The sultan of the mountains

“Between Larache and Al Kasr the country is flat. It is the richest land in Morocco, and the only place where there are no crops is in the sacred forest, where the trees are blessed with healing. It is said, a sick man may be cured of his illness under their branches, and many lepers used to go out and live there, hoping to lose their sores. There is no place for sudden attack, and the Spaniards came safely to Sidi Aissa, which is on my own property. It would have been better to wait a little at Al Kasr, for, in Morocco, all things must go slowly. An Arab’s imagination is like a lantern swinging in the wind, for it distorts the truth. But Silvestre was impatient. He was a conqueror dreaming of success, and his ambition was unlimited. Suq el Teleta was occupied by my help, but all the country was anxious, and, had I not been strong, there would have been much bloodshed.”

Sidi Badr ed Din, commenting on this story on a later occasion, said to me, “I have been with the Sherif all my life, and that is the only time I have seen him troubled. Even then he said nothing, and no man could tell it from his face, but I knew of his anxiety, for one of his family had died, and he went to make his Confession to the corpse. You do not know of that custom? It is common in our country, but, to my knowledge, Raisuli has only once followed it. You make your confession through a priest, who is no nearer God than yourselves, but in moments of great trouble, we whisper it into the ear of a dead man whose spirit is already with Allah. It is done when life has just passed and the soul is still linked with its yet unburied body. Its lips are sealed, so the secret is safe on earth, but the spirit is near enough to hear and carry the words to God.” It was a revelation of Raisuli’s character, dominant and determined in his decisions, but aware of the vast responsibility they imposed on him. It was a great step for a Moslem, and the appointed champion of his country, to have introduced a Christian army within its borders. However much the Sherif regretted his action or apprehended its results, he would never confide in the living, but perhaps he whispered his hopes and his fears, perhaps even his dawning disappointment, into the ears of the dead.

El Raisuli once said of Silvestre, “He was a brave man, and in any other country I could have loved him, but there cannot be two lions in one forest.” This is the explanation of the wearisome sequence of quarrels which followed. Silvestre knew nothing of the Arabs and he believed too much of what was told him. Impulsive, hot-headed and courageous, he was a typical conquistador, and the last man who should have been sent to Morocco. He saw a country which appeared to be groaning under injustice, and he did not realise that even tyranny can be a cherished custom in the East. He rushed in to save a people who had not the slightest desire to be rescued, and found himself baffled by endless prevarication, and fighting, not against one man, but against the most complicated social system the world has yet invented. There is no place for change in the traditions of Islam, and the moment an Arab is hard-pressed, he forgets everything except that he is a Moslem. Full of good intentions and admirably sincere, Silvestre found himself among people who always said exactly the opposite of what they meant, and who abhorred strangers as being little less dangerous than the devil. Most unfortunately, he was unable to convince his Government, still less in sympathy with Arab politics, that Raisuli was the only hope of dealing with them.

“After Suq el Telata had been occupied, Silvestre came to see me at Azeila,” said the Sherif. “He came with one called Ovila and eight men, and I received them with the greatest honour, and went out into the courtyard to meet them. It was the first time I had seen the Colonel, and, like Zugasti, he looked me straight in the eyes, but he was too quick in his speech. I remember he brought me five Mauser rifles, which is the best present you can give to an Arab, and he thanked me for my help, which I assured him would always be at his service. We talked of many things, but perhaps we were both blinded by our fear of a common enemy and we did not see the other difficulties which were before us. My influence has always extended from Al Kasr to Tetuan, and no man moves in the mountains without Raisuli knowing of it. I explained to Silvestre that Suq el Had must be occupied, for it was but an hour’s journey from Azeila, and the French used to go there twice a week to buy provisions and pay their police. On many of these occasions money filtered into the pockets of the Kaids, and the only way to stop this was to instal the Spaniards at Suq el Tzenin, which would cut off the French from the Had.

“It was agreed that this should be done and that Spain should undertake the payment of the garrisons at Al Kasr and Azeila, that there might be no question of a French protectorate. All these things I arranged, not because I dislike the French, for they are warriors, and the side on which they fight will never lose, but because they are too strong, and I wanted the boundaries of their country to be fixed. The Governor of Ceuta had asked for the release of some Angera prisoners, though they well deserved punishment, so I said to Silvestre, ‘They are yours. Take them with you. My men will point them out to you in the town,’ and he was surprised.

