CHAPTER XV

WAR WITH SPAIN

“It was written that there should be war between Silvestre and myself,” said Raisuli. “We had tried to escape the fate that was intended for us, but at last (in January, 1913) he came to see me at Azeila. I was annoyed, for I did not wish to receive him and he had given me no warning. He waited below in the hall of my house, and he would not sit down, but paced up and down, up and down, like a beast which is caged. I sent my wakil to him that he might not be alone and worried by his own thoughts, but he pushed the man aside and tried to mount the stair-case. My slaves stopped him and I heard loud voices arguing. Then I said to myself, ‘It is the will of Allah. Let him come up.’ I greeted him restrainedly and wished him peace, but he did not even answer my salutations. ‘I want to see the prison,’ he said. ‘Let us go at once. I have no time to waste.’ I took no notice of his words, for certainly one does not talk business in this fashion at the beginning of an interview. I led him into the gallery, where there were mattresses and carpets, but he would not rest. ‘I have heard so much of your cruelty,’ he said, ‘so many complaints have come to me—I must see with my own eyes.’ ‘Justice is not cruelty,’ I answered, ‘and the eyes of a European are not a good judge of our ways.’ ‘Let us go at once,’ he interrupted sharply. I was surprised at his manner, for, though impatient, he was generally courteous.

“I sent for tea, hoping to calm him and make him see reason. It was long in coming and we sat in silence, but all the time the Spaniard fidgeted and at last, when the trays came, I thought he would throw the glasses across the room. My secretary was making the tea, and the slave had forgotten the mint, so there was another wait.—Yes, Sayeda, you have guessed right. It is possible that this was done on purpose, for I did not want him to see the prisons and I wished to wear out his patience so that, in the end, he would leave me in anger.—After the first cup had been drunk he said, ‘I will taste no more until I have seen your prisoners,’ and the slaves looked at him, surprised at these new ways. He had been two hours, perhaps three, in the palace, and I could restrain him no longer. I said, ‘Today is not a suitable day, for tomorrow they will be fed and ready for your visit,’ but he went out of the room without answering, and stood outside the door, saying, ‘I am waiting. Are you ready?’

“A host is always under the orders of his guest, and it is not hospitality to sit while he stands, so I got up and went with him. In silence we went out of the house and walked towards the prison, he hastening in front, I slowly following, returning the salutations of those who came forward to kiss my sleeves.

“At the door there was no gaoler, and while the man was being found, I said, ‘You know best if what you have done is good or bad, but it is not thus in my country that matters are dealt with among the great,’ and he answered nothing. The gaolers came with the keys, and we went in. It had been cold outside, but here the air was fœtid and the heavy smell was like a blow to Silvestre, who grew pale on the threshold.

“‘Come in,’ I said. ‘It is your wish,’ but he stood there, staring as if his eyes were on sticks which pushed them out of his head. ‘Dios! are all the men in the country criminals?’ he asked. It was a small place, not much bigger than this tent, so it looked crowded, for there were nearly 100 prisoners there. To make room, half of them had been fastened to the same chain, and one or two were perhaps dead, for the gaolers are always careless, and perchance there was no smith to break open the irons. It was very dark, and nothing could be seen clearly. The eyes of the men were like green lamps. Do you know when you look into a hole and, unexpectedly, you see twin points of light, and it is a face watching you? So the prisoners watched without moving. Some of them were almost naked and shivering. Others were so thin that their bones tore the rags which were on them. Truly the will of Allah is strange. The pleasure of crime is momentary and its punishment eternal.

