"Yes, I see! Swords, Turkish swords! What are they in there for?" "That is what I should like to know," replies the other, nervously grasping the pistol in his girdle. "See, a ship is rapidly approaching, and the capitan is steering toward it! But that is not his ship! Where does it come from? What is it doing here?" The countenance of the Mameluke chieftains is now threatening. They observe the ship, rapidly approaching, with an eagle's glance. They see the capitan ascend its side; they see the portholes filled with glittering muskets. "Treachery! This is treachery!" cries Bardissi. And he turns toward the other boats, and cries out to them: "Grasp your swords and prepare to defend yourselves. We are betrayed. The capitan pacha has deceived us, and "--a ball whistling close by his ear at this moment--" to your swords and pistols, my friends; the enemy and treachery are upon us!" The Turks are rowing rapidly down upon them in their boats, while volleys of musketry are being discharged at them from the ship that is approaching nearer and nearer, following the Turkish troops that man the boats. "Onward," cries Bardissi to his followers. "Onward! We may escape. We may, if we make every effort, succeed in reaching Alexandria." With the speed of the wind the boats sweep onward, and now turn into the bay of Aboukir. The Mamelukes all cry, "Treachery! treachery!" and every one sees the three Turkish ships bearing down upon them from the front, while the boats and the strange vessel are coming upon them from the rear. From that direction comes the order, "Fire! fire!" Death-shrieks resound everywhere among the boats. But the proud Mamelukes are at least resolved to sell their lives dearly. They reply from their boats to the shots. Now the enemy's boats are among them, and a murderous but unequal conflict rages. The three men-of- war send whole volleys into the boats of the Mamelukes. Of what use to fire their pistols, how can they reload them? Of what avail to draw their swords against the overwhelming foe? They can only die, and die they must. The flower of the hero-beys was gathered together in these boats, and is now being stamped under foot--is perishing, the victim of infamous treachery. Sitta Nefysseh looks on in horror from where she lies on the shore of Aboukir. With outstretched arms she implores Allah for mercy, for revenge; and now, as the volleys of artillery resound over the waters, she cries in earnest, piercing tones: "O Mourad, my husband! thou who art at Allah's side; thou who seest this treachery, implore vengeance upon the enemy!" Yes, she prays to Allah and the prophet for vengeance. But while she prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the surrounding water.