Even at fourteen years old, few could compete with
him in the use of the bow, and throwing the djireed,
and as a horseman he was perfect. As for me, I
was, I am certain, intended for the sultan’s
seraglio, for as a child I was beautiful as a houri.
My father was a man who would not scruple to part
with his children for gold, provided he obtained his
price. I was considered, and I believe that I
was, the most beautiful girl in the country, and every
care was taken that I should not injure my appearance
or hurt my complexion by domestic labour or exposure.
I was not permitted to assist my mother, who, induced
by my father’s orders, waited upon me.
I was indulged in every whim, and I grew up as selfish
and capricious as I was beautiful. Smile not,
pacha—time has been.
One day, when I was about fourteen years old, I was
sitting at the porch, when a large body of Turkish
cavalry suddenly made their appearance from a wood
close to the house, and surrounded it. They evidently
came for me, for they demanded me by name, threatening
to burn the house down to the ground, if I was not
immediately delivered up. Our house, which was
situated near the confines of the country, had been
constructed for defence; and my father, expecting assistance
from his neighbours, refused to acquiesce in their
terms. The assault was made, my father and mother,
with all their household, were murdered, my brother
severely wounded, the house plundered, and burnt to
the outside walls. I was, of course, a prisoner
as well as my brother. He was tied, wounded as
he was, upon one horse, and I upon another, and in
a few hours the party had regained the frontiers.
A young man, handsome as an angel, was the leader
of the band, and I soon perceived that all his thoughts
and attentions, were directed to me. He watched
me with the greatest solicitude when we halted, procured
me every comfort, and was always hovering about my
presence. From the discourse of the soldiers I
discovered that he was the only son of the grand vizier
at Stamboul. He had heard of my beauty, had seen
me, and offered a large sum to my father, who had
refused, as his ambition was, that I should belong
to the sultan—in consequence I had been
carried off by force. I could have loved the
beautiful youth, although he had murdered my father
and mother, but it was the taking me by force which
steeled my heart, and I vowed that I never would listen
to his addresses, although I was so completely in
his power. During the time that I had been in
his possession I had never spoken one word, and it
came into my head that I would pretend to be dumb.
In three weeks we arrived at Constantinople.
Since I quitted the country I never had seen my brother,
his wound was too severe to allow him to travel with
the same rapidity, and it was not until years afterwards
that I knew what had become of him. I was taken
to Osman Ali’s house, and allowed a few days’
repose from the fatigue of the journey; after which,
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