A Memoir of 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 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.

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.

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. 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 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 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,

‘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 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 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 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, 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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.

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.

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 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.

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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.’

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 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 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 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 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, 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, 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 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.’

‘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 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?’

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.

‘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 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 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 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 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 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 ‘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 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 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! 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 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 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 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.’

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.

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 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.

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 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 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 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.

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 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.

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 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 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 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.

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 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:—

‘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 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.

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 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 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 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 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 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, 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.

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 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, 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 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 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 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.

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 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 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 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, 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, 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. 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 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 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 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?’

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, 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 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.

‘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.

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 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 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 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.

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 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 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.

‘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.

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 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. 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 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.

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 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 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.

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 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 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 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 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 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.

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, 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 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, 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 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 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 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:—

Imports paying 10 per cent	£91,676
Exports paying 25 per cent	231,228
Total	£322,904

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].

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—

Exports	£832,212
Imports	807,536
Total	£1,639,748

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, 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 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 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.’)

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 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 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.’

The Sheikh’s daughter, trembling with emotion, exclaimed, ‘Are you mad, Nazarene, that you reject the only chance of saving your life?’

‘Listen, sweet maiden,’ he replied, ‘never will I do that which might expose you to the anger of your father; but I have a proposal to make, which, if carried out, may ensure my safety. You say that you have influence over your father: tell him to convey me at once, a prisoner, to the Sultan, to whom I can render great service. Not only will His Majesty employ me, but your father, by taking me to the Court, will rise into high favour. I am João, the well-known Portuguese gunsmith, who forges twisted barrels, a craft unknown in Morocco. Before the battle so fatal to us Portuguese, your Sultan, Mulai Abdelmalek, dispatched a secret messenger to Tangier, and offered me a handsome sum of money and high wages if I would go to Fas and enter his service. See,’ he continued, taking from the breast-pocket of his coat a paper, ‘here is the Sultan’s own signet with a recent date, which will vouch for the truth of what I tell you. In the early morn, before your father leaves his couch, go to him and say you found in the place where I was confined this paper: let the Sheikh read it. The hope he may then entertain of winning the Sultan’s favour should suffice to ensure my safety.’

‘Thanks be to the Almighty!’ said the maiden. ‘He is merciful to those who trust in Him! I shall see my father before dawn and show him the Sultan’s seal.’

‘Stay one moment,’ said João, ‘and relock my fetters, lest your visit to me be suspected.’

As she stooped to relock the fetters the folds of the ‘haik’ fell from her head. She was young—about sixteen; her eyes were dark blue, long black hair curled on her shoulders, her features were regular, her complexion olive: slim, but not tall, she wore a blue cloth caftan, embroidered with red and green silk, reaching below her knees: around her waist was a broad silken sash: her feet were bare. A coral necklace, silver bracelets and earrings were her only ornaments. Smiling and blushing, she caught up her ‘haik’ to hide her face.

‘Oh, maiden,’ said João, ‘prithee let me know the name of one who has sought to save my life.’

As she turned hurriedly to depart she said, ‘My name is Rahma’ (mercy).

Relocking the stable door, the girl returned to her room and lay on her couch, but could not sleep. On the first streak of dawn appearing she went to her father, who was occupied with his morning prayers and prostrations. ‘God be praised!’ thought Rahma. ‘Baba is always in a better humour after his prayers.’

The Sheikh, on seeing his daughter as he rose from his devotions, cried out, ‘Well, light of my eyes, what brings you so early? You look pale this morning. Have you not slept well? Methought the return of your father safe from battle would have made my star shine brighter. Sit down and tell me all. Who has displeased you? What is it?’

‘Oh, Baba!’ she replied, ‘your safe return had made me most happy, but now I feel miserable and very sad; for you have declared you intend to shoot, this day, the Nazarene who has eaten bread under our roof.’

‘Daughter,’ said the Sheikh, frowning severely, ‘know you not that your uncle was killed by the infidel Portuguese? These prisoners are their countrymen, and disbelievers in God, therefore they must die. Whence comes this foolish pity? Know you not that your mother—upon whose soul may God have mercy!—was a Sherífa? a descendant of the Prophet, upon whose head be blessings!’

‘Yes, Baba,’ replied Rahma, ‘but did not the Prophet, to whom we pray, say, “He that believes in God and the Day of Resurrection shall have his reward, even though he be not a Moslem?” This prisoner, the Nazarene now in your stable, believes in God and the last Day.’

‘Who told you? What do you mean?’ cried the Sheikh, sternly, rising and placing his hand angrily on Rahma’s shoulder. The girl turned pale and sobbed out,—

‘Have patience, Baba, and I will tell you all. Never have I deceived you nor dissembled my most secret thoughts.’ She then related, with a faltering voice, how she had visited the prisoner and what had passed between her and João.

The Sheikh was very angry, though he felt amused at the innocent story and courage of his beloved child. He had a very hard heart, but often, through her intercession, the cruel Sheikh had been led to be kind and charitable in his deeds.

‘See,’ she continued, ‘what I found in the prisoner’s room: a paper with the Sultan’s signet.’ The Sheikh read it, and his countenance changed. After a pause he said, ‘’Tis well, Rahma, that this paper, bearing the signet of our Lord the Sultan, has been found. If this Nazarene prove to be João, the famous gunsmith, I forgive your rash and unmaidenly conduct: but be careful for the future, never to enter without me or an attendant any place where a man, Christian or Moslem, may be.’

‘Baba,’ answered Rahma, ‘I always obey you; but if you care for my happiness do not shoot the Christian. Do him no harm, he has eaten our bread and he believes in God. Until I am sure he is safe, I eat no bread nor even drink water.’

‘Begone, silly child!’ said the Sheikh. ‘Set your mind at rest, for I swear by Allah that João dies not this day.’

The Sheikh then read the edict again and again, muttering to himself, ‘If this Nazarene be João the gunsmith, of whose fame we have all heard, my fortune is made should I present him to the Sultan; whilst, were I to take the life of the cursed infidel, and it came to the ears of my Lord and Master that I had put to death the holder of his Sherifian edict, I risk the loss of my head. Before coming to a decision I shall verify, without delay, whether this infidel is what he pretends to be. If he be the gunmaker, I shall be off to the Court the day after to-morrow: if not, he shall be shot.’

Preparations had already been made in the early morning by the villagers for placing the three Nazarenes as targets. An ox had been killed and a great feast prepared: the mingled sounds of pipes and drums were heard, and gun-dances, accompanied with frantic yells, were being performed by the youths of the village. The elders, with their long guns, squatted in circles and discussed the events of the late great battle; whilst, with revenge rankling in their hearts, they awaited with impatience the order from the Sheikh to have the three Nazarenes brought out to be shot.

The order was at length given by the Sheikh that the two prisoners confined in the ‘matmor’ should be led to the spot where they were to become the butts for the villagers to shoot; whilst two slaves, with drawn swords, brought along João from the stable, his hands bound and his fetters clanging on the ground as he moved slowly towards the place of execution.

João was resigned. ‘As I am to die,’ he thought, ‘I thank God I have a clear conscience, in that I have never wilfully wronged a fellow-creature.’ Then he remembered the kind pity shown him by the daughter of the Sheikh, and said to himself, ‘As I am to die, that sweet maiden at least will have pity and will mourn for me.’ So he walked erect through the throng of spectators with as firm a step as the fetters would permit, and was conducted to the Sheikh, who was seated on a hillock near the site chosen for the execution of the prisoners. Crowds of women and children thronged on each side of his path, and as he passed near some muffled figures of women, João heard the words, ‘Put your trust in God, He is merciful!’ and his heart leapt with joy, for he recognised the sweet voice of the Sheikh’s daughter.

When the three prisoners were placed in front of the Sheikh, he thus addressed them: ‘Oh, Kaffers! Enemies of our Faith! prepare for death and the eternal punishment which awaits you hereafter. You,’ he said, turning to João, ‘boast that you are the famous Portuguese gunsmith. Does this Sherifian edict of our Lord and Master the Sultan belong to you?’ holding it out, as he spoke, for João to see.

‘I am João, the gunsmith,’ the latter replied.

‘Prove it,’ said the Sheikh, ‘before twenty-four hours pass, by making a twisted gun-barrel; a forge and implements shall be prepared. If you fail, you will be placed as a target and perish under the fire of the Faithful; and, as for the other prisoners’ (turning towards them), ‘Kaffers!’ he exclaimed, ‘Blood for blood! You shall both die, and thus those whose brethren were slain by the accursed infidels shall have their revenge!’

With a loud voice João cried out, ‘I swear by the Holy Cross of Christ, if you injure a hair of the head of my countrymen, I shall not do what you have proposed in order to prove that I am the gunsmith. Neither durst thou, O Sheikh! put me or my countrymen to death unless prepared to incur the dire displeasure of the Sultan.’ Then, turning round to the assembly of elders, he continued in a loud voice: ‘I am João the gunsmith, the maker of twisted barrels, and as I have been offered by the Sultan a large sum to serve His Majesty, whosoever amongst you may have cause to be dissatisfied with the Sheikh, and will give immediate notice at the Court that I am a prisoner here and that the Sheikh has threatened to take my life, will be sure to obtain high favour with His Majesty, who wishes to employ me, as the Sheikh knows right well from the Sherifian edict now in his possession. We three Portuguese soldiers were taken prisoners in battle, and not in the commission of crime. The Sheikh calls us rebels against God, but we believe in the Almighty as you do. We have the same law as you from God, “Thou shalt do no murder.”’

Sheikh Shashon shook with rage and fear: he knew he had enemies amongst the tribe, as many had suffered from his tyranny and extortion: so he dreaded lest some one should hasten to the Court and report to the Sultan that the gunsmith João was his prisoner and sentenced to death. Turning therefore to the slaves who guarded the prisoners, he said, ‘Take the infidels back to their place of confinement. They shall die a more cruel death than that of being shot, since this accursed Nazarene has dared to threaten me in such an insolent manner.’

Murmurs arose amongst the crowd that the prisoners should at once be slain, some crying out ‘Blood for blood,’ but the more prudent elders told the Sheikh that João ought to be taken at once to the Sultan to make gun-barrels for the Faithful to fight with against the Christians.

After much uproar the prisoners were led off, and the Sheikh returned to his dwelling, having made up his mind, from fear of incurring the Sultan’s displeasure, to prepare at once to proceed to the Court. He sent for Rahma, and when she appeared, said, ‘Loved daughter! I have met your wishes, and shall spare the lives of the Christians. To-morrow they will accompany me to Fas to be delivered over to the Sultan, who may, if such be his will, put them to death, should the Nazarene who calls himself João the gunsmith prove to be an impostor.’

Rahma embraced her father but said not a word. She rejoiced in her heart, for she was certain João was not an impostor, but she felt sad that he was to leave, and that she could never hope to see again the handsome young Christian whose life she had endeavoured to save, but who, after all, might suffer death hereafter by order of the Sultan.

‘Light of my eyes!’ said the Sheikh, ‘do not look so sad. Is it because I leave you? Please God, I shall soon return and prepare for your wedding with my friend old Sheikh Amar.’

‘Baba,’ she replied, ‘now indeed all gladness has left my heart, for I can never marry and leave you.’

‘Silly child! Go tell Embarek and the other slaves to prepare for our departure to-morrow, and let two mules have packs put on them to convey the prisoners. Two can ride together, with fetters, upon one mule, and João shall have his fetters taken off and ride the other. Thus shall the Christian be treated kindly, as you have interceded for him, but he must swear by Allah that he will not attempt to escape. Now tell your handmaids to direct the guards to bring João here, and put on your ‘haik’ and cover your face, my daughter, so that you may remain in the room and hear what the infidel says, and the orders I am about to give.’

When João entered, the artful Sheikh put on a smiling countenance and said, ‘João, I have decided on taking you to the Court, as our Lord and Master, according to the Sherifian edict which I have read, offered to take you into his service as a gunsmith. I wish you to forget all that has passed and that we may become good friends.’—‘Take off his fetters,’ he said to the slaves, ‘and go.’—Then turning to João, ‘No guard is necessary,’ said he, ‘for you are now at liberty, João, if you will swear by Allah that you will not attempt to escape.’

The fetters were removed from João, who was about to give a haughty retort, when Rahma, who stood a little behind her father, lowered her veil and placed her finger on her lips with an imploring expression, so João replied, smiling, ‘I thank you, Sheikh, and accept your proffered friendship and will forget the past. I also swear by God, in Whom as you have rightly said I believe, that I shall not attempt to escape; but I have to beg that my fellow-prisoners also have their fetters removed and be treated kindly.’

Rahma, bending down to her father’s ear, whispered, ‘Have pity on the poor Christians. God’s blessing will then be with you, Oh my father!’ Whereupon the Sheikh, turning to João, replied, ‘It shall be as you wish, and I will see these two prisoners at once.’ So saying he clapped his hands, but neither Embarek nor any other attendant answered the summons, and the Sheikh, rising hastily, stepped into the courtyard calling loudly for Embarek.

João then hurriedly poured forth, in a low voice, his heartfelt thanks to the gentle Rahma, and taking off a silver chain which he wore concealed round his neck and to which was attached a small cross, said, ‘Accept this in remembrance of one who owes his life to you, and whose fondest hope now will be to see you again in this world.’

‘Never can that be,’ replied Rahma, placing as she spoke the chain and cross in her bosom; ‘we are not like the Christian women; we are kept shut up and treated as prisoners, and are not allowed to have a will of our own: my father has just informed me that on his return from Fas I am to be married to old Sheikh Amar of Zazor. I am miserable at the thought of leaving my father who loves me, to dwell under the roof of one I shall never love.’

‘Rahma,’ said João, ‘could you love a Nazarene who believes in God, and loves you, sweet maiden, better than his own life?’

The girl, hiding her blushing face, faltered out, ‘I could, and indeed I do love you; but it is all in vain.’

‘It shall not be in vain,’ said João, ‘for if I succeed in pleasing the Sultan by the manufacture of gun-barrels such as His Majesty desires, and thus obtain his favour, I shall assume the Moorish garb, and, throwing myself at the feet of the Sultan, implore His Majesty to require the Sheikh, your father, to give you to me as my wife—if you will only love me.’

The clanking of fetters was heard; so Rahma, snatching from her finger a little silver ring, gave it to João, saying, ‘May God’s blessing and mercy be with us both. Trust in Him, and we may hope to meet again.’ She then drew back and veiled her face as her father approached, followed by Embarek and the two prisoners.

Addressing the latter, Sheikh Shashon said, ‘At the intercession of João, whom I take to-morrow to the Court to enter the service of our Lord and Master, as gunsmith, your lives are spared and your fetters shall be removed. You will be taken with João to the Sultan, and upon His Majesty’s decision your fate will depend. I swear, however, that if you attempt to escape, no mercy shall be shown you.’

‘Take them,’ he continued to the slave, ‘to your hut and lock them in; but remove their fetters. Let them have food from my kitchen that they may feel well and strong for the journey to-morrow. Put a couch for João in the courtyard: he is my guest, free to come and go as he pleases.’ Then turning towards Rahma, he said, smiling, ‘All this I do to please you, my loved daughter.’

‘May God bless her!’ cried João and his companions.

Early on the following morning the Sheikh mounted a fine mule, and the prisoners the animals prepared for them; whilst, destined as a present to the Sultan, the famous gray mare, adorned with a handsome headstall, was led by a slave.

Rahma appeared on the threshold, muffled in her ‘haik’; but before João left she managed, when her father’s back was turned, to unveil her face, and drawing from her bosom, where she had hidden them, the silver chain and cross, pressed them to her lips: which gesture João acknowledged by raising towards heaven the finger upon which he wore her ring.

Sheikh Shashon despatched a courier to the Court to announce their advent, and fearing lest some enemy in the village might forestall him, he wrote to the Uzir that he was bringing the gunsmith João and two other Nazarenes, prisoners, to deliver them to his Lord and Master the Sultan, to be dealt with as His Majesty might please.

When within a few hours’ journey of the capital a Kaid of the Sultan’s body-guard, sent expressly by His Majesty, arrived with an order to the Sheikh to the effect that every care should be taken of João, and to inform the latter that a house and forge, where he could work, had already been prepared for him, and that the two other prisoners were to be lodged for the present in the same dwelling. The Kaid also informed the Sheikh that His Majesty commended his conduct in having brought João safely to the Court, and that the Sheikh was therefore regarded favourably by his Lord and Master.

On his arrival João was taken before the Sultan, who informed him that he would be provided with ‘mona’ (provisions), and a dwelling near the palace; that the implements of a smith and piles of old horse-shoes were also ready, and that for every gun-barrel João made, ten ducats would be paid him. The Sultan added, ‘If you will become one of the Faithful, I have ordered that the garments of a Moslem be given you.’

João thanked His Majesty and replied, ‘I accept with pleasure your Majesty’s offer of Moorish garments to replace the tattered clothing I now wear.’

Whilst thus accepting the Sultan’s offer, João vowed in his heart that, though assuming the outward garb of a Mohammedan in the hope of obtaining Rahma hereafter as his wife, he would remain always a true Catholic, and hope for the day when he would return to the land of his forefathers.

João was very industrious, and with the assistance only of the two Portuguese, his fellow-prisoners—for he did not wish the Moors to discover the secret of his art—he was enabled to manufacture a number of barrels, even before the Sheikh left the Court.

