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, Ms. Marsh and her fellow captives had begun their trek across the wild Moroccan hinterland to “Morocco” (i.e., Marrakesh) to see Sultan Mohammad III. Their route took them into the High Atlas mountains—very rough country indeed.
Ms. Marsh, who had fallen off her horse, is injured and in pain. This is where we pick up the story again.
Our guards permitted us to dismount, and I, being extremely ill, desired my Friend to entreat them to that my tent might be pitched, but they told him it could not be done, as they should only rest an hour at that place and then set off again. Our conductors, however, assured us, that they would stop for the night at a castle five miles farther. By this ill-natured artifice, they persuaded us to proceed, though no castle was seen, or so much as a house, or even a track where any human foot had ever been.
When we lost our way, which was often the case, our muleteers fired a musket, which the others answered; by this means, we were enabled to follow them; but the howlings in the mountains, and dread of the wild Arabs, greatly afflicted us, and I often melted into tears at my sufferings. Whenever my friend observed this, he endeavored to relieve me by many kind words, soliciting me to be as composed as possible, and to rely on Providence to extricate us out of our afflictions.
We traveled all that night, and, at ten o’clock the next day we rejoined the caravan. They lifted me off my mule, but I could not stand, on account of the violence of the pain in the side on which I fell.
The Moorish Admiral (he who had originally captured us), observing that I was very ill, ordered a tent to be pitched, and allowed me two hours for my repose. But I could not rest, the uncertainty of my fate continually employing my thoughts and keeping me awake. When my time was expired, the messenger came to tell me I must proceed.
I told him they acted contrary to the Sultan’s orders, and probably would kill me before they reached Morocco; at which he seemed to be shocked and was rather inclined to be compassionate. However, the great number who were for proceeding overpowered him, and he hurried from me.
My friend asked the interpreter what their reason was for going at the rate they did. He answered that the feast of the Ramadan was to begin in a few days, which occasioned their haste. It being a high festival at Morocco, everyone was desirous of being present for it.
Our caravan pressed on and passed over very high mountains and bad roads, until we came to a duar, or town of tents, where they told me they would procure me such a machine as the Moorish women make use of, instead of a saddle, on the road.
This machine was placed across my mule, over a pack, and held a small mattress. The Moorish women lie in it, as it may be covered by cloth. I sat with my feet on one side of the mule’s neck, and found it very proper to screen me from the Arabs, who would not now offer to come near me, imagining I was one of their own countrywomen going to Morocco. Had it not been for such a convenience, I could not have continued a journey of 300 miles in that rough part of the world.
At twelve o’clock that night, we stopped, on account of my being fatigued, and, indeed, unable to proceed farther. I suffered more than can be expressed for the want of good water, for that they had with them was extremely nauseating from its being put into the hides of hogs, tarred on the inside, and slung across the mules. Bad as it was, I often accepted of it to moisten my mouth.
My friend had the tent pitched, and I should have been happy to get some rest, but the tiresome noises which the camels made (by reason of the heavy burdens those poor creatures are constrained to carry, who often lie down with their baggage on their backs for the night) prevented me from sleeping.
At break of day, the caravan set forth once more.
The day was most disagreeably hot and fatiguing, but we were not permitted to stop until eleven o’clock at night. This at least gave me an opportunity for having some rest, after a slight repast of eggs and milk, which was our chief diet. The poor sailors had to eat of the Moors’ provisions, for want of anything better.
At three o’clock in the morning, we received orders to get ready. We set out at four. The roads were good until noon, when we came to a large river, which was deep and rapid. I was in very great danger, and would undoubtedly, have been drowned, had not some sailors jumped to my assistance.
On the river’s far side, we found ourselves at the foot of a prodigious mountain that we were obliged to ascend. All the unfortunate captives (except myself) were constrained to climb up this mountain, leaving their mules with the Moors who took care of the camels. I had a man to lead my mule, one on each side, and another behind, who assisted the poor creature, otherwise it would have been impossible for it to have kept its legs.
Every moment, I expected to be suffocated for want of air, and it grieved me to be an eye witness to the sufferings of my friend, whose hands were blistered and swollen from the difficulties attending his crawling up the mountain’s steep slope, together with the scorching heat of the sun.
Three hours were spent in getting to the top of this mountain. As I was very faint, the guards permitted the tents to be pitched, being under a necessity of indulging me with an hour’s rest, for fear of any bad consequences from their unjustifiable proceedings. They no doubt trusted to my youth and constitution, or they never would have run the risks they did in traveling night and day.
We set off soon after, and never stopped until twelve that night. Notwithstanding the fatigues I had suffered, and the dew which fell very heavily, our tent was not allowed to be pitched.
The next day, the heat was intolerable, and steep rocks, which we were obliged to pass over, continually presented themselves everywhere we looked. There was no appearance of a house, or a tree, only a large tract of country abounding with high mountains, affording little worthy of notice—though I made as many observations as I could, in my confined situation, without any books, the want of which I greatly regretted.
At twelve o’clock that night, our guards informed us that we would make no long stay, and therefore would not pitch the tents, as they intended to be at Morocco the following day.
For those who may be interested, the above excerpt comes from pages 87 – 114 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 the 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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