“Silvestre would have spoken to them, but the smell caught him in the throat and drove him out. He held something across his face. ‘This is horrible; inhuman! I will not stand it in a country which is under our protection! How dare you do it? Are you not afraid of the consequences?’ ‘It is a weak man who fears what will arise out of his actions. I fear nothing but Allah.’ ‘Do you feed them?’ he asked. ‘They do not expect food in prison. It is not right that evil should fatten at the expense of the virtuous; but their friends bring them food, and few die of starvation.’ ‘But what have they done?’ he insisted. ‘They have broken the law, and my justice is exact.’ ‘Is there a register of their crimes?’ ‘Perhaps the Qadi has one. Have you seen enough?’ But here all the prisoners began to protest, moaning and crying out that they were innocent. ‘Do not listen to them,’ I said, ‘for they have become like dogs. A good Moslem never complains against the will of Allah.’ ‘It is _your_ will only—’ interrupted Silvestre, but I put up my hand to stop him. ‘I have no will but Allah’s,’ I said.

“Silvestre would not return to my house. He went straight to his office and sent messengers to bring him the register of the prison, but none could be found. The Qadi was busy and said, ‘Come tomorrow. Imsha-Allah I may have it then.’ Other officials were in the mosque, for it was now sunset and the day’s work was finished. ‘Later on,’ they said, ‘we will do as you wish, but this is not the time.’ Certain ‘mesqueen’[48] of the town, having heard of the affair and ready to fill their sails with his new wind, went to Silvestre and complained that their relations had been put in prison without cause, or because they refused me the money necessary for my houses at Tazrut and Zinat. Certainly I had to rebuild the last one, for it had been destroyed by the guns of Mulai Abdul Aziz, but I took only the presents which were my due and the labour which is always at the service of a Governor. It is the custom.

“Silvestre came again to my house and, standing at the door like a beggar, insisted that I should see him. Was it right that the representative of a great country should behave in this way? My servants told him that I was praying, but he said, ‘It is an excuse not to receive me,’ and he pushed past them and opened the door. My steward came to him in the hall and said, ‘The Sherif is in the Mosque. Listen; you can hear the prayers, but Silvestre was unbelieving, and he came and stood at the door of the room where I prayed. I took no notice of him and went on with the prescribed Raqua-at.

“At the end, and when I had finished my meditation, I turned and saw him still waiting. I gave him no greeting, but said, ‘Come,’ and led him upstairs, making him enter the room before me and sit in the place of honour. He was not long in speaking. ‘I have come to end this matter, for there has been too much delay. No register has been shown me, and certainly your prisoners have committed no greater crime than failure to satisfy your greed. You have extorted all they have, and, because they could not pay more, you have condemned them to a living death. Spain will not permit this to be done under the shadow of her flag. These men must be released today.’ Then I spoke to him. ‘Spain has other and greater purposes than to interfere with our justice. The Sherif law permits my actions, no, insists on them. You should uphold my authority, not weaken it, as has been your purpose for a long time. Spain swore to support our religion and our law. You misunderstand your mission. You have no more right to meddle with our traditions and our customs than I have to tell you the food you eat is unclean. To each country its laws!’ But he would not listen. He ordered my slaves to bring some of the prisoners before him. The man looked at me questioningly. ‘My house is at the service of Spain,’ I said. ‘Do as he wishes.’

“There was silence between us, but, while I contemplated the breadth of wisdom that is in Islam, Silvestre fidgeted and moved first one foot, then another, hitting his boot with a stick. At last they brought three men into the room, and something had been done to cover their nakedness and their sores, but they were dreadful to look at. Silvestre said to them, ‘What crime have you committed? Why are you in prison?’ and one answered, ‘By Allah, I am innocent of all intention to offend,’ and another, ‘I could not pay the money demanded by the soldiers of the Sherif, for the harvest was bad and I had no grain to sell.’ Then Silvestre turned to me and asked loudly, ‘Do you hear that? What have you to say?’ I answered, ‘My justice is true and there is no further appeal.’ He insisted, ‘But don’t you understand of what they accuse you?’ I pitied him at that moment, for it was he who did not understand. ‘It is not I who am accused,’ I said, ‘and words are the least valuable of a man’s merchandise. It is well not to trust them too implicitly.’

