The Prince of India; Or, Why Constantinople Fell — Volume 02

by Lew Wallace

  CHAPTER XII

  THE ASSAULT

  The bonfires of the hordes were extinguished about the time theChristian company said their farewells after the last supper in theVery High Residence, and the hordes themselves appeared to be at rest,leaving Night to reset her stars serenely bright over the city, thesea, and the campania.

  To the everlasting honor of that company, be it now said, they couldunder cover of the darkness have betaken themselves to the ships andescaped; yet they went to their several posts. Having laid their headsupon the breast of the fated Emperor, and pledged him their lives,there is no account of one in craven refuge at the break of day. TheEmperor's devotion seems to have been a communicable flame.

  This is the more remarkable when it is remembered that in the beginningthe walls were relied upon to offset the superiority of the enemy innumbers, while now each knight and man-at-arms knew the vanity of thatreliance--knew himself, in other words, one of scant five thousandmen--to such diminished roll had the besieged been reduced by wounds,death and desertion--who were to muster on the ruins of the outer wall,or in the breaches of the inner, and strive against two hundred andfifty thousand goaded by influences justly considered the most powerfulover ferocious natures--religious fanaticism and the assurance of bootywithout limit. The silence into which the Turkish host was sunk did notcontinue a great while. The Greeks on the landward walls became awareof a general murmur, followed shortly by a rumble at times vibrant--sothe earth complains of the beating it receives from vast bodies of menand animals in hurried passage.

  "The enemy is forming," said John Grant to his associate Carystos, thearcher.

  Minotle, the Venetian bayle, listening from the shattered gate ofAdrianople, gave order: "Arouse the men. The Turks are coming."

  Justiniani, putting the finishing touches upon his masked repairsbehind what had been the alley or passage between the towers Bagdad andSt. Romain, was called to by his lookout: "Come up, Captain--theinfidels are stirring--they seem disposed to attack."

  "No," the Captain returned, after a brief observation, "they will notattack to-night--they are getting ready."

  None the less, without relieving his working parties, he placed hiscommand in station.

  At Selimbria and the Golden Gate the Christians stood to arms. So alsobetween the gates. Then a deep hush descended upon the mightyworks--mighty despite the slugging they had endured--and the silencewas loaded with anxiety.

  For such of my readers as have held a night-watch expectant of battleat disadvantage in the morning it will be easy putting themselves inthe place of these warders at bay; they can think their thoughts, andhear the heavy beating of their hearts; they will remember how long thehours were, and how the monotony of the waiting gnawed at their spiritsuntil they prayed for action, action. On the other hand, those withoutthe experience will wonder how men can bear up bravely in suchconditions--and that is a wonder.

  In furtherance of his plan, Mahommed drew in his irregulars, and massedthem in the space between the intrenchment and the ditch; and bybringing his machines and small guns nearer the walls, he menaced thewhole front of defence with a line amply provided with scaling laddersand mantelets. Behind the line he stationed bodies of horsemen toarrest fugitives, and turn them back to the fight. His reservesoccupied the intrenchments. The Janissaries were retained at hisquarters opposite St. Romain.

  The hordes were clever enough to see what the arrangement portended forthem, and they at first complained.

  "What, grumble, do they?" Mahommed answered. "Ride, and tell them I saythe first choice in the capture belongs to the first over the walls.Theirs the fault if the city be not an empty nest to all who come afterthem."

  The earth in its forward movement overtook the moon just beforedaybreak; then in the deep hush of expectancy and readiness, the lightbeing sufficient to reveal to the besieged the assault couchant belowthem, a long-blown flourish was sounded by the Turkish heralds from theembrasure of the great gun.

  Other trumpeters took up the signal, and in a space incredibly short itwas repeated everywhere along the line of attack. A thunder of drumsbroke in upon the music. Up rose the hordes, the archers and slingers,and the ladder bearers, and forward, like a bristling wave, theyrushed, shouting every man as he pleased. In the same instant themachines and light guns were set in operation. Never had the old wallsbeen assailed by such a tempest of bolts, arrows, stones andbullets--never had their echoes been awakened by an equal explosion ofhuman voices, instruments of martial music, and cannon. The warderswere not surprised by the assault so much as by its din and fury; andwhen directly the missiles struck them, thickening into anuninterrupted pouring rain, they cowered behind the merlons, and suchother shelters as they could find.

  This did not last long--it was like the shiver and gasp of one plungedsuddenly into icy water. The fugitives were rallied, and brought backto their weapons, and to replying in kind; and having no longer toshoot with care, the rabble fusing into a compact target, especially onthe outer edge of the ditch, not a shaft, or bolt, or stone, or ballfrom culverin went amiss. Afterwhile, their blood warming with thework, and the dawn breaking, they could see their advantage ofposition, and the awful havoc they were playing; then they too knew thedelight in killing which more than anything else proves man the mostferocious of brutes.

  The movement of the hordes was not a dash wholly without system--suchan inference would be a great mistake. There was no pretence ofalignment or order--there never is in such attacks--forlorn hopes,receiving the signal, rush on, each individual to his own endeavor;here, nevertheless, the Pachas and Beys directed the assault,permitting no blind waste of effort. They hurled their mobs at none butthe weak places--here a breach, there a dismantled gate.

