CHAPTER V.
THE CAMP.
What a noise, what a commotion in the streets of Stambul! The multitudepours like a stream towards the harbour of the Golden Horn. Young andold stimulate each other with looks of excitement and enthusiasm. Theystand together at the corners of the streets in tens and twenties, andtell 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 areswarming, and from street to street they accompany the banner-bearingDuelbendar, who proclaims to the faithful amidst the flourish of trumpetsthat Sultan Achmed III. has declared war against Tamasip, Shah ofPersia.
Everywhere faces radiant with enthusiasm, everywhere shouts of martialfervour.
From time to time a regiment of Janissaries or a band of Albanianhorsemen passes across the street, or escorts the buffaloes that dragafter them the long heavy guns on wheeled carriages. The mob in itsthousands follows them along the road leading to Scutari, where the camphas already been pitched. For at last, at any rate, the Padishah issurfeited with so many feasts and illuminations, and after havingpostponed the raising of the banner of the Prophet, under all sorts offrivolous excuses, from the 18th day of Safer (2nd of September) to the1st day of Rebusler, and from that day again to the Prophet's birthdayten days later still, the expected, the appointed day is at lengthdrawing near, and the whole host is assembling beneath the walls ofScutari, only awaiting the arrival of the Sultan to take ship atonce--the transports are all ready--and hasten to the assistance of theheroic Kueprilizade on the battlefield.
The whole Bosphorus was a living forest planted with a maze of hugemasts and spreading sails, and a thousand variegated flags flew andflapped in the morning breeze. The huge line of battle-ships, with theirtriple decks and their long rows of oars, looked like hundred-eyedsea-monsters swimming with hundreds of legs on the surface of the water,and the booming reverberation of the thunder of their guns was re-echoedfrom 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 ofevery hue; white tents for the chief muftis, bright green tents for theviziers, scarlet tents for the kiayaks, dark blue tents for the greatofficers of state, the Emirs, the Mecca, Medina, and Stambuljusticiaries, the Defterdars, and the Nishandji; lilac-coloured tentsfor the Ulemas, bright blue tents for the Muederesseks, azure-blue tentsfor 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 hillocktowers the orange-coloured pavilion of the Padishah, with gold andpurple hangings, and two and three fold horse-tails planted in front ofthe entrance.
At sunset yesterday there was not a trace of this vast camp, all nightlong this city of tents was a-building, and at dawn of day there itstands all ready like the creation of a magician's wand!
The plain is occupied by the Spahis, the finest, smartest horsemen ofthe whole host; along the sea-front are ranged the topidjis, with theirrows and rows of cannons. Other detachments of these gunners aredistributed among the various hillocks. On the wings of the host areplaced the Albanian cavalry, the Tartars, and the Druses of Horan. Thecentre of the host belongs of right to the flower, the kernel of theimperial army--the haughty Janissaries.
And certainly they seemed to be very well aware that they were the creamof the host, and that therefore it was not lawful for any other divisionof the army to draw near them, much less mingle with them, unless itwere a few _delis_, whom they permitted to roam up and down their ranksfull 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 thatbattalion, that only means that they are rejoicing at the tidings of thedeclaration of war: the war-ships express their satisfaction by loudsalvoes.
Sultan Achmed, meanwhile, is engaged in his morning devotions, day byday he punctually observes this pious practice.
The previous night he did not spend in the harem, but shut himself upwith his viziers and counsellors in that secret chamber of the Divan,which is roofed over with a golden cupola. Grave were theirdeliberations, but nobody, except the viziers, knows the result thereof;yet when he issues forth from his prayer-chamber the Kizlar-Aga isalready awaiting him there and hands the Sultan a signet-ring.
"Most glorious of Padishahs! the most delicious of women sends thee thisring. Well dost thou know what was beneath this ring. Deadly venom wasbeneath it. That venom is no longer there. The Sultana Asseki sendsthee her greeting, and wishes thee good luck in this war of thine. 'Hailto 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 takethis poison, which she has dissolved in a goblet of water, and willdie."
