- The Life Guards of the Moorish Emperor. - Martial
character of the Negro. - Some account of the Black Corps of the
Shereefs. - Orthodoxy of the Shereefs, and illustrative anecdotes of the
various Emperors.
On leaving the Straits (commonly called "The Gut,") a noble sight
presented itself - a fleet of some hundred merchantmen, all smacking
about before the rising wind, crowding every sail, lest it should change
ere they got clear of the obstructive straits. Many weeks had they been
detained by the westerly gales, and our vessel amongst the rest. I felt
the poignant misery of "waiting for the wind." I know nothing so
wearisome when all things are made ready. It is worse than hope
deferred, which sickens and saddens the heart.
I have lately seen some newspaper reports, that government is preparing
a couple of steam-tugs, to be placed at the mouth of the straits, to tow
ships in and out. We may trust it will be done. But if government do it
not, I am sure it would answer the purpose of a private company, and I
have no doubt such speculation will soon be taken up. Vessels freighted
with perishable cargoes are often obliged to wait weeks, nay months, at
the mouth of the Straits, to the great injury of commerce. In our days
of steam and rapid communication, this cannot be tolerated. [13]
After a voyage of four days, we found ourselves off the coast of
Mogador. The wind had been pretty good, but we had suffered some delay
from a south wind, which headed us for a short time. We prayed for a
westerly breeze, of which we soon got enough from west and north-west.
The first twelve hours it came gently on, but gradually increased till
it blew a gale. The captain was suddenly called up in the night, as
though the ship was going to sink, or could sink, whilst she was running
as fast as we would let her before the wind. But the real danger lay in
missing the coast of Mogador, or not being able to get within its port
from the violence of the breakers near the shore. Our vessel was a small
Genoese brig; and, though the Genoese are the best sailors in the
Mediterranean - even superior to the Greeks, who rank next - our captain
and his crew began to quake. At daylight, the coast-line loomed before
us, immersed in fog, and two hours after, the tall minaret of the great
mosque of Mogador, shooting erect, a dull lofty pyramid, stood over the
thick haze lying on the lower part of the coast.
This phenomenon of the higher objects and mountains being visible over a
dense fog on the shore, is frequent on this side of the Atlantic. Wind
also prevails here. It scarcely ever rains, but wind the people have
nine months out of the twelve. It is a species of trade-wind, which
commences at the Straits, or the coasts of Spain and Portugal, and
sweeps down north-west with fury, making the entire coast of Morocco a
mountain-barrier of breakers, increasing in its course, and extending as
far as Wadnoun, Cape Bajdor, Cape Blanco, even to the Senegal. It does
not, however, extend far out at sea, being chiefly confined to the coast
range. Our alarm now was lest we should get within the clutches of this
fell swoop, for the port once past, it would have required us weeks to
bear up again, whilst this wind lasted.
The Atlantic coast of Morocco is an indented or waving line, and there
are only two or three ports deserving the name of harbours - harbours of
refuge from these storms. Unlike the western coast of Ireland, so finely
indented by the Atlantic wave, this portion of the Morocco coast is
rounded off by the ocean.
Our excitement was great. The capitano began yelping like a cowardly
school-boy, who has been well punched by a lesser and more courageous
antagonist. Immediately I got on deck, I produced an English book, which
mentioned the port of Mogador as a "good" port.
"Per Dio Santo!" exclaimed our capitano; "yes, for the English it _is_ a
good port - you dare devils at sea - for them it _is_ a good port. The
open sea, with a gale of wind, is a good port for the _maladetti_
English."
Irritated at this extreme politeness to our gallant tars, who have so
long "braved the battle and the breeze," I did not trouble farther the
dauntless Genoese, who certainly was not destined to become a Columbus.
Now the men began to snivel and yelp, following the example of their
commander. "We won't go into the port, Santa Virgine! We won't go in to
be shivered to pieces on the rocks." At this moment our experienced
capitano fancied we had got into shoal-water; the surf was seen running
in foaming circles, as if in a whirlpool. Now, indeed, our capitano did
yelp; now did the crew yelp, invoking all the saints of the Roman
calendar, instead of attending to the ship. [14] Here was a scene of
indescribable confusion. Our ship was suddenly put round and back.
My fellow passengers, a couple of Jews from Gibraltar, began swearing at
the capitano and his brave men. One of them, whilst cursing, thought it
just as well, at the same time, to call upon Father Abraham. Our little
brig pitched her bows two or three times under water like a storm-bird,
and did _not_ ground. It was seen to be a false alarm. The capitano now
took courage on seeing all the flags flying over the fortifications, it
being Friday, the Mahometan Sabbath. The silly fellow had heard, that
the port authorities always hauled down their colours, when the entrance
to the harbour was unsafe by reason of bad weather. Seeing the colours,
he imagined all was right.
There are two entrances to the port of Mogador; one from the south,
which is quite open; the other from the north-west, which is only a
narrow passage, with scarcely room to admit a ship-of-the-line.