The Sultan[44], who was interested in every kind of mechanism, was wont to go to the forge to see João work; gave him the rank of Kaid, and marked in many ways his satisfaction.

The Sheikh was presented with a horse, with handsome saddle and bridle, as a mark of His Majesty’s favour, and before leaving the Court went to see João, and told him of his own good fortune, and expressed his satisfaction at seeing from his dress that João was now a Moslem and an officer in high favour with the Sultan.

João shook the Sheikh warmly by the hand, bidding him farewell, saying, ‘You know that I am indebted for my life to the intercession of your daughter. I intend to marry and settle here. Will you grant me the hand of your daughter?’

‘It cannot be,’ answered the Sheikh, ‘I have betrothed her to my friend Sheikh Amar. The Sultan, now that you are in such high favour, will bestow on you, if you petition His Majesty, some maiden with a larger dowry than I can afford to give my daughter.’ He then departed, leaving João very depressed.

A few days after the Sheikh had left, the Sultan visited the forge of João and found the young smith hard at work, but looking very wan and out of spirits. Observing this, the Sultan inquired of João whether he was unwell, or had cause of complaint against any one at the Court, and whether the food sent daily from the palace was plentiful and such as he liked?

João replied that he had no complaint to make against any one, but that he had a sorrow at heart which he could not make known to the Sultan, lest it might cause His Majesty’s displeasure.

‘Speak,’ said the Sultan; ‘have no fear. Any one who may have offended you shall be punished. Whatever you ask shall be granted: what I promise shall be fulfilled. Speak out boldly.’

João obeyed and told the Sultan the story of his capture, condemnation to death, and release at the intercession of the Sheikh’s daughter.

When he had concluded his tale, His Majesty exclaimed, ‘Allah Akbar!’ (God is great!) ‘Had the Sheikh taken your life he would have forfeited his own. This daughter of his, the maiden who is the cause of my having you safe here to manufacture guns for the Moslems, shall be rewarded. What do you desire?’

Throwing himself at the Sultan’s feet João said, ‘She who saved my life I had hoped might become my wife, but alas! I have learnt she is betrothed to a friend of the Sheikh, an old chief of a neighbouring village, named Sheikh Amar. This it is that makes me miserable.’

‘Before ten days elapse,’ said the Sultan, ‘if this maiden be not already married to Sheikh Amar, she shall be brought here by her father and become your wife, and I will give her a dowry.’

The young smith again fell at the feet of the Sultan and expressed his gratitude.

A Kaid was despatched with all speed to the Sheikh of Beni M’suar, with the command that he and all his family should be brought at once to the Court. This officer was directed however to ascertain, before he executed this order, whether the daughter of the Sheikh had been lately married; for in such case the Royal command was not to be carried out.

The officer departed on his mission and found that the wedding had not taken place, as old Sheikh Amar had died suddenly shortly after Sheikh Shashon had left for Fas. Father and daughter were therefore brought to the Court, and on their arrival were given a comfortable dwelling near the palace.

Rahma’s heart was filled with joy when she learnt that João was in high favour with the Sultan, for she remembered his last words to herself.

The smith hastened to salute the Sheikh. Rahma was not allowed to enter the room, but she could see her lover through the chinks of the door, and heard João, after saluting her father, say, ‘Is your daughter, who saved my life, well? Is she unmarried? If so, I must not conceal from you that I have petitioned the Sultan that she be given me as wife. For this His Majesty has been pleased to order you to come to the Court.’

The Sheikh, who had been in great trepidation, fearing that the Sultan might have heard of the intention he at one time had of putting João and the other Portuguese to death, and that His Majesty had summoned him to the Court to punish him, was greatly relieved, and replied,—

‘Oh my son! as your garb shows you are now one of the Faithful and in favour with our Lord and Master, His Majesty’s commands, whatever they may be, shall be joyfully obeyed.’

The Sultan ordered the Uzir to signify to the Sheikh his Royal command that his daughter was forthwith to be wedded to João, and that it was His Majesty’s intention to give her a handsome dowry.

A great feast was prepared by the officers of the Court, at which the Sheikh attended, whilst Rahma was taken to the harem of the Hajib (Chief Chamberlain), where the ladies had also prepared a feast. Beautiful dresses and jewelry were sent by the Sultan to Rahma, and a marriage contract was drawn up by public notaries, signed by the Kadi, with a note of the dowry, one thousand ducats, given her by the Sultan.

On the day of the wedding, the bride, ensconced in a wooden cage, covered with silk and embroidery, was conveyed on the back of a mule to João’s house, accompanied by musicians with pipes and drums and a large troop of men firing guns. The cage was removed from the back of the mule by four female slaves and brought into the room, prepared with handsome carpets, where João awaited her. The slaves assisted her to leave the cage and retired.

As soon as they were alone Rahma threw herself at the feet of her husband, crying, ‘Oh beloved! God has answered our prayers. He is merciful, and now I shall be, as long as I live, your faithful, happy wife. But, João, I beg you to repeat that you believe in God and the Day of Resurrection. I rejoice to see you in the garb of a Moslem, and hope you are now really one of the Faithful.’

‘Rahma,’ he said, raising her in his arms, ‘to thee I owe my life; for thee I shall be ready to lay it down; but I must not deceive thee! I am not a Moslem, but a Christian, and, as such, I believe in God and the last Day. I assumed this garb in order that I might be supposed to be a Mohammedan, and thus be able to petition the Sultan that you should be my wife.’

Rahma drew away from his arms, saying, ‘I cannot, I must not, offend God by marrying a Christian.’

João replied, ‘Know you not that your prophet Mohammed married a Christian woman? Oh loved wife! I shall be a faithful husband, and when I tell you about my belief and religion, you will learn that we have the same laws from God, except that we Christians cannot marry more than one wife. Does such a law displease you, my Rahma?’

‘Swear,’ she said, ‘that you will never divorce me, never marry another woman.’

‘I swear,’ he replied, ‘that nought but death shall part us.’

Rahma then threw herself into João’s arms, exclaiming, ‘I am for ever your loving wife, and shall honour and obey you!’

João and Rahma were very happy. Of an evening, when his work was done, he taught her to read and write Portuguese, and found her quick and intelligent in learning. He explained to her the precepts of the Christian religion, and told her that he hoped the day might come when he could find some excuse to leave the Moorish Court and escape with her to Portugal.

When their first child, a girl, was born, Rahma expressed the wish that her name should be ‘Miriam,’ or Mary, the name of the Mother of the Saviour of all men, and that she should be brought up in the Christian faith.

João was very industrious, and continued in high favour with the Sultan, manufacturing many gun-barrels, upon which, besides his own name in European characters, he engraved the Arabic word ‘Sidi’ (my Lord), to denote that they were made for the Sultan, and such barrels are occasionally to be found at the present day.

The Moorish gunsmiths having lost, since João’s arrival at Court, the Royal custom, took counsel together how they should contrive to discover the Christian’s secret of forging the twisted barrels; for João was careful to allow no Moor, except the Sultan, to enter his forge when he was at work.

The Portuguese was of very cleanly habits, and had his workshop whitewashed every month, for which work Jews are usually employed throughout Morocco. One of the smiths, disguised as a Jew, offered himself to João to whitewash the forge. He was engaged, and returned for the same purpose every month.

The sharp-eyed spy watched the operations, and finally learnt so much of the process as to enable him to imitate it, and he succeeded so well that he presented a twisted barrel to the Sultan, which His Majesty considered to be as good as any of João’s make.

The latter was summoned to the Court and asked how it came to pass that twisted barrels could be made by native gunsmiths. The unfortunate João declared he had been betrayed by some spy watching him when at work.

Other Moorish smiths also acquired the art, and, as good barrels of twisted iron were sold at low prices in Fas, the Sultan discontinued employing João, and ceased sending him ‘mona’ from the palace.

João, however, had laid by a considerable sum of money, and he determined to quit the capital with his wife and try to escape to Tangier. He therefore petitioned the Sultan to be allowed to take his wife to visit her father, the Sheikh at Beni M’suar.

This was granted, and João bought animals to carry away such property as he had not been able to dispose of at Fas, and set out with Rahma and her child for the village of Tsemsalla in the Beni M’suar mountains.

After remaining some time with his wife at the Sheikh’s house, where they received a warm welcome, João informed his father-in-law that he must return to his work. Leaving early one morning with his wife and child, he proceeded to Tangier, a distance of about fifteen miles. On arrival at the Portuguese outposts, he was challenged by a sentry. The soldier proved to be an old comrade who had heard that João had assumed the disguise of a Moslem, and, recognising him, allowed him to enter the town, where he was conducted before the Portuguese Governor, to relate his adventures and present his wife and child.

The Governor took great interest in João, who had always borne an excellent character. Rahma, by her husband’s desire, wore the European dress, and as a Christian no longer veiled her face. The Governor was much struck by her beauty and gentle manners, and on learning from her, for she had acquired the Portuguese language, that she was already converted to the Christian faith and desired to be baptized by a priest, together with her little girl, he took her to his wife and daughters, by whom Rahma was made much of. They were lodged in the Governor’s house, and the baptism was carried out, with great ceremony, at the Cathedral[45] of Tangier; the child was christened Miriam.

After a sojourn of some weeks, João and his family were given a passage in a Government vessel bound to Lisbon, with letters of recommendation to the King and Queen, to whom their history was related. The Royal family patronised João, and took especial interest in pretty Rahma and her daughter as being converts from the Mohammedan faith.

Being a clever mechanic, João obtained a lucrative employment, and lived in ease and comfort with his wife, who bore him a large family.

Rahma wrote to her father and described how happy she and her husband were, and that they had escaped to the land of the Nazarenes, as they had feared the jealous and revengeful feelings of the smiths at the capital; for João, since the betrayal of his secret, had no longer been shown favour by the Sultan. However, for fear of causing sorrow to her father, she did not inform him of her conversion to the Christian faith.

João sent the old Sheikh a beautiful gun, with his own name and that of Sheikh Shashon engraved on the barrel in letters of gold.

There is a legend that no one of the name of Hay should kill or injure a falcon. The tradition is founded on the following tale.

At the battle of Loncarty in 980 the Danish army was certainly routed by the Scots. Yet, at the commencement of this battle, the Danes had been victorious and drove the Scots before them, pell mell, towards a narrow pass. Here three stalwart Highlanders, a father and his two sons, had taken their stand and rallied their fugitive countrymen. Then, placing themselves at their head, they led them in an onslaught on the Danes, whom they routed.

Afterwards, the King of the Scots, Kenneth III, sent for the three men, and, learning from them that they—who were farmers—had been occupied in ploughing when they saw the Scots in retreat, and then joined in the fray, he exclaimed, ‘Henceforward you shall be called Garadh!’ which in Gaelic signifies bulwark or fence. Later this name was transformed to De la Haye by members of the family who emigrated to Normandy and, establishing themselves there, joined the Conqueror when he came to England. Subsequently it was modified into Hay.

King Kenneth ennobled Garadh, and offered him a grant of land of his own selection. Garadh prayed the King to grant him whatever land his falcon might traverse, till it alighted, if thrown off at Loncarty. His prayer was granted. The falcon flew from Loncarty and alighted on the Carse of Gowry—as indeed might have been expected, since Garadh was wont to hunt with falcons and frequently fed his birds on that height. This large property was long held by the Hay family, but the greater part passed into other hands during the last century.

My father, who told me this legend, added a caution against ever injuring the bird which had brought good fortune to the family, and I bore it in mind, and never fired a shot at any falcon, until one day I received a letter from a naturalist in England, requesting me to find some person who would aid him in making a collection of specimens of birds of prey, as he knew that these birds migrated northwards in the month of March—when the wind blows from the east—passing from Morocco, across the Straits, to the Spanish coast, and selecting generally for the point of their departure the Marshan—a plateau within a quarter of a mile of Tangier. From here I have seen hundreds of birds of prey, eagles, falcons, hawks, kestrels, kites and buzzards cross the Straits during the month of March, flying against the east wind.

Being desirous of meeting the wishes of my friend the naturalist, I selected a spot on the Marshan, where, in a dilapidated battery, were three or four dismounted guns, presented by King George IV to a former Sultan. Here, ensconced between two of the guns, I waited the passage of the birds and shot several kites, buzzards, kestrels and other hawks; but at first, true to my rule, spared the falcons.

It was in the days of muzzle-loaders with copper caps, and I was not using a gun of English make.

At last, seeing a fine falcon flying towards me, I said to myself, ‘What folly to believe in such silly old-womanish nonsense as that a Hay must not injure a falcon—I shall test the truth of the legend by firing at one.’

The bird came towards me, I fired: the gun burst at the breech, the right-hand nipple flew out, grazing my forehead near my right eye, and my wrist was burnt. I threw down the gun, exclaiming, ‘Thank God I was not killed! Henceforward I am a believer.’

The falcon was only slightly wounded; some few feathers fell from the poor bird, and it continued its flight. Had it been killed, I suppose I should not have lived to tell this story!

Two days later, the party crossed the Beheira u el Gintsor, a district which, twenty years ago, was uninhabited and full of gazelles, great bustard, and other game. But the present Sultan had punished a rebellious tribe by removing them from a rich land and quartering them on this barren plateau. It is now full of cattle, and patches of cultivation were to be seen here and there.

The Arabs of the district brought some greyhounds, for the purpose of hunting hare; but the attempt at sport proved a failure. Amongst these dogs were two of the native rough-coated breed, which much resemble the Scotch deer-hound, or sleugh-hound. Curiously enough, the Arabic word for greyhound (in Morocco) is slogi or sloki—plural slak. These particular dogs were poor and stunted in appearance, but sometimes handsome specimens are met with. They are supposed to be endowed with great powers of endurance.

Next day, on ascending the hill of Jebíla, the city of Marákesh came into view, with its numerous minarets; amongst which towered the great mosque of the Kutubía—dwarfing all others by comparison.

Through the pass at the foot of the hills, called Birra Burub—evidently an ancient Berber name—they entered a forest of palms and crossed the many-arched bridge over the Tensift river. The camp was pitched on the banks of the river, which, in the swollen torrent, was racing past—at least a hundred yards wide—carrying with it, now and then, palm-trees washed away by the flood.

On the 5th of April the Mission entered Marákesh, passing through the beautiful forest of palms. Soon after leaving camp, they were met by a body of a hundred cavalry, accompanied by Kaid Bu Aiesh, the second Chamberlain. He brought a welcome from the Sultan—‘and a thousand times welcome.’ He added that the troop which accompanied him was entirely composed of ‘Kaids,’ or officers, who were sent as a guard of honour to the British Representative on his entry.

Entering the city by the Bab Hamár, they proceeded to the summer palace of the Maimunía, where Sir John was received by the Governor of the city and other officials, and conducted to a ‘kubba’ or small pavilion at the end of a long avenue in the beautiful garden, or rather orchard, attached to the dwelling. All kinds of fruit-trees abounded, intermingled with palms and cypresses, and intersected by broad avenues of large olive-trees. The fragrance of the orange and lemon-trees in full flower filled the air. The only flowers were the large white jasmine and the scented single rose of ‘Sigelmasi’—used in making attar of roses; but both these grew in profusion.

The ‘kubba,’ the Governor said, had been prepared as Sir John’s bedroom. It was richly carpeted and encircled by divans. A large and handsome brass bed stood in a recess, while an ugly deal washstand, apparently made for the occasion, furnished with utensils of uncouth form and colour, contrasted unfavourably with the Moorish fittings. After the authorities had taken leave, the other apartments were investigated and found to be ample and well furnished in the Moorish style. The doors and ceilings, which were decorated with arabesque work, carved and coloured, had evidently been recently repainted. Facing the entrance to the main dwelling was a beautiful fountain, set in the wall in a horseshoe arch of tiles and delicate geometric tracery. In the centre of the courtyard, on to which the rooms opened, was a large marble basin in which bubbled another jet of water. The archways of the doors were beautifully decorated with carved filagree work.

On the morning of the 7th, as pre-arranged, Hadj Mohammed Bu Aiesh, the chief Usher, announced in person that the Sultan would be prepared to receive Sir John and the members of the Mission at 9 o’clock. This official was attired in the rich dress of a Moorish courtier. Several coloured cloth caftans, or long tunics, richly embroidered at the edges and seams with silk, were covered by another of white cotton with flowing sleeves, and over these was draped the creamy woollen ‘haik,’ which marks the civilian, of which the soft folds hung to the ground. His turban of spotless white was rolled, fold upon fold, above his brow, forming a disk of marvellous size round the red fez which peeped above it.

Shortly after this announcement, a procession was formed. A double line of the irregular soldiers in their picturesque and flowing dress of all the colours of the rainbow, led the way. They were followed by Sir John, the chief Usher riding on his left, and two officers of the Askar, or regulars, walking on either side of his horse. Then came the gentlemen of the Mission, all in uniform. The gates of the palace precincts had been closed to prevent the mob crowding in, and were only opened to admit the cortège. In the great court, or square, were drawn up between three and four thousand Askar, who presented arms when the ‘Bashador’ appeared.

