The sultan of the mountains

The Kaid looked up, smiling, with a gleam of strong teeth amidst the black of his beard. “Ullah, I was frightened that day, but the Sherif has never known fear!” Raisuli’s eyes wandered out of the tent to where Mohamed el Khalid was sitting on the edge of the well, and he made no comment.

“Xauen was taken after much loss on both sides,” he said. “Weight of guns and weight of men captured the hidden city (in October, 1920), which had been sacred to Moslems, and it was fitting that the Jews should rush out to welcome the sacrilege. It was again as at Larache, so many years before. The Arabs shut the doors of their houses, saying, ‘It is finished!’ while the Hebrews thronged the streets, singing and shouting in their joy. Since the war ended the Spaniards have done well in that country, and the new Pasha is a wise man and a friend of the Government. It was his influence which prevented a great massacre when the news of Melilla became known in Xauen. The bridges are no longer broken. The road is good. There will soon be a railway. Perhaps, after money has begun to drip into the hands of the Ahmas, and there is no more disease among their people, they will be content with that which has been sent them.” Raisuli paused, his thoughts evidently occupied with the future.

“When the mountains of Beni Ider had been crowned with their army, the Spaniards thought the war was at an end,” he said at last. “They could see the white houses of Tazrut on the side of Bu Hashim, and they wished to revenge themselves on these for the dead they had left in each wadi through which they had passed. Berenguer sent Dris er Riffi from Azeila to start his propaganda on the outskirts of Beni Aros. Men wavered while they listened to his words, and thought of the harvest which had been wasted. We had been fighting for a year, and, step by step, we were crushed back into the hills; yet it was not the soldiers who defeated us, but the new inventions which they used against us. The air was thick with metal and the earth was mined under our feet. My people were frightened, for there seemed no end to the weapons of our enemy. As yet there was no famine, but men began to pull in their belts and lick their lips when they saw game on the hills.

“Barera pushed forward among the high peaks on the French frontier, urging that the army which occupied Xauen should come out to meet him beyond Bu Hashim. One of the largest forts was at Akba el Kola, a place difficult to hold, because of the cliffs which overlook it. In spite of this it was used as a base, and fortified with much wire. There were a good many troops there, with artillery and maxims which had been brought up with great difficulty, for this is on the edge of our worst mountains. The Ahmas tribe have never tolerated strangers. They waited only to be assured of the help of Sumata. Then they fell upon the fort. A small force hid in Beni Scar, with the help of the inhabitants, whose cattle had been taken by the enemy. Two other parties occupied the heights on either side of el Kola, and they all began firing together. The attack must have been unexpected, for, in order to escape a rain of bullets, many of the Spaniards tried to leap the wire, and became entangled in it. They were shot down as they struggled, and their bodies hung on the fence. A few gathered under the shelter of some rocks and attempted to defend themselves, but they had no time to use their artillery, and the tribesmen picked them off from the high ground. There was scarcely a man left unwounded after the first hour, for some had fled before the fierceness of the attack.

“On the hills of Jerba and Bulerus there were smaller posts, and these too were surrounded, but they held off the Beni Ahmas till sunset, when they were eaten up by reinforcements from Sumata. This was one of the few battles that we won, and the slaughter was great among the Christians. The tribesmen secured many rifles, as well as the cannon that were left in the post; and the women came out by night to take the clothes of the dead. The Ahmas are savages, though good fighters, and they did not do more for the corpses than cut off their heads. Some bodies they stuck in the ovens where the soldiers’ food had been cooked. Others they left in the wire and, when the smell became bad, they went up onto the cliffs. Money was found in the office and a good many tinned stores, but the tribesmen could not use these for fear of pig-flesh being among them.[101]

“This defeat was a check to our enemies, for Barera saw there was no chance of the two armies joining south of Tazrut. In truth, their maps or their guides must have deceived them, for I have told you about those mountains whose sides are like the walls of a house. You can fire a gun across a ravine, and perchance hit a man on the opposite ridge, but it will take you a day to reach his body. Mulai Ali, my nephew, still held the Spaniards in the intricate country west of Xauen, and here the Christians paid heavily, for they had to build bridges before they could get their guns over the wadis, and, when winter came, the rains washed away half of their work. The Beni Hosmar hung on their rear, and there was no safety for them at any point. I have told you often that, in this country, taking the largest town is no more advantageous than taking a rock or a tree. The Spaniards were slow to learn this.

“The second winter was hard on the tribesmen, and often there was only monkey-flesh in the pot. Once again the children died, and women fell before me, as I rode, and begged for food for their sons. I gave all that I had, and much came from Beni Mesauer. The Kaids were growing anxious, for the Spaniards had made a new plan, and the two armies crept forward from Larache and Xauen towards Bab es Sor, narrowing the triangle that was left to us. Berenguer had to go round Jebel Alan by way of Beni Leit, and here there was much fighting. Mulai Ali, my nephew, had five hundred men with him in the mountain, and they watched for opportunities of attacking the army which, divided into several columns, was struggling over the rough ground.

“At that time it was difficult to say who was loyal and who a traitor, for, in order to save their villages and their families, many had given the service of their tongues to the enemy. Perhaps one brother was with Spain and the other in my harka, but this was a matter of policy. Now, on one occasion, during the passage of Beni Leit, some relatives of Hamed es Succan, my dear friend, were guiding the enemy, and it happened that men of the same family were with Mulai Ali. It was therefore decided to lead the Spaniards into a trap. It was necessary that guides who were loyal to me should be substituted for those who were with the enemy. ‘That is an easy matter,’ said one Mohamed. ‘These men are my cousins. I will send them a message to run away in the night.’ ‘There is no use in that,’ protested another, ‘for the Spaniards would suspect treachery and take no more guides from our family.’ Mohamed thought for a few moments. ‘Ullah, we must then kill the sons of my relative, and it must not be known from where came the shots. After this, I, and one other, will go down and claim their bodies and make much mourning, clamouring against the Sherif and swearing to take vengeance. Thus the Spaniards, trusting us, will be rejoiced to take us as guides, and we can lead them into the trap in whatever manner is arranged.’

