S.L. Bensusan - Morocco

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But we were to find no rest in the shade of Sidi el Muktar's stately
zowia. The "Sons of Lions" had raided the place on the previous day,
hoping to terminate alike the rule and the existence of a kaid whose hand
had rested too heavily upon them. Some friend of the kaid having given him
due notice of the raiders' intentions--treachery is a painfully common
feature of these forays--he had been well prepared to meet these godless
men. Powder had spoken, and was to speak again, for the kaid, having
driven off the raiders, was going to carry war into the enemy's country,
and was busy preparing to start on the morrow at daybreak. At such a time
as this it had not been wise to pitch tent within sound or sight of men
with the killing lust upon them. Very reluctantly we rode on for another
two hours and then Ain Umast, a douar that is famous for its possession of
a well of pure water, received us with nightfall. There our troubles were
over, for though the place was more than commonly dirty, the inhabitants
were peaceable and disposed to be friendly. A few crops were raised on the
surrounding fields, and small herds of sheep and goats managed to pick up
some sort of a living on the surrounding lands, but poverty reigned there,
and Ain Umast is of small account by the side of Sidi el Muktar, which is
the burial-place of a saint, whose miracles are still acknowledged by all
the faithful who happen to have met with good luck of any sort.

[Illustration: A GOATHERD]

Bread, butter, and eggs were brought for the muleteers, and I was
greatly surprised by the cleanliness of the men. Before they broke an egg
for the omelette they washed it with greatest care. They themselves stood
far more in need of a washing than the eggs did, but perhaps they could
not be expected to think of everything. Barley was bought, at half the
price charged at Ain el Baidah, and I noticed that the cunning Susi hid
some of it in the long bag they kept at the bottom of one of the
_shwarris_. Clearly they intended to make the supply we paid for serve to
take them all the way to Tiensiert. This was annoying, since one of the
objects of ordering a good supply each night was to enable the
long-suffering beasts to compass a better speed on the following day.

That evening there was great excitement in the douar. The elders came
round our fire after supper and sought to know if it were true that the
"Sons of Lions" had blotted out Sidi el Muktar, and put all its
inhabitants to the sword. When we declared that the little town was still
where it had stood since they were born, they appeared distinctly
surprised, and gave the praise and credit to the patron saint. They said
the kaid's hand was a very heavy one, that his men went to the Wednesday
market and were the terror of the country folks who came to buy and sell.
The absence of the Court Elevated by Allah was to be deplored, for had my
Lord Abd-el-Aziz been in residence at Marrakesh some other kaid would have
made him a bid for the place of the ruler of Sidi el Muktar, basing his
offer upon the fact that the present governor could not keep order. A
change might have been for the better--it could hardly have been for the
worse. One or two of the men of Ain Umast spoke Shilha, and the Susi men,
hearing the cruelties of Sidi el Muktar's ruler discussed, claimed to have
a far better specimen of the genus kaid in Tiensiert. He was a man indeed,
ready with fire and sword at the shortest notice; his subjects called him
Father of Locusts, so thoroughly did he deal with all things that could be
eaten up.

It was a curious but instructive attitude. These miserable men were quite
proud to think that the tyranny of their kaid, the great El Arbi bel Hadj
ben Haida, was not to be rivalled by anything Shiadma could show. They
instanced his treatment of them and pointed to the young boy who was of
their company. His father had been kaid in years past, but the late Grand
Wazeer Ba Ahmad sold his office to El Arbi, who threw the man into prison
and kept him there until he died. To show his might, El Arbi had sent the
boy with them, that all men might know how the social scales of Tiensiert
held the kaid on one side and the rest of the people on the other. The
black slave who accompanied them had been brought up by the late kaid's
father, and was devoted to the boy. In his mercy El Arbi allowed him to
live with the lad and work a small farm, the harvest of which was strictly
tithed by Tiensiert's chief--who took a full nine-tenths. Before the
evening was over the elders of Ain Umast had acknowledged, rather
regretfully I thought, that the tyrant of Sidi el Muktar must hide a
diminished head before his brother of the Sus. The triumph of the grimy
men from Tiensiert was then complete.

