CHAPTER VI

PRISON, TORTURE AND ESCAPE

“Sidi Abderrahman tried many things against me. A wise man uses every tool, but the tools of the Bey broke in his hands. He could not take away the mountains, or make flat the whole country, and, wherever there was a ditch or a shrub, el Raisuli could hide in safety. Perhaps there would be a small boy driving goats along the hillside. He notices the troops of the Maghsen. One of his goats goes astray and he runs after it, crying and waving his stick. Another, threshing in the valley, sees him and beats his donkey with uplifted arms. So the news is carried, and no one knows where has flown the ‘Eagle of Zinat.’

“Many joined me in those days, and I grew rich, but I took nothing from the poor. To them I gave much, and they blessed me. To some of the great also I rendered service, so that, when it was finished, I had many friends, even among the Ministers and the Pashas, but the townsfolk dared not leave their walls. In every shadow they saw el Raisuli.

“With my share of the money we made under the noses of the Sultan’s troops, I bought land, so that I had farms in many places, but always in the names of my family. One day a collector of taxes came to my brother and said, ‘This house is not really yours. It was bought by Mulai Ahmed and, if the Maghsen knew that, they would confiscate it. Give me certain cattle and sheep, and I will say nothing.’ It happened that I came to the house while still my brother was arguing. When they told me what was happening, I expounded the law of inheritance to the tax-collector, citing him verses from the Koran and the four Imams.[19] After this, as he was still obstinate, I cut off his head and sent it in a basket of fruit to Sidi Abderrahman. The Bey began to wonder if his own head would soon follow, and, as all his efforts against me had been useless, he took counsel of Haj el Arbi el Mo-allem of Wadi Ras, a man whose audacity and courage were equal to any enterprise.

“Truly it is said, ‘In difficulty, consult a friend, for the truth is not hidden from the minds of two,’ and also, ‘By means of a mirror a man may see his face, but by means of two he can see also his back.’ El Arbi was wise, and he knew the minds of men and their desires. So he came to me in the hills and hunted with me, and we talked of guns and war. Then he said to me, ‘Have you seen the rifles of the Bey of Tangier? By Allah, they are the newest and the most wonderful things yet invented. By means of them you can kill a bird out of sight.’ He extolled these rifles to such an extent that I became curious and begged him to arrange for me to see them. ‘That would be difficult,’ answered el Arbi, knowing that opposition always makes a man more determined, ‘for you are at war with the Bey, and he is your enemy.’

“‘Tell him that I am willing to treat with him. Arrange a meeting,’ I urged. El Arbi shook his head doubtfully, but, after much persuasion, he agreed to try and arrange the matter. You do not know what a gun is to an Arab—it is his son and his master. Note how lovingly he holds it across his knee, even at the council, or when eating. Without it he does not feel himself a man.

“Some days later, I received a letter from el Arbi, saying that the Bey would meet me and perhaps he would give me one of the rifles, if I would surrender some hostages I had taken from the outskirts of Tangier. By Allah, I walked into that trap as the serpent into the hands of the charmer. Since then I have never made a pact with a townsman! On the appointed day I went to Tangier, with a few of my men, and the people ran into their houses, peeping out from behind their shutters, saying, ‘See, he has come! For what reason? What new thing is he plotting?’ I rode straight to the house of Sidi Abderrahman, who received me with great honour, but, before I went inside, I asked for bread, and they brought me some. I ate this on my horse, with my men beside me, their fingers on the trigger, for, if once you have partaken of a man’s hospitality, his house is yours, and you are safe.

