Shortly Before Our
Arrival Off Tarifa, Universal Hunger Seemed To Prevail Amongst Us.
The Hadji And His Negroes Produced Their Store, And Feasted On
Roast Fowls, The Jews Ate Grapes And Bread, Myself Bread And
Cheese, Whilst The Crew Prepared A Mess Of Anchovies.
Two of them
speedily came, with a large portion, which they presented to me
with the kindness of brothers:
I made no hesitation in accepting
their present, and found the anchovies delicious. As I sat between
the Jews, I offered them some, but they turned away their heads
with disgust, and cried haloof (hogsflesh). They at the same time,
however, shook me by the hand, and, uninvited, took a small portion
of my bread. I had a bottle of Cognac, which I had brought with me
as a preventive to sea sickness, and I presented it to them; but
this they also refused, exclaiming, Haram (it is forbidden). I
said nothing.
We were now close to the lighthouse of Tarifa, and turning the head
of the bark towards the west, we made directly for the coast of
Africa. The wind was now blowing very fresh, and as we had it
almost in our poop, we sprang along at a tremendous rate, the huge
lateen sails threatening every moment to drive us beneath the
billows, which an adverse tide raised up against us. Whilst
scudding along in this manner, we passed close under the stern of a
large vessel bearing American colours; she was tacking up the
straits, and slowly winning her way against the impetuous Levanter.
As we passed under her, I observed the poop crowded with people
gazing at us; indeed, we must have offered a singular spectacle to
those on board, who, like my young American friend at Gibraltar,
were visiting the Old World for the first time.
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