They were a sorry set of fellows enough, to outward seeming, but how shall
a European judge them fairly? Stevenson says in one of his Essays,
"Justice is not done to the versatility and the unplumbed childishness of
man's imagination. His life from without may seem but a rude mound of mud;
there will be some golden chamber at the heart of it, in which he dwells
delighted; and for as dark as his pathway seems to the observer, he will
have some kind of bull's-eye at his belt." So, doubtless, had I had the
eyes that see below the surface, these hardy traders, the best of whose
hopes and actions were hidden from me, would have been no less interesting
than the Maalem or the young shareef.

In view of the disturbed state of the country I thought of having a few
extra guards, but finding the two already engaged sleeping peacefully
before our tent was closed, it seemed likely that a couple of sleeping men
would be as useful as four. I fear they had a troubled night, for though
the "Sons of Lions" did not trouble us, a short, sharp shower came with
the small hours and woke the poor fellows, who asked for extra money in
the morning by way of consolation for their broken rest. By five o'clock
we were astir, and soon after we were on the road again, bound for the
village of Hanchen, where a small Sok Thalata[49] is held. After a brief
mid-day rest we reached the outskirts of the Argan Forest.

This great forest is quite the distinctive feature of Southern Morocco.
The argan tree, that gives a name to it, is the indigenous olive of the
country, and is found only in the zone between the Tensift river and the
river Sus. Argan wood is exceedingly hard and slow growing, thus differing
materially from the olive, to which it seems so nearly related. The trunk
divides low down, sometimes within six feet of the roots, and the branches
grow horizontally. If the Moors are right, the age of the elders of the
forest is to be counted in centuries, and the wood can defy the attacks of
insects that make short-work of other trees. The leaves of the argan
recall those of the olive, but have even a lighter silvery aspect on the
underside; the fruit is like the olive, but considerably larger, and is
sought after by many animals. Goats climb among the branches in search of
the best nuts. Camels and cows will not pass an argan tree if given the
slightest chance to linger. The animals that eat the nuts reject their
kernels, and the Moors collect these in order to extract the oil, which is
used in cooking, for lighting purposes, and as medicine. After extraction
the pulp is eagerly accepted by cattle, so no part of the valued fruit is
wasted. One of the giants of the forest, said to be four hundred years
old, has before now given shade to a regiment of soldiers; I saw for
myself that the circumference of its branches was more than two hundred
feet.

[Illustration: COMING FROM THE MOSQUE, HANCHEN]

But it must not be thought that the Argan Forest is composed entirely of
these trees. The argan dominates the forest but does not account for
its beauty. The r'tam is almost as plentiful, and lends far more to the
wood's colour scheme, for its light branches are stirred by every breeze.
Dwarf-palm is to be found on all sides, together with the arar or citrus,
and the double-thorned lotus. The juniper, wild pear, and cork trees are
to be met with now and again, and the ground is for the most part a sea of
flowers almost unknown to me, though I could recognise wild thyme,
asphodel, and lavender amid the tamarisk and myrtle undergrowth. At
intervals the forest opens, showing some large douar that was built
probably on the site of a well, and there industrious village folks have
reclaimed the land, raised crops, and planted orchards. Olive, fig, and
pomegranate seem to be the most popular trees, and corn is grown in the
orchards too, possibly in order that it may have the benefit of the trees'
shade. The soil that can raise corn and fruit trees together must have
exceptional vitality and richness, particularly in view of the fact that
it is in no way fed, and is rather scraped or scratched than truly
ploughed.

The village of Hanchen, known for miles round as "Sok Thalata" by reason
of its weekly gathering, might well serve to justify a halt. It straggles
over a hill surrounded on all sides by the forest, it has a saint's shrine
of fair size and imposing aspect, a good supply of water, and very
peaceful inhabitants. At the base of the slope, some fifty yards from the
broad track leading to the coast, there was an orchard of more than common
beauty, even for Southern Morocco. The pomegranates, aflower above the
ripening corn, had finer blossoms than any I had seen before, the
fig-trees were Biblical in their glossy splendour. Mules were footsore,
the Susi men were tired, the weather was perfect, time was our own for a
day or two, and I was aching to take my gun down the long glades that
seemed to stretch to the horizon. So we off-saddled, and pitched our tent
in the shadow of a patriarchal fig-tree. Then the mules were eased of
their burdens and fed liberally, Salam standing between the poor beasts
and the muleteers, who would have impounded a portion of their hard-earned
meal.