“‘Welcome, in the name of Allah,’ said the Bey, and took me to the room where the food was prepared. There were many men present, both his friends and his servants. Sheep had been cooked whole and stuffed with rice and eggs—all the things that we do for the honour and entertainment of a guest. I looked round for el Arbi, but he was not there. ‘With health, with appetite!’ invited the host, but, as soon as I sat down, men threw themselves upon me and seized my weapons. I could have killed many in the open, for there was no man strong enough to oppose me, but I was seated and cramped for space, so that they overpowered me and dragged me to another room. All the time I called to Sidi Abderrahman, for he had broken the law of ‘deafa’ but he would not come; so they put chains on me and took me away to the prison of Mogador. It was written that el Raisuli should fall by treachery and not by the weapon of an enemy. My men, waiting outside, heard the noise, but were told that I was dead; so they were afraid, and escaped to the mountains.”

So far the Sherif had told his story in the presence of various retainers, but he would not speak before them of his years in prison. It was on another occasion, when we were standing on the hillside above the mosque, from which there was a wide view of the tumbled mountain country sloping towards Suq el Khemis, that he began suddenly:

“It is good for a man to see far away, that he may judge of things in proportion. You think this land is empty—you see no one?”

I looked at the rough country and confessed that it appeared utterly deserted. “Watch,” said Raisuli, and strode forward on monstrous limbs. He gave a curious sort of cry, which carried very far, and, instantly, from behind each group of trees or rocks, appeared a tribesman. It seemed to me even that some of the stones had become men, so exactly did the rough brown jellabas match the surrounding earth.

“That is one of the results of Mogador,” said the Sherif; “I trust no man now, and tell none my plans. Each of my tribes sends me a guard, but they are changed every month, and I am the Captain of my guard; so I watch over myself. I sleep very little, and, at night, I go out and see that there is peace. You wish to hear about Mogador? The marks of the chains are still on my body! My gaolers were more afraid of me than I of them; so they heaped iron on me, a weight that no other man could have borne.

“It was the intention of the Government to send me to the island, from which no prisoner ever returns, being buried there for his life, till the will of Allah releases him. But the moving of the prisoners takes place on Saturdays. The first Saturday there was a great tempest, so that no boat could set out, and, for three Saturdays afterwards, the wind raged and it was not possible to launch a felucca.[20] Then they knew it was a sign that the ‘baraka’ was with me, and they said. ‘One day he will be a Sultan, and it is not the will of Allah that he shall die,’ because we have a saying that the sea is a sultan and no king may travel on it, for it is not suitable that one sultan should put his foot on the back of another.

“At first I was chained in the patio of the Kashba, a collar round my neck, riveted to the wall.[21] The sun used to creep across the court till it licked my feet, and then my knees, so that my whole body burned and the sweat ran down into my eyes. There was no time, only torture. Days of heat that burned and blistered, nights which froze so that my bones rattled against the wall. The men of the mountains, who were my friends, came down to watch over me. They brought me food and water, but I said to them, ‘Come in the morning; then I will talk with you,’ and they used to sit with me, and I would lecture on the law and its interpretation. They went away, saying, ‘He is a Faqih, a saint, and above afflictions of the body.’ But one of the gaolers hated me, for my friends had rebuked him for his treatment of a Sherif, and one day when the sun was like fire, he upset the jar of water that my people had put beside me. When he saw the drops trickle into the dust he laughed; I would have thrown myself down to suck them from the filth but for the chain about my neck. My hand went out for the support of the walls, for my thoughts were clouded, and it happened that Allah provided a stone! I threw it with all my force, and the man dropped, the bones of his head showing and the blood running out faster than the water he had spilled.

“After that they sent for a mason to break the chains from the wall. ‘Allah make you strong,’ said the smith. ‘I had thought to do this only with your death.’ How long it was that I had been in the patio I do not know, but, after this, they put me in a dungeon that was dark except for a little window, so shadowed by a wall that the sun never came in, and the light but for a few minutes at midday. Here I was chained to two other prisoners, and one of them was weak and could not support the weight of his fetters; so we lifted him between us when he would have moved. Seeing in his face that he would soon die, I occupied his attention by reciting the Koran, and he asked my blessing and recommended his family to my care. All this time my friends fed me, and they would have bribed the gaolers for my release, but for the strict orders of Sidi Abderrahman, who feared that if I were free, his life would not be a long one.