“After a while, he asked me how soon his troops could arrive at the Fondak of Ain Yerida, and I told him, ‘If you wish to reap millet, you must first plant it. Perhaps the towns are ready for civilisation, but the mountains are not. You must prepare the ground carefully, and you cannot use rifles as ploughs. I suggested that he should send out patrols to make short marches in the neighbourhood, so that the people would get used to the sight of his soldiers and realise there was no danger from them. We parted as friends, and I asked him to assure his Government that the word of Raisuli would never be broken.”

After this memorable interview Silvestre wrote to Madrid, approximately in these terms: “My personal impression is that Raisuli at present serves us loyally and that the French work incessantly to bring him over to their cause, for which reason we should lose no time in assuring his unconditional support, gathering the fruit of what has already been conceded to the Pasha. If we do not lose any time, we may avoid that. In the end, he may, like a good Moor, become venal and change his affections. Taking advantage of the complications which today menace France through the exigences and suspicious attitude of Germany, we should occupy Suq el Tzenin and establish a post 20 kils. from Tangier, etc. . . .”

This letter shows complete lack of comprehension of Raisuli’s policy, which has never changed. It has always been to leave France undisturbed in her zone, but, by means of Spain, to protect his own. His way of expressing it is more picturesque. “If there is a hornet’s nest across the mountains, the wise man does not disturb it, but neither does he leave honey unguarded in his house. . . . After Silvestre came to see me, he sent an officer to Azeila to instruct my troops, and all my freed slaves joined the army because they liked his drill. He used also to pay the garrison, and there were some outside who were angry because no money slipped into their hands, but they were ‘mesqueen,’[38] for my servants do not accept bribes.

“There was once a Spaniard who went into Jebel Bu Hashim to look for birds, and Ghabah went with him, that the mountaineers might know he was under protection of the Sherif. When they returned, the Spaniard gave my slave 25 pesetas, and would not allow him to refuse. The next day he came to me to take his leave and, after we had talked, I gave him a note for 25 pesetas. ‘What is this?’ he asked. ‘Why do you give me money?’ ‘It is yours. Are you unwilling to take it from me?’ I answered. ‘I do not understand this. I cannot take it,’ he repeated. ‘You were not ashamed to give money to my slave yesterday,’ I said, ‘so why should you be ashamed to take it from me today?’” “It is true,” said Badr ed Din. “No slave would receive a penny from a guest of the house. They are ignorant men, but very wise in their ignorance.” I remembered how two of the said slaves had watched a visitor at the camp nearest Tazrut performing violent exercises with a pair of dumb-bells. “Ullah, he seems angry! What is he doing?” asked one. “Be quiet!” said the other. “Do not disturb him. He is saying his prayers.”

The Sherif continued his story. “Silvestre wanted to send flying columns into the heart of the country, and always he wrote to me of Ain el Yerida, yet at the same time he had insisted on the release of the Anjera prisoners, while still men from Wadi Ras were held captives by the tribe.[39] When I told him of this he believed me, for he saw how the country waited on my word, but his Government wrote to him often, urging him to do the wrong things, so that he was between the two blades of the scissors. At one time he wrote to the Qadi of Al Kasr and ordered him not to sign any documents for the sale of houses without his permission, especially in those districts occupied by Spanish troops. At this the people were indignant and cried out that their liberty was being interfered with. The French papers published an exaggerated account of the incident and the news spread through Morocco that Silvestre had forbidden the Qadi to pass any sentence without his approval, or to make any disposition concerning the public funds, even including the auqaf.[40] The Minister of the Sultan, El Guebbas, protested, and it was expected that there would be a rising throughout the country. Fortunately, through my secret agents, I heard all these things before they were whispered in the markets, and I made a little politics among the tribes, and the story was forgotten.

