water on the powder. Raising his arms in his sleep, João shouted out, ‘I die happy, for eyes of pity are upon me!’ In doing this he woke with a start, and saw the figure of a woman holding a green earthenware lamp. Bright eyes gleamed through the muffled ‘haik,’ and he fancied he recognised one of the women from whom he had heard expressions of pity. ‘It must be a dream,’ thought João, so he rubbed his eyes; but still the figure stood before him, and, in a trembling, sweet voice, said, ‘Nazarene! Do you believe in God and in the Day of Resurrection?’

João answered, ‘I believe.’

‘Trust then in Him,’ the figure continued; ‘He created Moslem and Christian. He is merciful to those who believe in and love Him. I seek to save you, Nazarene, from a cruel death. I shall never be happy if “Baba” (my father) puts you to death to-morrow, as he says he will, for you have eaten our bread. Baba takes counsel of no man, and is very hard-hearted, but he is always kind to me, for I am his only child. He has never denied me a favour; but when I begged for mercy towards you, he replied, “Nazarenes are ‘kaffers’ (rebels against God); they do not believe in God and the last Day; they are hateful in the sight of God and of all true believers, and therefore are accursed. The prisoners must die.”’ So saying, the gentle girl sobbed piteously; but after a pause continued, ‘Nazarene, you have a good, kind face. I feel certain you must love God and that He loves you. Upon my head will be your blood if I do not save you. It is past midnight[246] and Baba is asleep; but as I lay on my couch I could not rest, thinking of the cruel death prepared for you to-morrow. Can you ride, Nazarene? Can you face danger bravely?’ demanded she, her eyes flashing brightly from under her ‘haik’ as she spoke.

João rubbed his eyes again to make sure it was not a dream. ‘I can ride,’ he replied; ‘I have no fear of death, and I feel happy now that a woman’s pity has fallen on me.’

‘See, Nazarene!’ she said, taking a key from her bosom, ‘this, which I drew from beneath the pillow of my sleeping father, will release you.’ So saying she bent and unlocked the fetters; then, pointing to a saddle and bridle hanging in the stable, she continued, ‘Put those on the gray mare; she is the fastest animal in the village. Here are my father’s spurs, and here is a “jelab” to hide your Christian garb: follow the road you came by until out of the village, then ride fast towards the setting stars. Why do you hesitate? There is no time to be lost: the mare never fails, and will have the speed over all pursuers. Gird on also this sword which I have here concealed; it is my father’s trusty weapon.’

João shook his head and replied, ‘I cannot do what may bring you into trouble, even to save my life.’

The girl stamped her little foot, saying, ‘Do at once as I direct, or I shall hate you. Baba loves me dearly: he will not kill me. I should never be happy again if you, our guest, were cruelly murdered to-morrow.’

But João repeated, ‘I must not and cannot accept your offer. I can die happily and bravely now, since I feel there will be one gentle heart to pity me.’