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The sultan of the mountains

Chapter 30: CHAPTER XXVII
By Rosita Forbes
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About This Book

A biographical travel narrative recounts the life and rule of Mulai Ahmed er Raisuli, a mountain chieftain in Morocco, blending personal observation with local legend. The author describes his origins, martial exploits, imprisonment and escape, hostage-taking, and rise to authority including governance of Tangier and construction of a palace. It examines his strategic dealings with Spanish authorities, episodes of warfare and negotiation, popular myths about his cruelty and sanctity, and daily life within his household and compound, concluding with peace efforts and his final withdrawal from public affairs.

Gate of Raisuli’s Palace at Azeila. His bailiffs

“It was the will of Allah that the Zawia should be lost to us.[111] For many months the Ahmas had defended their sanctuary, and, in the end, even the students buried their books in a secret place and took up guns to protect themselves. The ulema fled to the edge of the country, carrying with them as much of their property as they could save, for there were interesting documents at Teledi, telling of the first coming of Islam and the war against the Berbers. Emissaries from Gomara came to me at this time, begging me to take refuge in their country and lead the Holy War against the Christians, but I told them that this was not the will of Allah, and that soon Spain would make peace with us. They answered, ‘This is a miracle that you speak of, Sidi!’ but I insisted, ‘Before the first snows there will be peace.’ After their visit I sent down to Beni Aros, to urge the house of Succan to procure me a little grain, that I might be able to entertain the missions who came to me.

“Before I had expected a reply, Mubarak told me that one Mohamed, the nephew of my friend, was in my camp. When he had saluted me, I asked him, ‘What news of my stores?’ and he answered, ‘Sidi, I know not, but Berenguer has gone to Madrid.’

“Ullah, there was rejoicing that night among my tents, and as there were no gifts to reward this bearer of good news, the women sent him silks for his family, and I said to him, ‘When peace is signed, whatever you ask I will give you.’ After this it was soon known that the Government had fallen and Berenguer would return no more. From all sides, the mountaineers came to me, and those who had been faithful I welcomed gladly, assuring them that, as we had shared the evil, so, under Allah, we would share the good. To the others I said, ‘Allah deal with your weakness and reward you as you have deserved.’ Stores soon came to me at Sellalim, sugar, tea and candles, besides grain to feed the two hundred who were still with me. For the last weeks I had been moving my camp from one place to another, because of the aeroplanes which bombarded us, killing some of my people but leaving my tent and the green standard untouched. In all the war, the flag of the Prophet was inviolate.

“When the new High Commissioner, Burguete, arrived at Tetuan, his policy was not known, and there were some of my people who were still anxious; but, as soon as it was rumoured that Zugasti was with him, the signal fires leaped on the hills and the tribesmen whispered that the Sherif was responsible for ‘the miracle.’ The slopes of Bu Hashim were crowded by those who would kiss my robes, and amulets were cut from the bark of the trees, which had sheltered my camp.

“News came swiftly. The Riff was declared a civil Protectorate, and my enemy, Dris er Riffi, was sent there as Governor. Cerdeira wrote asking me to arrange a meeting, and in due time I appointed the village of Adiaz, which was in ruins. I sent my servants to prepare a place for the conference, and they spread carpets and cushions within some walls where there was still a portion of roof to shade us. Cerdeira and Zugasti arrived with Castro Giria, all of whom were my friends. I rode down to meet them on my roan, with a green saddle-cloth embroidered in silver and the green umbrella of a Sultan carried over my head. All my slaves went with me, and, behind me, came a hundred warriors with those who had been my captains, Ueld el Muddan, el Tayeb and el Hartiti.

“One of my cousins prepared the food which Bu Hashim had been ransacked to produce. There was flesh, but Allah knows what it was, and curdled milk and pastry with eggs and rice, for in hospitality I was bound to feed my guests. Ullah, the slaves’ eyes were wet as they watched each morsel that was eaten!

“We talked till the sunset and I explained the things that I desired.[112] A month later there was another meeting at Sellalim, where I had tents pitched for my guests. This time we talked frankly, and I asked for many conditions—that all my properties should be restored to me and that my family should be allowed to live in my palace at Azeila, that Tazrut should be returned to me and that Spain should rebuild the portions of the Zawia which she had destroyed; that the Governors of the tribes should be chosen among men of great position who were my friends, that my army should receive all the pay which they had missed during the war, for, under Jordana, it had been agreed that certain forces should be supported by Spain. The delegates told me, ‘These things may be done, if you will go to Tetuan and make your submission to the Khalifa,’ but I replied, ‘Neither my policy nor my words can be changed. Raisuli will never set foot in Tetuan.’

