THE CAMP.
What a noise, what a commotion in the streets of Stambul! The multitude
pours like a stream towards the harbour of the Golden Horn. Young and
old stimulate each other with looks of excitement and enthusiasm. They
stand together at the corners of the streets in tens and twenties, and
tell each other of the great event that has happened. On the Etmeidan,
in front of the Seraglio, in the doors of the mosques, the people are
swarming, and from street to street they accompany the banner-bearing
Dülbendar, who proclaims to the faithful amidst the flourish of trumpets
that Sultan Achmed III. has declared war against Tamasip, Shah of
Persia.
Everywhere faces radiant with enthusiasm, everywhere shouts of martial
fervour.
From time to time a regiment of Janissaries or a band of Albanian
horsemen passes across the street, or escorts the buffaloes that drag
after them the long heavy guns on wheeled carriages. The mob in its
thousands follows them along the road leading to Scutari, where the camp
has already been pitched. For at last, at any rate, the Padishah is
surfeited with so many feasts and illuminations, and after having
postponed the raising of the banner of the Prophet, under all sorts of
frivolous excuses, from the 18th day of Safer (2nd of September) to the
1st day of Rebusler, and from that day again to the Prophet's birthday
ten days later still, the expected, the appointed day is at length
drawing near, and the whole host is assembling beneath the walls of
Scutari, only awaiting the arrival of the Sultan to take ship at
once--the transports are all ready--and hasten to the assistance of the
heroic Küprilizade on the battlefield.
The whole Bosphorus was a living forest planted with a maze of huge
masts and spreading sails, and a thousand variegated flags flew and
flapped in the morning breeze. The huge line of battle-ships, with their
triple decks and their long rows of oars, looked like hundred-eyed
sea-monsters swimming with hundreds of legs on the surface of the water,
and the booming reverberation of the thunder of their guns was re-echoed
from the broad foreheads of the palaces looking into the Bosphorus.
Everywhere along the sea-front was to be seen an armed multitude;
sparkling swords and lances in thousands flash back the rays of the sun.
The whole of the grass plain round about was planted with tents of
every hue; white tents for the chief muftis, bright green tents for the
viziers, scarlet tents for the kiayaks, dark blue tents for the great
officers of state, the Emirs, the Mecca, Medina, and Stambul
justiciaries, the Defterdars, and the Nishandji; lilac-coloured tents
for the Ulemas, bright blue tents for the Müderesseks, azure-blue tents
for the Ciaus-Agas, and dark green designates the tent of the Emir Alem,
the bearer of the sacred standard. And high above them all on a hillock
towers the orange-coloured pavilion of the Padishah, with gold and
purple hangings, and two and three fold horse-tails planted in front of
the entrance.
At sunset yesterday there was not a trace of this vast camp, all night
long this city of tents was a-building, and at dawn of day there it
stands all ready like the creation of a magician's wand!
The plain is occupied by the Spahis, the finest, smartest horsemen of
the whole host; along the sea-front are ranged the topidjis, with their
rows and rows of cannons. Other detachments of these gunners are
distributed among the various hillocks. On the wings of the host are
placed the Albanian cavalry, the Tartars, and the Druses of Horan. The
centre of the host belongs of right to the flower, the kernel of the
imperial army--the haughty Janissaries.
And certainly they seemed to be very well aware that they were the cream
of the host, and that therefore it was not lawful for any other division
of the army to draw near them, much less mingle with them, unless it
were a few _delis_, whom they permitted to roam up and down their ranks
full of crazy exaltation.
The whole host is full of the joy of battle, and if, from time to time,
fierce shouts and thunderous murmurings arise from this or that
battalion, that only means that they are rejoicing at the tidings of the
declaration of war: the war-ships express their satisfaction by loud
salvoes.
Sultan Achmed, meanwhile, is engaged in his morning devotions, day by
day he punctually observes this pious practice.
The previous night he did not spend in the harem, but shut himself up
with his viziers and counsellors in that secret chamber of the Divan,
which is roofed over with a golden cupola. Grave were their
deliberations, but nobody, except the viziers, knows the result thereof;
yet when he issues forth from his prayer-chamber the Kizlar-Aga is
already awaiting him there and hands the Sultan a signet-ring.
"Most glorious of Padishahs! the most delicious of women sends thee this
ring. Well dost thou know what was beneath this ring. Deadly venom was
beneath it. That venom is no longer there. The Sultana Asseki sends
thee her greeting, and wishes thee good luck in this war of thine. 'Hail
to thee!' she says, 'may thy guardian angels watch over all thy steps!'
