The Argosy — page 241: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

222 The Cruse of the Reserve Squadron. bags and barrels of meal or grain, and nearly all were either buying or selling. It was the provision market, and round the high, hoary walls booths or sheds were erected. In many of these sheds was a small stove for an open fire, and the presiding genius—a dark- eyed Moor, in a turban and little else—held a long iron skewer, on which he was sticking, at short intervals, small balls of what appeared to be forced meat. Evidently they wanted much persuading into a particular form, for he rubbed them round and round in his swarthy hands, until, as we imagined their being eaten, we turned quite interestingly faint and feeble. These, fashioned to his liking, were lodged over the fire, until roasted and ready for sale. Hun- dreds of these little meated skewers were exposed to tempt the hungry. We watched many a Moor approach, buy one, go on to the next booth, and invest in a small, round, flat cake that looked all flour and water, or a thick hunch of bread that at least had the merit of substance. Next, happy as a king, he would squat upon the ground and deliver himself up to the delights of his feast. The whole scene was truly Eastern, and to us interesting. We had encountered nothing like it on our travels, and, for the present, should not again be likely to see anything of its kind. I don’t know that we grieved on that account. A little of the heat and smells of Tangiers went a very long way. Close contact with the Moors in the market-place was not encouraging to a philanthropic view of humanity. We were not sorry to get beyond the confines of these four prison-like walls, where, unable to escape the crowd, one felt uncomfortable and half suffocated. In our peregrinations we visited the gaol, and there must bea good deal of wickedness going on that needs restraining, for it was crowded with prisoners. One could not help pitying them—though probably it was. a waste of emotion—for they looked miserable enough; yet miserable more in condition than expression. We failed to discover any especial marks of shame, or deep repentance, or heart-breaking remorse. They regretted their liberty, no doubt, but did not seem to feel their position. It may be that, here, less stigma attaches to these wholesome restrictions of the law, these temporary ‘“‘retreats” from the world, than in places that have not enjoyed the privilege of standing still for a thousand years. But at least they were not made comfortable—though the Moors seem unacquainted with our ideas of personal ease. We were ad- mitted into a large room, hot, and badly lighted. The floor consisted P of the bare earth. ‘The prisoners were squatting about, and some, as we entered, turned their faces away, or covered them up; not from shame, but in order that our curiosity should not be gratified. Perhaps, too, they were afraid of being sketched. Many of them were at work, some in making baskets and mats, which they are allowed to sell for their own benefit. Out of curiosity, and by way of experiment, we offered one of the prisoners, for a small straw Comigbooks;com