“Per Dio Santo!” exclaimed our capitano; “yes, for the English it is a good port—­you dare devils at sea—­for them it is a good port.  The open sea, with a gale of wind, is a good port for the maladetti English.”

Irritated at this extreme politeness to our gallant tars, who have so long “braved the battle and the breeze,” I did not trouble farther the dauntless Genoese, who certainly was not destined to become a Columbus.  Now the men began to snivel and yelp, following the example of their commander.  “We won’t go into the port, Santa Virgine!  We won’t go in to be shivered to pieces on the rocks.”  At this moment our experienced capitano fancied we had got into shoal-water; the surf was seen running in foaming circles, as if in a whirlpool.  Now, indeed, our capitano did yelp; now did the crew yelp, invoking all the saints of the Roman calendar, instead of attending to the ship. [14] Here was a scene of indescribable confusion.  Our ship was suddenly put round and back.

My fellow passengers, a couple of Jews from Gibraltar, began swearing at the capitano and his brave men.  One of them, whilst cursing, thought it just as well, at the same time, to call upon Father Abraham.  Our little brig pitched her bows two or three times under water like a storm-bird, and did not ground.  It was seen to be a false alarm.  The capitano now took courage on seeing all the flags flying over the fortifications, it being Friday, the Mahometan Sabbath.  The silly fellow had heard, that the port authorities always hauled down their colours, when the entrance to the harbour was unsafe by reason of bad weather.  Seeing the colours, he imagined all was right.

There are two entrances to the port of Mogador; one from the south, which is quite open; the other from the north-west, which is only a narrow passage, with scarcely room to admit a ship-of-the-line.  The ‘Suffren,’ in which the Prince de Joinville commanded the bombardment of the town, stood right over this entrance, on the northern channel, having south-east the Isle of Mogador, and north-west the coast of the Continent.  The Prince took up a bold and critical position, exposed to violent currents, to grounding on a rocky bottom, and to many other serious accidents. [15]

[Illustration]

As we neared this difficult entrance, we were all in a state of the most feverish excitement, expecting, such was the fury of the breakers, to be thrown on the rock on either side.  Thus, it was a veritable Scylla and Charybdis.  A man from the rigging descried several small vessels moored snugly behind the isle.  We ventured in with breathless agitation.  A man from one of the fortifications, guessing or seeing, I suppose, our timidity and bad seamenship, cried out at the top of his lungs, “Salvo!” which being interpreted, meant, “The entrance is safe.”