[CHAPTER X]
THE FALL OF TRIPOLI
The order to break up camp was received with shouts of acclamation, and all day long on the 25th the processions of mules passed, like ants on a home run, up and down the steep, narrow path from the plain. The Mainat corps were the first to move, and took up their place opposite the southern wall, and worked there under the sun for a couple of hours or more throwing up some sort of earth embankment; while in the space behind marked out for their lines went up the rows of their barracks, pole by pole, and gradually roofed in with osier and oleander boughs. On the walls of the town lounged Turkish men, and now and then a woman passed, closely veiled, but casting curious glances at the advancing troops not four hundred yards from the gate. The men worked like horses to get their intrenchments and defences up, and by the time each corps had done its work, the huts behind were finished; and, streaming with perspiration, the men were glad to throw themselves down in the shade. As there was no regular corps of sappers and engineers, each regiment had to do its intrenching and defence work for itself, and they worked on late into the night before the transfer of the entire camp was effected. Meantime Petrobey had ordered the posts on the hills to the east to close in, and by noon on the 27th he saw his long-delayed dream realized, for on all sides of the town ran the Greek lines. Still, from inside the beleaguered place came no sign of resistance, attack, or capitulation; but towards sunset a white flag was hoisted on the tower above the south gate, and a few moments afterwards Mehemet Salik, attended by his staff, came out, and were met by Petrobey. Yanni, as aide-de-camp, was in attendance on his father, and he had the pleasure of meeting his old host again.
Mehemet followed Petrobey to his quarters, Yanni looking at him as a cat in the act to spring looks at a bird. He was a short-legged, stout man, appearing tall when he was sitting, but when he stood, heavy and badly proportioned. He had grown a little thinner, or so thought Yanni, and the skin hung bagging below his eyes, though he was still hardly more than thirty. He looked Yanni over from head to foot without speaking, adjusted his green turban, and then, shrugging his shoulders slightly, took a seat and turned to Petrobey.
"I have been sent to ask the terms on which you will grant a capitulation," he said; "please consider and name them."
"I will do so," replied Petrobey, "and let you have them by midnight."
Mehemet glanced at his watch.
"Thank you; we shall expect them then."
He rose from his seat and again looked at Yanni, who was standing by the door. The two presented a very striking contrast—the one pale, flabby, clay-colored, slow-moving; the other, though there were not ten years between them, fresh, brown, and alert. Mehemet continued looking at him for a moment below his drooping eyelids without speaking, and then the corners of his sensual mouth straightened themselves into a smile. He held out his hand to the boy.