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. Shesays thou art off to the wars, that thou wilt return no more, and thatshe will not be the slave-girl of the monarch who shall come after theeand 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 ofthe 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 leaveher 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 wasinside, wouldst thou put out the flames, or wouldst thou not ratherthink first of rescuing thy beloved?"
"Of a truth the extinguishing of the flames is not so pressing, and thebeloved should be rescued."
"Thou hast said it. What meaneth the firing of cannons that strikes uponmy 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 ifthere be no sun in it? What is the whole world to thee if thou dost losethy 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 enoughfor a parting kiss, but another hour, but another night--a night full ofblissful dreams--and it will be quite time enough to hasten to the coldand icy battlefield." And with that he hastened towards the harem.
There sat the Sultana with dishevelled tresses and garments rentasunder, without ornaments, without fine raiment, in sobercinder-coloured mourning weeds. Before her, on a table, stood a smallgoblet filled with a bluish transparent fluid. That fluid waspoison--not a doubt of it. Her slave-girls lay scattered about on thefloor around her, weeping and wailing and tearing their faces and theirsnowy 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 theblasts 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 everask, wert thou young? wert thou beautiful? didst thou enjoy life?Mashallah! such a one is dead already. My star shone upon thy face, andif 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. Thyhear
t is far, far away from me even when thou art nigh. But my heart iswith thee even when thou art far away from me, even then I am near tothee; 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 bloodyfield of battle amidst the clash of cold steel. He imagines that thosebanners, those weapons, those cannons love him more than his poorabandoned, 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 thewords of Adsalis. Go then! follow their invitation! Go the way theypoint out to thee! The voice of Adsalis will not venture to compete withthem. 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 thyhorse-tail standards flutter before thee on the field of battle, fancythat thou dost see before thee the waving tresses of thy Adsalis who hasfreed her soul from the incubus of her body in order that it might beable 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 hisown as if, by the very act, he would have prevented her soul fromescaping 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 oftheir trumpets, the camp of a whole nation may wait and wait on theplains of Scutari, but Sultan Achmed is far too happy in the embraces ofAdsalis to think even for a moment of seizing the banner of the Prophetand leading his bloodthirsty battalions to face the dangers of thebattlefield.
The only army that he now has eyes for is the army of the odalisks andslave-girls, who seize their tambourines and mandolines, and weave thelight dance around the happy imperial couple, singing sweet songs ofenchantment, while outside through the streets of Stambul gun-carriagesare rattling along, and the mob, in a frenzy of enthusiasm, clamours fora war of extermination against the invading Shiites.
Meanwhile a fine hubbub is going on around the kettle of the firstJanissary regiment. These kettles, by the way, play a leading part inthe history of the Turkish Empire. Around them assemble the Janissarieswhen any question of war or plunder arises, or when they demand the headof a detested pasha, or when they wish to see the banner of the Prophetunfurled; and so terrible were these kettles on all such occasions thatthe anxious viziers and pashas, when driven into a corner, werecompelled to fill these same kettles either with gold pieces or withtheir own blood.
An impatient group of Janissaries was standing round their kettle, whichwas placed on the top of a lofty iron tripod, and amongst them we noticeHalil Patrona and Musli. Both were wearing the Janissary dress, withround turbans in which a black heron's plume was fastened (only theofficers wore white feathers), with naked calves only half-concealed bythe short, bulgy pantaloons which scarce covered the knee. There wasvery little of the huckster of the day before yesterday in Halil'sappearance now. His bold and gallant bearing, his resolute mode ofspeech, and the bountiful way in which he scattered the piastres whichhe had received from Janaki, had made him a prime favourite among hisnew comrades. Musli, on the other hand, was still drunk. With desperateself-forgetfulness he had been drinking the health of his friend allnight long, and never ceased bawling out before his old cronies in frontof 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 comeforth from beneath his tent and not think so much of his soft bearskinbed, or else let him give his white heron plume to Halil Patrona and lethim lead them against the enemy.