“The wisdom of Mohamed was applauded, but one said to him, ‘Since the last surprise, the enemy have never trusted the honesty of their guides. They place them in the middle of soldiers, who have orders to shoot them at the first alarm. This is known to your relatives—otherwise they would have betrayed their new masters a long time ago.’ ‘It is known also to me,’ answered Mohamed, ‘and it is good, for thus will the blood of my cousins be avenged, and there will be no feud between our houses.’

“All agreed to the plan, and it was carried out as Mohamed had suggested. The Spaniards were led into a narrow place, where the rocks were rough under their feet and bushes clothed the hills on either side. Mulai Ali waited until they were in the centre of the Wadi. Then fire came from all round them, and the first ranks fell back upon the last, so that there was confusion and my people charged down upon them and completed their killing. The body of Mohamed was found without a rifle in the middle of the dead. It was sent back to his village, and his women mourned, but the men of the family were glad, for his bridge to paradise was covered with Christian heads.[102]

“There were many ambushes of this sort, and one of the best was concerned with cattle. The Spaniards would risk more for a fat herd than for a village, so some beasts used to be driven into a convenient wadi, where they could be seen from an enemy camp. A party would come down to capture them, and none of them would return. This trick was turned against us in the end, for one day, when the tribesmen were lying in wait above the feeding cattle, they watched vainly for the approach of a troop. Instead of soldiers eager for fresh meat, came shells which destroyed the herd and tore up the hillside. The tribesmen fled but three of their number were killed as they ran.

“This was the time when men did not try to save their lives but thought only of killing many Christians for one Moslem. There was not a house left standing in the wake of the enemy, and even the women defended their villages. Once a Spanish column pushed into a wadi unexpectedly, and found no men in the place. The women watched them, afraid, but the officer ordered his men not to fire. Then he asked for the arms that he knew were hidden among the houses, and the women brought out old flint-locks and ancient weapons that would not have done harm to the birds, swearing that their kinsmen had taken the rest.

“The Spaniards made a long search among the hedges and outbuildings. Then he drove the women up on to the hillside, in order that he might burn the village. They scattered quickly among the bushes till there was not a haik in sight, but the one who led them, an old woman, who was called the Sorceress, because she could read the future by the sand or the fall of leaves in the wind, took them quickly to the place where the arms were buried. They dug with their bare hands and with staves, while the enemy looted the village and the police, who were with the column, stuck live fowls in their holsters and tied sheep across their saddle-bows. At last the earth gave up her secret, and the women seized the rifles and loaded them, creeping down the wadi with the weapons hidden under their garments. There was one place where the hills narrowed, but there was no cover, so they had to hide far up on the hillside.

“The Spaniards came slowly, with the flames roaring behind them and their horses burdened with loot. The women waited, with eyes fixed on the first riders. As the ranks closed between the slopes, a cry rang out above them, the long, quivering cry of rejoicing that hails the new-made bride, or the new-born son. Fifty rifles spoke among the hills, and the Spaniards reeled from their saddles. Riderless horses charged backwards, and men, encumbered by their burdens, fired without aim or thought. The captain’s horse was shot under him, but he seized the bridle of another and called to his men to follow. At full gallop they charged through the wadi, and returned no fire till the land was open before them. Thinking the ambush was the reason for all the men’s absence, they imagined it strong and would not go back for their wounded. Shots echoed after them as they rode out of range, and by these, the truth might have been guessed, for no tribesman wasted bullets after the first year.

“When it was dark the women came down to strip the bodies and take the heads and the weapons of the dead. They caught also the horses and got back some of their own property. Then they mounted their children on the horses and, with the heads tied to the Spanish saddles and the rifles on their backs, they walked swiftly up to the mountains, telling the story as they went.

“These are small incidents of a great war, but generally there was nothing but hunger and burnt villages, crops destroyed, cattle taken, the killing of a few hidden snipers and the death of many Spaniards. Always the country narrowed around us, till Tazrut was shelled and the aeroplanes dropped bombs near my house. The door of the mosque was broken, but the building was preserved by Allah. Half my men were behind the lines of the enemy or among them, living like foxes in holes and shooting desperately whenever a Christian was within range. The Sheikhs came to me and said, ‘It is the will of Allah that we perish. Is it not time to make peace?’ and I answered always, ‘Wait.’ They asked, ‘For what, Sidi?’ and I replied, ‘For that which Allah will send.’ I knew what was preparing in the East,[103] for communications had passed between Abdul Krim and myself, though I would not agree to an alliance, for he is a bad Moslem and our ways do not go together. For this reason I assured the people, ‘Have patience. The power is with Allah, and he will save us.’ They went away, saying, ‘The Sherif has no fear, and he is certain of success,’ but I knew that I could do nothing more. If it was the will of Allah, Abdul Krim’s blow would not be too long delayed.

“As the days lengthened (1921) it was a race. With every yard that we were pushed back, a new rumour of trouble came from the East. Disease spread in the villages, for the cattle were unburied in the pastures. The walls trembled from the shock of the cannon. There were no roofs against the rain. Men had ceased to tighten their belts and their eyes were like wolves. My illness grew so that I hung on the cord all day, and at night I prayed, with my face towards the East, where our succour delayed. All this was from Allah.” The heavy voice dropped on a note of finality. I looked up, passionately rebellious against the fatalism which suffered and accepted. The Sherif spoke sternly. “Much you have taken from us in the last centuries, but it was the will of Allah. Many marvels you have in the North, but we have our Faith. God is Great.”