“Silvestre went on a journey along the Luccus, on the left banks of which were encamped the French, and was well received by all the people. He had a troop of cavalry with him and many officers, and the people brought out bullocks and sheep and sacrificed them in front of him, that he might listen to their petitions. Many thought, ‘Here is a new Pasha. Now is the time to triumph over our enemies and be revenged.’ And they told him numerous stories, while they cut off the forelegs of their bullocks, so that the animals sank down on their knees in an attitude of prayer, and so bled to death. Ullah, his camp was like a slaughter-house, for this was done at his tent-door for the more honour; and sometimes they cut the throats of sheep and laid them on his threshold as a gift. I told you the Moors were savages!” By this time Silvestre was finding his position very difficult, for he was appealed to on all sides by individuals who had grievances, real or imaginary, and he was confronted by the impossible task of introducing European law and order without interfering with the customs of the country. Moreover, in attempting to do so, he was obliged to undermine the authority of the man who was his only guarantee of security.

Raisuli watched these manœuvres with considerable impassivity. Sometimes men came to him and asked the reasons of certain transactions. The Sherif’s reply is famous. “The blind have a special ‘baraka’—as to the meaning of these actions, Allah knows, and I would rather not!”

CHAPTER XIII

“Silvestre’s letter saying all this, and speaking also of some prisoners which he wished released from a place in the mountains, came to me at the time of Aidh el Kebeer,[41] when I was busy receiving all the Sheikhs who came to greet me. My house was full, and each man was busy with the entertainment of guests, and so there was delay in answering the letter. Besides when a man is angry, he should never take a pen in his hand, and I was angry because of the disobedience of the Pasha.”

In the end Raisuli wrote one of the most completely oriental letters I have read. After polite greetings, wishing “felicity always to the Señor just and worthy of respect, the well-liked Colonel Silvestre,” he wasted a page in admirably-constructed sentences which meant nothing, before pointing out that he had no news of the prisoners. Short of saying that the Jinns had run away with them, he suggested every unlikely reason for their non-arrival—that they had lingered on the way, or stopped to rest, or visited friends, or missed the road—ending with, “although they tell me that two came out of prison very weak and ill.” With regard to Ben Asayeg, he insisted, with considerable dignity, that the action of Silvestre had done much to injure his prestige—“I had the indubitable right to send for the various Pashas in my Government to come and report to me, and, if I considered they were not doing their duty, to change them for others more trustworthy and more faithful. If I had judged good the conduct of Ben Asayeg, or if I had seen in it any error,” said the Sherif, “I would either have corrected him, or praised him, as the occasion deserved; but that he should disobey was bad for the discipline of my province, and I wished to report the matter to El Guebbas at Fez.

“Silvestre wrote to his Minister, saying that if Ben Asayeg were removed, the Arabs would no longer have any faith in Spain, for all that the Pasha had done had been in the service of the protectorate. He reported also that I had been collecting large quantities of arms, and that a Frenchman from the legation at Tangier had spent several hours in my house. From this you will see how difficult matters had become. Silvestre wished to stop the tribesmen carrying rifles and, if a man passed by his camp with a gun across his shoulders, it was taken from him; and this is not good, for, without his arms, an Arab is but a woman and ashamed.

“There was once a Sheikh who was my prisoner, and he was condemned to death by the tribunal, for he had done much evil in the mountains. They gave him food and water, but he would not touch them, and he said, ‘My hands are empty, and I am too old to be deprived of that which I have held all my life. How can I say my prayers if I cannot make the Kibla[42] with my rifle before me?’ They told me these sayings, and I went and spoke to him, for once he had been my friend; and he said, ‘Oh, Sherif, it is disgraceful to kill a woman. Give me back my arms, that this shame may not be upon you.’ I made a sign to a slave, and he brought a rifle, and would have given it to him unloaded, but I said to the servants, ‘No, put bullets in it, for he is the prisoner of his word.’ The Sheikh took the gun and laid it across his knees, and smiled. ‘Allah would not have recognized me had I gone to him unarmed,’ he said; and the next day he was strangled, that there should be no blood upon his body.

“In the matter of the rifles, I was strong. Silvestre wished that each man who carried a gun should have a paper, signed by myself, to show he was in my service, but, fortunately, at this time it was imagined that I was treating with the French, so the matter was not pressed. When two men meet face to face, much can be arranged, but a pen alters a man’s ideas, and he is guarded in what he writes. There was much dispute between Silvestre and his Government, for neither trusted the intelligence of the other. Allah knows one was too far removed from the events, and the other too much in the middle of them, to see clearly, for if a man is on the other side of the Luccus, he cannot watch a battle at Azeila, but, likewise, if he is in the middle of the fight, hard-pressed and defending his own life, he cannot judge of what is happening.