  Thousands were pushed headlong into the moat. The ladders then passeddown to such of them as had footing were heavy, but they were caughtwillingly; if too short, were spliced; once planted so as to bring thecoping of the wall in reach, they swarmed with eager adventurers, who,holding their shields and pikes overhead, climbed as best they could.Those below cheered their comrades above, and even pushed them up.

  "The spoils--think of the spoils--the gold, the women!..._Allah-il-Allah!_... Up, up--it is the way to Paradise!"

  Darts and javelins literally cast the climbers in a thickened shade.Sometimes a ponderous stone plunging down cleaned a ladder from top tobottom; sometimes, waiting until the rounds were filled, the besiegedapplied levers, and swung a score and more off helpless and shrieking.No matter--_Allah-il-Allah!_ The living were swift to restore andattempt the fatal ascents.

  Every one dead and every one wounded became a serviceable clod; rapidlyas the dump and cumber of humanity filled the moat the ladders extendedtheir upward reach; while drum-beat, battle-cry, trumpet's blare, andthe roar of cannon answering cannon blent into one steadyall-smothering sound.

  In the stretches of space between gates, where the walls and towerswere intact, the strife of the archers and slingers was to keep theGreeks occupied, lest they should reenforce the defenders hard pressedelsewhere.

  During the night the blockading vessels had been warped close into theshore, and, the wall of the seafront being lower than those on the landside, the crews, by means of platforms erected on the decks, engagedthe besieged from a better level. There also, though attempts atescalade were frequent, the object was chiefly to hold the garrison inplace.

  In the harbor, particularly at the Wood Gate, already mentioned asbattered out of semblance to itself by the large gun on the floatingbattery, the Turks exerted themselves to effect a landing; but theChristian fleet interposed, and there was a naval battle of varyingfortune.

  So, speaking generally, the city was wrapped in assault; and when thesun at last rode up into the clear sky above the Asiatic heights,streets, houses, palaces, churches--the hills, in fact, from the sea tothe Tower of Isaac--were shrouded in ominous vapor, through which suchof the people as dared go abroad flitted pale and trembling; or if theyspoke to each other, it
was to ask in husky voices, What have you fromthe gates?

  Passing now to the leading actors in this terrible tragedy. Mahommedretired to his couch early the night previous. He knew his orders werein course of execution by chiefs who, on their part, knew theconsequences of failure. The example made of the Admiral in command ofthe fleet the day the five relieving Christian galleys won the port wasfresh in memory. [Footnote: He was stretched on the ground and whippedlike a common malefactor.]

  "To-morrow, to-morrow," he kept repeating, while his pages took off hisarmor, and laid the pieces aside. "To-morrow, to-morrow," lingered inhis thoughts, when, his limbs stretched out comfortably on the broadbronze cot which served him for couch, sleep crept in as to a tiredchild, and laid its finger of forgetfulness upon his eyelids. Therepetition was as when we run through the verse of a cheerful song,thinking it out silently, and then recite the chorus aloud. Once heawoke, and, sitting up, listened. The mighty host which had its life byhis permission was quiet--even the horses in their apartment seemedmindful that the hour was sacred to their master. Falling to sleepagain, he muttered: "To-morrow, to-morrow--Irene and glory. I have thepromise of the stars."

  To Mahommed the morrow was obviously but a holiday which was bringinghim the kingly part in a joyous game--a holiday too slow in coming.

  About the third hour after midnight he was again awakened. A man stoodby his cot imperfectly shading the light of a lamp with his hand.

  "Prince of India!" exclaimed Mahommed, rising to a sitting posture.

  "It is I, my Lord."

  "What time is it?"

  The Prince gave him the hour.

  "Is it so near the break of day?" Mahommed yawned. "Tell me"--he fixedhis eyes darkly on the visitor--"tell me first why thou art here?"

  "I will, my Lord, and truly. I wished to see if you could sleep. Acommon soul could not. It is well the world has no premonitory sense."

  "Why so?"

  "My Lord has all the qualities of a conqueror."

  Mahommed was pleased.

  "Yes, I will make a great day of to-morrow. But, Prince of India, whatshadows are disturbing thee? Why art thou not asleep?"

  "I too have a part in the day, my Lord."

  "What part?"

  "I will fight, and"--

  Mahommed interrupted him with a laugh.

  "Thou!" and he looked the stooped figure over from head to foot.

  "My Lord has two hands--I have four--I will show them."

  Returning to his apartment, the Prince reappeared with Nilo.

  "Behold, my Lord!"

  The black was in the martial attire of a king of Kash-Cush--featheredcoronet, robe of blue and red hanging from shoulder to heel, body underthe robe naked to the waist, assegai in the oft-wrapped white sash,skirt to the knees glittering with crescents and buttons of silver,sandals beaded with pearls. On his left arm depended a shield rimmedand embossed with brass; in his right hand he bore a club knotted, andof weight to fell a bull at a blow. Without the slightest abashment,but rather as a superior, the King looked down at the young Sultan.