“It is good for a man to suffer. Here one sees with one’s eyes and does not consider. In prison one uses the eyes of the mind. I reflected deeply on my life and saw my mistakes. I knew that, in the future, I should be free, for my luck is indestructible, but how soon I did not know. It is useless to fight against the fate which is ordained before man is born. All must accept the will of Allah, but poets die in prison and politicians are born! ‘What will you do when you are free?’ asked the men who were with me, but, though, I wanted only two things, vengeance and my books, I would tell nobody my thoughts. The smell and the filth of the cell bred all sorts of vermin. After a little while they were the only things that moved, for we were too exhausted. Each end of the chain that held us together was riveted to a wall and the sick man was in the middle between us. The sores on our limbs festered and were black with flies and lice, but we did not feel them. Suffering comes to an end in time, and I was surprised one morning when the man on my right did not answer.

“At that time they had altered the chains so that I could not touch him. We had to wait till nearly noon, when the light came faintly and we could just see that he was dead. It was summer and very foul, but for three days his corpse hung there rotting, for the gaolers did not dare to remove it for fear the Governor should say he had escaped. The rats came and ate the feet and the legs, and we could not keep them away; but truly he was mostly bones, and their meal was poor. When at last the corpse was taken away, the collar had sunk so deeply into the flesh that they had to tear it off, and it remained empty as a witness of man’s destiny.

“All this time my friends had worked for me, and even Sidi Mohammed Torres interceded for me, so that, in time, they gave me a better cell—one with a barred window, through which my people could pass food, but the light hurt my eyes and I did not wish to move. Effort seemed to me in vain. The Arab race is very old and it is used to resignation. You Europeans are so much in love with your possessions—you care for your houses and your lands more than your sons. We are different. At one moment a man has great wealth, with slaves and horses and property. It is good. Suddenly fortune changes, and he has nothing but a torn mantle and the shoes on his feet. He keeps the goats of one who was once his servant, but he is happy, for the time may come again when he will be great. Carpets and furniture and great rooms are not necessary to us, as they are to you. See that man asleep in the dust under the tree. He is so poor that he cannot buy food to keep the skin on his bones, but he is contented, for he is an Alim of Teledi, and the people of his village kiss his footsteps as he passes.

“That is why I did not die in prison. I had my thoughts. I cannot tell you how many years I was there, four or five perhaps, before I escaped with two others. A man of the Beni Aros brought me a loaf of bread with his lips pursed between his fingers. I broke it open at night, and there was a file inside. Then, for many days, months probably, I worked when it was dark, till I had cut through each bar. A thousand times I thought someone would hear the noise, like the cry of a small animal; but the gaolers were careless. I had been there for so long, and, in the daytime, I pretended to be ill and unable to move.

“Just when my work was accomplished, two men were brought to my cell, and I was obliged to take them into my confidence, but they were weak and afraid to try and escape. One had received so many lashes that strips of his shirt had been beaten into his body and could not be removed. All day he lay silent and would not move, but the second night I showed him the broken bars, and the sight cheered him. He said, if I would wait four days more, he would come. As he was young and of my people, I would not leave him to die by repeated lashes.

“When my friends came with food, I told them to be ready with a boat on the fourth night. It was not written thus. The next day it was known that the Governor would make a tour of the prison, and most certainly he would discover the state of the bars, for there went with him a smith who tested the chains and other metals with a hammer. Therefore we decided to make an attempt that very night; but we had not realized the difficulty of our chains, which we did not have time to cut. I crawled out the first, with a noise that should have awakened the town. Then the man who had been beaten and who still had no strength of his own, was lifted up and, one pushing, one pulling, we dragged him through the window. The other followed, and when I found myself in the air, under the stars, I trembled and could hardly breathe. A soldier by the door had been bribed and gave no alarm when we climbed the wall where it was broken. Then we were in the town, dragging our chains and stumbling as we moved.

