ulf of Lyons in triumph. Here he found the
young Duke of Enghien, Francois de Bourbon, commander of the French
galleys, who received him with all honour and ceremony.

[Illustration: GALLEY AT ANCHOR.

(_Jurien de la Graviere._)]

Barbarossa had hardly arrived when he discovered that his great
expedition was but a fool's errand. The King of France was afraid of
attempting a serious campaign against the Emperor, and he was already
ashamed of his alliance with the Musulmans: his own subjects--nay, all
Europe--were crying shame. Barbarossa grew crimson with fury, and tore
his white beard: he had not come with a vast fleet all the way from
Stambol to be made a laughing-stock. Something must evidentially be
done to satisfy his honour, and Francis I. unwillingly gave orders for
the bombardment of Nice. Accompanied by a feeble and ill-prepared
French contingent, which soon ran short of ammunition--"Fine
soldiers," cried the Corsair, "to fill their ships with wine casks,
and leave the powder barrels behind!"--Barbarossa descended upon the
Gate of Italy. The city soon surrendered, but the fort held out,
defended by one of those invincible foes of the Turk, a Knight of
Malta, Paolo Simeoni, who had himself experienced captivity at the
hands of Barbarossa; and as the French protested against sacking the
town after capitulation on terms, and as Charles's relieving army was
advancing, the camps were broken up in confusion, and the fleets
retired from Nice.

The people of Toulon beheld a strange spectacle that winter. The
beautiful harbour of Provence was allotted to the Turkish admiral for
his winter quarters. There, at anchor, lay the immense fleet of the
Grand Signior; and who knew how long it might dominate the fairest
province of France? There, turbaned Musulmans paced the decks and
bridge, below and beside which hundreds of Christian slaves sat
chained to the bench and victims to the lash of the boatswain.
Frenchmen were forced to look on, helplessly, while Frenchmen groaned
in the infidels' galleys, within the security of a French port. The
captives died by hundreds of fever during that winter, but no
Christian burial was allowed them--even the bells that summon the
pious to the Mass were silenced, for are they not "the devil's
musical instrument"?[37]--and the gaps in the benches were filled by
nightly raids among the neighbouring villages. It was ill sleeping
around Toulon when the Corsair press-gangs were abroad. And t