  "I see--I understand--I welcome the four hands of the Prince of India,"Mahommed said, vivaciously; then, giving a few moments of admiration tothe negro, he turned, and asked:

  "Prince, I have a motive for to-morrow--nay, by the cool waters ofParadise, I have many motives. Tell me thine. In thy speech and actionI have observed a hate for these Greeks deep as the Shintan's for God.Why? What have they done to thee?"

  "They are Christians," the Jew returned, sullenly.

  "That is good, Prince, very good--even the Prophet judged it ajustification for cleaning the earth of the detestable sect--yet it isnot enough. I am not old as thou"--Mahommed lost the curious gleamwhich shone in the visitor's eyes--"I am not old as thou art; still Iknow hate like thine must be from a private grievance."

  "My Lord is right. To-morrow I will leave the herd to the herd. In thecurrents of the fight I will hunt but one enemy--Constantine. Judgethou my cause."

  Then he told of Lael--of his love for her--of her abduction byDemedes--his supplication for the Emperor's assistance--the refusal.

  "She was the child of my soul," he continued, passionately. "Myinterest in life was going out; she reinspired it. She was the promiseof a future for me, as the morning star is of a gladsome day. I dreameddreams of her, and upon her love builded hopes, like shining castles onhigh hills. Yet it was not enough that the Greek refused me his powerto discover and restore her. She is now in restraint, and set apart tobecome the wife of a Christian--a Christian priest--may the fiendsjuggle for his ghost!--To-morrow I will punish the tyrant--I will givehim a dog's death, and then seek her. Oh! I will find her--I will findher--and by the light there is in love, I will show him what all ofhell there can be in one man's hate!"

  For once the cunning of the Prince overreached itself. In the rush ofpassion he forgot the exquisite sensory gifts of the potentate withwhom he was dealing; and Mahommed, observant even while shrinking fromthe malignant fire in the large eyes, discerned incoherencies in thetale, and that it was but half told; and while he was resolving to pushhis Messenger of the Stars to a full confession, a distant rumbleinvaded the tent, accompanied by a trample of feet outside.

  "It is here, Prince of India--the day of Destiny. Let us get ready,thou for thy revenge, I for glory and"--Irene was on his tongue, but hesuppressed the name. "Call my chamberlain and equerry.... On the tablethere thou mayst see my arms--a mace my ancestor Ilderim [Footnote:Bajazet.] bore at Nicopolis, and thy sword of Solomon.... God is great,and the Jinn and the Stars on my side, what have we to fear?"

  Within half an hour he rode out of the tent.

  "Blows the wind to the city or from it?" he asked his chief Aga ofJanissaries.

  "Toward the city, my Lord."

  "Exalted be the name of the Prophet! Set the Flower of the Faithful inorder--a column of front wide as the breach in the gate--and bring theheralds. I shall be by the great gun."

  Pushing his horse on the parapet, he beheld the space before him, downquite to the moat--every trace of the cemetery had disappeared--darkwith hordes assembled and awaiting the signal. Satisfied, happy, helooked then toward the east. None better than he knew the starsappointed to go before the sun--their names were familiar to him--nowthey were his friends. At last a violet corona infinitely softglimmered along the hill tops beyond Scutari.

  "Stand out now," he cried to the five in their tabards of gold--"standout now, and as ye hope couches in Paradise, blow--blow the stones outof their beds yonder--God was never so great!"

  Then ensued the general advance which has been described, except thathere, in front of St. Romain, there was no covering the assailants withslingers and archers. The fill in the ditch was nearly level with theouter bank, from which it may be described as an ascending causeway.This advantage encouraged the idea of pouring the hordesmen _en masse_over the hill composed of the ruins of what had been the towers of thegate.

  There was an impulsive dash under incitement of a mighty drumming andtrumpeting--a race, every man of the thousands engaged in it making forthe causeway--a jam--a mob paralyzed by its numbers. They trampled oneach other--they fought, and in the rebound were pitched in heaps downthe perpendicular revetment on the right and left of the fill. Of thosethus unfortunate the most remained where they fell, alive, perhaps, butnone the less an increasing dump of pikes, shields, and crushed bodies;and in the roar above them, cries for help, groans, and prayers werealike unheard and unnoticed.

  All this Justiniani had foreseen. Behind loose stones on top of thehill, he had collected culverins, making, in modern phrase, a maskedbattery, and trained the pieces to sweep the causeway; with them, as asupport, he mixed archers and pikemen. On either flank, moreover, hestationed companies similarly armed, extending them to the unbrokenwall, so there was not a space in the breach undefended.

  The Captain, on watch and expectant, heard the signal.

  "To the Emperor at Blacherne," he bade; "and say the storm i
s about tobreak. Make haste." Then to his men: "Light the matches, and be readyto throw the stones down."