CHAPTER XXV

“It was he who captured Lentisco, the railway engineer, and held him a captive for months, because the company refused a ransom. El Mudden had only fifteen men with him, and half of these he left to guard his retreat. With the others he appeared suddenly in the middle of the engineers’ camp near Tzenin and got hold of Lentisco. There was not much fight, for the Moors who were working on the line either ran away or stood still and looked on. Two Spaniards were killed and Lentisco slightly wounded. It was a great feat, for the prisoner was hurried off through the enemy country, without anyone daring to rescue him. A few shots were fired after the raiders, but these turned round and replied seriously, wounding several labourers. After this they were left in peace, and they went quickly to Harex, where the Spaniard was shut up in a house. He thought himself very miserable, because there was little light and no bed to sleep on except a few sacks, but this was in the late spring,[104] and it was warm. He complained of the food, but he had the same fare as the tribesmen, black bread and oil. El Mudden came up at once to Tazrut to tell me of his escapade, and I told him, ‘Turn your prisoner into your friend but do not let him escape,’ for hostages were valuable to us, and, while still we had food, I said to my people, ‘Bring me Christians, that I may use them for negotiations,’ but the foreigners did not venture abroad, and it was difficult to catch them.

“I sent one of my secretaries back with el Mudden to question his prisoner, for, if he were a poor man, little ransom would be paid for him. Whatever was the prey of Sidi Ali, he always brought me the half, whether it were horses or cattle or money, and, truly, he was everywhere at once, burning an enemy village, cutting Spanish wire or capturing their herds, destroying their telegraph posts and even attacking their guards under the walls of the towns. Ullah, he had never heard of fear! Lentisco was not a satisfactory prisoner, for he quarrelled with his guards and demanded things which they could not give. Water is scarce in many of our villages, so, when they did not bring him enough, he complained that they wasted it performing their ablutions before the prayers. This angered the tribesmen, and they washed their feet and hands under his eyes and, when their devotions were finished, they offered him the dirty water, saying it was good enough for a Christian. ‘Ullah, it is too good,’ said one, ‘for it has contributed to the performance of the true religion,’ and he threw the water on the ground. Thereafter, for a few days, they gave the prisoner no water, but that which was dirty, and he became ill and wept.

“I learned of these things, and ordered that he should be better treated and given cooked beetroot with his bread. Food was sent to him from Tangier, but the tribesmen kept it, saying a weapon had been contained in it. The railway was slow to pay the ransom, in spite of the many letters written by Lentisco. For five months the Spaniard was in the hands of el Mudden, who got tired of him at last and put chains on him, threatening to kill him if the money did not arrive. This I forbade, but the engineer suffered much fear, not knowing that his fate was already written and according to the will of Allah.

“At last the police of Larache began to treat for his release, and the officer suggested a meeting at the village of Saf near Megaret, where there was a Spanish post. El Mudden made conditions that the rescue party should come without arms and consist only of the officer and a few men, whose safety he guaranteed; but no answer came to this letter, so he suspected a trap. When he got to the appointed place, it was told him that a troop of police were advancing, but the officer was not with them. Swiftly an ambush was prepared and the enemy walked straight into it, emptying their rifles without effect on the hillside. El Mudden sent the men back on foot. ‘Tell the officer who disobeyed my instructions that some day I shall revenge myself,’ ordered Sid Ali, and took the police horses and rifles, most of which he sent to Tazrut.

“When his mind was not occupied with the hundred thousand douros which he hoped to receive for Lentisco, el Mudden was my best spy. He had the eyes of a kite and the ears of a lynx. It is easier to keep the stallion from the mare than news from that man! In the end the money was denied to him, for Lentisco persuaded one of his guards to release him, whether by the glamour of his words or the gold promised, I do not know. They fled in the middle of the night to Megaret, and the affair was finished.

“I wish I had had el Mudden with me in my youth, for he had in his mind many things that I never thought of. Beni Aros was full of his disguises, and there were different ones in each house that was friendly to him. He had uniforms and European clothes, but, when these were not under his hands at the moment he desired them, he despoiled some citizen or soldier, assuring the former that it was an honour for a non-combatant to serve a warrior, but generally the man was dead and could not hear. With his band he would remain hid for days among the furthest mountains, not stirring when the cannon that heralded the Spanish advance tore up the hillside whereon he lay. Many of his people were killed in such affairs, but none moved, and, at last, the enemy would advance, believing that the country was empty before them. Then el Mudden would revenge the deaths of his men and for each unspent bullet there was a Christian head. Many villages would have submitted to the Spaniards, but that they feared the vengeance of el Mudden. Dris er Riffi’s words were as honey, but the retaliation of Sidi Ali was like burning oil.

“One day he knocked at the door of a Spanish house and told the farmer that he had come with a warning of attack by the band of el Mudden. The man must at once repair to the nearest Spanish camp with his family and all he could save. There was little time, for already the brigands were approaching. The farmer fled with his wife and children and his labourers, el Mudden guiding them tenderly to the post which was on the next hill. While he did this, his own men advanced swiftly, looted the farm and drove off all the beasts, without firing a shot, which would have aroused the attention of the neighbouring post well provided with artillery.

“On another occasion he dressed himself as an officer of police and, with a number of men mounted on police horses, with every detail of their uniform and saddlery correct, he rode down to a village near Azeila which had submitted to the enemy. He told the Kaid he had come to arrange the new taxes, and, when the man demurred, he threatened him with his gun. Vainly the Sheikh pleaded that the Government had remitted his taxes and that all tithes had been paid to the Pasha. The police insulted him and tore off his turban, till he swore he would make his peace with the Sherif. Then el Mudden beat him, and, under pretext of warning him not to put himself into power of Raisuli for fear of his vengeance, told him of all the Sherif’s successes and how afraid the Spaniards were of him. Then he took the arms that were left in the village and drove away all the cattle, taking the calves across the saddles and the lambs about their shoulders. When the Kaid complained to the Pasha, he was told that he lied, which made him more angry. Then er Riffi sent to him, saying it was a trick on the part of Raisuli, and he was enraged, saying, ‘Am I so great in years that my eyes cannot see?’ and he waited for the first opportunity of deserting the Government.

