A book dealing as this does, not only with my own travels, but also with the presence of the Sultan of Morocco at Tafilet, would not be complete, as already stated, were it not carried on for the space of the few months which succeeded that journey. For although the narration of my adventures in the regions south of the Atlas Mountains is already terminated, I was present during not a little of what I am now going to describe, the affairs that took place in June or July, when Mulai el Hassen was no more, and Mulai Abdul Aziz had succeeded to the throne. In order to render clear what follows, a few words in recapitulation must be said as to the Sultan’s journey to the desert.

We have seen that in 1893 Mulai el Hassen led his summer expedition from Fez to Tafilet, and thence returned to Marakesh, crossing the Atlas Mountains in the middle of winter. The journey in every particular was a dangerous and trying one. Such wild tribes as the Beni Mgild and Aït Yussi had to be passed through, and when safely traversed the Sultan found himself in the desert surrounded by the most ferocious of the Berber tribes, who had to be appeased with presents of money and clothes. Although, as a matter of fact, no opposition was put to his progress, he must necessarily have been during the whole expedition in a state of great anxiety, for had the Berbers amalgamated to destroy him and his vast army, they could have done so with the greatest ease. Food was only procurable in small quantities; barley in the camp reached a price that rendered it unprocurable except by the richer classes; while added to this the summer heat in the Sahara caused havoc among the soldiers.

Tafilet was reached in October, and a halt of three weeks made there. It is needless here to enter into any details, for I have already described the camp; suffice it to say that Mulai el Hassen’s camp was pitched on the desert sand near a spot called Dar el baida, to the east of the oasis of Tafilet, and that he was surrounded by an army and camp-followers numbering probably 40,000 men. I saw the Sultan several times during his residence in the camp, and was struck with the remarkable change that had taken place in his appearance. His bearing was as dignified as ever, but his black beard was streaked with grey, his complexion was sallow, and the lines of age showed themselves under his eyes. For over two years previously I had not seen him, and when last I had watched him he was still a young-looking man: now old age had set its indelible mark upon his countenance. The fire of his eye was gone; his head drooped slightly upon his chest; he looked like a man tired and weary. No doubt he was. Anxiety was always present. News had reached him that fighting, and most serious fighting, was occurring between the Spaniards and the Riff tribes at Melilla; there was a constant fear of assassination, and a still more constant dread of his whole camp being eaten up by the Berbers. Added to this his health was ailing, and winter fast coming on. Affairs delayed him at Tafilet, and before he left that spot at the end of November, although during the day the sun still beat down with almost tropical heat, rendering life in a tent insufferable, by night the cold was extreme, and frosts of almost nightly occurrence. Before the army lay a three weeks’ march to Marakesh, over desert and mountain, through wild tribes where dangers were many and food scarce. What wonder that Mulai el Hassen suffered! Yet the worst trials were before him after he left Tafilet: as he approached the Glawi Pass over the Atlas—the lowest there is, and that at an altitude of over 8000 feet above the sea-level—the cold increased, soldiers, mules, horses, and camels died of exposure. Snow fell and covered the camp, and only by forced marches were the remnants of the great horde dragged out from the deathly grip of the rocks and snows of the Atlas Mountains to the plains below.

I saw Mulai el Hassen and his army enter Marakesh, for I had returned thither a few days before them. What was noticeable at Tafilet was doubly apparent now. The Sultan had become an old man. Travel-stained and weary, he rode his great white horse with its mockery of green-and-gold trappings, while over a head that was the picture of suffering waved the imperial umbrella of crimson velvet. Following him straggled into the city a horde of half-starved men and animals, trying to be happy that at last their terrible journey was at an end, but too ill and too hungry to succeed.

Mulai el Hassen found no peace at Marakesh. Affairs at Melilla had become strained, and no sooner had his Majesty reached the capital than a Spanish Embassy under General Martinez Campos proceeded thither. How it ended is well known. It added to the enormous expenses of the Sultan’s summer expedition—which must have cost him nearly a million sterling—a debt to the Spanish Government of twenty million pesetas, at the same time necessitating the Sultan to abandon his idea of remaining in his southern capital, and forcing upon him a long march to Rabat and Fez, and an intended expedition to the Riff to punish the tribes who had caused the disturbance there. Fez was never reached, the expedition never took place, and Mulai el Hassen’s entry into Rabat was in a coffin at the dead of night.

Having thus briefly recapitulated the events preceding the Sultan’s death, reference must now be made to those who played important parts, for better or for worse, in the days that followed.

With regard to the succession to the throne of Morocco, no regular custom or law exists. While the new Sultan must be a relation of the late one, he need not necessarily be a son, but is appointed by his predecessor, and if approved of, acknowledged by those in whose power the making of Sultans lies,—that is to say, by the Viziers and powerful Shereefs. Should the Sultan name no successor, it is these who choose the man they may think suitable to fill the post.

Of the great Shereefian families of Morocco that of Mulai el Hassen is not the most important, for the founder of his dynasty, rising in Tafilet, seized the power from the more holy and reverend family of the direct descendants of Mulai Idris, the founder of the Moorish empire, who was the son of Abdullah el Kamil, himself a grandson of Hassan, who with Huseyn was the son of Fatima, Mohammed’s daughter. While the Fileli dynasty to-day holds the throne, the reverence paid to the Fileli Shereefs is not to be compared with that bestowed upon Mulai Idris I. and II., one of whom lies buried in the town bearing his name in Zarahun near Fez, while the second is patron saint of the northern capital itself, where he lies interred in a gorgeous tomb.

Again, the family of the Shereefs of Wazan obtains far greater respect than that of the Sultan, and the tombs of Mulai Abdullah Shereef and Sid el Haj el Arbi are places of daily pilgrimages. In order, therefore, to obtain the succession to the throne of a new Sultan, the aid and influence of both the Shereefs of Mulai Idris and Wazan have to be brought to bear upon the question, as should either party refuse to acknowledge the candidate, so powerful are their followings that it is quite possible, more than probable, that a civil war would be the result. That a Shereef of Wazan could come to the throne is practically impossible. The two heads of the family, sons of the late Grand Shereef, are French protected subjects; while what affects still more the native population is the existence of an ancient proverb which states that no Wazan Shereef can rule as Sultan, but that no Sultan can rule without the support of the Wazan Shereef. It is, in fact, a defensive alliance between the two great families.

