“Get out, you Jew!  God burn your father!  Dogs, take off your slippers—­Abd er-Rahman is coming!”

Thus they were scolded and abused on every side, kicked, cuffed, jostled, and wedged together well-nigh to suffocation.  Their banners were torn out of their hands, their tambourines were broken, their voices were drowned, and finally they were driven back into their Mellah and shut up there, and forbidden to look upon the entry of the Sultan even from their roofs.

And the vagabonds and ragamuffins among the faithful in the streets, having got rid of the unbelievers had enough ado to keep peace among themselves.  They pushed and struggled and stormed and cried and laughed and clamoured down this main artery of the town through which the Sultan’s train must pass.  Men and boys, women also and young girls, donkeys with packs, bony mules too, and at least one dirty and terrified old camel.  It was a confused and uproarious babel.  Angry black faces thrust into white ones, flashing eyes and gleaming white teeth, and clenched fists uplifted.  Human voices barking like dogs, yelping like hyenas, shrill and guttural, piercing and grating.  Prayings, beggings, quarrellings, cursings.

“Arrah!  Arrah!  Arrah!”

“O Merciful!  O Giver of good to all!”

“Curses on your grandfather!”

“Allah!  Allah!  Allah!”

“Balak!  Balak!  Balak!”

But presently the wild throng fell into order and silence.  The gate of the Kasbah was thrown open, and a line of soldiers came out, headed by the Kaid of Tetuan, and moved on towards the city wall.  The rabble were thrust back, the soldiers were drawn up in lines on either side of the street, and the Kaid, Ben Aboo himself, took a position by the western gate.

By this time there was commotion on the town walls among the townsmen who had gathered there.  The Sultan’s army was drawing near, a confused and disorderly mass of human beings moving on from the plain.  As they came up to the walls, the people who were standing on the house-roofs could see them, and as they were ordered away to encamp by the river, none could help but hear their shouts and oaths.

When the motley and noisy concourse had been driven off to their camping-ground, the gates of the town were thrown wide, for the Sultan himself was at hand.

First came two soldiers afoot, and then followed five artillerymen, with their small pieces packed on mules.  Next came mounted standard-bearers four deep, some in red, some in blue, and some in green.  Then came the outrunners and the spearmen, and then the Sultan’s six led horses.  And then at length with the great red umbrella of royalty held over him, came the Sultan himself, the elderly sensualist, with his dusky cheeks, his rheumy eyes, his thick lips, and his heavy nostrils.  The fat Father of Islam was mounted that day on a snow-white stallion, bedecked in gorgeous trappings.  Its bridle was of green