[Illustration: Raisuli’s prison in Tazrut]

[Illustration: Xauen with the ancient castle, originally a Berber stronghold]

“There were some who saw us and hid, for my companion cried, ‘It is the Sherif el Raisuli, the great, the holy man, who will reward you.’ We got down to the sea with great difficulty, for our fetters were heavy, but there was no boat, for the escape had been planned for some nights later. We prayed on the shore, and said the ‘Fatha’[22] together, and then, as it was near dawn, we sought a hiding-place in the town. A man who was a friend of the youth offered us hospitality, but I would not accept it, for I knew that he would be punished for protecting Raisuli. My companions went into his house and he sheltered them, but I went on round the edge of the town, hoping to meet some people, for all the years that I was in prison men of the mountain tribes watch in Mogador.

“It was the first dawn that I had seen for very long, and I stopped to watch it and breathe the sea air. Suddenly, while I stood, forgetting my chains, two soldiers of the Maghsen came round the corner. Hidden by a doorway, I sprang suddenly upon them before they saw me. Truly it was not so much a leap as a fall! One went down beneath the weight of iron I carried, and I killed him with my hands. The other thought he was attacked by a Jinn, and ran, screaming. There was alarm in the town, and the news was brought to the Governor of the prison. I could hear a drum beating as I lay behind a buttress of the wall, but now I had a rifle and ammunition. I was a warrior again!

“When the soldiers of the Maghsen appeared at the end of the street, I looked along the barrel of the rifle and said to myself, ‘That old one on the right, he is not of much use.’ So I fired at him and he died. A shower of bullets like crickets shot over my head, but, in those days, the troops did not use the sights of their rifles, so that no missile went near me. Besides, the buttress protected me. I fired again, and another man fell, writhing on the ground and crying out. Then I stood up and laughed when they could not hit me. ‘Don’t you know that I am Mulai Ahmed el Raisuli, and that no lead or steel can hurt me, for I have a special blessing from Allah? See, I have twenty bullets here, and for each of them a man will die.’ They believed me, for there was one there who had fought against me in the mountains.[23] There was much talk, but no more shots were fired, and, at last, the Governor came and spoke persuasively. ‘You are one against three hundred. What can you do? Give yourself up, and I promise you I will intercede with the Sultan for you.’

“It was a curious sight for the townsfolk who crowded on the roofs to see us—a prisoner in chains who treated with the Governor at the head of a troop! It was written that I should not escape, for the sea was behind me and the troops of the Maghsen in front. Truly I might have killed many others, but whether I could have escaped I doubt, for the fetters impeded my reach—and weighted down my feet. In any case, I was young, though much of my youth had been robbed, and I wanted life for my own purposes. So I said to the Kaid, ‘Swear to me before Allah that you will obtain my release, and say the Fatha as a covenant between us, in the presence of these soldiers; and I will give myself up.’ He did this, and I made him promise also that he would not search for my companions. ‘They are gone in a boat,’ I said, for sometimes a lie is permitted. Then I surrendered myself to the Kaid, and they took me back to the prison on a mule, for I could no longer walk.”

At the end of this story, coloured, I imagine, by el Raisuli’s appreciation of his own phraseology, my host looked at me suspiciously. “I tell you this to show that, if I have tortured others, I myself have been tortured; but it is between me and thee, for it is not good that such things should be told of the Sherif.”

The Kaid of Mogador kept his promise, and, as Mulai Hassan had died and his son Abdul Aziz ruled in his stead, there was little difficulty in pardoning a criminal of the preceding reign. El Raisuli’s prestige must have been great, for so powerful an individual as Mohamed Torres, the Sultan’s representative at Tangier, added his intercession to that of the Kaid. The Minister of the moment was el Menebbhe, a wise and a just man, whose influence in Moroccan affairs has always been great. In signing the order of release for el Raisuli, he wrote the prologue of a friendship which lasted for a long time and developed into a business association, for the two shared various interests in land and property.