  The hordesmen reached the edge of the ditch; that moment the guns wereunmasked, and the Genoese leader shouted:

  "Fire, my men!--_Christ and Holy Church!_"

  Then from the Christian works it was bullet, bolt, stone, and shaft,making light of flimsy shield and surcoat of hide; still the hordesmenpushed on, a river breasting an obstruction. Now they were on thecauseway. Useless facing about--behind them an advancing wall--on bothsides the ditch. Useless lying down--that was to be smothered in bloodymire. Forward, forward, or die. What though the causeway was packedwith dead and wounded?--though there was no foothold notslippery?--though the smell of hot blood filled every nostril?--thoughhands thrice strengthened by despair grappled the feet making steppingblocks of face and breast? The living pressed on leaping, stumbling,staggering; their howl, "Gold--spoils--women--slaves," answered fromthe smoking hill, "_Christ and Holy Church._"

  And now, the causeway crossed, the leading assailants gain the foot ofthe rough ascent. No time to catch breath--none to look foradvantage--none to profit by a glance at the preparation to receivethem--up they must go, and up they went. Arrows and javelins piercethem; stones crush them; the culverins spout fire in their faces, and,lifting them off their uncertain footing, hurl them bodily back uponthe heads and shields of their comrades. Along the brow of the rockyhill a mound of bodies arises wondrous quick, an obstacle to thewarders of the pass who would shoot, and to the hordesmen a barrier.

  Slowly the corona on the Scutarian hills deepened into dawn. TheEmperor joined Justiniani. Count Corti came with him. There was anaffectionate greeting.

  "Your Majesty, the day is scarcely full born, yet see how Islam isrueing it."

  Constantine, following Justiniani's pointing, peered once through thesmoke; then the necessity of the moment caught him, and, taking postbetween guns, he plied his long lance upon the wretches climbing therising mound, some without shields, some weaponless, most of themincapable of combat.

  With the brightening of day the mound grew in height and width, untilat length the Christians sallied out upon it to meet the enemy stillpouring on.

  An hour thus.

  Suddenly, seized with a comprehension of the futility of their effort,the hordesmen turned, and rushed from the hill and the causeway.

  The Christians suffered but few casualties; yet they would have gladlyrested. Then, from the wall above the breach, whence he had used hisbow, Count Corti descended hastily.

  "Your Majesty," he said, his countenance kindled with enthusiasm, "theJanissaries are making ready."

  Justiniani was prompt. "Come!" he shouted. "Come every one! We musthave clear range for the guns. Down with these dead! Down with theliving. No time for pity!"

  Setting the example, presently the defenders were tossing the bodies oftheir enemies down the face of the hill.

  On his horse, by the great gun, Mahommed had observed the assault,listening while the night yet lingered. Occasionally a courier rode tohim with news from this Pacha or that one. He heard without excitement,and returned invariably the same reply:

  "Tell him to pour the hordes in."

  At last an officer came at speed.

  "Oh, my Lord, I salute you. The city is won."

  It was clear day then, yet a light not of the morning sparkled inMahommed's eyes. Stooping in his saddle, he asked: "What sayest thou?Tell me of it, but beware--if thou speakest falsely, neither God norProphet shall save thee from impalement to the roots of thy tongue."

  "As I have to tell my Lord what I saw with my own eyes, I am notafraid.... My Lord knows that where the palace of Blacherne begins onthe south there is an angle in the wall. There, while our people werefeigning an assault to amuse the Greeks, they came upon a sunken gate"--

  "The Cercoporta--I have heard of it."

  "My Lord has the name. Trying it, they found it unfastened andunguarded, and, pushing through a darkened passage, discovered theywere in the Palace. Mounting to the upper floor, they attacked theunbelievers. The fighting goes on. From room to room the Christiansresist. They are now cut off, and in a little time the quarter will bein our possession."

  Mahommed spoke to Kalil: "Take this man, and keep him safely. If he hasspoken truly, great shall be his reward; if falsely, better he were nothis mother's son." Then to one of his household: "Come hither.... Go tothe sunken gate Cercoporta, pass in, and find the chief now fighting inthe palace of Blacherne. Tell him I, Mahommed, require that he leavethe Palace to such as may follow him, and march and attack thedefenders of this gate, St. Romain, in the rear. He shall not stop toplunder. I give him one hour in which to do my bidding. Ride thou nowas if a falcon led thee. For Allah and life!"

  Next he called his Aga of Janissaries.

  "Have the hordes before this gate retired. They have served their turn;they have made the ditch passable, and the _Gabours_ are faint withkilling them. Observe, and when the road is cleared let go with theFlower of the Faithful. A province to the first through; and this thebattle-cry: _Allah-il-Allah!_ They will fight under my eye. Minutes areworth kingdoms. Go thou, and let go."

  Always in reserve, always the last resort in doubtful battle, alwaysthe arm with which the Sultans struck the finishing blow, theJanissaries thus summoned to take up the assault were in discipline,spirit, and splendor of appearance the _elite_ corps of the martialworld.

  Riding to the front, the Aga halted to communicate Mahommed's orders.Down the columns the speech was passed.

  The Flower of the Faithful were in three divisions dismounted. Throwingoff their clumsy gowns, they stood forth in glittering mail, andshaking their brassy shields in air, shouted the old salute: "_Live thePadishah! Live the Padishah!_"

  The road to the gate was cleared; then the Aga galloped back, and whenabreast of the yellow flag of the first division, he cried:"_Allah-il-Allah!_ Forward!"

  And drum and trumpet breaking forth, a division moved down in column offifties. Slowly at first, but solidly, and with a vast stateliness itmoved. So at Pharsalia marched the legion Caesar loved--so in decisionof heady fights strode the Old Guard of the world's last Conqueror.

  Approaching the ditch, the fresh assailants set up the appointedbattle-cry, and quickening the step to double time rushed over theterrible causeway.