“Such escapades were common even in the last months of the war. I myself have been among the enemy and they have not known me. Once, I remember, we were a few men and, of those you know, only el Menebbhe was with me. We were tired, for we had ridden from the valley below Ahmas, and we were now in Beni Aros. Also we had not broken our fast for two days. We saw a few houses in a hollow and went towards them to get food, but they were deserted, except for a woman who ran out crying to us to go back. ‘The Christians are coming,’ she said; ‘you will be surrounded, for their posts are also in front.’ I asked what the enemy consisted of, and she told me, besides the Spaniards, there were many Arab irregulars. So I hid the horses among the olive-trees, and some of us lay in the barn, where there was a pile of figs which we ate and appeased our hunger. Then we looked out and saw the enemy coming, but they paid no attention to the village, for there were only a few houses and the crops had already been burned by the advance party.

“We waited till the Spaniards had gone on. Then we slipped out and mixed with the irregulars, who were tribesmen from the plains and unknown to us. Ullah, it was an amusing march, but we regretted the few figs we had left. On we went, turning west of the Spanish sentinels, and no man suspected us. Then when the road was clear to Bu Hashim, we slipped to one side of the column, ready for retreat. It was after sunset and, when the firing began, all men feared an ambush. For a moment none knew where the shots came from, though bodies dropped on all sides. Then they shouted that traitors were among them, and each man was suspicious of his neighbour, but we crept away while their rifles were still uncertain. Many had died because of our stratagem, and we had had an escort to the gates of our country!”

At the end of this story I looked doubtfully at Menebbhe. It seemed impossible that anyone could mistake the bulk of the Sherif, but the Kaid nodded his confirmation. “Allah blinded their eyes and they could not recognise my master. It is the ‘baraka.’ Many times I have thought I was alone, and, Ullah, there was Mulai Ahmed beside me. There was another occasion, when we were hiding in a wood. A Spanish column passed below us and we were but five men, so we dared not fire. We put our hands over the nostrils of our horses, and waited. It happened that just beside us there was a fig-tree, and one of the officers, seeing it, rode up to gather the fruit. The Sherif was as close to him as if they were both sitting in his tent and it was full day. I had my rifle ready, intending that, if he looked round, he should die, but he went on plucking the figs, eating them as he stood in his stirrups. Then he turned, and I looked along the sights of my gun, but an insect or some of the fruit-juice was in his eyes and he rubbed them as he kicked his horse blindly down the hill.”

“His greed saved his life,” I suggested. “Allah forbid. It was the blessing of the Sherif, which is like a cloak around him. Even the Christians speak of it and believe.”

Raisuli sighed and pulled up his wide sleeves. “It is very hot, and we have talked much. Perhaps you are tired,” he said, and then, rather as an afterthought, “Would you not like to eat?” The suggestion was received with enthusiasm, for it was nearly three o’clock! but a slave, despatched to ascertain what progress the cooks were making, reported that the meat was still red. “With health, with appetite!” wished the Sherif, and departed to the Zawia. “The appetite is here, certainly,” said Haj Bu Meruit, an erstwhile henchman of Mannisman, who had been meekly waiting outside, “but of the health I am not so certain.” He felt his neck carefully. “The Jinns were about last night, and I think one twisted my shoulder-bones.” I thought it was a joke, and smiled politely, but Mulai Sadiq answered seriously, “You should have said ‘Bismillah!’ There is only one thing that affects the jinns, and that is the name of Allah.”

“In Asir,” I ventured, “the women smear the lintels and threshold of the door with white of egg, which is supposed to be a most potent charm.” “I don’t think that can be of much use,” retorted the Haj with contempt, “for I was once in a store when a man was hit on the head by a jinn, and the place was full of boxes of eggs.” “You are right,” returned Mulai Sadiq. “There are two kinds of jinns as you may read in the Koran. Those who are believing do not trouble Moslems, but the unbelieving kind are most dangerous, unless you have learned to control them. This is a science which you must study carefully. It is called Ulm el Issem, and I worked at it for five years before I tried to have conversation with a jinn. I had been warned that he should appear in human form, with jellaba and turban, and, seating himself beside me, should talk to me in an ordinary voice and answer such questions as I put to him. But, if he came in any other form, it was bad, and I must have no dealings with him. I made all the necessary exhortations and, at the end, I saw a shape in front of me. It had two legs like a dog, with human feet, and its body was also a dog’s, but its neck was so long that it reached to the ceiling. I was in my house at Tetuan, and it seemed that the roof had become a funnel, so that the head of the beast was in the sky.”

Mulai Sadiq spoke as if he were relating a most normal experience, and, when I asked, somewhat breathlessly, what he had done in view of the unexpected appearance of the jinn, he answered impatiently, “Well, of course I knew I had made a mistake, so I began praying as hard as I could and, at each repetition of the name of Allah, the beast grew smaller and smaller, till finally it vanished altogether.” “Have you ever tried again?” “No, I have been much too frightened; but it is all a matter of learning. There is nothing that a man cannot do if he have enough will-power,” and he began talking of the mystics who can leave their bodies at home and make a spiritual pilgrimage to Mecca, being able to describe every scene and action of the Haj when it is over.