The Sultana meanwhile has locked herself up in her private apartments,
and in the very hour in which thou quittest the Seraglio she will take
this poison, which she has dissolved in a goblet of water, and will
die."
The Sultan had all at once become very grave.
"Why didst thou trouble me with these words!" he exclaimed.
"I do but repeat the words of the Sultana, greatest of Padishahs. She
says thou art off to the wars, that thou wilt return no more, and that
she will not be the slave-girl of the monarch who shall come after thee
and sit upon thy throne."
"Wherefore dost thou trouble me with these words?" repeated the Sultan.
"May my tongue curse my lips, may my teeth bite out my tongue because of
the words I have spoken. 'Twas the Sultana that bade me speak."
"Go back to her and tell her to come hither!"
"Such a message, oh, my master, will be her death. She will not leave
her chamber alive."
For a moment the Sultan reflected, then he asked in a mournful voice:
"What thinkest thou?--if thy house was on fire and thy beloved was
inside, wouldst thou put out the flames, or wouldst thou not rather
think first of rescuing thy beloved?"
"Of a truth the extinguishing of the flames is not so pressing, and the
beloved should be rescued."
"Thou hast said it. What meaneth the firing of cannons that strikes upon
my ears?"
"Salvoes from the host."
"Can they be heard in the Seraglio?"
"Yea, and the songs of the singing-girls grow dumb before it."
"Conduct me to Adsalis! She must not die. What is the sky to thee if
there be no sun in it? What is the whole world to thee if thou dost lose
thy beloved? Go on before and tell her that I am coming!"
The Kizlar-Aga withdrew. Achmed muttered to himself:
"But another second, but another moment, but another instant long enough
for a parting kiss, but another hour, but another night--a night full of
blissful dreams--and it will be quite time enough to hasten to the cold
and icy battlefield." And with that he hastened towards the harem.
There sat the Sultana with dishevelled tresses and garments rent
asunder, without ornaments, without fine raiment, in sober
cinder-coloured mourning weeds. Before her, on a table, stood a small
goblet filled with a bluish transparent fluid. That fluid was
poison--not a doubt of it. Her slave-girls lay scattered about on the
floor around her, weeping and wailing and tearing their faces and their
snowy bosoms with their long nails.
The Padishah approached her and tenderly enfolded her in his arms.
"Wherefore wouldst thou die out of my life, oh, thou light of my days?"
The Sultana covered her face with her hands.
"Can the rose blossom in winter-time? Do not its leaves fall when the
blasts of autumn blow upon it?"
"But the winter that must wither thee is still far distant."
"Oh, Achmed! when anyone's star falls from Heaven, does the world ever
ask, wert thou young? wert thou beautiful? didst thou enjoy life?
Mashallah! such a one is dead already. My star shone upon thy face, and
if thou dost turn thy face from me, then must I droop and wither."
"And who told thee that I had turned my face from thee?"
"Oh, Achmed! the Wind does not say, I am cold, and yet we feel it. Thy
heart is far, far away from me even when thou art nigh. But my heart is
with thee even when thou art far away from me, even then I am near to
thee; but thou art far away even when thou art sitting close beside me.
It is not Achmed who is talking to me. It is only Achmed's body.
Achmed's soul is wandering elsewhere; it is wandering on the bloody
field of battle amidst the clash of cold steel. He imagines that those
banners, those weapons, those cannons love him more than his poor
abandoned, forgotten Adsalis."
The salvo of a whole row of cannons was heard in front of the Seraglio.
"Hearken how they call to thee! Their words are more potent than the
words of Adsalis. Go then! follow their invitation! Go the way they
point out to thee! The voice of Adsalis will not venture to compete with
them. What indeed is my voice?--what but a gentle, feeble sound! Go!
there also I will be with thee. And when the long manes of thy
horse-tail standards flutter before thee on the field of battle, fancy
that thou dost see before thee the waving tresses of thy Adsalis who has
freed her soul from the incubus of her body in order that it might be
able to follow thee."
"Oh, say not so, say not so!" stammered the tender-hearted Sultan,
pressing his gentle darling to his bosom and closing her lips with his
own as if, by the very act, he would have prevented her soul from
escaping and flying away.
