A circuitous route of three miles through narrow streets, with buildings crumbling to decay and indicative of architecture of an early period, led us to the cemetery on a shady plateau near the outskirts of the city. Here the cortege halted, and the last rites were solemnized by Chaplain Chidwick of the New York, well known as the late chaplain
of the ill-fated battleship Maine. Three volleys were fired over the sailor’s grave, and the services closed impressively with the sound of “taps,” “lights out.”
As the band struck up “In the good old summer-time,” ranks were broken, and the men roamed at will through the narrow, spicy-scented streets, thronged with semi-barbarians, rough-riding vassals of the Sultan costumed in turbans, sandals, and flowing robes, whose contempt for all foreigners cannot brook restraint. It was a pleasant relief to escape the fumes of this incensed city, to inhale the fresh ozone aboard the man-of-war.
On departing from Morocco, our cruise led to ports along the coast of the great Mediterranean Sea.
III.
Thrilling Adventure with Moors in the “Kasbah” of Algiers
Moonlight on the Mediterranean—Meeting with O’Mally, a Pedestrian of the Globe—“Birds of a Feather” in the Moulin Rouge—A Midnight Hold-up by Moors; O’Mally with Gendarmes and French Soldiers to the Rescue—A Pitched Battle in which Blood Flows Freely—French Soldiers Drink the Health of the United States—Malta and Singers of the “Yama Yama.”
A calm moonlight night on the waters of the Mediterranean Sea is the most awe-inspiring feeling that can be manifested in the heart of a man-of-war’s-man. The dark blue billows, resembling a carpet of velvet, surging in mountainous swells, seem to reflect the glitter of every star in the celestial firmament, while moonbeams dance in shadowy vistas o’er the surface of the deep. It was on such a night that our cruiser plowed her course from Palermo, Sicily, and
entered the land-locked harbor of the quaint old capital of Algeria.