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 of Pedro Navarro it had held its own against all comers.  It must have been with a sinking heart that Martin de Vargas and his brave garrison beheld the town fall once again into the hands of Kheyr-ed-Din; they knew, as by this time did all the Mediterranean and the dwellers on the coasts thereof, the implacable enmity of the corsair to the Christians, and how short a shrift would be theirs should they fall into his hands.