And the cannons may continue thundering on the shores of the Bosphorus,
the Imperial Ciauses may summon the host to arms with the blasts of
their trumpets, the camp of a whole nation may wait and wait on the
plains of Scutari, but Sultan Achmed is far too happy in the embraces of
Adsalis to think even for a moment of seizing the banner of the Prophet
and leading his bloodthirsty battalions to face the dangers of the
battlefield.
The only army that he now has eyes for is the army of the odalisks and
slave-girls, who seize their tambourines and mandolines, and weave the
light dance around the happy imperial couple, singing sweet songs of
enchantment, while outside through the streets of Stambul gun-carriages
are rattling along, and the mob, in a frenzy of enthusiasm, clamours for
a war of extermination against the invading Shiites.
Meanwhile a fine hubbub is going on around the kettle of the first
Janissary regiment. These kettles, by the way, play a leading part in
the history of the Turkish Empire. Around them assemble the Janissaries
when any question of war or plunder arises, or when they demand the head
of a detested pasha, or when they wish to see the banner of the Prophet
unfurled; and so terrible were these kettles on all such occasions that
the anxious viziers and pashas, when driven into a corner, were
compelled to fill these same kettles either with gold pieces or with
their own blood.
An impatient group of Janissaries was standing round their kettle, which
was placed on the top of a lofty iron tripod, and amongst them we notice
Halil Patrona and Musli. Both were wearing the Janissary dress, with
round turbans in which a black heron's plume was fastened (only the
officers wore white feathers), with naked calves only half-concealed by
the short, bulgy pantaloons which scarce covered the knee. There was
very little of the huckster of the day before yesterday in Halil's
appearance now. His bold and gallant bearing, his resolute mode of
speech, and the bountiful way in which he scattered the piastres which
he had received from Janaki, had made him a prime favourite among his
new comrades. Musli, on the other hand, was still drunk. With desperate
self-forgetfulness he had been drinking the health of his friend all
night long, and never ceased bawling out before his old cronies in front
of the tent of the Janissary Aga that if the Aga, whose name was Hassan,
was indeed as valiant a man as they tried to make out, let him come
forth from beneath his tent and not think so much of his soft bearskin
bed, or else let him give his white heron plume to Halil Patrona and let
him lead them against the enemy.
The Janissary Aga could hear this bellowing quite plainly, but he also
could hear the Janissary guard in front of the tent laughing loudly at
the fellow and making all he said unintelligible.
Meanwhile a troop of mounted ciauses was approaching the kettle of the
first Janissary regiment in whose leader we recognise Halil Pelivan.
Allah had been with him--he was now raised to the rank of a
ciaus-officer.
The giant stood among the Janissaries and inquired in a voice of
thunder:
"Which of you common Janissary fellows goes by the name of Halil
Patrona?"
Patrona stepped forth.
"Methinks, Halil Pelivan," said he, "it does not require much
brain-splitting on your part to recognise me."
"Where is your comrade Musli?"
"Can you not give me a handle to my name, you dog of a ciaus?" roared
Musli. "I am a gentleman I tell you. So long as you were a Janissary,
you were a gentleman too. But now you are only a dog of a ciaus. What
business have you, I should like to know, in Begta's flower-garden?"
"To root out weeds. The pair of you, bound tightly together, must follow
me."
"Look ye, my friends!" cried Musli, turning to his comrades, "that man
is drunk, dead drunk. He can scarce stand upon his feet. How dare you
say," continued he, turning towards Pelivan--"how dare you say that two
Janissaries, two of the flowers from Begta's garden, are to follow you
when the banners of warfare are already waving before us?"
"I am commanded by the Kapu-Kiaja to bring you before him."
"Say not so, you mangy dog you! Let him come for us himself if he has
anything to say to us! What, my friends! am I not right in saying that
the Kapu-Kiaja, if he did his duty, ought to be here with us, in the
camp and on the battlefield? and that it is no business of ours to dance
attendance upon him? Am I not right? Let him come hither!"
This sentiment was greeted with an approving howl.
"Let him come hither if he wants to talk to a Janissary!" cried many
voices. "Who ever heard of summoning a Janissary away from his camp?"
It was as much as Pelivan could do to restrain his fury.
"You two are murderers," said he, "you have killed the Sultan's
Berber-Bashi."
At this there was a general outburst of laughter. Everybody knew that
already. Musli had told the story hundreds of times with all sorts of
variations. He had described to them how Halil had slain Ali Kermesh
with a single blow of his fist, and how the latter's jaw had suddenly
fallen and collapsed into a corner, all of which had seemed very comical
indeed to the Janissaries.
