of jewellers is only human, and it might tempt
him to raise the price and not the value. But
I think he recognised a master-mind in my
uncle.

OLD STORIES RE-TOLD.

THE BOMBARDMENT OF ALGIERS.

IN the spring of 1816, that trusty and thorough
English sailor, Lord Exmouth, led his squadron
to Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli, and released
one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two
Christian slaves, concluding a somewhat
unsatisfactory and imperfect treaty with the
bloodthirsty Dey, Omar Pasha, and returning
to England, he disbanded his crews and
dismantled his frigates. In the debates on this
expedition Lord Cochrane, always too ardent,
wilful, and impetuous, and soured into unceasing
factious opposition to every one, intemperately
derided the Barbary corsairs, declared that the
Algerines had no cannon, and could not use
them if they had, and rashly asserted that two sail
of the line would have forced the Dey to accede
to the instant abolition of slavery, or any other
terms. The temper of the hero of Basque
Roads led him wrong. Algiers was crowded
with guns, garrisoned by intrepid and practised
Arab artillerymen, and was bulwarked with
batteries difficult to enfilade and of tremendous
strength.

Our great war vessels had scarcely furled
their wings and gone to sleep, before the sea-
robbers of the north of Africa broke out into
fresh atrocities. The English visit had roused
the old inextinguishable fanaticism. The
Moors had been stripped of their slaves, and
smarted at the loss, although they had been
allowed to receive from Sicily and Sardinia
compensation to the tune of four hundred thousand
dollars. In 1806 the English government, always
ignobly sending presents and degradingly
exchanging courtesies with these cruel pirates, had
contracted with the Dey for the occupation of the
town and harbour of Bona as a tolerated depôt
for the Italian coral fishery, to be carried on
under the protection of the British flag. On
the 23rd of May, 1816, a great number of
bright-sailed boats, from the Italian coast, lay
off Bona. Their brown-faced, dark-haired,
gesticulating Genoese, Maltese, Sardinian, and
Neapolitan crews were chiefly on shore, preparing
to celebrate the Feast of the Ascension by
High Mass. The priest's robes were donned,
the incense already fumed in the censers. All
at once a gun was fired from the castle, a
crowd of furious Turkish Janissaries rushed
on the coral fishers and slew all they met;
some cavalry, at the same moment, swept along
the shore, sabring as they went. The boats
were fired on by the forts, and sunk. Hardly
one poor fisherman escaped. The British flag
was torn down and trampled under foot,
and our vice-consul's house pillaged and gutted.
The Dey had, it was said, not ordered this
massacre; it was only a paroxysm of
barbarous fanaticism. But England at once spoke
out: " It shall be punished." There was a
roar of rage from John o' Groat's to the
Land's End. The fleet was instantly ordered
out. The telegraph's arms swung to and fro
to collect seamen and officers. Up spread the
canvas again; out once more blossomed the
red pendants. The rigging spread quick as
spiders' webs. No need of pressing for this
righteous crusade men came from the guard-
ships, and sailors from every man-of-war. The
great floating castles rode again upon the sea,
and the helmsmen looked towards Africa.

On the 21st of July, 1816 (Sunday, an
auspicious day with sailors), the fleets left
Portsmouth; at Plymouth, Lord Exmouth added to
his pack the Impregnable, a three-decker, the
Minden, Superb, and Albion, seventy-fours.
The fleet, now counting twenty-five sail, steered
straight for Gibraltar before a light breeze.

The moment Plymouth was down below the
horizon, Lord Exmouth gave orders that the
seamen should be exercised at the guns, twice
a day at the mere motions, and once a week
with fire. On Friday, the 9th, the coasts
of Spain and Morocco opened like outspread
arms, and at gun-fire, as the cannon
were rattling quick and sharp, our fleet came
opposite a spot for ever sacred to men of our
race—Trafalgar.

At Gibraltar, the old grey rock that lies like
a couchant lion guarding the straits, the English
were recruited by five Dutch frigates and
a corvette, commanded by a thin amiable old
officer, Admiral Van Cappellan: also by five of
our own gunboats. Lord Exmouth was intent
on business, and did not lose a moment. He
had the decks swept of their cabins, leaving
all clear for the guns fore and aft. The timbers
of the cabins and all superfluous partitions were
sent on shore, fresh cabins were stretched of
canvas, and all baggage was sent down into the
cockpits. The marines were also exercised in the
boats, and a landing practised. On Monday, the
12th, the birthday of the Prince Regent, the
Queen Charlotte hoisted her royal standard and
broke forth with a rejoicing salute of twenty-
one guns, and at the same time the other thirty-
four vessels discharged their cannon. When this
was over, the rock took up the chorus. From
every cell in it came jets of fire and puffs of
white sulphurous smoke, above, below, north,
south — from the Spanish Gate to the Point
Europa, the cannon roared and echoed. The
rock glowed like an enormous pastille half ignited.
It was two hours before all the batteries had
done speaking.

On the 14th, a light sou'-wester rising, the
fleet weighed and set sail from the bay. On
the 15th, they were joined by the corvette
Prometheus (Captain Dashwood), from Algiers.
On board were the wife and daughter of the
consul of Algiers, who had escaped disguised in
midshipman's clothes. The consul had been
seized and chained in his own house, and
eighteen men (the boat's crew) of the
Prometheus had been sent into the interior as