The Kapudan Pasha promised that he would not be very long behind him;
nay, inasmuch as the Kiaja was making a very considerable detour, while
he himself was taking the direct road straight through Stambul, he
insinuated that it was highly probable he might reach Scutari before
him.
"We shall meet again shortly," he cried by way of a parting salute.
"Yes, in Abraham's bosom, I expect," murmured the Kiaja to himself as he
raced away again, while the Kapudan Pasha ambled jauntily into the city.
Already from afar he beheld the palace of the Reis-Effendi, on whose
walls were inscribed in gigantic letters the following announcements:
"Death to the Chief Mufti!
"Death to the Grand Vizier!
"Death to the Kapudan Pasha!
"Death to the Kiaja Beg!"
"H'm!" said the Kapudan Pasha to himself. "No doubt that was written by
some softa or other, for cobblers and tailors cannot write of course.
Not a bad hand by any means. I should like to make the fellow my
teskeredji."
As he trotted nearer to the palace, he perceived a great multitude
surging around it, and amongst them a mounted trumpeter with one of
those large Turkish field-horns which are audible a mile off, and are
generally used at Stambul during every popular rising, their very note
has a provocative tone.
The trumpeting herald was thus addressing the mob assembled around him:
"Inhabitants of Stambul, true-believing Mussulmans, our commander is
Halil Patrona, the chief of the Janissaries, and in the name of the
Stambul Cadi, Hassan Sulali, I proclaim: Let every true believing
Mussulman shut up his shop, lay aside his handiwork, and assemble in the
piazza; those of you, however, who are bakers of bread or sellers of
flesh, keep your shops open, for whosoever resists this decree his shop
will be treated as common booty.
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