So five or six of them, all speaking together, began to heckle and
cross-question Pelivan.
"Are there no more barbers in Stambul that you make such a fuss over
this particular one?"
"What an infamous thing to demand the lives of a couple of Janissaries
for the sake of a single beard-scraper!"
"May you and your Kapu-Kiaja have no other pastime in Paradise than the
shaving of innumerable beards!"
At last Patrona stepped forth and begged his comrades to let him have
_his_ say in the matter.
"Hearken now, Pelivan!" began he, "you and I are adversaries I know very
well, nor do I care a straw that it is so. I am not palavering now with
you because I want to get out of a difficulty, but simply because I want
to send you back to the Kiaja with a sensible answer which I am quite
sure you are incapable of hitting upon yourself. Well, I freely admit
that I _did_ kill Ali Kermesh, killed him single-handed. Nobody helped
me to do the deed. And now I have thrown in my lot with the Janissaries,
and here I stand where it has pleased Allah to place me, that I may pay
with my own life for the life I have taken if it seem good to Him so to
ordain. I am quite ready to die and glorify His name thereby. His Will
be done! Let the honourable Kiaja therefore gird up his loins, and let
all those great lords who repose in the shadow of the Padishah draw
their swords and come among us once for all. I and all my comrades, the
whole Janissary host in fact, are ready to fall on the field of battle
one after another at the bare wave of their hand, but there is not a
single Janissary present who would bow his knee before the executioner."
These words, uttered in a ringing, sonorous voice, were accompanied by
thunders of applause from the whole regiment, and during this tumult
Musli endeavoured to add a couple of words on his own account to the
message already delivered by Patrona.
"And just tell your master, the Kiaja," said he, "and all your
white-headed grand viziers and grey-bearded muftis, that if they do not
bring the Sultan and the banner of the Prophet into camp this very day,
not a single one of them will need a barber on the morrow, unless they
would like their heels well shaved in default of heads."
Pelivan meanwhile was looking steadily into Halil's eyes. There was such
a malicious scorn in his gaze that Halil involuntarily grasped the hilt
of his sword.
"Fear not, Patrona!" cried he jeeringly, "Gül-Bejáze will never again be
conducted into the Seraglio. She and your father-in-law have been
captured as they were trying to fly, and the unbelieving Greek
cattle-dealer has been thrown into the dungeon set apart for evil-doers.
As for that woman whom you call your wife, she has been put into the
prison assigned to those shameless ones whom the gracious Sultan has
driven together from all parts of the realm, and kept in ward lest the
virtue of his faithful Mussulmans should be corrupted. There you will
find her."
Patrona, like a furious tiger that has burst forth from its cage, at
these words rushed from out the ranks of his comrades. His sword flashed
in his hand, and if Pelivan had been doubly as big as he was, his mere
size could not have saved him. But the leader of the ciauses straightway
put spurs to his horse, and laughing loudly galloped away with his
ciauses, almost brushing the enraged Halil as he passed, and when he had
already trotted a safe distance away, he turned round and with a
scornful Ha, ha, ha! began hurling insults at the Janissaries, five or
six of whom had set out to follow him.
"Ha! he is mocking us!" exclaimed Musli, whereupon the Janissaries who
stood nearest perceiving that they should never be able to overtake him
on foot, hastened to the nearest battery, wrested a mortar from the
topijis by force, and fired it upon the retreating ciauses. The
discharged twelve-pounder whistled about their heads and then fell far
away in the midst of a bivouac where a number of worthy Bosniaks were
cooking their suppers, scattering the hot ashes into their eyes,
ricochetting thence very prettily into the pavilion of the Bostanji
Bashi, two of whose windows it knocked out, thence bounding three or
four times into the air, terrifying several recumbent groups in its
passage, and trundling rapidly away over some level ground, till at last
it rolled into the booth of a glass-maker, and there smashed to atoms an
incalculable quantity of pottery.
Here Pelivan finally ran it to earth, seized it, hauled it off to the
Kiaja, and duly delivered the message of the Janissaries, together with
the twelve-pound cannon-ball, at the same time reminding him that it was
an old habit of the Janissaries to accompany their messages with similar
little _douceurs_.
Pelivan had anticipated that the Kiaja would foam with rage at the news,
and would have the offending Janissary regiment decimated at the very
least; but the Kiaja, instead of being angry, seemed very much afraid.
