VIII. Raisuli

I

MULAI AHMED BEN MOHAMMED ER-RAISTJLI is today a man of about fifty years of age. He is by birth sprung from one of the most aristocratic families in Morocco, and is a Shereef, or direct descendant of the Prophet, through Mulai Idris, who founded the Mohammedan Empire of Morocco, and was the first sovereign of the Idrisite Dynasty. The children of Mulai Idris were established in various parts of the country, and it is from Mulai Abd es-Salam, whose tomb in the Beni Aros tribe is a place of great sanctity, that the famous brigand is directly descended — his family, and he himself, still holding a share in the lands, the rights and the privileges which were enjoyed by their renowned ancestor. A branch of the family settled in Tetuan, where a fine mosque forms a mausoleum for his more recent ancestors, and is venerated as a place of pilgrimage.

Possibly it was this holy ancestry that turned Raisuli from the paths of virtue, for after having received an excellent education in religion and religious law at Tetuan, he took to the adventurous, lucrative, and in Morocco by no means despised, profession of a cattle robber. It is a risky business, and requires courage. You may just as likely be shot yourself as shoot any one else; but prestige tells in favour of the head of the band, and a reign of terror of the young Raisuli ensued. He became celebrated. He was a youth of great courage, of the most prepossessing looks, and he and his followers earned money easily and fast — and spent it still faster. But cattle robberies led to other crimes. Murders followed, and it must be confessed that Raisuli' s hands are none too clean in that respect; but murder in Morocco cannot be classed with murder in England. Life is cheap, and the dead are soon forgotten. By nature he was, and is, cruel, and the profession he had adopted gave him unlimited scope to exhibit his cruelty. On one occasion a Shereef who had married his sister proposed, according to Moslem custom, to take a second wife. Raisuli's sister, enraged, fled to her brother and complained. Nothing occurred till the night of the new marriage, when at the height of the festivities Raisuli and his men entered his brother-in-law's house and put to death the young bride and her mother.

At length his acts became insupportable. The whole country round lived in terror of his raids. The late Sultan ordered his arrest. His greatest friend betrayed him; he was seized, and sent to prison in the dreaded dungeons of Mogador. When, in 1903, I was Raisuli's prisoner at Zinat, he narrated more than once to me the history of those four or five years spent in prison. He * showed me the marks of the chains on his ankles, wrists, and neck; he told me of the filth and the cold; of the introduction of a file in a loaf of bread; of five months' patient work at night; and of a delayed flight. He escaped, but for a very few hours. He did not know his way about the town, and he had forgotten that the chains would almost prevent his walking. He entered a street that had no outlet, and was recaptured. Fresh chains were heaped upon him, and it was not till two years later that he was released on the petition of Haj Mohammed Torres, the Sultan's representative at Tangier. He came back to his home, meaning to live a quiet and peaceful life, but he found that his friend who had betrayed him had become Governor of Tangier, and confiscated all his property. He applied for its return, but could not obtain it. He threatened, but they laughed at him — and then he took to his old profession and became a brigand.

It was at this period that I first met him. I was camping on a shooting expedition near Arzeila, when he and his men paid me a visit and spent the night at my camp. I confess that his personality was almost fascinating. Tall, remarkably handsome, with the whitest of skins, a short dark beard and moustache, and black eyes, with profile Greek rather than Semitic, and eyebrows that formed a straight line across his forehead, Mulai Ahmed er-Raisuli was a typical and ideal bandit.

His manner was quiet, his voice soft and low, and his expression particularly sad. He smiled sometimes, but seldom, and even though I knew him much better later on, I never heard him laugh. With his followers he was cold and haughty, and they treated him with all the respect due to his birth.

When next I saw him I was his prisoner at his stronghold at Zinat, situated about twelve miles from Tangier — in June 1903. He had altered a littta His face had filled out, the mouth had become harder and a little more cruel, but he was still remarkably handsome. He had not changed for the better. Only a few months before my capture he had sold one of his prisoners to an enemy for $1500, and stood by to see the purchaser cut the victim's throat. As long as he had restricted his energies to cattle-lifting and to attacks upon natives no one paid very serious attention to him, though the Maghzen were trying to encompass his capture. On 16th June 1903 the Shereefian troops attacked and burnt Zinat; the same afternoon I was captured.

Hearing that a battle had taken place at that spot, situated some eight or nine miles away, I rode out toward the middle of the day in that direction, accompanied by my native groom, whose parents lived at Zinat, and who was most anxious as to the safety of his relations. Already the alarm had spread to the neighbouring villages, and we found the country round entirely deserted, the population having fled to the mountains of Anjera with all their cattle and as much of their goods as they could carry away. Although the attack of the Government troops had been made with the object of capturing Raisuli, the native cavalry had wandered far afield after loot, and a considerable number of cattle, &c., had been carried off from villages innocent of any rebellious intentions, and in no way accessories to Raisuli' s depredations.

I found it difficult on this account to obtain any accurate information of what had occurred, and a desire to do so, coupled with my groom's anxiety, persuaded me to approach nearer than was perhaps advisable to the scene of the morning's action. Skirting the stony hill on which Zinat is situated, I entered the plain, crossed by small gulleys, that lies to the south of the villages, and until within two miles of the place met with no incident worth recording. The whole country was absolutely deserted. Not a single person, not a head of cattle, was to be seen.

It was when we were crossing this plain that suddenly a volley was fired at us from men concealed in the brushwood and rocks of a small hill near by. The range was a long one, and though we could hear the bullets whizzing over our heads, I do not believe that any passed us very closely. Setting spurs to our horses, we cantered away out of range, and drew rein on an elevation in the plain in the midst of a field of corn. Turning to see what was happening, I perceived three or four natives a considerable distance away, who had taken off their cloaks and turbans, and were waving to me to return. This waving of turbans is always in Morocco a sign of " aman " or safety, and I therefore waited for the men, who were moving quickly in our direction. Two alone approached us, both well known to me; and having arrived at the spot where we were stationed, they apologised profusely for the mistake of their men in having fired, and begged me to return with them to Zinat to discuss the situation there. They were Anjera men from the neighbouring Roman hills, who had not been present at the battle, but who had come down to Zinat, as the irregular cavalry had carried off a considerable number of their cattle. They stated that they were desirous of knowing the intentions of the Moorish Government with regard to their tribe. If, they said, it was the Government's intention to attack them, they were ready to resist; but if the Moorish forces had been ordered merely to capture Raisuli and had looted their property without authority, they demanded the return of their cattle — a very reasonable demand. They added that they were afraid to proceed to Tangier to interview the authorities for fear of capture and imprisonment there, and asked me accordingly to take their message to the native officials, as on such occasions I had often done before. Under a promise of safety I proceeded with them in the direction of Zinat, having agreed that I should go to a spot near the hills where three or four of the headmen of the tribe were to meet me. It was when proceeding in that direction that I was captured. We were crossing a small gully, thick with crimson-blossomed oleanders, when suddenly I discovered that I had fallen into an ambush. Flight was impossible, and as I was unarmed, resistance was out of the question. From every side sprung out tribesmen, and in a second or two I was a prisoner, surrounded by thirty or forty men, one and all armed with European rifles. I received no rough treatment at their hands, but was told that I was their prisoner and must proceed to Zinat. On arrival at the woods which surround the several villages which lie scattered on the Zinat hills, messengers were sent to inform Raisuli of my capture, and in a short time I was taken to him. He was seated under some olive-trees in a little gully, surrounded by his men and by the headmen of the neighbouring tribes, who had collected on learning what had taken place. Raisuli received., me pleasantly enough. He was still a young man of handsome appearance, refined in feature and manner, and with a pleasant voice. He was dressed in the costume of the mountain tribes, a short brown cloak covering his white linen k clothes and reaching only to the knees, with a turban of dark-blue cloth. His legs were bare, and he wore the usual yellow slippers of the country. After a short talk with Raisuli, who narrated to me all that had taken place, he led me to what remained of his house, the greater part of which had been burned by the troops. Up to this time I had nothing to complain of in the attitude of the tribesmen, but a great number had collected in the vicinity, all anxious to catch a glimpse of the Christian captive, and not a few inclined to wreak summary vengeance on me for the devastation the Government troops had committed in the place. There was a good deal of hooting and cursing, but Raisuli's influence was sufficient for him to be able to hurry me through the crowd, now very threatening, and his own followers closed round me and guarded me from the mountaineers. It was an unpleasant moment, for I soon perceived that no authority existed over this collection of tribesmen, who numbered at this time perhaps 2000 — though by nightfall this number was probably doubled, — and that there would be no possibility of protection did they proceed to extremes. It was with no little relief that I saw the door of a small room in the remaining portion of Raisuli's house opened, through which I was pushed in. A moment later it was closed again, but it seemed as though the crowd without would break it down. But Raisuli and his men, and a score of personal friends amongst the tribesmen, formed up against the doorway outside, and were able to dissuade the rabble from their intention of dragging me out.

The room in which I found myself was very dark, light being admitted only by one small window near the roof, and it was some time before my eyes became accustomed to the gloom. When I was able to see more clearly, the first object that attracted my eyes was a body lying in the middle of the room. It was the corpse of a man who had been killed there in the morning by the troops, and formed a ghastly spectacle. Stripped of all clothing and shockingly mutilated, the body lay with extended arms. The head had been roughly hacked off, and the floor all round was swimming in blood. The soldiers had carried off the head in triumph as a trophy of war, and they had wiped their gory fingers on the whitewashed walls, leaving bloodstains everywhere. However, I was not to suffer the company of the corpse for long, for half a dozen men came in, washed the body, sewed it up in its winding-sheet, and carried it away for burial; and a little later the floor was washed down, though no attempt was made to move the bloody finger-marks from the wall.

Here I remained alone for some hours, and it was certainly an anxious time. I reviewed the situation quietly, and came to the conclusion that, in spite of the danger which I knew existed, I had much in my favour. The fact that the language of the people was almost the same to me as my own tongue was a great assistance, and amongst these mountain tribes I have a large number of personal friends, who, I believed, and rightly, would protect me as far as they were able. Unfortunately, few of my influential acquaintances amongst the mountaineers had arrived, though to my joy I learned, from the conversation of the guards outside the door, that they were expected during the coming night. I decided meanwhile to pretend absolute ignorance of any danger, and to talk of my condition as only one of a series of adventures that I have undergone in Morocco and elsewhere.

At sundown Raisuli and some of his men brought me food, and I had a long conversation with them. Raisuli was polite, and made no secret that he intended to make use of me, though he had not yet decided in what way. He, however, kindly informed me that, should the attack of the troops be renewed, I should be immediately killed. His career, he said, was practically finished, and his sole desire was to cause the Moorish Government as much trouble and humiliation as possible, and he argued that there would be no easier way to do this than by causing my death. However, he promised me, at the same time, that provided no fresh attack was made upon the place, he would do his best to protect me. I was allowed to communicate with the British Legation, but was not aware till later that this letter never reached its destination, though the following morning I was in direct communication with His Majesty's Minister, and throughout my captivity no difficulties were put in my way in corresponding with the British Legation.

During the night a large contingent of the Anjera tribe arrived, amongst them several influential men on whose friendship I felt I might implicitly rely; and as a matter of fact I owe my release, and probably my life, largely to these men.

There is no need to give the details of the nine days that I spent at Zinat, sufficient to say that I suffered very considerable hardship. Though never actually roughly handled, except for a few insulting blows with slippers, &c., my discomforts were extreme. During those nine days I was never able to wash; I never took my clothes off, with the result that I was smothered with vermin. Once I went for thirty-six hours without any food, for none was procurable, as the village had been burnt, and during the whole time my life was threatened. My friends did what they could for me, but it was little they could do. There must have been some 4000 tribesmen present, and they obeyed no one, and no one had any authority over them. It was a trying time, but my only chance lay in pretending to place implicit confidence in them, and thus gain time while the negotiations for my release proceeded.