Not so, however, with the Shereefs of Mulai Idris, who reside almost entirely in Fez, and whose influence there is very great. That a Drisite Shereef would have been ready to ascend the throne were it offered to him is only too probable, but fortunately it was not offered. In spite of their immense sanctity, the old adage that a prophet hath no honour in his own country holds good in Fez, where amongst the city-people they are considered as little above ordinary mortals. All their influence, and it is very extensive, lies amongst strangers and in the country districts, where being seldom seen or heard, all kinds of romance as to their marvellous powers are rife.

Therefore it will be seen that, powerful as are the families of Wazan and Mulai Idris, it was practically out of the question, unless civil war broke out, that a member of either should be put up as candidate for the throne. And had such an event happened, want of funds would have no doubt crushed the rebellion before any very serious results would have occurred. There remained, then, only the members of the late Sultan’s family who could succeed. Of these, four had always been considered as likely candidates. First, Mulai Ismain, a brother of Mulai el Hassen, who for a long time was Viceroy in Fez. He is a man past middle age, of a quiet gentle manner, fanatical, and given to literary pursuits, and, while possessing very considerable influence, and still more popularity, is by no means a man to push himself forward—in fact, it was always said, on the best authority, that he had no desire whatever of succeeding to the throne. Certainly Mulai Ismain seemed the most probable successor to his brother, though every year lessened the likelihood of this by adding years to the age of the Sultan’s favourite son, Mulai Abdul Aziz, the present Sultan. Although it was known that this boy was being trained by Mulai el Hassen, so that in the event of his own death he might come to the throne, his extreme youth for a time rendered it exceedingly improbable that he could succeed; and had Mulai el Hassen’s death taken place only a year or two earlier, Mulai Abdul Aziz, instead of becoming Sultan, would have been merely an obstacle to whoever had succeeded—an obstacle that most likely would have been removed by assassination or secret murder. Fortunately, Mulai el Hassen lived sufficiently long to see his favourite son reach the age of sixteen—for all reports as to his being then only twelve are false. So great was his father’s desire that he should succeed, that during his lifetime he endowed his son with very considerable wealth and property, and towards the end of his life, since his return from Tafilet, made it clearly apparent what was his desire in the event of his death, by bestowing on him nearly all the prerogatives of the Sultanate.

Mulai Abdul Aziz is the son of a Circassian wife of Mulai el Hassen, a lady of great intelligence and remarkable ability, who, though no longer in her first youth, was able to maintain to the day of his death a most singular and no doubt beneficial influence over Mulai el Hassen. Her European extraction and her education abroad, her general knowledge of the world, and her opportunities for watching the Court intrigues, rendered her of more service to the late Sultan than any of his Viziers. She accompanied him always upon his long and tedious marches, and there can be no doubt that even in his dealings with the European Powers her advice was always asked and generally taken by the Sultan. The affection Mulai el Hassen bestowed upon her was also shared by her son, Mulai Abdul Aziz, who, with the tender anxiety of both an affectionate father and mother, was brought up in a far more satisfactory manner than is general with the sons of Moorish potentates. While his elder brothers, of whom more anon, were left to run wild and to lead lives of cruelty and vice, Abdul Aziz was the constant companion of his parents, who, both intent that he should one day be Sultan of Morocco, lost no opportunity of educating him, to the best of their abilities, to fill the post.

The other candidates who may be said to have had a chance of succeeding to the throne were Mulai Mohammed, the late Sultan’s eldest son, by a slave wife, who has held the post of Viceroy in Morocco City for a considerable time, and whose vicious life has estranged him from the affections of the people. This is the “one-eyed decapitator” of whom the papers were so fond of speaking during the recent crisis. Really the Englishman who invented the name deserves popularity to the same extent as he gave publicity to his brilliant imagination, for the complimentary title is of purely English invention. Unfortunately Mulai Mohammed never possessed the power of decapitating any one, and had he ventured to have done so, would have long ago been securely confined in prison. Vicious and immoral he was to an extent that surpasses description, but beyond this his sins were no greater than those of the ordinary Moorish official. At times he was most lavish and generous—often with other people’s money; and although his open immorality estranged him from any affection on the part of the people, he still possessed a certain amount of popularity from his exceedingly unprincely condescension. On the whole, Mulai Mohammed is a very undesirable young man; but even his lax morality scarcely merits the outpourings of hatred and contempt that have been heaped upon him by the English press.

The remaining possible candidate to the throne was Mulai el Amin, another brother of the late Sultan, a pleasant, middle-aged man, who would scarcely have been capable of the amount of dignity necessitated by the position, as he possessed a temperament too affable and condescending.

It will be seen, therefore, that not only was Mulai Abdul Aziz his father’s candidate, but that by his training and bringing up, in spite of his youth, he was by far the most likely to perform with any degree of success the arduous duties of the position. Again, his father and mother’s care had kept him free from the immoral life usually led by boys of his age, and he came to the throne untainted by the vices of the country.

But one point more remains to be touched upon before referring to the events that have absolutely been taking place since the late Sultan’s death early in June 1894—namely, a few words as to the Viziers and officials by which his Shereefian Majesty was surrounded.

The only members of the Moorish Government who enjoyed access to the person of their Sultan were some half-a-dozen Viziers, through whom the entire business of the country was carried on. These were respectively the Grand Vizier, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Lord Chamberlain, another Vizier answering to our Home Secretary, the Master of the Ceremonies, and the Minister of War. With these exceptions, no one was able to gain the confidential ear of the Sultan; and should by any chance his Majesty listen to others, woe betide them, whoever they might be, did they attempt in any way to injure the position of these courtiers, who would be able, without the information ever reaching the Sultan, to revenge themselves as they might desire upon the man who informed his Majesty of their evil doings. Mention need be made only of those who have played important parts in the history of the last year. These are respectively Sid el Haj Amaati, the Grand Vizier, Sid Mohammed Soreir, the Minister of War, and Sid Ahmed ben Musa, the Hajib or Chamberlain. Between the two former—who are brothers, and members of the powerful Jamai family, which had already given another Grand Vizier before Haj Amaati was appointed, namely, Sid Mukhtar Jamai—and Sid Ahmed ben Musa, the Hajib, there had always existed a rivalry and hatred only to be found amongst oriental peoples. Sid Ahmed himself is the son of a Grand Vizier, the late Sid Musa, who for many years was the able and trusted adviser of the Sultans Sidi Mohammed and Mulai el Hassen.