“There was much journeying to the mountains in those days, and I was hard-pressed between those tribesmen who were fanatical and opposed to any peace with the Christians and the Spaniards, to whom I said truly, ‘I have always been your friend. I have resisted the armies which you sent against me, but I have never fought your nation.’ On one occasion journalists came to see me, and they talked to me at length in my tent. After they had gone, I said to my servants, ‘Take up the carpets and carry out all the cushions. Clean them well, for the Christians have left the dust of their feet upon them.’ This was told afterwards to the Spaniard who was my friend, and when he protested, I said to him, ‘I did this thing on purpose, for the sake of the chiefs of Sumata. Do not think it is easy for me to make peace with you, after you have done us so much harm. By all means I must keep my influence with the tribes, in order that your country may benefit by it.’

“The conferences were prolonged through the autumn, but, at last, I agreed to send the men of my family to Tetuan to visit the Kalipha, and some months later three hundred of my people rode down to the city. Among them were many who had been with me on Sidi Abd es Salaam, and they were led by my nephews, Mulai Ali and Mulai Mustapha. El Mudden accompanied them, and the Sheikhs of Beni Hosmar, Beni Leit, Beni Ider, and Beni Aros. All these were received by Mulai el Mehdi, and there was a great rejoicing at Tetuan.

“In return for this, it was agreed that those Spanish officials who had persistently worked against me should be withdrawn. Ben Azuz resigned his post, before it was possible to take it from him, but others of my enemies were superseded by loyal men who would work with me. The Spaniards offered to make me Governor of Beni Aros, but I would accept no post under the Maghsen, saying, ‘I acknowledge and will serve the Protectorate, as has always been my intention, but the Kalipha can never have any authority over the mountains.’ I refused also the great sum they would have paid me, equal to the sustenance of Mulai el Mehdi, accepting only the pay of one hundred and fifty soldiers who are my guards. I agreed to disband all my armies, except the small personal force which I keep in Bu Hashim, and to assist the Spaniards in the occupation of the whole Jebala.

“I have done this to such good effect that there is scarcely a hill which has not its camp. They must have at least a hundred and twenty thousand men in Morocco, though most of these are in the East. My nephew, Mulai Ali, is the Kaid of Beni Aros and his brother, Mulai Mustapha, is Governor of Azeila. Burguete fulfilled all his promises, and el Mudden was made Kaid of Beni Gorfet, el Hamali of Beni Kholot, el Fahilu of Wadi Ras, for it is necessary that there should be a friend to protect the communications between Tetuan and Tangier. In this manner peace was arranged, and it is now the Spanish forces which are responsible for the security of the country, for I have no soldiers. Lately, the Government asked me if they could reduce the garrison by a hundred and fifty posts, and I answered, ‘Not unless you give me back my Mehallas.’ In spite of this they took away eighty camps, and sometimes there is a shot in this place, and a man killed in another. That will always be, for the country will rebel against that which is new, until the new has become the old.

“If Spain would make an agreement with me, and England would act as guarantee, there need only be twenty thousand foreign troops in the country, and I would be responsible for its peace. It is not that I do not trust Spain, for there is affinity of blood between us, but I have seen the variability of her policy, and her Governments are of short duration. A protectorate should be as a wise older brother training the younger one so that, when he comes of age, he may be rich and powerful, but not interfering with his ideas and habits. Spain has advanced by twisted ways, and now civil administration cannot be imposed on the Jebala with much hope of success, for fear of driving the mountaineers to the side of the Riff. The Kaids must be responsible for law and order among the people and, gradually, more and more authority can pass into the hands of the Maghsen. I said all this to the envoys whom Spain sent to me, and I told them also, ‘I have no good opinion of Abdul Krim, because he is fighting against that which is fore-ordained, instead of trying to benefit by what Allah has sent us.’ But, if Spain does not stick to one policy and keep faith with me, I shall have to reconsider my opinion about Abdul Krim.”

