Mogreb-el-Acksa: A Journey in Morocco. R. B. Cunninghame Graham

the profits of the sale according to our deed.” The Arab answered he was willing, and began to cypher up the sum the beasts should bring when sold.

      The Christian then informed him that he had a scheme by which he thought that they might each gain much, and if it prospered, that Mohammed could keep the camels for his pains. Mohammed, nothing loath, sat all attention to hear the expected plan by means of which he was to keep his beasts. “You shall take the camels,” said the Christian, “and load them for a journey to the Sus. At some point of the journey thieves shall attack you, and you shall then throw all the merchandise upon the ground, then return home at once, and swear before the Cadi that I entrusted you with two thousand dollars and it is stolen, and I will force the Government to compel the Sheikh of the tribe where the robbery was done, to make all good, and we will share the money, and you can keep the camels for your own.” A scheme of this kind always attracts an Arab; it is just the sort of thing he would invent himself. And when his own ideas are returned to him, passed through the medium of a Christian mind, he is certain that the thing must be all right. Curiously enough, although the Moors are never tired of cursing at the Christian sons of dogs, yet they are well aware of their superior business capabilities, and never seem to doubt their word in matters of the sort. “But,” said Mohammed, “if I tell the Cadi that I had your money and that thieves took it, he will throw me into prison, and there is little chance I shall ever come out alive.” “Have no fear,” said the merchant, “the imprisonment will be a mere formality. I will feed you when you are in prison, and in a few days you will be free.”

      The camels were duly loaded, and Mohammed set out upon his journey to the Sus. In a few days he returned, having torn his clothes, rolled himself in the sand, and with some self-inflicted bruises, informed his friend the merchant, who took him to the Cadi to testify on oath.

      Most unluckily for the miserable man the place he chose to pitch upon for the scene of his adventure was a few miles outside the town, in a district called Taquaydirt. The Cadi sent for the headman, who came and swore that he had never seen Mohammed, and he himself failed to identify any of the natives of the place, who were presented to him. Seeing the thing looked grave, he went and took sanctuary in the tomb of Sidi M’Doul, [46a] the patron saint of Mogador, about a mile outside the town. Inside the sanctuary the man was safe, and every day his European friend sent him his food, his “Tajin,” [46b] “Couscousou,” [46c] flat Moorish bread, and green tea (called Windrisi from Windres, that is London, from whence it comes), seasoned with mint and sweetened with enormous lumps of sugar broken with a hammer from the loaf. A week passed by, and every day his wife and children came and talked to him, standing outside the shrine, and much elated at the kindness of their European friend, and of the affluence which, in a day or two, was to burst on them through his influence.

      But all their feasting did not suit the European’s book, and he contrived to get Mohammed out of the sanctuary, upon the pretext that it was necessary to swear again to the affair before the judge. The swearing and examination over, the Cadi (at the Christian’s instigation) threw the poor devil into prison, and then for a few days the Christian sent him his food, as he had done before when in the sanctuary. After a day or two he feigned to think Mohammed had deceived him as to the robbery, and had really taken the two thousand dollars for himself. The supply of food then ceased, and the Christian raised a plea against the Arab for restitution of his money, or, failing that, the seizure of his goods.

      The wretched man, seeing himself deceived, confessed the plot, but as he (this time) spoke the truth, no one believed him. The lawsuit ran its course, and the Arab’s wife sold off his horse and gun (the most cherished property an Arab has), sold off his camels, their cows, their goats, and sheep, and raised six hundred dollars after selling everything she had. His children begged, the wife worked as she could, the husband, heavily chained in prison, starved.

      Five long years passed away, the wife feeding her husband as she could, the children running about like pariah dogs, maintained by charity. Then the good Christian merchant died, and his heirs, of course, still pressed for payment of the debt.

      Four more long years went by, and then a thing occurred which makes one think of the proverb that “to jump behind a bush is better than the prayers of good men.” [47] Within the prison were five hundred men, Mohammed one of them; a mutiny broke out, the guard was overpowered, and a few dozen men got out. Then came Mohammed’s turn, and he, thinking that his good deed might win his freedom, seized the key and locked the door, keeping the rest within. News went unto our lord the Sultan in his camp, and people hoped that he might exercise his clemency. Back came a letter praising Mohammed’s deed, and saying he deserved his liberty, but that the Sultan could not grant it till the debt was paid.

      Ten years have passed away, the merchant is long dead, six hundred dollars paid for nothing, a family reduced to misery, and still the victim of the plot remains in prison, heavily chained and prematurely old; Allah looks down, the call to prayers rises to heaven five times a day, and poor Mohammed, a grey-headed man, resigned and uncomplaining, talks to the casual stranger at the prison gate and says the Christian was no doubt a knave, but that the thing was written (mektub), and that therefore no one was to blame, Allah Ackbar, no God but God, and Lord Mohammed is his messenger.

      The protection system may benefit the Jews, who, once despised and spit upon by every Moor, have of late years become the tyrants of the land. Scarcely a Jew of any property in any Mellah, [48] in Morocco, who is not a citizen of some foreign state. Perhaps America has made the most use of its protective powers. Both the United States and the Brazils have frequently named consuls who were quite unworthy of representing either state. These men, in several instances, have sold protection right and left, and nothing is more common than to meet a Moor or a Jew in one or other of the seaport towns, who tells you that he is a Brazilian or an American. To-day the United States seem to have seen the error of their ways, and several of their consuls are of high character, and fitted to do honour to the post they occupy.

      Until quite recently, at times a consul would “sell a Moor,” that is would tell his luckless “citizen” that, unless by such a time a sum of money was forthcoming his protection would be withdrawn. The effect of this would be as a sentence of death to the unlucky man. Generally the protected citizens amass some money, and if the protection is withdrawn, their Kaid or Governor falls down upon them, puts them in prison, where they either die or else remain till, as the prisoner in the Gospel, they have paid the uttermost farthing they possess. As to reclamations, how can a Moor, speaking no foreign language, go to Andorra, Montenegro, or San Marino, to appeal. Pay and appeal, [49a] the proverb says; but fancy an Arabic-speaking man, without a cent, appealing in New York, or in Brazil, in neither of which countries men of dark races are viewed with favour, and justice is a costly pastime even for the rich.

      No doubt some few have become rich under protection. Witness the case of Si Bu Bekr, who for so long a time was British agent, and who, when a few months ago he showed me all his treasures in his palace in Morocco city, tapped on his iron chest, and said, “This one is gold, that is all jewels; this, again, is full of bonds;” and is assumed to have a hundred thousand pounds all safely tied up in Consols.

      But, on the other hand, sometimes the partnership and protection is as a shirt of Nessus, and I have heard an Arab say, “Can I not get away from his cursed ‘Mohalata’?” rather the exactions of my Kaid than the insidious bleeding by my Christian partner. Still it must be confessed that both protection and “Mohalata” are much sought after by the natives, and nothing is commoner than to be asked, whilst on a journey, either to protect or enter into “Mohalata” with a Moor. As in the case of the kindred system which prevails in Turkey, of “capitulation,” much abuse creeps in, and as the country is not ripe for mixed tribunals I suppose the chicken will have to live and bear its pip. [49b]

      Peacemakers and reformers pass a thankless life, and it appears as almost every ill we see is irremediable, and as the world goes on quite cheerfully (no matter what we do), crushing the weak, and opening wide upon the passage of the strong, that curses are no use; the only course the wise man can adopt is to stand well away and keep his own opinions to himself, unless, indeed, after the fashion of the man in Joseph Conrad’s story, [50] he prefers to hang himself, and then put out his tongue at the world’s managing directors.

      Finding