The Janissary Aga could hear this bellowing quite plainly, but he alsocould hear the Janissary guard in front of the tent laughing loudly atthe fellow and making all he said unintelligible.
Meanwhile a troop of mounted ciauses was approaching the kettle of thefirst Janissary regiment in whose leader we recognise Halil Pelivan.Allah had been with him--he was now raised to the rank of aciaus-officer.
The giant stood among the Janissaries and inquired in a voice ofthunder:
"Which of you common Janissary fellows goes by the name of HalilPatrona?"
Patrona stepped forth.
"Methinks, Halil Pelivan," said he, "it does not require muchbrain-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?" roaredMusli. "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. Whatbusiness have you, I should like to know, in Begta's flower-garden?"
"To root out weeds. The pair of you, bound tightly together, must followme."
"Look ye, my friends!" cried Musli, turning to his comrades, "that manis drunk, dead drunk. He can scarce stand upon his feet. How dare yousay," continued he, turning towards Pelivan--"how dare you say that twoJanissaries, two of the flowers from Begta's garden, are to follow youwhen 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 hasanything to say to us! What, my friends! am I not right in saying thatthe Kapu-Kiaja, if he did his duty, ought to be here with us, in thecamp and on the battlefield? and that it is no business of ours to danceattendance 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 manyvoices. "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'sBerber-Bashi."
At this there was a general outburst of laughter. Everybody knew thatalready. Musli had told the story hundreds of times with all sorts ofvariations. He had described to them how Halil had slain Ali Kermeshwith a single blow of his fist, and how the latter's jaw had suddenlyfallen and collapsed into a corner, all of which had seemed very comicalindeed to the Janissaries.
So five or six of them, all speaking together, began to heckle andcross-question Pelivan.
"Are there no more barbers in Stambul that you make such a fuss overthis particular one?"
"What an infamous thing to demand the lives of a couple of Janissariesfor the sake of a single beard-scraper!"
"May you and your Kapu-Kiaja have no other pastime in Paradise than theshaving 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 verywell, nor do I care a straw that it is so. I am not palavering now withyou because I want to get out of a difficulty, but simply because I wantto send you back to the Kiaja with a sensible answer which I am quitesure you are incapable of hitting upon yourself. Well, I freely admitthat I _did_ kill Ali Kermesh, killed him single-handed. Nobody helpedme 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 paywith my own life for the life I have taken if it seem good to Him so toordain. I am quite ready to die and glorify His name thereby. His Willbe done! Let the honourable Kiaja therefore gird up his loins, and letall those great lords who repose in the shadow of the Padishah drawtheir swords and come among us once for all. I and all my comrades, thewhole Janissary host in fact, are ready to fall on the field of battleone after another at the bare wave of their hand, but there is not asingle Janissary present who would bow his knee before the executioner."
These words, uttered in a ringing, sonorous voice, were accompanied bythunders of applause from the whole regiment, and during this tumultMusli endeavoured to add a couple of words on his own account to themessage already delivered by Patrona.
"And just tell your master, the Kiaja," said he,
"and all yourwhite-headed grand viziers and grey-bearded muftis, that if they do notbring 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 theywould like their heels well shaved in default of heads."
Pelivan meanwhile was looking steadily into Halil's eyes. There was sucha malicious scorn in his gaze that Halil involuntarily grasped the hiltof his sword.
"Fear not, Patrona!" cried he jeeringly, "Guel-Bejaze will never again beconducted into the Seraglio. She and your father-in-law have beencaptured as they were trying to fly, and the unbelieving Greekcattle-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 theprison assigned to those shameless ones whom the gracious Sultan hasdriven together from all parts of the realm, and kept in ward lest thevirtue of his faithful Mussulmans should be corrupted. There you willfind her."
Patrona, like a furious tiger that has burst forth from its cage, atthese words rushed from out the ranks of his comrades. His sword flashedin his hand, and if Pelivan had been doubly as big as he was, his meresize could not have saved him. But the leader of the ciauses straightwayput spurs to his horse, and laughing loudly galloped away with hisciauses, almost brushing the enraged Halil as he passed, and when he hadalready trotted a safe distance away, he turned round and with ascornful Ha, ha, ha! began hurling insults at the Janissaries, five orsix of whom had set out to follow him.
