Hashish: A Smuggler's Tale (27 page)

The men were sent to kill a sheep, for our presence was the signal for a fête. Gorgis whipped off his coat, rolled up his shirt-sleeves and declared that he would see to the cooking of it. He had become once more the handy sailor, ready to turn his hand to anything. While the sheep was being roasted whole before a heap of glowing wood, we discussed how best we could deliver my cargo.

The camels I had seen were most exceptional beasts, trained to speed and endurance. Some of them were worth as much as five hundred pounds. These were racing dromedaries which could cover about seventy miles in a single night. They were castrated and trained never to utter a cry. This last quality was the most precious in the eyes of smugglers, and it was this which gave them their great value.

The camp where we were was a sort of caravanserai where the camels coming from the mountains laden with sheep and goat skins and smoked butter could halt, and where on their return they could take loads of cloth, potteries, petroleum, sugar and grain – in short, everything that could be needed by the nomads of the mountains. But this commerce was only a cover for less innocent traffickings, as was the case now. Omar was the chief of all the Bedouin tribes between the Red Sea and the Nile, north of Ras Gharib. Farther south, the country was under the domination of other chiefs. When some merchandise was landed on the coast, an agreement had to be made with the chief of the region, who in
turn made agreements with his neighbours, for the safe transport of the goods to Cairo. What gave Omar his power and immense wealth was the fact that his territories touched Cairo, so that everything had finally to go through them, and nothing could be done without his consent. The goods were handed over to him at a given point on the coast, and for a fee which varied with the condition of business, the nature of the merchandise and the season, he undertook to transport them and hold them at the disposal of his customer wherever he wanted. He could even have them taken into Cairo or any other town in Egypt. Not, of course, in a single delivery – that would have been impossible – but little by little as the customer needed them.

Omar had hiding-places in the mountains, known to him alone, absolutely safe from discovery. On the dreary plateaux of those infernal mountains there were regions made inaccessible by the lack of water. In order to visit them it was necessary to carry a considerable provision of water, and also to make sure of having a supply for the return. In these deserted zones the Bedouins hid their merchandise. To reach them they chose the most rocky and torrid regions to cross, where there was not the slightest trace of either paths or water. At certain places they buried reserves of water and grain in the sand. After each expedition these places were changed, and to minimize the risk of treason, only the guide of the caravan knew where they were. In this way a light caravan could penetrate into those murderous deserts carrying only the consignment of goods. In these circumstances, what danger was there of unexpected pursuit after these swift camels rushing across this country of death? After a three or four hours’ chase the pursuers would have to give up, for if the provision of water they carried at their saddle-bows gave out, it meant certain and horrible death. We discussed everything in great detail, and it was finally settled that I should deliver the goods to the caravan the following Friday, three days later, leaving just sufficient time for the camels to get to the coast.

Business being over, two Bedouins now carried in the sheep, spitted on a long stick. It was placed on two forked stands over an earthen dish filled with black wheaten pancakes to catch the gravy. I had luckily a good hefty pocket-knife; Gorgis had a magnificent cutlass at his girdle, worn on the right hip, sailor fashion. But poor Stavro searched through all his pockets, and finally produced a minute pearl-handled penknife. I
had expected the gigantic brigand to draw from his belt a terrifying dagger at the least, and I could not repress a smile at sight of this dainty object in his colossal hand. Gorgis roared with laughter, and a charitable Bedouin handed Stavro his
djembia
, and we fell to.

I admired Gorgis, who had gone back to his sailor days. He held a huge bone in his hand, tearing the flesh away with powerful teeth, and the big diamond in his ring sent red and violet flashes between the grease streaming down his fingers. I heartily enjoyed this fashion of eating this hot juicy meat, beautifully cooked, which we swallowed greedily without bread and practically without chewing. It is far and away the best way to eat roast meat. The remains were taken out for the servants and camel-drivers, who were sitting in a circle outside in the shadow of the hut. They were all relatives of Omar’s. A boy of fourteen, handsome as a god in his long, pale blue shirt, poured water on our hands, then brought Omar’s pipe. Stavro smoked with him, Gorgis and I preferred cigarettes.

