Chapter Seven.
To save the Flag.
“I say, Jack, can you tell me what all this row is about between us and these wide-breeched, red-capped niggers, the Egyptians?” asked Adair, as he stood by the side of Jack Rogers on the quarter-deck of the Racer, while the latter, with his spyglass under his arm, was doing duty as signal midshipman. The outlines of many a picturesque hill and white stone stronghold, famed in ancient and modern history, rose in the distance on the Syrian coast out of the blue glittering ocean.
“Why,” replied Jack, “I’m not much of a politician, Paddy, but as far as I can make out, old Mehemet Ali wants to be Sultan of the Turks, and we won’t let him; and so Charlie Napier told him that if he didn’t draw in his horns within twenty days, we would blow his fortresses on this coast about the ears of his pachas. He, in return, told Charlie to go to Jericho, that he intended to keep what he’d got; and so now we’re going to do what we promised. We shall have some fun, depend on it.”
“Now I understand all the ins and outs of the matter,” replied Paddy. “There’s nothing like knowing what you are fighting about.”
“There, up goes a signal from the flag-ship,” cried Jack, putting his glass to his eye, and pointing it towards the Princess Charlotte, Sir Robert Stopford’s flag-ship, which, with the Powerful, Thunderer, Benbow, and several other line-of-battle ships and frigates, sloops and steamers, joined by a Turkish squadron under Admiral Walker, and a few Austrian ships, was cruising off Beyrout.
“The signal for the captains of each ship to assemble on board the Princess Charlotte,” cried Jack. “Hurrah! the fun’s to begin.”
The captains having visited the flag-ship, the squadron stood in, the larger portion taking up a position opposite the town, which they forthwith commenced bombarding, while the rest were employed in landing troops at different points to co-operate with the Turks, and to distract the attention of the Egyptians. Suliman Pacha, Governor of Beyrout, in spite of the shot and shell showered into his fortress, held out bravely and fired away in return as hard as he could. It was the first time the three midshipmen of the Racer had been under fire, but as she had not to take any very active part in the affair, they voted it very slow work.
“Is this what you call fighting?” said Jack. “It seems to me as if all the fun was on one side.”
“Stay a bit, my boy,” observed Hemming; “this is only just the beginning of the game. Before many days are over perhaps we shall be at something which will make you cry out the other way.”