The physical training of the young Janizaries consisted in such daily
exercises as would develop strength and tirelessness of muscle,
steadiness of nerve, keenness and accuracy of eye, as well as grace of
mien. They were also taught by expert workmen all the arts of daily
need; to make as well as to use the bow; to trim and balance the
arrow; to forge, temper, and sharpen the sword; to shoe the horse; to
make and mend their clothing and the entire trappings of their steeds;
to build and manage the keelless kaiks[35] which darted like fishes
through the surface of the river; to bind rafts into pontoons for the
crossing of streams; to reap and grind the grain, and cook their food.
Any special talent or adaptability was noted by the instructors, and
the Janizaries encouraged to attain to rare expertness in single arts.
The training in arms was especially severe, and under masters in
fencing, archery, riding, swimming, marching, deploying--the ablest
tacticians, whose wounds or age permitted their absence from active
campaigns, being found always at the head of the various departments.
The Janizary, while a mere lad in years, was often more than a match
in single combat for the most stalwart men in other corps, such as the
Piadé and Azabs among footmen, the Ouloufedji and Akindji among
troopers.
But, notwithstanding this individual prowess and ambition were
stimulated to the highest degree, they were disciplined to abject
obedience within the corps. Each one was as a part of some intricate
mechanism, all moved by one spring, which was the will of the chief
Aga. At a moment's notice they must start, in companies or alone; on
military expeditions, or secret service as spies and scouts; it might
be to the recesses of Asia or the upper Danube; to assail forts or to
conduct intrigues; having always but one incentive, that of the
common service and the common glory.
To develop in the same person these two seemingly antagonistic
qualities--of intensest individuality and abject subserviency to their
order--required the shrewdest manipulation of the mind and will of the
cadet from his earliest enrollment in childhood. As certain expert
horse-trainers control the spirit of noble steeds, without
extinguishing any of their fiery ardor, and tell the secret of their
power to those who come after them in the guild, so from the days of
Black Khalil this marvellous system of discipline had been perpetuated
among the corps, producing but rarely a weakling and as rarely a
rebel.
Michael learned his first lesson in subordination upon the return from
the hunt. While the Janizary officers were not displeased with the
prowess the little fellow had shown, even against the prince, it was
foreseen that such an impetuous nature needed the curb. For three days
he was confined to a room in solitude and silence. No one spoke or
listened to him. His only attendant was an old man, both deaf and
dumb, who evidently knew nothing and cared nothing for Michael's
offence or its punishment.
During this time the lad's suspense was terrible. Was he to be killed
for having assaulted the prince? Would they take him to the torture?
Perhaps this old man had been guilty of some such offence, and they
had cut his tongue and bored out his ears! He had heard of the searing
iron passed before the eyes, and then the life-long darkness. When he
slept his overwrought imagination fabricated horrid dreams in which
he was the victim of every species of cruelty. He fancied that he was
being eaten by a kennel of foxes, to whom he is given every day until
their hunger shall be satisfied; then taken away and reserved for
their next meal. He tried to compute how many days he would last.
Sometimes he imagined that he was exposed naked in the cold, and made
to stand day and night on the ice of the Marissa, until he should be
frozen: but his heart is so hot with his rebel spirit that it will not
freeze. Once he thought that Prince Mahomet came each day and stabbed
him with that pearl-set dagger he drew on him at the hunt.
His dreams were too frightful to allow him to sleep long at a time;
yet, when awake, his fears were such that he longed to get back again
among the terrible creatures of his fancy. Oh, that some one would
speak to him, and tell him his fate! He would welcome the worst
torture, if only he could be allowed to talk to the torturer.
After a while rage took the place of, or at least began to alternate
with, fear. He regretted that he had not killed the impudent prince.
"There stands his horse," he would say to himself--marking a line on
the wall--"now I leap; seize his dagger; strike him to the heart; and,
before they can stop me, plunge it into my own heart, so! Ah! when I
am out of this place I will kill him! I will! and go down to hell with
him!" And the little frame would swell, and the eyes gleam with
demoniacal light through the dusky chamber.
There are deep places even in a child's soul--ay, bottomless
depths--which, when unfretted by temptation, are so tranquil and
clear that the kindliness and joy of heaven are reflected in them,
warranting the saying of the old Jewish Rabbis, "Every child is a
prophet of the pure and loving God." But when disturbed by a sense of
wrong and injury, these depths in a child's heart may rage as a
caldron hot with the fires of hell; as a geyser pouring out the wrath
and hatred which we conceive to be born only in the nether world.
After a time Michael's fury died away. Another feeling took its
place--the crushing sense of his impotence. His will seemed to be
broken by the violence of its own spasm. He was stunned by his
realization of weakness. He fell with his face to the cold stones of
the floor, moaning at first, but soon passing into a waking stupor in
which only consciousness remained: hopeless, purposeless, without
energy to strive, and without strength to cry--a perfectly passive
spirit. The centipede that crawled from the dusty crevice of the
walls, and raised half his body to look at the strange figure lying
there, might have commanded him. The spider might have captured him,
and spun about his soul a web of destiny, if only he could have
conveyed a thought of it from his tiny eyes. For, as the body faints,
so also does the spirit under the pressure of woe.