  Mahommed then descended to the ditch, and remained there mounted, thesword of Solomon in his hand, the mace of Ilderim at his saddle bow;and though hearing him was impossible, the Faithful took fire from hisfire--enough that they were under his eye.

  The feat attempted by the hordes was then repeated, except now therewas order in disorder. The machine, though shaken and disarranged, keptworking on, working up. Somehow its weight endured. Slowly, with allits drench and cumber, the hill was surmounted. Again a mound arose infront of the battery--again the sally, and the deadly ply of pikes fromthe top of the mound.

  The Emperor's lance splintered; he fought with a pole-axe; still evenhe became sensible of a whelming pressure. In the gorge, the smoke,loaded with lime-dust, dragged rather than lifted; no man saw down itto the causeway; yet the ascending din and clamor, possessed of thesmiting power of a gust of wind, told of an endless array coming.

  There was not time to take account of time; but at last a Turkishshield appeared over the ghastly rampart, glimmering as the moonglimmers through thick vapor. Thrusts in scores were made at it, yet itarose; then a Janissary sprang up on the heap, singing like a muezzin,and shearing off the heads of pikes as reapers shear green rye. He wasa giant in stature and strength. Both Genoese and Greeks were disposedto give him way. The Emperor rallied them. Still the Turk held hisfooting, and other Turks were climbing to his support. Now it looked asif the crisis were come, now as if the breach were lost.

  In the last second a cry _For Christ and Irene_ rang through the melee,and Count Corti, leaping from a gun, confronted the Turk.

  "Ho, Son of Ouloubad! Hassan, Hassan!" [Footnote: One of theJanissar
ies, Hassan d'Ouloubad, of gigantic stature and prodigiousstrength, mounted to the assault under cover of his shield, his cimeterin the right hand. He reached the rampart with thirty of hiscompanions. Nineteen of them were cast down, and Hassan himself fellstruck by a stone.--VON HAMMER.] he shouted, in the familiar tongue.

  "Who calls me?" the giant asked, lowering his shield, and gazing aboutin surprise.

  "I call you--I, Mirza the Emir. Thy time has come. _Christ and Irene.Now!_"

  With the word the Count struck the Janissary fairly on the flat capwith his axe, bringing him to his knees. Almost simultaneously a heavystone descended upon the dazed man from a higher part of the wall, andhe rolled backward down the steep.

  Constantine and Justiniani, with others, joined the Count, but toolate. Of the fifty comrades composing Hassan's file, thirty mounted therampart. Eighteen of them were slain in the bout. Corti raged like alion; but up rushed the survivors of the next file--and the next--andthe vantage-point was lost. The Genoese, seeing it, said:

  "Your Majesty, let us retire."

  "Is it time?"

  "We must get a ditch between us and this new horde, or we are all deadmen."

  Then the Emperor shouted: "Back, every one! For love of Christ and HolyChurch, back to the galley!"

  The guns, machines, store of missiles, and space occupied by thebattery were at once abandoned. Constantine and Corti went last, facingthe foe, who warily paused to see what they had next to encounter.

  The secondary defence to which the Greeks resorted consisted of thehulk brought up, as we have seen, by Count Corti, planted on its keelsquarely in rear of the breach, and filled with stones. From the hulk,on right and left, wings of uncemented masonry extended to the mainwall in form thus:

  A ditch fronted the line fifteen feet in width and twelve in depth,provided with movable planks for hasty passage. Culverins were on thehulk, with ammunition in store.

  Greatly to the relief of the jaded Christians, who, it is easybelieving, stood not on the order of going, they beheld the reserves,under Demetrius Palaeologus and Nicholas Giudalli, in readiness behindthe refuge.

  The Emperor, on the deck, raised the visor of his helmet, and looked upat an Imperial flag drooping in the stagnant air from a stump of themast. Whatever his thought or feeling, no one could discern on hiscountenance an unbecoming expression. The fact, of which he must havebeen aware, that this stand taken ended his empire forever, had notshaken his resolution or confidence. To Demetrius Palaeologus, who hadlent a hand helping him up the galley's side, he said: "Thank you,kinsman. God may still be trusted. Open fire."

  The Janissaries, astonished at the new and strange defence, would haveretreated, but could not; the files ascending behind drove themforward. At the edge of the ditch the foremost of them made adespairing effort to resist the pressure rushing them to theirfate--down they went in mass, in their last service no better than thehordesmen--clods they became--clods in bright harness instead ofbull-hide and shaggy astrakhan.

  From the wings, bolts and stones; from the height of the wall, boltsand stones; from the hulk, grapeshot; and the rattle upon the shieldsof the Faithful was as the passing of empty chariots over a Pompeiianstreet. Imprecations, prayers, yells, groans, shrieks, had lodgementonly in the ear of the Most Merciful. The open maw of a ravenousmonster swallowing the column fast as Mahommed down by the great moatdrove it on--such was the new ditch.

  Yet another, the final horror. When the ditch was partially filled, theChristians brought jugs of the inflammable liquid contributed to thedefence by John Grant; and cast them down on the writhing heap.Straightway the trench became a pocket of flame, or rather an oven fromwhich the smell of roasting human flesh issued along with a chokingcloud!

