Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
A ball strikes Cousrouf's horse, and it sinks to the ground. With difficulty he succeeds in extricating himself from his fallen steed. "Upon them, my brave soldiers!" he cries, drawing his ataghan. "Let us fight our way through to the fort. There we shall be secure." "You shall never reach it!" exclaims Bardissi, his uplifted sword descending upon Cousrouf's head.
He stands there, motionless, pale as a corpse, staring at Mohammed. He seems to be still listening to the words he has heard, to the fearful announcement of his fall and disgrace. "To Imbro you go," said Mohammed Ali, after a pause. "Do you remember Imbro?" No word comes from Cousrouf's pale lips; he slowly shakes his head.
He draws rein as they reach the gateway, and gives the ass on which Cousrouf is mounted a blow with the flat of his sword, that causes it to rush into the court-yard with a succession of quick bounds. The soldiers standing around laugh loudly. And this laughter makes Cousrouf's cheeks red with shame, and sends tears to his eyes, tears of rage.
The inhabitants were slain, and the houses sacked and destroyed by Cousrouf's soldiers. After this victory, the advance on Cairo seemed easier. Cousrouf, however, preferred to retreat to Damietta, having learned that a larger force was advancing to meet him. Hassan Bey had returned by hurried marches to Cairo, and demanded re-enforcements, which were given him.
On ascending and unlocking the door of Cousrouf's prison, the bim bashi sees him stretched out on the floor, pale and motionless. Is he dead? Has the terrible blow destroyed him? It were well for Cousrouf if he were dead! But no; he lives! He had only for the moment found relief in insensibility from the consciousness of humiliation and disgrace.
The governor, Courschid Pacha, was again firmly established in Alexandria, where he was assembling new forces, and preparing to march against Cairo and the Mamelukes, and also against Mohammed Ali and his Albanians and Armenians; he only awaited the sultan's decision. He had sent to Stamboul intelligence of all that had occurred of Cousrouf's flight, and of his defeat and capture at Damietta.
I entreat you to be merciful, and to come away with me." He took Cousrouf's arm in his own, and drew him away, almost forcibly entreating him, with all the anxiety of a father's heart, to forgive the uncultured youth, who knew nothing of becoming deportment and polished manners. He was an untamed lion, unfamiliar with the gentle ways of the domestic animals.
In such terms did Cousrouf speak to his soldiers to encourage them to make a gallant defence of the fortress. But Cousrouf's words excited little enthusiasm among his followers; the scouts sent out returned with the intelligence that the enemy was approaching in immense force. They were advancing along the Nile, Mohammed with the infantry, Bardissi with the mounted troops.
"You are my prisoner," cried Mohammed, tearing the sword from Cousrouf's hand, and hurling it far from him. He then grasped him by the shoulders and looked him firmly in the eye. "Cousrouf Pacha, I, Mohammed Ali, make you my prisoner." Cousrouf makes no reply, but only gazes defiantly upon his enemy; gradually his head sinks down upon his breast.
She looked at him composedly, and remained standing at the door with so proud and dignified a bearing, such majesty in her whole appearance, that Cousrouf's insolence could not but succumb. He arose and advanced to meet her. "I salute you, Sitta Nefysseh, widow of Mourad Bey!" "I do not return your salutation.
Word Of The Day