When the clamorous mob invited him to the Etmeidan he wrote to his
daughter on a tiny shred of vellum, and tied the letter beneath the wing
of the pigeon.
And this is what he wrote:
"God's grace be with thee! Wait not for Halil, he is dead. The
Janissaries have killed him. And I shall not be long after him, take my
word for it. But live thou and watch over thy child.--JANAKI."
With that he opened the window and let the dove go, and she, rising
swiftly into the air, remained poised on high for a time with fluttering
pinions, and then, with the swiftness and directness of a well-aimed
dart, she flew straight towards the mountains.
"Poor Irene!" sighed Janaki, buckling on his sword with which he
certainly was not very likely to kill anybody--and he accompanied the
insurgents to the Etmeidan.
In Stambul things were all topsy-turvy once more. The seventh Janissary
regiment, when the two-and-thirty Janissaries returned to them with
bloody swords boasting of their deed, rushed upon them and cut them to
pieces. The new Janissary Aga was shot dead within his own gates.
Kabakulak retired within a mosque. Halil Pelivan, who had been appointed
Kulkiaja, hid himself in a drain pipe for three whole days, and never
emerged therefrom so long as the uproar lasted.
Three days later all was quiet again.
A new name came to the front which quelled the risen tempest--the last
scion of the famous Kueprili family, every member of which was a hero.
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