This week, we continue with the narrative of Elizabeth Marsh, who was captured by corsairs from Salé in the summer of 1756. At the end of last week’s post, Ms. Marsh had just entered the Sultan’s Palace in Morocco and was about to meet the Sultan for the first time.
This is where we pick up the story.
To my great surprise, when I stepped into the apartment where I was to meet the Sultan, I was received by him with great respect. four ladies were with him, who seemed as well pleased as he was himself at seeing me—not that my appearance could prejudice them much in my favor, for I had put on my riding-dress, and my face had suffered extremely from the scorching violence of the sun. The Sultan took notice of this and turned to the slave who attended me, saying that I had not been taken care of the way he had commanded, and he seemed highly offended.
I should have been happy, could I have spoken Morisco, in acquainting him with the ill treatment I had experienced on the road. I entreated the slave to represent it to the Sultan, but he begged me not to force him to do me this service; for, if he should do it, he claimed, the Moors would never be satisfied until they had his life. And so those wretches escaped the punishment they deserved, and I was prevented from receiving any satisfaction for what I had endured.
The ladies made many remarks on my dress, greatly recommended their own, and importuned me to put one on. But as I would by no means oblige them in their request, they eventually desisted from any further solicitations.
One of the most agreeable of them, and who showed me the greatest civilities, was the daughter of an Englishman, who became a renegado, and had married a Moorish woman. She took her bracelets off her arms and put them on mine, desiring that I should wear them for her sake.
The slave told me that I might now take my leave whenever I pleased, which I did immediately, being very glad to retire. But my conductor, instead of taking me to my lodgings, introduced me into another apartment, where I was soon followed by the Sultan. Seating himself on a cushion, he inquired concerning the reality of my marriage with my friend. This inquiry was entirely unexpected, and though I positively affirmed that I really was married, I could perceive he much doubted it from his frequent interrogations as to the reality thereof.
He likewise observed that it was customary for English wives to wear a wedding ring. I answered that mine was packed up, as I did not choose to travel with it.
Finding that I persisted in my story, the Sultan questioned me no farther but instead gave me assurances of his esteem and protection. He said that he would take pleasure in helping me and, ordering the Slave to take particular care of me, he gave me leave to depart.
I went with all possible speed to the garden gate, where I found my faithful friend, who had waited impatiently for my dismissal. He received me from the slave and we soon arrived at our dismal habitation.
I went to my tent, in hopes of resting, but I had not lain an hour before I was constrained to get up again, the bugs having found me out and joined with my other tormentors in preventing my repose.
As it was in vain to complain, I tried to content myself with the hopes of changing my situation. The following day, I had the pleasure of Mr. Court’s company to breakfast. Perceiving me ill from want of rest, he went in quest of another lodging for me—though he was not so fortunate as to succeed.
Juan Arvona, the slave, soon after waited on me with a small basket of fruit from his Imperial Highness, who had ordered him to inquire particularly concerning my health. I desired the slave to return my thanks to the Sultan for the regard he was pleased to show me. As this slave was leaving me, my friend stopped him and asked, as a favor, that he would endeavor to procure me a more comfortable apartment. This he readily complied with and arranged for part of a new house which belonged to some Jews.
My friend and I accompanied Mr. Court to his house, where we dined and were treated with the greatest kindness imaginable. I had to leave them sooner than I wished, however, as I had things to settle for my new lodgings—not that I was encumbered with furniture, for a chest served me as a table, another for a chair, and a third to lay my mattress upon.
The mosquitoes were extremely troublesome, notwithstanding a net which M. Razilly had given me as a present whilst I was at Salé.
Mr. Court was constantly with us and proved not only a valuable acquaintance but also an agreeable, sensible companion. Whenever he perceived that I was distressed by the recollection of my unhappy change of fortune, he endeavored by a thousand ingenious contrivances to substitute a train of cheerful thoughts for those I had entertained.
Mr. Antreos visited me and would gladly have had my company to dine with them, but he did not wish me to be exposed to the view of the populace, assuring me that the Sultan had many spies to observe my actions, and, if he should by an unguarded event discover the deceit I had made use of, I undoubtedly would be confined to the Seraglio and so lost to my family forever.
The next morning, Arvona, the slave, brought me another basket of fruit, dressed with a variety of flowers, from his Imperial Highness, who request to see me and had ordered the slave to bring me to the Palace. Accordingly I dressed myself in a suitable suit of clothes and did my hair up in the Spanish fashion.
Just as I had made myself ready, Mr. Court visited me as usual. He seemed to be surprised at my appearance, however, and walked very pensively about the room without speaking a word—behavior I could not then account for.
I parted with him and my friend, and, attended by the slave, I walked to the Palace. At the first gate, as before, I was obliged to leave my shoes under the care of the soldiers. We then hastened through the different apartments and, once again, I was brought into the presence of the Sultan.
For those who may be interested, the above excerpt comes from pages 134 – 144 of Volume 1 and pages 4 – 17 of Volume 2 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 previous weeks’ excerpts, I have taken some editorial license and revised (and, in this case, shortened) Marsh’s original text to make it more accessible for modern casual readers.
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