Returning to Constantinople, our steamer ran close to the European
shore, stopping at the villages on that side. Most of the officers of
these boats are Turks, but they find it necessary to employ European
(generally English) engineers, as the Turks are fatalists and not
reliable. It is said they pay but little attention to their machinery
and boilers, reasoning that if it is the will of Allah that the boiler
blow up, it will certainly do so; if not, all will go right, and why
trouble one's self? Laughable stories are told of the Turkish navy;
e.g., that a certain captain was ordered to take his vessel to Crete,
and after cruising about some time returned, not being able to find the
island. Another captain stopped an English vessel one fine day to ask
where he was, as he had lost his reckoning, although the weather had
been perfectly clear for some time. In the Golden Horn lies an old
four-decker which during the Crimean war was run broadside under a
formidable battery by her awkward crew, who were unable to manage her,
and began in their fright to jump overboard. A French tugboat went to
the rescue and towed her off.

On our way to the hotel we saw the sultan's son, a boy of fifteen. He
was driving in a fine open carriage drawn by a very handsome span of bay
horses, and preceded by four outriders mounted on fine Arabian horses.
Coachman, footman and outriders, in the black livery of the sultan, were
resplendent in gold lace. The harness was of red leather and the
carriage painted of the same bright color. The cushions were of white
silk embroidered with scarlet flowers. It was a dashing equipage, but
seemed better suited to a harem beauty than the dark, Jewish-looking boy
in the awkward uniform of a Turkish general who was its sole occupant.

[Illustration: TURKISH QUARTER--STAMBOUL.]