“At this time I consulted with my friends, and we said, ‘We have gone far enough. If we give in more to the Spaniards we shall have no honour left in the country!’ and I altered the taxes, without the consent of Silvestre, as was my right, and I told the men, ‘Go right up to the camps and take the aushur (a tenth part) from all the flocks and herds, even those that supply the army.’ This was done, and the people began to doubt if they had been wise in complaining to the Spaniards, and they sent presents to me secretly. When, by the orders of Silvestre, men of the Jebala, coming down from Ahl Serif or Kholot, were stopped as they came to the high road and their guns taken from them, I sent some soldiers to Al Kasr and they went to the door of the prison at noon, and took out two important prisoners. When the gaolers would have prevented them, they said, ‘It is by the orders of the Sherif,’ and the men were afraid, and let them go. I did this to show Silvestre how great was my influence when there was a question of actions and not words. After this the Spanish guards were redoubled, but the men who brought arms from the mountains came now in large parties, so no one dared to interfere with them when they crossed the plain.

“Silvestre complained that I persecuted those Arabs who worked against me, but, except for a few merchants who made money out of the foreigners, all men were with me, either openly or in secret. At last I wrote again to the Pasha and to Mohamed ben Abal, another of the great men of the Al Kasr, ordering them to come to Azeila, and this time they dared not refuse, but asked only time to prepare for the journey and to make ready the gifts they would bring, for it was the Arab Easter. Silvestre, believing it was his duty to protect the Pasha and the other, both of whom came to him, saying, ‘We fear we shall never return, but our fate would be worse if we stayed,’ wrote to Madrid asking that he might be allowed to accompany them, or at least to visit me a little later. At the same time he wrote to me, asking me to guarantee the safety of Ben Asayeg and Sidi Mohamed, but I did not answer the letter, for all things were with Allah, and how could I make promises to a foreigner concerning the safety of my own people? It was a mistake that he asked it.

“All these things that I have told you happened quickly and (in October) Silvestre came to Azeila, and I invited him to visit me. My people said to me, ‘Why do you receive your enemy in this way? Bullets are more suitable than words,’ but I answered, ‘He will not be my enemy after I have spoken with him.’ I received him with even more honour than before, but there was silence between us and, to whatever the Spaniard asked, I answered, ‘If Allah wills,’ till at last his impatience mastered him, and he said through his interpreter, ‘None of us may know the will of God, but I have come here to understand the will of Raisuli.’

“Then I answered, ‘The will of Raisuli has always been to help you, but you have disregarded it and gone your own way.’ ‘I have tried to bring justice to the country,’ he said. ‘Who has done that before me?’ ‘My armies,’ I replied, and, to everything he asked in this fashion, I answered, ‘My armies.’ Then I spoke to him about Ben Asayeg, and I said: ‘You have made him into a tool, so that he no longer acts wisely, for fear of offending you. He has no mind left, and is not fit to rule in Al Kasr. All these troubles with the villages in Sebbah and Utah and the affair of Beni Mesala were owing to his actions. He is trying to serve fire and water, which is not possible. He must go, before there is such trouble in Al Kasr that you yourselves will suffer. Remember, Sidi, in a Moslem country, it is always the strangers who suffer first. It is my duty to protect you, for you came here as my friends.’

“We talked for a long time and, at last, I persuaded him to leave Ben Asayeg in my hands and promised that he should have another post where he could do no harm. I told him that all matters could easily be settled if we could meet freely when there was anything to discuss, and he promised to consult his Government about this. He spoke to me of the radio telegraph, and I requested him to arrange for both the telegraph and telephone to be installed in Azeila. Ullah, so much of civilization is useful and, at the same time, annoying.”

Silvestre welcomed with delight the Sherif’s last suggestion, as it would give him the opportunity of sending a military operator to Azeila, which would be the first step to having an office in the forbidden city. The interview closed satisfactorily and, as the Arabs expressed it, ‘the Spaniard was the prisoner of the Sherif’s eloquence.’ It was certainly a triumph for Raisuli, for he had won, at least for the moment, a powerful ally, who wrote immediately to Madrid, urging the necessity of remaining on good terms with the Sherif. The installation of telegraph and telephone were the excuse for several visits on the part of the Spanish commander, and each time he met the astute Raisuli, he was the more convinced of his sincerity, so much so that a deputation of Moors from Ahl Serif, asking to be allowed to appoint their own Kaid in lieu of Raisuli’s nominee, received an unexpected rebuff.