He saw in this presumptuous message a declaration of rebellion, and
hurried off to the Grand Vizier as fast as his legs could carry him,
taking the heavy twelve-pounder along with him.
Ibrahim perfectly comprehended what was said to him, and placing the
cannon-ball in a box nicely lined with velvet took it to the Seraglio,
and when he got there sent for the Kizlar-Aga, placed it in his hands,
and commissioned him to deliver it to the Sultan.
"The Army," said he, "has sent this present to the most glorious
Padishah. It is a treasure which is worth nothing so long as it is in
our possession; it only becomes precious when we pay our debts with it,
but it is downright damaging if we let others pay their debts to us
therewith. Say to the most puissant of Sultans that if he finds this one
specimen too little, the Army is ready to send him a lot more, and then
it will choose neither me nor thee to be the bearer thereof."
The Kizlar-Aga, who did not know what was in the box, took it forthwith
into the Hall of Delight, and there delivered it to Achmed together with
the message.
The Sultan broke open the box in the presence of the Sultana Asseki, and
on perceiving therein the heavy cannon-ball at once understood Ibrahim's
message.
He was troubled to the depths of his soul when he understood it. He was
so good, so gentle to everyone, he tried so hard to avoid injuring
anybody, and yet everybody seemed to combine to make him miserable! It
seemed as though they envied him his sweet delights, and were determined
that he should find no repose even in the very bosom of his family.
He embraced and kissed the fair Sultana again and again, and stammered
with tears in his eyes:
"Die then, my pretty flower! fade away! wither before my very eyes! Die
if thou canst that at least my heart may have nothing to long for!"
The Sultana threw herself in despair at his feet, with her dishevelled
tresses waving all about her, and encircling Achmed's knees with her
white arms she besought him, sobbing loudly, not to go to the camp, at
any rate, not _that_ day. Let at least the memory of the evil dreams she
had dreamed the night before pass away, she said.
But no, he could remain behind no longer. In vain were all weeping and
wailing, however desperate. The Sultan had made up his mind that he must
go. One single moment only did he hesitate, for one single moment the
thought did occur to him: Am I a mere tool in the hands of my army, and
why do I wear a sword at all if I do not decapitate therewith those who
rise in rebellion against me? But he very soon let that thought escape.
He knew he was not capable of translating it into action. Many, very
many, must needs die if he acted thus; perhaps it were better, much
better, for everybody if he submitted.
"There is nought for thee but to die, my pretty flower," he whispered to
the Sultana, who, sobbing and moaning, accompanied him to the very door
of the Seraglio, and there he gently removed her arms from his shoulders
and hastened to the council-chamber.
Adsalis did _not_ die however, but made her way by the secret staircase
to the apartments of the White Prince and found consolation with him.
"The Sultan did not yield to my arguments," she said to the White
Prince, who took her at once to his bosom, "he is off to the camp. If
only I could hold him back for a single day the rebellion would burst
forth--and then his dominion would vanish and his successor would be
yourself."
"Calm yourself, we may still gain time! Remind him through the
Kizlar-Aga that he neglect not the pricking of the Koran."
"You have spoken a word in season," replied Adsalis, and she immediately
sent the Kizlar-Aga into the council-chamber.
The Grand Vizier, the Kapudan Pasha, the Kiaja, the Chief Mufti, and the
Sheik of the Aja Sophia, Ispirizade, were assembled in council with the
Sultan who had just ordered the Silihdar to gird him with the sword of
Mahomet.
"Most illustrious Padishah!" cried the Kizlar-Aga, throwing himself to
the ground and hiding his face in his hands, "the Sultana Asseki would
have me remind thee that thou do not neglect to ask counsel from Allah
by the pricking of the Koran, before thou hast come to any resolution,
as was the custom of thine illustrious ancestors as often as they had to
choose between peace and war."
"Well said!" cried Achmed, and thereupon he ordered the chief mufti to
bring him the Alkoran which, in all moments of doubt, the Sultans were
wont to appeal to and consult by plunging a needle through its pages,
and then turning to the last leaf in which the marks of the needle-point
were visible. Whatever words on this last page happened to be pricked
were regarded as oracular and worthy of all obedience.
On every table in the council-chamber stood an Alkoran--ten copies in
one room. The binding of one of these copies was covered with diamonds.