“Silvestre got up in anger and ordered all the prisoners to be released, but, before he could leave, I took him to a window and showed him a man sitting in the court. ‘Do you see that Faqih?’ I asked. ‘He has been sitting there for three days, and he has not eaten nor moved, except his lips for prayer. Do you understand that man’s mind? for he is content,’ and he answered, ‘No.’ Then I showed him a row of Sheikhs gathered in the shade of the wall. ‘These men have waited six days to see me, and they have not complained. They are content following the shade from wall to wall, and life is good for them. Do you understand their patience?’ Once again he said, ‘No.’ Lastly, I pointed across the roofs to a barred window very high up, and I said, ‘Behind that grille are women who have never seen the day. They live in one room, where they sleep and eat and bear children. They never leave the house until they go out to be buried; yet they are content. Do you understand their lives?’ ‘No’ he answered. ‘Then do not be so sure that you can judge our laws and our customs, for ignorance is a steep hill, with perilous rocks at the bottom,’ I said. And he went.”

There was a pause, and the Sherif looked at me gravely. “You, too, are wondering,” he said, “but purposely, I have made this affair neither black nor white, for you know something of the ways of the East. When I told you of my imprisonment at Mogador, you said, ‘How could you bear it? I should have died in three days,’ but it was not true. Death is in the hands of Allah, and it comes only by his will. What it is written that a man shall endure, that is his portion and he cannot get away from it. You trouble yourselves with much rebellion, and you eat up your years the quicker, but we do not fight against that which is sent us, and that is why we can endure.”

It is impossible to express the heavy fatality of his voice, unhurried and devoid of emotion. I wanted to argue, but it would have been to fling oneself against something as hard as granite and as immovable. The words died breathless in my throat and I felt as if they had been crushed by a great weight. “Patience is the only thing left us,” said the Sherif. “Once our race was great, and you learned your science and philosophy at our feet. Our armies conquered the West and Islam was invincible, but we were not a productive people, for the mind of an Arab is always more agile than his fingers. You took our knowledge and manipulated it to your purpose. Our strength was expanded, and the East fell before your vigour. Now it is your turn to teach, and we are slow to learn, for there is with us yet the memory of greater things than you ever knew, but it is dim. Perhaps we must lose it altogether, before we can meet you in the open and wrest back our sovereignty. Do you see that man at the well, and how he draws the water? When one bucket empties, the other fills. It is so with the world. At present you are full of power, but you are spilling it slowly and wastefully, and Islam is lapping up the drops as they fall from your bucket. Some day, when we have profited by your schools and your factories, we shall retake what is ours, but it will not be in our lifetime nor yet in that of our children’s children. So Allah has given us patience.” There was another pause.

“Before Silvestre returned to Larache, he ordered his men to see that the prisoners were released—so there was war between us. My people came to me and said, ‘Why do you permit this thing? There are enough rifles to turn the Spaniards out of the country.’ But I answered, ‘The time is not yet come.’ Nevertheless I began sending rifles and ammunition to the mountains where they would be safe. Every tribesman who came into the market with his sheep went out with the panniers of his mules stuffed with cartridges. Many carpets were bought in the town those days, and each roll hid a bundle of rifles. There were many ways of doing these things. Women going out to work in the fields carried ammunition packed in their skirts, for no man may look under their haiks, and truly, in those days, the stature of women swelled till all went to their work with hips so heavy that they could scarcely walk. In time this was reported to Silvestre, for, wherever there are strangers in a country, there also are traitors. Scum rises to the surface when the water is stirred. Hamdulillah, most of my stores were already in the hills, for the tribesmen brought in great bundles of thatch for the roof, and other villagers chose to buy it in the town, instead of procuring their own from the countryside, and this straw covered the journey of many guns. When the Spaniards put a guard on the maghsen,[49] more than the half was gone, but still they took possession of many thousand cartridges and quantities of rifles of all kinds.”

