The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale, R. M. Ballantyne [great novels of all time .TXT] 📗

we will,” said Ted Flaggan to the men of the gun to which he had attached himself.

Ted had thrown off his burnous and washed himself by this time, and now, clad in a borrowed pair of ducks and striped shirt, he stood by the gun commenting pleasantly on his experiences of Algerine life, and pointing out the various buildings and objects of interest in the city to his mates.

“That big white house there,” said he, “right fornint ye, with the round top an’ the staple all to wan side—that’s wan o’ the chief mosques. It’s somewhere about two hunderd year ould, more or less, an’ was built by a slave—a poor feller of a Genoese—an’, would you belave it, they kilt him for the shape he gave it! Ah, they’re a bad lot intirely! Like a dacent Christian, he made it in the shape o’ a cross, an’ whin the Dey found that out he chopped the poor man’s head off—so he did, worse luck! but it’s that they’re always doin’, or stranglin’ ye wid a bow-string, or makin’ calf’s-futt jelly o’ yer soles.—What! ‘Ye don’t belave it?’ Faix, if ye go ashore ye’ll larn to belave it. I’ve seed poor owld women git the bastinado—that’s what they calls it—for nothin’ at all a’most. Ah, they’re awful hard on the women. They kape ’em locked up, they does, as if they was thieves or murderers, and niver lets ’em out—at least the ladies among ’em—for fear o’ their bein’ runned away wid. It’s true what I’m sayin’. An’ if wan shud be runned away wid, an’ cotched, they ties her in a sack and drowns her.—Good-lookin’, is it? Faix, that’s more than I can tell ’ee, for all the time I’ve been in the place I’ve never wance seed a Moorish woman’s face, barrin’ the brow an’ eyes and top o’ the nose, for they cover ’em up wid white veils, so as to make ’em look like ghosts or walkin’ corpses. But the Jewesses show their purty faces, an’ so do the naigresses.—‘are the naigresses purty?’ Troth, they may be to their own kith an’ kin, but of all the ugly— Well, well, as you say, it’s not fair to be hard on ’em, poor critters; for arter all they didn’t make theirselves, no more than the monkeys did.”

Ted Flaggan was interrupted here by the sudden exclamation of “There she is!” and the next moment the boat with the flag of truce was seen returning with the signal flying— “No answer.”

Instantly Lord Exmouth signalled to the fleet, “Are you ready?” to which an affirmative reply was at once returned, and then each ship and boat bore down on its appointed station.

We have already said that the harbour of Algiers was formed by the running out of an artificial pier from the mainland to the small island of Peñon, which lies close to the town. On this island stood, (and still stands), a light-house, at the base of which was a powerful three-tier battery of fifty guns. The island itself was defended all round by ramparts and batteries of heavy guns. This was the strong point of the fortifications, and within the small harbour thus formed was collected the whole Algerine fleet, consisting of four frigates, five large corvettes, and thirty-seven gun-boats.

But besides these harbour defences, the sea-wall of the town extended nearly a mile to the southward and a considerable distance to the northward of the harbour, being everywhere strengthened by powerful batteries. The arrangement of the British Admiral was that each battery should be engaged by a special ship or ships of heavy metal, and that the smaller vessels should take up position where they could find room, or cruise about and do as much damage to the enemy as possible. While the liners and frigates were to batter down the walls, the small craft—bomb and rocket boats, etcetera—were to pour shells and rockets into the arsenal. It was terrible work that had to be done, but the curse which it was intended to do away with was more terrible by far, because of being an old standing evil, and immeasurably more prolific of death and misery than is even a hard-fought battle.

The signal to go into action being given, Lord Exmouth led the van in the Queen Charlotte, and the whole fleet bore up in succession, the Dutch Admiral closing in with the rearmost ship of the English line.

Truly it was a grand as well as a solemn sight to see these majestic ships of war sail quietly down on the devoted city in the midst of dead silence, for as yet not a shot had been fired on either side. And the eyes of many, already wide with eagerness, must have opened wider still with surprise, for Lord Exmouth pursued a course of action that was bold even for a British Admiral. He ran the Queen Charlotte before the wind, close up to the walls, and with the sails still standing let go three anchors from the stern, so as to keep her exactly in the required position, just before the opening of the mole, and with her vast broadside within pistol-range of the walls, flanking all the batteries from the mole-head to the light-house.

Still no shot was fired. The boldness of the act seemed to have confounded and paralysed the enemy, insomuch that a second ship of the line had almost taken her position close to the stern of her predecessor before the battle began. The effect on the minds of the combatants on both sides was so great that they seemed to have forgotten for an instant the dread work they were about to perform. The mole was crowded with troops, many of whom, with irresistible feelings of curiosity, leaped on the parapet to see the vessel pass, while Lord Exmouth, with a strange touch of humanity, waved to them earnestly to get out of the way of the coming fire!