No words of praise are sufficient for the great tact displayed by Sir Arthur Nicolson, the British Minister, in conducting these negotiations. From the very beginning he realised the difficulties of success, and throughout, in every dealing that he had with the tribesmen, he showed the greatest tact and skill. He from the very commencement warned the Moorish Government not to take any steps to treat with the mountaineers, and conducted the entire proceedings himself, Mulai Ahmed, the young Shereef of Wazzan, being the means of communication between the British Government and the tribesmen. These negotiations were doubly difficult owing to the fact that the mountaineers had no recognised chiefs, and that many tribes were concerned. Yet in such a manner were the negotiations conducted, that throughout the wiiole proceedings the ignorant and fanatical tribesmen placed entire confidence in the Minister's word, and though delays occurred, as they always do in Morocco, there was never a serious hitch.

The first demand made to me for my release was the removal of all Englishmen from the Sultan's Court. I naturally treated this as preposterous, and persuaded the tribesmen that it was mere folly to mention it. This was followed by other equally impossible conditions, which were likewise abandoned; and by the time that the British Legation was in communication with the tribesmen they had lessened their demands to the release of a certain number of tribal prisoners confined in the prisons of Tangier and Laraiche.

At no time was a demand made for a ransom in money, and in this my capture differed entirely from those of Mr Perdicaris and Kaid Maclean, which took place later. I owe this immunity from a pecuniary ransom to an admirable trait in the character of these wild mountain tribesmen. My country-house at Tangier was situated about two and a half miles from the town, on the sea-coast, on the main track that passes between the An j era tribe and Tangier. Just beyond my grounds, on the town side, is a tidal river, which then and now possesses no bridge, but it is fordable at low tide. Often the tribes-people found the tide too high to cross, and were obliged to wait long weary hours, in winter at times in darkness and rain. A large number were women and young girls carrying loads of charcoal to market. I had always made it a rule to give shelter to all such as asked for it, and had built a room or two for this purpose, and in winter-time it was seldom that some of the benighted peasants were not spending the night there. When it was cold and wet they had a fire, and as often as not a little supper. A very short time after my capture a proposal was made from Tangier that a very considerable sum of money should be paid for my immediate release. This was discussed by the tribesmen and refused. They decided that in the case of one who had shown such hospitality to their women and children, and often to themselves, there must be no question of money — and there was none.

There was one hitch which threatened to break down our negotiations, and which caused some delay to my release.

It had been agreed that twelve prisoners from the tribesmen, confined in various Moorish Government prisons, were to be released in exchange for myself; but after a very numerously-attended meeting, at which a large number of fresh mountaineers arrived, a demand was made for the release of over fifty. The British Legation was notified of this, and very rightly objected to this sudden and very large addition. Sir Arthur Nicolson wrote me to this effect. Before, however, making known the contents of his letter, I obtained the names of all the fifty tribesmen whose release was demanded, and sent the list to Tangier, pretending that it was to be submitted to the authorities, in order that in the case of its acceptance, orders for the release of the men might be given. Once this letter well on its way, I made known to the tribesmen that on no account more than the original twelve prisoners would be released. At first they tried persuasion, and then threats — but I felt sure of my position. " You propose," I said, " to kill me. Possibly you will do so, but you have kindly given me a list of all your relations who are in the Moorish prison — some fifty-six in all, I think. This list is now in Tangier. You will have the satisfaction of killing me, but remember this — on fifty-six consecutive days one of your sons or brothers or nephews will be executed — one each morning; and more — their bodies will be burnt and the ashes scattered to the wind. You will see the smoke from here " — for Tangier was visible from where we were. Now, the Moors believe in a corporeal resurrection, and the burning of a body means the depriving of the soul of resurrection. It was a splendid bluff, and I felt the greatest delight in using it. I was there alone, seated in the centre of a great circle of the tribesmen, who swore and cursed and threatened; but to no avail. I even explained that it was a matter of no importance in the Christian religion what became of one body — and pointed out the consequent loss of fifty-six good Moslem souls, deprived of going to heaven. I was successful. The tribesmen returned to their original demand.

In all my dealings with the Moors I have found this, that the intelligent European, provided he has a complete and absolute knowledge of the language, holds a very distinct advantage over the Moor. He has, in fact, two advantages — hereditary training of thought, and education. The Moor is generally, by his environment and isolation, a slow thinker, and in the many difficult situations in which I at times found myself I have always had confidence in my own mental superiority over the average native. I have been able to turn threats into ridicule, or to raise a laugh, or to persuade by the mere superiority of the power of thinking and of giving utterance to one's thoughts. The Moor is very susceptible to sarcasm and ridicule, and often I have turned what looked like becoming a stormy incident into the pleasantest of channels. I have, almost without exception, carried no arms, which are often more a source of danger than of security.

The only time that I left my quarters at Zinat for more than a few minutes together was on one occasion, a few days after my arrival, when I was taken down to a gully below the village to be shown the corpse of a Moorish cavalry soldier who had been killed during the engagement. In revenge for the beheading of the Zinat man who had been killed, the tribesmen had mutilated the soldier's body. It was a ghastly sight. The summer heat had already caused the corpse to discolour and swell. An apple had been stuck in the man's mouth, and both his eyes had been gouged out.

The naked body was shockingly mutilated, and the finger-tips had been cut off, to be worn, the tribesmen told me, as charms by their women. The hands were pegged to the ground by sticks driven through the palms, about a yard in length, bearing little flags. A wreath of wild flowers was twined round the miserable man's head, and the village dogs had already gnawed away a portion of the flesh of one of the legs. I was jokingly informed that that was probably what I should look like during the course of the next few days.

During the entire nine days that I was at Zinat I was no doubt always in danger, and certainly always in great discomfort; but I had used every opportunity to bring the friendly tribe of Anjera over to my side, and on the night of the ninth day my friends rose nobly to the occasion. They surrounded Raisuli's house and village with perhaps a thousand men, all armed and prepared, and demanded that I should be handed over to them, threatening that, if this were not immediately carried out, they would shoot or arrest Raisuli. It was a little coup-d'etat, and it was successful. In the middle of the night I was hustled out of the small room which I shared with a dozen guards, placed on the back of a mule, and carried off into the Anjera mountains by my friends of that tribe. For six hours we proceeded through mountain passes and thick brushwood, arriving soon after sunrise at the village of Sheikh Duas, one of the most influential of the Anjera tribesmen. It was a journey I will never forget — the darkness of the moonless night, the rough mountain tracks, the silence of the hundreds of armed men who accompanied me, and the intense relief that, even if my captivity was long protracted, I was amongst men who would, at any rate, protect my life. I was tired and weak. Nine days of constant strain, in great heat, on a diet of inferior dry bread and water, with the necessity the whole time of pretending rather to enjoy the situation than otherwise, had worn me out. But from the friendly tribe of Anjera I received nothing but kindness — every word, every act of theirs was cheering and thoughtful; and though life among them was rough enough in its way, I owe them a debt of gratitude that it will be difficult ever to repay. I remained twelve days at Sheikh Duas's village in the Anjera mountains, and throughout that period I never suffered an indignity or an insult from him or his people. A little room in his house was put at my disposal, and infinite pains were taken to render it clean and habitable. The best of such food as was procurable was given me — milk and cream-cheese, and a rough porridge of sour milk and millet. His followers — for Duas is not above being a cattle robber on a large scale — helped me to pass my time pleasantly enough, and with them I explored the neighbouring mountains, and sat in the shade of the fruit trees of their little gardens listening to their local musicians or watching the ungraceful movements of their dancing-girls. I made friends there whose friendship I shall always value. I was treated as one of the tribe. I wore their dress, shaved my head, and conformed to all their customs; but above and beyond all, my anxiety was at an end — I knew that I was out of grave danger.

Meanwhile the British Minister, ably assisted by the Shereef of Wazzan, was carrying on the negotiations. Although I was now amongst friends, these negotiations were delicate and difficult, for the Anjera tribe had given their word to the other tribes concerned not to release me until their prisoners were set free, and these other tribes were constantly desirous of changing their conditions, and, owing to the distances which separated them, this necessarily meant delay. The very fact that I was now some twenty-seven miles — a day's journey — from Tangier protracted the negotiations. Several times I seemed on the point of release, but some small hitch, unimportant, it is true, would arise and a delay occur.

Except for this, time passed pleasantly; the scenery was delightful, and although it was the middle of summer the air was cool at this altitude. Little streams of water ran in every direction, and I was able to bathe and be clean once more. To all intents and purposes I was free to go where I pleased, and though always accompanied by guards, so thoughtful and kind were they that one forgot that they were there to prevent my escape, and we all became the best of friends. Meanwhile the Shereef of Wazzan spared himself no trouble. No sun was too hot for him to travel, no journey too tiring for him to undertake. He attended the tribal meetings and made known to the headman the British Minister's intentions with regard to the tribal prisoners, orders for whose release had meanwhile been received from the Sultan. His Majesty's readiness to comply with Sir Arthur Nicolson's request was deserving of all praise, for it must be remembered that the action of the rebels throughout was intended to humiliate the Sultan and his Government. What rendered the situation during my captivity, especially during the first part of it, doubly insecure was the fact that the tribes were in active communication with the Pretender to the Moorish Throne — the leader of the rebellion in the Rif, — and it was proposed over and over again to send me to him as a useful hostage; and, had it not been for my friendship with the An j era tribe — a friendship of long standing— I have no doubt this proposal would have been carried out.

On Saturday, 4th July, a large tribal meeting was held near Sheikh Duas's village, and during the usual wrangling which occurred on these occasions the Shereef of Wazzan arrived, having travelled the twenty-seven miles from Tangier that day, in spite of the heat of the July sun. His opportune presence settled my fate, and the negotiations were brought to a conclusion, not without considerable opposition. The following day a large contingent of tribesmen, the Shereef, and I set out for Tangier, spending the night some twelve miles from that place. Even here a last attempt was made — an attempt that nearly led to bloodshed — to prevent my release, but happily unsuccessfully. The next morning we moved down towards my own house, which stands alone, some two and a half miles from the town. In a ruined fort a quarter of a mile from my villa a halt was made, and messengers were despatched to town with letters to the British Minister to release the tribal prisoners, who for the last week or so had been comfortably housed in the basement of the British Consulate, having been brought up from Laraiche in specially-chartered steamers. Within an hour we saw the sixteen prisoners arriving, and very shortly afterwards they were being welcomed by their friends. Lord Cranley, Mr Wyldbore-Smith, Mr Kirby Green, and Mr Carleton accompanied the prisoners on behalf of the British Legation, but no formal exchange took place. The moment the prisoners arrived I was free to depart, though the many adieux that I had to make with my mountain friends took some little time. We parted on the best of terms, and, wild and savage as the two hundred tribesmen looked, I could not but feel how great a debt of gratitude I owed them for having released me from the dangers and discomforts of my first days of captivity.

For a year after this adventure R-aisuli remained tolerably quiet, but the following spring he carried out a coup even more daring. He surrounded the villa of Mr Perdicaris at night, and carried off both the proprietor and his son-in-law. The American Government sent a fleet to Tangier, and the whole world watched the ensuing negotiations. Mr Perdicaris and Mr Varley were restored to liberty; but at what a price! Raisuli demanded and obtained from the Sultan the following terms. That he should be appointed the Governor of all the districts in the neighbourhood of Tangier; that the existing Governor — his former friend, who had betrayed him — should be deposed; a ransom of $70,000, the imprisonment of all his enemies, and the release from prison of all his friends — and other concessions of less importance. The Sultan surrendered, and the terms were carried out. Raisuli found himself all-powerful — a hero in the eyes of the Moors, a menace in those of Europe.

His first acts were good. He put down the effervescence which Bou Hamara's rebellion had caused in the neighbourhood, and he opened the roads to caravan traffic, and since he was made Governor not a single caravan had been robbed within the limits of his jurisdiction. He brought about, in fact, a period of greater security than had existed during the previous year or two — but a security that depended upon Raisuli was naturally a doubtful one.

