Early in the morning, shortly after my visit to the Persian encampment, the Turkish cavalry paraded and manœuvred. The troops were composed of Turks, Kurds, Arabs, and Albanians. To see these men in the pride of a soldier’s bearing, you must watch them as they rush into life and motion; for with their ragged uniforms and unlikely-looking mounts, they are at a disadvantage when standing at attention. But once let them get in full swing, and they soon prove that they are trained for use and not for show. To me this sudden change from unsoldierly slovenliness to skill and daring activity, was a revelation. And the horses--lean Arabs from Southern Arabia or wiry nags from Egypt--responded spiritedly to every twist and turn of the bridle wrist: they too were transformed. The feats of horsemanship performed by the Albanians were the wonder and delight of every pilgrim. These manœuvres of theirs, so different from those of European cavalry, are doubtless aboriginal. They leave their cantonment in fighting array, riding to the tattoo of a small kettle-drum called _nakus_. On a sudden, at a beat of the drum, the regiment opens out, scattering in all directions: each man pricks it in pursuit of the enemy, firing incessantly into the air. The sound of the drum now changes, and the men come galloping back, meeting in a dense column: then all is ordered confusion and breathless expectation. The signal is given, and then with impetuous fury the whole squadron hurls itself on the spot chosen to represent the enemy’s position. The men, alternately dispersing and reforming, advancing and retreating, obey every beat of the drum, their horses being as intelligently alert as well-trained polo ponies. So reckless were the Albanians on this occasion, that it was a miracle that only a rider here and there came to grief. And all the time this sham fight was raging, horsemen from every corner of chivalrous Arabia galloped aimlessly about the encampment, waving their tufted spears. In the hearts of the pilgrim bands watching their every movement they struck an awe not unmixed with terror: for, as Seyyid ’Alí put it, the horses seemed shod with lightning as they flashed to and fro; and lightning, may it not spare the guilty and strike the righteous?...