Meanwhile, the cannon thundered from a dozen batteries, and the rockets burst into glittering rain over our heads.  Grander discharges I never heard; the earth shook and trembled under the mighty bursts of sound, and the reverberation which rattled along the hill of Galata, broken by the scattered buildings into innumerable fragments of sound, resembled the crash of a thousand falling houses.  The distant echoes from Asia and the islands in the sea filled up the pauses between the nearer peals, and we seemed to be in the midst of some great naval engagement.  But now the caique of the Sultan is discerned, approaching from the Bosphorus.  A signal is given, and a sunrise of intense rosy and golden radiance suddenly lights up the long arsenal and stately mosque of Tophaneh, plays over the tall buildings on the hill of Pera, and falls with a fainter lustre on the Genoese watch-tower that overlooks Galata.  It is impossible to describe the effect of this magical illumination.  The mosque, with its taper minarets, its airy galleries, and its great central dome, is built of compact, transparent flame, and in the shifting of the red and yellow fires, seems to flicker and waver in the air.  It is as lofty, and gorgeous, and unsubstantial as the cloudy palace in Cole’s picture of “Youth.”  The long white front of the arsenal is fused in crimson heat, and burns against the dark as if it were one mass of living coal.  And over all hangs the luminous canopy of smoke, redoubling its lustre on the waters of the Golden Horn, and mingling with the phosphorescent gleams that play around the oars of the caiques.

A long barge, propelled by sixteen oars, glides around the dark corner of Tophaneh, and shoots into the clear, brilliant space in front of the mosque.  It is not lighted, and passes with great swiftness towards the brilliant landing-place.  There are several persons seated under a canopy in the stern, and we are trying to decide which is the Sultan, when a second boat, driven by twenty-four oarsmen, comes in sight.  The men rise up at each stroke, and the long, sharp craft flies over the surface of the water, rather than forces its way through it.  A gilded crown surmounts the long, curved prow, and a light though superb canopy covers the stern.  Under this, we catch a glimpse of the Sultan and Grand Vizier, as they appear for an instant like black silhouettes against the burst of light on shore.

After the Sultan had entered the mosque, the fires diminished and the cannon ceased, though the illuminated masts, minarets and gateways still threw a brilliant gleam over the scene.  After more than an hour spent in devotion, he again entered his caique and sped away to greet his new wife, amid a fresh discharge from the frigates and the batteries on both shores, and a new dawn of auroral splendor.  We made haste to reach the landing-place, in order to avoid the crowd of caiques; but, although we were among the first, we came near being precipitated into the water,