CHAPTER XXVII

FAREWELL

“And that is all.” The Sherif gave a sigh and hitched up his jellaba till the rose-red kaftan[113] showed below it. “Now you know my life as well as I do.” “But not your mind, Sidi.” Dinner and its attendant tea-making were over, and we were sitting outside my tent in the moonlight. A little wind stirred the leaves of the fig-tree. A yellow cat sat in the shadows and regarded me with eyes which had turned into green lamps. “The mind of man is open at this hour,” said Raisuli. “Ask me questions, and I will answer them.”

“Tell me of the future. What is going to happen to Morocco?” “It is in the hands of Allah,” answered the Sherif. “But I am tired, and I would go to Egypt to rest.” “If you go, you take with you the one chance of peace.” “If I go, perhaps Spain will realize that I have been more her friend than her enemy. It is always the same thing. There is no change. What I said to the Spaniards at the beginning, I say to them now—there is only one medicine for Morocco, but they will not administer it. You have seen their forts and their soldiers, and, Ullah, all the country that they have taken is my country and under my influence. Had they gone the way I wanted, they could have occupied it without firing a shot. The people trusted me, and, if I had said to them, ‘This is good,’ they would have made no opposition.” He looked up at the stars, which were so big that it seemed as if one could pick them out of the flower-bed that was the sky.

“If you allied yourself definitely with Spain, would not the people say you had sold yourself to the Christians, in which case you would lose your influence in face of their fanaticism?” I asked. “In any country that is ignorant, there are always ten per cent. who loathe the Nasrani, but the other ninety per cent. are willing to live in peace with him, as long as their laws and their religion are not interfered with. If they find that there are many changes, they join the ten per cent. who are savages.

“France rules for the mass of the people, without making exceptions. If she imposes a tax, it has to be paid without discussion. Spain rules for the individual, and that is good, for she searches how such and such a tax will affect different men, but a foreign rule must be very light. A protectorate should protect those who suffer from an injustice, but not interfere in the customs of the land. This is difficult, unless there is one man who can make things clear between the Government and the people. A tribesman runs from the Qadi, who has punished him justly, to an official who does not understand the matter, and the respect of the Qadi is lessened. In the police posts, an Arab has a grudge against another, so he goes to the officer and says, ‘This man has stolen the goats of So-and-so,’ and how is the Spaniard to know that the accused is his enemy? All ignorant men are liars, and it is only their own ulema who can convict them.”

There was a prolonged silence, and the yellow cat crept up and wound itself round and round the Sherif’s foot. He bent to stroke it. “Civilization must come slowly, and its interpreter must not be an army. The people see soldiers with rifles, and they think that some harm will be done them or that they will lose their lands, so their fingers fly to the trigger, and for them civilization means death. The way must be better prepared.”

“Perhaps the next generation,” I murmured. “They will be worse,” retorted Raisuli, “for they have seen the evil that has been done to their parents. At present you are teaching our sons your knowledge that they may use it against you. Abdul Krim el Khattabi was educated at Madrid and studied to become an expert in the mines.[114] He is low-born, so he found no better use for his learning than destruction.”

“What about the Riff?” I asked. “If you had an agreement with Spain, could you deal with the Riff?” A chuckle came from old Mulai Sadiq, but the Sherif was impassive. “It would be an easy matter, for I have still many friends among the Riff. Abdul Krim is the result of circumstances. When he was a little boy, his father wrote to me and said that he wanted to send his son to Madrid to study. He asked me if I would use my influence with the Spaniards, or if I would take the child into my own house. I answered, ‘Wait until he is older.’ It is the same medicine which is required in the Riff.”

“How would you administer it?” “At present, Abdul Krim makes much politics (propaganda) against me, and I say nothing, for I am waiting; but if there was an agreement with Spain, the Riff would cost few Christian lives. Abdul Krim can raise 30,000 men against the Nasrani, and not one will betray him, for the Riffs are fanatical, though they are not good Moslems. But do you think a quarter or a fifth of the number who would be with me, would fight the Ashraf? When Moslem fights Moslem many of the bullets go wide. In fact, there would be some fighting by my mehallas and much propaganda, but peace would be swift. Yet I think no Christian could rule the Riff—at least not in this generation—but others, well chosen, might do it in the name of Spain.