The heat of the afternoon was passing; I loaded my gun and started out. At
first sight of the weapon some score of lads from the village--athletic,
vigorous boys, ready to go anywhere and do anything--made signs that they
would come and beat for me. With Salam's help I gave them proper
instructions; my idea was to shoot enough of fur and feather to give the
muleteers a good supper.

At the outset a sorry accident befell. A fat pigeon came sailing overhead,
so well fed that it was hard to believe he was a pigeon at all. This being
the sort of bird that suits hungry men, I fired and was well pleased to
note the swift direct fall, and to hear the thud that tells of a clean
kill. To my surprise the beaters remained where they were, none offering
to pick up the bird. There were glum and serious looks on every side. I
motioned one lad to go forward, and, to my amazement, he made the sign
that is intended to avert the evil eye, and declared that he took refuge
from me with Allah.

I sent for Salam, and, as he approached, a chorus of explanations came to
him from all sides. The pigeon came from the zowia of El Hanchen. It was
sacred--that is why it was so fat. This was a bad beginning, and a matter
that demanded careful handling. So I sent M'Barak, representing official
Morocco, to express to El Hanchen's headman my extreme sorrow and sincere
regret. The blessed one was instructed to assure the village that I had no
suspicion of the bird's holiness, and that it was my rule in life to
respect everything that other men respected. It seemed courteous to await
the kaid's return before resuming operations, and he came back in half an
hour with word that the headman, while deeply regretting the incident,
recognised the absence of bad intention. He asked that the sacred slain
might not be eaten. I sent back word thanking him for his courteous
acceptance of my explanations, and promising that the fat pigeon should
receive decent burial. A small hole was dug on the sunny side of the
fig-tree, and there the sacred bird was interred. I hope that the worms
proved as particular as we had been.

Duty done, we went off to the woods, the beaters, now quite reassured,
driving stock-doves over in quantities that left no reason to fear about
the muleteers' supper. While birds were the quarry the lads worked well,
but now and again a hare would start from her form, and every boy would
join in the headlong, hopeless chase that ensued. It was impossible to
check them, and equally impossible to shoot at the hare. While she was
within gunshot the lads were close on her heels, and by the time she had
distanced them or dashed into the long grasses and scrub she was out of
range or out of sight. In vain I waved them back and complained when they
returned panting; as soon as another hare got up they went after her in
the same way, until at last, taking advantage of a wild chase that had
carried them rather a longer distance than usual, I took a sharp turn and
strolled away quite by myself. I heard the excited cries die away in the
distance, and then for some few moments the forest silence was broken only
by the rustle of the breeze through the grass, and the sudden scream of a
startled jay. Doves went happily from tree to tree and I never put my gun
up. I had heard a very familiar sound, and wanted to be assured that my
ears were not deceived. No, I was right; I could hear the cuckoo, calling
through the depth of the forest, as though it were my favourite Essex
copse at home. It was pleasant, indeed, to hear the homely notes so far
from any other object, even remotely, connected with England.

I strolled for an hour or more, listening to the "wandering voice,"
heedless of what passed me by, at peace with all the world, and resolved
to shoot no more. Alas, for good intentions! Coming suddenly into a great
clearing girdled by argan trees, I flushed two large birds some forty
yards away. The first was missed, the second came down and proved to be a
Lesser Bustard or _boozerat_--quite a prize. Well content, I emptied the
gun to avoid temptation and walked back to the camp, where there was
quite a fair bag.

"Tell the muleteers, Salam," I said, "that they may have these birds for
their supper, and that I hope they will enjoy themselves."

Salam wore a rather troubled expression, I thought, as he went to the head
muleteer and pointed to the spoils. Then he came back and explained to me
that their dietary laws did not allow the Susi to eat anything that had
not been killed by bleeding in the orthodox fashion. Had they been with
me, to turn wounded birds to the East and cut their throats in the name of
Allah, all would have been well, but birds shot dead were an abomination
to the righteous Susi. They scorned to avail themselves of the excuse
afforded by their needs.[50] So my labour had been in vain, and I did not
know what to do with the spoil. But I left the slain in a little heap out
of the way of insects and flies, and when we rose in the morning the
unorthodox among Hanchen's inhabitants had apparently solved the problem.

FOOTNOTES:

[48] The Camel's Jaw.

[49] "Tuesday market."

