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