As his influence increased he became a despot. He squeezed the people under him, and extorted money from even the very poorest of the poor. The Maghzen lived in terror of him, and let him know it, with the result that he ignored their orders and commands, and even the treaties with Europe. He threatened and blackmailed even the

Maghzen authorities, who openly acknowledged thenincapacity to deal with him, and he became at the same time the protector and the scourge of Tangier and the surrounding districts. He enforced his authority up to the very gates of the town, and his armed followers even entered and dragged out of prison men who were not in his jurisdiction. His representatives administered justice (!) in the market-place, and beat people to death within a few yards of the French and German Legations. In 1906 Raisuli had reached the zenith of his power. At Zinat it was sufficient to tell a man that he was a prisoner, and he would never attempt to escape. There was no need to lock him up — he knew that his master's arm was long enough to reach him wherever he fled to, — and the strange sight of dozens of prisoners at liberty could be seen there on any day. Raisuli showed all the qualities required by a strong Governor in Morocco, but unfortunately he overdid it. For him there existed no treaties. His and his representatives' actions at this period are well known. The flogging of protected natives, the cutting off of the electric light, the blackmailing of Europeans, the destruction of property — a long list of acts of unbearable tyranny.

At length the representatives of the European Powers could endure it no longer. They addressed a collective Note to the Moorish Minister of Foreign Affairs at Fez, demanding that an end be made to the impossible state of affairs existing in the Tangier districts. It was almost an ultimatum, for the bay was full of the warships of France and Spain, present to protect European interests until the introduction of the new police. The Sultan and his viziers could not misunderstand the purport of this Note. The Minister of War was ordered to proceed to Tangier with all available forces.

Early in January 1907 the troops that had arrived from Fez were camped not many miles from Raisuli's stronghold, waiting for orders to attack. News was brought to me that this attack would take place two days later, on Saturday, 6th January; and it was still dark when that morning, at a very early hour, I left Tangier on horseback with three trusted Moors to see what I could of it. I had clothed myself in the flowing dress of a trooper of Moorish irregular cavalry, as I knew that orders had been issued to prevent Europeans approaching the spot, and also so as to be able to move about the scene of action without attracting notice. Before we had emerged into the open country we had passed no less than six outposts of some twenty-five men each, for the Maghzen authorities had been taking great precautions to protect the town; but even the clattering of our horses' shoes upon the paved roads failed to wake a single man from the deep slumber in which they were lying inside their tents. At dawn we were a good many miles away, but we had time to spare, and rode slowly, realising that a long day lay before us; and it was seven o'clock before, from the point of a low hill, the camp of the Shereefian troops was visible in the plain below us. A mile to our left was the famous hill of Zinat, with its rocky crests and precipices, and its steep lower slopes stretching down to the plain, at places dotted with olive groves. Set in the midst of this background stood Raisuli's stronghold, a large rambling building, half-fort, half-house, with windows dotted irregularly about its front, and here and there a battlemented tower rising above the rest of the roof, a strong building in a very strong position. Away behind Zinat and in front of us rose the higher peaks of the Beni Msaour Mountains, range beyond range, until, bounding the eastern horizon, they were overtopped by the snow-clad summits of Beni Hassan. There were no signs of the coming struggle at that moment. Cattle were feeding near the little villages on the plain, and thin white smoke, hanging heavily in the bright air, issued from the thatched roofs and tents of the plains-people as they cooked their breakfasts. In the Shereefian camp there was some movement, and near Raisuli's stronghold his followers could be seen strolling about, while the smoking chimneys of his house bespoke the fact that they too were preparing their breakfasts.

It was nine o'clock before the scene changed. Clear in the still air a bugle rang out in the camp. They must have heard it away at Zinat, for suddenly from the summit of the rocks above Raisuli's fortress a long thin column of white smoke arose, then another and another, and then from peak to peak, as far as the eye could reach, the fires were answered. The mountaineers were signalling to one another that the great battle was imminent. Down in the camp below us the infantry were " falling in " and the cavalrymen mounting their horses, and it was only a few minutes later when amongst the beating of drums and the blowing of bugles, the neighing of horses and the fluttering of coloured banners and flags, the Shereefian troops marched out on to the plain. A hoarse shout arose from every throat, " Ah! salih enNebi, Rasoul Allah! " an invocation to the Prophet, repeated again and again, and answered by a far-away and fainter cry of the same words from the fortress and rocks of Zinat.

Once all the troops are out on the plain they are drawn up in formation for the attack. On the right were the artillery, two field-guns, and a couple of Maxims, carried by mules. Near them, amidst a panoply of banners, rode the Commander-in-Chief and his staff, a group of a hundred or so persons well mounted and gaily dressed, with their bright saddles of every shade of coloured cloth and silk adding to a scene already brilliantly picturesque. In the centre were some 800 infantry with a strong support of tribal cavalry, while on the left a somewhat smaller force formed the flank. The contingent of loyal mountaineers in their short black cloaks could be seen already scaling some low hills away on the extreme right. Then slowly the whole army advances.

It was a moment of thrilling excitement. From the rocky hill where I had taken up my point of vantage the whole scene was passing at my very feet. On my left the fortress and rocks; on my right the slowly advancing forces — the left flank within a hundred yards or so of where I stood. At Zinat there was not a sign of life, though with my glasses I could see the glint of rifle-barrels in the embrasures of the house, and now and then amongst the precipices and rocks above it. The troops are within 1200 yards now, and in the open, but still advancing slowly, for the most part in close formation, and offering even at that range — a long one for the Moors, who are proverbial bad shots — an excellent target. The sunlit air is so still that every little sound rises unbroken from the plain below: a word of command here, a bugle-call there. Then suddenly the firing opens from Zinat — the quick nervous spitting of the Mauser rifles, — rendered the more impressive from the fact that nothing can be seen, for there is not a single man there who does not use smokeless powder. A few Askaris are seen to fall, killed or wounded, and the advance ceases. The whole army replies, firing at an impossible range into a solid fort and still more solid precipice with rifles that have only reached Morocco after they have long been discarded as useless in Europe, and with powder that issues, evil-looking and evil-smelling, from the barrels of their weapons. After all, it made little difference where they fired, for few or none had ever handled a rifle before, and there was nothing to shoot at. Meanwhile the cavalry galloped to and fro in every direction, except to advance, waving flags and firing their rifles, apparently at the green plover that swept over in flocks, disturbed by the unusual racket.

Inane impotent warfare, carried on by undisciplined and uncourageous men, whose uniforms alone bespoke them as soldiers.

A curl of thin yellow smoke, widening as it ascended, rises from the rocks far above the house — the first shell fired by the artillery, followed by another and another, which, although aimed at the house itself, fall in widely different directions, more than once nearer the Maghzen troops than the enemy. During the entire action of this Saturday, although the range was only about 1000 metres, the house was only struck twice, and even the explosion of these two shells did not force the defenders to abandon the flat roof and windows, though they cannot have failed to be effective. Meanwhile the troops on the left, under the cover of the rocks, had entered and burned a village out of Raisuli's line of fire, and were returning toward the camp laden with loot, under the impression that their duty for the day was over. Nor did any one attempt to persuade them to re-enter the fight, and I watched them disappear, staggering under huge mattresses, chests of painted wood — the dowry of every Moorish bride, — and a thousand other household articles. For a background— the burning village, the flames of which rose lurid and roaring into the still air, to pass away in great rolls of heavy white smoke.

From one to two o'clock the firing slackened, but at the latter hour another attempt was made to advance. The whole line pushed forward, but 700 or 800 yards from Zinat they broke, and — well, if they did not exactly run, they certainly returned very quickly. It was at this moment that two picturesque incidents occurred. From Raisuli's house emerged a woman, who, crossing the open ground under a heavy fire, mounted upon a rock and thence cursed the troops. She threw back her thick " haik," and, tearing her hair, waved her arms towards heaven, but the firing drowned her voice. Then slowly and majestically she drew her veil around her and retired. A few seconds later eight men, no doubt encouraged by her bravery, rushed into the open grounds, shouting and jeering at the retiring forces, and firing the while with their Mausers. It was then that the Commander-in-Chief fell wounded in the neck. A mule was brought, and, supported by his retinue, he was hurriedly taken back to the camp. By this time the army had used up all their shells and nearly all their cartridges. Even a reserve force, hidden in a river-bed a mile in the rear, had been firing at that range at the mountain ever since the morning, to the imminent danger of their advancing comrades.

The army was now retiring in good order, followed by Raisuli's eight men, who every now and then sped a parting shot at them. The battle at Zinat was over. The great effort of the Maghzen had failed, and the stronghold and village, except for a few holes made by the shells, stood as placid and peaceful in appearance as it had been in the morning. The great Shereefian army had proved itself to be — like everything else in Morocco, except perhaps Raisuli himself — a gigantic bluff.

It was well on in the afternoon now, and the scene of the fight was deserted. I crept up a little gully to within 400 or 500 yards of the house, and, peeping from between the rocks, I took a long view with my glasses. On the green sward in front of the house stood a man holding a pair of glasses to his eyes. On either side of him were a few retainers. He stood silent and still, watching the retreating army. It was Raisuli.

At dawn on Sunday morning I was back again in the hills near Zinat. Never did the sun rise over a more peaceful scene or one more serenely beautiful. Peak after peak, many touched with snow, turned pink and gold as the first rays of the rising sun touched their summits. At Zinat itself all was quiet. A little blue smoke, the smoke of wood fire, arose from the chimneys of Raisuli' s house, in front of which half a dozen mountaineers were warming themselves over a small bonfire.

It was nine o'clock before the troops left the camp, and, deploying in much the same formation as the day before, advanced across the plain. But their numbers were increased, for reinforcements had been hurriedly sent by night from Tangier, and fresh contingents of loyal mountaineers had turned up in force. But what was still more important was the addition of one man, an Algerian artillery officer attached to the Sultan's service by the French Government, whose shooting with the field-guns at Taza and Oujda had largely saved the situation at both places. It had been the intention of the Maghzen to send him on Saturday, but owing to his being a French subject they decided not to do so, as in their own consideration any one to do with France was at this period a person to be avoided. Their folly lost them the day. Had Si Abderrahman ben Sedira been behind the guns on Saturday, Raisuli's house, and probably Raisuli and most of his followers, would have been destroyed. The proof, if one were needed, is this. He accomplished more destruction with the two shells he fired at the fortress on Sunday morning than in the 130 shots fired on Saturday. A general advance toward Zinat was commenced a little before two, and the two shells above mentioned were fired from the field-guns. There was no reply from the house or from the rocks above it. Already the troops were considerably nearer than they had ever got the previous day. A little hesitation was visible, for no doubt the soldiers imagined that they were being allowed to approach to within an easy and certain range. The left were well ahead, led by Raisuli's late Calipha, more royalist than the King nowadays, who was followed close by his contingent of the Fahs tribe. Three hundred yards only now separated them from the village. With a wild shout and a volley from then* rifles the cavalry charged. Over the rising ground they passed, a brilliant flash of colour, and never drew rein till they were at Raisuli's door.

The house and village were empty. Then began a scene of pandemonium. Askaris, horsemen, and tribal contingents rushed upon the castle, and the wildest looting commenced. Other bands, intent upon pillage, ransacked the neighbouring houses. In a few minutes flames burst forth from the thatched roofs of the surrounding huts. The flames spread, and in as short a space of time as it takes to write it the whole village was ablaze. The strong wind drove the heavy smoke in huge clouds across the face of the mountain, and in half an hour all that was left of Zinat were the burning houses from above which Raisuli's fortress towered, as yet but slightly damaged. Then smoke burst out from its windows. The roof, already half blown off by the shells, fell with a crash; a wall toppled over in clouds of dust, and little by little the stronghold became a useless ruin. Not a shot was fired from the mountain, for there was no one to fire one. Silently in the night Raisuli and his followers, and the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages, with all their old people, their women and children, and their flocks and herds, had crept away into the darkness over the plain and on into the mountains. Not a guard had been posted to keep watch, not a blow had been struck to prevent them escaping. Under the rocks upon which I was seated the soldiers, laden with loot, were returning. Carpets, mattresses, boxes, vases of artificial flowers, tea-trays and tea-cups, o sacks of flour and grain, rolls of matting — all the belongings and appurtenances of Moorish houses formed their burdens. One soldier, a cheery kindly-looking giant, was whistling to a canary in a cage, which he had brought away in preference to more valuable loot.

