Even before he left Algiers this entry to the chief city of the Ottoman
Empire had been in the mind of Barbarossa, who had caused to be embarked a
quantity of flags and pennons for the decoration of his grim war-galleys
when they should stream into the Golden Horn. There were also bands of
music, which, it is to be presumed, utilised the delay in the Dardanelles
to attain to something like "a concord of sweet sounds," as the incidents
of the voyage from Algiers, so far, had hardly been conducive to much time
to spare for band-practice. The galleys were scrubbed and gaily painted;
round the ship of Kheyr-ed-Din ran a broad streak of gold on the outer
planking to denote the presence of a King of Algiers, and at last all was
ready. The fleet weighed anchor, and, with banners flying and bands
playing, entered the harbour. The shores were black with spectators; even
the Sultan himself deigned to look forth on the coming of the man from whom
he expected such great things.
Ceremonial was the order of the day. Soliman the Magnificent was too wise a
man not to know what was being said in his capital that day; it was his
part to accustom the minds of men to the fact that he, Soliman, had chosen
Barbarossa to command his fleet, and that there could be no looking back.
The decree had been signed, the invitation had been sent, the man had
arrived, there could be no possible retreat from the situation. The anchors
splashed into the placid waters close to the shore, and the ships were soon
so surrounded by boats as to be almost unapproachable; then came official
persons from the Sultan with greetings to the famous seaman; also came
Bashas and officers ("con carga de guerra," says Sandoval), to offer a
welcome and to stare in undisguised curiosity at the man chosen by their
sovereign to make head against the famous Andrea Doria.
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