[50] "I find not in that which hath been revealed to me anything forbidden
unto the eater ... except it be that which dieth of itself ... or that
which is profane, having been slain in the name of some other than God.
But whoso shall be compelled of necessity to eat these things, not lusting
nor wilfully transgressing, verily thy Lord will be gracious unto him and
merciful."--Al Koran, Sura, "Cattle."

IN THE ARGAN FOREST

[Illustration: EVENING AT HANCHEN]

CHAPTER XI

IN THE ARGAN FOREST

Life, even at its greatest and best, may be compared to a froward
child, who must be humoured and played with till he falls asleep, and
then the care is over.

--_Goldsmith._

Early morning found the Tuesday market in full swing, and the town of
Hanchen already astir in honour of the occasion. To realise the importance
of the weekly gathering, it is well to remember that a market in the
country here is the only substitute for the bazaar of the towns. Every
douar within a ten-mile radius of Hanchen sends men and women to the
Tuesday market to buy and sell. So it befell that the hillside slope,
which was bare on the previous afternoon, hummed now like a hive, and was
well nigh as crowded. Rough tents of goats' or camels'-hair cloth
sheltered everything likely to appeal to the native mind and
resources,--tea, sugar, woollen and cotton goods, pottery, sieves,
padlocks, and nails being to all appearance the goods most sought after by
the country Moor. Quite a brisk demand for candles prevailed; they were
highly-coloured things, thick at the base and tapering to the wick. There
was a good sale too for native butter, that needed careful straining
before it could be eaten with comfort, and there were eggs in plenty,
fetching from twopence to threepence the dozen, a high price for Morocco,
and brought about by the export trade that has developed so rapidly in the
last few years. For the most part the traders seemed to be Berbers or of
evident Berber extraction, being darker and smaller than the Arabs, and in
some cases wearing the dark woollen outer garment, with its distinctive
orange-coloured mark on the back. Women and little children took no small
part in the market, but were perhaps most concerned with the sale of the
chickens that they brought from their homes, tied by the legs in bundles
without regard to the suffering entailed. The women did rather more than a
fair share of porters' work too. Very few camels were to be seen, but I
noticed one group of half a dozen being carefully fed on a cloth, because,
like all their supercilious breed, they were too dainty to eat from the
ground. They gurgled quite angrily over the question of precedence. A
little way from the tents in which hardware was exposed for sale, bread
was being baked in covered pans over a charcoal fire fanned by bellows,
while at the bottom of the hill a butcher had put up the rough tripod of
wooden poles, from which meat is suspended. The slaughter of sheep was
proceeding briskly. A very old Moor was the official slaughter-man, and he
sat in the shade of a wall, a bloody knife in hand, and conversed gravely
with villagers of his own age. When the butcher's assistants had brought
up three or four fresh sheep and stretched them on the ground, the old man
would rise to his feet with considerable effort, cut the throats that
were waiting for him very cleanly and expeditiously, and return to his
place in the shade, while another assistant spread clean earth over the
reeking ground. Some of the sheep after being dressed were barbecued.

I saw many women and girls bent under the weight of baskets of charcoal,
or firewood, or loads of hay, and some late arrivals coming in heavily
burdened in this fashion were accompanied by their husband, who rode at
ease on a donkey and abused them roundly because they did not go quickly
enough. Mules and donkeys, with fore and hind leg hobbled, were left in
one corner of the market-place, to make up in rest what they lacked in
food. Needless to say that the marketing was very brisk, but I noted with
some interest that very little money changed hands. Barter was more common
than sale, partly because the Government had degraded its own currency
until the natives were fighting shy of it, and partly because the owners
of the sheep and goats were a company of true Bedouins from the extreme
South. These Bedouins were the most interesting visitors to the Tuesday
market, and I was delighted when one of them recognised Salam as a friend.
The two had met in the days when an adventurous Scot set up in business at
Cape Juby in the extreme South, where I believe his Majesty Lebaudy the
First is now king.