  The besieged were exultant, as they well might be--they were more thanholding the redoubtable Flower of the Faithful at bay--there was even amerry tone in their battle-cry. About that time a man dismounted from afoaming horse, climbed the rough steps to the deck of the galley, anddelivered a message to the Emperor.

  "Your Majesty. John Grant, Minotle the bayle, Carystos, Langasco, andJerome the Italian are slain. Blacherne is in possession of the Turks,and they are marching this way. The hordes are in the streets. I sawthem, and heard the bursting of doors, and the screams of women."

  Constantine crossed himself three times, and bowed his head.

  Justiniani turned the color of ashes, and exclaimed:

  "We are undone--undone! All is lost!" And that his voice was hoarse didnot prevent the words being overheard. The fire slackened--ceased. Menfighting jubilantly dropped their arms, and took up the cry--"All islost! The hordes are in, the hordes are in!"

  Doubtless Count Corti's thought sped to the fair woman waiting for himin the chapel, yet he kept clear head.

  "Your Majesty," he said, "my Berbers are without. I will take them, andhold the Turks in check while you draw assistance from the walls.Or"--he hesitated, "or I will defend your person to the ships. It isnot too late."

  Indeed, there was ample time for the Emperor's escape. The Berbers werekeeping his horse with Corti's. He had but to mount, and ride away. Nodoubt he was tempted. There is always some sweetness in life,especially to the blameless. He raised his head, and said to Justiniani:

  "Captain, my guard will remain here. To keep the galley they have onlyto keep the fire alive in the ditch. You and I will go out to meet theenemy." ... Then he addressed himself to Corti: "To horse, Count, andbring Theophilus Palaeologus. He is on the wall between this gate andthe gate Selimbria.... Ho, Christian gentlemen," he continued, to thesoldiers closing around him, "all is not lost. The Bochiardi at theAdrianople gate have not been heard from. To fly from an unseen foewere shameful, We are still hundreds strong. Let us descend, and form.God cannot"--

  That instant Justiniani uttered a loud cry, and dropped the axe he washolding. An arrow had pierced the scales of his gauntlet, and disabledhis hand. The pain, doubtless, was great, and he started hastily as ifto descend from the deck. Constantine called out:

  "Captain, Captain!"

  "Give me leave, Your Majesty, to go and have this wound dressed."

  "Where, Captain?"

  "To my ship."

  The Emperor threw his visor up--his face was flushed--in his soulindignation contended with astonishment.

  "No, Captain, the wound cannot be serious; and besides, how canst thouget to thy ships?"

  Justiniani looked over the bulwark of the vessel. The alley from thegate ran on between houses abutting the towers. A ball from one ofMahommed's largest guns had passed through the right-hand building,leaving a ragged fissure. Thither the Captain now pointed.

  "God opened that breach to let the Turks in. I will go out by it."

  He stayed no longer, but went down the steps, and in haste little shortof a run disappeared through the fissure so like a breach.

  The desertion was in view of his Genoese, of whom a few followed him,but not all. Many who had been serving the guns took swords and pikes,and gathering about the Emperor, cried out:

  "Give orders, Your Majesty. We will bide with you."

  He returned them a look full of gratitude.

  "I thank you, gentlemen. Let us go down, and join our shields acrossthe street. To my guard I commit defence of the galley."

  Unfastening the purple half-cloak at his back, and taking off hishelmet, he called to his sword-bearer: "Here, take thou these, and giveme my sword.... Now, gallant gentlemen--now, my brave countrymen--wewill put ourselves in the keeping of Heaven. Come!"

  They had not all gained the ground, however, when there arose a clamorin their front, and the hordesmen appeared, and blocking up thepassage, opened upon them with arrows and stones, while such as hadjavelins and swords attacked them hand to hand.

  The Christians behaved well, but none better than Constantine. Hefought with strength, and in good countenance; his blade quicklyreddened to the hilt.

  "Strike, my countrymen, for city and home. Strike, every one, for_Christ and
Holy Church!_"

  And answering him: "_Christ and Holy Church!_" they all fought as theyhad strength, and their swords were also reddened to the hilt. Quarterwas not asked; neither was it given. Theirs to hold the ground, andthey held it. They laid the hordesmen out over it in scattered heapswhich grew, and presently became one long heap the width of the alley;and they too fell, but, as we are willing to believe, unconscious ofpain because lapped in the delirium of battle-fever.

  Five minutes--ten--fifteen--then through the breach by which Justinianiingloriously fled Theophilus Palaeologus came with bared brand tovindicate his imperial blood by nobly dying; and with him came CountCorti, Francesco de Toledo, John the Dalmatian, and a score and moreChristian gentlemen who well knew the difference between an honorabledeath and a dishonored life.

  Steadily the sun arose. Half the street was in its light, the otherhalf in its shade; yet the struggle endured; nor could any man havesaid God was not with the Christians. Suddenly a louder shouting arosebehind them. They who could, looked to see what it meant, and thebravest stood stone still at sight of the Janissaries swarming on thegalley. Over the roasting bodies of their comrades, undeterred by theinextinguishable fire, they had crossed the ditch, and were slaying theimperial body-guard. A moment, and they would be in the alley, andthen--

  Up rose a wail: "The Janissaries, the Janissaries! _Kyrie Eleison!_"Through the knot of Christians it passed--it reached Constantine in theforefront, and he gave way to the antagonist with whom he was engaged.