While the Jamai brothers prided themselves on their great and powerful family, they scoffed at Sid Musa and his family as upstarts, for his father was a slave. But to such an extent did Mulai el Hassen bestow his confidence on both the Grand Vizier and the Hajib, that they were scarcely able to do one another harm in his Majesty’s eyes. Haj Amaati had risen suddenly to his post, and his success with the Sultan no doubt caused much envy and hatred in the heart of Sid Ahmed. Two years ago Haj Amaati, on the resignation of the F’ki Sinhaji, became Grand Vizier, though at that time probably not more than thirty years of age. His elder brother had for a long time held the powerful and lucrative post of Minister of War, and with his support to back him, Haj Amaati commenced a career of amassing wealth by every possible means.

The power and influence possessed by a Grand Vizier in Morocco is almost incredible. Every official in the whole country is under him; no one can communicate with the Sultan except through him. In his hands lie the disposal of the various governorships—one should say the sale of the various governorships—and the dismissal of all officials. In the hands of an unscrupulous man there is every opportunity of “black-mail,” and of this Haj Amaati took an advantage unparalleled in Moorish history. He robbed the Sultan and bought and sold appointments, and in the two years that he was Grand Vizier he amassed, in addition to his already considerable fortune, a sum of nearly £150,000! That is to say, he managed to ensure for himself, and entirely by illicit means, an income of no less than about £70,000 a-year, and this in an open and unblushing manner. So certain was he of his position and influence that, soon after the Sultan’s arrival at Morocco City on his return from Tafilet, he attempted to oust from favour Sid Ahmed, the Chamberlain, who, of all the Court, was on the most intimate terms with, and the most trusted servant of, the Sultan. For a time he was successful: Sid Ahmed lost favour, and it seemed that his dismissal was certain. Shortly before Mulai el Hassen left Morocco City he was, however, reinstated in his Majesty’s regard; and by the manner in which Mulai el Hassen appeared to leave nearly everything in his hands, there is little doubt that he repented of having distrusted him at all. This incident increased the hatred between Haj Amaati and Sid Ahmed, and even had the late Sultan lived, one or other would have been obliged to go, as affairs at Court became too strained to continue in that condition.

The late Sultan left Marakesh in May, accompanied by his whole Court, his army, and the governors of southern Morocco and their troops, in order to punish certain revolutionary tribes in the district of Tedla, to the north-east of Marakesh: thence it was his Majesty’s intention to proceed to Rabat, where the northern army was to join him, and the entire forces were to pass on to Meknas and Fez, punishing en route the tribes of Zimour and Beni Hassen, whose depredations and fighting had caused his Majesty very considerable anxiety ever since his departure from Fez, a year previous.

Mulai el Hassen was ill when he left the southern capital. The anxiety, the heat of the desert, and the intense cold on his journey to and from Tafilet, had weakened a constitution already impaired by an affection of the liver and kidneys. Those who accompanied him on his departure from Morocco City tell how the life and vigour had seemed to have left him. His parting with Mulai Abdul Aziz, who had left the capital previous to his father, proceeding to Rabat, was said to have been a most touching one, and his favourite son rode out of the capital with all the pomp and paraphernalia of a Sultan. No doubt it was purposely done by Mulai el Hassen, who seems to have felt his end approaching, and considered this the most subtle means of exhibiting to his people his desire that Abdul Aziz should succeed him.

By slow marches, necessitated by the immense number of men and animals accompanying him, the Sultan reached the district of Tedla, and there fell ill.

At daybreak it was the custom of Mulai el Hassen, as already mentioned, to leave the enclosure of canvas in which his tents were pitched and proceed on foot to his office-tent, where he would transact business until generally about nine or ten o’clock, when he would retire within, not appearing again until the cool of the afternoon. For several days after the arrival of the camp in the region of Tedla, at a spot called Dar bu Zeedu, a halt was called; and although the Sultan from time to time visited his office-tent, it was generally known that he was unwell. After the 2d of June the Sultan did not leave his enclosure; and although the report was general that he was seriously indisposed, reassuring messages were given by the Hajib, Sid Ahmed, who had the entrée to the Sultan’s tent, and his Majesty was pronounced to be getting on toward recovery. During the afternoon of Wednesday, June 6, Mulai el Hassen died, Sid Ahmed alone being present, the man who throughout his life had been his most confidential and trusted follower. Before his death he had spoken freely to Sid Ahmed, and had made him swear a solemn oath to support the succession of Mulai Abdul Aziz, and never to desert him as long as either of them lived. His Shereefian Majesty also left papers stating his desire that his favourite son should succeed him, and private letters to Abdul Aziz himself.

But besides the question of the succession, there were others as momentous, if not more so, to be considered. The camp was placed within the district of the Tedla regions, against whom the Sultan had intended to wage war; and the fact that he was dead, and that the camp would be left without any leader, would bring down an attack of the tribes and the sacking of the entire camp, if not the murder also of the Viziers and officials. Nor was the army to be trusted: Mulai Abdul Aziz was at Rabat, still some eight days’ fast marching distant, and in those eight days who knew what course events might take? A hurried meeting of the Viziers was called; an oath of secrecy taken; the drums were beaten for a start to be made; and, to every one’s astonishment and surprise, orders were given for a move, the reason affirmed being that the Sultan had sufficiently recovered to travel. The palanquin which always accompanied his Majesty was taken into the enclosure; the Sultan’s body was placed within, the doors closed, and, amidst the obeisances and acclamations of the camp, all that remained of Mulai el Hassen set out for Rabat.

Not a soul knew of the Sultan’s death except the Viziers and a few of the slaves and tent-pitchers, whose mouths were sealed, knowing that death would ensue if they told.

The river Um er-Ribia was crossed, and a halt called on its right bank, near a spot known as the Brouj Beni Miskin. Meanwhile messengers had been secretly sent to Rabat to announce the Sultan’s death and the accession of Mulai Abdul Aziz, to support whom the Viziers had all sworn.