The scene as usual was brilliant in its barbaric pomp of led horses handsomely caparisoned, gaily dressed attendants, many-hued soldiery, and solemn, white-robed officials. But in curious contrast to the gaiety of his surroundings, stood prominent an old ‘deruish[46],’ with whom no one interfered. He was dirty, ragged and decrepit, perhaps deranged, for he gazed around with a strange wild air. During the Sultan’s ceremonious interview with Sir John the ‘deruish’ stood, with uplifted hands, loudly blessing the ‘Prince of believers.’

Next day some of the idlers of the party visited the town. Accompanied by an escort of fourteen men and an officer, they made their way to the ‘Mellah’ or Jewish quarter, a horribly dirty place. The Hebrews of Marákesh are an ugly and apparently degraded race. To add to their unsightly appearance, the men wear blue kerchiefs with white spots, tied over their heads and under their chins. Two long oily curls hang on either side of their faces. Their greasy cloaks, blue or black, are similar to those worn by the natives of Sus, and have a curious lozenge-shaped pattern in red and yellow woven across the back. Tradition relates that these cloaks were first woven by Spanish captives in the sixteenth century, who worked the Spanish colours on the back of the cloaks destined for their own use. The Jewish women, with the exception of a very few young girls, were no better looking than the men. But their out-door dress is graceful and pleasing, as they envelop themselves in a large veil of soft white cotton of native manufacture, bordered with a broad band of silk—also white—which is arranged to fall in front. Three centuries ago this veil, with white or coloured silk borders, was worn by the Moslem women of Marákesh, who now wrap themselves, when they go abroad, in the more clumsy and less becoming heavy woollen ‘haik.’

The large escort which, when the party started, had been looked on as an absurd precaution, proved to be really necessary. Though the people showed no incivility, the pressure of the dense crowds that thronged after the strangers would have rendered progress without an escort well nigh impossible.

A few days later the whole party dined at the house of the Hajib—Sid Musa. They rode thither through the deserted streets in bright moonlight, which enabled them to avoid the holes and pitfalls abounding in this decaying town. Well-dressed dependants waited at Sid Musa’s door to take their horses, and, following a man with a lantern, they soon found themselves in a small but beautiful court, with a fountain playing in a marble basin in the centre. Near this stood five tea-kettles on little charcoal stoves, and as many diminutive tables, each bearing a tray covered with a silk kerchief—suggestive of tea. Sid Musa and a Sheríf called the Bakáli, a favourite of the Sultan, welcomed them, and led the way into a room furnished with two gorgeous beds, chairs, sofas, and divans covered with brocade and satin. Handsome mirrors, draped with embroidered silken scarves, hung round the walls, which were covered with velvet arras embroidered in gold. These hangings, which cover the lower portion of the walls of every respectable Moorish dwelling, and vary in richness of material according to the wealth of the owner, appear to be a remnant of their ancient life as nomad Arabs. The hanging resembles the side of the tent still in use among the Moors. The design is invariably a succession of horse-shoe arches in different coloured materials and more or less richly embroidered. In mosques and holy places, and in them alone, mats, often very fine, are used for the same purpose.

After the guests had been introduced to their hosts and the usual compliments had passed, in the course of conversation Sir John expressed to Sid Musa his desire to visit the Atlas Mountains. With the view of preventing the objections which are often raised by the Moorish Government when Europeans wish to penetrate into the more remote regions of Morocco, he observed that he was born and bred a highlander and that he longed to be once more among mountains. Sid Musa and the Bakáli, being both mountaineers, quite concurred in this sentiment and promised to aid in promoting an expedition.

Dinner was long delayed, and Sid Musa became restless till the Sheríf informed him that the guest’s servants had been consulted regarding the feast, and that they had advised the Moorish chef (a coal-black slave) to reverse the usual order of a native meal; as it had been intended that the sweet dishes should be served first and the viands afterwards.

At last the signal was given and the party entered another room, where a table had been laid in European style.

The menu was as follows:—

Roast pigeons, stuffed chickens, stewed lamb, turkey with almonds, and highly flavoured siksu[47]; olives in oil; oranges cut in sections and spiced, served as a vegetable; salad of olives and mint; eggs poached with olives and oil; chicken fricassée, with a rich egg sauce; chickens with red butter—a piquante sauce; stewed mutton with fried eggs; chickens stewed with almonds and sweetened.

Dry siksu; rice made up in a sort of porridge; bowls of new milk; almond tart, flavoured with musk; pastry dipped in honey.

Dessert: oranges, almonds, raisins, nuts, and fourteen dishes of confectionery, including ‘kab ghazal,’ or gazelle hoofs, little cakes of that form, from which they take their name, made of pastry thickly iced and filled with a concoction of almonds.

A pleasant preparation of unripe figs, much resembling chutney, was served with the stewed lamb.

The only beverage was water, slightly flavoured with musk and essence of citron flowers.

Of this menu the turkey, the fricassées of chicken and the dry siksu, were pronounced excellent, but some of the other dishes were horrible concoctions.

The servants reported afterwards that as many dishes as had been served remained outside untasted; but that the steward, observing how little was eaten, promptly brought the banquet to a close and produced coffee, well made, but curiously flavoured. After dinner the ladies were invited to visit the harem, whither Sid Musa proceeded to conduct them. Through the horseshoe arch of the entrance showed a large court planted with orange-trees, illuminated by the full moon and by numerous lanterns held by black slave girls. Here, picturesquely grouped, the gorgeously apparelled ladies of the harem awaited them. A stream of dazzling light from a room on one side of the court played on the glittering jewels with which they were loaded, producing altogether quite a theatrical effect.

The courteous, gentle manners of these Moorish ladies and their soft voices were very attractive. The coloured women were even more remarkable on this score than the white, who were probably wives of inferior caste married to Sid Musa before he rose to his present position of rank and importance, for the ‘Hajib’ was a mulatto—one of the Bokhári, previously alluded to.

In connection with these Bokhári, their rise and fall, the following tale was often related by Sir John:—

‘In the days of Mulai Sliman one of the Bokhári had risen, through his merits and by the favour of his lord, to be Master of the Horse, a much coveted post at the Court, as it conferred great dignity and ample emoluments on the holder. Accordingly, in the course of time, he amassed great wealth and possessed much property and many wives and slaves.

‘Unfortunately, in an evil hour, he one day gave cause of offence to his Royal Master, traduced possibly by others who were jealous of his influence and the favour hitherto shown him; or, perhaps, forgetful of his rôle as a courtier, he spoke his mind too freely at an inopportune moment. Whatever the cause, the angry Sultan roundly abused him, dismissed him from his post as Master of the Horse, and ordered him to be gone from his presence.

‘Bending low, the Bokhári replied, “Your will, my Lord. May God preserve the life of the Sultan,” and retired.

‘The following Friday, as the Sultan rode back to the palace from the chief mosque, whither he had gone in state to take part in the public prayers at midday, he observed a tall Bokhári sweeping the courtyard and steps leading to the palace. Struck by his appearance, the Sultan ordered the man to approach, inquiring who he was; when, to his Majesty’s surprise, he discovered in the humble sweeper his late Master of the Horse.

‘“What do you here?” asked the Sultan.

‘Prostrating himself in the dust, the Bokhári exclaimed, “I am my Lord’s slave! Since the Sultan—whose life may God prolong!—has dismissed me from my post of honour about his person, I am only fit to undertake the duties of the lowest of my fellows.”

‘Needless to add, the wily courtier recovered the favour of the Sultan and was reinstated in his post.’

One afternoon was devoted to returning the visits of the various dignitaries, and amongst others that of the Uzir Sid Dris Ben Yamáni, a Minister without a portfolio, as Sid Musa had usurped his functions.

At the gateway of the Uzir’s house the visitors dismounted, and were conducted by a black slave through a pretty garden, by paths paved with coloured tiles and shaded by vines on trellises. At the end of a long path a scene was presented which had evidently been carefully prepared for the occasion.

In a small ‘kubba,’ seated on a chair, was the Uzir, apparently deeply engrossed in reading a pile of letters and documents which lay open on another chair before him. A female slave stood in the background, with bent head and folded hands. Sir John approached, but the Uzir continued his occupation, as if too deeply engrossed to hear or see any one. Not till the party were quite near him did he start from his seat, as if taken unawares, to receive Sir John and bid him and all welcome; then directing the slave to remove the documents with care, he led the way to a prettily furnished room looking on a small court.

The last visit was to the Governor of the city, who received Sir John at the door of his dwelling. He was a handsome young man, scarcely past boyhood, with a decided—but cruel—expression. His father, Ben Dawud, the late Governor, who had died only a few weeks previously, was detested by the populace, whom he cruelly oppressed. It was generally believed that Ben Dawud had been poisoned, by order of the Sultan.

The young Basha took Sir John by the hand and led him across the courtyard to a ‘kubba,’ furnished with tables and chairs, whence was perceived—with dismay—preparations for a feast in an opposite room. The young man, who seemed shy, was much relieved when Sir John inquired what sort of a garden he had, and immediately led the way to another very large square court. On two sides of it were rooms; the exquisitely chiselled archway of a fountain occupied the third, and the fourth contained a beautiful little alcove, where the Kaid of our guard and the escort were seated enjoying tea. The floor of this court shone like ice, and was as white, smooth, and slippery. The boy-Governor explained that it was composed of a fine white clay found near Marákesh.

While in this garden, so called from the orange-trees, flowering shrubs, roses and jasmine which adorned it, Sir John asked whether the painted ceilings and doors were the work of natives of the city. The Governor replied that what they saw was ancient, and, at a hint from his secretary, he offered to show them some rooms he was adding to the house, also the view from the flat roof. Up narrow and steep stairs they climbed to various unfinished chambers, the ceilings of which did honour to the modern artists of Marákesh. Then, after a scramble, they reached the terrace over these rooms, which, being higher than the surrounding buildings, afforded us a lovely view of the whole city and the country around, the effect greatly enhanced by the deep red glow in the west, left by the setting sun, that seemed to set the graceful palms on fire as they stood out against the beautiful Atlas Mountains, whose snowy ranges glowed in varying tints of rose and purple.

On descending the visitors were conducted to the banquet prepared for them and, with the best grace they could assume, submitted to their fate.

On April 23 Sir John had a final private audience of the Sultan, to take leave. An account of this, his last interview with Sultan Sid Mohammed, was written by Sir John as follows:—

The Sultan received me in a ‘kubba,’ where he was seated on a divan. As I approached, His Majesty, motioning me to a gilt arm-chair, placed close to the divan, requested me to be seated; he then dismissed the chamberlains and other attendants. Thus we were alone.

After a friendly conversation and thanking the Sultan for the hospitality and attention received during my stay at the Court, I said, ‘With Your Majesty’s permission, I am about to put a strange query.’

‘Kol’—‘Say on,’ said the Sultan, ‘for I know, whatever you say, yours will be the words of a true friend, as you have ever been.’

‘Then,’ I continued, ‘I beg to know whether Your Majesty would desire to listen to the language of flattery, to words that will give you joy and pleasure, to expressions of satisfaction and admiration of all I have seen and learnt during my long residence in Your Majesty’s dominions; or whether Your Majesty would elect that I should speak out the truth and make known, without reserve, that which may give Your Majesty pain, distress, and even, it may be feared, offence?’

The Sultan, looking very grave, replied, ‘This is the first time in my life that I have been asked by any man whether I would choose to hear what might give me pain, or even offence, or to listen to that which may please or flatter me. I select the former.’

I bowed and said, ‘Before I proceed further, will you graciously promise not to take offence at the language I am about to hold, and that I shall not lose Your Majesty’s good opinion and friendship through rashness of speech?’

The Sultan repeated, ‘Say on. You have been, are, and will ever remain a true friend.’

‘I will premise,’ I then said, ‘by declaring that the administration of the Government in Morocco is the worst in the world.’ The Sultan looked startled and frowned. ‘The present system and form of government were not introduced by Your Majesty—nor indeed by your sire or grandsire—and therefore Your Majesty is not responsible for the wretched impoverished state of this fine country and of the population over which Your Majesty reigns. The form of Government was inherited from your forefathers. After their withdrawal from Spain—where, for centuries, they had led the van of the world in art, science, literature and agriculture—they set aside, on their return to the “Moghreb,” the just laws and administration of Government which had made them the grand people they were, and—I will add—might become again. Their descendants inherit the same blood, bone, and brain; therefore it is to be inferred that, under a just Government, with security of life and property, the Moorish people might again rise and become, as their ancestors were, one of the richest and most powerful nations in the world.

‘At the present time the Government of Morocco is like a community of fishes. The giant fish feed upon those that are small, the smaller upon the least, and these again feed on the worms. In like manner—the Uzir and other dignitaries of the Court, who receive no salaries, depend for their livelihood upon speculation, trickery, corruption, and the money they extort from the Bashas of provinces and other Governors.

‘The Bashas likewise are enriched through peculation from tithes and taxes and extortion from Sheikhs, wealthy farmers, and traders. A man that becomes rich is treated as a criminal. Neither his life, property, nor family are secure.

‘Sheikhs and other subordinate officials subsist upon what they can extort from the farmers and peasantry.

‘Then again, even the gaolers, who are not paid, gain their livelihood by extorting money from the prisoners, who, when they are paupers, are taught to make strong baskets, which are sold by the gaolers chiefly for their own benefit.

‘How can a country—how can a people—prosper under such a form of Government?

‘The tribes are in a constant state of rebellion against their Bashas. When the Sultan resides in his northern capital of Fas, the southern tribes rebel; and when he marches South to the city of Marákesh, eating up the rebels and confiscating their property, the northern tribes rebel. The armies of the Sultan, like locusts, are constantly on the move ravaging the country—to quell revolt.

‘Agriculture is destroyed. The farmers and peasantry only grow sufficient grain for their own requirements, and rich lands are allowed to lie fallow because the farmers know the crops would be plundered by the Bashas and Sheikhs. Thus it happens also with the cattle and horses; breeding is checked, since the man who may become rich through his industry is treated as a criminal and all his possessions are taken from him. As in the fable, the goose is killed to get the golden eggs.

‘With dominions as extensive as those of Spain or France, with a rich soil which can produce all that can be grown in Europe, Morocco is poor and weak—even compared with the lesser nations like Denmark or Holland, which kingdoms do not possess a third of the land Morocco has; while, half the year, the ground in these Northern countries is covered with snow and ice. Yet they have revenues tenfold that of Morocco, highly disciplined armies, and formidable navies: they have roads, bridges, railroads, with cities and towns containing palaces, handsome well-paved streets lit by gas, and other modern improvements, such as are to be seen in the largest capitals of the world. The just administration of the laws and security of life and property have produced this state of welfare, and the people are content and happy and do not rebel. The wealth of these countries is always on the increase. No Sovereign, Minister, Governor, or other high official can take from any man a stiver of money, or an inch of land. Every officer employed by the Sovereign is paid, and therefore does not depend for his livelihood, as in Morocco, upon peculation, extortion, bribery and corruption.’

The Sultan here remarked that his subjects were an ignorant and lawless people, quite unfit to be governed in the lenient manner I had described; that unless they were treated with the greatest severity and were not allowed to enrich themselves, they would show a more rebellious spirit than they do even at the present time. A lenient administration, he repeated, was not suited to the wild races of Morocco.

To this I replied, ‘At Your Majesty’s request, I applied in past years to the British Government for permission to allow two hundred of Your Majesty’s subjects to be sent to Gibraltar, for the purpose of being instructed in the drill and discipline of the British foot-soldier. The British Government acceded to Your Majesty’s request; a body of two hundred Moors was sent to Gibraltar and remained there between two and three years, the men being occasionally changed as they acquired a knowledge of drill. I wish to know whether Your Majesty selected these men from a superior, educated class, who had the reputation of being orderly and intelligent, or whether they were chosen after inquiry into their intelligence, past character, and behaviour?’

The Sultan replied, ‘No; the men were selected at random from various tribes, so that there might be no ground for jealousy.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘two hundred Moors remained for nearly three years at Gibraltar. They had good clothing given them, and a quarter of a dollar (a shilling) a day was allowed each man by Your Majesty. The British Government gave them tents to live in. During the time they were stationed in Her Majesty’s garrison there were only two cases in the police court against them for dissolute conduct. Colonel Cameron, under whose superintendence they were placed, said they learnt their drill as quickly and well as Englishmen. They were sober, steady, and attentive to their duties. (“With 20,000 such men I could march to Madrid to-morrow,” said the Colonel.) This tends to show that Your Majesty’s subjects, living under a just and humane Government, having, as these had, proper provision made for their livelihood, are not a lawless or even disorderly people, and that they are capable of being transformed, under a good Government, into the grand warriors which their ancestors were in Spain.’

The Sultan smiled, and said, ‘“Hak”—True. Your arguments are certainly convincing. Point out the remedy. Select the man from amongst my Wazára (viziers), or other officers of the Court, on whom you think I could depend to introduce a new form of administration. I believe,’ he continued, ‘that if I were to tell my Wazára that, for the future, I should allot them and other officers of the Court salaries, and put a stop to bribery and peculation, they would be the first to rebel against my authority and to oppose any change in the administration.’

I replied, ‘I know not the Uzir, or other persons in authority, whom I could suggest should be employed to aid in carrying out a reform in the Government. Your Majesty—like the late Sultan Mahmud of Turkey and the great Khedive of Egypt, Mehemet Ali—will have yourself to take the sword in one hand and the balance of Justice in the other.