According to el Raisuli, he left his prison imbued with the desire for a life of study. “I wished to live in a secluded place, where there was much sun and space, and yet I wished to hear the voices of women babbling about common things: you permit me to say that generally the conversation of women does not interest me much, but, in prison, one loses a sense of proportion. At first I lived in Tangier, where I collected numbers of books, for there were many things I had forgotten at Mogador, and I wished to learn them again. I was contented, as men who have had nothing are contented with little.”

Apparently, however, the Sherif’s desire for vengeance grew as he recovered his health and strength, for not long after his release he is said to have instigated the murder of a cousin who had lately become the wife of a relation of his enemy, the Bey of Tangier. This was perhaps the most ruthless of all the Sherif’s acts, for, with his own relative, were assassinated the old, half-crippled mother and young sister of her husband. El Raisuli would never talk about this affair, except to say that treachery was hateful in the sight of Allah, and that to live in the house of a traitor was to merit his fate. “I did not know that Arabs fought against women,” I told him. “In the countries of the East where I have travelled, no man would hurt ‘a woman, a Jew or a barber.’” El Raisuli very nearly smiled. “Here in Morocco, the Jews have much money, so how should we become rich unless we killed them? In the mountains we have no dealings with barbers, and, as for women, they fight as well as the men. It is they who carry the ammunition and load the rifles. Many a Berber woman can shoot better than a man.”

El Raisuli’s sisters seemed to have been the cause of a good deal of bloodshed, for it is told that one of them, who had been married for some years to a Moor of high standing, was very angry when her husband proposed to take a second wife. Possibly the destined bride was one of whom she particularly disapproved—history does not relate—for Islam permits four wives, and divorce is extremely simple, since it consists merely of saying, “I divorce thee,” three times in the presence of witnesses. However, on this occasion the first wife appealed to her powerful brother for help. No answer came, and the day of the wedding arrived. The feast was over, the musicians had departed, and the quivering cry of the woman was stilled. The bride sat in state on a pile of mattresses, awaiting her husband. Her mother was there waiting to untie the ceremonious knot in her haik. A negress stood by the door, with a bowl of milk and a platter of dates, signifying fertility and chastity.

Suddenly there was a sound of galloping hoofs, and shouts of warning came from the court, “Robbers, robbers!” The men rushed out with their guns, and the attacking party, after firing a few shots, allowed themselves to be driven off towards the hills. The defenders followed. Then, while the house was deserted, except for the women who huddled together in an upper room, some men crept silently from the bushes where they had been hiding, and, with a warning cry to the sister of el Raisuli, “Cover yourself, lady,—we are the followers of your brother!” they burst into the Harem and dragged out the bride and her mother. When the men of the house returned, they found the bodies of the two women lying across the threshold where, only a few hours before, a bullock had been sacrificed for luck.

El Raisuli did not tell me of this episode, but when I asked him why his men had killed the girl, instead of merely removing her from his brother-in-law’s house, he answered, “It was better to kill her. She had been seen by men who were not of her family,” from which I imagine that the bride was town-bred and of a good family, for the mountain women work in the fields with the men, their faces uncovered and their garments kilted up over sturdy limbs.

El Raisuli explained his return to the wilderness in this manner: “The ways of the Maghsen were strange. When Mulai Abdul Aziz gave me my liberty, I had no wish for further war. The people of Tangier respected me as a learned and sainted Faqih, and I wrote on the interpretation of Koranic law, which is a high honour in Islam. I had many pupils, but one day when I wanted money to give to some of them who were in need, I learned that the Government had confiscated my property in El Fahs. I was told that it had been given to friends of the Sultan, and some of it was in the hands of my enemy, Abderrahman es Sadiq. I appealed to Fez for redress, but nothing was done. There was no answer to my letter and my property was being wasted by others.

