Three thousand Turks lie
dead upon the battle-field of Daman hour; of our men, of the
Mamelukes, hardly sixty!"
"That is impossible!" cried Mohammed, in dismay.
"It seems impossible, yet it is the truth, Mohammed Ali," replied
Bardissi, drawing himself up proudly. "I tell you, three thousand
Turks and hardly sixty Mamelukes; and ours is the battle-field.
Those of the Turks who were not shot down or sabred have fled to
bear to Cairo the disastrous intelligence--that eight hundred
Mamelukes have vanquished over three thousand Turks led by Youssouf
Bey, the _kiaya_ of the viceroy. The proud man is defeated, and may
return to Cairo with the miserable remnants of his magnificence to
announce his disgrace. I tell you, Mohammed, it was a wondrous
battle! Youssouf Bey had drawn up his army on the plain of
Damanhour, behind them their artillery. While we were forming in
front of them, their artillery began to thunder; it was to carry
death into our ranks, and it succeeded. Fearful was the first shock!
I began to fear lest my men should flinch. I called to them in a
loud voice, and with them bore down upon the enemy with the speed of
the lightning, regardless of the thundering artillery. But its
discharges were murderous, and I saw that it was impossible to
advance farther in this direction. We then turned, and, before the
Turks could take measures to prevent it, fell upon their unprotected
left flank and bore down upon their ranks.
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