The following day an early start was made, the dead Sultan still being carried in the usual position, with the flags and insignia of the Sultanate preceding him. As they passed along, the tribes-people are said to have kissed the palanquin, and one or two people of importance to have been allowed to see the Sultan within, whose ill-health was given as an excuse for his not speaking.

At the middle of the day a halt was called for his Majesty to take breakfast, a tent pitched, the palanquin carried within, and food and green tea cooked, taken into the tent, and brought out again as if it had been tasted by the Sultan.

As yet no one knew besides the Viziers and the handful of slaves that Mulai el Hassen was dead. The military band played outside his tent, and all the usual customs which were carried out when he lived were continued. But in a hot climate like that of Morocco in June a secret of this sort cannot be long kept, and on their arrival in camp, after a ten hours’ march, on Thursday, June 7, it was announced that the Sultan was dead, and that messengers had left the day before for the capitals, announcing the accession of Mulai Abdul Aziz. The proclamation called upon the people and soldiers to follow the desire of their deceased master, and to support the Viziers in their intention of seeing Mulai Abdul Aziz succeed.

The news fell like a thunderbolt upon the camp. It was true that by the concealment of the Sultan’s death they had escaped from Tedla; but there still remained dangers almost equally as great. Would not the tribes of Shauia, through which they had yet to pass en route to Rabat, pillage the camp, for there was plenty to loot there? And even if they refrained from doing so, could the horde of ill-fed, ill-clothed, and ill-paid soldiers be trusted?

The camp split up into a hundred parties, each distrustful of the other, though all intent upon one object, a retreat to the coast. Each tribe represented in the camp collected its forces, and marched in a band together and camped together, not fearing so much any general outbreak as an attack on the part of members of some other tribe, between whom there may have been some long-standing feud, only prevented by fear of the Sultan from bursting into warfare.

By forced marches the camp and the army proceeded to Rabat, constantly hampered by the surrounding tribes, who, too timid to attack so large a force, contented themselves and satisfied their love of plunder by cutting off and robbing every straggler who happened to lag behind. The poor soldiers they killed for their rifles, and, if they possessed none, out of pure devilry. Many of the troops took advantage of the lack of order and government to run away and return to their homes—whence they had been taken by a systemless conscription to starve in the Sultan’s service, or gain a precarious livelihood by theft.

Meanwhile Abdul Aziz had been proclaimed in Rabat, and letters were sent in all directions announcing his accession to the throne. In no period of modern Moorish history had there been a week of such suspense as then ensued. The Sultan was a boy, separated from his Ministers and Viziers by a long distance, in traversing which they ran a great danger of being plundered and murdered. Had such an event occurred, and Mulai Abdul Aziz’s supporters been killed, his reign must have terminated at once, for the treasury would have fallen into other hands, and another Sultan been proclaimed.

With all possible speed the army marched towards the coast, bearing their now loathsome burden of the Sultan’s body with them. There was a terrible mockery in the whole thing,—the decomposing corpse borne in royal state with the Shereefian banners waving before it, with the spear-bearers on either side, and the troop of mounted bodyguard and askars on foot.

On Thursday, June 14, Rabat was reached, and a halt called some little distance outside the city. The state of the Sultan’s body was such as to render a public funeral impossible, so in the darkness of the night a little procession of foot-soldiers, with only a single Shereef attending, one and all bearing lanterns, set out. A hole was bored in the town walls,—for seldom, if ever, is a corpse carried into the gate of a Moorish city; and surrounded by this little band, Mulai el Hassen, Sultan of Morocco, was laid to his last rest in the mosque covering the tomb of his ancestor, Sidi Mohammed ben Abdullah.

At dawn, as the people bestirred themselves to witness the funeral, it became known that all was over; and amidst the acclamations of the populace and the sounds of the Sultan’s band, Mulai Abdul Aziz was led forth, the great crimson-and-gold umbrella waving over him, surrounded by his father’s Viziers, and mounted on his father’s white horse, and proclaimed Sultan.

Those who saw the spectacle described it to me. The boy’s eyes were filled with tears, for his love for his father was intense, and report says that it was only by force that he was persuaded to mount the horse and be proclaimed. A touching story was recounted to the writer by one who witnessed the episode. On his return to the palace the mosque where his father had been buried the previous night was passed. Leaving the procession, Mulai Abdul Aziz proceeded alone to the door, and, weeping copiously, dismounted and entered to do his last homage to his father and his Sultan.

The news of the Sultan’s death had reached Casablanca on the coast on Saturday by a mounted express, and thence two mounted men galloped to Rabat, a distance of fifty-nine miles, in six and a half hours, over an abominable road. A steamer was on the point of leaving that port for Tangier, and her Britannic Majesty’s Minister received the news shortly after 11 A.M. on Sunday morning,—a worthy record of fast travelling. He was the first to obtain the information, and he immediately told his colleagues of what had taken place. A special meeting of the European Ministers was called on Monday morning, after which the British Minister, Mr Satow, reported the information to Sid el Haj Mohammed Torres, the Sultan’s Vizier resident at Tangier. By mid-day on Monday the news was general in Tangier, and anxiety was depicted on every face as to what would be the results of so serious an occurrence. Not a few predicted a general massacre of the Europeans, which of everything that might occur was the least probable. It is true that the tribes around Tangier disliked their governor, and might make some sort of attempt to assassinate him; but their common-sense gained the better of them, and, on consideration, they realised that any such course would in the end but mean misery and imprisonment and even death to themselves, while by adopting an exemplary bearing they might so gain the favour of the new Sultan that their grievances would be heard and attended to. At the same time they virtually threw off the jurisdiction of the Basha, each village electing a local sheikh, who would be responsible for the conduct of those under him. So successful was this action that, so far from the country becoming in any way disturbed, things improved in every manner, cattle robberies ceased, and an unusual period of calm ensued, that spoke not a little for the credit of those to whom it was due. The Moors have a proverb, and it is a very true one, that safety and security can only be found in the districts where there is no government—that is to say, where the government is a tribal one.

