of India Preaches God to the Greeks
XVI. How the New Faith Was Received
XVII. Lael and the Sword of Solomon
XVIII. The Festival of Flowers
XIX. The Prince Builds Castles for His Gul- Bahar
XXI. Sergius Learns a New Lesson
XXII. The Prince of India Seeks Mahommed
XXIII. Sergius and Nilo Take Up the Hunt
XXIV. The Imperial Cistern Gives Up Its Secret
I. A Cold Wind From Adrianople
II. A Fire From the Hegumen’s Tomb
III. Mirza Does an Errand for Mahommed
VI. Count Corti in Sancta Sophia
II. Mahommed and Count Corti Make a Wager
IV. Europe Answers the Cry for Help
V. Count Corti Receives a Favor
VI. Mahommed at the Gate St. Romain
VIII. Mahommed Tries His Guns Again
X. The Night Before the Assault
XIII. Mahommed in Sancta Sophia
Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of the Past
Rise from your long-forgotten graves at last
Let us behold your faces, let us hear
The words you uttered in those days of fear
Revisit your familiar haunts again
The scenes of triumph, and the scenes of pain
And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet
Once more upon the pavement of the street.
Longfellow
TO MY FATHER, DAVID WALLACE
He loved literature for the pleasures it brought him; and could I have had his counsel while composing this work, the critics would not be so terrible to me now that it is about going to press.
—The Author, Crawfordsville, Ind.
May 20, 1893
Book I.
The Earth and the Sea Are Always Giving Up Their Secrets
Chapter I.
The Nameless Bay
In the noon of a September day in the year of our dear Lord 1395, a merchant vessel nodded sleepily upon the gentle swells of warm water flowing in upon the Syrian coast. A modern seafarer, looking from the deck of one of the Messagerie steamers now plying the same line of trade, would regard her curiously, thankful to the calm which held her while he slaked his wonder, yet more thankful that he was not of her passage.
She could not have exceeded a hundred tons burthen. At the bow and stern she was decked, and those quarters were fairly raised. Amidship she was low and open, and pierced for twenty oars, ten to a side, all swaying listlessly from the narrow ports in which they were hung. Sometimes they knocked against each other. One sail, square and of a dingy white, drooped from a broad yard-arm, which was itself tilted, and now and then creaked against the yellow mast complainingly, unmindful of the simple tackle designed to keep it in control. A watchman crouched in the meagre shade of a fan-like structure overhanging the bow deck. The roofing and the floor, where exposed, were clean, even bright; in all other parts subject to the weather and the wash there was only the blackness of pitch. The steersman sat on a bench at the stem. Occasionally, from force of habit, he rested a hand upon the rudder-oar to be sure it was yet in reach. With exception of the two, the lookout and the steersman, all on board, officers, oarsmen, and sailors, were asleep—such confidence could a Mediterranean calm inspire in those accustomed to life on the beautiful sea. As if Neptune never became angry there, and blowing his conch, and smiting with his trident, splashed the sky with the yeast of waves! However, in 1395 Neptune had disappeared; like the