At this Bu Meruit loudly protested, feeling, perhaps, that he had wasted the few well-spent weeks of a life which, from his face, would appear to have been chiefly evil, but Mulai Sadiq countered swiftly, “Have you never heard of Mulai Abderrahman es Siuti? He was one of the most learned in El Azhar, and it happened that each one of his forty pupils asked him to dine on the same night, without the knowledge of the others. The next morning there was much argument, for each declared that the Master had sat at his table, and it was only when it was proved that es Siuti had, in reality, dined with some of the other ulema, that his pupils realised it was the spirit, not the body, of their master they had entertained.” The Haj’s eyes brightened. Perhaps he saw vistas of endless simultaneous dinners, for he was comfort-loving and greedy, but fortunately at that moment lunch arrived, carried by breathless slaves who had evidently run down the garden, holding the food on the plates with hot black hands. “El Hamdulillah” said Mulai Sadiq, “I had nearly telephoned to Tetuan for them to send up a meal from my house.”

This was a new joke, and we welcomed it appreciatively, but with our gaze fixed on the various dishes. I am afraid I was half-way through the wing of a chicken before I noticed that our hosts were not eating. “We fast,” said Badr ed Din, “but let not that interfere with your appetite.” Mohamed el Khalid, however, was not so stoical. He wandered out of the tent and looked wistfully at the sun. I noticed that the Haj was doing his best to make up for the abstinence of the others. “Because he has made the pilgrimage, he thinks that all is permitted to him,” said Badr ed Din. I pointed out firmly that a noted lawgiver had emphasised the necessity of at least eleven pilgrimages to Mecca before a man could be quite certain of heaven. “Ullah,” ejaculated the Haj, looking up, with greasy cheeks, “and did he ever come back to say if he got there?” The argument was unanswerable and the sinner continued triumphantly, “There will be a great deal of surprise in heaven when it is seen who is there and who is not. As for me, I do not need to fast, for I am well with Allah.” In answer to a murmur of protest, he explained further, “I have committed no crimes. I have not cut off any heads or killed any people, which has been your daily business”—this to the Kaid—“so what have I to repent of? By Allah, were I in your shoes I should fast six days a week.” After which remarkable statement, he applied himself voraciously to his food. “He is a bad Moslem,” murmured Badr ed Din, “but one cannot turn out even the worst dog, if it belongs to the house!”

That evening Raisuli did not rejoin us. The sun set in a flutter of orange feathers across the hills, and I heard Mulai Sadiq asking wistfully, “Is there any Harira that I may break my fast?” and the answer of the dark-skinned henchman from Marrakesh, “Come to my house, Sidi, and I will give you some. Ullah, ullah, do not fear—you may walk knee-deep in the grain.” (Meaning that everything was plentiful.) I went out and sat beside the fig-tree, from where I had a good view of the Zawia. The procession of tribesmen from the mountains still came with their offerings. I watched ancient, white-bearded men struggling with saddle-bags and panniers, while the murmur of prayer swelled in the mosque. Badr ed Din and a visitor from the House of Wazzan were preparing to pray in the open.

I observed them standing among the shrubs, each with a mat in front of him, and I could not help thinking that the Sherifs of Morocco were most prosperously fat. Another huge figure loomed up beside them, and I spoke my thoughts aloud. “It is a contented mind,” said Ghabah, “for everything that a Sherif does is right. Even if he drinks wine it turns to milk upon his tongue, and so there is no sin in him.” “Perhaps,” said Mubarak, a darker shadow by my elbow, “it is also the offerings of the faithful, for, whenever the people want a charm or an amulet, whenever they need a blessing, they go to their Sherif, to ask for it.” “Why do they want charms?” I asked dreamily, for the night was still and very white, with pools of velvet blackness under the trees. “Against the evil eye, which every man has at some time of his life, though generally he does not know it himself. Unless one wears an amulet one may suffer greatly by a chance meeting with it.” “Do you wear one?” “I am fortunate; I have some hairs from the head of the Sherif, so nothing can hurt me! The Sherif has long hair, down to his hips, so there is a blessing for many, if it is his will,” added Ghabah, “but he winds it up under his turban, and none see it.”

I should have liked to enquire more deeply into the danger of the evil eye, but Ba Salim appeared, his smile playing among a network of wrinkles, with a dish heaped high with dates, nuts and raisins. “This is part of the tithes which the tribes bring to my lord, and he sends it with his greeting, for, on this feast it is our custom to eat such food. The dates are from Marrakesh, so the goodwill has travelled far.”

At that moment a young man came in at the gate. Lean and strong, he walked with something feline in his gait, unlike the usual stride of the mountaineers, which is at once shambling and sure. His head was shaven and bare in the moonlight, for he had thrown back his dark jellaba, till it hung over his rifle like a shawl. Restless-eyed, firm-lipped, he stared at me for a minute, in contrast to the other Jebali, who kept their lids down as they passed. Then, noiselessly, he was gone, and I wondered if I had imagined the line of the cruel, clean jaw, and the hollows that threw up the cheekbones above it. “Who was that?” I asked abruptly. “It is Abd es Salaam Ben Ali Ueld el Mudden, about whom the Sherif told you. By Allah, he is almost as famous as Raisuli!”

It was the Southerner, Imbarek, who spoke, and he leaned against a tree-trunk, evidently prepared to tell stories. “Ullah, he has the devil in his heels and will never be caught. He can make himself look so different that not even his brother would know him. They say there is a jinn who helps him, for he has made many studies.” The Haj fingered an amulet nervously. “He has one horse which goes faster than the wind, and there are some who believe it can fly. Certainly no ordinary man travels as he does, and one day, when he was known to be in Tangier, a stranger appeared suddenly before his house and pushed his way in. The servants tried to stop him, for he went towards the women’s place. He shook himself free, but they caught at his sleeves and held him. Then he turned round, and they saw it was their master!

“Once, Sidi Abd es Salaam heard that a man whom he had posted in the Spanish Consulate at Larache, in order to keep him informed of the doings of the enemy, had betrayed him, so he went down to kill him. The whole Spanish army lay in his way, for he had to cross the plain, where even the tribesmen were his enemies, so he advanced carefully to the first hillock. There he hid in the long grass and waited. In time two soldiers came out towards him. They both had rifles, but they were talking carelessly and did not see him. He waited till they were quite near. Then he fired several shots, that it might be supposed there were a number of attackers. One Spaniard fell. The other fired his rifle into space and ran back to the post.