‘You can see’, he said to me, ‘how different these Arabs are from those of the plains. These men are still half-savage and will remain so for long. I am not very well up in such matters, but I believe they must be of a different race, for they are as warlike, abstemious and loyal as the fellahs are cowardly, treacherous and lazy. They hold human life very cheap, of course; their own as well as that of others. They would find it most natural to attack a caravan, pillage it and massacre those in charge. They would do it without pity, and it would never enter their heads that they were guilty of a criminal act. But on the contrary, if you confide your goods to them, they will give their lives to defend them, once they have passed their word.’

‘That is rather like the Arabs of Yemen and even the pirate Zaranigs,’ I replied. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if these mountaineers come from the same race.’

‘It’s quite possible, for Omar has many relatives round about Yenbo, and even much farther south. There is much intermarrying between the people of his tribe and those of the Nedj. Ouahabites and Chamars.’

‘That is where my faithful Djebeli comes from,’ put in Stavro, who had been listening to us while he smoked his narghile.

‘You promised to tell me his story,’ I said to Stavro; ‘this seems a good moment for keeping your promise.’

‘Oh, it’s not exactly a story, it’s a very ordinary incident, one of those obscure dramas played out with no other witness than the desert or the sea.’

‘Before he got the name of Djebeli,’ he was called Moussa, and he earned his living fishing along with his brother and his tiny son, the only child left him by his wife, who had died away on the Arabian coast. It was when he was nursing her for the small-pox of which she died that he caught the disease and lost an eye from it. Moussa and his brother were economical, like all the Arabs of the Omran tribe, who are the Scotsmen of Arabia, and had saved enough to buy a fishing-boat, or rather to get one on credit. They came to Suez, where there was a good sale for fish, and worked hard a whole summer. Fish was plentiful, and before winter they had paid off all their debts. These two men were united by a great friendship and also by their common love for the child they both adored. Life seemed very good to them; they had all they wanted. They resolved to continue fishing in the Gulf of Suez for some time before going home.

‘In order to understand what follows, you must bear in mind that customs officers and coastguards make an excellent living out of hashish smuggling. I speak of the chiefs, who remain comfortably in their offices. The others, the soldiers who patrol the coasts, or toss on the seas, are just brutes, generally freed slaves, who carry out orders without trying to understand them. They can always be bribed with a few thalers, but it is dangerous to try that.’

Gorgis nodded his head emphatically at this point.

‘All the same, if one wants to make profits out of the hashish smuggling, one must show zeal in the service. So they arrange for the petty smugglers to be captured. They are treated with merciless severity. When twenty
okes
of hashish have been taken, all the newspapers praise the vigilance of the chief of police or customs of the place, and he is
decorated and promoted. When they run short of victims, some poor devil is paid to act the part. It is not hard to find some miserable creature who prefers the peace of a prison to starving to death in the streets. So the customs people give him a little hashish, which they always keep in reserve for such occasions, and he goes and gets himself captured at the place indicated to him. So now you understand how important the seizure of even a very small amount of hashish is for the men who are charged with the suppression of the smuggling. The quantity does not matter; that there had been a capture is the main thing. The newspapers, who know their job here as elsewhere, spin it out to the required importance.

‘The coasts of the Gulf, the Asiatic as well as the Egyptian, are patrolled daily by guards mounted on swift camels. They go along the seashore to observe if there are any suspicious marks in the sand. They always go in pairs, and leave their posts at such hours as to time themselves to meet their comrades from the neighbouring post, fifty miles from theirs, about halfway. There they tell each other what they have noticed, then go on their way. Next day they repeat the same performance in the contrary direction.