"Ha! he is mocking us!" exclaimed Musli, whereupon the Janissaries whostood nearest perceiving that they should never be able to overtake himon foot, hastened to the nearest battery, wrested a mortar from thetopijis by force, and fired it upon the retreating ciauses. Thedischarged twelve-pounder whistled about their heads and then fell faraway in the midst of a bivouac where a number of worthy Bosniaks werecooking their suppers, scattering the hot ashes into their eyes,ricochetting thence very prettily into the pavilion of the BostanjiBashi, two of whose windows it knocked out, thence bounding three orfour times into the air, terrifying several recumbent groups in itspassage, and trundling rapidly away over some level ground, till at lastit rolled into the booth of a glass-maker, and there smashed to atoms anincalculable quantity of pottery.
Here Pelivan finally ran it to earth, seized it, hauled it off to theKiaja, and duly delivered the message of the Janissaries, together withthe twelve-pound cannon-ball, at the same time reminding him that it wasan old habit of the Janissaries to accompany their messages with similarlittle _douceurs_.
Pelivan had anticipated that the Kiaja would foam with rage at the news,and would have the offending Janissary regiment decimated at the veryleast; but the Kiaja, instead of being angry, seemed very much afraid.He saw in this presumptuous message a declaration of rebellion, andhurried 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 thecannon-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 gloriousPadishah. It is a treasure which is worth nothing so long as it is inour 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 ustherewith. Say to the most puissant of Sultans that if he finds this onespecimen too little, the Army is ready to send him a lot more, and thenit 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 forthwithinto the Hall of Delight, and there delivered it to Achmed together withthe message.
The Sultan broke open the box in the presence of the Sultana Asseki, andon perceiving therein the heavy cannon-ball at once understood Ibrahim'smessage.
He was troubled to the depths of his soul when he understood it. He wasso good, so gentle to everyone, he tried so hard to avoid injuringanybody, and yet everybody seemed to combine to make him miserable! Itseemed as though they envied him his sweet delights, and were determinedthat he should find no repose even in the very bosom of his family.
He embraced and kissed the fair Sultana again and again, and stammeredwith tears in his eyes:
"Die then, my pretty flower! fade away! wither before my very eyes! Dieif thou canst that at least my heart may have nothing to long for!"
The Sultana threw herself in despair at his feet, with her dishevelledtresses waving all about her, and encircling Achmed's knees with herwhite arms she besought him, sobbing loudly, not to go to the camp, atany rate, not _that_ day. Let at least the memory of the evil dreams shehad dreamed the night before pass away, she said.
But no, he could remain behind no longer. In vain were all weeping andwailing, however desperate. The Sultan had made up his mind that he mustgo. One single moment only did he hesitate, for one single moment thethought did occur to him: Am I a mere tool in the hands of my army, andwhy do I wear a sword at all if I do not decapitate therewith those whorise in rebellion against me? But he very soon let that thought escape.He knew he was not capable of translating it into action. Many, verymany, must needs die if he acted thus; perhaps it were better, muchbetter, for everybody if he submitted.
"There is nought for thee but to die, my pretty flower," he whispered tothe Sultana, who, sobbing and moaning, accompanied him to the very doorof the Seraglio, and there he gently removed her arms from his shouldersand hastened to the council-chamber.
Adsalis did _not_ die however, but made her way by the secret staircaseto the apartments of the White Prince and found consolation with him.
"The Sultan did not yield to my arguments," she said to the WhitePrince, who took her at once to his bosom, "he is off to the camp. Ifonly I could hold him back for a single day the rebellion would burstforth--and then his dominion would vanish and his successor would beyourself."
"Calm yourself, we may still gain time! Remind him through theKizlar-Aga that he neglect not the pricking of the Koran."
"You have spoken a word in season," replied Adsalis, and she immediatelysent the Kizlar-Aga into the council-chamber.