“About this time,” continued the Sherif, “El Guebbas wrote to me from Fez, saying that a body of French engineers, interested in the line from Tangier to Fez, would like to visit me on their way through Azeila. I received them, as I was bound to do, since my Governorate was from Mulai Hafid, but I was glad also, because I thought their visit would hasten the arrival of my own telephone, for Spain was still afraid that what she did not give me I should receive from France. Silvestre was very anxious after it had been told him that the French engineers had stayed with me for hours, so, in order to strengthen his hold on the country, he wrote to me, saying that Tzenin and Suq el Telata were nearer to Azeila than to Larache. He begged me to allow provisions to be disembarked at Azeila, that they might pass straight up to the camps. I agreed, because I wanted boats to come to the town, in order that they might bring me the materials I needed for my house, which I was still decorating and improving. Also it had always been my intention to bring the Spaniards to Azeila, but I wished to do it slowly, as between friends, so that the people might not say I was under Christian influence, for in that case I should have had no more power over them. In order to be pleasant to the Spaniards, I instructed the new Pasha of Al Kasr to allow them to acquire all the land that they required for their camps, and to do everything for their satisfaction; but still there was argument between us concerning the taxes. Silvestre complained of their severity, and I replied that they had been much reduced. Truly it is not worthy that men should talk so much about money.

“In the beginning of the year, according to your counting (Feb. 1912), Zugasti, with whom I had long wanted to have speech, sent a friend to see me, for there was a dispute about the payment of the garrisons, but I would talk of nothing but my telegraph line.”

The unfortunate envoy wrote that he found the Sherif proud and unyielding, that he had had two interviews, in which Raisuli had not opened his lips, and that, during a third, his host had been in such a bad temper that he had thought it better to “give way in everything, lest the Sherif should refuse to treat further.” Silvestre, still convinced of Raisuli’s honesty, again travelled to Azeila. “I told him,” said the Sherif, “that he was welcome, for the sight of a friend is like morning after the night, but that there was no necessity for speech. I had already explained that any service I could render to Spain would be a duty which I should hasten to accomplish. He wished to speak again of taxes and garrisons, but I said to him, ‘Where is my telephone?’ He answered that it was on its way. Then he said that many provisions were being unloaded at Azeila and that it was necessary to build a storehouse to hold them. I agreed, and added that I would appoint a trusted man to look after them, and this was in order to test him, for I knew it was a trick to gain more foothold in Azeila. He answered that, as he would be responsible for the stores, he must send soldiers to guard them. I said nothing, and, after a silence, he asked if, for the lodging of the soldiers, he might build a hotel outside the walls of the town. I replied, ‘It is a wise man who hides the price of his merchandise till the bargain is concluded. Ullah, I see now how much my telephone will cost.’ But we were friends, and, because I understood his mind, I forgave him. At the end he asked me if I would not become a Spanish-protected subject, and I answered that this was my greatest wish; for sometimes the truth is not courteous.”

CHAPTER XIV

“It was the same thing when Silvestre went to Madrid. At one time I believed that he cheated me, but now I think he kept his word. It was the Government which did not trust his knowledge, and they were troubled about France. Perhaps they suggested Raisuli as Kaliph and Paris refused. Allah alone knows. France would always be afraid if there were a strong alliance between Spain and myself, and it is her plaything, Mulai Jesuf[43] who chooses the Kaliph between two names submitted to him. If Spain had been strong then, and given me in name what was already mine in fact, there would have been no war, and her flag would have been on every hilltop.”

As a matter of fact, Silvestre supported Raisuli’s candidature to the utmost of his ability. The two letters which he wrote on this subject to the Ministry and to the King are a matter of official record. He made a considerable amount of propaganda in Spain for the Sherif, but France was adamant in her refusal, and the Government was divided.