Having coolly lashed the ship by a hawser to the main-mast of an Algerine brig which was attached to the shore, and stoppered the cables, the crew of the flag-ship cheered.

Immediately a gun was fired by the Algerines. At the first flash Lord Exmouth gave the order to “stand by.”

At the second gun of the enemy he gave the word “Fire!”

The third was drowned in the thunder of the Queen Charlotte’s broadside.

The effect of such heavy metal at so short a range was terrific. The walls absolutely crumbled before it, and it is said that five hundred men fell at the first discharge. All the batteries of the city at once opened fire; the ships did likewise, as they successively got into position, and for some hours after that the roar of artillery was incessant, for, despite the irresistible fire of the fleet, the pirates stood to their guns like men. Thus, although the leading vessels succeeded in anchoring quietly, all the rest of the ships went into action under a very heavy fire, particularly that of the Dutch Admiral, who displayed great wisdom and gallantry in the part which he played. The line-of-battle ships formed in a sort of crescent round the outside of the island. The Superb anchored two hundred and fifty yards astern of the flag-ship; the Minden anchored about her own length from the Superb, and passing her stream-cable out of the larboard gun-room port to the Albion, brought the two ships together. Next came the Impregnable. These sufficiently engaged the batteries on the island or mole. The heavy frigates passed ahead and anchored,—the Leander on the port bow of the Queen Charlotte, the Severn ahead of her, with her starboard broadside bearing on the Fishmarket battery. The Melampus and Diana, Dutch vessels, passed beyond and engaged the southern batteries of the town. The smaller vessels cruised about, directing their fire where it seemed to be most needed, and the flotilla of mortar and rocket boats were distributed at the openings between the line-of-battle ships and the mole.

This admirable disposition of the force seemed to inspire the men with additional confidence, if such were possible, but ere long the dense smoke rendered everything invisible beyond a few yards’ distance from the actors in the tremendous fight.

In a few minutes after opening fire, the Queen Charlotte had reduced the fortifications on the mole-head to ruins. She then brought her broadside to bear on the batteries over the gate leading to the mole and on the upper works of the light-house. Her shot told on it with fatal accuracy, crumbling the tower and bringing down gun after gun, thus proving that the ball-practice on the voyage out had not been undertaken in vain. Indeed, so expert did some of the gunners find themselves that they actually amused themselves at one part of the day in attempting to hit the Algerine flag-staff!

It chanced that, owing to some alteration in the arrangements, our friend Rais Ali was transferred from the battery on the walls, where he had originally been stationed, to that on the light-house, and when he beheld gun after gun tumbling helplessly over the crumbling parapets, his spirit fired, and he amazed his comrades by displaying a disregard of personal danger for which he had never before got credit. Whether it was that Ted Flaggan had underrated him, or that there is truth in the proverb about extremes meeting, we cannot tell, but certain it is, that when Rais Ali saw every gun of the battery dismounted but one, he rushed at that one like an enraged lion, seized the rammer from the man who wielded it, and began to load.

He might have spared himself the trouble, for before he got the charge rammed home, a shot from the terrible Queen Charlotte struck the parapet just underneath, burst it up, and toppled the gun over. Rais leaped on the ramparts, waved his scimitar with a yell of defiance, and, tumbling after the gun, was lost amid a cloud of lime-dust and débris.

Strange to say, he rose from out the ruin almost unhurt, and quite undismayed.

Hasting along the quay without any definite end in view, he found the captain of the port getting the flotilla of gun-boats ready for action. There were thirty-seven of them, and up to that time they had lain as snugly in the harbour as was compatible with a constant shower of shells and rockets tumbling into them. With great daring the pirates had resolved to make a dash with these, under cover of the smoke, and attempt to board the British flag-ship.

“Where go you?” demanded the infuriated Rais.

The captain of the port hurriedly explained.

“I go with you,” cried Rais, jumping into one of the boats; “it is fate—no man can resist the decree of fate.”

All the boats pushed swiftly off together, and did it so silently that they were close under the bow of the flag-ship before being observed. The Leander also saw them, and a few guns from her, as well as from the flag-ship, were instantly turned on them.

“Musha! look there!” cried Ted Flaggan, who chanced to be on the part of the ship nearest them.

A tremendous crash followed, and thirty-three out of the thirty-seven boats were in one moment sent to the bottom!

Of the four that escaped and put about to retreat, one came within the range of the gun at which Flaggan served. It was trained to bear.

“Fire!” said the captain.

“Howld on!” cried Ted, suddenly clapping his hand on the touch-hole, and receiving the red-hot poker on the back of it.

“What’s that for, mate?” demanded the man who held the poker, as he quickly raised it.

“All right, me hearty; fire away,” said Ted, as he quietly removed his hand.

Next moment the gun leaped back as if affrighted at its own vomit of shot, smoke, and fire, and a column of white foam rose from the sea, astern of the boat.

The momentary check had delivered it from destruction, and Ted Flaggan had the satisfaction of