As I rode over the brow of the hill on my way back to Tangier I drew rein for a moment and looked back. The army was leaving Zinat, and the burning houses were little more than heaps of smouldering ashes. Beyond lay the high mountains of Beni Msaour, whence Raisuli and the inhabitants of his villages must have been looking upon the ruins of their homes.

II

RAISULI was now completely outlawed. He lived in the fastness of his mountains, where the Sultan's troops could never even attempt to penetrate. Thence he spread alarm right and left, causing constant fears and panics, even to the Europeans at Tangier.

The whole situation in Morocco was seething. The tribes had become to all intents and purposes independent, and many threw off all pretence of obeying the orders of their Governors or of paying taxes. Such as were more vulnerable, either from their geographical position or by their numerical weakness, were persecuted and squeezed to make up for the delinquencies of the others. The rapacity of the viziers was greater than ever, and the Sultan's extravagances seemed to have increased by the fresh supply of money that an illadvised foreign loan had a year or two before brought into his spending power. Bou Hamara, the Pretender, in the Rif, and Raisuli amongst the mountain tribes, were the two principal thorns in the Maghzen's side. With Bou Hamara, who stated that he was the eldest brother of the Sultan, nothing could be done. He remained in the inaccessible Rif tribe-lands, where he governed as a petty Sultan; and even the Spanish authorities, who waited long to see him driven out, were at last obliged to enter into relation with him, in order to ensure the security of their "Presidios." That Bou Hamara and Raisuli were in communication is certain, but there was little respect and little confidence between them, and except for the passage of letters no compact of real or practical importance seems to have existed between them. Yet that their relations were cordial is clear, from the original document in my possession sealed by Bou Hamara with his great seal of State, by which he appoints Raisuli Governor of certain of the mountain tribes. On this seal of State, Bou Hamara uses the style " Mohammed ben Hassen " — claiming thereby to be Mulai Mohammed, the eldest son of Mulai Hassen, and therefore the elder brother of the reigning Sultan.

Raisuli had no pretensions to the Sultanate, though in the eyes of Europe he played a more important part, for his principal activities were employed in the districts of Tangier, the diplomatic capital of the country.

In 1906 that futile Conference of Algeciras — futile, that is to say, in so far as it had any beneficial effect in Morocco — had met, discussed, signed, and separated. It had for Europe, no doubt, cleared the situation, and was a check to Germany; but poor Morocco gained little — in fact, it marked one more step on its road to ruin. Never probably did such a collection of diplomatists, whose highsounding titles fill the first few pages of that insignificant little yellow -book which contains the results of their insignificant labours, give themselves airs of such importance. For days together they discussed the questions of the import of sporting-guns and the rifling of gun-barrels with all the pomposity of affairs of the gravest moment — to pass to the rules for the distribution of parcels post. Three or four men were playing a great stake — representatives of England and France, and of Germany — and it was well played. The victory remained with the two former. The rest were puppets, but didn't realise it. They really thought, or seemed to think, that their endeavours were being of service to the country which few of them knew anything about, beyond the distant view they could obtain of it from the hills above Algeciras.

Northern Morocco was at its worst the year after the Algeciras Act had been signed, and even the pleasure-loving Mulai Abdul Aziz perceived that affairs were becoming serious. He decided to open negotiations with Raisuli. For this purpose Kaid Maclean had an interview with the brigand chief in April (1907). Raisuli listened to the Raid's proposals, but refused to accompany him to Fez, where the Sultan was then residing. However, a step had been made toward a possible arrangement. A month later, armed with the authority of the Sultan, Kaid Maclean returned to Alcazar, a town on the Tangier-Fez road, situated about sixty miles from the former. But meanwhile it has leaked out that Raisuli would attempt the capture of this important functionary. Every effort was made by the Sultan, who had also received the news, and by the British Legation, to cancel the interview, and the British Consular Agent at Alcazar was instructed to this effect to continue the negotiations. An interview with Raisuli was secretly arranged, to be held on the borders of the Ahlserif tribe-lands, some few miles from Alcazar. There these two personages met. The Sultan's propositions were made known to Raisuli, who pretended to accept them, and to be disposed to return to Fez with the Kaid. He would, he said, start at once, and if the Kaid would accompany him to the village where his camp was pitched they would set out the next day. The Kaid agreed, and entered the mountains with his host — only there was no setting out the next day, for he found himself a prisoner, and remained in captivity for some seven months, suffering considerable hardships.

Of all the negotiations for the obtaining of the liberty of Raisuli' s prisoners, these were the most difficult. The terms demanded by Raisuli were preposterous, and a score of people seemed negotiating on their own account, while the Kaid himself was doing his utmost, and very naturally, to obtain his release. The result was confusion and misunderstanding, and the distance from Tangier at which Raisuli kept his captive increased the difficulties. Had the whole affair been left in the hands of Sir Gerard Lowther, who at this period ably represented England in Morocco, it is probable that Kaid Maclean's release would have been more quickly obtained. But on every occasion on which a solution seemed near some perfectly new proposition, emanating from unauthorised sources, would frustrate the official plans. In the end Raisuli obtained £20,000, and he was made a British protected subject; and there were other minor terms. Kaid Maclean was released. The only pleasing aspect of all these brigandage cases was the absolute confidence that Raisuli always placed in the word of the British Government, the British authorities, and in fact that of all Britishers.

Some years after this event, when the ex-Sultan Mulai Abdul, Aziz, who had just abdicated, was visiting my villa at Tangier, I showed him two Arabic documents. One was his original " Dahir " for the nomination of Raisuli as Governor of the tribes, which the brigand had extorted as part of the ransom of Perdicaris; and the other was Raisuli' s appointment as Governor of the same tribes, bearing another great seal of State, that of the Pretender, Bou Hamara. Mulai Abdul Aziz asked me how I had become possessed of these two documents. I told him. The " Dahir " of the Pretender I had found, during my imprisonment, in a secret cupboard in a room of Raisuli's house at Zinat. I had carried it, sewn up in my clothing, with other equally interesting correspondence, during the whole period of my captivity. The firman of the Sultan himself I had obtained the day Raisuli's house was looted by the Maghzen troops, at which picturesque incident I had been present.

The ex-Sultan smiled. " There seems," he said rather cynically, "to be nothing of interest in Morocco which hasn't reached either your knowledge or your hands; nothing that you haven't had given you — acquired? "

" The most valuable of all things was given me," I replied.

" And that was? " X" Your Majesty's friendship."

It was at this period, while an outlaw in the mountains, that Raisuli nearly made his most important capture. It was an incident that was kept very quiet at the time, but leaked out in the French Press a little later. The truth was, we Europeans who played a part — and we very nearly played a very serious part — in the story had no desire for publicity.

The facts were these. The ruins of Raisuli's stronghold at Zinat were only distant from Tangier about fourteen miles, and formed a tempting excursion, but one which no one undertook, as it was notoriously unsafe. However, as time went on and nothing occurred in the neighbourhood of Tangier to disturb the tranquillity, and as Raisuli and his band seemed permanently to have taken up their residence in the mountains at a considerable distance from the scene of their former activities, a picnic at Zinat was decided upon, and I was invited. The other members of our party consisted of Sir Gerard Lowther, then British Minister to Morocco, Monsieur and Madame de Beaumarchais of the French Legation, and Mr Christopher Lowther, the son of the Speaker of the House of Commons. I formed the fifth member of the party.

One hot summer morning we rode out, having sent our lunch on in advance. On nearing Zinat we were hailed by a countryman who was ploughing his fields. I rode to see what he wanted, and was informed that Raisuli's band was back at Zinat, apparently having come to take away some treasure which had, by being buried, escaped the looting of the soldiery at the time of the destruction of the castle. He advised us not to proceed. We discussed this news, and in the folly of an enjoyable excursion, decided, as the lunch was on ahead, to proceed. Nothing could surpass the tranquillity of the scene on our arrival, and we were soon lunching under the shade of the olivetrees. I confess that the pleasure of the foie-gras was mingled, in my case, with a certain nervous apprehension from which the others appeared immune. We did not believe, or had pretended not to believe, the story of the return of Raisuli's brigands.

Lunch was nearly over when the glint of a riflebarrel in the thick brushwood caught my eye, and another and yet another in the rocks, for the hill at Zinat is a wild precipitous slope of broken masses of rock and scrub. A minute later we were surrounded. The men were perfectly polite, and to all intents and purposes appeared merely to have come to wish us goodday. At their head was the good-looking young Ahmed el-Aoufi, Raisuli's second-in-command, a personal friend of my own, who had shown me considerable kindness during my captivity with the brigands in 1903. He shook us warmly by the hand, and, his rifle between his knees, sat down to spend the time of day. A few yards away, in a complete circle round us, were thirty or forty of his men.

I confess that situations like this exhilarate me. I hate bloodshed and noisy encounters, but a delicate situation has a zest that is unique, and, heavens! it was a delicate situation. The British Minister and the French Charge d' Affaires — what a coup! I was the only member of the party who spoke Arabic, and the suspense the others must have suffered during the next hour or two must have been extreme. Yet no one made a sign. I have often seen great examples of self-restraint, but never, I think, greater than on this occasion. Remember, my friends understood nothing of what I was saying, except that every now and again I referred to them for confirmation of my assertions. For me the situation was very exciting. If I was taken after all, it was only what had happened before, and I was used to adventure and hardship — but for the others! and I could not help thinking of the terms — probably impossible terms — that Raisuli would demand for their release— and of the possible consequences! I have found on occasions like these — for this was by no means the only tight place of the kind that I have been in — that not only is there a kind of exhilaration, but also that one's power of concentration of thought is accentuated. However inauspicious the actual surroundings may be, one feels and knows that the mental superiority rests with the European, and that hereditary training of thought and education stand one in good stead. The Moor is no fool, he is cunning and astute, but his mind is untrained — and he is confiding when dealing with Europeans. In the first moments of our encounter at Zinat I knew that our safety depended upon the game that I was determined to play — and which I played successfully.

I began with an enormous untruth. Holding El-Aoufi's hand, I told him I was delighted to see him, and that his visit was most opportune — nothing, in fact, could have been better. Then I sat him down, and talked to him and to his chief companions seriously. It was at this moment that Madame de Beaumarchais, with the admirable sangfroid of a talented and courageous Frenchwoman, took a photograph. The man to whom I was talking was Ould el-Aoufi; the European seated just behind me was the late Sir Gerard Lowther.

The story that I told them was this. I reminded them that Raisuli had been driven from the Governorship of Tangier and the surrounding tribes at the demand of the European Powers. They had acted unwisely and realised it, and now they regretted their action. " Do you know," I asked, " who these people are who are here to-day? "

" We are not sure," they replied.

" Then I will teU you," and I did. Instead of, as would seem natural, trying to conceal the identity of my distinguished friends, I launched out into exaggerated statements as to their importance. I saw I had made an impression. My audience were now thoroughly puzzled.

" And why are they here? " I asked. " Listen, and I will tell you. The Powers of Europe regret Raisuli's departure and disgrace. They desire him to be reinstated, but the Sultan has refused. The Powers insist, and as the Maghzen still holds out, the Governments of England and France have telegraphed to their representatives — the gentlemen you see here to-day — instructing them to visit the scene of the depredations on Raisuli's castle, and to make all the necessary arrangements for its reconstruction as quickly as possible, so that Raisuli can be restored to his own, and once more introduce law and order into the region. For this purpose we are come to-day — against the advice of all our friends — so that the work can be undertaken at once. Meanwhile the letter recalling Raisuli from the mountains is being drawn up." I then added, " We were warned on the way that we should find you here, and advised to turn back, but I told the people who warned us that Raisuli's men would perfectly understand our mission, and nice trouble they

[Photo by Madame de Beavmarchttit. THE AUTHOR, EL AOUFI, AND RAISULl's BRIGANDS.

[Photo by Madame de Beautnarchais.

