The flower of the hero-beys
was gathered together in these boats, and is now being stamped under
foot--is perishing, the victim of infamous treachery.
Sitta Nefysseh looks on in horror from where she lies on the shore
of Aboukir. With outstretched arms she implores Allah for mercy, for
revenge; and now, as the volleys of artillery resound over the
waters, she cries in earnest, piercing tones:
"O Mourad, my husband! thou who art at Allah's side; thou who seest
this treachery, implore vengeance upon the enemy!"
Yes, she prays to Allah and the prophet for vengeance. But while she
prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating
the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the
surrounding water.
A cry of rage resounds from Bardissi's lips. His friend Osman
Tamboudji has just been stretched out at his feet by a ball. He has
thrown away his pistol, and now grasps the hilt of his dagger, when
he is suddenly stricken down by a blow upon the head, dealt from
behind. The vessels have completely surrounded the Mamelukes; the
Turks on the ships jump down into the boats to assist the others,
and the work of slaughter is soon ended. All is now still. Those who
are not dead lie severely wounded in the boats. The Turks return to
their vessels, and the boulouk bashi orders the wounded to be
brought on board.
The order is executed; the dead are left in the boats, and the
wounded are carried on board.
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