“El Mudden leaped up, picked up the dead man—Allah save us, he has the strength of the jinns!—and ran with him on his shoulder till he came to a little cave. He was one man alone against an army, but, while still the post waited, fearing an attack, the brigand tore off the Spaniard’s uniform and dressed himself in it. He forgot nothing, and every button was fastened. The only thing he regretted was to exchange the Spaniard’s rifle for his own, which was a better one! He crept a little further away, to hide more securely, and as soon as the light grew grey, he got up and went down into the plain. He passed through the lines of Spain, and no one discovered him. When challenged, he answered that he was going to Larache with a message from the post, where he had killed the soldier, but, as much as possible, he avoided the camps, and the next night he was within sight of the town. What a trick!” Haj Imbarek’s voice was full of admiration. “He passed through the gates and got right into the hall of the Consulate, before his disguise was discovered.” “What happened then?” The Haj shrugged his shoulders. “With all the men round him saying, ‘This is surely el Mudden!’ he disappeared. Perhaps, like the Sherif, he has the power of making himself invisible.” And that was the end of the story, as the man from Marrakesh knew it.

“There was another of his deeds, but perhaps you know of this one. It was the affair by the International Bridge, on the road to Tangier. El Mudden had heard that a motor was coming from the hills, full of Hassani piastres.[105] It was evening, and they could not see clearly, but at last they heard a car approaching quickly. There was little movement on the road in those days, so el Mudden thought it must be the expected motor, and he instructed his men at what moment to fire. There was a volley. The driver fell dead over his wheel, and a woman screamed. Then Sidi Abd es Salaam knew that there had been a mistake, and it was not the right car. They rushed up to it, and found the woman dying and a man, her husband, was trying to move the body from the driving-seat. There was another man, who had jumped out, and they took him prisoner, but when they found it was empty of money they let the motor go on. It was a pity that it was a woman.”

“What happened to the unfortunate hostage?” “He died while he was up on the mountain, but not from ill-treatment. He had been sick for a long time and there was little food among the tribes in those days.” A reckless country, Morocco! I wondered what it would feel like to ride out of Tazrut and back again into the twentieth century, where death and starvation are still grim words.

That night, while some of us talked in the starlight, the guardian of the telephone, a wild-looking mountaineer, with bare feet and a shirt of torn sacking, rushed towards us. There had been a battle in Tetuan, he said. This was enough to surprise even old Mulai Sadiq, but further enquiry proved that a few Arabs had fired at the guard at the main gate, who had emptied their rifles into the dusk without effecting any casualties. Finding themselves unexpectedly successful, the bandits had rushed into the town, killing two people in front of the hotel which is not 100 yards from the walls. By this time everyone had picked up the nearest rifle and there was a good deal of indiscriminate shooting, during which at least four Spaniards and five Arabs had been killed. The originators of the mischief disappeared in the middle of it. Three men were captured with rifles in their hands, but this was no criterion of their guilt, for civilians and soldiers, Arabs and Europeans were all prepared to defend themselves against—nobody quite knew what or whom! The most heroic part was played by a Spanish officer who, wounded himself, limped down the street, across which bullets were flying without target or aim, and dragged into cover two men lying helpless under this fire.

Now, the Secretary-general was ringing up Tazrut to know if the Sherif thought the Beni Hosmar were attacking the town. Mulai Sadiq was frankly terrified of entering the Zawia at such an hour, upon such an errand, but everyone else was insistent. He went and put the question to his cousin, doubtless wrapping it up in many apologies and excuses. Raisuli was magnificent. Driving one huge fist on to his thigh, with a force that seemed to shake the room, he said, “While Mulai Ahmed is alive and a friend of Spain, never, never shall the tribesmen set foot in Tetuan.” Mulai Sadiq did not dare to speak. “Go!” said the Sherif. “It is nothing—a few robbers perhaps,” and almost drove his cousin from the room.

CHAPTER XXVI

“It was during the bombardment of Tazrut that there was a dispute between Mulai Ali and the brother of his father.[106] My nephew had been my best commander throughout the war, for his courage was also in his head, and his strategies were good.

“In the time of suffering that was long, many of my house had said to me, ‘The hour for peace has arrived. Send messengers to the Spaniards,’ and there were not few among my women who said it also. When the plaster fell from our walls and the roofs struck our heads, my relatives would have fled to Bu Hashim. Disobeying my orders, they crept out at night, and fell into the hands of the guards. I was very angry when they were brought back to me, and I said, ‘Since it is only safety you want, you shall indeed be safe,’ and I sent them to my prison in the hills and put chains on them and set a guard at the door.

“Then they were sad, and sent messengers to their relative, Mulai Ali, and begged him to intercede for them, saying that they were old and their courage had left them. My nephew was then on the east of the mountain where his flag defended the Ahmas, but he came in six hours to Tazrut and spent a long time with me, praying and eating. At last he spoke of the prisoners, and said, ‘They are poor people who are weak and afraid. This is their only crime against you, and it is unjust that they should suffer. Have mercy upon them, for Allah has made them miserable,’ and I answered, ‘There is no appeal against my judgment.’

“I should have spoken of the bad example set to the whole country, that my own household should fly before the Christians, but he was under my orders, and I was angry that he should argue with me. In the end, he said, ‘Is this your last word to me, that you will not release them, though I make myself responsible for their actions?’ ‘No man can bear the responsibility which belongs to another, and punishment is in the hands of Allah. He can remit it, but it is written in the Book that men must suffer justly for their sins.’

