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place two battalions of the Yildiz Guards, to the great disgust of the men, were ordered to those disagreeable stations, the Hedjaz and Yemen, in distant Arabia, where they could work no mischief. Eighty-eight of the men, who had but three months more to serve with the colours, claimed their immediate discharge and clamoured to be sent to their homes. As this request was not granted they mutinied and, coming out of their barracks, fired upon the Salonica troops who had come to replace them. The fire was returned, three sergeants among the mutineers were shot dead, others were wounded, and the remainder were captured. The Commandant of the Guards Corps then called out several regiments of the Guards, formed them in a hollow square, and addressed them briefly, explaining to them that the Government, while determined to improve the lot of all Turkish soldiers, would punish severely any act of indiscipline. The prisoners, many of whom begged for mercy, crying out that they had been led astray by others, were brought within the square, and the Commandant told them that they would be tried by Courtmartial. The ringleaders were afterwards shot. The troops of the Imperial Guard on numerous previous occasions had displayed a similar mutinous spirit, but the timid authorities had always overlooked the most flagrant breaches of disci

pline and yielded to the clamour of the men. The prompt and firm action taken by the Minister of War on this occasion cut short what might have developed into a serious revolt, and reassured the timid civilian population. It was recognised that this was no time for those in power to display weakness. The Palace troops had thus been taught a useful lesson, and the Committee of Union and Progress still further secured its position by seeing to it that the bulk of the Imperial Guards battalions were scattered in sections over different parts of the Empire. Moreover, the General commanding the Second Division, a friend of the Sultan's, was forced to retire from the army, and the command was given to an officer known to be loyal to the Constitution. Steps were also taken to introduce a better class of officer into the remaining Yildiz regiments. The Committee showed that it was determined to be the master. The General commanding the Cavalry Division of Guards and several other officers were imprisoned for agitating against the proposed supersession of officers who had been promoted from the ranks by those who had passed through the military academies; and other officers of the Yildiz garrison were severely punished for attempting to cause disaffection among the rank and file in the interests of the reactionary party. The Committee won the admiration and confi

dence of all right-thinking men by the way in which it exercised its great power for the country's good. It was very interesting to be in Constantinople during that critical time and to watch the replacement of the old order of things by the new, to see constitutional government developing itself before one's eyes within the space of days instead of centuries. Everywhere one could contemplate the old and new facing each other in strong contrast, and to attend, as I did on the Friday following the military mutiny, the Selamlik in the morning and visit the head-quarters of the Committee of Union and Progress in the afternoon, was to rush, as it were on Mr. Wells’ “time machine,” from the Middle Ages to the twentieth century. Every tourist who visits Constantinople has witnessed the Selamlik, the Sultan's procession from the Yildiz Palace on each Friday to worship at the Hamidieh Mosque, and the ceremony has been described many times. This particular Friday's ceremony had a special interest, and the spectacle was one to make one think. I joined the throng of foreigners at the gates of the Yildiz, and awaited the passing of the procession. Here, from the steep hill, there is a beautiful view which forms a wonderful setting to the solemn function. In the immediate foreground, but a couple of hundred yards or so distant, is the white mosque itself; to the right stretch the heights on which

Pera stands; below is the gleaming Bosphorus; and beyond it are the misty mountains of Asia, forming a noble background to the scene. There was much of interest to look upon as one awaited the coming out of the Sultan—among other things the gathering of the picturesque Moslem crowd; the arrival of successive detachments of troops with bands playing and colours flying in the breeze; and the massing of the troops along the short line of route and on the open space beyond. A greater number of troops than usual, about eight thousand men, were brought out on this occasion, and after the ceremony they were paraded and marched to the Palace, at a window of which the Sultan stood and acknowledged their salute. I watched the troops of all arms march up to the Palace, the tough-looking, red-fezzed, blue-coated Infantry of the Line; Artillery; Cavalry; Marines; and Engineers. There were troops, too, from every part of the Ottoman Empire, including the fierce and faithful Albanians of the Praetorian Guard, in white uniforms fashioned after their national dress, with wickedlooking yataghans slung across their waists; and Arabian troops in queer uniforms and green turbans; and they looked like what they indeed are, as formidable as any soldiery in the world when properly trained and led. It was a sign of the times that the first regimental band to arrive on the scene began to play, not the National

Anthem, but the “March of Liberty,” which had been composed specially for the troops of the new régime, and the sound of it must have been scarcely pleasing to some ears within the Palace walls. At last the muezzin from the minaret of the mosque chanted the call of the faithful to prayer, and the procession, passing through the Palace gates, slowly proceeded down the steep road, between the troops, to the entrance of the mosque, the Sultan's approach being announced by the blowing of a trumpet and the shouting by the soldiers “Padishahim chok yasha / " (“long live the Emperor 1"). I need not describe the well-known scene; there were, as usual, the officers in gorgeous uniforms; high officials of the Palace and the Government, among whom one recognised some few of the old régime, but none of the notorious instruments of oppression and cruelty, or the corrupt advisers who had ruined their country (for, happily, all these had gone, some having fled from the people's wrath to England, others living under close watch on the island of Prinkipo, and others prisoners in the Seraskeriat); the led saddle horses; the whiteveiled Mohammedan ladies of the Palace in close carriages; the ungainly black eunuchs walking with folded arms, not so insolent as of old, and no doubt fearful as to what might happen to them under the new régime which had done away with

their mischievous influence; and, lastly, escorted

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