The Circassian Slave

The Circassian Slave; or, The
Sultan's

Favorite: A Story of Constantinople and the Caucasus by Lieutenant
Maturin Murray (#2 in our series by Lieutenant Maturin Murray)
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Title: The Circassian Slave; or, The Sultan's Favorite: A Story of
Constantinople and the Caucasus

Author: Lieutenant Maturin Murray
Release Date: December, 2003 [EBook #4795] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on March 22,
2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE
CIRCASSIAN SLAVE; OR, THE SULTAN'S FAVORITE: A STORY
OF CONSTANTINOPLE AND THE CAUCASUS ***

Edited by Charles Aldarondo ([email protected])

THE CIRCASSIAN SLAVE:
OR, THE SULTAN'S FAVORITE.
A Story of Constantinople and the Caucasus.
BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.
BOSTON:
1851.

PUBLISHER's NOTE.--The following Novelette was originally
published in THE PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION,
and is but a specimen of the many deeply entertaining Tales, and the
gems of literary merit, which grace the columns of that elegant and
highly popular journal. THE COMPANION embodies a corps of

contributors of rare literary excellence, and is regarded as the ne plus
ultra, by its scores of thousands of readers.

PREFACE.

The following story relates to that exceedingly interesting and romantic
portion of the world bordering on the Black Sea, the Sea of Marmora,
and the Bosphorus. The period of the story being quite modern, its
scenes are a transcript of the present time in the city of the Sultan. The
peculiarities of Turkish character are of the follower of Mahomet, as
they appear to-day; and the incidents depicted are such as have
precedents daily in the oriental capital. Leaving the tale to the kind
consideration of the reader, the author would not fail to express his
thanks for former indulgence and favor.

THE CIRCASSIAN SLAVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE SLAVE MARKET.

Upon one of those hot, sultry summer afternoons that so often prevail
about the banks of the Bosphorus, the sun was fast sinking towards its
western course, and gilding as it went, the golden crescents of a
thousand minarets, now dancing with fairy feet over the rippling waters
of Marmora, now dallying with the spray of the oarsmen's blades, as
they pulled the gilded caique of some rich old Mussulman up the tide
of the Golden Horn. The soft and dainty scented air came in light
zephyrs off the shore of Asia to play upon the European coast, and
altogether it was a dreamy, siesta-like hour hat reigned in the Turkish
capital.

Let the reader come with us at this time into the circular area that forms
the slave market of Constantinople. The bazaar is well filled; here are
Egyptians, Bulgarians, Persians, and even Africans; but we will pass
them by and cross to the main stand, where are exposed for sale some
score of Georgians and Circassians. They are all chosen for their beauty
of person, and present a scene of more than usual interest, awaiting the
fate that the future may send them in a kind or heartless master; and
knowing how much of their future peace depends upon this chance,
they watch each new comer with almost painful interest as he moves
about the area.
A careless crowd thronged the place, lounging about in little knots here
and there, while one lot of slave merchants, with their broad but
graceful turbans, were sitting round a brass vessel of coals, smoking or
making their coffee, and discussing the matters pertaining to their trade.
Some came there solely to smoke their opium-drugged pipes, and some
to purchase, if a good bargain should offer and a beauty be sold cheap.
Here were sprightly Greeks, sage Jews, and moody Armenians, but all
outnumbered by the sedate old Turks, with beards sweeping their very
breasts. It was a motley crowd that thronged the slave market.
Now and then there burst forth the ringing sound of laughter front an
enclosed division of the