THE AUTHOR MEASURING THE WALLS OF THE RUINS OF

RAISULI'S HOUSE. (The European standing in the background is the late would get into with their chief if they captured the very men who are insisting on restoring him to his former grandeur, and obtaining the return of all his confiscated property — and even rebuilding his castle at the expense of the Governments ^ they represent. " I should like to see your face, -^n^ friend Ahmed el-Aoufi, after Raisuli had discovered the ' gaffe ' that you had made; and if I know your chief, friend and confidant as you are, I can imagine the stripes he could lay upon your bare back. Do you think that, unless we had been really his benefactors, we should ever have been such fools to have ventured into this hornets' nest? Now up with you," I cried, rising, " and we will see what we can do with these ruins."

I led the way down to the ruins, and for the next hour measured walls, took notes of the local price of masons and carpenters and the possibilities of obtaining bricks on the spot, proposed a new water-supply which the laws of gravitation rendered quite impossible, and even whispered in El-Aoufi's ear that there would be money to build him a little house adjoining his chief's. We came to the conclusion that for between £12,000 and £15,000, taking into consideration that Raisuli could obtain a plentiful supply of forced labour, and as much material as he liked, the house could be restored to more than its pristine glories.

Another photograph taken by Madame de Beaumarchais pictures us pacing out the length of the walls of the house.

My note-book full of figures, I sat down again and dictated to El-Aoufi the following letter, which he wrote: "To the trusted and well-beloved Shereef, the learned Mulai Ahmed er-Raisuli, peace and the mercy of God be upon you; and acting on the instructions of their Governments, of which the letter I sent you yesterday will have given you full particulars, the British Minister and the French Charge d' Affaires have paid a visit to the ruins of your Kasbah. They have grieved much to see its piteous state. As you will have learned by the contents of my letter, it is the intention of their Governments not only to restore you to power but also to reconstruct your castle. To-day we are at Zinat, and we had the good fortune to find your faithful and intelligent deputy, my lord Ahmed el-Aoufi, and your followers, who have been of great use to us, and have shown us many things that have helped us, and have guarded us in security and peace from any bad people who may have been about. We are grateful. And my lord Ahmed el-Aoufi will tell you of many things which in our friendship for you we have confided to him. We will await at Tangier a reply to the letter I sent you yesterday, explaining fully those things, and immediately on receiving the reply measures will be taken to commence the restoration of your Kasbah; but it is trusted that you will not wait its completion before returning to your former position, for any delay will only protract the unsatisfactory state of affairs existing at present, and continue the nervousness of the population of Tangier and the oppression of the poor country people. My lord El-Aoufi will tell you all. May peace be with you."

To this epistle I put my signature, and not one pang of conscience did I feel, nor have felt since. Raisuli and I had played many games — only this one was a little bigger than the rest. To tell the truth, so far from feeling guilty, I literally revelled in my deception.

It was time to return to Tangier, and I confess I was nervous. I proposed to El-Aoufi that the others should start first, and that I should remain for a while and catch them up on the road. I wanted to spend, I said, a little while longer in his company — it was a pleasure so rare and so valued.

With a sigh of relief I saw the rest of our party mount. El-Aoufi shook hands with all of them and thanked them for their visit — and they rode slowly away. My fears were at an end.

I sat for half an hour, and explained to El-Aoufi that Raisuli would have already received my (perfectly imaginary) letter of yesterday which explained the whole situation, and that on his return to his chief in the mountains, some six or eight hours' journey farther on, he would find him fully informed. He (El-Aoufi) must, I added, have crossed my letter en route. Had he not met the messenger, whose name I gave? No! Well, then, he must have taken another track. My friends were now no more than little black specks far away in the plain. I rose and embraced El-

Aoufi, and in the manner of the country we kissed each other's shoulders. My horse was brought, and, cantering slowly down the slope, I rode away toward Tangier.

In spite of the deliberate series of falsehoods of which I had been guilty during those few hours, I never felt less conscience-stricken — and perhaps never happier — in my life.

I have seen Raisuli many times since the incident. He referred to ElAoufi, after a trial fight, as a lion of courage.

" There was no finer creature in God's world," I replied, " than the lion, but sometimes the wily jackal deceives him."

I noticed a little flash in Raisuli' s eye, but he answered languidly, " Verily the jackal is an unclean beast."

Sir Gerard Lowther, the Beaumarchais, Christopher Lowther, and I all dined together the night of our adventure, but we didn't talk very much about it. Our thankfulness for our escape was only equalled by our appreciation of our immense folly in having undertaken the expedition. We agreed that, if possible, the incident was to be kept a secret, but a few weeks later the ' Temps ' contained the whole story, which had leaked out from native sources and got to Paris.

I should have liked to have seen the interview of Raisuli and ElAoufi when the latter related the incident and gave him my letter. He fell from favour for a time, as might be expected, but he came to see me in Tangier a few months later. We did not mention the visit to Zinat, but discussed more general subjects. Talking of the good and bad qualities of mankind, El-Aoufi said, " The most degrading thing in the world is deceit," and he said it quite nastily.

" In my opinion there is something even more humiliating," I replied.

" That is? "

" To be made a fool of."

But we parted the best of friends.

III

ALTHOUGH, as will have been appreciated, my relations with Raisuli were varied and adventuresome, I bear him no grudge; and I think he always considered me as a friend, and I hope does so now. He has, on his visits to Tangier, often spent hours at a time in my house, discussing the many situations in the country and the varying attitudes of the mountain tribes. He had lost much of his former handsome appearance, having become heavy and stout, and his expression perhaps more cruel. He was always courteous and generally amusing, often in a very sarcastic cynical manner. He was full of his own importance, and seemed to realise that he was unique — which, perhaps happily, he certainly was.

On one occasion while at my house, he saw in a glass case an illuminated Koran of considerable artistic value, both on account of its antiquity and of its beauty. Now, the Moors cannot bear to see their religious books in the possession of Europeans, and Raisuli, without more ado, extracted the book from the vitrine, kissed it reverently, carefully wrapped it in a silk handkerchief, and placed it in the hands of one of his slaves.

He gave no explanation of his action, which, after all, needed no explanation. The conversation flowed on in other channels, and he never so much as mentioned the book. A little later he left — and so did my Koran.

I had two of these Korans, but the one which Raisuli had taken was much the finest, from the collector's point of view. The second copy was, however, newer and more brilliant in colour, and certainly would appear in the eyes of a Moor a more desirable acquisition, for to them antiquity is of no great account. This second copy Raisuli had not seen.

The next day I sent one of my Moors with it, wrapped in silk, to ask Raisuli whether he would be willing to restore me the one he had taken in exchange for this newer and far better preserved volume. The first copy, I informed him, perhaps not quite truly, had a very great personal interest to me, and I begged him to accept the second and restore me the older one. I hinted that the second was a much superior book. My man returned crestfallen and sad. His mission had failed. He brought me many friendly messages from Raisuli but no book, neither the first nor the second, for Raisuli had kept both. It was ex-/ asperating, but there was nothing to be done but to swear to be equal with him at some future time.

One morning, about a month later, I sent to him asking him to lend me two riding-mules with their saddles, for some friends of mine to ride on to a picnic — good pacing mules, as my friends were not accustomed to riding. Half an hour later two very fine mules, caparisoned in rich red saddles, arrived, led by Raisuli's slaves. I myself put them in my stable and turned the key. I then sent to Raisuli to say that when I had my books he could have his mules. One of his secretaries returned with my messenger, and after the usual compliments informed me that his master had instructed him to say that the books were invaluable, and that he could not restore them. The mules were mine, he added; in fact everything Raisuli possessed was mine — except, of course, the books — and if I required more mules or horses he could send me as many as I wished. He could easily have done so: he possessed dozens and dozens, if not hundreds, nearly all confiscated or extorted from the people of the country. They had cost him nothing to get, then they would therefore cost little to give.

My conscience smote me. My little trick appeared so mean beside this dignified magnificence and generosity of Raisuli. I offered to restore the mules, but he would not hear of it. They continued in my stables, and my friendship with their former owner flowed on undiminished and unchanged. I saw him often. Since the episode of the Koran, books have never been mentioned between us; now mules were also placed upon the Index. Never directly or indirectly in his conversations did we ever refer to the subject. Nor was my capture ever spoken of. Only once a tactless

European broached in the brigand chief's presence of my having been for some time at his stronghold at Zinat. With a pleasant smile Raisuli interposed: " My house is always at the disposal of my friends." Hospitality is innate in the Moorish character.

The giving and taking of presents was practised a great deal in the " old " Morocco, but it is now happily disappearing. It was always a great nuisance. One often gave away something one really wanted — and it was so difficult to replace anything — and got in return some perfectly useless acquisition. I have arrived back in Tangier after a long journey in the interior with half a dozen new horses, most of them neither good nor bad. I couldn't possibly ride them all, and they were only a very irksome expense and luxury. At first, and for a long time, I hesitated to adopt the custom of the country, and hand them on as presents to some one else. A feeling possessed me that gifts were " sacrosanct," and must be kept at all costs, and that the giver would be hurt in his feelings to learn that his present had been passed on. But in time I found that the donor didn't care the least what became of his presents, or ever give them a second thought.

One of the viziers once gave me an amber necklace of transparent cut beads. He said the Sultan had given it to him, and that His Majesty had received it from a high official from the southern capital. A few years afterwards I gave it to a young European lady about to be married, as a wedding present, to find out that it had been her father who had brought it to Morocco — as looking much more expensive than it really was — and had given it to one of the tribal Governors in return for something else. It had travelled all over Morocco, but got home at last to where it had started from, to meet with no appreciation. We laughed over the history of the necklace, and the damsel got another present in exchange. My amber beads now deck the fair throat — if she ever wears them — of a beautiful and distinguished lady far away from Morocco.

My stables were often full to overflowing, and were a very great strain upon my resources, until I steeled my heart and gave the horses away as they came in. But unfortunately it was not horses the Moorish authorities wanted: they had already too many. No, it was one's watch or one's shot-gun, or a sporting-rifle, or a barometer or field-glasses that they always set their hearts upon — something rare and impossible to procure or replace in the country. Nor were one's troubles over when the exchange of presents was accomplished, for there were the numberless tips that had to be given. A horse would be brought, led by a slave and accompanied by the chief of the stables and two grooms — and they had to be satisfied. Then probably the son of the donor would pay a visit to my camp and express a sudden and intense desire to be possessed of my shot-gun or my watch-chain; and when he had left, satisfied perhaps with a less costly present from a box of objects brought for the purpose, the secretary of his father would arrive to apologise for the son's rudeness, and to say that he would be punished by his father for having ventured to ask for anything. He would sing the praises of my recentlyacquired horse. Then a tone of sadness would be adopted. He was a poor man; he had had troubles. He wouldn't have breathed of it to another, not if lions' teeth were tearing his entrails; but he felt that the bond of sympathy between us was so close that — and then came out a long story, perfectly untrue of course, of the meanness of his employer, and of his unpaid salary, &c. He could keep his secret no longer, he must tell it, and with tears in his eyes he would beg for a sum of money, generally modest enough. However, there was always scope for bargaining, and his demands would diminish, till eventually he would go away with a few coins in ecstasy of pretended gratitude. Accepting the hospitality of the great chiefs was only a little less costly, and a night's entertainment by some dignitary or governor of a tribe was often both tiring and expensive. It meant a succession of visits to one's camp on the part of a host of inquisitive people, most of whom wanted something. There were the guards too, who were specially given one to keep away these inquisitive people, but who, in fact, only added to their number. These guards expected payment for the duties they so signally failed in accomplishing. Then great quantities of food were sent by the high official — living fowls, a live sheep, loaves of sugar, packets of tea, barley for the horses, and these commodities, supplied in abundance that was as extravagant as it was irksome, necessitated unending tips in exchange. It took three men, for instance, to lead the sheep, and a slave to carry each fowl — and one and all waited their pourboires before departing. Then at dinner-time — generally it was so late that it was nearly midnight — great dishes of cooked food would arrive — and very excellent they were — and probably the great man himself and some of his household would invite themselves to the dinner they had so amply provided. It was nearly always very tiring, and always very late before sleep could be obtained. Once in a way it was pleasant enough, and I can look back upon many and many a night spent in this way in feasting with the great men of the land, the memory of which is very pleasant. No food was wasted, for the sheep and chickens were killed and the retainers and slaves came and helped in the camp-kitchen, and brought great earthen pots and pans for the cooking — and sat and sang and ate the whole night through. On the outskirts of the camp would collect the poor, and these were never forgotten.