The Grand Vizier, the Kapudan Pasha, the Kiaja, the Chief Mufti, and theSheik of the Aja Sophia, Ispirizade, were assembled in council with theSultan who had just ordered the Silihdar to gird him with the sword ofMahomet.
"Most illustrious Padishah!" cried the Kizlar-Aga, throwing himself tothe ground and hiding his face in his hands, "the Sultana Asseki wouldhave me remind thee that thou do not neglect to ask counsel from Allahby 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 tochoose between peace and war."
"Well said!" cried Achmed, and thereupon he ordered the chief mufti tobring him the Alkoran which, in all moments of doubt, the Sultans werewont 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-pointwere visible. Whatever words on this last page happened to be prickedwere regarded as oracular and worthy of all obedience.
On every table in the council-chamber stood an Alkoran--ten copies inone 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 handsthe needle with which the august ceremony was to be accomplished.
Meanwhile Ibrahim glanced impatiently at the three magnificent clocksstanding in the room, one beside the other. They all pointed to aquarter to twelve. It was already late, and this ceremony of thepricking of the Koran always took up such a lot of time.
The Sultan opened the book at the last page, pricked through by theneedle, and these were the words he read:
"He who fears the sword will find the sword his enemy, and better arust-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 kissi
ngthe 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 warswithout the surem of victory;" and for the second time the Kizlar-Agadeparted to execute the commands of the Sultana.
The surem, by the way, is a holy supplication which it is usual for thechief Imam to recite in the mosques before the Padishah goes personallyto battle, praying that Allah will bless his arms with victory.
Now, because time was pressing, it was necessary to recite this prayerin 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 solong and made such a business of it, that it seemed as if he were benton wasting time purposely. By the time the devotion was over every clockin the Seraglio had struck twelve.
Ibrahim hastened to the Sultan to press him to embark as soon aspossible in the ship that was waiting ready to convey him and the WhitePrince to Scutari; but at the foot of the staircase, in the outer courtof the Seraglio where stood the Sultan's chargers which were to take himthrough the garden kiosk to the sea-shore, the way was barred by theKizlar-Aga, who flung himself to the ground before the Sultan, andgrasping his horse's bridle began to cry with all his might:
"Trample me, oh, my master, beneath the hoofs of thy horses, yet listento my words! The noontide hour has passed, and the hours of theafternoon are unlucky hours for any undertaking. The true Mussulman putshis hand to nothing on which the blessing of Allah can rest when noonhas gone. Trample on my dead body if thou wilt, but say not that therewas 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 degeneratedinto superstition, frivolity, and voluptuousness--already he was buthalf a man.
At the words of the Kizlar-Aga he removed his foot from the stirrup inwhich 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 inthe ear of Izmail Aga, whereupon the latter scarce waiting till theSultan had remounted the steps, flung himself on his horse and gallopedas fast as he could tear towards Scutari.
Meanwhile the Grand Vizier and the Chief Mufti continued to detain theSultan in the Divan, or council-chamber.
Three-quarters of an hour later Izmail Aga returned and presentedhimself 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 byevening thou dost not show thyself in the camp, then so sure as God isone, 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 themessage which, three-and-twenty years before, the host had sent to hispredecessor, Sultan Mustafa, who would not quit his harem at Adrianopleto come to Stambul: "Even if thou wert dead thou couldst come here in acouple of days!" And he also remembered what had followed. The Sultanhad been made to abdicate the throne and he (Achmed) had taken hisplace. And now just the same sort of tempest which had overthrown hispredecessor was shaking the seat of the mighty rock beneath his ownfeet.
"Mashallah! the will of God be done!" exclaimed Achmed, kissing thesword of Muhammad, and a quarter of an hour later he went on board theship destined for him with the banner of the Prophet borne before him.
In the Seraglio all the clocks one after another struck one asfour-and-twenty salvoes announced that the Sultan with the banner of theProphet had arrived in the camp.
And the people of the East believe that the blessing of Allah does notrest on the hour which marks the afternoon.