  "God receive my soul!" he exclaimed; and dropping his sword, he turnedabout, and rushed back with wide extended arms.

  "Friends--countrymen!--Is there no Christian to kill me?"

  Then they understood why he had left his helmet off.

  While those nearest stared at him, their hearts too full of pity to dohim the last favor one can ask of another, from the midst of thehordesmen there came a man of singular unfitness for such ascene--indeed a delicate woman had not been more out of place--for hewas small, stooped, withered, very white haired, very pale, and muchbearded--a black velvet cap on his head, and a gown of the like abouthis body, unarmed, and in every respect unmartial. He seemed to glidein amongst the Christians as he had glided through the close press ofthe Turks; and as the latter had given him way, so now the sword pointsof the Christians went down--men in the heat of action forgotthemselves, and became bystanders--such power was there in theunearthly eyes of the apparition.

  "Is there no Christian to kill me?" cried the Emperor again.

  The man in velvet stood before him.

  "Prince of India!"

  "You know me? It is well; for now I know you are not beyondremembering." The voice was shrill and cutting, yet it shrilled and cutthe sharper.

  "Remember the day I called on you to acknowledge God, and give him hisdue of worship. Remember the day I prayed you on my knees to lend meyour power to save my child, stolen for a purpose by all peoples heldunholy. Behold your executioner!"

  He stepped back, and raised a hand; and ere one of those standing bycould so much as cry to God, Nilo, who, in the absorption of interestin his master, had followed him unnoticed--Nilo, gorgeous in hisbarbarisms of Kash-Cush, sprang into the master's place. He did notstrike; but with infinite cruel cunning of hand--no measurable lapse oftime ensuing--drew the assegai across the face of the astonishedEmperor. Constantine--never great till that moment of death, but thengreat forever--fell forward upon his shield, calling in strangledutterance: "God receive my soul!"

  The savage set his foot upon the mutilated countenance, crushing itinto a pool of blood. An instant, then through the petrified throng,knocking them right and left, Count Corti appeared.

  "_For Christ and Irene!_" he shouted, dashing the spiked boss of hisshield into Nilo's eyes--down upon the feathered coronal he brought hissword--and the negro fell sprawling upon the Emperor.

  Oblivious to the surroundings, Count Corti, on his knees, raised theEmperor's head, slightly turning the face--one look was enough. "Hissoul is sped!" he said; and while he was tenderly replacing the head, ahand grasped his cap. He sprang to his feet. Woe to the intruder, if anenemy! The sword which had known no failure was drawn back tothrust--above the advanced foot the shield hung in ready poise--betweenhim and the challenger there was only a margin of air and the briefestinterval of time--his breath was drawn, and his eyes gleamed withvengeful murder--but--some power invisible stayed his arm, and into hismemory flashed the lightning of recognition.

  "Prince of India," he shouted, "never wert thou nearer death!"

  "Thou--liest! Death--and--I"--

  The words were long drawn between gasps, and the speech was neverfinished. The tongue thickened, then paralyzed. The features, alreadydistorted with passion, swelled, and blackened horribly. The eyesrolled back--the hands flew up, the fingers apart and rigid--the bodyrocked--stiffened--then fell, sliding from the Count's shield acrossthe dead Emperor.

  The combat meantime had gone on. Corti, with a vague feeling that thePrince's flight of soul was a mystery in keeping with his life, took asecond to observe him, and muttered: "Peace to him also!"

  Looking about him then, he was made aware that the Christians, attackedin front and rear, were drawing together around the body ofConstantine--that their resistance was become the last effort of bravemen hopeless except of the fullest possible payment for their lives.This was succeeded by a conviction of duty done on his part, and ofevery requirement of honor fulfilled; thereupon with a great throb ofheart, his mind reverted to the Princess Irene waiting for him in thechapel. He must go to her. But how? And was it not too late?

  There are men whose wits are supernaturally quickened by danger. TheCount, pushing through the intervening throng, boldly presented himselfto the Janissaries, shouting while warding the blows they aimed at him:

  "Have done, O madmen! See you not I am your comrade, Mirza the Emir?Have done, I say, and let me pass. I have a message for the Padishah!"

  He spoke Turkish, and having been an idol in the barracks--their bestswordsman--envied, and at the same time beloved--they knew him, andwith acclamations opened their files, and let him pass.

  By the fissure which had served Justiniani, he escaped from theterrible alley, and finding his Berbers and his horse, rode with speedfor the residence of the Princess Irene.

  Not a Christian survived the combat. Greek, Genoese, Italian lay inghastly composite with hordesmen and mailed Moslems around the Emperor.In dying they had made good their battle-cry--_For Christ and HolyChurch!_ Let us believe they will yet have their guerdon.