Spanish writers state that on this occasion they took 501 rifles, Martini and Gras, and 133,000 cartridges. They place the number of prisoners released as 98 or 91, and insist that nearly half of this number were Sheikhs who had refused to pay the tribute demanded by Raisuli. The Sherif’s story continued: “I have told you before that, as Governor, I was an official of the Sultan, so this action of Spain was an insult to his authority. Among the prisoners who were released were many thieves who had stolen even the jewellery of women and cut off their breasts when they struggled. There were also murderers, two of whom were notorious throughout the country. It had taken my soldiers six months to catch them, for they lived among the trees of the mountains like apes, and existed on the fruit and the herbs. The tortures they had inflicted on people are beyond my telling, and they took boys from their homes and tortured them as is forbidden by Islam.

“These men were let loose, and two lions could not have done a tithe of the harm which was laid at their door. In place of these scoundrels, the Spaniards imprisoned my friends and the teacher of my son, because he was loyal to me and would not tell where certain of my papers were kept. They took also the gaoler of the prison, el Hiffa, whom they made responsible for the condition of the prisoners, saying that food sent by their friends never reached them, but was given by this man to his family. Some of the prisoners died, and there was more trouble; but I had left at once for Tangier to report the matter to the Legation.

“The Minister received me well, and wrote hastily to Silvestre, saying that he had been too overbearing in his actions, considering the necessity of maintaining good relations with the Sultan’s Government. Ullah, there were many words wasted in letters, but the harm was done. I had the intention of never returning to Azeila, but Silvestre, guessing this, put sentries at the doors of my house and allowed no one to go in or out. My son was there, whom you know, and all my women, and there was one whom I wished to have with me. I should not even have been told of Silvestre’s action, but for the wit of a slave, who was carried out of my house in a bundle of rugs which the servants said they must beat in the street, for there was much dust in them. The soldiers would not let them go out without permission of his officer, so the bundle was put down beside the door, and no one noticed it while the argument proceeded.

“How many hours the slave lay there, half stifled among the wool, Ullah, I know not, but at last, when the attention of the guard was distracted, he slipped out and hid in the house of a friend, for he was well known as one of my favourites. The friend dressed him in women’s garments and put on him a haik and the handkerchief that is tied across the face, and, above that, the big hat which the peasants wear in the field. Then he put a rope of onions round his neck, as if he had just come from the market, and, in this way, my servant escaped from Azeila and came to me. I asked him, ‘What news?’ and he answered, ‘The news is bad. Allah forgive me for bringing it.’ I said, ‘The darkest day is better than the night. You are free, whatever your news,’ and he told me that my mother was ill and wished to see me before she went.

[Illustration: Raisuli’s house at Tazrut during Spanish occupation]

[Illustration: Raisuli’s qubba at Tazrut during Spanish occupation]

“I did not desire war, but, if attacked, only a coward does not defend himself, so I took counsel with el Arbi, and sent him to Wadi Ras to warn the tribes to prepare. I wrote also to Zellal and asked him to prepare the flags of Beni Mesauer, so many men to each flag, and each from a different section of the tribe. I had a few hundred men waiting for my orders in the mountains, for I was unprepared for the struggle. These I sent out among the tribes, distributing rifles from my store and ordering them to be ready. There was a great meeting of the mountaineers at Jebel Habib, the home of the Bakalis, and the Sheikhs of Wadi Ras, Beni Mesauer, Beni Ider, Sumata and others consulted together as to how the flags (companies) should be arranged. Mohamed es Siba was appointed chief of the loyal men of Beni Aros, with the Sumata, Beni Gorfet, and Ahl Serif.