‘At this time Gorgis and I were in touch with the staff of certain steamers which threw us the merchandise into the Bay of Suez. Some time before, we had lost at sea a
six-oke
sack containing hashish. This happens sometimes when the weather is bad and the night very dark. I remember very well that on this occasion we had to go away without picking up the sacks because of a little steamer which was coming towards our boat. It was a white steamer with very high masts, and we were terrified by its strange appearance, but it was only a pleasure yacht going south, which had steered towards us simply in order to get a close view of a fishing-boat. Probably it was the first time it had ever been in the Red Sea, and the owner expected to see savages and strange beings. There was a most elegant company of passengers on board. The ladies in their light dresses, and the gentlemen with their admirals’ caps, laughed heartily as they watched our little boat dancing in their backwash.

‘This little entertainment, these bursts of laughter, were to be the forerunners of a terrible drama. These people passed gaily on their way, little guessing that death was to result from this amusement, which had delayed us in picking up our sacks, so that we lost one. All night and
next morning we searched for it in vain. Perhaps it had sunk to the bottom; anyhow, thinking it was lost, we went back to Suez. But it had floated.

‘It must have stayed a long time on the surface of the water, carried hither and thither like the germ of a catastrophe. Some time after two coastguards from the post of Zafrana found it cast up by the sea. This packet had been exposed to sun and water for weeks, and its contents were completely spoiled. If they hadn’t been, the two worthies would have got a friend to dispose of them, but they were worthless. But the sack had kept its shape, the name of the manufacturer was still legible and a vague odour indicated what it had contained. This was enough for the two honest coastguards. They dried the sack in the sun and hid it in the sand at a point where the fishermen often put in for shelter. Some days later they saw a
boutre
making for the shore, to avoid the storm which had aroused the sea to fury. It was the boat of Moussa and his brother. They anchored and almost immediately fell asleep, worn out with the night’s hard work. The boy began to prepare their modest meal, over a handful of sticks set on top of a box of ashes. He sang happily to himself, full of the careless joy of all young things. The two soldiers saw from afar that here at last were victims. They came full speed on their camels to surprise them. The little boy saw them coming, and woke his father and uncle. Nobody likes having to do with coastguards, it is so well known that they are unscrupulous and capable of working much harm, so the best thing to do is to avoid them whenever possible. Moussa and his brother had no contraband on board their vessel, but they had been away from Suez a long time, and their papers were a little out of date. They were afraid that the coastguards might create trouble for them, so they decided to flee.

’Hastily they raised anchor and ran up the sail, for the camels were rapidly coming nearer. In their hurry they forgot to undo the reef point that held the sail furled on the lateen yard. The boy, agile as a monkey, swarmed up to repair the oversight. At this moment a shot rang out and the child fell into the sea. One of the coastguards had just fired and was gesticulating to order the ship to put in again. Moussa threw himself into the sea to save his child. His brother, terror-stricken, crouched in the bottom of the boat. Then the guards opened fire on this miserable drifting
boutre
, trying to cut the halyard so as to bring down the half-furled
sail. Moussa swam along, carrying the unconscious boy in his arms. He came close to the boat on the side furthest from land, and his brother leaned over to help him in. He seized the child and laid him in the bottom of the
boutre.
Then, just as he was stretching out a hand to help his brother, he fell, his head shattered by a bullet.

’Moussa, mad with terror and rage, stood upright in the stern, despite the bullets that whistled round him. He raised his arms in token of submission, and guided the ship towards the shore. The guards stopped firing. Moussa did not act in this way out of obedience to their orders, but his son was still breathing, and he only thought of getting help.

As soon as he touched land the two brutes threw themselves upon him and bound his hands. They flung him on the sand along with the still unconscious child. The noise of the shots had been heard by the other coastguards, who werenow galloping up at full speed. One of them was an officer, and he immediately assumed direction of the whole affair, as if he had been responsible for it. They told him that the occupants had been seen burying a suspicious-looking packet in the sand. They had tried to flee, so that the guards had been forced to fire, as the law permitted in such cases. The four soldiers agreed to adopt this version.