“In the middle of that year,” continued Raisuli, “I believed that Silvestre and I were friends, but two bulls cannot rule the same herd. The Colonel came to see me, and said his Government feared that he was too much under my influence and was not busying himself with the occupation of the country. He wanted to go by way of Beni Mesauer to Ain el Yerida, and, from there, join the General Alfau, who was at Ceuta. I did not like this plan, for Wadi Ras is dangerous country—any stone may hide a rifle, and the streams are so thick with flowers and trees that no man knows what is hid among them. Nevertheless, I offered to send soldiers with him and I resolved to write secretly to the Kaids of the tribes, warning them of the approach and saying, ‘Your head for his, if he dies,’ but the Government changed its ideas and wrote hastily, saying, ‘Do nothing until we have consulted on this matter.’

“Silvestre was anxious to bring his soldiers to Azeila. For long this had been his aim, for he feared the French, who were working on the telegraph line from Fez to Tangier. I said to him, ‘This is my town; the only one I have kept for myself. You would blacken my face before the inhabitants if you come here,’ but he persisted, for there had been some more trouble over prisoners from Anjera, which tribe was always against me. Ullah, they were daring in their raids. Once they intercepted my mother, under whose feet is paradise, on her way to Beni Mesauer, where she went to visit her family. I was at Zinat, and they sent the news to me there, saying, ‘If you do not come to our village and submit to us, we will kill your mother.’ I answered, ‘A man is responsible before heaven for his mother. By Allah, I will come.’ So they were rejoiced, and thought their plan had succeeded, but I gathered together seventeen men, my closest friends, and we went by night over the hills, taking with us petrol and matches. I sent a small boy with a message to my mother, and he, crying because he had lost his goats, which had got mixed up with the Anjera flocks, came to the village to complain, but was not able to see my mother till nightfall. Then, when all were at prayer, he found her, and said, ‘My master sent me; and when, in the dawn, you hear the cry of a bird[44] on the hillside, go swiftly from the house and hide among those trees,’ and she answered, ‘If Allah wills, it shall be done.’

I divided my men in two parties and, when we arrived, before the light was clear, I stationed one in a thicket beyond the village. These made a great firing with their rifles and allowed themselves to be seen by the villagers, who thought they were attacked only from that side, and rushed out to drive away the enemy, who were few. Then we crept silently from behind the stones, each man in his earth-brown mantle, and, when we reached the first house, we poured petrol over it and set it on fire. The flames roared up from roof to roof, and the smoke belched forth like the breath of an army in winter. The Anjera were frightened, and returned in haste to save their families and their property. I called out to them, ‘Why are you disturbed by my visit? You invited me, and I have come.’ ‘By Allah, you have destroyed your mother!’ screamed someone, but I knew she was safe behind the trees I had indicated, for the small goatherd had tied his kilt to his stick and was waving it to prevent his animals going back into the village, and this was the sign agreed upon.

“The men whom I had stationed in the grove joined me, and there was so much confusion in the village, where the fire was sucking up the houses as a wave gathers the sand in its maw, that no Anjera knew his friend from his foe. When a man fell, a woman picked up his rifle and fired, and one, who was but a girl, hid among the cactus and shot steadily at the place where I stood, but, as always, the ‘baraka’ was with me.”

The Sherif seemed to think the story was ended. He picked up a great jug which stood on the table and drank half its contents. “This water is tainted by the goatskin. I send specially to a spring in the mountains, where the water is very clear and cold, and they bring it down in jars, so that there is no taste. My cousin should have seen that you had this to drink, for the wells here are not good.” The Kaid cut short the apologies of Mulai Sadiq. “The Sherif has not told you what happened that night,” he said. “After we had put the Sherifa on a mule and sent her with an escort on her way, I said to my friends, ‘We have forgotten something,’ and we returned and lay hid among the rocks till some of the Anjera came out. They were quite close to us and we could see the hairs on their faces before we sprang up and killed them, each one choosing an enemy and using his knife so that no sound should reach the village. We cut off their heads and turned swiftly, but a woman screamed among the cactus, and we saw men issuing from the ruins. Ullah, we did not wait, but ran like the foxes in the mountain, but each man carried a head, and, when we came to our own village, we set them up on posts, as a witness that Raisuli was still strong.

“That night we feared an attack from Anjera, who surely would revenge their dead, but it was a long way and none came. Guards had been posted all round the village, and there was a watchman on the hill, but they travelled far and were tired. Perhaps they slept. When it was near dawn I heard a shot, and I ran out, with my finger on the trigger, expecting the crash of musketry from the hedges, but there was only a faint cry, like an animal when it is wounded, and the sentry, who had fired, could not say what he had seen.