“It was circulated among the Jebala that the women of my household had been killed at Azeila and that all my property had been looted. I did not deny the rumour, for it was as wine in the throat of an unbeliever, and great oaths were sworn in the mosques. It would have been a bad day for the Christians if I had loosed the leash. In peace, an Arab will say of the Europeans, ‘The word of the English is good,’ of the Frenchman that ‘he is brave,’ of the Spaniard that ‘he has a good heart,’ but, in war, he recognises no nationality. They are all Christians, and he is a Moslem. So it was now, and to add fuel to the fires which blazed from mountain to mountain, came the news that the Sherif was a prisoner at Tangier. It was already known that the arms and ammunition of the Maghsen had been confiscated at Azeila, and each man who had hoped to find his fingers on a new trigger vowed vengeance for the theft.

“There was a secret meeting in Beni Aros—down among those hills which you can see. Do you remember a wadi where the flowers (pink oleanders) grow over your head and the partridges call from thickets that even the hunter may not penetrate? It was there that each man came with his gun. Many of them were of the race of Jebel Alan, whose sons I shall always have at my back. Each mountaineer brought his food, and those who had horses left them where they would be ready for the march. ‘Praise to the Prophet—the messenger of God’ was whispered from mouth to mouth, while under the starlight the Kaid spoke to them in many words and told them, ‘It is your duty to protect the descendants of the Prophet, and the country that is yours. Life under the heel of the Nasrani[50] is hard, but death is an easy gate to paradise.’ So eloquent was his speech that they would have started at once for Azeila to exact vengeance for the blood of women.

“We do not treat our women as you do, but, if a tribesman lays his hand on the family of another, a gun will be hid for him behind every rock till the last of his men-folk is dead. I remember in Beni Aros, a woman ran away with a man of Beni Gorfet, and, her husband being killed in the raid that followed, there was only left her brother, whose face was as smooth as yours, and he had no gun, for it was a poor family. So he sold himself for so many years’ labour as the price of a rifle, and he went out stealthily and lay hidden behind stones and trees, waiting for the men of Gorfet. He had great patience, and, one by one, he killed them and, before he himself was slain, he had shot seven and also cut the throat of his sister. . . .

“Surely Azeila would have had short mercy before the weapons of Beni Aros, but this was not my purpose, for I still hoped for peace by means of the Ministry at Tangier. I sent other messengers to the hills to hold the people in check, telling them that, when the time was ready, I myself would lead them to victory. There was indecision among the Spaniards, for some wanted to make peace with me, believing that this was to the benefit of both our countries, while Silvestre longed to occupy Zinat. My house there was rebuilt with strong walls and gates, and the people believed that any who attacked me would go blind, for they said, ‘Disaster has overtaken all his enemies, but he remains strong.’ The Government was afraid of the newspapers, which for long were my best friends. Ullah, you are surprised, but it is true. All through the war it was like this. My strongest allies were in Madrid, and they were worth more to me than all my guns and cartridges. There would be a battle, and perhaps many of my men would be killed, and only a few of yours, but, immediately, the Spanish newspapers would begin their cry: ‘Mothers, why do you send yours sons to die in a country that is not theirs? Sisters, why sacrifice your brothers in a cause which is sterile and unprofitable?’ I cannot remember all the words, but they were read to me at the time. Truly, my heaviest cannon came into action after the battle was over, and the echo of their firing could be heard in the conferences at Tangier.

“It was difficult for the Government, for, on one side, the Spanish people feared they were fighting to no purpose, since the country is not rich and it is only for her honour and the protection of her coast that Spain would remain here. On the other, the soldiers, led by Silvestre, urged that the land must be taken by force, and in order to do this Raisuli must be imprisoned in Tangier. Perhaps even my life was uncertain, but Allah guarded it from all snares.

“When there is no leader, destruction forgets its purpose. So it was in Morocco. Men were killed in the suqs and on the highroads, whether they had arms or were without protection. The tribesmen attacked Tetuan by night and many were killed within the walls. A Jew had his throat cut, almost within sight of the Tabor at Ain Yerida, and the police would not interfere, for they did not know which side was strongest. The tribes themselves were waiting, but whenever there is war, there are evil men, thieves, murderers and brigands, who hang about on the edge of the armies and commit many crimes which are attributed wrongly to those who are fighting.