The Saharowi was an exceedingly thin man, of wild aspect, with flowing
hair and scanty beard. His skin was burnt deep brown, and he was dressed
in a blue cotton garment of guinea cloth made in simplest fashion. He was
the chief of a little party that had been travelling for two months with
faces set toward the North. He reminded Salam of Sidi[51] Mackenzie, the
Scot who ruled Cape Juby, and how the great manager, whose name was known
from the fort to Tindouf, had nearly poisoned him by giving him bread to
eat when he was faint with hunger. These true Bedouins live on milk and
cheese, with an occasional piece of camel or goat flesh, and a rare taste
of mutton. When Salam's friend came starving to Cape Juby, Sidi Mackenzie
had given him bread. The hungry man ate some and at once became violently
ill, his stomach could not endure such solid fare. Having no milk in the
fort, they managed to keep him alive on rice-water. It would appear that
the Saharowi can easily live on milk for a week, and with milk and cheese
can thrive indefinitely, as indeed could most other folk, if they cared to
forswear luxury and try.

[Illustration: ON THE ROAD TO ARGAN FOREST]

The little party was travelling with some hundreds of sheep and goats,
which were being tended a little way off by the children, and, large
though their flocks seemed, they were in truth sadly reduced by the
drought that had driven one and all to the North. The Saharowi explained
to Salam that all the wandering Arabs were trekking northwards in search
of land that had seen the rain; and that their path was strewn with the
skeletons of animals fallen by the way. These nomads carried their wives
and little ones, together with tents and household impedimenta, on the
camels, and walked on foot with the grown children in charge of the
flocks. The sheep they had sold to the butcher were in fair condition, and
fetched from four to five shillings in English money, or the equivalent of
this sum in goods, for when a Saharowi approaches civilised lands he is
generally in need of some of the products of civilisation, or thinks he
is, though, at need, he manages excellently well without them.

Among the miscellaneous gathering that the Tuesday market had attracted to
Hanchen I noticed a small company of acrobats from the Sus, and a medicine
man of fierce aspect, who sat by himself under a rough tent, muttering
charms and incantations, and waiting for Allah to send victims. This
wonder-worker had piercing eyes, that seemed to examine the back of your
head, long matted hair and a beard to match. He wore a white djellaba and
a pair of new slippers, and was probably more dangerous than any disease
he aided and abetted.

For the amusement of the people who did not care for acrobatic feats and
stood in no need of the primitive methods of the physician, there was a
story-teller, who addressed a somewhat attenuated circle of phlegmatic
listeners, and a snake-charmer who was surrounded by children. Sidi ben
Aissa undoubtedly kept the snakes--spotted leffas from the Sus--from
hurting his follower, but not even the saint could draw _floos_ from poor
youngsters whose total wealth would probably have failed to yield
threepence to the strictest investigator. Happily for them the charmer was
an artist in his way; he loved his work for its own sake, and abated no
part of his performance, although the reward would hardly buy him and his
assistant a meal of mutton and bread at their labour's end. The boys of
Hanchen were doing brisk business in the brass cases of cartridges that
had been fired on the previous day, and without a doubt the story of the
wonders of a repeating gun lost nothing in the telling.

[Illustration: THE SNAKE-CHARMER]

There was no interval for rest when the hours of greatest heat came round.
Late arrivals who travelled in on mule- or donkey-back renewed business
when it slackened, and brought fresh goods to be sold or exchanged. The
"Sons of Lions" had broken up the market at Sidi el Muktar on the previous
Friday before it was properly concluded, and many natives, disappointed
there, had come out to Hanchen to do their business, until there seemed to
be nothing in any stall that lacked buyers. Even the old man who had a
heap of scrap-iron when the market opened had sold every piece of it by
four o'clock, though it would have puzzled a European to find any use for
such rubbish. The itinerant mender of slippers was hard at work with three
young lads, and I never saw any one of the party idle. Hawks and corbies
fluttered over the butcher's ground, and I noticed a vulture in the deep
vault of the sky. Pariah dogs would clear every bit of refuse from the
ground before another day dawned, and in their nasty fashion would serve
their country, for the weather was very hot and the odours were
overpowering. Flies covered all unprotected meat until it ceased to look
red, and the stall of the seller of sweetmeats was a study in black and
white: black when the swarms settled, and white for a brief moment when he
switched them off with his feathery bamboo brush. Yet, in spite of the
many difficulties under which trade was carried on, one could not help
feeling that buyers and sellers alike were enjoying themselves hugely. The
market did more than help them to make a living. It was at once their
club, their newspaper, and their theatre, and supplied the one recreation
of lives that--perhaps only to European seeming--were tedious as a
twice-told tale.

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