The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale

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 knowing that he had saved his friend Rais Ali, as he tenderly patted his injured hand.

More than an hour of this heavy firing failing to produce submission, Lord Exmouth resolved to destroy the Algerine fleet. The Leander was ordered to cease firing, and the flag-ship barge, under Lieutenant Richards, was ordered to board the nearest frigate of the enemy, with laboratory torches and carcass shells. This duty was gallantly performed, and so effectually, that the men of the barge had barely time to tumble over the side when the frigate was a mass of flames. The barge was received with three hearty cheers on its return. Next, the launch of the Queen Charlotte opened on the largest frigate in the port with carcass shells, and despite the frantic efforts of the Algerines to save her, she was soon completely on fire. From this frigate the fire spread to all the other boats and vessels in the harbour, and from these to the storehouses and arsenal, until the whole place was wrapped in smoke and flames.

Meanwhile the other ships had done terrible execution on the walls and houses immediately opposite to them, while the bomb-vessels threw their deadly missiles right over their own ships and into the town and arsenal, with tremendous effect.

Thus the work of destruction went on all the afternoon, while men, of course, fell fast on both sides—for the deadly game of war cannot be carried on except at fearful cost. Even in the secondary matter of matériel the cost is not small. As night approached the guns of the enemy were completely silenced, and the ships began to husband their ammunition, for they had by that time fired an immense quantity of gunpowder, and 50,000 shot, weighing more than 500 tons of iron; besides 960 shells of large size, as well as a considerable quantity of shot, shell, and rockets from the flotilla! The result was that the entire fleet of the pirates was destroyed, and the sea-defences of Algiers, with a great part of the town itself, were shattered and crumbled in ruins.

Then the fleet hauled off with considerable difficulty, owing to the absence of wind; but the pirates had not given in, for they kept spitting at their foes from the upper batteries of the town until half-past eleven at night, when the ships got out of range and firing ceased.

Strange to say, the powers of nature, which had hitherto slumbered quietly, now came into play. The breeze freshened and a tremendous storm of thunder, lightning, and rain came on, as if to mock the fury of man, and humble him under a sense of his relative littleness.

But man is not easily humbled. Next morning the pirates still showed a disinclination to give in, and the British fleet resumed the offensive in order to compel them to do so.

The gun-boats were again placed in position, and Lieutenant Burgess was sent ashore with a flag of truce to demand unconditional surrender.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

The Last

In a dimly-lighted cell of a massive stone building not far from the palace of the Dey, sat Colonel Langley, Francisco Rimini and his two sons, Bacri the Jew, and the officers and men belonging to the Prometheus—all heavily ironed. The Padre Giovanni was also there, but not, like the others, a prisoner.

He was attending to his self-imposed duty of comforting the sick and dying. Among the other prisoners was an Italian slave, a nobleman, who had broken down on the ramparts and rebelled, and was sent to prison as being the most convenient hospital where he might be kept until the pirates should find leisure to flog him into submission or to death. But Death had a mind to do the work according to his own pleasure. The slave felt himself to be sinking, and, through the influence of Bacri with the jailer, he had been permitted to send for Giovanni. Other slaves were there too, doomed to punishment, or, in other words, to various degrees of torture. They lay or cowered around the cell awaiting the issue of the fight.

It was a terrible sight to see the varied expressions of anxiety, fear, or dogged resolution depicted in the faces of these men. Some of them knew well that death, accompanied by excruciating torture, was certain to be their portion when the bombardment should be over. Others hoped that a severe bastinado might be the worst of it. None expected anything more—even though the British should win the day—than that there would be some modification in treaties which would not extend to the slaves of foreign nations.

They all—with the exception of the Padre—maintained an almost unbroken silence during the bombardment; but their restless motions and glances showed how busy their thoughts were, and a grim smile would ever and anon curl the lips of some when a chance shot struck the building and shook it to its foundation. And oh! how anxiously one or two desperate spirits hoped that a shell would enter it, and scatter sudden death among them all!

It was solemn, and strange, too, in the midst of the interminable thunder, to hear the gentle voice of the man of God quoting from the peace-speaking Word, as he knelt beside the dying man and dwelling more especially on passages in which the loving Jesus seeks to cheer His people with prospects of rest and peace, such as— “Peace be unto you;” “Let not your hearts be troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in me;” “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Even the hardened among the wretched and demoralised sufferers there could not choose but hear and note the powerful contrast between the gentle voice of Almighty God that thus murmured within the prison, and the crashing voice of puny man that roared outside!

In the darkness of that night Bacri crept to the side of Mariano, and whispered hastily—

“I may not get another opportunity to speak to thee. Just before I came hither Angela and her sister were taken from my care by force. They are now in the palace, under the care of Zara. Omar intends to keep them.”

Mariano turned to reply, but the Jew had retired noiselessly as he came.

Early in the morning after the fight the prison-door opened, and a band of Turkish soldiers entered. The garish light of day, as it streamed over the dungeon floor, revealed the fact that the shattered frame of the Italian slave had found rest at last.

The soldiers looked fagged and dishevelled. Many of them wore bandages about their heads and limbs. They did not speak, but drew up in a line, while their leader advanced with a negro, who proceeded to file the fetters from off the British consul and his countrymen. In a few minutes he led them out between the soldiers, and conducted them towards the palace.

Although the Turkish officer could not, or would not, converse with Colonel Langley, the latter had little difficulty in making a pretty good guess as to how matters stood, for on his way to the palace, short though it was, he saw devastation enough to convince him that the British had gained the day. Arrived at the palace, the party were locked up in an anteroom.

Meanwhile, in the audience-hall, which was considerably damaged by the artillery of the fleet, Omar Dey held a divan. The building in which this court had been held in former times was now a ruin, and many of the councillors who had been wont to assemble in it had gone to their last account.

Omar was very pale, and moved with difficulty, having been wounded slightly in various places. Indeed, all the statesmen who surrounded him bore marks, more or less severe, of having played a part in the late action. In the midst of an eager discussion, an attendant entered, and announced the arrival of a British officer with a flag of truce.

“Admit him,” said the Dey, who, although boiling over with rage and despair, had sense enough to make up his mind to bow to the power which he could not overcome.

Immediately Lieutenant Burgess was ushered into the court, accompanied by Rais Ali in the capacity of translator, and two of his boat’s crew, one of whom was, by special permission, Ted Flaggan.

Without wasting time in useless ceremony, the lieutenant ordered Rais to read aloud the paper which he had been commissioned by Lord Exmouth to deliver to the Dey.

Poor Rais Ali appeared to have expended all his bravery on the ramparts, for he trembled and grew paler as he took the paper in his hand.

“Cheer up, owld boy,” whispered Flaggan, as Ali turned to advance towards the Dey; “ye’ve got more pluck than I guv ’ee credit for. Never say die.”

Whether it was the result of these encouraging words, or desperation, we know not, but Rais immediately advanced and read the paper with considerable fluency. It ran as follows:—

“To His Highness the Dey of Algiers.

“Sir,—For your atrocities at Bona on defenceless Christians, and your unbecoming disregard of the demands I made yesterday, in the name of the Prince Regent of England, the fleet under my orders has given you a signal chastisement, by the total destruction of your navy storehouses and arsenal, with half your batteries. As England does not make war for the destruction of cities, I am unwilling to visit your personal cruelties upon the inoffensive inhabitants of the country, and I therefore offer you the same terms of peace which I conveyed to you yesterday in my Sovereign’s name. Without the acceptance of these terms you can have no peace with England.