I have travelled in China and Japan, in Persia, Arabia, and Abyssinia, and in many parts of North Africa, Turkey in Asia and Syria, but " old " Morocco was by far the most expensive to travel in. There were absolutely no facilities — no caravanserais to put up in, and all food and sometimes fodder and fuel had to be carried with one. Nothing but a sheep and chickens could be

[Photo by A uthot MY CARAVAN CROSSING THE ATLAS. bought on the road, even one's bread had to be transported or cooked in camp. The purchase or hire of caravan animals was always heavy, and sometimes exorbitant. Tips were excessive. Only at the towns at long distances apart could any stores be replenished, and in the inland cities, beyond tea, sugar, and candles, nothing else was procurable. In spring-time butter could be bought, but even if it was procurable at other periods of the year it was always the preserved " smin " with its strong taste and smell. I have never yet discovered the reason that rendered travel so difficult and so expensive. The bad Government no doubt had much to do with it, for there was actually not only no incentive to the people to prosper and breed animals, but on the contrary to be rich or even fairly well-to-do rendered the native liable to arrest, confiscation of his property, and perhaps total disappearance. Yet the Moor has been always thrifty, ready to turn his hand to work, and still more ready to earn money. In spite of this, it was often difficult even in the big centres to collect caravan mules for a journey, and then hire was often exorbitant.

I am writing of journeys in which I travelled as a European with a large camp, often alone, sometimes in the company of friends, when all the rigid etiquette and formality of visits to the Kaids and local authorities had to be paid. But there were other journeys when, with half a dozen mules of my own, and my own men with me, a few good horses, and tents of less pretensions and native in character, I wandered through the country alone and in native clothes, for months and months together. Those were the great days: long almost objectless journeys, wandering whither the desire led me — now to the cities of Wazzan, Fez, or Marrakesh, now on the borders of the snows of the Great Atlas. Unless actually exploring, as on my Tafilet journey, I never, of course, pretended to pass as a native; but the fact of the Moorish dress kept away the inquisitive people, and even reduced the constant demands that were made upon one's purse. It rendered life much more pleasant. Instead of pitching one's camp outside the great men's castles, I was invited to stay within, generally in a little guest apartment of two or three rooms, and the masses of unnecessary food were reduced to pleasant meals with one's host. To the Moor " Christian " clothes and a hat on one's head meant the most formal of relations, while once these were discarded I was accepted in intimacy.

The latest visit that I have paid to Raisuli was about eight years ago, when he was building his palace at Arzeila. I was accompanied by a young niece, who had come on a short visit to Tangier, and by a girl friend of hers. I thought nothing could be more amusing for two English girls than to pay a visit to the famous brigand at the little old walled town of Arzeila, with the remains of its old Portuguese castle and bastions. A zest was added to this visit by the disapproval it occasioned amongst my friends. It was late at night when we reached Raisuli's camp, for he had come some way to meet us. A tidal river had delayed us, and we had sat on its banks waiting for the water to descend, until after dark. It was with a sigh of relief that I saw the lights and fires of the camp, for the night was pitch dark, and our horses — stallions, of course, for no one rides anything else in Morocco — had become very excited from the proximity of numerous mares, invisible in the blackness of the night.

We found Raisuli in his great tent, a circular canvas pavilion some twenty-five feet in diameter, with high walls and a lofty roof. An immense square pillar, rather than a pole, supported the great weight, for the whole tent was lined throughout with heavy and very expensive dark-green cloth. The outside of the tent was of white canvas decorated in designs of indigo blue material, appliqued to the canvas.

While our tents were being pitched we dined in Raisuli's pavilion. The famous brigand was accompanied by a certain number of his friends and secretaries, while an ex-high native official had also arrived on a visit the same day, to take part in the hunting we were to be offered. My niece, her friend, and myself were, of course, the only Europeans. Tall highly-polished brass candlesticks, bearing large candles, stood on trays of the same material, and sufficed to light the tent and to illumine the faces of the guards of mountaineers and the black slaves who stood or squatted in groups without the door, ready to do their master's bidding. A number of smaller tents were pitched in a great semicircle, of which the apex was formed by Raisuli's pavilion.

Seated on luxurious mattresses, which were arranged all round the walls of the great tent, we were served with dishes of cooked meats, green tea, with its flavouring mint and herbs, and coffee.

The following day we rode on to Arzeila. Raisuli's retinue, a couple of hundred of mountaineers, spread themselves out in a long line and hunted as they went, with horse and gun and greyhound, and sticks and even stones — singing and shouting the whole time.

On our arrival we were invited by our host either to take up our residence in a house in the little town which had been furnished and prepared for us, or in a vast camp that had been pitched for our reception near the sea-shore, and within two hundred yards of the Atlantic breakers. We chose the latter, for the outskirts of Arzeila form one of the most delightful camping-grounds in Morocco.

On our left lay the old town, with its frowning towers and battlements rising above the oliveand orange-trees of the surrounding gardens. In front the soft green grass sloped gently to the yellow sands and the great expanse of ocean, while behind us rose undulating grassy hills. The camp buzzed with life: soldiers in uniform, slaves and servants passed and repassed, and a long line of some forty horses, tethered by their feet in the custom of the country, were at our disposal should we want to ride other horses than our own. Food, dead and alive, poured into the camp — it seemed one perpetual procession of great cooked dishes and flocks of sheep and crates of chickens and pigeons. A native band discoursed shrill music at all the most inconvenient hours of day and night.

Raisuli was the best of hosts, and in excellent spirits. Amongst other entertainments that he offered us was a luncheon to my niece, her friend, and myself, served in an upper room on one of the high towers that overhung the sea. With the sweetest of smiles, and in a most successful endeavour to interest his young lady guests, if not to amuse them, he pointed out one of the windows of the room — an old embrasure in the walls — through which at the point of the bayonet he and his men had driven the late Governor of the town, the Kaid Khalkhali, to fall forty feet on to the rocks beneath, only a short time before. The past history of one's hosts at Moorish entertainments added a piquant flavour to the repasts. In Morocco one mustn't be too critical, and it was seldom one dined with any great native authority in the country who had not a record behind him that would have outdone Newgate's historic annals. Thank God, those days are over. The advent of the French has put an end to the period that was really terrible. Yet when one lived amongst these ^ great crimes — the sudden appearances and disappearances, the midnight burials in desert places, the carrying off of women; hate, love, revenge, and now and again some great unselfishness — the exaggeration, in fact, of all qualities and all sentiments good and bad, — one ceased to wonder. Whole families would fall — in wealth and luxury to-day, and gone to-morrow — to rise again perhaps a generation later, and carry on the blood-feud of revenge and hate — or perhaps, generally unwisely, to forgive.

IV

As has already been stated, one of the terms for the release of Kaid Maclean demanded by Eaisuli and complied with by the British Government was his being made a British protected subject, which status put him outside the jurisdiction of the Sultan, and rendered him amenable to British law. It was a humiliating sacrifice for His Majesty's Government to have to make, but there was no way out of it. Raisuli might have perhaps been persuaded to abandon the £20,000 that he received in cash, but never this other clause of the terms. Freed thus from fear of arrest by the Sultan, he took to a more regular life, and began the construction of his great residence at Arzeila. It must be added, that pending the period during which he enjoyed British protection he committed no crimes that we know of more than those of extortion from the tribes — and no doubt certain cruelties. It was fortunate that the suffering tribesmen did not complain to the British authorities, as it would have been difficult even to summon Raisuli to appear in the Tangier Consular Court — and still more difficult to have got him there.

While Raisuli was living quietly at Arzeila, if being visited by all the neighbouring tribesmen and living in a turmoil of building can be so described, affairs elsewhere in Morocco were seething. In 1908 Mulai Abdul Aziz, defeated with his army in the south, abdicated, and Mulai Hafid seized the throne. After a long and dangerous journey the new Sultan installed himself at Fez. Raisuli felt that his chance had come. He had helped in the overthrow of Mulai Abdul Aziz, and had been one of the first to proclaim Mulai Hafid in the north; and, ambitious by nature, he wished once more to play a part, and a great one, in the new regime. Secret negotiations were opened between him and Mulai Hafid, which ended in a visit to the Court at Fez. The tussle that ensued was most interesting. I was in Fez, and in constant touch with both the parties interested, during the negotiations. Of the two, Mulai Hafid was the shrewdest. He had more patience and more cunning than Raisuli, though he too was by no means lacking in this latter useful oriental characteristic. The brigand chief had come to Fez full of the importance of his power and influence, but he did not realise that at the educated and civilised Court he was looked upon as little more than a very successful robber, who nevertheless was recognised as a danger and a thorn in the Sultan's side. His reception by Mulai Hafid was not cordial, in fact he was kept waiting for some time before he could obtain an audience. The viziers were polite — and barely that. Raisuli, installed in a very palatial residence in the city, was bored. He longed to get back to the north, where he reigned supreme, and to be quit of Fez, where he was suspicious of lurking danger, and considered as a person of no great consequence. But Mulai Hafid purposely let the negotiations drag on, and Raisuli had great difficulty in obtaining audiences of his Sovereign — and even when arranged they were continually postponed. At last, weary of so much delay, he began to act, and to Mulai Hafid' s annoyance, affairs in the northern tribes began to go badly. There were rumours of a likelihood of Mulai Abdul Aziz being proclaimed again, and the tribes were getting out of hand. Raisuli was the only man who could exert real influence in those regions, and both the Sultan and he knew it. I was consulted by both, and as the peace of the country was more important than these local quarrels in Fez, I strongly advised both to come to terms. They did. Raisuli was appointed Governor over practically all the tribes of NorthWest Morocco, with the exception of Tangier and its surrounding district; but before receiving this appointment he was forced to abandon his British protection, for by the law of the land no " protected subject " could hold a Maghzen appointment. He was also called upon to refund the £20,000 which the British Government had paid him for Kaid Maclean's release.

So far Mulai Hafid had scored, for the British Government was pressing him, as Sultan, for the repayment of Maclean's ransom, which had been advanced to the impecunious Maghzen, unable to raise the sum. At the same time, in abandoning his British protection, Raisuli became amenable once more to Moorish law and jurisdiction; and Mulai Hafid, who hoped to be able to consolidate his sovereignty in the north, foresaw the possibilities of being able some day to rid himself of this chieftain if he became too troublesome. Raisuli, on the contrary, knew that within a few months he could easily repay himself the £20,000 out of the tribes he was now appointed to govern, and he was sufficiently sure of his own influence and power to fear no possible reprisals on the part of the Sultan. He promised devoted loyalty, but had already determined on absolute independence. Having satisfied the Sultan and given considerable presents in money to the viziers, he left Fez for the north — and has never returned to the capital since.

It must be acknowledged that during the four years that Raisuli was Governor of these northern tribes he maintained order in the region. The roads were open to caravan traffic, and robberies were rare. But it was a government of terror and extortion. His prestige was enormous, and he exerted it to its full. The tribes brought everything that he demanded — and he demanded much. Money poured into his coffers; labour they supplied free. Caravans of lime and building material came in endless array to Arzeila, and the great house rose tier above tier over the seawalls of the town. He built residences, too, at Zinat and at Tazerout, in the Beni Aros tribe.

