I have lately seen some newspaper reports, that government is preparing a couple of steam-tugs, to be placed at the mouth of the straits, to tow ships in and out.  We may trust it will be done.  But if government do it not, I am sure it would answer the purpose of a private company, and I have no doubt such speculation will soon be taken up.  Vessels freighted with perishable cargoes are often obliged to wait weeks, nay months, at the mouth of the Straits, to the great injury of commerce.  In our days of steam and rapid communication, this cannot be tolerated. [13]

After a voyage of four days, we found ourselves off the coast of Mogador.  The wind had been pretty good, but we had suffered some delay from a south wind, which headed us for a short time.  We prayed for a westerly breeze, of which we soon got enough from west and north-west.  The first twelve hours it came gently on, but gradually increased till it blew a gale.  The captain was suddenly called up in the night, as though the ship was going to sink, or could sink, whilst she was running as fast as we would let her before the wind.  But the real danger lay in missing the coast of Mogador, or not being able to get within its port from the violence of the breakers near the shore.  Our vessel was a small Genoese brig; and, though the Genoese are the best sailors in the Mediterranean—­even superior to the Greeks, who rank next—­our captain and his crew began to quake.  At daylight, the coast-line loomed before us, immersed in fog, and two hours after, the tall minaret of the great mosque of Mogador, shooting erect, a dull lofty pyramid, stood over the thick haze lying on the lower part of the coast.

This phenomenon of the higher objects and mountains being visible over a dense fog on the shore, is frequent on this side of the Atlantic.  Wind also prevails here.  It scarcely ever rains, but wind the people have nine months out of the twelve.  It is a species of trade-wind, which commences at the Straits, or the coasts of Spain and Portugal, and sweeps down north-west with fury, making the entire coast of Morocco a mountain-barrier of breakers, increasing in its course, and extending as far as Wadnoun, Cape Bajdor, Cape Blanco, even to the Senegal.  It does not, however, extend far out at sea, being chiefly confined to the coast range.  Our alarm now was lest we should get within the clutches of this fell swoop, for the port once past, it would have required us weeks to bear up again, whilst this wind lasted.

The Atlantic coast of Morocco is an indented or waving line, and there are only two or three ports deserving the name of harbours—­harbours of refuge from these storms.  Unlike the western coast of Ireland, so finely indented by the Atlantic wave, this portion of the Morocco coast is rounded off by the ocean.

Our excitement was great.  The capitano began yelping like a cowardly school-boy, who has been well punched by a lesser and more courageous antagonist.  Immediately I got on deck, I produced an English book, which mentioned the port of Mogador as a “good” port.