This week, we continue with the narrative of Elizabeth Marsh, who was captured by corsairs from Salé in the summer of 1756. In last week’s post, the ship she had been travelling on was taken, and the male passengers who had accompanied her on the voyage were all transferred to the corsair ship. After several days, the admiral and officers of the corsair cruiser came on board the ship Marsh was on and, through an interpreter, ordered her to go with them, a demand which, she wrote, “alarmed me exceedingly.” She was lowered into a ship’s boat and rowed across towards the corsair ship—where we pick up the story.
The sea greatly terrified me, for the waves looked like veritable mountains and often hindered my seeing the vessel we were going to. We were some considerable distance from the wretched abode of my unhappy countrymen, but when I came on board, my disconsolate friend received me, his countenance sufficiently denoting the anguish of his mind. I had summoned up all my fortitude on so shocking an occasion, but the sight of our sailors tied together drew tears from me, notwithstanding my resolution to the contrary, and my appearance had the same effect on them.
My friend led me the cabin allotted to us, which was so small it did not allow us even to stand upright. In this miserable place, four people were to live. Provisions were likewise extremely bad, being a kind of past resembling Sago and dressed something like a pilaw. The Moors called it cuscusu. It was mixed with bad butter and served in a wooden dish for our lunch, and was than again repeated for supper. My appetite, however, was not keen enough to partake of this sort of diet, for I felt very ill and fatigued from seasickness and want of rest.
My friend did all in his power to render my situation tolerable. I wish I could say as much in praise of another of my fellow captives, but he seemed to delight in terrifying me with stories of the cruelties of the Moors and the dangers my sex was exposed to in Barbary.
I passed many days in a very uncomfortable manner, having vile accommodations and no provision which I could eat—save for almonds and raisins, which were my only support. On the fourteenth, we saw land, and soon after we were off the town called Marmora. The corsairs fired two guns and hoisted their colors. At 9 o’clock in the evening, they came to anchor in the Salé road.
Boats immediately came out from land, beating drums and sounding a sort of music which pleased those infidels but struck me with the greatest terror imaginable. I found, however, that this rejoicing proceeded from our being brought in, as it is customary with them to make proclamations of joy upon such occasions.
My spirits were violently agitated. Perceiving this, the admiral told me in his uncouth way to be of good cheer, for all would be well by and by.
We remained on board that night. The next morning, we were ordered to our own ship to take what necessaries we thought proper, which I was thankful for, as I wanted a change of clothing. I stayed in the ship’s boat that brought us across while my friend endeavored to get what was needed. He found it impossible, however, and therefore only procured a small quantity for present use, as well as our bedding, but he was not permitted to take any provisions or liquor.
We then left our ship, and they order us ashore. But the tide would not permit our passing the bar [the sandbar across the mouth of the harbor at Salé], and therefore we were obliged to anchor and remain there for three hours exposed to the scorching sun, with no fresh water. My thirst was intolerable. I implored Heaven for relief or for assistance to support my misfortunes with patience, which the Almighty requires of us whenever He thinks it proper to afflict us. We were tossed about for a considerable time and then, with difficulty, passed the bar, it being very dangerous. They landed us on a sandy beach which I believe might extend half a mile, and which was covered with some thousands of Moors shouting and hollowing like so many infernals.
My friend asserted all he could to keep up my spirits and showed that courage and resignation which proved him to be what I had ever found him: a man of honor and a Christian. When we landed, I was almost smothered with dust, and I was put upon a mule without a saddle. My friend was placed upon another, and he kept as near to me as he could. A man rode on each side of me to guard me from falling. In this manner, we traveled two miles over heavy sand. A band of their musicians went before us, playing music more dismal, my opinion, than a funeral march. The insults of the populace were intolerable. The other passengers were on foot, and our sailors were dragged along and used with severity.
We proceeded to the Bashaw’s [the Governor of Salé’s] residence, who received us with seeming concern and, after going through the customary ceremonies, he ordered his guards to conductor us to a place about half a mile further on. All the way, we were entertained with a confused noise of women’s voices from the tops of the houses, which surprised me very much until I was informed it was a testimony of joy upon the arrival of a female captive.
When we got to the habitation destined for us, the door was open and a long dark passage presented itself to our view, at the end of which was a square ground floor with two rooms opposite each other and a gallery at the top. No words, however, can properly express the wretchedness of the place. The best of the rooms was allotted to me and the other passengers, and the rest for our servants and the ship’s crew. A strong guard stood at the door and examined everyone who came in. Soon after, a slave brought some grapes, bread, and a picture of water, all of which he placed before us and then retired.
I endeavored to reconcile myself to this most severe turn of fortune as well as my age and the circumstances of my case would admit by trying to submit to my unhappy fate. But my heart was faint within me.
For those who may be interested, the above except comes from pages 15-28 of Volume 1 of the 1766 edition of Elisabeth Marsh’s The Female Captive: A Narrative of Facts Which Happened in Barbary in the Year 1756, Written by Herself.
As with last week’s except, I have taken some editorial license and lightly revised Marsh’s original text to make it more accessible for modern casual readers.
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