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Updated: June 14, 2025
"No, no," said the Meer with some indignation, "I am sure you could not do so in so short a time;" and then he paused, evidently making up his mind to tell us a story. After a little, out it came. "That Feringhis should take my fortress, the strongest in the world, in a quarter of an hour is impossible, for it took me, with five hundred horsemen, double that time."
In return for this piece of information, the inhabitants of Keune expressed a desire to see the Feringhis feed; rather a novel request, but one which we easily gratified by striking the walls of the tent while we eat our dinner.
Such is my stock in trade. By day, Mesrour and I dress like Feringhis. But at night, it pleases us to cast aside the stiff garb of the infidel for the flowing garments of my native land. Mesrour then delights to make the obeisances my rank deserves, but which in the presence of the giaours would excite mocking laughter. I have prospered.
In that collection of chronicles which the Feringhis style the Arabian Nights, you have read of the fisherman who found a bottle in his net and opened it to see a quantity of dark vapor issue forth, which, assuming great proportions, presently took form, coalesced into the gigantic figure of a terrible genii, who announced to his terrified liberator that during his captivity, he had sworn to kill whomsoever let him out of the bottle.
He then enquired if it was the fire from heaven, which he heard the Feringhis were possessed of.
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