“What I had done once I could do again, but this time, when I returned to the mountains, it was with the intention of fighting Mulai Abdul Aziz. My flag flew again in Beni Mesauer, and from the house of Zellal my messengers went forth to the tribes. All the jebala was discontented with the rule of the Sultan. There was famine in Fez, and the soldiers were unpaid. El Roghbi—he of whom I told you—brought his forces to the walls of the capital, and the Sultan sent to Abd es Sadiq for help. The tribes of the mountains joined me, and I had an army greater than el Roghbi’s. News came that the Bey of Tangier had gathered a force for the relief of Fez. It was to be under the command of Kaid Abd el Melak, who was hated by all the tribes for his cruelty and rapacity. Abd es Sadiq was to travel with the mehalla[24] to ensure safety.

I was glad when I heard this, for I thought that, at last, I should hold my enemy in my hands. We lay in wait in a wadi where the road was a ribbon between the bushes. It was the hour before night, when a man may scarce distinguish if a thread is black or white. Below us we saw the mehalla approaching, but it was difficult to tell where was Abd es Sadiq. At last I picked out the stallion of the Bey with his personal guard, and the Kaid Abd el Malak beside him. Then I gave the signal, and the men rushed down on either side, till the enemy were squeezed between the two parties like a fruit in the fingers. Many were killed and others fled, but, when Abd el Malak had been captured, and we fought our way to the Bey’s horse as it was turned for flight, we saw a party riding swiftly towards Tangier, and we did not trouble about them, thinking them but servants or camp followers.

“There was furious fighting in the bed of the stream, while the Bey, cut off from escape, sat on his horse, watching, with his jellaba over his face. A man of Beni Mesauer caught his bridle, and the stallion reared, striking out with his forefeet. ‘Take him alive,’ I ordered, for I wished to see his face. I had not looked on it since the day he broke faith with me after I had eaten his bread. At that moment the jellaba was blown back, and, by Allah, it was a slave dressed in the Bey’s robe and riding his horse! Sidi Abderrahman was nearing Tangier, and congratulating himself on the wisdom of a fox. He was right. It is well to be prepared for everything.

“The tribesmen judged Abd el Malak, and every man’s voice was against him, so his eyes, which had seen much injustice, were burned out with two red-hot coins, the size of a peseta. He deserved to die, but, when he heard of the affair, the Sherif of Wazzan, who was always inclined to mercy, pleaded for him, and I let him go.

“From that day I was supreme in the mountains, and even Mulai Abdul Aziz could not question my authority. The tribes of Tetuan joined me, and my rule extended to the farthest horizon—beyond that to Azeila, where my sister was married to one of the great, and to Al Kasr, where it is too hot for men to fight. Against Europe on the one side and the Sultan on the other I protected the rights of the people, for they were my people.”

From this moment el Raisuli appeared in a new rôle. He was no longer a brigand, alternately quixotic and ferocious. All his actions were governed by a definite purpose. It was as a potentate that he treated with the Sultan and, in his dealings with European Powers, he showed himself no mean politician. Before his imprisonment he had been illogically cruel and equally inconsequently generous. He had never looked ahead, living for the moment and the adventure thereof. Now he set to work deliberately to gain the power which would make him secure. He played off the tribes one against another until he had them all at his service. He used his scientific and strategic knowledge, his eloquence and the ever-growing reputation for saintliness as means to ensure his alliance with other great houses. To the warriors of the mountains his courage and his still unbroken physique were sufficient appeal, but it was his fanaticism which won the Ulema[25] and the tribal Sheikhs. He stood for the old order that was passing, and they followed him to avoid the change which they presaged and could not understand. It says much for el Raisuli’s intelligence that, while treating at different times with various European Powers, and always to his material profit, he should yet represent to Morocco the champion of Islam against the Christian, of tradition against innovation.