The Sultan not appearing, there rose another cry, at first only a murmur, but at length pouring from thousands of hoa.r.s.e throats,--

"Down with Mahomet! Live the Yeni-Tscheri!"

Still the Sultan made no response. There was a hurried consultation among the leaders of the insurgents. Then a rapid movement throughout the crowd. For a moment it seemed as if they had turned every man against his fellow. But Mahomet's experienced eye, as he watched from the latticed window, saw that the swarm of men was only taking shape.

The mob was transformed into companies. Between the ranks pa.s.sed men, as if they rose out of the ground; some dragging cannon; some bearing scaling ladders.

Mahomet appeared upon the platform, dressed in full armor. He raised his sword, when silence fell upon the mult.i.tude.

"I am your Padishah."

"Long live Mahomet!" was the cry.

"Do I not command every faithful Ottoman? Who will follow where Mahomet leads?"

"All! all!" rang the response.

"Then reverse the kettle!" commanded he, his face lit with the a.s.sumption of victory.

"Reverse the firman!" was the answer.

"Never!" cried the monarch, infuriated with this unexpected challenge of his authority.

The Janizaries retreated a few steps from the platform. The Padishah a.s.sumed that they were awed by his determination, and smiled in his triumph. But his face was as quickly shaded with astonishment; for the movement of the insurgents was only to allow the cannon to be advanced.

The sagacity of the monarch never forsook him. Not even the wildness of pa.s.sion could long lead him beyond the suggestion of policy.

Raising his hand for silence, he again spoke.

"We are misunderstanding each other, my brave Yeni-Tscheri. If you have grievance let your Agas present it, for the Padishah shall be the father of his people, and the Yeni-Tscheri are the eldest born of his children."

The Sultan withdrew. Eight Agas held a hurried consultation, and presented themselves to the sovereign to offer him absolute and unquestioning obedience upon the condition of their retaining as absolute and unquestioned self-government within the corps.

While they were in consultation, Captain Ballaban appeared among the troops. He waved his hand to address them.

"He is bought by the Padishah. We must not hear him," cried one and another.

"My brothers!" said the Captain, having after a few moments gained their attention. "I love the Padishah. But I adore that royal hand chiefly because, beyond that of any of the heirs of Othman, it has already bestowed favor upon our corps. But our order is sacred. He may command to the field, and in the field, but it must be from without.

We must choose our own Aga as of old."

"Long live Ballaban!" rose from every side.

The speaker broke into a rhapsodic narration of the glories of the corps, interwoven with the recital of the exploits of the Padishah, during which he was interrupted by cheer after cheer, mingled with the cry of "Ballaban! Ballaban forever!"

The Sultan, hearing the shout, shrewdly seized upon the opportunity it suggested, and leaving the Agas, rushed to the platform. He shouted--

"Allah be praised! Allah has given one mind to the Padishah and to his faithful Yeni-Tscheri. Ballaban forever! Yes, take him! Take him for your Aga! The will of the corps and the will of the sovereign are one, for it is the will of Allah that sways us all!"

The soldiers, caught by the enthusiasm of the instant, repeated the shout, drowning the voices of the few who were clear-headed enough to remember that the firman had not been withdrawn.

"Ballaban! Long live Ballaban Aga! Long live Mahomet Padishah!"

The Agas appeared, but were impotent to a.s.sert their dissent. As well might they have attempted to howl down a hurricane as to make themselves heard in the confusion. Indeed, their presence upon the platform was regarded by the corps as their endors.e.m.e.nt of the Padishah's desire, and served to stimulate the enthusiasm that broke out in redoubled applause.

Mahomet followed up his advantage, and formally confirmed the apparent election by announcing--

"A donative! A double pay to every one of the Yeni-Tscheri! and the Padishah's fifth of the spoil shall be divided to the host!"

The mult.i.tude were wild with delight. The inverted soup-kettle was turned over, and swung by its handle from the top of the staff; following which, the crowd poured out from the court.[105]

Within a few days Ballaban, as chief Aga, led his corps toward Albania.

CHAPTER LII.

After the defeat of Moses as a Turkish leader, and his return to his patriotic allegiance, there was a lull in active hostilities between the two powers. Amesa, like other of the prominent voivodes in Scanderbeg's army, took the occasion offered to look after his own estates. He had added somewhat to his local importance by marrying the daughter of a neighboring land-owner. But neither conjugal delights, nor the additional acres his marriage brought him, covered his ambition. His envy of Castriot had deepened into inveterate hatred.

The Voivode sat alone in the great dining hall of his castle. It was late in the night. As the blazing logs at one end of the room cast alternately their glare and shadows around, the rude furniture seemed to be thrown into a witching dance. Helmets and corselets gleamed bravely from their pegs, suggesting that they were animated by heroic souls. The great bear-skin, with its enormous head, lying at the Voivode's feet, crouched in readiness to receive the lunge of the boar's tusks which threatened it from the corner. Pikes, spears, bows and broad-mouthed arquebuses were ranged about, as if to defend their owner, should any demon inspire these lifeless forms for sudden a.s.sault upon him.

Amesa had been sitting upon a low seat between the fire and a half-drained tankard of home-brewed liquor, his brows knit with the concentration of his thoughts.

A slight sound without arrested his attention.

"Drakul is late, but is coming at last. If only he has brought me the red forelock of that fellow who used to be always crossing my track, and has now come back to Albania!" he said, in a tone of musing, but intended to be heard by the delinquent as the great oaken door creaked behind him. Raising his eyes, but not turning his head to look, Amesa changed his soliloquy into a volley of oaths at the comer.

"I thought your name-sake, Drakul, had run off with you, you lazy imp.[106] What kept you?"

"A long journey," was the reply.

Amesa started to his feet, for the voice was not that of Drakul. He faced one whose appearance was not the less startling because it was familiar.

"I have brought the red forelock myself," said the visitor.

Amesa stared stupidly an instant, then reached toward his weapon lying upon the table near.

"Stop!" said the man, laying the flat side of his sword across the Voivode's arm before he could grasp his yataghan.

"How dare you intrude yourself unbidden here!" cried the enraged Amesa.

"It required no daring," was the cool reply, "for I am the stronger."

"Help! Help!" shouted the voivode, as he realized that he would not be permitted to reach his weapon.

The door swung, and a band of strange men stood in the opening.

"I feared, n.o.ble Amesa," said the intruder, "that I should not be a welcome guest, and so brought with me a party of friends to help me to good cheer while under your roof. You need not disturb your servants to help you, for, if they should hear, they could not obey, as they are all safely guarded in their quarters. If they should come out they might be harmed. Let them rest. Retire, men! You recognize me, Lord Amesa?"