the air. This strange stillness alarmed the Tarasconian.

"Heaven ha' mercy upon us!" he yelled in a terrifying voice, as,
recovering his strength by magic, he bounded out of his berth, and
rushed upon deck with his arsenal.



II.
"To arms! to arms"


ONLY the arrival, not a foundering.

The Zouave was just gliding into the roadstead -- a fine one of
black, deep water, but dull and still, almost deserted. On elevated
ground ahead rose Algiers, the White City, with its little houses of a
dead cream-colour huddling against one another lest they slid into
the sea. It was like Meudon slope with a laundress's washing hung
out to dry. Over it a vast blue satin sky -- and such a blue!

A little restored from his fright, the illustrious Tartarin gazed on the
landscape, and listened with respect to the Montenegrin prince,
who stood by his side, as he named the different parts of the
capital, the Kasbah, the upper town, and the Rue Bab-Azoon. A
very finely-brought-up prince was this Montenegrin; moreover,
knowing Algeria thoroughly, and fluently speaking Arabic. Hence
Tartarin thought of cultivating his acquaintance.

All at once, along the bulwark against which they were leaning, the