AS HAS ALREADY BEEN STATED, one of the terms for the release of Kaid Maclean demanded by Raisuli 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 North-West 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 North-West 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 of amour propre, 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 Chargé 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 by his intrigues, 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 bring me 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 poor 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 Raisuli. 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 northwestern 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 Mannesmann 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 Anjera 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 Anjera 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 Anjera. 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 ‘Valiénte’ – 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 thirteen hundred 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 his physical courage, for he held himself aloof from 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 “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 tell 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 Anjera, and died fighting a short time after.
The occupation of Tetuan by the Spaniards in 1912 put an end to all travel in the mountains of North-West 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-two-mile 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 weekends. 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 halfway, 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 whole 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 today 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, want of tact, and want of generosity quickly brought about misunderstandings, with the result which exists today – 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 same time the absolute confidence 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 11th 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 three hundred killed and probably a thousand 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 one hundred and seventy soldiers. To add to the horrors of this episode, Raisuli’s tribesmen came provided with hand grenades 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 forty thousand 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, half-blackguard, 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.