From the towers, detailed officers, Neöbetgees, are dispatched to the different ministers, and guard houses, where the engines are kept, who create a tremendous sensation, as they rush wildly about, brandishing their batons of office, and with a protracted yell, warning every one to clear the way. The different Bekgees or district watchmen, now take up the cry—striking their iron-shod clubs on the pavement and repeating with all the power of their lungs yangun-var! Stambolda! or there is fire at Stamboul.
The firemen assemble at their respective quarters, and shouldering their engines, rush to the scene. These firemen receive no pay, but are exempt from taxes and allowed certain other privileges—yet they always manage to extort certain compensations for their services, from the victims of the devastating element. The engines are small and portable, on account of the narrowness and steepness of the streets, nor is there any connexion-hose attached to them, the water being supplied with buckets; yet it is astonishing how much they effect even with such inadequate means.
The inflammable materials of which the houses are constructed, the narrow streets, winding up the hillside like foot-paths, the irregular and projecting dwellings, from which the people could shake hands with their opposite neighbors, if it were only the fashion in Turkey, contribute to make a most desirable promenade for the Fire-King when he sallies forth.
The flames leap from house to house; the burning cinders fly in all directions, and the fire kindles at many and distant points; so that in less than half an hour, a large district is often wrapt in flames.
The general panic is so intense, that the whole community is roused; the pashas desert their couches, and even the sultan himself sometimes repairs to the scene, to animate, by his presence, the efforts of the desperate firemen.
CHAPTER XXVI.
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
It seems something of an anomaly that a race of beings so distinguished for selfishness, should be so exceedingly social in their inclinations.
Birds of a feather flock together, and man loves his fellow, though he loves himself better.