As our boat grounded, the three Turkish officers—each of whom wore the scarlet fez (which is named from the city of Fez), with its gold military button, the tight blue surtout, and crooked sabre, which make up the invariable costume of all in the service of the Sultan—brought their horses near, and as we sprang ashore, accorded to us the usual military salute; and one—a lieutenant—in very tolerable French, bade us welcome to the land of the Osmanli.
Mir Alai Said and the Mulazim (i.e., lieutenant) Ahmed were both handsome men, with keen Asiatic features, and dark eyes that glittered with somewhat of the cunning expression peculiar to all of Oriental blood; but the third, of whom the reader will hear more in future chapters, the Hadjee Hussein Ebn al Ajuz, was a Yuze Bashi, or captain of artillery, and wore the blue uniform, gold epaulettes, and laced belt and trousers of the corps of Bombardiers. He was a punchy, shaggy-browed, solemn, stately, and sulky-looking old Turk, with a heavy grizzled moustache; a skin of the hue of mahogany, and an eye that seemed to be for ever watching you, and you only. Besides, he spoke a little absurd broken English, which he picked up at Acre, during the war against Mehemet Ali.
While our men were scrambling ashore from the boats, as each in succession came in and grounded, we asked the Mir Alai what were the news from the seat of war?
'We have fought a brave battle on the Ingour,' replied the colonel, rather haughtily, as it is not the etiquette of the Turkish service for juniors to question a senior. 'Omar Pasha, with 20,000 Osmanlis, crossed the river in Mingrelia, in the face of a desperate fire of cannon and musketry; and fighting, with the water up to their armpits, stormed the position from 16,000 Russians, whom they forced to retreat.'
'And the Czar, whom God confound, has left the Crimea,' added the fat Captain Hussein Ebn al Ajuz; 'may the Prophet burn the Russian liars, who eat blood and swine's-flesh, and take usury! May he transform their young men into apes, and their old ones into swine, as he did those who, of old, offered incense to idols!'
'Amaum! Amaum!' muttered the other two, under their thick moustaches.
Mac Pherson, who had served long in India, retained his gravity; but Belton, on catching a twinkle of my eye, laughed aloud at these quaint expressions of hatred, which were uttered in a strong jargon of Turkish and queer French.
'And Kars—does it still hold out?'
'Mashallah! have you not heard?' they exclaimed.
'No—we have been at sea.'