xx Turkey

Arts of call, far at the world then, strange fascinating lands beckoneth,

fittest rebel and their exotic spender, come with us as we head for a port of call. In the heart of the glamorous countries that border the Mediterranean Sea, lies Turkey. Its hills and valleys have dealt a thundering feat of the horsemen of Pamalade.

Omerkayam sang of its conquering sultans. On the western shore ripples the blue Aegean Sea, But every rocky point echoes the enchanted days of the Golden Past. Sailing through the sea of Mamora, our ship comes to anchor in the superb harbor of Istanbul, the Golden Horn.

A great natural crescent more than four miles in length, where since the beginning of time the ships of all the world have come to rest. If you ever see a better sight for a city than that peninsula, never.

With such perfect natural defenses, I can't see how any army ever took it. The Golden Horn on one side, the Bosphorus on another, and the sea on still another. Yes, and the hills command a whole harbor.

Are you two fighting the war over again? Not the last war, Kitty. The siege of Constantinople in 1453. When all the churches were turned into mosques? Yes, but we're missing something. Look, the old city walls come right down to the harbor.

See? Yes, I see them. Oh, I can hardly wait to go ashore. Constantinople. Oh, pitch me, Martin, and see if I'm dreaming. You're not dreaming. But don't forget to call it Istanbul now. Constantinople, now called Istanbul, ancient Byzantium, founded in the Shadowy, mounted in the shadowy dawn of history.

Racked by earthquakes, ravaged by fire, besieged by innumerable hosts in the long struggle between the crescent and the cross, Constantinople defied them all during 40 centuries. Today in the throng streets and noisy bazaars, musclemen and Christian live out their peaceful lives, heedless that under their slippery feet, sleep the ruins of the savage splendid past.