giers hold out, and then a traitor betrayed Venalcadi into the hands
of his enemies. Instantly his head was struck off, placed on a pole, and
paraded in full sight of the garrison, who were promised their lives on
condition of surrender.

The city opened its gates once more, and Barbarossa entered in triumph. The
corsair was as good as his word to his Spanish captives, and restored to
them their liberty. He went even further, and was liberal in his _largesse_
to those who had fought so well for him. If he can be credited with such an
emotion as gratitude, he must have felt it for Moncada's stout infantrymen,
as, had it not been for them, it would have been his head and not that of
Venalcadi which would have decorated the pole. The Spaniards departed to
their own country--that is to say, such of them as desired to do so; but
one Hamet, a Biscayan, declared that life was so intolerable for a common
man such as he in his own country that he desired to throw in his lot with
Barbarossa. Thirty-nine others followed his example, abjuring the Christian
faith and becoming renegadoes.

Those of the garrison left alive were glad enough to return once more to
their allegiance to their former master. The episode of the mutiny of
Venalcadi and Hassan was a lesson not only to them: the fame of it spread
far and wide throughout the Mediterranean. Who now could be found to combat
Barbarossa? and all along the coasts of the tideless sea echo shudderingly
answered--Who?

With the new accession to his strength Kheyred-Din had no difficulty in
making himself master of Tunis, and he sent Cachidiablo with seventeen
galleys to harry once more the coast of Spain.

CHAPTER VI

THE TAKING OF THE PENON D'ALGER; ANDREA DORIA

Although Kheyr-ed-Din had made himself master of Algiers, there still
remained the fortress of Pedro Navarro in the hands of the Spaniards. This
strong place of arms had now been in their practically undisputed
occupation for twenty years; from out of its loopholed walls and
castellated battlements the undaunted garrison had looked forth while the
tide of war both by land and sea had swept by. They had been unmolested so
far, but now their day was to come.

In command of the Penon d'Alger, as it was called by the Spaniards, was a
valiant and veteran cavalier, by name Martin de Vargas. For twenty years,
as we have said, the gold-and-crimson banner of Spain had floated from its
crenulated bastions; since the days