In talking over the crisis on that eventful Monday on which we received the news of the Sultan’s death, one could not help feeling at what an exceedingly opportune moment it had occurred, as far as the general peace of the country was concerned. For two or three years the harvests had been very bad; but this summer had proved sufficient to repay the tribes and country-people for a period almost of starvation, and throughout the whole country the wheat and barley crops were magnificent. Harvesting had already commenced, and every one was engaged in getting in the crops. To the Moor wheat is life. The country-people eat little or nothing else, every one grinding in his own house, or tent, as the case may be, his own flour. To lose the crops would mean famine, and the Moor knows what famine means. At all costs, at all hazards, the outstanding crops must be got in—Sultan or no Sultan. So instead of taking up their arms to pay off old scores and to commence new ones, the peasant went forth on his errand of peace and gathered in his harvest. “The Sultan was dead,” they said, “and his son had been proclaimed: everything was ordained by God—but the harvest must be got in.” Had Mulai el Hassen’s decease occurred at any other period than that at which it did, months of bloodshed and plundering would have been the result.

In spite of the opinion of most people, I was firmly convinced that, for the present at least, no serious incidents would occur. So strong was my conviction, that on Tuesday morning I left Tangier for Fez, accompanied by a Moorish youth, myself in Moorish clothes. We were both mounted on good horses, and hampered ourselves with absolutely no baggage of any sort. Alcazar was reached the following morning. The town was in a state of considerable alarm; most of the Jews had already fled to Laraiche, and the officials were half expecting an attack on the part of the mountaineers. The following morning, that of the Eid el Kebir, the great feast of the Moorish year, I reached Wazan, where, at all events, I should learn from an authoritative source as to what was likely to occur. I found there that the news of the Sultan’s death was already known, while I was able to confirm that of Mulai Abdul Aziz’s accession.

It must be remembered how important a part Wazan and its Shereefs play in Moorish politics. That the Great Shereef of Wazan should fail to acknowledge the accession of a Sultan would mean that 100,000 of their followers would do the same, and that all the mountaineers to the north-east of Morocco would rise in a body.

I was received as an old friend by the Shereef, in whose house I once lived for eight months, and was present at the afternoon court, at which, being the Eid el Kebir, or great feast, all the Shereefs were present, together with the principal men of the town. The scene was a most picturesque one: the gaily decorated room, leading by an arcade of Moorish arches into a garden, one mass of flowering-shrubs, amongst which a fountain played with soft gurgling sound—the large group of Shereefs in holiday attire of soft white wool and silk, the great silver trays and incense-burners, and long-necked scent-bottles,—all formed an ideal picture of oriental life. The one topic of conversation was what had taken place, the Sultan’s death, and the accession of Mulai Abdul Aziz. It was, in fact, a sort of council of war or peace—happily the latter; and as we drank green tea, flavoured with mint and verbena, out of delicate little cups, the Shereef made his public declaration of adherence to Mulai Abdul Aziz,—a few words uttered in the expressionless way that Moors of high degree affect, words simple in themselves, but meaning perhaps his life and his throne to Mulai Abdul Aziz.

Throughout the whole crisis the action of the Shereefs of Wazan is highly to be commended. Their every endeavour was to ensure peace and tranquillity, and in this the Moorish Government owes a debt that it will be difficult ever to pay to Mulai el Arbi and his brother Mulai Mohammed.

This is not the place to talk of the charms of Wazan, but as I left the little city, nestled in groves of olives and oranges, early the next morning, it was with a feeling of regret that I could not stay longer; but I wanted to be in Fez. If anything occurred, it would be there. So I pushed on with my journey, and after a thirteen hours’ ride under a hot sun, put up for the night at a village overlooking the river Sebu. Here bad news met us: the neighbouring tribes of Mjat, who are Berbers, Hejawa, and Sherarda, were up in arms, with the intention of taking advantage of the opportunity to wipe out old scores. Already a small skirmish had taken place, and the morrow threatened to dawn with further fighting, which would entirely block the road to Fez, and also the road I had passed over the day before from Wazan.

At daybreak armed bands of horsemen could be seen scouring the country, and it was not until the afternoon that we learned that the three tribes in question had met and decided to postpone any hostilities until after the harvest had been gathered in. I set out at once, and the following day before noon reached Fez in safety. So insecure were the roads reported to be, that we met not a single caravan en route, with the exception of one, whose camel-drivers appeared to be very much more afraid of us three horsemen than we were of them. At eleven we entered Fez—myself, a Shereef who had accompanied me, and my native servant.

Meanwhile the new Sultan still remained at Rabat, and a time of immense activity was passing at the Court, couriers without number leaving daily with letters for every part of the kingdom, announcing the accession of Abdul Aziz to the throne; and though it was exceedingly important that his Shereefian Majesty should proceed as quickly as possible to Fez, it was found impossible for him to make an immediate start, so great was the press of business.

By this time Europe was being flooded with so-called information as to what was taking place. The “one-eyed decapitator” was reported by three daily papers of the same date to have raised a rebellion in Morocco, to have organised an army of 20,000 men in Fez, and to have been imprisoned at Rabat; while a most pathetic and graphic account appeared in nearly all the London papers of the funeral of Mulai el Hassen, at which every pomp was observed, and at which all the members of the consular body at Rabat were officially present! It was witnessed, the informant said, by the entire population; whereas the funeral was secretly carried out in the dead of night, only a few soldiers accompanying the body to its grave.

The news of the late Sultan’s death had been received in Fez on the evening of Tuesday, June 12, in a letter addressed to Mulai Omar, his son, by the Viziers. The Viceroy at once imparted the news secretly to the governor, and criers were sent throughout the town calling the people together to hear a Shereefian letter read in the mosque of Bu Jelud. Suspecting nothing of great importance—for this is the ordinary custom of making known a decree—the people sauntered in.

Meanwhile Mulai Omar had caused to be drawn up the paper acknowledging the new Sultan, and headed the list with his own signature, the second to sign being Mulai Ismain, who had been considered by many to be the most likely candidate to the throne. As soon as the mosque was full, the doors were closed, and the announcement of the Sultan’s death made known, together with the proclamation of the accession of his son. As the letter was concluded, the Basha of the town rose and said, “If any one has anything to say, let him speak.” Not a word was uttered, and in perfect silence the lawyers drew up a document to be forwarded to Mulai Abdul Aziz announcing the readiness of Fez to accept him as their sovereign. Intense indignation reigned amongst the audience in the mosque. They felt that they had been tricked into giving their consent without the opportunity of discussing the affair; but escape was impossible, and a murmur of discontent would have meant their going straight to prison, for the doors were closed and a strong guard in readiness.

