THE FEMALE CAPTIVE – PART 7 – Corsairs & Captives

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 just about completed their trek across the wild Moroccan hinterland and were about to enter “Morocco” (i.e., Marrakesh) to see Sultan Mohammad III.

This is where we pick up the story again.

We proceeded over very rugged, narrow roads and between mountains which reached above the clouds, and sometimes we went down steep precipices, and then up again. In this manner we traveled till eight in the morning. When we arrived at the river of Morocco, we stopped there for an hour, and then advanced nearer the capital. But we had a severe trial of our fortitude before we reached it, for when we were within eight miles of the city, my tent was ordered to be pitched, and I received a message from the Moorish admiral to change my dress.

The meaning of this, according to the interpreter’s explanation, was, that I should “make fine clothes.” I did not readily understand this, but my friend, with concern, explained it thus: that they would have me dressed in such a way as to make a fine figure at going into Morocco.

I entreated them to excuse me from so disagreeable a task, acquainting them with how very inconvenient it would be to unpack my baggage and dress in such a place. My entreaties had no effect, and I found it was their habit to carry in, adorned in this manner, all captives who, by appearance, seemed above the vulgar.

As I found it useless to contend, I had a chest opened, and they fixed upon the clothes I was to put on, which were rich and new. I wrapped up my head in a nightcap, which almost covered my face, as I was told they did not intend to let me wear my hat.

When I was ornamented to their satisfaction, instead of being placed, as before, on my own mule, I was seated in front of my friend on his. At the same time, one of the guards pulled off his hat and carried it away with him—which treatment amazed us extremely. To our further astonishment, our fellow-sufferers were made to dismount, and walk, two and two, bare-headed, though the sun was much hotter than I had ever felt it, and the road so dusty that the mules were almost knee-deep in it.

We had not proceeded far before we were met by Juan Arvona, a Minorquin slave, who was the Sultan’s treasurer and great confidant. He intended to accompany us into Morocco, and he had brought with him a horse for my friend to ride on. However, the Admiral and the cruiser’s company would not a permit him to leave the mule he was on, upon which, the slave returned to the city. His departure was of bad consequence to us, as his presence might have been a check to their arbitrary proceedings.

As we approached Morocco—a walled city with great towers of mosques and mountains behind—a multitude confronted us that could not have been less than about twenty thousand, horse and foot, most of whom were well armed, and attended us with shouts and hallooings. Parties of them continually ran backwards and forwards, loading and firing their muskets in our faces.

I was almost dead with grief and fatigue, and my friend expected at every moment that we should be thrown from the mule. His legs were scratched in a terrible manner from the horsemen riding by us with great fury. But he did not seem to regard this, as his attention was intensely fixed on my preservation from those accidents that fell in my way. The almighty, however, whose watchful providence had defended me from innumerable dangers, continued his goodness, and supported me through the distresses of that dismal day.

About noon, we arrived at Morocco. My friend and I were taken to an old castle dropping to pieces with age. There, we were led up a number of stairs to a dismal room and left to our own reflections.

We were seated on the floor, lamenting out miserable fate, when a French slave entered with some water, a loaf of bread, and some melons. The latter was very agreeable, and all the refreshment we had had for many hours.

We remained in that place till four o’clock in the afternoon, when the rest of the captives and their guards assembled to take us from that horrible abode. I was so ill with fatigue that they were obliged to carry me down the stairs. They placed me on the mule, as before, and we passed through the city, amidst a great loud concourse of people, to the palace, which was three miles beyond the castle we had just left.

When we came to the palace Palace gates, we halted. After we had been waiting near two hours, his Imperial Highness came out and received us in a public manner. He was mounted on a beautiful horse, with slaves on each side fanning off the flies, and guarded by a squadron of his Black Regiment.

The Moorish Admiral and his crew presented themselves to him, falling on their knees and kissing the ground. As they arose, they did the same to his feet. Then they retired. The Sultan then address himself to us by means of his interpreter and informed us that the reason of our being taken was on account of Captain Hyde Parker’s insolent behavior—as he was pleased to term it—for having treated him, the Sultan of Morocco, in a very disrespectful and rude manner when ambassador from the court of Great Britain.

The Sultan assured us, however, that we were not slaves, but that he should detain us until the arrival of a new Consul. He then dismissed us. Upon this, we retired through the gates.

We were thereupon conducted by a Jew to a house which had been provided for us in the Jewish district of the city, which afforded us a most dismal prospect. It was a square ground-floor, much like our place of confinement at Salé, only with this addition: the walls were covered with bugs, and as black as soot.

As soon as I perceived this, I desired that my tent might be pitched in the courtyard, thinking I should thereby escape being tormented by those vermin. It was, accordingly, done, and I intended to go early to rest. However, an order came from the court for me to attend on his Imperial Highness there.

I would gladly have been excused, but, as a slave was sent to wait on me, I was constrained to comply.

My friend, being extremely uneasy, was unwilling I should go with the man, and intended to see me there himself, but the slave told him his orders were that none of the captives should accompany me.

We then set out, the slave and I, and I was conveyed in at the garden-door. We walked through a part of the garden which contained a great number of fine statues. But as the slave seemed to be in haste, I could not make any remarks on the persons represented by them or for whom they were designed.

The next place we came to was a noble gate of curious workmanship. Two soldiers stood before it. They stopped me as I was going in and directed the slave to tell me I could not pass without first pulling off my shoes.

For a long time, I refused to comply, but, finding there could otherwise be no admittance, I threw my shoes from me. The slave informed me that the prince was considered a saint, and therefore no Christian, unless she was barefoot, could be admitted into his palace.

We were obliged to pass many more guards, but eventually we came to the apartment wherein his Imperial Highness was waiting for me. I felt most disagreeably faint and distraught but stepped forward, having little other option.

For those who may be interested, the above excerpt comes from pages 114 – 134 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.