“He spoke of something white at the gate. ‘Fool, thou hast wasted my bullet on a donkey,’ I told him, but he insisted that it was a jinn, for it is in the early hours, when the light is neither white nor black, that the jinns come and do harm, wounding men and otherwise annoying them. After that, I woke up those who slept, in case some strategy was intended, but the sun rose and all was quiet. ‘Where did you see the jinn?’ I asked, and the man took me to the place, and, strange thing! there were but three heads on the posts instead of four. The Jebali was frightened. ‘Did I not tell you so, Sidi? But it was a ghoul who eats human flesh!’ ‘Empty words,’ I answered him. ‘These creatures do not leave blood upon the ground,’ for truly the earth was trampled hard by our feet and the dry stalks were red. I called to a slave, and he came with me.

“Together we followed the track, and a group came out of the village behind us. ‘Your jinn was badly wounded,’ I said. ‘It could not have gone far,’ but I was wrong. The blood ceased after a time, and we walked a long way, for there was but one path towards Anjera. At last the slave said, ‘This is dangerous ground, master; let us return,’ but I was curious, and went on. We found a strip of white cotton stuff by the way, but it was soaked with blood, and after that the grass was red again. Very soon, under an olive-tree, we found our quarry. It was a girl, and she was dead. Her hair was matted with sweat and her garments stained, but she was little and young, and, in one arm, wrapped in the cleanest bit of her skirt and pressed against her bosom, she held the head of her man.” The Kaid stopped. “Women always make trouble,” said Mulai Sadiq, with a glance at me, but el Menebbhe went on, shyly, as if rather ashamed, “We covered her with a jellaba and sent news to her village that there was a truce, and that if they came to our town, they could return in safety with that which belonged to them.”

Raisuli looked at me curiously. “You like that story, eh? But the Kaid has a soft heart for women. His wife has just borne him a son, and, by Allah, I have not seen him for days. One would have thought it was he who gave birth, so anxious was his face.” There was general amusement, amidst which the Sherif sent for green tea, and I had to wait for the continuation of his story till several cups had been drunk, with loud sucking noises, expressive of supreme appreciation.

“Tea is very useful,” said Raisuli at last. “It mellows a man’s thoughts as well as helps his digestion, for there is no trouble between the teapot and the cup. I was telling you how Silvestre wished to occupy Azeila, and how I asked him to wait. Truly the blood was in his head and he was mad, for, one night, news was brought to me that a Spanish mehalla was marching from Larache to attack me. I said, ‘It is not possible, unless Allah has muddled their wits!’ but when I discovered it was true, I made hasty preparation in the town and said, ‘Any man who fires will never see the sun again.’ The people wondered and whispered among themselves, but they feared me, and so peace was kept.

“I had the gates of the town shut, and sent a messenger to Silvestre, saying, ‘When a guest is uninvited, he is still welcome, but you should have given me warning. This is an unwise action which will have bad results. Do not come into the town, but make your camp at Aox.’ This was a height which was a convenient place for an army. I was angry with Silvestre for what he had done, for discourtesy is worse than treachery, and both are bad. I complained to the Legation at Tangier, but I received kindly the officers who came into the town, for I knew it was only politics, and done to prevent the French having influence in Azeila by means of their telegraph. Worse news came to me soon, for it was rumoured that Mulai el Mehdi, of the family of the Sultan, a weak man who has no standing in the country, was to be appointed Kaliph. Then I thought to myself that the Spaniards had broken faith with me and were no more to be trusted.

“The tribesmen came to me in large numbers and said, ‘Is this thing possible? We thought that the Sherif was well with the foreigners.’ In this way my prestige suffered, for Mulai el Mehdi was straw blown in the wind, and his minister, Ben Azuz, though an honest man and worthy of respect on that account, had no force behind his words. I told myself that I had been foolish to believe in any Christian promise, and, from that day, I have not put too much credence in the words of generals and ministers, for it seems to me that in all countries, when Europeans arrange treaties with natives, they make reservations, saying to themselves, ‘If this be to our interest it shall stand,’ but, if there be trouble between two of your Powers, no compacts and no pledges will keep the Arab from being trampled on.