‘Make an example of any man who dares to oppose Your Majesty’s will and determination to improve the state of your subjects. The latter, when they learn Your Majesty’s desire for their welfare, will rise in a body to support you in getting rid of the tyrants, who are now grinding them into dust and squeezing out their life-blood.

‘In the cause of humanity and to save the lives of thousands of men, women and children, now impoverished and starved by a cruel system of extortion, Your Majesty will have to act with great severity and make a manifest example of some of the Uzirs and Bashas, thus striking terror into the hearts of other dignitaries of your Court, who may be inclined to oppose your reforms.

‘Can I speak out,’ I then asked, ‘without risk of my words being publicly reported?’

‘Speak,’ said the Sultan; ‘what passes now between us shall be kept secret.’

‘If,’ I then continued, ‘I were chief Uzir and elected by Your Majesty to carry out the proposed reforms, I should probably cause more heads to fall in a month than have been cut off during the whole of Your Majesty’s reign, and still I should feel that I was acting humanely by saving the lives and property of the innocent, and promoting the welfare and happiness of the millions over whom Your Majesty reigns. A cancerous disease can only be arrested by the knife, in the hands of a skilful and humane surgeon. But publish to the world that I have held such language, and the so-called humanitarians of my country would demand my recall as British Minister in Morocco.’

‘Prepare for me,’ said the Sultan, ‘a secret memorandum on the form of Government you would propose, the salaries to be paid to the Uzir and chief officers of my Court, to Bashas and other officials in the provinces. I will take it into consideration and commence gradually to introduce reforms in the administration of the Government of the provinces; and then I shall, in due course, introduce reform also at the Court by the payment of the Uzir, &c., and punish severely peculation or corrupt practices.’

I gave the Sultan a rough outline of the first steps that should be taken by payment of Governors and other functionaries to collect taxes and tithes—to be paid direct into the Treasury, and not through the Governors—recommending that receipts should be delivered to all persons who paid taxes, &c., and that these collectors should also be empowered to take all fines, imposed by Governors or Sheikhs on criminals, and pay them into the Treasury, which would tend to check the rapacity and injustice of Governors in imposing heavy and unjust fines, which at the present time they appropriate to their own use.

I reminded the Sultan that it was at my suggestion, when the Convention of Commerce of 1856 was concluded, that the salaries of the Customs Officers were greatly increased and, at the same time, steps taken to prevent the wholesale robbery of the receipts of Custom; and that he, the Sultan, had told me that, since my advice had been followed, the revenues derived from the Customs had greatly increased.

The Sultan said, ‘Yes, I remember, and also that I have said that since the conclusion of the Convention of 1856 with Great Britain, though we pay half the revenues of Customs to Spain on account of the war debt, and a quarter, on account of a loan received, to Great Britain, yet the amount of revenue paid into the Treasury at the present time is greater than before the conclusion of that Convention, and the trade of Morocco with England and other countries has trebled in value.’

· · · · · ·

‘The day after this conversation with the Sultan,’ writes Sir John, ‘I left Marákesh. The camp was to be pitched about twelve miles from the city, and we started early in the morning. About an hour later, one of the escort, looking back, exclaimed, ‘I see a horseman coming along the plain at full gallop. I should think he is a messenger from the Court.’ And thus it proved.

‘I have been dispatched,’ said the breathless horseman, ‘by the Uzir, Sid Mohammed Ben Nis (the Minister of Finance) and the Sheríf Bakáli, who have been ordered by the Sultan to convey to Your Excellency a message from our Lord; and they wish to know whether they are to continue their journey to the camp or whether you might be disposed to await their arrival on the road?’

‘See,’ I replied, ‘there is a fig-tree near the road, I will sit beneath it and await the Uzir and the Sheríf: go back and tell them so.’

Sending on the rest of the party, I, with one of my daughters and two of the escort, awaited the functionaries, who arrived about a quarter of an hour after I was seated.

Ben Nis began the conversation as follows:—

‘This morning I was sent for by the Sultan, who ordered me to convey to you the following message:—His Majesty said he had not slept all night, but lay awake pondering over all you had said to him; that he feels more convinced than ever that you are a true friend of himself and his people, and, I am desired to add, His Majesty thanks you.’

I replied, ‘Convey to His Majesty the expression of my gratitude for having deigned to dispatch such high functionaries with the very flattering message you have now delivered. It is a great consolation, for I learn thereby that His Majesty is satisfied that what I have said was solely prompted by feelings of good-will and friendship.’

Ben Nis remarked, ‘The Sultan was in such a hurry to dispatch us that he had not time to tell us the language you had held to His Majesty, and which had prevented him from sleeping, so I shall feel obliged if you will communicate it to me.’

‘It would not,’ I replied, ‘be regular or proper that I should make known to any one, without the Sultan’s consent, the confidential communication I have had the honour of making to His Majesty. Go back, and say such was my reply to your request, and you can then ask His Majesty, if you please, the purport of our conversation.’

Ben Nis looked sullen and angry, but the Sheríf smiled and said, ‘The Bashador is right. It is for the Sultan to tell us, if he will.’

Ben Nis then observed, ‘The reason why I am very anxious to know what passed yesterday is, that after your long private audience, the Sultan gave orders that all the Wazára and chief officers of the Court, as also the Bashas of provinces who happen to be at Marákesh, should assemble in the Meshwa (Court of Audience).

‘When we were all assembled, His Majesty appeared and addressed us thus:—

‘“You are all a set of thieves and robbers, who live by peculation, bribery, corruption and plunder. Go away!”

‘All present at the Meshwa therefore drew the conclusion that the language you may have held had caused His Majesty to thus harangue us.’

To this I replied, ‘Go, as I said before, and ask His Majesty to tell you of the language I held to him. I cannot and shall not do so.’

The return journey from Marákesh to Mogador afforded no new features of special interest. On May 2 the sea was reached. Miss Hay describes her father’s entry in her diary:—

‘We were met by the Lieutenant-Governor of the province of Haha and a large body of horse, who after the usual salutations formed up in our rear. Again another body of mounted men appeared, led by the Governor of Haha in person. As the latter advanced to greet Sir John, a number of horsemen, who had been concealed on the road in front, dashed forward at a gallop and passed us, firing. This startling form of salute was intended to convey a compliment.

‘Next came the Governor of the town with another troop of horse and personally attended by a number of running footmen. Drawn up on one side of the road was a long irregular line of wild mountaineers on foot, all armed with long guns and handsome daggers, their blue and white jelabs kilted short—so as not to impede their movements—by means of gay leather belts, and bedizened with many and gay leather pouches and bags.

‘Before these mountaineers stood a tall old man playing on a reed flute, a sweet and harmonious, though scarcely a warlike instrument, but a great favourite with all the native mountain tribes. The various troops of horse having fallen in, the open plain presented a beautiful and animated sight. Flying either past or to meet us, came every moment the charging troopers in their brilliant flowing drapery, firing when close to Sir John. In front of us moved the mountaineers, also firing as they performed the different and curious gun-dances of their tribes; or, if natives of Sus, twirling and throwing their loaded guns and naked daggers high in the air to catch them as they fell.

‘The whole town had turned out to see the show, and when we came within sight of the walls, the batteries fired a salute, to which responded the joyous “zagharit” of the women who thronged beneath the walls.

‘During this ceremonious entry a curious incident occurred. One of the escort cried ‘Jackal!’ and, slinking along before us, we saw one of these beasts hurrying away. In a moment, dignity and etiquette were forgotten, and Sir John, followed by all the riders of our party and a number of the troopers, dashed in pursuit. They followed till the jackal reached a hollow among the sands, where the Moors pulled up, saying there was a quicksand at the bottom which would bear a jackal but not a horseman.

‘Beneath the walls, Sir John was received by the civil functionaries, mounted, as became men of peace, on sleek mules. The crowd was now so dense that the escort had to force a passage through the people to enable us to enter the town gates, which were shut immediately after, to keep back the rabble for a time. The terraces and balconies of the houses were crowded, principally with Jewesses attired in all the splendour of their rich native dress. We rode to the Consulate, where we stayed the night, and next day re-embarked on board H.M.S. Lively.

‘It was Sir John’s intention to call at some of the ports on his return voyage, and Saffi—more correctly E’Sfi, or “the pure”—was the first to be visited.

‘Off this port we arrived early the following day in fine weather, though a heavy sea was rolling on to the shore from the Atlantic. The landing however was effected without difficulty, in spite of the rocks which beset the entrance to the little port. On these rocks men were stationed who directed the boat’s course, by shouts and signs, through the narrow passage, and warned them when to pause and when to take advantage of a lull between two high waves.

‘Sir John met with a cordial reception from the authorities, and a banquet was offered to the Mission by the British Vice-Consul and residents; but just as the party had seated themselves at table to enjoy their kindly hospitality, a messenger arrived in haste to say the sea was rising, and, if we wished to regain the ship, not a moment must be lost. The result was a hurried flight to the beach, where two large surf-boats, manned by natives, were prepared. Into these the party were stowed, each person having first been provided with a life-belt by a kind resident, though had any accident occurred, the life-belts could only have floated bruised and mangled bodies ashore, so numerous and cruel were the rocks on all sides. The bar continued to rise, and the authorities and residents tried to dissuade Sir John from attempting to cross; but he, knowing what a long detention might follow, and never inclined to brook the least delay, decided on an immediate start. Extra scouts were stationed on the rocks. The steersmen, both old men, with keen grave faces and flowing white beards, took their places in the boats. The rowers, twelve to each boat, stood to their short sweeps, each with a foot on the bench before him, the passengers crouching quietly at the bottom of the boats. The chief of the scouts from his post, on a pinnacle of rock which commanded the perilous and tortuous passage through the bar, raised his arms to Heaven and prayed aloud for Divine aid and blessing, the crowd and rowers listening in devout silence and at the close of the invocation joining heartily in the final “Amín.” Then at a signal we started. Each immense breaker threatened to swamp us, yet we rose and fell safely on the great waves while struggling nearer to the narrow dangerous passage through the rocks, yet holding back and waiting for the signal to pass, while from the shore rose the cries of the crowd appealing to God and “Sidna Aisa” (Our Lord Jesu) to help and protect us. At last the signal was given, and, like a flash, the first boat passed through and was safe in the open before another great breaker thundered in. The second boat followed a few minutes later, and when clear of the bar the rowers of each boat, raising their hands to Heaven in a solemn “fatha,” thanked God and Sidna Aisa for help in the hour of need.

‘As the sea was so high it was judged useless to attempt to cross the bar at Rabát, and the Lively returned direct to Tangier.’

Mulai Ahmed, second son of Sultan Mulai Abderahman Ben Hisham, was appointed by his father Viceroy of the districts of Beni Hassén, Zair, Dukála, Shedma, &c. His residence was at Rabát.

This Prince was clever, and endowed with many good qualities, but he was extravagant and reckless in his expenditure, and thus became deeply indebted to the merchants and shopkeepers of Rabát; but no man ventured to press his pecuniary claims on the wayward youth. His debtors, moreover, had only to ask some favour by which they might be benefited in their trade, and it was immediately granted by the Prince; the favour thus conferred amply recouping them for their unpaid goods.

On the occasion of a visit of the Sultan to Rabát in 1848, Mulai Ahmed was still Viceroy. Various complaints had been brought by the inhabitants to the Uzir, Ben Dris, against His Royal Highness for not paying his debts; but the Uzir endeavoured so to arrange matters as to avoid reporting the misconduct of the young Prince to his father.

One day, however, when the Sultan was going to mosque, an Arab from the country called out, from a high wall—on which he had climbed to avoid being silenced by the troopers who formed the escort of the Sultan—‘Oh Lord and Master, Mulai Abderahman, my refuge is in God and in thee! I have been plundered and unjustly treated during this your reign.’

The Sultan, restraining his horse, desired his attendants to learn who this man was; and, after hearing their report, sent for the Uzir and directed him to inquire into the case and report thereon.

On the man presenting himself before the Uzir, the latter reprimanded him for brawling in the streets for justice. ‘One would suppose,’ said Ben Dris, ‘that there were no longer governors or kadis in Morocco! Whence are you? what have you to say?’

‘I am an Arab from Shedma,’ the man replied. ‘I had a fine horse, for which I had been offered by the chief of my tribe three hundred ducats, but I refused to sell; for, though a poor man, my horse was everything to me; I would not have parted with him for all the wealth that could be offered me. Some weeks ago I came to Rabát, and Mulai Ahmed—may God prolong his days!—in an evil hour saw my horse, and ordered his soldiers to seize it, sending me a purse of three hundred ducats, which however I refused to accept. For forty long days have I been seeking justice, but can obtain hearing neither of Mulai Ahmed nor of any one else.’

The Uzir replied, ‘If your story be true, your horse shall be returned to you; but, if false, you shall be made an example of for daring to bring a complaint against the son of the Sultan.’

The Uzir then sent a messenger to inquire of Mulai Ahmed concerning the matter, and by him the Prince sent reply that he knew nothing about the horse. The Uzir was consequently about to order the Arab to be bastinadoed, when the latter begged Ben Dris to send him, accompanied by some of his—the Uzir’s—attendants, to the stables of Mulai Ahmed, where he felt sure he would find the horse; begging that his whole tribe might, if necessary, be called upon to give evidence respecting the identity of the horse.

The Uzir accordingly sent the Arab, with a guard, to the Prince’s stables to point out the horse, with directions that it should be brought before him. He also sent to inform Mulai Ahmed that this order of his father the Sultan must be obeyed.

The attendants took the Arab to the stable, where he immediately recognised his horse, but had no sooner done so than he was arrested, along with the Uzir’s men, by some soldiers sent by Mulai Ahmed, and brought before the Prince, who had them all bastinadoed and dismissed.

On the return of the Uzir’s men, they reported to their master what had taken place. The Uzir had them again bastinadoed for not having carried out his orders, viz. to bring back the Arab and his horse in safety. Then, mounting his mule, he rode direct to the palace, where he recounted to the Sultan what had occurred.

His Majesty was highly incensed; his eyes flashed lightning, and his voice was as thunder. ‘Dare any son of mine disobey the orders of his father? Are my people to be robbed and ill-used at his caprice? Summon the chief kaid of our guard.’

The officer appeared. ‘Take,’ said the Sultan, ‘a saddled mule to the palace of Mulai Ahmed. Bind the Prince hand and foot. Conduct him this day to Meknes, where he is to be imprisoned until further orders. Let the Arab have his horse and an indemnity for the rough treatment he has received. Let a proclamation be issued that all persons who have been unjustly used by Mulai Ahmed are to present themselves to me; for there is no doubt,’ added the Sultan, ‘that is not the only case of injustice of which my son has been guilty.’

The orders of Sultan Mulai Abderahman were obeyed. The chief of the guard appeared before Mulai Ahmed with a mule saddled and bridled, and informed the Prince he was deposed from his position as Viceroy, and that he was to proceed at once with him to Meknes.

At first Mulai Ahmed refused to obey his father’s commands, but, on being threatened by the officers with fetters and manacles if he showed any resistance, consented to mount the mule and start at once on his journey. The third day they arrived at Meknes, where Mulai Ahmed was confined in prison, whence he was not liberated for five years.

Another story related by the stirrup-holder was that of Kaid Maimon and the lion.

In the early part of this century, when Sultan Mulai Suliman reigned over Morocco, Kaid Maimon was Governor of Tangier, and, according to custom, had visited the Court at Fas to pay his respects to His Sherifian Majesty. On his return journey to Tangier he was conveying, in pursuance of His Majesty’s commands, a large lion in a cage carried by four mules, as a present from the Sultan to the King of Portugal.

One evening, after the tents had been pitched, and while Kaid Maimon was reposing on a divan in his ‘kubba,’ he heard shouts of alarm and the snorting and tramping of horses and mules which had broken loose from their tethers and were fleeing from the camp.

The Kaid clapped his hands repeatedly, to summon his attendants, but no one appeared. Being too much of a Moorish grandee to rise from the divan and see with his own eyes what had happened—such a proceeding would have been undignified—he remained seated, counting the beads of his rosary and muttering curses on his attendants. After a time he again shouted lustily for his slave ‘Faraji,’ with a malediction on him and on all slaves.

The Kaid had barely finished these imprecations, when in walked his huge prisoner, the lion, glaring fiercely at him.

Kaid Maimon was a man of undaunted courage: while realising it would be folly for him to draw his sword and attack the lion, as he would most probably be worsted in such a conflict, he was also aware that even should he succeed in dealing the beast a death-blow, his own life would be forfeited; as the Sultan would, no doubt, order his head to be cut off, for destroying the royal gift entrusted to his keeping for the King of Portugal. The Kaid therefore, looking as placidly as he could at the intruder, thus addressed his namesake—for the lion had also been given the name of ‘Maimon,’ or ‘the trustworthy.’ ‘You are a brave fellow, Maimon, to leave your cage and take a walk this fine evening. O judicious and well-behaved lion!’ he added, ‘you do right to roll and enjoy yourself’—as the lion, pleased with the voice of the Kaid, commenced rolling himself on the carpet. ‘O bravest and most trustworthy!’ the Kaid continued—as the lion, rising, rubbed himself cat-like against him, repeating this very embarrassing performance several times, finally stretching himself and lying down with his head on the Kaid’s knee.

