The pillars of Hercules

by David Urquhart

Thus have been estranged the land and the water, and the approach to each is closed from the other. Such is the defence of Morocco on the ocean side: its iron-bound coast on the Mediterranean is scarcely a less formidable bulwark. To the east, and to the south, it is encircled by deserts and wildernesses. I had subsequently the satisfaction to find that this fence of rocks had not failed to fix the attention of the ancients. An old author, quoted by Suidas, says, that “rocks, to which the name Harmata,[198] was given, were strewed along the shore by Hercules to defend it from the approach of wild beasts.” The beasts are ships, to which the names of animals were given—from the figure-heads this fertile source of mythological personation has given us Pegasus, the Ram of Phryxus, the Bull of Europa.

December 1st. We are still off our port ranging up and down, and unable to enter, although we have the most beautiful weather and the calmest sea! We cannot enter without a leading wind, that is, from the west, and if it blows from the west, we must run one hundred and fifty miles for shelter. A Portuguese on board, familiar with the coast, calls the ports of Barbary “excommunicated.” Last year a schooner was detained seven months before it could get away, and then had to sail with only half its cargo.

We have viewed at our leisure the city of Salee and Rabat, and their environs. It is a strange place and country. The land is a series of long, gentle, bare, sweeping drives, at the edge cut out into cliffs and cones as if with a pastry cutter. About three miles north of Salee we descried, through the mists of spray, a magnificent palace. It changed to a gaunt ruin. A little further on there is a kubbe, or saint’s tomb, surmounted by a dome, like the tombs of Judæa and India. Next comes the point of Salee, and over it flutters the red flag of the “Rovers.” Gardens surround the town, and a few palm trees are seen among them. Between Salee and Rabat the river enters the sea over the bar. Rabat is imposing with its fortresses. The great tower stands on elevated ground at the bottom of the harbour. Rabat was built at the close of the twelfth century to facilitate—though the Moors were in possession of Ceuta and all the northern coast—the best expedition then directed against Spain. Across this bar was launched a large part of those hordes which followed Jacob Almanzor, and of that expedition under his successor, of half a million of men, which have immortalised the Navas de Tolosa.

The Moorish empire then extended in Africa above a thousand miles from east to west; and five hundred and fifty, in its broadest part, from north to south. It included also one half of Spain, and menaced the remainder. It embellished Africa as well as Seville and Cordova, with some of the noblest structures that any age has produced. It caused arts and science to flourish amidst the ravages of war. Rabat outshone the “court” of Morocco,—merchants gathered to share in its commerce, and professors to teach in its schools.

A Roman-like aqueduct still strides along the plain, and from the tower, raised to supply the want of mountains, the fleets of foes, or the convoys of friends, could be descried for twenty leagues at sea. This meteor capital of the “west” was seen, and then vanished. It was laid low in the wars of the Almohadis and the Benemerines.

Further to the south, there are long lines of low white walls connected with a small building, where the Sultan was residing. In the rear there was a large encampment of cavalry in a square, as if it had been a Roman legion. We calculated their force at ten thousand.

The last intelligence we had received before sailing from Gibraltar, was that an insurrection had broken out at Morocco, and another on the borders of Algiers, in favour of Abd-el-Kadir. The French steamer, that was recently here, came to press an answer from the unfortunate monarch to an ultimatum from the French government, giving him the option of war with France or Abd-el-Kadir.

It was painful to reflect how much the fortunes of Europe, and the internal condition and ultimate government of France, were dependent upon the weakness or caprice of the descendants of the “Rovers of Salee.” For a step involving the entrance of French troops into Morocco, by changing the position of Algeria into a basis of operation against Africa, would have similarly changed France in respect to Europe. It would have subjugated the policy of the metropolis to the conduct of the colony. It was no object of the cabinet of the Tuilleries to drive the Sultan into a false and untenable position at home, or to compromise him with France. The Government of Algiers had got the management of the negotiation, and had this purpose. My trip had reference to this matter, and was not uninvited by the Moorish Government, otherwise I should not have risked presenting myself at so unfrequented an entrance to this inhospitable land. Adverse winds, however, detained me in the Gut, whilst steam carried the French—that is, the Algerine—emissary to his destination. Nothing could be more tantalizing than thus to hover above the country, and in sight of its assembled multitudes, in utter ignorance of what was passing, and with the contingency before my eyes of being even yet unable to set foot on it.

In pursuance of the importance of the resolves of the Council Chamber of this African state, I reverted to the circumstances of the last war, and the great struggle of England and France, of which another African state, at the other extremity of the Mediterranean, had been the first cause and the original field; and the question naturally arose, “Was it possible that Napoleon,—who, after an attempt on, and a failure in Egypt, planned the conquest of Spain,—should have neglected a country identified with the language, manners, and institutions of the one, and available for the injury or the protection of the other?” The opinion of Lord Nelson as to the importance to England of the friendship of the Moor, proves that Morocco was a piece in the great European game, and one which even his antagonists understood. But Napoleon’s moves were beyond their reach. His game was lost by his own faults; their merit (I speak not of mere battles, or even of campaigns) consisted only in turning to account the incidents of his fortunes.