There were the Queen Charlotte—110 guns—the flag-ship of Admiral Lord Exmouth, G.C.B., under Captain James Brisbane, C.B.; Impregnable, 98—under Rear-Admiral Milne, who was second in command, and Captain Edward Brace, C.B.; Superb, 74—Captain Charles Elkins; Minden, 74—Captain William Paterson; Albion, 74—Captain John Coode. Of frigates, there were the Leander, 50 guns; Severn, 40; Glasgow, 40; Granicus, 36; and Hebrus, 36. These, with five gun-brigs and four bomb-vessels, named respectively, and not inappropriately, Beelzebub, Fury, Hecla, and Infernal, constituted the British fleet.
The Dutch Admiral hoisted his flag in the Melampus frigate of 44 guns. The Frederica, of same size, was commanded by Captain Van der Straten. The other four vessels were smaller. There were, besides, a flotilla of fifty-five small craft, including mortar and gun-boats, rocket flats, yawls, etcetera.
Opposed to this, which the reader will bear in remembrance was deemed a small fleet, there were on the walls and batteries of Algiers about 500 guns of all sizes and sorts, behind which were inexhaustible supplies of ammunition, and many thousands of as thorough-going rascals as ever defied the strength and tried the patience of the civilised world!
Being thoroughly acquainted with the position and strength of the batteries of the city, Lord Exmouth had arranged the plan of attack, and assigned to each ship and boat its particular station some days before arriving. The addition of the Dutch fleet modified but did not materially alter that plan. Each individual, therefore, from Lord Exmouth to the smallest powder-monkey, was as well primed for action as were the guns of the fleet when the flag of truce returned.
It had been met outside the mole about eleven AM by the captain of the port, and an answer was promised in two hours.
But these pirates had never been celebrated for keeping their word. One o’clock passed, but no answer was forthcoming. Patient and long-suffering as usual—and as he always is—the British Lion delayed a full hour.
“Ah, boys, if we wait till we git a peaceful answer from them villains, we’ll wait till doomsday, so 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.”