He made a grasp at me, and missing his foot, fell on the ground in such a state of drunkenness as not to be able to get up again. I knew that when he became sober, he would not forget what had taken place, and that I should be sacrificed to his vengeance. The fear of death, and the wine which I had drunk, decided me how to act. I dragged him into an empty pipe, put the head in, hooped it up, and rolling it into the tier, filled it with wine. Thus did I revenge my poor master, and relieved myself from any further molestation on the part of the aga. * * * * * "What!" cried the pacha, in a rage, "you drowned a true believer--an aga of janissaries! Thou dog of a kafir--thou son of Shitan--and dare avow it! Call in the executioner." "Mercy! your sublime highness, mercy!" cried the Greek--"Have I not your promise by the sword of the prophet? Besides, he was no true believer, or he would not have disobeyed the law. A good Mussulman will never touch a drop of wine." "I promised to forgive, and did forgive, the murder of the black slave; but an aga of janissaries!--Is not that quite another thing?" appealed the pacha to Mustapha. "Your highness is just in your indignation--the kafir deserves to be impaled. Yet there are two considerations which your slave ventures to submit to your sublime wisdom. The first is, that your highness gave an unconditional promise, and swore by the sword of the prophet." "Staffir Allah! what care I for that! Had I sworn to a true believer, it were something." "The other is, that the slave has not yet finished his story, which appears to be interesting." "Wallah! that is true. Let him finish his story." But the Greek slave remained with his face on the ground; and it was not until a renewal of the promise, sworn upon the holy standard made out of the nether garments of the prophet, by the pacha, who had recovered his temper, and was anxious for the conclusion of the story, that he could be induced to proceed, which he did as follows:-- * * * * * As soon as I had bunged up the cask, I went down to the yard where the aga had left his horse, and having severely wounded the poor beast with his sword, I let it loose that it might gallop home. The noise of the horse's hoofs in the middle of the night, aroused his family, and when they discovered that it was wounded and without its rider, they imagined that the aga had been attacked and murdered by banditti when he had followed his troop. They sent to me to ask at what time he had left my house; I replied, an hour after dark--that he was very much intoxicated at the time--and had left his sabre, which I returned. They had no suspicions of the real facts, and it was believed that he had perished on the road.