Brave man though he was, Kaid Maimon perspired with horror at having to nurse such a beast. He tried patting him on the head, but a lash of the creature’s tail warned him that the lion preferred to take his repose without such caresses.

Not a sound was to be heard in the camp, save now and then a snort or struggle near the Kaid’s tent, from some terror-stricken horse which, winding the lion, was endeavouring to break away from the pickets which still held him—though most of the horses and mules had broken away and fled, with their masters after them.

Kaid Maimon now began to consider what kind of severe punishment he would inflict upon his cowardly attendants and his body-guard—if the lion did not eat him! ‘Fine warriors,’ thought he; ‘two hundred men to run away from a tame lion!’

At this moment the lion, having rested, awoke from his nap, and, stretching himself, showed his long and terrible claws. ‘This beast is not to be trifled with,’ reflected the Kaid; ‘yet if any rascal had shot it—either in self-defence or to save my life—I should have made him a head shorter.’

The lion now got up and, stalking towards the door of the tent, lashed his tail; one switch of which caught the Kaid’s turban and knocked it off. Calmly replacing it, the Kaid muttered to himself, ‘I hope this visit is now coming to an end. May it be the last of the kind I shall have to receive in my life.’

The lion, looking out, espied the horse—still picketed near the tent—which immediately recommenced its frantic struggles and at last, succeeding in breaking away, was just galloping off, when the lion, in two bounds, was on its back and brought his victim to the ground—panting in the agonies of death, its whole side lacerated and its throat torn open.

The Kaid, who had moved to the door of his tent, beheld this scene, and thought it would be a favourable moment, whilst the lion was enjoying his repast, to recall his cowardly attendants and troopers; so going out at the back of the tent, unseen by the lion, he looked around and finally espied his followers about half a mile off, huddled together, with the horses and mules they had recovered.

The Kaid, on coming up to them, vowed he would bastinado every cowardly rascal; but that the punishment would be deferred until the morrow, as they must now return at once to secure the lion before nightfall, adding—‘The first man who again runs away I will bastinado until the breath be out of his body.’

The keeper of the lion was a Jew; since, in Morocco, Jews are always appointed keepers of wild beasts, the Moors believing that a lion will not attack a woman, a child, or a Jew—as being beneath notice. The Jew was ordered to attach two long chains to the neck of the lion, now bloated with the flesh of the horse, then to stretch the chains in opposite directions and to attach them to long iron stakes which were driven into the ground for the purpose. The trembling Jew, who knew he would be cruelly bastinadoed should he fail to obey this order, did as he was bid, and the lion, lying near the remains of the horse he had been devouring, suffered the Jew to fasten the chains to the rings on his collar, which was still about his neck.

When this had been done, a dozen powerful men were ordered by the Kaid to fasten strong ropes to the chains, and by pulling contrary ways to control and guide the lion to his cage, wherein a live sheep was placed. By these means the lion was induced to enter his cage, the door of which was then closed.

Kaid Maimon, who was well pleased at the recovery of the Sultan’s present to the King of Portugal, forgave the conduct of attendants and troopers, and, assembling the chiefs, related to them the incidents of the lion’s visit to his tent.

‘When on my mission to the Court at Fas in 1875, the Uzir had selected the Kaid of an Arab regiment to command the guard of honour which had been appointed to attend on our Mission.

‘Another Kaid, named Meno, being superior in rank to the Arab Kaid, felt aggrieved that this post of confidence had not been offered to him; moreover, he had rendered important service to the Sultan, which he considered unrecognised, so he vowed vengeance on his rival.

‘The men of his regiment, all Berbers, were much attached to Kaid Meno, not only on account of his famed courage in battle, but also because whenever a razzia took place, Meno did not, like other chiefs, insist on having the lion’s share of the plunder, but left all to his followers.

‘On hearing of my arrival and the appointment of the Arab Kaid, Meno summoned a dozen stalwart men of his regiment and imparted to them, secretly, a scheme to bring disgrace upon the Arab officer and which they were to carry into execution. This was to the effect that they should rob a horse from the orchard where the cavalry mounts of my Tangier escort were picketed.

‘In this orchard was a summer-house where the English Medical Officer who accompanied the Mission had his quarters; as also the chief of our camp, a Moor from Tangier. The orchard was enclosed by a high wall, and at the gate several of the Arab guard were posted day and night.

‘“How are we to abstract a horse?” asked the Berbers. “Shall we cut the throats of the guard at night, force open the gate, and carry off the horse?”

‘“No such violence is required,” said Kaid Meno. “After midnight, when all is quiet, take off your shoes, go in silence to the path round the southern side of the wall, take pickaxes with you, and choose the best spot for making a hole through the tapia wall. I know the ground,” continued the Kaid; “you will find a drop of five feet from the path to the orchard. Take plenty of rope with you. Steal up to a horse—you will find several picketed—and lead him to the aperture in the wall. Then cast the horse quickly and quietly, bind his fore and hind legs firmly to his barrel, hoist him over your heads, and push him through the hole.”

‘“What then?” asked the men; “where can we hide the horse? We cannot take him out into the country, for the gates of the town will be closed.”

‘“That is all settled,” replied Kaid Meno. “I have arranged with a Berber cattle-lifter, who came to ask a favour of me this morning, that he is to wait to-night, with four of his companions, where the river passing under the walls enters the town.

‘“When a whistle is heard, a rope will be cast into the stream, with a float and white signal attached. This rope will be taken hold of by you and fastened to the horse, which, securely bound, will be cast into the river. The men outside, on hearing a second whistle, will haul the animal under the walls of the town through the archway. A little water will not choke the horse, which will become their property, and they will of course lose no time in making off to the mountains before dawn.”

‘“To each of you,” he added, “I give four ducats; and if the Sultan disgraces the Arab Kaid, I shall have an ox killed and give a feast to our regiment.”

‘Meno’s orders were carried out. Some of my camp-followers who slept in the orchard heard a horse moving about at night, but supposed the animal had got loose.

‘In the morning the robbery was reported.—I visited the orchard and saw the aperture through which the animal had been passed. The wall was three feet thick, and the hole, five feet from the ground, looked so small that it was a wonder how the poor beast had been jammed through.

‘Early notice of the robbery had been given to the Governor of Fas. The Arab Kaid was immediately placed under arrest, and orders issued that the town gates should be kept closed and search made in every garden and stable of a suspicious character. This was done, but without result.

‘The Sultan “thundered and lightened,” as the myrmidons of the Court told me, on hearing of the daring outrage that had been committed within the grounds assigned by His Sherifian Majesty for the quarters of the British Mission, and His Majesty vowed vengeance on the perpetrators of the theft.

‘Later in the day, an Arab camel-driver reported to the Basha that he had seen, early in the morning, a grey horse mounted bareback by a Berber, who was riding with speed towards the mountains.

‘Cavalry were dispatched in pursuit, but the robber had escaped.

‘Suspicion then fell on the Kaid and men of the Berber regiment, for words had been let drop which marked their glee at the disgrace of the Arab Kaid.

‘One of the Berber soldiers was therefore seized and cruelly bastinadoed until he offered to tell how the robbery of the horse had been planned and carried out. His story was found to be true. The unfortunate Kaid Meno was brought before the Uzir. Undaunted, he denied the charge, in an insulting manner. The Uzir reported his language to the Sultan, who ordered Meno to be disgraced and reduced to the ranks. His horses and all his property were confiscated. It was not until after I had left the Court that I learnt that the horse I had received as a gift from the Sultan, a bright dun or “snabi,” had been the property of Kaid Meno, the colonel of the Berber regiment. In my reminiscences of boar hunting I tell how gallant a hunter Snabi proved himself. His poor master must have been attached to him, for Snabi was gentle with man and faithful as a dog.

‘The unfortunate Kaid Meno was, after a year, sent prisoner to Tetuan, where he remained incarcerated until 1886, when, through my intercession, he was released and the Sultan placed him once more in command of a Berber regiment.’

During the stay of the Mission in Fas, the Sultan invited its members to be present at a grand ‘lab-el-barod’ in which he personally intended taking part; this function to be preceded by a picnic breakfast provided for his guests in one of the royal gardens about two miles from the town; and in accordance with this invitation the members of the Mission and two of the ladies were present at the ‘lab-el-barod’ conducted by the Sultan in person.

The morning had been spent by the party in one of the beautiful royal gardens in the environs of Fas, where the Sultan had ordered luncheon to be served. As this picnic and the subsequent ‘lab-el-barod’ were regarded in a semi-official light, the Mission was escorted by the Arab Kaid and cavalry who, as described in the story of Kaid Meno, had supplanted that Berber officer and his men.

A message arrived, soon after luncheon, requesting Sir John and his party to proceed to a palace situated about two miles from Fas. Here, in a large court—or rather square—the performance took place. The Sultan, who appeared much pleased to see his English visitors, saluted them, after every charge in which he joined, by rising in his stirrups and raising his gun, held horizontally to the level of his turban, as he passed the spot were they were grouped.

When the ‘fraja’ (sight) was over, we rode back to Fas, through a gay and wild scene. The whole plain was crowded with various tribes, grouped separately, and each dancing their own form of gun-dance. There was one tribe of Shloh, wearing white, with red leather belts and white turbans; another, in brown; and another, all dressed in blue. Troops of Sus jugglers and Aisawa snake-charmers mingled with these, whilst crowds of women took advantage of every mound or ruined wall whence they could watch their male relatives.

We were about half a mile on our way home, when one of our Arab escort cursed a Shloh. Immediately, from the crowd, a stone was thrown at the offender, and this was followed by another. The escort, who had been riding in open order, at once closed up in expectation of a row. The three Tangier guards present, pushed forward; the four English gentlemen surrounded Lady Hay, who rode a mule near Sir John; and Hadj Alarbi, the chief of the Tangier beaters—a gallant little man—hurried his mule to Miss Hay’s side, uncovering, at the same time, Sir John’s breechloader, which he was carrying, as the gentlemen had been shooting in the Sultan’s garden in the morning. Seeing him cock the gun, Miss Hay said, ‘Why are you doing that? You know it is not loaded and you have no cartridges.’ ‘No,’ said the Hadj, ‘but it looks well!’

The escort and the rest of the party, having now drawn closely together, were preparing to press forward; when Sir John, who was as usual riding in front, checked them, giving orders to proceed as slowly as possible; progress therefore became almost funereal. The crowd thickened about the party, curses were showered on the Arab cavalry by the constantly increasing numbers of Shloh, joined by all the idle folk and boys of the town, who united in the abuse. Presently a bullet struck the ground near the Arab Kaid, and a soldier of the escort was injured by one of the stones flung from the crowd, but these missiles were well aimed, as—though members of the escort were frequently struck—not one touched any of the English party. Bullets now whizzed over our heads, or struck the sand in front of us, sending it flying up in our horses’ faces, but no one was injured. It was not a pleasant half-hour, as the road was full of holes, and the horses fidgetty from the noise and crush. On reaching the gates of Fas, it was found that some of the miscreants had closed them, but the townspeople behaved well, and, after a short pause, re-opened the gates to admit us, closing them again immediately to exclude the mob; but after we had entered the town, boys and other scamps ran along the high wall, still taunting and insulting the soldiers.

That evening, a message was brought to Sir John from the Sultan, by his ‘Hajib,’ to express His Majesty’s regret that such an apparent insult had been offered to the Mission. The Hajib stated that the Sultan had sent for the chiefs of the tribes and asked for an explanation of their extraordinary conduct. They assured His Majesty that no insult was offered to or intended for the Bashador, but that some of the younger men of the tribes, excited by feasting and with gunpowder, had taunted and tried to annoy the escort, who had retorted; the Shloh had hoped to make the cavalry fly, as they were accustomed to do on meeting them in battle, and thus prove that the Arabs were unworthy to be guards to the British Mission.

The Hajib then continued, ‘Sidna says he cannot rest unless he is assured that none of you are injured, and he suggests and begs that you, your friends and family (meaning the ladies), will return to the same spot to-morrow to witness the “lab-el-barod,” but without the Arab escort, and attended only by your Tangier guard.’

Sir John agreed, and next day, accompanied by his younger daughter and some of the gentlemen, rode to the palace outside the walls—attended only by the six faithful Suanni men. As we left the city, each tribe sent a body of armed men to perform the gun-dance before us.

We witnessed again the ‘lab-el-barod.’ The Sultan was, at first, mounted on a coal-black horse—in token of his deep displeasure—but changed soon to a chestnut, and, lastly, mounted a milk-white steed. Afterwards we rode over the plain, mingling with the tribes. They cheered wildly, calling down blessings on the Bashador and on all the English—‘For they are brave and just,’ they cried.

The matters which Sir John especially pressed on the attention of the Sultan’s advisers on the occasion of this visit were principally those which, promised in 1873, had not been carried into execution, in consequence of the death of Sultan Sid Mohammed. Amongst the more urgent of these demands were the following:—

The placing of a light at Mazagan, to facilitate the entry of ships into the harbour at night; the building of a pier at Tangier, and of breakwaters in the harbours of Saffi and Dar-el-Baida; the erection of more houses and stores for merchants at the ports; permission to export bones; permission to import sulphur, saltpetre, and lead at a ten per cent. duty, and the abolition of the Government monopoly on these articles; the extension of the term placed on removal of prohibition to export wheat and barley; inquiry into and punishment of outrages on Jews; immediate settlement of all British claims. Most particularly he pressed the importance of allowing a cable to be laid between Tangier and Gibraltar. When he had previously obtained from the Moorish Government permission for an English Company to lay such a cable, one of his colleagues informed the Moorish Government that, in case the concession was granted, he should insist on telegraph wires being laid between Ceuta and Tangier overland, and hold the Moorish Government responsible for the safety of the wires. The Moorish Government, frightened by this menace, and aware that no inland wires would be safe in the then state of Morocco, availed themselves of the excuse to withdraw from their promise to Sir John. On this subject he wrote to Sir Henry Layard:—

In a series of letters written to his sister, Mrs. Norderling, Sir John describes various incidents of the Mission. The first of these letters, dated April 24, gives an account of the flattering reception the Mission had received:—

After the Mission had returned to Tangier, he writes to the same correspondent in July 1875, on the reforms which he was endeavouring to introduce:—

Later on he writes to Mrs. Norderling about the Sahara scheme. A plan had been proposed, and a company was to be formed, with the object of flooding the Sahara by means of a canal cut on the West African Coast, in the belief—it was said—of thus re-creating a great inland sea in place of a sandy desert. On this subject he writes:—

Having learnt that it was not the intention of the Uzir to return my visit of ceremony on arrival, I sent a message to him to this effect: ‘On what day and at what hour will it be convenient for the Uzir to return the visit of ceremony I propose to pay him?’

He replied that he could not return the visit of any person, Mohammedan or Christian, as he was connected by marriage with the Sultan. To this my reply was, through the interpreter, that I could not admit such an excuse, for if he was connected in the female line by marriage with Sultan Hassan, an ancestor of my family descended in direct line from Queen Arabella of Scotland. Therefore, on the same pretext of alliance with royalty, I could decline to call upon him! After an interchange of many messages, this question of etiquette was referred to the Sultan, who declared that the Uzir was to return my visit the day after I had called.

This Uzir had also declined to introduce the word ‘Sir’ in his letters to me, or to put the equivalent in Arabic, giving as an excuse that it was contrary to the precepts of the Mohammedan religion to address any Christian by a term which was, as he had been given to understand, equivalent to ‘Sid,’ meaning Lord or Master.

To this I replied that unless he prefixed the title, which my own Sovereign had given me and which was made use of in Her Majesty’s letter of credence to the Sultan, it was out of the question to expect that I should address him as ‘Sid’ or by any other title. The Uzir offered to address me verbally, or in writing, by the Spanish word ‘Caballero.’ I replied that I was not a Spaniard, and therefore declined to be addressed by a Spanish title; but if from a religious point of view he persisted in declining to use the English word ‘Sir’ or a synonymous Arabic title in writing to me, I should, in addressing him a letter, give him, in addition to that of Uzir, the same title or preface that he granted to my name.

This question was also referred to the Sultan, who decided that the Uzir should address me as the ‘Minister of the Queen of Great Britain,’ without putting my name, and that I should in like manner address the Uzir without putting his name. I told the Uzir, when we met, that such a discussion was most puerile, and would be so considered by statesmen and diplomatists, both in Mohammedan and Christian countries; that it was not worth the waste of time and paper, and I should let it drop, accepting the Sultan’s decision.

We then interchanged visits without further question; but a few days after these visits of etiquette, having occasion to interview the Uzir on business, I requested him to fix the hour and place of meeting. He sent word to me that, as the weather was warm, he would receive me in a ‘kubba’ in the garden of his palace, and named the hour. I took a ride that morning, and arrived at the Uzir’s house ten minutes before the time fixed for the interview. The usher of the Uzir received me, and said that his master had not yet arrived from the Court. I looked at my watch and told the usher that I had arrived ten minutes before my time, and would therefore sit down and await the Uzir. So he led me to a pavilion, at the end of a long narrow path, where I saw two chairs placed, apparently for the Uzir and myself. The one, facing the entrance, was a very gorgeous arm-chair covered with beautiful damask; the other, on the left of it, an ordinary rush-bottomed wooden chair, evidently intended as a seat for the British Envoy. I heard at a distance the heavy shuffling steps of the unwieldy Uzir, waddling towards the spot; so without letting it appear that I was aware of his arrival, I took possession of the gorgeous chair, to the dismay of the usher; saying at the same time in a loud voice, so that the Uzir might hear, ‘What have you done? You must be very ignorant in matters of ceremonial forms to have placed such a shabby chair for your master the Uzir by the side of this handsome chair, which you have prepared for me. Take it away,’ pointing to the rush-bottomed chair, ‘and bring for your master a proper seat.’