“He went out without saluting me, and, from that day, we have never spoken together in friendship. Mulai Ali rode straight into Bu Hashim, with his men behind him, and, when they came to the prison, they overpowered the guards and broke open the doors. The chains of the prisoners were cut, and they were set free. Some of them went to the mountains, but others returned to Tazrut after many days. Mulai Ali took a heavy fetter that had been on the feet of his relative and gave it to the guard. ‘Go down to the Zawia,’ he ordered, ‘and give this to the Sherif. Tell him his nephew has sent him a new chain for his watch!’ But the man was afraid and the message was brought to me later by others.

“I said nothing when I received it, nor did I answer when my family knelt to me and begged my forgiveness for my nephew. It was soon told me that Mulai Ali wished to lose his life, and, since suicide is forbidden in Islam, he placed himself always in the most dangerous places and ran towards the rifles of the enemy. The ‘baraka’ must be with him, for, though he exposed himself recklessly, attacking when there was no chance of success, and showing himself in a white robe when the artillery was in action, no missile touched him. When I heard of these deeds I sent some of my own men to join him, ordering them secretly to stand between him and the enemy. They carried out this duty and made a guard around Mulai Ali whenever he fought, saving him against his desire.

“When there was talk of peace, and Cerdeira came with Zugasti to see me, my people said again, ‘Will you not forgive Mulai Ali? He has been the most faithful and the most courageous.’ I answered no word, though they renewed their prayers each day, wearying me with their words. At last Mulai Ali came to the door of my tent and I saw him, but made no movement. He came in and kissed my sleeve, but I sat in the same position, without speaking. Then he bent himself before me and took off his turban and put it under my feet. This is our way of making submission. For ten minutes, perhaps more, he remained prostrate in front of me, but I neither looked at him nor spoke. At last he jumped up and put on his turban. ‘By Allah, I will have no more relations with you,’ he cried, ‘nor will I ever come into your house as a friend. It is finished between us’; and he left the tent angrily. After this no one dared mention his name to me.

“When the war was over, the Spaniards said to me, ‘We want a strong man in whom you can rely—one who has your complete confidence—to govern the Jebala,’ and I answered, ‘I have only one such in the country—my nephew, Mulai Ali.’”

There was a pause, and Badr ed Din murmured behind me, “There is business between them, and the young man[107] comes to take orders from his uncle, but neither has made peace with the other.”

The Sherif continued a little more grimly than usual: “In the middle of the summer (July, 1921), when all men despaired and in every village they cried that Allah had delivered them into the hands of their enemy, news came to Tazrut at dusk. The Riff had risen as one man, had broken through the great Spanish army and poured down to the walls of Melilla. Many thousand prisoners were in the hands of Abdul Krim. Silvestre, rushing forward with his usual impetuousness, found himself cut off from the coast and hemmed in by a triumphant enemy. His desperate eyes saw nothing but his own dead and the magnitude of his mistake. He shot himself, amidst the panic which his death rendered ungovernable. Though he was my enemy, I was sorry, for he was brave.

“All through that night men came to me, discussing the news and asking, ‘How will this affect us?’ I listened to them for a little, and then I said, ‘Allah has sent this thing to save us. Praise be to him, for it is just in time.’ They asked, ‘What will be the action of the Spaniards?’ and I told them, ‘Allah alone knows, but one thing is certain. The Government will soon fall, and there will be a new High Commissioner.’

“For the first time in two years men walked boldly through the mountains, not fearing an enemy, and I wrote hurriedly to Zellal, saying, ‘Take this opportunity to send me grain and cartridges.’ Very soon there arrived a letter from Cerdeira, suggesting that a way should be found to make peace. I did not reply hurriedly, nor let him know how urgently needed was the respite. News came that Berenguer had gone to Melilla and that, with a great army, he was trying to retake the country. I said, ‘Allah strengthen the hand of Abdul Krim until my stores are here,’ for I knew Berenguer. If matters went well in the East, he would not willingly let me escape from his net. For six weeks there was talk of peace, but, even while Cerdeira wrote letters imploring me to restrain the tribes who would have attacked Larache and Azeila, Barera continued his propaganda. ‘Spain has only one enemy,’ he announced, ‘and that is Raisuli.’

“There was a panic on the coast. The townsmen boarded the first boats in their efforts to escape the vengeance of the mountaineers, but there was no danger. There were a few incidents on the borders of Jebel Habib, and the tribesmen went boldly to the Suqs in armed bands and bought food under the eyes of the police. When the East winds began,[108] Barera, reassured by the reports from Melilla, made a sudden advance on Beni Yusef and, without warning, while the ink was still fresh on their peace proposals, again there was war.

“The hills beyond Xauen were occupied in the autumn and the main road to Ahmas was cleared. For so many months there had been fighting among these hills that each wadi was a graveyard and each ridge had its history. In the winter[109] Berenguer returned to Tetuan, and I was surprised, for I thought he would certainly have been recalled. With fierce energy he pushed on the campaign, and it was told me that he was like an old man, bent and grey, with but one idea left to him. Suq el Khemis was taken, and Dris er Riffi made it the base of his campaign against me. Ullah, some have called me a murderer, but in Beni Aros, my own land, would there not have been many who would have brought me his head? Had I wished, there would have been a rifle by his bed, a knife in his food, for my spies were everywhere.

“For the first months of the new war, we had sufficient food, for many caravans had come up through Mesauer during the short truce. But that winter was terrible in the mountains. Almost all the villages had been destroyed. There were no roofs to shelter the people, who lived in caves and holes in the ground. The very old and the very young died from exposure, for there was much rain. The cattle had been almost exterminated, and the game had grown cunning and retired to the higher mountains. The wise men said nothing, for there were still ten thousand prisoners in the Riff, and it was known how Abdul Krim treated them; but the ignorant reproached me—‘The wisdom of Allah is with thee, Sidi, but our condition is worse than before. How can we now find safety?’ ‘Suffering is from Allah,’ I replied, ‘and by his will, it will end or it will continue. Allahu Akbar!’ They went away ashamed, but I waited for the newspapers as women waited for the scarce goat’s milk that might save their sons. All that time I had the news of Europe from Tangier, and my agents never failed me.

