"They will wear them in turns," the gaoler said. He and another Moor had
superintended the distribution of them; and to their lasting disgrace,
deaf to argument and remonstrance on the part of the missionaries, they
each appropriated a jellab to himself, saying, "This is my share; this
goes to me." They were of coarse material, such as neither gaoler nor
under-gaoler would ever wear themselves: all they would do would be to
take them into market and convert them into money.

"Moors have _no_ feelings," people say, and say wrongly; but that, to a
great extent, it is true take just one instance--the state of the
prisons and prisoners. It was enough in the distance to "wind" the Tetuan
prison. There remains the reflection--call it comforting if you
like--that a people who consent to endure such filth, and misery, and
harsh treatment, are not affected by them in the same way in which a
highly civilized people would be affected.

It is absurd to blame the Moorish Government; it is absurd to say, "The
people are obliged to endure." No people can be forced to endure: a point
comes beyond endurance, and they rebel, choosing death rather. The
vigorous and progressive race endures least. Therefore on the Moors' own
heads be the state of their prisons, the treatment of their prisoners: to
that cursed spirit of _laissez-faire_ half the blame is due; the rest
comes of their indifference to suffering, to bad smells and dirt and a
sedentary existence. It is manifestly unfair to blame certain ministers
and officials. Taking into consideration the manners and customs, hopes
and fears, of the Moorish people, their prisons probably suit them right
well, and they need no pity.

* * * * *

It was not always easy to get provisions, except life's bare necessities,
in Tetuan. Provision Stores, which were long out of their goods, always
had the same answer when asked for them--"M[=a]nana" (To-morrow); and
to-morrow never came. But it is unwise to "hustle the East": men have
died trying to find a way of doing so. Therefore we chewed with
philosophy the cud of the Moorish proverb:--

"_Manage with bread and butter till God brings the jam._"

On the whole we fared not amiss, while our establishment, with its two
Riffi servants, man and wife, worked well, until an occurrence took place
which shook it to its very foundations, and left us to the end with a
question which will never be solved.

One evening,