With an hysterical laugh the Uzir, seeing the man hesitate, said, ‘The Bashador is right: go and fetch another chair.’ I rose and saluted the Uzir, saying, ‘We will converse standing until the other chair is brought.’

I had an object in all this, for I knew that by pricking the wind-bag of vanity and fanaticism of the Uzir I should better prepare him to treat with me upon business and obtain satisfactory results; and thus it proved.

In a private conversation with the Sultan one day, I alluded in delicate language to the stupidity and unfitness of Uzir Mokhta. His Majesty replied, smiling at my remark, that Alarbi Mokhta being the chief of a powerful tribe, the ‘Jarmai,’ he had placed him in an influential position, adding, ‘he is yet an unbroken “tsaur” (ox), who in due time will be tamed by the yoke and will improve.’

The palace built by Mokhta since his appointment as Uzir is worthy of his ancestors the Moors of Spain, who erected the splendid monuments of architecture at Granada and Seville.

The arches, the designs in stucco, the wooden ceilings, all carved and painted in elaborate arabesque, are as beautiful as those of the ancient palaces I have seen in Andalusia.

The Uzir is said to have spent on this building upwards of $100,000, money obtained by peculation, extortion, and other corrupt practices; for, though the Sultan’s Ministers are not paid, the emoluments derived from his official position by the Uzir far exceed the salary of our Prime Minister at home.

Though Mokhta did not, and never could, like me, yet, as a proof that my action and language took the nonsense out of him, the morning I left the Court, when about to call on the Uzir to take leave, I met him, and having mentioned my intention, he begged me not to take the trouble to call, saying that he would have the pleasure of accompanying me to the gates of the town (a mile distant). This he did, and we parted apparently the best of friends.

Poison is said to be frequently employed at the Court to get rid of obnoxious persons of rank. A cup of coffee is a dangerous beverage when offered by a Moorish host, with whom you may not happen to be on friendly terms. The effect of the subtle poison which can thus be administered is rarely immediate; but weeks or months after, the victim’s hair commences to fall off, and he dies gradually in a state of emaciation.

On one occasion, after an angry discussion with Mokhta, coffee was brought. I noticed that he took the cup intended for me, put it to his lips, making a noise as if sipping,—but which I thought sounded suspiciously like blowing into the liquid,—and then offered it to me. Not fancying the bubbled coffee, I declined, saying to the Uzir, ‘I could not drink before you; pray keep that cup yourself’—helping myself, while speaking, to the other, which I drank.

The Uzir put down the cup he had offered me, without drinking it. This, after all, he may have done from tiff, and not because there was really any poison in it.

After the return of the Mission to Tangier, Sir John writes:—

In 1880 Sir John was promoted to the rank of Envoy Extraordinary, and among his friends there was apparently some expectation that he might be chosen to succeed Sir Henry Layard at Constantinople; but in reply to a letter to that effect he says:—

The following letters from his former colleague at Tangier, Monsieur Tissot, show that, whatever he might himself have thought of his fitness for the appointment, he would have been cordially welcomed by the French Ambassador.

The second letter from M. Tissot, written from Pera, is dated nearly a year later.

The Moorish hunters are generally small farmers or peasants from the villages around Tangier, who join the hunt solely from love of sport. Some of them act as beaters, wearing leathern aprons and greaves—such as the ancient Greek peasantry wore—to protect their legs. Of these, some carry bill-hooks to cut their way through the thicket, others long guns. They are accompanied by native dogs (suggestive of a cross between a collie and a jackal), with noses that can wind a boar from afar, and do good service.

As the thickets where the animals lie are for the most part bordered by the sea on one side, and by lake or plain on the other, the boar, when driven, generally make straight for the guns; and we were wont to have capital sport, shooting on an average about fifteen boar in two days’ hunting. There are also jackals and porcupine; and, during a beat near Brij, a panther once took me by surprise, jumping across the path where I was posted before I could fire. This animal was shot afterwards on a neighbouring hill.

On one occasion on the promontory of Brij, which is surrounded by the sea and the river ‘Taherdats’ except for a narrow slip of sand on the northern side, sometimes flooded at high tides, we found thirty-six boar in one beat, and killed fourteen. It was an exciting sight to see the boar breaking from the bush across the neck of sand about 150 yards broad. The herd did not break together, but came separately and continuously. A large tusker who led the van was wounded as he sallied from the bush pursued by dogs, and forthwith charged the man who had fired; and then beaters, who ran up to the rescue, were followed again by other boar, who, wounded in their turn, pursued the beaters that were hurrying after the first boar; then came dogs, pigs, beaters, more dogs and pigs. Volleys were fired, up, down, and across the line, regardless of the rules of the hunt. Great was the excitement; several beaters were knocked down by the boar, but no one was ripped, though dogs and boar lay wounded on the sands all around. I shot five boar: one great tusker, being wounded, sat on his haunches in the defiant posture of the Florentine boar, so I ran up, assassin-like, from behind and plunged my knife into his heart.

In one of the beats, a hunter named ‘Shebá,’ a veteran past seventy, had just shot a boar, when the dogs came in full cry after another, and he had only time to pour in the powder carried loose in his leathern pouch, and to put the long iron ramrod down the barrel, when another tusker came to the front. Shebá fired and sent the ramrod like a skewer through the body of the boar, who charged and knocked him over. Shebá fell flat on his face, neither moving arm nor leg, whilst the boar stood over him, cutting into ribbons his hooded woollen ‘jelab.’ He shouted for help, exclaiming ‘Fire! fire!’ I ran up within a few feet. ‘I fear to hit you,’ I said. ‘Fire!’ he cried; ‘I would rather be shot than be killed by a “halluf” (pig).’

I stooped low, and raising the muzzle of my gun, shot the boar through the heart. The huge carcass fell upon Shebá, who, when released from the weight, got up and shook me by the hand heartily, saying, ‘Praise be to God the Merciful! Thanks to you I have escaped death.’ I withdrew the ramrod, which had passed right through the body of the animal.

I had not at that time introduced the lance or spear, but when a boar happened to take to the open I had frequently pursued on horseback and killed with an ancient rapier I possessed.

Mounted on a little Barb, about fourteen hands three, I once pursued, gun in hand, a large sow across the plain of Awára. We came suddenly on a ditch formed by an estuary from the sea, about sixteen feet broad. No bank was visible until I saw the boar suddenly disappear, and before I could pull up, my nag tried to clear the ditch, but failed, as the ground was soft on the brink, so in we plumped headlong into thick mud and water, gun and all; but a pistol, loose in my holster, by good fortune was cast high and dry on the opposite bank.

The horse, sow, and I wallowed for some seconds in the mud together, each of us scrambling out about the same moment, for I had chosen an easier ascent of the bank to clamber up than the sow had done. I left my gun swamped in the mud, and, seizing hold of the pistol, remounted. Away we went again. It was about a quarter of a mile to the bush, where the sow would be safe. I came up alongside and fired, but only wounded her; she turned and made a jump to seize hold of my leg, but missed, passing her fore leg up to the joint in my right stirrup, and there her leg and my foot were jammed. The hind legs of the sow just touched the ground. She tried to bite my knee; I struggled to release my foot and the sow her leg. I had no other weapon than the exploded pistol, and my fear was that the stirrup-leather would give way, and then, if I fell, the sow would have it all her own way. The pain from my jammed instep was intense, but after a few seconds the sow freed her leg and then turned on my horse, who cleverly leapt aside as she charged.

The sow then entered the thicket, badly wounded, and when the dogs came up we found and killed her. The hunters, who had viewed the chase from the side of the hill, and had been hallooing joyously on witnessing the pig, horse, and me tumble into the ditch, were greatly amused in aiding me to remove the thick coating of grey mud which shrouded my person, my gun, and the body of my horse.

On another occasion, when a very large boar, slightly wounded, was making up the side of a rocky hill, bare of bush, a strange Moor, with a long gun, who had joined the hunt, ran along the open to a narrow path where the boar would have to pass, and squatted down to pot him. I was about forty yards off, and shouted as the boar made towards him, ‘Look out! Stand aside of the path!’—but the stranger remained steady, fired, and then jumped up and ran.

The infuriated beast pursued and knocked him headlong over, ripping his legs and body as he struggled to get up. I ran up with another hunter, but boar and man were so mixed up I could not fire. The boar, burying its snout under the man’s clothes, ripped his body severely, then seizing his woollen dress in its mouth like a bull-dog, knelt on his prostrate body. I dared not fire; so laying hold of the hilt of a sword my companion carried, and finding the point too blunt to pierce the ironclad hide, I told the owner to take hold of the point, and putting the blade under the boar’s throat, we sawed away until the beast fell dead, still holding the man’s dress in his jaws. The wounded Moor, who was built like a Samson, fainted away from loss of blood. We stanched his wounds, making a tourniquet with handkerchief and stick, laid him on the pad of a mule, and sent him into town to a room in my stable, where he was attended to by a surgeon for three weeks and recovered. On taking leave of me, he observed it was his first and would be his last boar-hunt. This man, as I learnt afterwards, was a famous cattle-lifter. He told the hunters, that out of gratitude for my care of him, he would never rob my cows or the cattle of my friends.

We were wont to hunt for a couple of days every fortnight at Sharf el Akab and Awára, but finding that the mountaineers from the hills of Beni M’Suar and Jebel Habíb, who dwell about twelve miles from this hunting-ground, had been in the habit of coming down in large parties once a week to hunt and were destroying the game, we determined, from a spirit of rivalry, to hunt more frequently.

There had been conflicts between my hunters and the mountaineers, and during a beat for boar, when a number of these wild fellows had joined our hunt, I heard bullets whizzing and cutting the branches near to where I stood. One of these mountaineers was caught by my party, and a vigorous bastinado was inflicted on the culprit, who had been seen to take a deliberate shot at me.

In less than six months the boar at Sharf el Akab and Awára were destroyed, except a huge ‘solitaire,’ who had made his lair on the rocky hill of Bu Amar, then overgrown with impenetrable bush. He was a very wary animal, who refused to bolt when bayed at by dogs, frequently killing or wounding those that ventured to approach his lair.

At that time a Spaniard had brought, much to the annoyance of the peasants, a herd of tame pigs to feed in the cork-wood, for, as the peasants reported, the ‘accursed animals’ not only fed on acorns and white truffles, which abound there, but ravaged also their grain crops, whither the Spaniard had been seen to drive the herd at night to feed.

Complaints were made by the farmers to the Moorish authorities regarding the havoc committed by the pigs, and I backed their petition to the Basha. So the herdsman was ordered by the Spanish Legation to remove the herd, which was accordingly done; but two of the Spaniard’s sows were missing, and he offered a handsome reward to any Moor who would bring them, dead or alive, declaring that they had been led astray by a large wild boar, who had been seen by him to come boldly amongst the herd some weeks before, had attacked and ripped severely a tame boar, paying no attention to the herdsman’s shouting, and had led off, as he declared, ‘Dos cerdas muy hermosas’ (two very beautiful sows), not unwilling, as he insinuated, to accompany their captor.

The Spaniard declared he had occasionally seen at dusk his two sows with the boar, feeding in the plains; but as soon as the latter winded man, he made off at a gallop with his captives.

A hunter reported this to me, mentioning that he had been offered five dollars for each sow, dead or alive, and that he believed both sows had large litters of wee striped pigs, evidently the progeny of their captor.

I communicated with the Spaniard, and these two sows and their litters were sold to me for about £6. I made known to the Basha of Tangier how the sport at Sharf el Akab had been spoilt by the too frequent hunting, both of my party and of the mountaineers; and related how I had purchased the Spaniard’s two sows and their litters. I requested that orders should be sent to the mountaineers who were under the Basha’s jurisdiction to keep to their own hunting-grounds, and not hunt at Sharf el Akab; and that the peasantry also of the villages round Tangier should be warned not to shoot boar in that district unless they joined our hunt, which had always been open to sportsmen, ‘Moslem or Nazarene,’ of low or high degree.

To all this the Basha agreed, whilst I offered to give compensation to farmers whose crops might be injured by the ravages of my porcine acquisition. I also made known to the Foreign Representatives the steps I had taken, and requested them to give directions to the subjects of their respective Governments not to shoot or hunt the hybrids or any other boar in that district, as it was my intention not to shoot boar in the preserved district, but to hunt with the spear, after a couple of years, when I expected not only the hybrids would have increased in numbers, but that they would be joined by wild boar from the neighbouring hills.

My wishes were granted, and a document was signed to that effect by the Basha and Foreign Representatives, and in 1868 I introduced hunting on horseback with the lance—known in India as pigsticking.

The hybrids at first were not disposed to break from covert and give a fair gallop in the open; but when the two ‘hermosas cerdas’ were slain, their progeny behaved better, and now give capital runs across country, and are more disposed to charge than the thoroughbred boar.

The mode of hunting with the lance is to drive a thicket where pig are reported to lie, with beaters, dogs, and stoppers, towards the marsh, plain, or cork-wood, where the pig knows that he can make for covert in an opposite thicket. The chief beater sounds a horn when a boar is on foot, firing gun or pistol should he come to bay. The horsemen are placed down-wind, concealed as much as possible, with directions to keep silent, and not to start until the boar is well away in the open, so as to ride in the rear and check his turning back to the thicket. It is a difficult task to prevent those who are novices or not sportsmen at heart from breaking through these rules, especially ardent youths who may view the boar break, and hope to take the lead by an early start.

The boar, when aware that he is pursued, puts on pace. It requires a fast horse to come up for the first quarter of a mile; but when hard pressed, the boar gets blown, shortens stride, and begins to dodge amongst the low bush.

One of the best gallops I ever had was in pursuit of a huge boar, who took across the lake from a thicket of Arára. My son, a first-rate rider, was with me; we did not carry spears, but had revolvers. After a hard gallop we came up with the boar a few yards before entering the cork-wood. We fired several shots, but the animal sped on at racing pace, charging us alternately. The wounds which the boar received (for blood poured down his flank) were not of a character to stop his career, so away we dashed through the wood, dodging the cork-trees, firing occasionally a shot, until the boar ringed back to the thick jungle of Arára from which he had been driven, and there it was out of the question to follow on horseback. Disheartened and greatly disappointed, for the boar was one of the largest we had seen for many years, we joined the hunters, and dismounted to give our nags a rest, whilst our party lunched.

We had halted for an hour, and were again preparing to mount, when a shepherd, all tattered and torn, ran up to me breathless, saying a ‘halluf,’ black as a ‘Jin’ and as big as a bull, had passed through the flock of sheep he was tending, knocking several over; had charged his dog, and made for the sea, where, he said, after rolling several times, the boar stood erect amidst the waves, throwing water over his body. ‘This lad is a “kedab” (a liar),’ exclaimed one of the hunters. ‘Who ever heard of a boar bathing in the sea at midday?’

‘Make haste,’ exclaimed the lad; ‘it is about half an hour’s walk, and if the boar is not still there, the tracks on the shore will show whether I lie or not.’

So off the hunters started, guided by the shepherd. As we topped the sand-hills which line the coast, a black form, such as the shepherd had described, big as a bull, was viewed amongst the waves. My son and I recognised the enormous beast that had given us the gallop, who had evidently taken to the sea to cool his wounds. As our party approached in line, to check any attempt of the boar to take back to Arára, he came out of the breakers with bristles up, and ‘Volta feroce al inimico!’ (a word of command formerly used in the Portuguese army), prepared to receive us.

Some of the hunters were about to fire, which I prevented, saying I would approach on horseback, as we might have the chance of another gallop. When I got within twenty yards, the beast charged. I fired my revolver, missed, gave spurs to my nag, and was pursued by the boar until the dogs, which had been held back, were let loose; he then took out to sea, breasting the rollers gallantly, making due West for the first port in the United States, with the hounds in his wake.

When the intention of the pig to emigrate became evident and he was already some hundred yards out to sea, I cried ‘Fire!’ as his black form topped a wave. Volley after volley followed, and the huge carcass was washed back on shore. The boar was a hybrid, perfectly black, with good tusks, and measuring about six feet two from snout to root of tail, and three feet two from shoulder to hoof. I have preserved the hide.

The largest boar I have ever seen measured six feet four from snout to tail, three feet four at the shoulder, and weighed twenty stone—clean. An old beater of eighty, whose dog had been wounded to the death, when he came up to the monster lying lifeless, got upon the body, took off from his shaven pate the red gun-cover which he used as a turban, and throwing it on the ground, cried out, ‘Now I can die in peace. The death of this “haisha,” (whale), who has baulked us for years, is what I have longed for. At last! It was written he should die before me,’ and the veteran performed a wild wriggling dance on the carcass of the animal.

This old hunter, named Ben Isa, was still alive, aged a hundred, when I left Tangier in July, 1886.