This copy the Chief Mufti brought to the Sultan, and gave into his hands
the needle with which the august ceremony was to be accomplished.
Meanwhile Ibrahim glanced impatiently at the three magnificent clocks
standing in the room, one beside the other. They all pointed to a
quarter to twelve. It was already late, and this ceremony of the
pricking of the Koran always took up such a lot of time.
The Sultan opened the book at the last page, pricked through by the
needle, and these were the words he read:
"He who fears the sword will find the sword his enemy, and better a
rust-eaten sword in the hand than a brightly burnished one in a sheath."
"La illah il Allah! God is one!" said Achmed bowing his head and kissing
the words of the Alkoran. "Make ready my charger, 'tis the will of God."
The Kizlar-Aga returned with the news to Adsalis and the White Prince.
Even the pricking of the Koran had gone contrary to their plans.
"Go and remind the Sultan," said Adsalis, "that he cannot go to the wars
without the surem of victory;" and for the second time the Kizlar-Aga
departed to execute the commands of the Sultana.
The surem, by the way, is a holy supplication which it is usual for the
chief Imam to recite in the mosques before the Padishah goes personally
to battle, praying that Allah will bless his arms with victory.
Now, because time was pressing, it was necessary to recite this prayer
in the chapel of the Seraglio instead of in the mosque of St. Sophia.
Ispirizade accordingly began to intone the surem, but he spun it out so
long and made such a business of it, that it seemed as if he were bent
on wasting time purposely. By the time the devotion was over every clock
in the Seraglio had struck twelve.
Ibrahim hastened to the Sultan to press him to embark as soon as
possible in the ship that was waiting ready to convey him and the White
Prince to Scutari; but at the foot of the staircase, in the outer court
of the Seraglio where stood the Sultan's chargers which were to take him
through the garden kiosk to the sea-shore, the way was barred by the
Kizlar-Aga, who flung himself to the ground before the Sultan, and
grasping his horse's bridle began to cry with all his might:
"Trample me, oh, my master, beneath the hoofs of thy horses, yet listen
to my words! The noontide hour has passed, and the hours of the
afternoon are unlucky hours for any undertaking. The true Mussulman puts
his hand to nothing on which the blessing of Allah can rest when noon
has gone. Trample on my dead body if thou wilt, but say not that there
was nobody who would have withheld thee from the path of peril!"
The soul of Achmed III. was full of all manner of fantastic sentiments.
Faith, hope, and love, which make others strong, had in him degenerated
into superstition, frivolity, and voluptuousness--already he was but
half a man.
At the words of the Kizlar-Aga he removed his foot from the stirrup in
which he had dreamily placed it with the help of the kneeling Rikiabdar,
and said in the tone of a man who has at last made up his mind:
"We will go to-morrow."
Ibrahim was in despair at this fresh delay. He whispered a few words in
the ear of Izmail Aga, whereupon the latter scarce waiting till the
Sultan had remounted the steps, flung himself on his horse and galloped
as fast as he could tear towards Scutari.
Meanwhile the Grand Vizier and the Chief Mufti continued to detain the
Sultan in the Divan, or council-chamber.
Three-quarters of an hour later Izmail Aga returned and presented
himself before the Sultan all covered with dust and sweat.
"Most glorious Padishah!" he cried, "I have just come from the host.
Since dawn they have all been on their feet awaiting thy arrival. If by
evening thou dost not show thyself in the camp, then so sure as God is
one, the host will not remain in Scutari but will come to Stambul."
The host is coming to Stambul!--that was a word of terror.
And Achmed III. well understood what it meant. Well did he remember the
message which, three-and-twenty years before, the host had sent to his
predecessor, Sultan Mustafa, who would not quit his harem at Adrianople
to come to Stambul: "Even if thou wert dead thou couldst come here in a
couple of days!" And he also remembered what had followed. The Sultan
had been made to abdicate the throne and he (Achmed) had taken his
place. And now just the same sort of tempest which had overthrown his
predecessor was shaking the seat of the mighty rock beneath his own
feet.
"Mashallah! the will of God be done!" exclaimed Achmed, kissing the
sword of Muhammad, and a quarter of an hour later he went on board the
ship destined for him with the banner of the Prophet borne before him.
In the Seraglio all the clocks one after another struck one as
four-and-twenty salvoes announced that the Sultan with the banner of the
Prophet had arrived in the camp.
And the people of the East believe that the blessing of Allah does not
rest on the hour which marks the afternoon.