Resistance, which had been somewhat desultory and spasmodic in character until now, was increasing everywhere and taking more definite shape.
Nightfall interrupted the struggle, for it is a point of religion with the Turks not to fight in the dark. Bonaparte availed himself of the night to make his plans.
At sunrise the revolt was still alive, but the rebels were lost.
A great number of them had taken refuge with their principal leaders in the great mosque of El-Heazao. My father received orders to go and attack them there, thus striking at the very heart of what remained of the insurrection.
The doors were burst in with volleys of cannon; my father, urging his horse into a gallop, was the first to enter the mosque.
A danger arose at the very threshold, for his horse encountered an obstacle in the way, a tomb about three feet in height, at which he stopped dead, reared, then, dropping his forefeet in front of the tomb, stood for an instant motionless, with bloodshot eyes and smoking nostrils.
"The Angel! the Angel!" yelled the Arabs.
Their resistance was but the struggle of despair in the case of a few, but with the greater number it was continued out of a spirit of fatalistic resignation, and their leaders shrieked "Amhan!" and surrendered.
My father sought out Bonaparte to inform him of the fall of the mosque: he was already acquainted with the details of its capture, and, mollified by the treasure my father had sent him, he accorded him a gracious reception.