The Rise of Iskander | Page 8

a city at
hand which they call Croia, and in which once, as the rumour runs, the
son of my father should not have had to go seek for an entrance. No
matter. Methinks, worthy Mousa, thou art the only man in our society
that can sign thy name. Come now, write me an order signed Karam
Bey to the governor of this said city, for its delivery up to the valiant
champion of the Crescent, Iskander, and thou shalt ride in future at a
pace more suitable to a secretary."
The worthy Mousa humbled himself to the ground, and then talking his
writing materials from his girdle, inscribed the desired order, and
delivered it to Iskander, who, glancing at the inscription, pushed it into
his vest.
"I shall proceed at once to Croia, with a few friends," said Iskander;
"do you, my bold companions, follow me this eve in various parties,
and in various routes. At dead of the second night, collect in silence
before the gates of Croia!"
Thus speaking, Iskander called for his now refreshed charger, and,
accompanied by two hundred horsemen, bade farewell for a brief
period to his troops, and soon having crossed the mountains, descended
into the fertile plains of Epirus.
When the sun rose in the morning, Iskander and his friends beheld at
the further end of the plain a very fine city shining in the light. It was
surrounded with lofty turreted walls flanked by square towers, and was
built upon a gentle eminence, which gave it a very majestic appearance.
Behind it rose a lofty range of purple mountains of very picturesque
form, and the highest peaks capped with snow. A noble lake, from
which troops of wild fowl occasionally rose, expanded like a sheet of
silver on one side of the city. The green breast of the contiguous hills
sparkled with white houses.
"Behold Croia!" exclaimed Iskander. "Our old fathers could choose a
site, comrades. We shall see whether they expended their time and
treasure for strangers, or their own seed." So saying, he spurred his
horse, and with panting hearts and smiling faces, Iskander and his

company had soon arrived in the vicinity of the city.
The city was surrounded by a beautiful region of corn-fields and fruit-
trees. The road was arched with the over-hanging boughs. The birds
chirped on every spray. It was a blithe and merry morn. Iskander
plucked a bunch of olives as he cantered along. "Dear friends," he said,
looking round with an inspiring smile, "let us gather our first harvest!"
And, thereupon, each putting forth his rapid hand, seized, as he rushed
by, the emblem of possession, and following the example of his leader,
placed it in his cap.
They arrived at the gates of the city, which was strongly garrisoned;
and Iskander, followed by his train, galloped up the height of the
citadel. Alighting from his horse, he was ushered into the divan of the
governor, an ancient Pacha, who received the conqueror of Caramania
with all the respect that became so illustrious a champion of the
Crescent. After the usual forms of ceremonious hospitality, Iskander,
with a courteous air presented him the order for delivering up the
citadel; and the old Pacha, resigning himself to the loss of his post with
Oriental submission, instantly delivered the keys of the citadel and
town to Iskander, and requested permission immediately to quit the
scene of his late command.
Quitting the citadel, Iskander now proceeded through the whole town,
and in the afternoon reviewed the Turkish garrison in the great square.
As the late governor was very anxious to quit Croia that very day,
Iskander insisted on a considerable portion of the garrison
accompanying him as a guard of honour, and returning the next
morning. The rest he divided in several quarters, and placed the gates in
charge of his own companions.
At midnight the Epirots, faithful to their orders, arrived and united
beneath the walls of the city, and after inter-changing the signals agreed
upon, the gates were opened. A large body instantly marched and
secured the citadel. The rest, conducted by appointed leaders,
surrounded the Turks in their quarters. And suddenly, in the noon of
night, in that great city, arose a clang so dreadful that people leapt up
from their sleep and stared with stupor. Instantly the terrace of every

house blazed with torches, and it became as light as day. Troops of
armed men were charging down the streets, brandishing their scimitars
and yataghans, and exclaiming, "The Cross, the Cross!" "Liberty!"
"Greece!" "Iskander and Epirus!" The townsmen recognised their
countrymen by their language and their dress. The name of Iskander
acted as a spell. They stopt not to inquire. A magic sympathy at once
persuaded them that this great man had, by