"
Happily we were right below the area of rebellion. In the north, round Fez
and Taza, there was severe fighting, spreading thence to the Riff country.
Here, people did no more than curse the Pretender in public or the Sultan
in private, according to the state of their personal feelings.
Communication with the south, said the Maalem, was uninterrupted; only in
the north were the sons of the Illegitimate, the rebels against Allah,
troubling Our Lord the Sultan. From Djedida down to the Atlas the tribes
were peaceful, and would remain at rest unless Our Master should attempt
to collect his taxes, in which case, without doubt, there would be
trouble.
[Illustration: A VERANDAH AT MAZAGAN]
He was a busy man in these days, was the Maalem. When he was not baking
bread or smoking kief he was securing mules and bringing them for our
inspection. To Mr. T. Spinney, son of the British Vice-Consul in Mazagan,
we owed our salvation. A master of Moghrebbin Arabic, on intimate terms
with the Moors, and thoroughly conversant with the road and its
requirements, he stood between me and the fiery-tongued Maalem. This mule
was rejected, that saddle was returned, stirrups tied with string were
disqualified, the little man's claim to have all "the money in the hand"
was overruled, and the Maalem, red-hot sputtering iron in my hands, was as
wax in Mr.
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