During one of our beats, a large boar was started from the low bush near the beach below Awára, and two mounted Moors joined me in pursuit. The country was open, and the ground good for galloping. The pig went away at racing pace, bounding like a deer over the low bushes. On getting near, I was astonished to see his ears were cropped like those of a terrier. After a gallop of a mile we speared him. Hadj Abdallah, who was one of my companions, exclaimed, ‘Do you remember four years ago two “berakkel” (squeakers) being caught by the dogs, and you and I carried them in our arms and let them go near a thicket, where they would be safe; but the little fellow you carried turned on you, when freed, and tried to bite your legs, and you bid me catch him and turn him loose again in the thicket? This I did, but he had shown such pluck I thought I would mark him, so I cropped his ears and then let him go, saying “We may meet again.” And here he is, and has given us proof this day that he was as gallant a boar as he was a squeaker.’

Some years ago we had a good day, killing nine boar.

The camp was pitched at Awára, near the farm huts of the chief hunter Hadj Hamed. A large party, both of English and foreigners, went out to join in the sport. On the first two days several boar were killed, though my favourite horse, ‘Snabi,’ was badly wounded. I chased a tusker which took right across the burnt wood towards Awínats and broke into the open on the side of the hill. There I overtook the beast and transfixed him. He charged before I could extract the lance, carrying it under my horse, and inflicted a deep gash between the off fore-leg and chest. I had to dismount and send the poor suffering beast into town. He was very lame for a twelvemonth. I had thought of shooting ‘Snabi,’ but he was such a favourite with my family, that a reprieve was granted. He was the best nag for pigsticking I ever rode. He was not fast, but thoroughly understood the sport, and would take his rider, without guiding, alongside of the pig at the right moment for attack. He never swerved from a boar; no huntsman knew better where the pig would be likely to break, as soon as the shouts of the beaters and the horn were heard, and ‘Snabi’ would be sure to view the animal before his rider, whenever it broke covert.

When desirous of showing sport to any friend who had never seen pigsticking I mounted him on ‘Snabi,’ and my advice was to let the horse take his own direction after the pig, and have his own way when closing with the enemy. If his rider fell, or a hole brought ‘Snabi’ on his head, the nag would get up and stand by, putting his head down, and looking with anxious eyes, as if to say, ‘Get up quickly, the pig is making off.’—‘Snabi’ had belonged to Kaid Meno, the Colonel of the Berber regiment of Askar, and had often been in action when his master was sent by the Sultan in command of a detachment to ‘eat up’ some rebellious tribe. There were several scars on ‘Snabi’s’ dun coat—which, in the sun, shone like gold. One ball could be distinctly felt in his neck.

On the evening of the second day we hunted the Haffa, a wood on the south side of the camp. The lances were placed along the side of the Awínats woods, and numbers of boar were found. But, pig-headed, they refused to cross the plain, and took away out of sight over the rough and open slope of the hill leading towards the sea; had we foreseen which, we should have had long and hard runs.

One enormous fellow, the monster of the forest—described by Hadj Hamed as being as big as my grey horse!—of a glistening grey colour, and with tusks sticking out, as he said, like the horns of a young bull, carried away in pursuit beaters and dogs towards the lake. From the moment this beast was found, he charged dog or man that he happened to sight. He took his time, leisurely moving off at a slow trot, followed at a respectful distance by the beaters, still charging any one who ventured to approach him. A messenger was dispatched for us by Hadj Hamed and we started off in pursuit, but arrived too late, the monster had entered the thicket.

Hadj Alarbi, the head beater, told me that he did not sleep a wink that night from disappointment that the monster boar had escaped; but he added, ‘I never should have allowed you to pursue the giant, for he would have knocked over both horse and rider from sheer weight when he charged. I should have asked some of those “Nazarenes” (indicating the foreigners) to go to the front.’

On the third day it was decided to give a rest to dogs and horses. Many of the party, therefore, went out snipe-shooting; but about 2 p.m., a boar having been viewed by the Italian Minister near the camp, Hadj Hamed proposed that we should have a beat of the Haffa wood. I had hardly placed the lances along the rough hill-side between the camp and the sea-shore, when a large boar was viewed making towards the Shebenía. Away we rattled. C. W. led on his fast horse, and, riding pluckily, got both first spear and a second spear on a charge. J. M. got third, and the boar then took to a thick clump of juniper. We left him there and returned to our posts in time to chase and kill another boar.

Having selected half a dozen beaters with their dogs, we returned to the clump of juniper and myrtle where the wounded boar had retreated. This thicket, standing not far from the sea-shore, covered a space of about two hundred yards square, with open ground on every side. The dogs bayed at the boar, and the riders stood around the thicket down-wind—awaiting his exit, in the hope that, when rested, he would move; but three-quarters of an hour, big with expectation, passed, and though the boar frequently charged the dogs to the brink of the thicket, and occasional howls told us that mischief was done, he never broke, but after each charge went back to the densest part of the copse. I directed the beaters to halloo with all their might and sound the horn, but in vain.

As it was getting late I dismounted, and spear in hand went into the bush; but finding that with ten feet of bamboo in my hand I should be at the mercy of the boar if he charged, I retreated.

In the open towards the sea I found two Moors, with guns, who had come up from camp, standing near a boar-path in the hope of getting a shot; for when a wounded boar takes to covert where horses cannot penetrate, the regulation against using fire-arms is in abeyance.

Sunset was drawing nigh, and, fearing that the wounded animal might die in the thicket before next day, I told the hunters to creep in and shoot the boar. The Moor who had a long native gun declined, saying he could not venture; for, if the boar charged in the bush, through which he would have to creep on hands and knees, the animal would probably be on him before he could fire. But he volunteered to crawl along the top of the bushes, if stiff enough to support him (he was a little wiry fellow), and thus perhaps he might get a shot. The other young Moor had a smart-looking double-barrelled gun, a muzzle-loader, so I challenged him to enter. He replied he was not going to risk his life with such a savage brute still strong in limb. ‘Hark!’ he cried, as a rush, followed by a piteous howl from a hound, was heard. ‘You are a coward,’ I retorted angrily, ‘to remain passive whilst our dogs are being killed.’ ‘You say that I am a coward,’ he replied, handing me the gun; ‘then show that you are not!’

I hesitated, for though I had shot many wounded boar at bay or on the charge, it had always been with my own trusty gun; but feeling I had wronged the Moor by taunting him with cowardice, and that he would have the best of it if I did not take up the glove, I inquired how his gun was loaded. He replied, ‘with ball.’ The copper caps looked bright and appeared to have been lately put on, so, kneeling down and keeping the gun before me at full-cock, I crawled in. The bush was too thick to stand up, for if I had squeezed myself into an upright position, my legs would have been at the mercy of the pig if he charged, which I knew the beast would, if he got a whiff of me or viewed my legs. Moreover I could not have lowered my gun suddenly in the thick bush to take aim.

On I crawled for about twenty-five yards, peering anxiously through the bush. A dog which had been charged came close, and saluted me with his tail and a whimper of satisfaction; then went back to his companions, and no doubt informed them, in dog language, that a man had come to the rescue, for they set up forthwith a chorus of tongue, which again induced the boar to move and engrossed his attention; so, crawling on, I got within ten yards and viewed him, ‘cassant les noisettes,’ as French sportsmen say. Blood streamed down his side and his bristles stood on an end.

I squatted, took deliberate aim behind the right shoulder and pulled the trigger, expecting to see the beast roll over; but a fizz, a faint report, and the sound of a bullet falling amongst the bushes, sounded like my death-knell; for I knew that the boar would in a few seconds be on me. With faint hope, however, that the second barrel would not also contain a damp charge, I held my gun firm. On came the huge beast, and when within three yards with his head towards me, I aimed at his left shoulder; the explosion was faint, but the beast dropped on his head, then rose, charging on to the muzzle of my gun, which I continued to hold steadily in front, sent it flying over my head, whilst I toppled backwards, and with the force of the blow my legs were thrown straight up into the air, and in that position I had sufficient presence of mind to remain, and could see through my legs the grim monster’s head and tusks.

That moment appeared a lifetime, a thousand thoughts of past life flashed through my brain, but the chief one was—My epitaph—‘A fool killed by a pig.’ My last shot had broken his leg at the shoulder, so that the movements of the boar were less active; but on he came, whilst I kept my legs aloft. It is better, I thought, to have my nether limbs ripped than more vital regions. So when his grizzly snout was on me, I brought down with force my right leg, armed with a heavy shooting boot, like a Nasmyth hammer on his skull, which sent the boar, who had only one sound fore-leg, on his knees; this was followed up by the left leg, and I pummelled his head alternately with each foot as the boar tried to get in at me. The right leg I managed to raise rapidly, so that it was not cut; but with the left I was less successful, and it was ripped in three places, as I found afterwards, for at the time I felt no pain. ‘If no one comes to the rescue,’ I cried out, ‘I shall be killed by the “halluf.”’ I had hardly spoken, when suddenly there appeared standing on my left the brave beater, Ahmed Ben Ali, with his hatchet raised in the air about to strike the boar, saying, ‘La bas,’ equivalent to ‘all right.’

The boar left me and went at him; the lithe fellow struck the beast with his hatchet whilst he jumped aside. A shot within a few yards followed. It was from the hunter who had kept his promise, having crawled in a wonderful manner along the tops of the bushes close to where we were, and putting his long gun down on the beast, killed it.

I lay prostrate, my legs and breast bespattered with blood from the boar’s wounds and my own. Ahmed suddenly laid hold of me and began to take off my nether garments. Angered at what appeared to me an inexplicable liberty, I used some strong expressions, not the blessings he deserved for saving my life. Upon which Ahmed said, ‘No time is to be lost: you have blood in front of your clothes, and if the bowels are injured, the wound must be sewn up before the air penetrates. I have needle and silk ready’ (carried by hunters to sew the wounds of dogs). I apologised for my rough language, and thanked the brave fellow for saving my life; then readjusting my unmentionables, I said, ‘The boar has not wounded my body, only my legs, I think,’ for I still felt no pain, but the blood was trickling down, and I could feel my left boot was full of it.

Taking a handkerchief and a stick, I made a sort of tourniquet above the knee, and then Ahmed dragged me out of the thicket. I felt faint, night was approaching, there were fifteen miles to ride to Tangier; but I decided it would be better to return to town than to go to camp and next day find my wounds so stiff that I should not be able to ride. I requested Ahmed to go to camp and send me a flask of brandy by my groom, and tell the latter he was to accompany me to town. I told the hunters, who assembled round me with anxious faces, that I was not seriously hurt, but unfit for riding, and begged them to remain for next day’s hunt, declining the offer of many friends to accompany me to town.

It was a long, weary journey of fifteen miles. My horse stumbled now and then over rocks and mud, for it became pitch dark after the first hour, and I had constant proof of the malignity of matter, for every branch or twig we passed seemed to take pleasure in knocking against my wounds, causing me much pain, and yet I felt joyous, and thankful to God I had not fared worse.

On arrival at the foot of the stairs of the Legation I gave a cheery ‘view halloo,’ so that my family might know I had arrived in good spirits. I was carried upstairs and a surgeon was sent for, who sewed up the wounds. The worst of them was a stab from a tusk, making a deep hole without ripping the flesh, as in the other cuts. For three weeks I lay on my back, though, as the surgeon observed, my flesh was like that of a healthy child, the wound having closed without inflammation.

When the hunters returned from the camp, I sent for brave Ahmed Ben Ali who had saved my life, and gave him a gun and a sword.

During the number of years I have hunted in Morocco, I have killed with gun or spear upwards of five hundred boar, and only once have I been wounded. But I have been knocked over frequently through carelessness in approaching boar at bay down-wind, or in stalking at night. The latter sport, especially when stalking a solitaire, is very exciting: it requires skill, patience, and great caution.

I wear, when stalking, shoes with rope-soles, enabling me to tread noiselessly over rough ground. I have stalked boar on a dark night up-wind, when feeding in corn, until I have approached the animal hidden by the crop, and have put the barrel of my gun within a foot of his body before firing. When I heard the boar occupied in tearing off a pod of Indian corn or munching grain, I advanced. When he stopped feeding to listen, as they will cunningly do for several minutes, I stood motionless also, until the munching recommenced.

One very dark night I managed to approach so noiselessly along a narrow path through a copse which led to an orchard—where I had heard from the windows of my villa at ‘Ravensrock’ a boar eating apples—that I actually pushed my knee against the boar, who had his snout in an opposite direction, before either of us became aware that we were at close quarters. My gun was not cocked, for I did not expect to have to use it until I entered the orchard, where I supposed the boar to be still feeding. The leap I made in the air was not more frantic than that of the boar, who jumped into the thicket. We were both terribly startled. The boar had no doubt in the still night heard me close the door of the balcony, two hundred yards off from the orchard, and had hidden in the dark path to listen and await events.

On another occasion, having observed during my rides on the hill that boar came down at night to a rough field of barley, I took my gun a little before sunset and rode to the ground. I left my nag in charge of a Moor, about a quarter of a mile from the field, and directed him to keep quiet, and not to come near the field until I fired a shot. The crop of barley I had observed was poor and short, so I felt sure I should see the body of any boar worth firing at.

I seated myself on a rock about three feet from the ground. In my belt was a long Spanish knife, with a handle made to insert in the muzzle of a gun, like a bayonet. The moon had set, the sky was cloudy, and starlight very faint. I wrapped a piece of white paper as a sight around the gun, a few inches from the lock, so that I could see it, even though the night was very dark. Just as the nine p.m. Gibraltar gun boomed across the Straits, I heard a rustling in the bush and a grunt, warning me the enemy was nigh.

The wind was favourable; the boar had entered the field on a different side from what I expected. I strained my eyes to view the beast, whom I could hear chewing the ears of barley, but could not at first distinguish him.

At length he approached within fifteen yards from the rock where I was seated, and I could just see his head above the barley, therefore I concluded, supposing the stalk was short, it was a sow or only a two-year-old. I waited until the object advanced within a few yards, and I could see a good patch of black body. I fired, and heard the noise of the fall; then the boar rose, went a few yards, and tumbled over, and I could distinctly hear what appeared to be its death-struggles. Then all was still; I got down from the rock, but did not reload, thinking there was no risk, and walked to the spot where I heard the struggles.

In the short barley were several low palmetto bushes. Seeing a dark object move, as I fancied, I aimed and fired. It was a palmetto bush—the leaves shaken by the wind had rustled. Within a few yards of this bush a large form suddenly rose and came slowly towards me. Both barrels were empty. I had barely time to insert the Spanish knife in the muzzle of the gun when I could see a grim head and tusks glistening in the starlight. It was not, as I had supposed, a sow or a pig; it was a tusker.

The ground was favourable, for I stood uphill above the boar. I held the gun so that the knife should enter at the shoulder and not strike the head. As the boar pressed on to reach me, I joyfully felt the blade penetrate into its body up to the hilt, and expected he would fall dead; but no, limping on one sound leg he continued to advance; so I backed, nearly falling over a palmetto bush; then the boar moved to one side to get round upon me, and I followed his movements, dreading every moment that the knife, if the boar retreated, would be withdrawn.

Again he came on with a rush, and I moved rapidly backwards until my back came against a rock in the field about four feet from the ground. I scrambled up it, pressing the knife and gun against the boar’s body to assist me. He tried to follow, but, with his disabled leg, failed and then moved away, carrying the knife in his body, whilst I retained the gun. I reloaded safely on the rock, thanking God for my narrow escape.

As the Moor came up with my horse I shouted to him to keep at a distance, saying the boar was alive and close by. I then got off the rock and advanced carefully, with both barrels loaded, to the spot to which I fancied the animal had retreated. Up he got, and came at me with a rush, receiving the contents of both barrels in his head and body. I found the long Spanish knife had entered the neck above the shoulder, and passed along the skin without penetrating the body. The steel was not good, and had been bent during the struggle. The boar proved to be a fine three-year-old, with tusks which could have cut me into shreds. During my tussle with this beast I had a vivid recollection of having heard that a Moorish hunter, a short time before my adventure, had fired at a boar at night in a field of Indian corn, and had followed up the tracks of blood at dawn for some distance, when he came suddenly upon the wounded animal, who charged before he could fire, knocked him down and ripped his body severely. His family, finding next morning he did not return, sent out in quest of him to the field of corn, and there he was found in a dying state, wounded in the stomach, just able to relate what had happened. Within a few yards of the wounded man lay the tusker quite dead.

Some years ago an English official at Tangier, R———, a very absent man, sallied out one night to sit for a large boar, which was reported to pass every evening after dusk a path not far from my stable at Ravensrock. Near this path in the bush was a rock, on which my friend squatted with a double-barrelled gun to await the boar.

It was a very dark night, but the path of white sand in front, contrasting with the green bush around, could be clearly seen, as also any object moving along it. He heard the tread of a large animal, and as it approached within a few feet he fired, but his horror and dismay can be imagined when down fell a donkey with panniers and a man on the top! Explanations ensued, with warm expressions of regret on the part of R———, which were accepted good-naturedly by the Moor, especially when the former put in his hands double the value of the donkey and the panniers. The ball had passed through the top of the skull of the donkey. Strange to say the animal recovered, and was made use of in R———’s garden.