What was the real state of feeling in Fez it is very difficult to say, but it is doubtful whether they would have at once accepted Mulai Abdul Aziz had not the authorities obtained their signatures in the manner they did. In all probability they would have bargained with him, offering to receive him should they be free from certain taxes—the octroi, for instance—for a certain length of time, if not for ever. Of all the inhabitants of Morocco there are none more grasping, more cowardly, and more given to intrigue, than the people of Fez. Their meanness is proverbial, and while they give themselves airs over everyone else’s head, they are despised and hated by the remainder of the population. Given up to every vice, they go about the streets covering their hands for fear of sunburn and muttering their prayers, talking of their importance and bravery, yet frightened by a spider or a mouse. The women of any of the other cities of Morocco could defeat the men of Fez. However, whatever may have been the ideas of the inhabitants of Fez as to the advisability of the succession of Mulai Abdul Aziz, their allegiance had been given, and there was now no drawing back.

By this time the news had spread throughout the entire country, and Hiyaina, a neighbouring Arab tribe to Fez, came in considerable force, some 400 horses, and commenced petty robberies just outside the town walls. The scare amongst the effeminate Fezzis was amusing to witness. Trade became at a standstill, and they secured themselves within their houses under lock and key, leaving the authorities and the strangers in the city to settle with the wild tribesmen. However, the affair came to nought in the end; for the very Arabs who had come with a possible idea of looting Fez were bribed into the Government service to keep the roads open for caravans—a most important point, as scarcely any wheat or barley existed in the capital, and any lengthened delay in the arrival of the grain-bearing camels from the country would mean famine and revolution.

On Wednesday, June 20, a deputation left Fez for Rabat to bear an address of welcome to the Sultan, a document magnificently illuminated. On the 24th, the first letter written in the new Sultan’s name, with all his titles and dignities, was received. It announced his accession to the throne, and called upon the people to be obedient. Its receipt was honoured by an almost endless salute from the artillery in the palace square.

On Monday, June 25, the Sultan left Rabat for Meknas and Fez, travelling through the tribe of Beni Hassen, which, together with their neighbours the Berbers of Zimour, had already sworn allegiance.

At Tangier things were proceeding quietly. The French Government sent a man-of-war and an armed despatch-boat, while the English were contented with the presence of the Bramble, a small gunboat from Gibraltar. The Portuguese and Spaniards both sent vessels of kinds. An act of gross stupidity on the part of the commander of one of the latter nearly caused an unpleasant disturbance in the country. The Isla de Luzon was sent by the Spanish Government to the coast. Now the first town down the Atlantic coast of Morocco is the almost deserted and entirely ruinous Arzeila, a place of absolutely no importance, and where there is no harbour of any sort. For some reason known only to the adventurous Spanish commander, he was pleased to come to anchor and to fire a salute of twenty-one guns in the roadstead, which Arzeila had no means of returning, for neither cannon nor powder are to be found; and as never in the memory of man had any vessel of any sort ever approached the place, the few inhabitants were filled with consternation and terror, which was only increased when a boat was noticed coming ashore. There was no doubt about the question in the minds of the natives—a European invasion was taking place! A few stayed to see what was going to happen; the greater part fled, spreading here, there, and everywhere the news of the invasion of Moorish territory by the Christians. Meanwhile the water-kegs which had been sent on shore in the boats were filled, and the officer in charge, having taken coffee in the house of a certain Jew who calls himself Spanish Consular Agent, returned to his ship, and the man-of-war departed, steaming away just as volunteers began pouring in from every direction to prevent the infidels landing their troops. Before night some 2000 mountaineers and tribesmen had assembled in the neighbourhood. For a time the wild reports that were circulated in Tangier caused a little anxiety; but soon it became known that the whole scare was due to either the ignorance or wilful stupidity of the commander of the Isla de Luzon in saluting and sending a boat ashore at Arzeila, which is a closed port, not to say a picturesque ruin.

On July 1, Mulai Abdul Aziz reached Meknas from Rabat, having en route prayed at the tomb of Mulai Idris I., in Zarahun, who lies interred on the steep slope of the mountain above the Roman ruins of Volubilis. Although his Majesty entered Meknas at an extremely early hour, long before he was expected, he was accorded an enthusiastic reception.

At Court affairs were fast proceeding to a stage which must end tragically. Mulai Abdul Aziz, it is true, was firmly on the throne, but the boy Sultan was only an item in the palace. The hatred and jealousy of the Viziers amongst themselves was a public secret, and all watched anxiously for the termination of the crisis which, in spite of every outward and visible show of accord, it was well known must soon arrive.

The fact that Sid Ahmed ben Musa had been chosen by Mulai Abdul Aziz as almost his sole adviser had stirred the hearts of the rival Jamai Viziers, the brothers Haj Amaati and Sid Mohammed Soreir, to their very depths. Those who do not know the Moors are ill acquainted with the strength of their passions; and there is no saying to what extent their hatred and jealousy might not carry them. No one could have been better aware of this than Sid Ahmed himself, the most faithful and devoted follower the Sultan could possess, whose mixed blood of Arab and negro strain gave him all the force and cunning of the former and all the fidelity of a slave.

On Tuesday, July 10, at the sitting of the morning Court, Haj Amaati and Sid Mohammed Soreir, the Grand Vizier and Minister of War, were dismissed, the return of their seals being demanded. Both must have realised that their end was practically come; and as they mounted their mules and rode away from the palace, they were ruined men.

The dismissal of Ministers in Morocco is a very different affair to what it is in Europe. It means disgrace, and more than that, the almost certain confiscation of all their property—if not imprisonment. The immense pride inherent in a Moorish official of high degree renders all the more degrading his fall; while the intense jealousy and hatred felt for the unscrupulous officials, to whom all injustice and taxation is, often very rightly, accredited, prevent any sympathy on the part of the public. The man to whom every one had to bow and cringe had fallen; no longer was his wrath to be feared; and the feelings of the populace, pent up for so long, burst forth. No name was too bad for the late Grand Vizier, no crime too fearful not to have been committed by him.

