The Argosy — page 241: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Remembrances of Constantinople. 227 which, though-very pungent, did not disguise a more noxious effluvium, made me, in a few minutes, feel sick and drowsy. In the centre of the floor sat, facing each other, four ancient Dervishes, who, with their “‘ treble pipes,” now in chorus, now singly, kept up a shrill discordant chant, every now and then clapping their hands as they accelerated the measure. Behind them about twenty fanatics ranged themselves in a semi-circle, and rocked from foot to foot, backwards and for- wards, then from side to side, as they howled in interrupted breathings the Mohammedan confession of faith, “La Maha il Allah!” (There is no God but God.) They all shouted and moved exactly together in time with the music, laying a stress on the syllables as they changed feet. Their movements and their utterances became more and more rapid as they warmed to their work, until the sound emitted by these frantic maniacs was something between a grunt and howl, amidst which no words were distinguishable. The actors in this scene, unlike the dancers, were not all saints, nor even Dervishes, but the arena was free to any excited bigot who wished to make an exhibition of himself, or who felt he had “‘a call” that way. Like the converts at a meeting of ranting Methodists, the howlers rose promiscuously from among the audience, being without doubt led by old offenders. So peculiar and so almost maddening was the scene, that it cannot be surprising that the ignorant and fanatical believers in the religious value of the performance should sometimes from spectators be tempted to become sharers in the frenzied rite. Some of the miserable devotees worked themselves into a perfect ecstacy, moving arms, legs, and head. A repulsively ugly negro, who was specially energetic, | shouted, jumped, threw himself into frightful contortions, till his eyes seemed as though they would start from his head ; and his voice as he ejaculated the Mussulman’s words of praise—-“‘ Ya-hou, ya-hou !"— sounded like that of a London pavior hard at work. I was heartily glad when, slowly, the noise subsided, and each breathless howler having kissed and been blown upon—~a complimentary proceeding— by the sheikh, we were permitted to escape into the open air. That dreadful negro has ever since been a true “béte noir” to me, for I never think of things frightful and ugly without his hideous aimee presenting itself to my memory. * i TAKING IN CARGO AT SMYRNA. On taking our passage from Constantinople to Malta, we were not a little pleased to learn that we should not only touch at Smyrna, but that we should probably anchor there a couple of days, and be able to make excursions on shore. Alas, why and how our joy was modified will presently appear. comicbooks.com