In this unique style,
after struggling three hours to get three miles over the port, we
landed, all of us completely exhausted and drowned in spray.
It is usual for Moors, particularly negroes, to sing certain choruses,
and thus encourage one another in their work. What, however, is
remarkable, these choruses are mostly on sacred subjects, being
frequently the formula of their confession, "There is no God, but one
God, and Mahomet is his Prophet," &c. These clownish tars were deeply
coloured, and some quite black. I found, in fact, the greatest part of
the Moorish population of Mogador coloured persons. We may here easily
trace the origin of the epithet "Black-a-Moor," and we are not so
surprised that Shakspeare made his Moor black; indeed, the present
Emperor, Muley Abd Errahman, is of very dark complexion, though his
features are not at all of the negro cast. But he has sons quite black,
and with negro features, who, of course, are the children of negresses.
One of these, is Governor of Rabat. In no country is the colour of the
human skin so little thought of. This is a very important matter in the
question of abolition. There is no objection to the skin and features of
the negro; it is only the luxury of having slaves, or their usefulness
for heavy work, which weighs in the scale against abolition.
As soon as we landed, we visited the lieutenant-governor, who
congratulated us on not being carried down to the Canary Islands. Then
his Excellency asked, in due studied form:
"Where do you come from?"
_Traveller_. - "Gibraltar."
_His Excellency_. - "Where are you going?"
_Traveller_. - "To see the Sultan, Muley Abd Errahman."
_His Excellency_. - "What's your business?"
_Traveller_. - "I will let your Excellency know to-morrow."
I then proceeded to the house of Mr. Phillips, where I took up my
quarters. Mr. Willshire, our vice-consul, was absent, having gone up to
Morocco with all the principal merchants of Mogador, to pay a visit to
the Emperor.
The port of Mogador had to-day a most wild and desolate appearance,
which was rendered still more dreary and hideous by a dark tempest
sweeping over it. On the shore, there was no appearance of life, much
less of trade and shipping. All had abandoned it, save a guard, who lay
stretched at the gate of the waterport, like a grim watch-dog. From this
place, we proceeded to the merchants' quarter of the town, which was
solitary and immersed in profound gloom. Altogether, my first
impressions of Mogador were most unfavourable, I went to bed and dreamt
of winds and seas, and struggled with tempests the greater part of the
night. Then I was shipwrecked off the Canaries; thrown on the coast of
Wadnoun, and made a slave by the wild Arabs wandering in the Desert - I
awoke.
Mr. Phillips, mine host, soon became my right-hand man.