His stables were filled with horses and mules, for which he paid little or nothing. He entertained hospitably — in fact, kept open house, as is the custom of the country. But behind all was the cruel iron will and the heavy hand, and thousands who might have been free obeyed him as if hypnotised, and brought their little all to him, generally to be told to go back and bring more. Half revered, half feared; a little loved and perhaps entirely unhated — for no one dared to hate him, — Raisuli ruled the tribes of NorthWest Morocco, and treated them as slaves. His principal enemy at this time was the Kaid er-Remiki, who had offered his services to Spain, and had organised the pretended attack on Alcazar, which gave the Spaniards the excuse for occupying that town in 1911. Remiki was a German agent, even in those days, and he and his family's actions had long been suspect. His relations with Raisuli were strained, for the mountain brigand saw in this leader of the plains — for Remiki was Kaid of the Khlot tribe — a possible rival. His presence, too, with the Spaniards, and the aid he was openly giving them, drove Raisuli still further into a spirit of independence and opposition; but as time went on and the Spanish troops occupied the plains round Alcazar, Raisuli saw his position — or at least his property — threatened, for he owns very considerable estates in those regions. Spanish attempts at opening negotiations with him failed for a considerable time, but at last a modus vivendi was arrived at, which at first seemed successful. A permanent understanding between Raisuli and the Spanish authorities was, however, more than could be hoped for — both were overwhelmed by an exaggerated sense ^fjirrcrmr pwpraf and neither understood, nor desired to understand, the mentality of the other. Raisuli was ready to be friendly so long as his independence was not interfered with; the Spaniards were also prepared to be friendly so long as Raisuli did not exert this very independence that he claimed and insisted upon. The result was constant friction. Nor was the situation rendered easier by the fact that the methods being adopted by the Spanish civil authorities were completely at variance with those of the military chiefs, for neither consulted^ the other. A good deal of the correspondence which passed between the Spaniards and Raisuli at this date came into my hands. It is of no very particular interest except in showing the totally opposed objects and ends of the Spanish military and civil authorities. Things even went so far that measures were taken by certain military authorities to bring about the " disappearance " of Raisuli. The accident was to have taken place while he was en route to pay a visit to the Spanish civil authorities at Tangier with the idea of arranging a visit to Madrid. The Spanish Legation at Tangier was, of course, completely ignorant of this plot, and had given a safe-conduct to Raisuli. It only reached the ears of the Spanish Charge d' Affaires at almost the last moment. There was just time to send a native runner to Raisuli to warn him not to start on this journey, which would certainly not have passed without a probably fatal incident. The Spanish authorities at Tangier behaved, as might have been expected, with great promptitude and correctness. The fact was that the jealousy existing between the Spanish military authorities.at Laraiche and the Spanish representative at Tangier was such that neither knew what the other was doing or proposing to do. While General Silvestre, who commanded the Spanish troops at Laraiche, was pursuing an energetic policy, and foresaw, rightly, the difficulties that Raisuli's presence and attitude would cause Spain in the future, the Spanish Legation at Tangier was, on the contrary, in favour of making terms with the brigand, and using him in furtherance of Spanish aims and ambitions. Either policy, if skilfully applied, would probably have been successful, but both put into action at the same moment did not tend to allay Raisuli's suspicions. Eventually he came to Tangier, where at least this time his life was safe; and while he was actually negotiating with Madrid, the military authorities at Laraiche, exasperated by the difficulties put in their way ^jiisintrigues, confiscated his properties and broke off all relations with him.

Raisuli was once more an outlaw, and took to the mountains. His one object — his one desire — became to make the Spaniards restore his property and to have revenge. It was not long before his schemes took form, and the Spanish troops and military " posts " received no rest. There was constant murder, and constant theft and " sniping," and attacks and alarms at night. Civilians, too, suffered, for any and every Spaniard was an object of Raisuli's wrath and vengeance.

The brigand's attitude with regard to Spaniards had never been a secret. He may have cordially disliked subjects of the other Powers of Europe, but the inhabitants of the Peninsula he despised. During the latter period of his outlawry, when he was threatened with attack by the Sultan's troops, he had ordered his followers to " capture a Christian " as a hostage. It was no easy matter, for precaution had been taken at Tangier; but one day a band of his men chanced upon a little caravan of Spanish workmen en route from Tetuan to Tangier. They were promptly seized, and a messenger was hurriedly sent to Raisuli to announce that some " Christians " had been taken. The brigand chief was at this moment in the Beni Msaour Mountains, and thither the captives were despatched. When he saw them he waxed exceeding wroth, and turning to his men, he shouted, " I ordered you to capture me ' Christians ' and you bringjne Spaniards " — and promptly let them go. He knew by experience that the terms he could extract from Spain for the ransom of half a dozen jjoor Spaniards would be small indeed. In a former case in which two Spaniards, a boy and a girl, had been captured from Arzeila, they had both been killed by the brigands owing to the unfortunate manner in which the negotiations had been opened by the authorities. In later years, however, since the occupation of Tetuan by the Spaniards, the mountain tribes have engaged profitably in local brigandage. They know the exact value of a Spanish soldier or non-commissioned officer, and a Spanish civilian, man or woman, and the price that they can extort without apparently running any risk of eventual punishment. There were several cases of such brigandage in 1919-20, in some cases accompanied by murder.

Raisuli's attitude toward the Spanish authorities and troops caused great anxiety in Spain. The public fretted at the continual loss of life which his resistance to the Spanish occupation of the country occasioned, and General Silvestre, who commanded the troops at Laraiche, was recalled. Negotiations were once more entered into with Eaisuli. The terms he demanded and received were extortionate; but Spanish public opinion and the Madrid press demanded a termination to the constant and often heavy losses that the troops were suffering. His terms had to be accepted. He received a little native army of his own, to be paid and armed by Spain, a large monthly stipend, and a host of minor favours. He became practically dictator of the north-western part of the Spanish zone, governing Spaniard and Moor alike. His own " zone " was clearly demarcated, and woe betide any Spaniard who attempted to pass his frontier and enter the country under his jurisdiction. The roads were closed, and there was insecurity under the very walls of Ceuta and Tetuan.

Raisuli was an agent of the Germans long before the war. He had made contracts with the famous Mannesman!! Brothers with reference to mining in the mountain districts, which practically closed those regions to other nationalities and other companies. When war broke out he continued his friendly relations with the German Consuls at Tetuan and Laraiche, and with the many German secret agents that the Spanish zone harboured. Under their guidance he gave active assistance to German criminal intrigue and propaganda, and was in direct relations with the German Embassy at Madrid. The ' Times ' of 3rd September 1918 published a translation of a letter from the German Embassy to Raisuli, which contained amongst other things a definite promise of arms and ammunition.

To those who have no personal knowledge of the mountain tribes of Morocco, the perpetual state of anarchy in which they live, the oppression by their lawful and unlawful chiefs, the revenge and murder must seem incredible.

In the An j era tribe in the early years of this century there were two great families, the Deilans and the Duas. Both were amongst my intimate friends. I had been — always dressed as a native and always received as a welcome guest — at the weddings of several of the Sheikh Deilan's sons in their village on the mountain-tops, where hundreds of the tribesmen would be collected spending the moonlight nights in feasting and singing, for the time of full moon, and generally late spring, summer, or early autumn were chosen for these festivities. What wonderful nights they were! On the most level spot that could be found \ in the neighbourhood of the village the mountaineers would congregate, leaving an open circular space in their centre, with vacant " aisles " in the closely-gathered throng radiating into the crowd. To the music of shrill pipes and drums — wild exhilarating music to those who have learned to appreciate it — the dancers, trained boys, would take up their stand in the centre and slowly at first, then faster, begin to dance. These mountain dances have nothing in common with the ordinary oriental dance that is witnessed in the towns and in the plains. There is none of the inartistic and suggestive wriggling that to the European point of view is so ungraceful. Dressed in long loose white garments, almost reaching to their feet, with flowing sleeves held back by cords of coloured silk, and with a small scarf thrown over the head so as to half veil the face, the youths moved gracefully in and out, each dancing alone, and yet fitting his dance into a plan of concerted movement.

The mountain dancing begins by the performers standing motionless for a few moments, the head thrown back, and the arms loosely falling to the side. Then, to the time of the music, there is a sudden quick movement of the feet — a little soft stamping — but without the least motion of the body. As the musicians increase their energy the dancer's body takes life. The movement of the feet is accentuated, and suddenly he glides forward toward his audience, with outstretched arms, raising the scarf from the face for a moment, and then once more the body becomes motionless. But, as if against his will, the music conquers him. The movements become more general. The feet are raised higher from the ground, and the dancer gyrates and falls on one knee, rises again and glides, holding the body almost motionless, up the empty aisles that lie open between the sections of the crowd. Never is the graceful posing abandoned; the veil, now half raised, now drawn down again, the little tremble of the shoulders and the gliding movement of the feet — all has a charm and artistic merit. Every now and again, with a quick turning movement of the body, which sends the loose folds of the long white garment floating round him, the dancer falls on one knee before one of the guests, and, removing the veil, awaits the pressing of a silver coin upon his forehead, and to receive the exaggerated and poetical compliments of the donor. There is one movement in these dances which is admirable, though there are few who can accomplish it, for it means a complete subjection and training of the muscles. The dancer suddenly stands erect with outstretched arms, the head thrown back. Then from his feet up a little trembling — a little shudder, as it were — passes up the body, to die away in the tips of the fingers of the outstretched hands. In its upward movement each portion of the limbs and body trembles alone; the rest is motionless, and even the trembling is so delicate that it might pass almost unperceived. The rigidity of the body is undisturbed, and one feels rather than sees this ascending " nervous thrill " which illumines the figure, as though giving life to a statue.

But I digress. The Deilans and the Duas were the great families of the An j era tribe. Of the two the Deilans were the most powerful, for the old Sheikh had many sons and nephews and kinsfolk. Naturally the eternal jealousy arose, and ended in an open quarrel. For a time the two families lived apart, but in the end a reconciliation was arranged. Deilan and his family visited Duas to partake of a great feast to celebrate the termination of their quarrel. While seated over the steaming savoury dishes in the courtyard of Duas's house a signal was given, and Deilan and his sons were shot, many of his retainers also falling victims to the carefully-prepared treachery. For a time Duas was undisputed chief of the tribe in his stronghold on the very summit of a mountain. I had been a prisoner in this house not long before for a few days — during the latter part of the time when I was taken by Raisuli — and my recollection of Duas, whom I knew well, and of his household is a pleasant one. I was treated not only with respect but also with great friendliness, and my time of captivity was rendered as easy and as pleasant as possible.

Then, a little later, the Duas family began to pay the penalty of their treachery and murder. One by one they were " sniped " and died. Sometimes it was by day, sometimes by night, but always a well-directed and unfailing bullet from a Mauser rifle, fired from the rocks or brushwood. Then came the turn of Duas himself. He was riding a mule on his way to a local market surrounded by his retainers. The bullet seemed to avoid his men, and found its mark in their chief. He fell dead. And so the blood-feud went on, carried out by one man alone. He was a nephew of the Sheikh Deilan, by name Ben Ahmed, who had escaped the massacre at Duas's house. I knew him well — a handsome young man, not knowing what fear meant and sworn to revenge. He was shot at last, but he had killed Duas and eleven members of his family. The names of Duas and Deilan are already almost forgotten in the An j era. If any members of the families still live they have fallen to the unimportance of ordinary tribesmen, and others have arisen in their place.

Of one other Anjera chief a few words must be said. Of all my friends amongst the mountaineers he was the one whose friendship I most valued and appreciated. Sid El Arbi bel Aysh was a member of an important Shereefian family of the Anjera, and a direct descendant of the Prophet Mohammed, and a brigand as well — the two professions so often go together in Morocco! Of undoubted courage — the Spaniards gave him the name of " Valiente " — he had taken part in many tribal fights, and once, with a handful of his followers, had held his mountain fastness against several hundred tribesmen. His aim was unerring, and woe betide the man at whom he shot. Up to the end of his short life — he was killed in 1915 — he was a constant visitor of my house, coming regularly from his mountain home to spend a week or so at Tangier. He won the heart of every one he met — a brigand perhaps, but a brigand against whom no accusation of cruelty was ever made. With the hereditary manner of a chief whose family originated 1300 years ago with the Prophet Mohammed, with a presence of much grace and manly beauty, with a voice that charmed and a personality that attracted, Sid El Arbi bel Aysh was the perfect type of Moroccan mountaineer gentleman. His open smile, his good-natured wit, rendered him a persona grata everywhere, and nowhere was he more welcome than in my house.