The old mute brought in the meal on the third day, placed it beside
him, and retired. An hour later he returned and found the bread
untasted; the child in the same attitude, but not asleep. He touched
him with his foot, but evoked no sign that his presence was
recognized. He gazed for a few moments; then shook his head like an
artisan who, upon inspecting some piece of work he has been making, is
not satisfied with it.
He summoned Selim. The old soldier, finding that his entrance did not
arouse the lad, crossed his legs upon the floor beside him, and
waited. The light from the high window of the room fell upon Selim's
wrinkled face. But it seemed as if another light, one from within,
blended with it. His harsh features were permeated by a glow and
softness, as he gazed upon the exhausted child. His eyes filled with
tears; but they were speedily dried by the stare with which he turned
and looked first at the blank walls, and then, following back the ray
of light, to the window and beyond; his soul transported far away over
lands, through years, to a cottage on the banks of the Grau. He saw
there a face so beautiful! was it really of one he once called
"Mother?" or a dim and hazy recollection of a painting of the
Christian Madonna he had seen in his childhood? Happy groups of
village children were playing down among the lilies by the water's
edge, and over the hills gently sloping back from the river's bank.
Their faces were as clear cut there against the blue sky beyond the
window, as once--sixty years ago--they were against the green grass of
the meadow. He heard again the sweet ring of the chapel bell echoing
back from the ragged rocks of the opposite shore. And now the midnight
alarm! A fight with strange looking turbaned men! Flames bursting from
the houses of the hamlet! Men shrieking with wounds, and women
struggling in the arms of captors! And a little child, ah, so lonely
and tired with a long march! and that child--himself!--His eyes
rested as fondly upon Michael as did ever a father's upon his boy.
But as the wind extinguishes a candle, a movement of Michael sent all
the gleams gathered out of former days from old Selim's features.
Severity, almost savageness, took the place of kindliness among the
wrinkles of his countenance, as naturally as the waters of a rivulet,
held back for a moment by a child's hand, fill again their channels.
The boy raised his head. His face was pale; the eyes sunken; their
natural brilliance deepened, but as that of the flashing waters is
deepened when it is frozen into the glistening icicle. Or shall we say
that the dancing flames of the child's eyes had become the steady glow
of embered coals;--their life gone out, but the hot core left there,
not to cheer, only to burn. Those three days of silence, with their
successive dramas of mystery, terror, rage and depression, had wrought
more changes in him than many years of merely external discipline
would have done.
The close searching glance of Selim detected all this; and also that
the child was in a critical condition. The will was broken, but it was
not certain that this had not been accomplished by the breaking of the
entire spirit; instead of curbing, destroying it: not taming the
tiger's daring, but converting it into the sluggishness and timidity
of the cat.
"Michael!" cried he.
There was no response except the slight inclination of the head
indicating that the word had been heard.
"Follow me!"
The lad rose mechanically, showing no interest or attention beyond
that required for bodily obedience.
Pausing at the door-way the old man put his hand upon the boy's
shoulder and said sternly, yet with a caution ready to change his
tone--
"Do you know that we have power to more severely punish you?"
The words made no impression upon the child.
"The bastinado? The cage?" The boy raised his face, but upon it was no
evidence of fear; perhaps of scorn. He had suffered so much that
threats had no power over him.
Selim was alarmed at these symptoms. His experience with such cases
taught him that this lethargic spell must be broken at whatever cost.
Feeling must be excited; and if an appeal to the child's imagination
failed, physical pain must be inflicted. Something must rouse him, or
insanity might ensue.
A peculiar instrument of torture was a frame set with needles pointing
inwards. Into this sometimes a culprit was placed, and the frame
screwed so close about the person that he could not move from a fixed
position without forcing the needles into his flesh. This frame was
put about the boy. He stared stupidly at the approaching points, but
did not shrink. Selim pressed one of the needles quickly. Instantly
the boy uttered a cry of pain. His face blanched with fright. The
tears sprang to his eyes, and through them came an agonizing look of
entreaty.
Selim's whole manner changed as suddenly. Schooled as he was to
harshness; to strike one's head from his shoulders at the command of
the Aga without an instant's hesitation; to superintend the slow
process of a "discipline" by torture, without a remorseful
thought;--yet this was not his nature. And now that better, deeper,
truer nature, hitherto unexercised for years, asserted itself. His
heart went out to Michael the instant there was no further necessity
for its restraint.
"Bravo! my little hero," cried he, catching him to his arms. "You are
of the metal of the invincibles, and henceforth only valiant deeds,
bright honors and endless pleasures are to be yours. You shall lodge
with me to-night."
FOOTNOTE:
[35] Kaiks or caiques; light row-boats.