Boar during the fruit-harvest come down to the orchards near Tangier and commit great ravages. When sufficient fruit is not scattered on the ground, they will rub against apple or pear trees until the fruit falls, or they will spring on the top of a trellis of vines, tearing it down to the ground to get at the grapes. The Moors put nooses of rope at the gaps in the hedge where boar enter, and fasten the noose to a tree or to a bundle of branches. The animal is often found strangled in the morning; but when the rope is fastened to loose branches it is less likely to snap, and the boar will carry off the bundle, until stopped by an entanglement of the rope with some other object.

Being out one day with a party of hunters, I saw at a distance a thick bush moving slowly, as by magic, along the top of a dense copse of gum cistus. No horse or man could be seen. One of the hunters exclaimed, ‘a boar has been caught in a noose! See the bush to which it is fastened moving along the top of the copse.’ We decided to take the animal alive, so approaching the bush and long rope to which the noose was attached, we laid hold of the rope and pulled it tight, until the boar was half-strangled. We then gagged the beast with a thick stick and string. He was dragged out of the thicket, put on a pack animal and carried to a room in my stable, where the gag was removed and food and water given.

Next day I invited a party of riders to see the boar turned loose in the open, two or three miles away from the bush. The horsemen took no weapons, and our motley pack of boar-dogs were held in leash by hunters, who were directed to let go when I should give the signal after the pig had a fair start of one hundred and fifty yards.

Some ladies joined us on horseback, but my wife, being nervous, rode a donkey, and had a Moor to lead it and to take care of my young son, who was in front. I placed them on a hillock about two hundred yards off, where I thought they would be safe and be able to view the boar. Telling the horsemen and Moors who held the dogs in leash not to start until I gave the signal, I had the boar conveyed to a high bank on a dry watercourse, and then removing the gag and untying the rope, we dropped him gently down, thus giving time for the men on foot to hide and me to mount before the boar could charge us. He was only a two-year-old, so his tusks were not very formidable. The boar bolted up the gulley, and on reaching the top of the bank looked around, North, South, East and West, but saw no cover. Viewing my horse about forty yards off he charged, and I galloped away. The boar halted, looked around, and saw on the mound an object with brilliant ribbons dangling in the wind, and then to my great consternation made straight for my wife’s donkey. In vain I rode full tilt, cracking my hunting-whip, trying to turn the beast, and shouting to the hunters to let the dogs slip; but before they came up, the boar got under the donkey, trying to rip it, whilst the Moor, holding my son aloft on his shoulders, was kicking at the boar.

Up came the dogs, who drew off the boar’s attention, and away he went; but being better inclined to fight than to gallop, the chase was short, and he was pulled down by the dogs.

‘Take this knife,’ I said to a long Yankee official; ‘as this is your first boar-hunt, you shall have the honour of giving the death-blow.’ Knife in hand, the New Yorker fearlessly advanced, and was inserting expertly the blade near the region of the heart, when up jumped the dying pig, knocked over his lank antagonist, and then fell never to rise again.

Boar when caught young become very attached to man, and will follow like a dog. They can be taught cleanly habits when kept in a house, but have no respect for flowers, and cannot resist rooting up any object which is not firmly fixed in the ground or pavement. I had a large sow as a pet, which followed me out riding for long distances.

When attacked by dogs on passing villages, the sow would turn on them and fight gallantly, until I came to the rescue with my hunting-whip. She became at length very troublesome, and would be off on the loose into the town whenever the stable-door happened to be left open. I had frequent complaints from bakers and greengrocers, and had heavy damages to pay for robberies of bread, so I gave orders that the sow was to be shut up in a yard.

One day, when the door had been left open, as the sow rushed rapidly up the street towards a greengrocer’s shop in the little market-place, where she was accustomed to rob, it happened that a young mulatto woman, whose legs had been paralysed for some years, and who gained her livelihood by begging, was crawling on her elbows and knees along the streets, coming down towards the Legation. She had never seen a pig in her life, so when she beheld a large black animal rushing frantically, as she supposed, to devour her, thought it was a ‘Jin[68].’

The shock was so great, that up she scrambled and ran off; the paralysis of her legs had ceased. This miracle performed by the sow was a source of wonder to all, especially to the Mohammedans, loth to believe that ‘Allah’ should make use of the unclean animal to heal the maimed. The next day the mulatto appeared at my gate, walking upright, to petition that I should give her compensation for the fright she had experienced, pleading also that the pig had deprived her of the means of gaining her livelihood, for she was now whole, and no one took pity and bestowed alms on her as before. I gave her only my blessing, for she was strong and young, and could work. The sow was presented by me to a gentleman in England, who wished to introduce a cross of the wild animal.

The sagacity of the boar is greater than that of most animals. A Moorish Sheikh dwelling in the mountains about forty miles from Tangier, brought as a gift to the Basha a full-grown boar, that had been caught when only two months old. The animal had become very tame; it was brought tied on the back of a pack mule.

A few days after presentation the Basha’s sons carried the boar out into the country and let it loose, slipping greyhounds to give chase. The boar knocked over the hounds, charged and ripped two horses, and got away. Next morning it was found feeding quietly in the yard of its master’s house, forty miles off! I was glad to learn that the owner, on hearing how his pet had been treated by the Basha’s sons, kept the animal until it died.

In the present century lions have rarely been seen in the Northern province of Morocco.

During a residence of many years I have only heard of two having been seen in the woods between Tangier and Cape Spartel. I cannot account for these lions having wandered so far from the Atlas Mountains—where they are still to be found—except, as the Moors of those regions relate, that when the winter has been unusually cold and snow has fallen heavily, the wild animals which dwell in the higher parts of the Atlas descend to the valleys and plains. Should a thaw suddenly set in, and rivers and brooks become swollen, the lions and other wild animals which seek to return to the mountains are prevented repassing the rapid streams, and stray away from the district, seeking for forest or for an uninhabited country, and, moving along the chain of hills to the northward, reach the district of Spartel—which is about seven miles square—bounded on the western side by the Atlantic and on the northern by the Straits of Gibraltar.

Early one morning I had a visit from several inhabitants of the village of ‘Jamah Makra,’ not far from the site of my present villa ‘Ravensrock,’ which stands on a hill, three miles out of Tangier, surrounded by woods. The men came to request that I should assemble my hunters and sally out in pursuit of a wild animal which, they related, had lacerated with its claws the flank of a mare and bitten it in the neck. They informed me that they had been roused in the middle of the night by the tramp of horses galloping through the lanes—snorting and neighing—and supposed that cavalry had been sent to surround the village. But to their surprise they found their own ponies (which are allowed to run loose on the hills when not required for agricultural purposes, and live in a half-wild state, never allowing man to approach them, especially at night-time) had by instinct sought safety in the village, trying to penetrate even into the huts. Amongst the herd was the wounded mare, in a dying state.

I assembled a party of hunters with their boar-dogs, and proceeding to the spot we found round the village tracks of a large animal; evidently of the feline race, as the footprints were round, with no mark of nails, but had pads, as in the print of a cat’s foot. The beast appeared to have avoided as much as possible the open path, and to have walked near or amongst the ilex bushes, on which we found long tawny hairs, showing it was a male lion. We also came across the half-eaten carcasses of a boar and of a porcupine. There were marks too as of a herd of boar making a stampede in a southerly direction, fleeing from the dread monarch of the woods.

We turned our dogs into the thicket—where, by the tracks, we knew the lion had entered—and placed two guns at each run. But the dogs returned from the thicket and shrank behind their masters. They had evidently come upon or winded the lion, and we could not induce them to hunt. The beaters, after entering the thicket, firing guns, and beating drums, refused to advance further; so we had to abandon the hunt.

A woman whom we met informed us that, on going to a fountain in her orchard to draw water, she had met a ‘jin’ (evil spirit), evidently, from her description, a lion; that she became paralysed from fright and could not move; that the ‘jin’ had eyes like lamps, and after gazing at her had turned aside into the bush.

The Moors believe that lions will never attack a nude woman, such is the magnanimous beast’s delicate sense of shame. Lionesses, it is to be concluded, are less particular. The dame did not mention that she had a knowledge of this, so we know not whether she dropped her vestments to save her life.

There was a good moon; so I determined to sit for the lion, safely perched on a rock, where, though it would be possible for a lion to climb, yet I should have had a great advantage in an encounter with gun and pistols. I passed the night in a state of excitement—starting at every rustle made by rabbit, ichneumon, or even rats—without seeing anything of the king of beasts. But about midnight I heard what sounded from a distance like the deep bellow of a bull.

A few days later, hearing that the track of the lion had been seen at ‘Ain Diab,’ a wood near Cape Spartel, I collected the hunters and rode to the ground, about eight miles from Tangier. There we tracked the lion into a dense thicket. The dogs again refused to hunt, as on the previous occasion, winding no doubt the lion. This was good proof that he was at home; so posting the guns, I directed the beaters to drive the wood from the foot of the hill and that guns should occasionally be fired and drums beaten.

A few minutes after I had taken up my post a Moor hurried up to where I was standing, in a great state of excitement, pale as death, saying, ‘I have seen the man[69]!’ ‘What man?’ I asked. He repeated, ‘I have seen the man! I had entered the thicket to look at an olive-tree from which I thought I could cut a good ramrod; there is a rock rising about twenty feet above the olive-tree, and as I stooped to look whence I could best cut a branch, I saw a great shaggy head, with fierce eyes glaring at me from between two huge paws. I had laid down my gun to cut the olive stick; I dared not turn to take it up again, so left it there and crawled back through the bush to tell you what I have seen.’

The rock, which he then pointed out, was about two hundred yards from where we stood. I collected the sportsmen and selected three of them (my brother and two Moors upon whose courage I could depend), and we determined to beard the lion in his den. My left arm was in a sling, having been injured while playing cricket a few days previously. As we advanced into the dense thicket I was prevented, by the pain caused by the branches knocking against my arm, from following quickly my companions. Carried away by their desire to slay the lion, they rushed on headlong, regardless of wait-a-bit thorns and other impediments; so I was left in the lurch. Feeling uncertain about the exact direction they had taken, but hearing, as I thought, the sound of some one passing in front of me, I shouted, ‘Where are you? why are you returning?’ No reply. Yet it was evident the moving object had approached me within a very few yards. Again I called, ‘Why don’t you speak?’ Then I heard a rush, as I suddenly came to an open spot of sandy soil, upon which I could trace the footmarks of the lion who had just passed. The animal had evidently moved away from the rock when he heard or saw the three men approaching, and having no desire to attack man unprovoked, had doubled back, passing close to me. All this flashed through my brain; I halted, kept perfectly still, holding my breath, for I had not the courage, alone and with an injured arm, to follow the dread beast. Moreover, I could never have caught it up, at least I tried so to convince myself, and thus to hush any feeling of shame at my cowardice.

My companions returned a few minutes afterwards, reporting that they had reached the rock where the lion had been; but he had evidently left on their approach, and they had tracked him through the bush to the spot where I had stood when he passed. We followed the direction the lion took for some time without success, and we supposed he must have made off at a swinging trot.

The following day we heard that an ox had been killed on the hills of Anjera between Tangier and Tetuan, and that the lion had gone in the direction of the snow-topped mountains of Beni Hassén.

On each visit of a lion to the Tangier district the track of a hyena had been seen to follow that of the sultan of the forest.

On one occasion, when there were rumours of a lion having been heard of in the Tangier district, and we were out hunting boar in the woods near Spartel, I heard several shots fired from the side of a hill where I had posted the guns, and a beater shouting to me, as I stood hidden behind a small rock in some low bush, ‘“Ya el Awar!”—Oh ye blind! The lion to you!’ An instant after I viewed, bounding over the bushes, a large shaggy animal. With its huge mouth open and bristling mane, it looked very terrible; but I knew at once it was not a lion; so I waited till the beast was within a few yards and sent a bullet through its heart. It turned out to be a very large Hyena rufus—striped, not spotted—larger than any specimen of that animal I have seen in the Zoological Gardens or any menagerie.

The stench of the animal was overpowering; the skin was in beautiful condition, and proved very handsome when preserved.

A grand lion was seen many years ago, standing in the early morning on the sand-hills which line the beach close to the town of Tangier, and causing great alarm. But it turned out to be a tame lion which a ‘Shloh’ woman—who, as a Sherífa, was endowed with a slight halo of sanctity—had brought captive from the Atlas Mountains. She led it about with only a loose rope round its neck, as she begged from village to village, and had arrived outside the gates of Tangier the previous evening, after they were closed, and she had laid down to sleep near the lion, which, during the night, had strayed away. This lion was quite tame and harmless, and came back to her from the sand-hills when she called it.

A Spanish gentleman told me that returning home late one dark night from a party in Tangier, carrying a small lantern to light his way, he saw what he fancied was a donkey coming towards him in one of the very narrow streets of the town where two stout persons on meeting can hardly pass each other. He turned his lantern on the object, and, to his dismay, saw the glistening eyes and shaggy head of a lion which he had already seen led in daytime by the woman through the streets. The beast was alone, without its keeper. The Don said he had never made himself so small as when he stood against a closed door to allow his Majesty to pass; which he did quite pacifically.

‘Oh ye blind! The lion to you!’

This accusation of blindness is perhaps the mildest form of abuse employed by the beaters, in the excitement of the hunt, to the guns posted to await the boar. Sir John, as Master of the Hunt, shared in the very liberal abuse indulged in by the men who had laboriously driven the boar from the thick coverts towards him and his friends, native and foreign, who waited to shoot the pigs as they broke. Every possible term of abuse—and Arabic is rich in such—together with imprecations such as only Oriental imagination could devise, would be yelled at them as a warning not to miss. Strangers too would always be indicated by any peculiarity in their appearance or dress. Neither did the excited beaters, at such moments, put any check on their rough wit. But the railing of Moorish sportsmen at each other, however violent in the ardour of the chase, is never resented.

As a case in point, Sir John related the following story.

A former Governor of Tangier, a thorough sportsman, was out hunting on one occasion, when a man of low degree who was acting as beater, and, as is usually the case, had his own dogs with him, started a boar in the direction of the Basha, who was sitting near the animal’s expected path ready to receive him. The beater called out, swearing lustily at the Basha, and using every opprobrious term he could think of; adding that if he missed his shot he should never be allowed to fire again!

The Basha fired and killed the boar.

Some little time after, when the beat was finished, the huntsmen assembled as usual, and the Basha asked who it was that had started the boar he had shot. The poor beater, feeling he had exercised the licence of the chase rather too boldly, kept somewhat in the background, but, on this challenge, came forward and acknowledged that it was he who had done so.

‘And what did you shout out to me when the boar took in my direction?’ asked the Basha. The beater, dismayed, was silent. But on the question being repeated, acknowledged having called out, ‘The boar to you—oh blind one!’

‘Only that!’ exclaimed the Basha. ‘Surely I heard you abuse me. Tell me what you said.’

In reply to this the beater, in desperation, burst out with all the abuse he had uttered. Whereupon the Basha, taking from his wallet four ‘metskal’ (then worth some three Spanish dollars), presented them to the beater, saying, ‘Take this. I know you were anxious on account of your dogs, and for the success of the sport. I pardon your abuse of me.’

After his retirement from his official position, Sir John lived little more than seven years, dividing his time between Morocco and Europe, returning, as has been said, for the winter to his beloved ‘Ravensrock,’ enjoying his sport to the end, and at intervals jotting down his ‘Scraps from my Note-book’ as a slight record of his life. ‘I feel,’ he says, referring to the appearance of some of his stories in Murray’s Magazine, ‘like a dwarf amongst tall men. Never mind. If my relatives and friends are pleased and amused, I shall continue to unwind the skein of my life till I reach my infancy.’ Among the last of the notes made by Sir John in his ‘Note-book’ was the following, which may be appropriately introduced at the close of this sketch of his career.

Body and Soul.

‘The death of the aged is always easy,’ said the F’ki Ben Yahia, ‘compared with the death of the young.’

‘This arises,’ continued the F’ki, ‘from the willingness with which the immortal soul is glad to flee from an aged body, corrupted by a long residence in this world, and from disgust at the sin and wickedness into which it has been plunged by the depravity of the body. Whereas, the young body and soul are loth to part; for the soul rejoices in the innocent enjoyments of youth and the harmless pleasures of this world, and to separate them is, as it were, to separate the young damsel from her first pure love.’

‘Oh, merciful God!’ exclaimed the F’ki, ‘put away the corruption of my body, and teach me to follow the purer inspiration of the soul which was breathed into me by Thee, O Almighty and Incomprehensible God!’

In Berwickshire, at Wedderburn Castle, a place then rented by him, Sir John Hay Drummond Hay died on the evening of Monday, Nov. 27, 1893.

He was buried in the churchyard of Christ Church, Duns. A few days after the funeral one of the family received a letter from a member of the British Legation at Tangier, in which he mentioned that on going to the Legation on the morning of Nov. 27, he was surprised to see the British flag at half-mast, and, calling to the kavass in charge, reprimanded him for his carelessness, directing him to take the flag down.

The kavass excused himself, saying that, while hauling down the flag the previous evening, the halyard had broken, and he had consequently been unable to lower the flag further; but that he had sent for a man to swarm the mast and repair the halyard and thus release the flag. This however, the writer added, was not accomplished till next morning.

Thus it happened that while the man was passing away who for forty years had represented Great Britain in Morocco, the British flag remained at half-mast.