“It was thus that I thought things would go in the beginning, but there have been mistakes and misunderstandings. When the Spaniards landed it was by my help, and in the towns there were three kinds of men. There were some who bought a European hat and stick, and walked about the streets and thought they were equals of the Pasha. There were others who went into their houses and shut the doors, and said, ‘This is the end, but it is the will of Allah’; and there were some who did not even realise that anything new had happened. Only I looked ahead and hoped for the benefit of the country, for I liked the Spaniards. We have much in common—you see, we are all liars together!! I have fought against strangers, for all the Spaniards whom I met became my friends.”

“And now?” I queried after a silence. “Every man loves his own country, but I have written three times to the Government asking that I may go away, for what is the use of pretence in this land which only strength can control? The force is in my hands. You have seen it. You have felt it. There are posts on all the hills, but only my word keeps them there. The country is waiting and uncertain, but I hold it down—”

Our eyes met, at last, and I knew that the same thought was in both our minds. In a palace at Tetuan the ill-fated Kalipha was struggling with the effects of a poison administered in small doses by a cook who had been bribed by the Grand Vizier, now languishing in chains at Xauen. The doctors had ordered change of air, a journey to Ronda, but it was whispered that Mulai el Mehdi, weak, amiable and high-minded, would soon go on a longer journey. The pretence was wearing very thin.

“Much has been written against me,” said Raisuli, “by men who do not know Africa. There have been many parties in Spain, and each one has followed his own policy, but here in Morocco there is no policy, only strength. Abdul Krim knows this, and he tolerates no dissension and no hesitation among his people. Each day that Spain delays, his power increases. She must choose quickly and finally. Either she can withdraw to the coast towns, and in that case Abdul Krim’s greed will stretch out to the West and yearly more will be lost to her, or she can make use of the weapon I put into her hand at Larache.”

The song of the crickets was persistent and the wind grew cold as it blew over the hills. “The same things I tell you tonight,” said the Sherif, “I told the Spaniards long ago, when I was great and powerful, not as I am now.” “If el Raisuli had but one tent and one mule,” interrupted Mulai Sadiq, “he would still be powerful.” The Sherif did not deny it. “Things do not change in Africa,” he said. “But you,” I asked, “have you changed?” “No,” answered el Raisuli, “I am a friend of Spain and of my own people, which should be the same, for all things come from Allah.” “There is but one God, and God is Great,” murmured Mulai Sadiq.

There were few hours left for sleep that night, for it had been arranged that we should start shortly after sunrise and arrive at Suq el Khemis while it was still moderately cool. Accordingly I got up yawning in the darkness and saw the dawn creep between the hill-tops. The chief of all the slaves, old Ba Salim, came to me, smiling. “Breakfast arrives,” he said, but of course it did not, nor did the mule for my baggage, and the world was very much awake when, at last, the familiar procession appeared.

This time our bowls of soup were reinforced with coffee and bread full of caraway seeds, thickly buttered on all sides. After we had dealt with these luxuries, Ghabah brought an unexpected second course, consisting of very sweet pastry stuffed with rice. “Allah be praised—that is finished,” said Mulai Sadiq, who hated riding in the heat. “Not at all!” I replied woefully, and pointed down the path. Mubarak was approaching leisurely with an enormous platter, on which was a mountain of rice decorated with a chicken or two and some very hard apples. Inwardly groaning, we did our best to destroy the symmetry of the mountain, but, by this time, even the cats were surfeited.

“The Sherif comes,” announced Badr ed Din. “Now you will soon start.” We waited another hour, and it began to get hot. Then one of the small slaves was seen scuttling down the path. He kissed Mulai Sadiq’s sleeve hurriedly and almost choked over his whispered message. It appeared that the Sherif wished to see his English guest in the Zawia. This was a supreme honour, and quite unexpected, for, as long as Raisuli is within his house, no one may approach him or send him a message, and even Moslem visitors are received in the building opposite.

I followed the small messenger to the door, and there he disappeared, curling himself up under a ragged cloth and apparently going peacefully to sleep. After a few minutes the bolts were withdrawn, and Mohamed Khalid came out, took me ceremoniously by the hand and led me across the threshold. Still hand in hand, we went down the length of the porch, to another door, this time bright blue, which was opened by unseen fingers.

The next moment I found myself in the room which had been built round the great tree supposed to be intimately connected with the fortunes of Raisuli. The light was dim, because it filtered through windows of coloured glass. The floor was paved in black-and-white marble, the walls had a wide dado of mosaics, and the ceiling was carved and painted. In the centre, was a quadrangle of Moorish arches, slender, with fretted curves, and, between these, stood the tree. All that was visible was a portion of the trunk, its girth so wide that two men could not span it with outstretched arms, for the rest soared through the roof which had been built around it.