“Many of my friends were killed in those months, and the list of the Sheikhs who had been with me from the beginning, those who had seen the ceremonies of Xauen and Sidi Abd es Salaam, was daily shortened. Hamed es Succan, my blood brother, of Beni Aros, was shot in the defence of Afernum, which was taken by a combined attack of three columns, and Mohamed el Kharaji died in the last skirmishes before Tazrut. As soon as the slopes of Afernum were lost to us, Jebel Alan could be raked by the artillery, and it was certain that Tazrut must soon fall.

“I sent all my family into the mountain to Dar el Haik, so called because the stream falls like the white garments of a woman. There was one old lady of my relatives who would not move. ‘I have lived all my life in the Zawia, and I will end it there,’ she said. I went myself to urge her to go, but she would not be persuaded. The servants came to her, crying, and saying, ‘Even the cats have left. They are wise animals, and they have gone ahead of our master to his camp.’ ‘I will die where I have lived,’ she repeated, and, in truth, she stayed there through most of the Spanish occupation. They were good to her, giving her food and all that she asked for, and leaving her room untouched, but she was a good Moslem, and said, ‘It is Allah who has ordered their minds.’

“When Tazrut was bombed for the second time, there were few men in the village, and these hid themselves securely in the holes which they had made. Everything was destroyed except the Mosque, the Qubba of our ancestors, and the tree which is the guardian of our house. These are the most prominent objects in the village, yet not one tile fell from the madna nor a fleck of plaster from the sanctuary. The walls of my house were made bare and the roofs torn off the Zawia. The building which is now made of iron was shattered, and only a few beams stuck out, as the teeth of those who are old. Where there were no ruins, there were pits in the heart of the earth, and, in the darkness, a man could not go two steps in safety. When my women went to Dar el Haik, I sent with them all my furniture, my carpets and mattresses, with the cushions and the tea services, and all the brass trays and other goods. Afterwards I sent my horses and mules, including the tall brown one which Jordana had given me, but I waited in my house till the last minute, for I knew I was safe.

“At the height of his success Barera was recalled, and his place taken by Sanjurjo,[110] who immediately made a determined effort to occupy the high mountains. There was great fighting in Jebel Feddan at the entrance to the Ahmas, and many of my people were killed, for they showed themselves recklessly on the hills, charging the Spanish guns. A messenger came to me from the famous Zawia of el Teledi, and said, ‘If this holy place is taken by Spain, it will be the end of the war’; and I answered, ‘Bring me a map.’ When it came, I pointed out the Spanish posts one by one, and the messenger, who was a Sheikh of standing, watched me. ‘How many mountains and valleys are there between these camps?’ I asked, and he told me such-and-such. . . . Then I said, ‘When every hill and every wadi is in the hands of Spain, it will not be the end, for there will still be the rocks and the trees which will fight for us. Tell this to the Ulema of Teledi. When Allah gives us victory, then the war will end.’

“Every day in Tazrut could be heard the thunder of artillery either in the Ahmas behind us or in some mountain below. Aeroplanes flew around Bu Hashim and dropped bombs, but these were not dangerous, for the steepest slopes were out of their reach. As a precaution, I divided my mehalla into small parties, posting them in different parts of the mountain, where they commanded all the approaches. The tents of my family were covered with branches, so that they could not be seen among the trees. There was fierce war in the Ahmas, for still Berenguer and Sanjurjo dreamed of completing the circle which besieged us. The Valley of Menzora was occupied, but two hundred Spaniards were killed in that campaign. At last, in the first months of summer, the enemy advanced to Tazrut, fighting at every ledge. A curtain of shells heralded their march, but my people lay snugly among the rocks and waited till the columns were so near that they could pick off the officers. Many of the enemy died during the three days of the advance, and I waited in the Zawia till Sidi Musa should be in their hands.

“Mubarak held my stallion at the further door, and Ghabah stood on a height to give notice of the Spanish movements. While we waited, a Sheikh said to me timidly, ‘Insha-allah, we shall not be long in the mountain?’ and I said to him, ‘How long was the Prophet of God an outcast? It is an honour that is done to us.’ ‘Is there no talk of peace, Sidi?’ ‘When Allah wills, the Spaniards will talk of it. There are still many camps between Tazrut and submission.’ A shot sounded above us, and we knew it was from Ghabah. As the Spanish outposts approached the village, we rode quickly up to Bu Hashim, which has always been the shelter of our race.

“Dris er Riffi moved his office of propaganda to Suq el Khemis, and the echoes of his eloquence reached me in Bu Hashim. ‘Spain has only one enemy,’ he repeated, ‘and that is Raisuli.’ The men of Sumata were still inviolate among their crags, and none of their Kaids would submit, but, among the other tribes, there were many weak ones who came to me, afraid. I said to them, ‘Go and make submission to the Christians, if that is your desire. Fatten your bodies on their grain, but I tell you the time draws near when the Faithful will be rewarded.’

“I knew that the Government must fall, but its hour was delayed, and we suffered. There was no flesh in our pots and little grain. The mountaineers used to bring small gifts, humbly, ashamed of their insignificance, and I told them of how a man of Medina gave a few dates to a beggar, and behold it was the Prophet of God, who returned to his benefactor gardens of palms and all the land that could be seen from them. Women would bring two eggs or a thin fowl wrapped in their skirts. Men came with a few figs, or a hare they had shot, but often there was only a little bread and oil for our meal. A daughter of my house, who was a child and weak, died on the mountain, and the Spaniards allowed her body to be buried in the Zawia at Tazrut. In those days my rifle was idle and my tongue busy, for men came to me at all hours for reassurance. I said to them always, ‘The time is near,’ but I wondered whether el Teledi or the Government would fall first.