At the citadel of the narrow-streeted city, Mr. Gordon roused up, and told Max of the slaughter of the Mamelukes—that wonderful body of men who, from being slaves, became the rulers of Egypt.
“It was here,” said Mr. Gordon, “that when Mohammed Ali, in 1811, was organizing his expedition against the Wahhabees, he heard that the Mamelukes designed to rebel in his absence. He therefore invited their chief to be present at the investiture of his son with the command of the army.
“Above four hundred accepted the invitation. After receiving a most flattering welcome they were invited to parade in the courtyard of the citadel.”
“What for?” asked Max. “Did Mohammed want to impress them with his generosity?”
“No,” answered Mr. Gordon. “The Mamelukes defiled within its lofty walls; the portcullis fell behind the last of their glittering array; too late they perceived that their host had caught them in a trap, and they turned to effect a retreat.
“In vain.
“Wherever they looked their eyes rested on the barred windows and blank, pitiless walls.
“But they saw more.
“A thousand muskets were pointed at them, and from those muskets incessant volleys were poured.
“This sudden and terrible death was met with a courage worthy of the past history of the Mamelukes.