Raisuli stepped out of the shadows to meet me, and I saw a different man. Without losing any of his dignity, he had put aside his reserve. His face was extraordinarily kindly and the size of it seemed to magnify its smile. “I want to show you my family,” he said. “They were very curious about the one European lady who has been to Tazrut.” He took my arm in fatherly fashion and pushed me gently towards a group of women, some of whom I had seen before, though I hardly recognised them in their splendour.

“They are all very shy,” he said, and beamed on them with obvious pride. The little bride kept her lashes down, but she no longer looked frightened. Her black hair was parted in the middle, and smoothed over her ears like silk, and the ends were plaited round a thick purple cord which fell to her feet. This apparently is the fashion on state occasions, for every woman had the same silk rope hanging from her head and caught in a loop at the waist, so that it looked like a tail. The bride, Khadija, was exquisite in gold-embroidered muslin over yellow silk, with a wide belt of brocade that slipped over her slender hips, and a mass of heavy jewellery. There was another wife, Zobeida, who was fair-skinned and plain, with faint pit-marks on her face; and the daughters ranged from the tall Kheizrana in flaming orange, who might have been a Circassian, to a child of four or five, who promptly toddled forward and caught the Sherif’s hand in fearless fingers. Raisuli beamed on her. “This is the smallest of them all,” he said, and patted the mop of red-dyed hair.

I felt myself growing more and more bewildered, while I watched a benignant patriarch smiling on a flock of children, the sort of smile that, in Europe, denotes sweets in a grandfatherly pocket! In the background a group of slaves peered round the edge of the door, their waistcoats of bright purple or scarlet gleaming against the dim background. Twenty pairs of eyes watched me with growing curiosity, but the Sherif’s voice, with its new warm note, brought them expectantly to his face. “They want to give you a present,” he said, “as a remembrance of your visit.”

There was much smiling and whispering. Then Haula, the least shy, pushed something into her father’s hand. “It is not from me, but from them,” added the Sherif, and held out two heavy gold bangles. Vainly I protested. The throng closed round me like eager children, and Raisuli slipped the bracelets over my wrists. “We were afraid they might be too small, for you are taller than any of my family, but they fit well, el Hamdulillah!”

The interview was terminated by my incoherent thanks, while the youngest daughter sat down on the floor and solemnly stroked my riding-boots. As the Sherif passed them, the girls bent to kiss his knees, while he patted them on the shoulder, but, when the bride stooped, he caught her wrist and drew her up with murmured words, which made her fold closer the white shawl that half covered her head.

Out in the portico, with the blue door shut behind us, I looked curiously at Raisuli, and wondered how much of the real man I knew, for here was but a courteous host speeding a guest whom he was anxious to honour.

There was a crowd of servitors at the gate. Mulai Sadiq was already astride his red-saddled mule, his scarlet prayer-rug, the only luggage he had brought with him, laid across the pommel. A one-eyed mountaineer led the Afrit, who was doing his best to upset the composure of the baggage-beast which bore my depleted suit-cases, in panniers obviously designed for grain. Badr ed Din and the Kaid murmured farewells—“Ma Salamah,” With safety—“Let not this be your last visit!” “Allah keep you—may the way be easy.”

Then Ghabah seized my stirrup, and I mounted amidst a chorus of good wishes. “Allah take you in safety to your country, and may your desire bring you back to us,” said the Sherif, and, as he stood framed in the archway, with his people a step or two below him, I caught a last glimpse of the other Raisuli, who could never refuse the prayer of a woman, and who sent three times to the mountain to fetch a half-starved yellow cat. . . .

The expression vanished as he turned to speak to the Kaid. Swiftly we clattered over the cobbles towards the hills of Beni Aros. Mulai Sadiq was determined to make up for lost time. It was not till we were nearing the sanctuary of Sidi Musa that he asked me, “Well, was your visit good? Are you satisfied?” I nodded, remembering, rather wistfully, those days spent in a strange world, wondering how much or how little I had learned in them. “Ullah,” said the old man, peering at me over the edge of his yellow spectacles, “this will not be your last visit, for the Sherif’s ‘baraka’ has affected you already!”

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