enough; go, take your
wife, and say no more; and, since you have rendered us a service at
Hamamlu, you shall remain my servant, and wait upon my person. Go, my
head valet will instruct you in your duties; and when attired in clothes
suited to your situation, you will return again to our presence. Go,
and recollect that my condescension towards you depends upon your future
conduct.' Upon this Yusuf, in the fullness of his heart, ran up to him
with great apparent gratitude, fell upon his knees, and kissed the hem
of his garment, not knowing what to say, or what countenance to keep
upon such unlooked-for good fortune.

Every one present seemed astonished: the chief executioner gave a shrug,
and indulged in a deep yawn; the caliph, as if he had been disencumbered
of a heavy weight, stretched his limbs, and the huge drops that were
before glittering on his brow now disappeared, and his face again
expanded into good humour. All congratulated the serdar upon his
humanity and benevolence, and compared him to the celebrated Noushirwan.
_Barikallah_ and _Mashallah_ was repeated and echoed from mouth to
mouth, and the story of his magnanimity was spread abroad, and formed
the talk of the whole camp. I will not pretend to explain what were the
serdar's real sentiments; but those who well knew the man were agreed
that he could be actuated by no generous motive.

[Illustration: The two Russians drive back the Persians. 20.jpg]

CHAPTER XLI

He describes an expedition against the Russians, and does ample justice
to the cowardice of his chief.

My chief and the serdar having acquired all the information which Yusuf
and I could give them upon the force and position of the Muscovites, it
was determined that an attack should immediately be made, and the army
was ordered to march upon Hamamlu.

Everything was soon in motion; the artillery began its tedious and
difficult march through the mountains; the infantry made their way in
the best manner they could, and the cavalry were seen in unconnected
groups all over the plain. I must not omit to say, that before the
march began I received a visit from the Armenian. He was no longer, in
appearance, the rude mountaineer with his rough sheepskin cap, his short
Georgian tunic, his sandalled feet, his long knife hung over his knee,
and his gun slung obliquely across his body; but he was now attired in a
long vest of crimson velvet, trimmed with gold lace and gold buttons;
a beautifu