But, by the way, I must not fail, when speaking of Turkish drill, to mention a very ancient manœuvre which has been handed down from the time of the Parthians; namely, for the cavalry to pretend to fly, and to shoot down their unwary enemies when they attempt to pursue. The following is the method by which they acquire the art of rapidly executing this manœuvre. They put a brass ball on the top of a very high pole, erected on level ground, and galloping past it at full speed, they then turn suddenly, and bending back shoot an arrow at the ball, without drawing bridle; and by practising this exercise constantly they acquire such skill, that they can without any difficulty shoot behind them, and send an arrow into their enemy when he least expects it. But it is time for me to return to our lodging, or my keeper will be angry with me! Whatever time I have left unoccupied by the exercises I mentioned, is spent in reading, or talking with the citizens of Pera, who are Genoese by origin, or with other friends; but for this the cavasses’ leave is necessary. Their temper is indeed somewhat uncertain, but they occasionally have lucid intervals, during which they prove more reasonable. Accordingly, when they are in a good humour, Ragusans, Florentines, Venetians, and sometimes also Greeks, and men of other nations come in numbers, either to pay a visit or on some business. Hither flock also men from yet more distant lands, whose conversation has great attractions for me. A few months ago there came an amber merchant of Dantzic, who had bought up the whole supply of amber. As a great quantity of this article is sent to Turkey, he was very curious to know what it was used for here, or if exported, to what country it was taken. At last he ascertained that it is conveyed into Persia, where it is highly prized, and where they ornament their rooms, cabinets, and shrines with it. He gave me a barrel of the beer they call Juppenbier (sprucebeer), which is certainly capital stuff. But I had a hearty laugh at my Greek and Italian guests, who, having never met with such a beverage, could not find a name for it. At last, as they heard from me that it was good for one’s health, they thought it a kind of medicine, and called it Sirup; and as they kept on asking for ‘a little more of the same mixture,’ by repeated tastings, like the lady in Terence,[196] they finally finished my barrel at one sitting.