A sort of stupor fell over the Court. No one knew what would happen next. This dismissal of two of the most powerful men, if not the two most powerful, in the entourage of the Sultan, was so sudden and so far removed from the usual course adopted by a new Sultan, that all held their breath, awaiting a future the details of which they were not even able to guess at. Terror reigned amongst the officials; wild reports were heard on every side as to who was to be the next to fall; and expectation on the part of those who had nothing to fear, and terror on that of those whose position rendered them liable to a similar fate, was rife.

It was no secret whence the blow had been struck, for no sooner were the posts of Grand Vizier and Minister of War vacated than they were filled, the former by Sid Ahmed himself, the second by his brother Sid Saïd; while to the Chamberlainship, which Sid Ahmed had left to fill the still higher position, another brother was nominated. Sid Ahmed thus obtained an overwhelming majority in the surroundings of the Sultan, for the three most confidential positions were annexed by himself and his two brothers.

The following Friday, July 13,—unlucky combination of day and number,—Haj Amaati and Sid Mohammed Soreir were seized in their houses and thrown into prison. Although it had been thought possible that such a course might be pursued, the actual event caused an unparalleled excitement. The work of arrest was quickly but roughly done, but such are the ways of the Moors. The Basha of Meknas, with a small band of troops, proceeded to the Grand Vizier’s house first, and, gaining admittance, announced his errand. The horror of the situation must have been fully appreciated by the Vizier, for, giving way to one of those violent fits of rage to which he was prone, he attempted to resist, and a soldier in his employ drew his sword upon the Basha. In a minute both were seized, but not before, in the struggle, Haj Amaati’s rich clothes had been torn to shreds. Four ropes were fastened to his neck, each held by a soldier; and, dressed only in his shirt, he was dragged through the streets, amidst the derisive laughter and the curses of the people, to the prison. The very crowd that now rejoiced in his degradation had bowed low to him only a day or two before, as he passed through the streets to and from the palace. One incident is worthy of mention, as showing the feelings of the Moors. As he was paraded along, a common askari, one of the riff-raff of Morocco, passed. “God!” he cried, “why, the infidel has a better fez than mine!” and with these words he lifted the turban and cap off the Vizier’s head roughly, placing his own filthy head-gear in its place.

And the crowd laughed and jeered!

As soon as Haj Amaati was confined in jail, Sid Mohammed Soreir was arrested; but, with far more pluck and courage, he followed his captor without resistance, and entered prison like a gentleman.

Wild rumours spread all over the town as to the reasons of the imprisonment of the Viziers, and it was generally stated that a plot had been discovered by which the Sultan and Sid Ahmed, the new Vizier, were to have been assassinated that very day, en route to mid-day prayers. But whatever may have been the truth of this assertion, the fact remains that no attempt was made, and Mulai Abdul Aziz was driven in his green-and-gold brougham to the mosque, surrounded by his Court. Both his Majesty and Sid Ahmed looked extremely nervous, and every possible precaution was taken to prevent assassination. During the afternoon a lesser Vizier, who acted as amin el askar, or paymaster of the troops, Sid el Arbi Zebdi, was seized and imprisoned. This but added to the terror of the remaining officials, who had escaped, but dreaded a like fate.

I had the opportunity the same evening of discussing the course events had taken with two men, who hold in different ways almost the highest positions in Morocco. One was himself a Vizier, the other far above all fear of arrest. They both told me the same tale; but, in spite of the high authority on which I heard it, I do not think it is to be credited, and in my opinion it was the officially agreed upon story, that was to give justice to the arrest of such important members of the Sultan’s Court.

I was told that both the Viziers in question had addressed letters to Mulai Ismain in Fez, and to Mulai Mohammed in Morocco City, the young Sultan’s uncle and brother respectively, inviting them to seize the opportunity of attempting the throne, and offering all their large fortune and influence in the event of their doing so. These letters, it was said, were intercepted and the plot discovered.

Although both the Viziers in question were quite capable of such a plot, I cannot believe that either pursued the course stated above. To a Moor a document of any sort is a far more important thing than to us, and any one who is acquainted with the Moors knows how extremely difficult it is to obtain any kind of matter in writing. Had such an idea as that stated above entered the minds of Haj Amaati and his brother, and had they formulated any conspiracy to that effect, they would never have been so foolish as to commit themselves to writing, and any communication with the two Shereefs in question would have been made with the aid of a trusted envoy. It was easy to see that one of my informants at least discredited the story he was telling me, which he only knew from official sources. My own opinion is this, that the whole affair was the result of Sid Ahmed’s jealousy, and that he was actuated no doubt also by a feeling that the course he pursued was the safest in the Sultan’s interests—for by removing his own two most dangerous enemies, he at the same time would find further scope for his influence and policy. That the Viziers deserved their fate none can deny. Haj Amaati had impoverished the whole country by his enormous and insatiable greed and black-mail, and his brother had deprived the soldiery of a very considerable portion of their pay.

Immediately the arrests were made the entire property of both—together with that of Sid el Arbi Zebdi—was confiscated, and their houses at Fez seized. Haj Amaati had just completed the building in the capital of a palace second to none there in size and decoration, a block of buildings rising high above the level of the other houses, which will be an eternal landmark of the Vizier’s rise and fall. It had been completed only during his absence in the south with the Sultan, and so much pride did the Vizier take in this new palace that he had ordered all the decorations in stucco and mosaic, of which the Moors are perfect masters, to be draped with linen, so that none should see the general effect before himself. A rope attached to these curtains would allow the entire drapery to fall, when the every beauty of the decoration would be exposed. Within a week of realising this dream of oriental fancy, he was cast into a dungeon, and his house and all his wealth confiscated to the Sultan.

With the fall of the two Viziers it became more apparent than ever that Sid Ahmed meant to be master of the whole situation; but he was wise enough not to attempt alone what could be done equally well, and very probably better, with the advice of trusted counsellors. There were two people at the Court in whose hands might lie the power of treating him as he had treated the others. These two were respectively the Circassian mother of the Sultan, and Sidi Mohammed el Marani, an influential Shereef, who had married the sister of Mulai el Hassen, and into whose hands a considerable part of the upbringing of Mulai Abdul Aziz had been intrusted. Both must be conciliated, for over the Sultan both held great influence—so great, in fact, that should Sid Ahmed’s conduct in any way displease them, their united power might easily persuade the Sultan to dismiss him. Not for this reason alone, however, did Sid Ahmed, as it were, invite these two to join him in a sort of council of regency, for he knew fully well the ability of both and their devotion to his lord and master.