“Silvestre doubled the guard at Azeila, but there was always someone who brought me news. At first it was done by pigeons, for two or three carriers were smuggled in among a basket of fowls, but this was found out, and then it was more difficult; but walls have ears in Africa, and, from the roofs, every eye watched for the Sherif.

“Some of the discontented Arabs went to Silvestre with their arms, and offered to fight against me, but these were men of the plains who were afraid of attacks from the mountaineers. The plainsman suffers in war, for his country is the open road over which all armies pass. The Legation in Tangier was still trying to make peace with me, but I refused to return to Azeila and demanded that my family should be sent to me in Tangier.”

The _modus vivendi_ proposed by Spain was that Raisuli should send his brother, Mohamed, immediately to Azeila with full powers to act as his Khalifa; that he should follow himself within three weeks, and remain there until the appointment of Mulai ed Mehdi as Kaliph had been made public, after which he could remain as Pasha of Azeila if he wished; that his brother should take with him letters to the tribes confirming him as Raisuli’s agent, letters to be opened and to be read by the Spanish officer at Azeila before being sent on to their destination; that the native troops should be under the orders of the Spanish officers only, who would be responsible for keeping order throughout the country, while the Sherif would have the civil administration in his hands. In order to prevent a repetition of the horrors reported and witnessed by Silvestre, a Spanish official was to have the right to intervene if necessary. All orders were to be signed by Raisuli and, if Spanish intervention occurred, it was to be arranged in such a manner that the Sherif’s prestige should not suffer. Criers were to proclaim throughout the towns and villages that an agreement had been signed between the Spanish Government and Raisuli. As soon as Sidi Mohamed arrived at Azeila, the Sherif’s friends who were in prison were to be released, but nothing was arranged about his wives and family. Spain for once held the strongest cards, and wisely refused to give them up.

Raisuli played for time. He had not, I believe, the slightest intention of returning permanently to Azeila, but he wanted to secure the liberty of his household, and he knew that, if he delayed long enough, the friction between civil and military interests would serve his purpose. “I knew my family were safe with the Spaniards,” he said, “but an Arab without his son is as one who has lost a limb.[51] Also I did not trust Dris ed Riffi, who was acting as my steward. At one time he was a very loyal servant, knowing not the value of money and having no interests but mine. Then he came under the influence of foreigners, and would have asked a reward for his services, so I said to him, ‘The labour that is paid is without confidence. Are you a slave that I should give you a gift when you please me?’ He was angry and muttered, ‘Anyone can accept service. It is only the great who serve.’

“Still I thought him faithful, till, one day, I sent him with my mehalla to exact tribute from a certain village. He returned, saying, ‘There has been a plague among their cattle and most of them are dead. Therefore the money is short, for there is nothing wherewith they can pay it.’ I knew then that he had been bribed by the Sheikh of the village, but I said, ‘It is the will of Allah.’ Later, I sent messengers to the tribe to find out exactly how much he had received, and this was not difficult. I thought to myself, ‘He has been my friend. Perhaps shame will drive the greed from his heart.’ So I sent for him and said, ‘It is nearing the feast, and I have a present for you.’ He looked surprised, but answered, ‘God make you strong.’ Then I made him sit down beside me, and I sent a slave for some money. He brought a bag and counted it out as I told him, and, when he reached the exact amount paid by the Sheikh, douro for douro, he stopped and went away. ‘That is my gift,’ I said. ‘Take it, and the blessing be with you.’ But he was afraid, and asked, ‘Why have you done this, Sidi?’ ‘Ullah,’ I said to him, ‘it is a pity that a man’s honour can be bought for so little, but I also have paid the price.’ Then he got up and would have left the money between us, but I said to him, ‘There is no need to fear. Take the money, for you must surely have great need of it,’ and he went away.”