  About an hour after the last of them had fallen, when the narrowpassage was deserted by the living--the conquerors having moved on insearch of their hire--the Prince of India aroused, and shook himselffree of the corpses cumbering him. Upon his knees he gazed at thedead--then at the place--then at the sky. He rubbed his hands--madesure he was sound of person--he seemed uncertain, not of life, but ofhimself. In fact, he was asking, Who am I? And the question hadreference to the novel sensations of which he was conscious. What wasit coursing through his veins? Wine?--Elixir?--Some new principlewhich, hidden away amongst the stores of nature, had suddenly evolvedfor him? The weights of age were gone. In his body--bones, arms, limbs,muscles--he recognized once more the glorious impulses of youth; buthis mind--he started--the ideas which had dominated him were beginningto return--and memory! It surged back upon him, and into its wontedchambers, like a wave which, under pressure of a violent wind, has beenmomentarily driven from a familiar shore. He saw, somewhat faintly atfirst, the events which had been promontories and lofty peaks cast upout of the level of his long existence. Then THAT DAY and THAT EVENT!How distinctly they reappeared to him! They must be the same--mustbe--for he beheld the multitude on its way to Calvary, and the Victimtottering under the Cross; he heard the Tribune ask, "Ho, is this thestreet to Golgotha?" He heard his own answer, "I will guide you;" andhe spit upon the fainting Man of Sorrows, and struck him. And then thewords--"TARRY THOU TILL I CO
ME!" identified him to himself. He lookedat his hands--they were black with what had been some other man'slife-blood, but under the stain the skin was smooth--a little waterwould make them white. And what was that upon his breast? Beard--beardblack as a raven's wing! He plucked a lock of hair from his head. It,too, was thick with blood, but it was black. Youth--youth--joyous,bounding, eager, hopeful youth was his once more! He stood up, andthere was no creak of rust in the hinges of his joints; he knew he wasstanding inches higher in the sunlit air; and a cry burst from him--"OGod, I give thanks!" The hymn stopped there, for between him and thesky, as if it were ascending transfigured, he beheld the Victim of theCrucifixion; and the eyes, no longer sad, but full of accusing majesty,were looking downward at him, and the lips were in speech: "TARRY THOUTILL I COME!" He covered his face with his hands. Yes, yes, he had hisyouth back again, but it was with the old mind and nature--youth, thatthe curse upon him might, in the mortal sense, be eternal! And pullinghis black hair with his young hands, wrenching at his black beard, itwas given him to see he had undergone his fourteenth transformation,and that between this one and the last there was no lapse ofconnection. Old age had passed, leaving the conditions andcircumstances of its going to the youth which succeeded. The new lifein starting picked up and loaded itself with every burden and all themisery of the old. So now while burrowing, as it were, amongst deadmen, his head upon the breast of the Emperor whom, treating Nilo as aninstrument in his grip, he had slain, he thought most humanly of theeffects of the transformation.

  First of all, his personal identity was lost, and he was once more aWanderer without an acquaintance, a friend, or a sympathizer on theearth. To whom could he now address himself with a hope of recognition?His heart went out primarily to Lael--he loved her. Suppose he foundher, and offered to take her in his arms; she would repulse him. "Thouart not my father. He was old--thou art young." And Syama, whosebereavements of sense had recommended him for confidant in the event ofhis witnessing the dreaded circumstance just befallen--if he addressedhimself to Syama, the faithful creature would deny him. "No; my masterwas old--his hair and beard were white--thou art a youth. Go hence."And then Mahommed, to whom he had been so useful in bringing additionalempire, and a glory which time would make its own forever--did he seekMahommed again--"Thou art not the Prince of India, my peerlessMessenger of the Stars. He was old--his hair and beard were white--thouart a boy. Ho, guards, take this impostor, and do with him as ye didwith Balta-Ogli stretch him on the ground, and beat the breath out ofhim."

  There is nothing comes to us, whether in childhood or age, so crushingas a sense of isolation. Who will deny it had to do with themarshalling of worlds, and the peopling them--with creation?

  These reflections did but wait upon the impulse which still furtheridentified him to himself--the impulse to go and keep going--and hecast about for solaces.

  "It is the Judgment," he said, with a grim smile; "but my storesremain, and Hiram of Tyre is yet my friend. I have my experience ofmore than a thousand years, and with it youth again. I cannot make menbetter, and God refuses my services. Nevertheless I will devise newopportunities. The earth is round, and upon its other side there mustbe another world. Perhaps I can find some daring spirit equal to thevoyage and discovery--some one Heaven may be more willing to favor. Butthis meeting place of the old continents"--he looked around him, andthen to the sky--"with my farewell, I leave it the curse of the mostaccursed. The desired of nations, it shall be a trouble to themforever."

  Then he saw Nilo under a load of corpses, and touched by remembrance ofthe poor savage's devotion, he uncovered him to get at his heart, whichwas still beating. Next he threw away his cap and gown, replaced themwith a bloody tarbousche and a shaggy Angora mantle, selected ajavelin, and sauntered leisurely on into the city. Having seenConstantinople pillaged by Christians, he was curious to see it nowsacked by Moslems--there might be a further solace in the comparison.

  [Footnote: According to the earliest legends, the Wandering Jew wasabout thirty years old when he stood in the road to Golgotha, andstruck the Saviour, and ordered him to go forward. At the end of everyhundred years, the undying man falls into a trance, during which hisbody returns to the age it was when the curse was pronounced. In allother respects he remains unchanged.]