In the hands of these three persons the welfare of Morocco lies. But before entering upon any conjectures as to the future, the history of past events must be continued a little further.

On Thursday, July 19, a start was made from Meknas towards Fez, the army and the governor of the tribes and their escorts having camped the previous night a slight distance outside the town near the Fez road.

Two events worthy of mention had meanwhile taken place at Fez—first, the behaviour of Mulai Omar, the Sultan’s brother and viceroy; and, secondly, the fact that the enkas, or local taxation upon all goods sold, had been removed, together with the octroi at the city gates.

With regard to the former a few words must be said. Mulai Omar, who had been left as viceroy by Mulai el Hassen, whose son he was by a slave wife, is a young man of extremely vicious and degenerate habits, nearly black in colour, and with an expression as ugly as it is revolting. While beyond his immorality no actual charge of crime can be laid to his door, he may be said to be incapable of filling the position he held, and to want discretion and common-sense.

It appears—and I knew of the event at the time—that on his learning of the death of his father, he sent to the Jewish silversmiths, by whom all Government work is done, and ordered one of their number to make him a seal. Now in Morocco a seal is an exceedingly important object, and no one uses a seal of office unless it is actually presented to him by the Sultan. So far the story is generally known, but here my version—the true version—differs, for while the European press harped upon the fact that Mulai Omar wished to make himself a seal with the inscription of Sultan upon it, the fact was that the seal was to bear Mulai Abdul Aziz’s name, and that the reason of Mulai Omar’s ordering it to be made was not in order to stamp documents himself as Sultan, but probably to have in his possession a means of forging letters supposed to have come from Court. Whether his idea was by this to make the best of the short period that remained to him as viceroy to amass money, or whether in case of any outbreak or disturbance on the part of the population to be able to forge conciliatory or other letters that would keep them quiet until his brother’s arrival, it is impossible to say. But whatever may have been the desire, the result in the suspicious eyes of his brother was this—that he had attempted by some means to usurp the throne.

However, the seal was never made. The Jew artificer, knowing the penalty that would meet him at the hands of the Sultan were he even the innocent instrument in this, fled and sought the protection of an influential member of the Government, and the affair was knocked on the head at once.

A second charge was also laid at Mulai Omar’s door—that of having ordered the music of the drums and pipes to cease on the occasion of the announcement of Mulai Abdul Aziz’s succession to the throne. On the players refusing, his Highness sent a slave, who enforced silence by splitting up the drums with a dagger. For this act of treason he was afterwards punished by having the flesh of his hand sliced, the wound filled with salt, and the whole hand sewn up in leather. It is a common belief that this punishment causes mortification to set in, and that the hand decomposes; but such is not the case, for by the time the leather wears off the wound is healed, the result being that the hand is rendered useless, and remains closed for ever. It is a punishment not often in use, but is sometimes done in cases of murder or constant theft, as, without in any way injuring the health of the man, it prevents his committing the crime a second time, or for the hundredth time, as the case may be. It is a punishment that cannot be applied except by the Sultan’s orders.

It was no doubt on account of these offences that letters were received by Mulai Omar from the Sultan, forbidding him to leave his house, and placing him under surveillance—a course that was supplemented on his brother’s arrival by chains upon his legs. Meanwhile his Majesty had been pleased to treat his brother, Mulai Mohammed, in Morocco City, in the same manner.

As to the remitting of the local taxes and octroi in Fez, but little need be said. Certain unfriendly remarks had been overheard regarding the new Sultan, and the general tone of the Fez people was not satisfactory. Fearing that an outbreak might occur, and knowing that the avaricious inhabitants were open to no persuasion except money, the Amin Haj Abdesalam Makri, the Chancellor of the Exchequer of Fez, on his own authority, remitted this most unpopular tax, which is contrary to Moorish law. It turned the tide, and the Fez citizen, finding himself a few dollars, or a few pence, the richer, changed front, and was loud in his acclamations of the new Sultan. The charm of the situation was, however, that as soon as the Sultan had safely entered Fez, and was thus securely upon the throne, he instituted once again the tax, and the population rose on the morning of Tuesday, July 24, to find the tax-gatherers returned to their accustomed haunts.

On Saturday, July 21, Mulai Abdul Aziz made his State entry into Fez.

From an early hour all was stir and bustle in the capital, and before the sun had risen the streets were full of long strings of men, women, and children, mounted and on foot, pouring toward the upper part of the city, New Fez, where the entry was to take place. The crowd was large but orderly, and, like all Moorish crowds, silent, though now and again a shout burst forth when some native, gay in colour, galloped along on his richly trapped horse and fired his gun.

Without the city the crowd ranged itself on each side of the road, which was guarded by long lines of troops, the cavalry near the city, and beyond in the plain the infantry.

The Sultan had spent the night at a distance of some six miles away, where the great camp had been pitched, and early as it was when I arrived upon the scene outside the gate of the city, stragglers and troops from the mahalla were already arriving,—wild tribesmen, mounted or on foot, Kaids of districts with their troops of irregular cavalry, mules and camels laden with baggage, black slaves and women. I was soon free of the crowd, and riding slowly along behind the line of soldiers toward the camp.

A murmur passed through the people, and turning to the west, I could see a great cloud of dust appearing above one of the low elevations in the plain.

The morning was lovely; the sun, although scarcely risen, was hot, while a not unpicturesque, though by no means pleasant, addition to the scene was the fine cloud of dust that hung over everything. Soon one was able to distinguish the tops of the gold and coloured banners that preceded the Sultan’s procession, and still nearer the white draped figures of the women, mounted upon mules. Some eighty of these there were, and as their mules were hurried along by the soldier guard, every one, soldier and sightseer, turned away their heads, as etiquette demands. Two women, covered, except for the eyes, in soft white draperies, preceded the rest, and it was easy to guess who they were,—the Circassian mother of the young Sultan and his newly married wife.

Then came the artillery on the back of mules, followed by a troop of bodyguards, handsomely dressed and mounted. After them the band, mounted and discoursing music as they rode. Then again a forest of banners, of every hue and colour, of cloth, velvet, and silk, of gold embroidery and gold brocade,—the sacred flags of the great saints and Shereefs of Morocco.