Sid El Arbi's moral courage was as great as hik physical courage, for he held himself aloof froni all his tribe when in 1913 they declared war on the Spaniards. For a long time he refused to fight, though thereby endangering his own life, for his fellow-tribesmen at one moment meditated his assassination on this account. Unfortunately, however, the Spaniards did not appreciate his action, nor know how to turn it to their benefit; and yet he was perhaps the only loyal friend upon whom they could have counted in the Anjera. In the question of a sale of some of his lands, with the accompanying water rights, to the Spanish authorities of Ceuta, he was treated in a manner that is best left undescribed. Briefly, he never received but a small portion of the purchase price.

Every advantage had been taken of his goodwill to bargain over the transaction till the sum agreed upon was preposterously small, and even most of that he never got. Exasperated at this treatment, and urged by the gibes of his tribesmen, he eventually took up arms against the Spaniards. A very few weeks later he was killed in battle, struck down by a fragment of a shell.

Shortly before his death I had arranged an interview between him and a high Spanish authority, in the hopes of bringing about a reconciliation and of obtaining Sid El Arbi bel Aysh's influence in the interests of peace. Unfortunately the Spanish official did not realise that he was dealing not only with a powerful young chieftain but also with a member of one of the oldest families in Morocco — and, moreover, a gentleman. With a want of tact that amounted almost to insult, the Spaniard asked Sid El Arbi whether the real reason of his taking up arms against them was because his wives had stigmatised him as a coward and had rendered his life unbearable at home. In Moslem countries one does not talk to a man of his women, but Sid El Arbi laughed and replied, " No, that was scarcely the reason."

" I suppose they called you a ' coward ' and a 6 Christian ' for not taking up arms against us? " continued the unfortunate Spaniard.

I tried my best to change the conversation into other channels, but it was too late. Again Sid El Arbi laughed.

" No," he replied again, " it was not that. All the world knows I am not a coward, and some of my best friends are Christians."

" Then what made you fight us? "

" I will teU you," said Sid El Arbi, still smiling, but very angry. " I bore all the gibes till one day, in desperation, I was called a ' Spaniard.' That insult was more than human nature could bear., _ From that moment I have been at war with you." Still smiling, Sid El Arbi rose, and, breaking off his interview before its object had been reached, bade adieu to our host and left the house.

It was the final straw. He returned to the An j era, and died fighting a short time after.

The occupation of Tetuan by the Spaniards in 1912 putanend to all travel in the mountains of NorthWest Morocco, where in the past I had spent so many pleasant months, fishing for trout and shooting. A few months before the Spanish troops entered the town the roads were still safe, and English ladies rode alone over the forty-twomile track that led from that town to Tangier. But nowadays the tribes have completely changed in character, for they have become distrustful, and are always at war. As late as the spring of 1912 Sir Reginald Lister, who was British Minister to Morocco — he died, alas! in November the same year — and I made several excursions overland to Tetuan unaccompanied by any one except our grooms. Often a mounted soldier of the police would start with us, but we always left him far behind, and no doubt he would turn back. Sir Reginald had bought and restored a delightful little Moorish house in Tetuan, and there we spent our week-ends. We would leave Tangier at eight in the morning, and arrive at Tetuan at three in the afternoon, with an hour for lunch en route: not bad going, for the distance is forty-two miles, and the road in many places a mere stony track. Sometimes, if the going was heavy, we changed horses half - way, but as a rule I rode one horse right through. From Tetuan, delightfully situated overlooking the wide valley, with its background of rugged peaks, we would make excursions to the country round, with merely a man who knew the country as a guide and our grooms. Leaving early in the mornings, we rode to the mountain villages, to meet everywhere with the kindest of welcomes from the people. Some of these villages had seldom— and perhaps never — been visited by Europeans, and our coming caused much interest. At times the tracks were too rough for our horses, and we would leave them in charge of our men, and scramble up the rocks to the little groups of thatched huts that seemed to hang to the mountain-side. The views were always beautiful, often extending over the who]e Straits of Gibraltar, which seemed but a narrow stream dividing the rugged mountains of Africa from Europe.

Then came the Spanish occupation, and the closing of all this country. With all the troops at their disposal, it took several years before these villages were reached. The mountains, where many Europeans used to camp and shoot in perfect security, are as difficult of access to-day as the wildest regions of Central Africa, and far more unsafe. While in the French Protectorate immense regions, unexplored until the advent of the French, can be travelled in perfect security — often by train or motor — the advent of the Spaniards has, on the contrary, tended to close the greater part of the zone which lies under their influence, many parts of which were formerly open to travellers and sportsmen.

It need not have been so. At first things went tolerably well, but want of knowledge of the natives and their ways, wflntof tact, and want of generosity quickly brought about misunderstandings, with the result which exists to-day — a total absence of security, constant aggression, and little accomplished.

Throughout the whole period of the war Raisuli maintained this pro-German attitude. He possessed at the ftflinf fiTYiPf.frp a.hanlnffi npnfirlAnoA^ of the Spanish Government, which supplied him/,, with almost unlimited sums of money, with rifles and ammunition, and with uniforms for his native troops and foodstuffs to feed them. Any one who, from knowledge of the situation or of the man, ventured to express an opinion that Raisuli' s sentiments toward Spain might be open to doubt, was assailed by official denunciations and press attacks from Madrid. Yet the situation was perfectly clear. Raisuli was gaining time. He was increasing his wealth and his means of resistance — if the situation should require resistance — and gave little or no thought to any one or anything except himself and his own future. I sent to him once during the war and asked him whether it was true he was taking German money. He evaded my question in his answer. He replied, " If the British or French, or any other nation have money to give away, I will willingly accept it — the more the better."

He worked in the interests of Germany because he was paid to do so, just as he would have worked in the interests of any other country under similar circumstances. When Raisuli realised the results of the war, and the rejoicings for the signature of peace were being held at Tangier — it was on 14th July 1919, — Raisuli sent to me to say that he too was keeping the peace by having massacred a few hundred Spaniards. He congratulated France and England, he said, on having got rid of Germany, and would himself rid the Allies " of another enemy, Spain." So much for his German proclivities.

At the end of the war the condition of affairs in the Spanish zone was frankly impossible, from every one's point of view. The Spaniards had put their money on the wrong horse; the Allies had won, and Madrid had to explain away the evil purposes to which the Spanish Government had allowed its zone in Morocco to be put — and it was not an easy explanation. Too late they began to expel the German spies and to put down the intrigue that had been allowed practically free scope up to then. Nor was Spain's own position in her zone a pleasant one. Even the Spanish

High Commissioner was to all intents and purposes under Raisuli's orders, and no Spaniard could travel in a great part of their zone without a special passport from the brigand chief. One or two who ventured to do so disappeared, and nothing more was heard of them.

At last public opinion in Spain revolted. Raisuli had received millions of pesetas of good Spanish money for which he had rendered no services, unless the prevention of Spanish occupation of the country can be considered as a service. General Jordana, the Spanish High Commissioner, died suddenly in Tetuan, and the Spanish Government decided upon taking action. What amounted to an ultimatum was sent to Raisuli — and disregarded — and a crisis arose. General Berenguer, an able Spanish general with considerable knowledge of Morocco, was appointed Spanish High Commissioner, and successfully inaugurated his period of office by winning over the large and important Anjera tribe to the side of Spain. But even he made too sure of success, and a few days after he had made a declaration to the " Press " stating that there would be no more fighting in Morocco, the Spanish forces received a very severe check at the hands of Raisuli. The series of combats of Wad Ras, began on llth July, and lasted till 13th July 1919. The Spanish authorities made every attempt to hide the truth of what had occurred, but failed. All the assistance, all the money, and all the arms the Spaniards had for five years been giving to Raisuli were now turned against the donors, as any one who really knew the situation had long realised must ultimately be the case. The small Spanish force operating on the north crests of the Wad Ras hills, about twenty miles from Tangier, was practically cut to pieces. The losses have never been published, but I have every reason to believe that they were about 300 killed and probably 1000 wounded. There were no prisoners, and the Spanish wounded were massacred to a man. Not only were Raisuli's forces, thanks to the generosity of the very people he was attacking, well armed, but they were also possessed of Spanish uniforms, disguised in which they were able to massacre a column of over 170 soldiers. To add to the horrors of this episode, Raisuli's tribesmen came provided with handgrenades and asphyxiating bombs. This disaster — for, whatever the Spaniards may assert, it was a disaster — led to fresh revelations. The hospitals were reported to be in a shocking state of neglect; there were no beds for the wounded, and complete disorganisation in every department.

The Spanish Government at last realised that something must be done, or a continuance of the policy hitherto pursued would soon prove fatal to Spanish prestige, not only in Morocco but also in Europe. The general responsible for the fateful incidents of July was dismissed, and General Silvestre, a well-known enemy of Raisuli, was sent from Spain to take command. Vast quantities of material were shipped to Africa, including aeroplanes, tanks, artillery, rifles and ammunition, and, happily, hospital necessaries in sufficient quantities. In two months from the critical days of July the Spanish army in Morocco was prepared once more to advance and to drive Raisuli from his mountain strongholds.

The new campaign began on 27th September 1919. Twelve thousand Spanish troops were collected to form the principal columns which were to encircle the Fondak of Wad Ras, whence Raisuli held the road leading from Tangier to Tetuan. In former days this road was open to traffic, and parties of lady tourists often rode from Tangier to Tetuan accompanied only by a native guide. Since the occupation of Tetuan by the Spaniards, Raisuli had closed this track to all but natives. Its importance to the Spaniards was paramount, for it forms the one direct means of communication between the district of Tetuan and of Laraiche on the Atlantic coast. As long as Raisuli held the Fondak no communication was possible, and to proceed from one town to another in the Spanish zone the only means was by sea. The Spanish forces advanced with caution. Raisuli's tribesmen offered no great resistance. They were powerless in the presence of the immense war material the Spaniards had lately brought to the scene of action. Artillery and aeroplanes harassed them. Shells and bombs burnt their villages, and killed their women and children. The odds were too great. For a moment the operations were checked by a small revolt of native troops behind the Spanish lines. Spanish officers and men were massacred; but the mutiny was suppressed, and the columns, attacking from three directions, drew near the Fondak.

On Saturday, 4th October, there remained only a very few kilometres, and the Spanish troops had already begun the ascent of the slopes leading up to the Fondak. On Sunday morning the surrounding brush-covered hills were heavily bombarded, and the troops advanced on the last stage of their march, burning everything that would burn en route. From the hills above Tangier I could see the bursting shells, the explosions of falling bombs, the ruthless destruction of villages by fire — in fact, the ruining of hundreds of families and the rendering desolate dozens of homes, which marks the introduction of civilisation into this part of Morocco.

And somewhere on those mountain-tops Raisuli saw it too, and as he never forgot or forgave the destruction of his castle at Zinat, so he will never forget or forgive this last campaign. He may be impotent to fight a force numerically more than twice his own, and armed with every modern and hideous appliance of war, but, if I know his character and his warfare, he will wage a guerilla campaign of midnight attack and murder that will last long and prove costly in its toll of lives amongst the invaders of his country.

The solution rests with the Spaniards. If they bring prosperity and justice to the natives of their zone they will be left in peace. At present they have brought neither, but much may be hoped from the Spanish Government, which realises that the manner of their occupation of Morocco is as important for the good name of Spain as is their conduct of affairs in the Peninsula itself. They must not forget that Raisuli still lives, and that he is, in his way, the biggest man in Morocco.

There are few countries that could produce a Raisuli. It necessitates an environment which exists, perhaps happily, only in such countries as Morocco. Yet during the last few years of his career he has made himself famous, and a real touch of romance surrounds the brigand, who, born of an aristocratic family, has terrorised and yet in a way protected Tangier, a city of 40,000 inhabitants, the seat of a dozen legations. In spite of his celebrity, very few Europeans have ever seen him. He has seldom, if ever, been photographed, and never written his name in the autograph collector's album. He has been throughout a sort of mysterious personage, half -saint, halfblackguard, whom every courageous male tourist has volunteered to capture, and many a still more courageous female tourist to marry. Mulai Ahmed er-Raisuli is unique — and perhaps, after all, one of his kind is enough.