Osman—Five horses for sale—An industrious man—A cemetery—A
wall-eyed Turk—A little black—"He ain't got no shoulders"—A
horse with a sore back—A roarer—The blind beggars
hear him coming—A Turkish horseshoe—Provisions for the
journey—A prince belonging to the Russian Embassy in the
hospital—A prince a boot-cleaner—Osman's relatives—The
Hôtel Royal—A stirrup-cup—Osman's religious scruples—The
boat for Scutari—Shipping our horses—Jealous husbands—A
Turk's seraglio—Was it a torpedo?—The panels of the Bey's
carriage—An explosion of cartridges—Readjusting the luggage—A
torrent of expletives.
The following morning I was awoke by a tap at the door, and who should
enter my room but the newly-engaged servant, Osman.
"Effendi," he said, "I have five horses for you to see. They are in a
large yard close to the hotel. Splendid horses they are too. I am so
industrious," he added, "the Effendi will find this out for himself
soon. I am not like other Turks—I like working; I have been running all
over Constantinople after the horses, for I heard that the Effendi was
in a hurry to start. When will he go and see the animals?"
About half an hour later I accompanied the industrious man to a small
plot of ground not far from Pera. It was surrounded by a high wall,
and, judging from the number of loose stones which lay about, had once
been a cemetery. But cemetery or not it was all the same to Osman, who
had not the same reverence for the dead as the rest of his countrymen.
"There are a great many stones," I observed.
"All the better, Effendi," was the reply; "we shall ride over a number
of stones on the road to Kars, and a little sooner or later for the
horses does not make much difference."
The steeds were now led in, accompanied by their owner, a wall-eyed
Turk. They were not much to look at, if one estimated them from an
English standard, but I had learnt, in previous travels that one
cannot always judge of Eastern horses by their appearance. I desired my
English servant, Radford, to mount the best-looking one of the lot, a
little black, about fourteen hands high. He was very thin, and looked
as if he had never been given a good feed of corn, but his legs were
fine and hard. He put down his feet flat when he walked, and did not go
on his toes, which last is a fatal defect to a horse if about to march
for many days in succession. Radford eyed the animal from head to foot.
"Lor! sir," he said, "this 'ere horse will never carry me. He ain't got
no shoulders!"
"Never mind," I replied. "Jump on him and try."
There was no saddle, and my man had to mount bare back. "Very good,"
I added, as the animal appeared to carry his burden without any
difficulty, "take him round at a hard canter."
The little brute now began to pull hard, and bounded over the rough
stones in a way that showed he was well accustomed to such obstacles.
"Does he pull?" I inquired.
"Pull, sir? He pulls my harms off!"
This was enough for me, and I determined to buy the animal; as a horse
that walks well, and will pull with fourteen stone on his back, is not
a bad one for a long journey.
The next one produced for my inspection was covered with a rug, the
other horses not being provided with any such clothing.
"What is that for?" I inquired, pointing at the cloth.
"Effendi, I put it on him because I was afraid that he might catch
cold," replied the owner.
"Never mind, take it off. When I buy horses I like to see them first."
"He thinks, sir," remarked my faithful servant, "that we buy 'orses as
they marry their wives—that is, without looking at them. I should not
be surprised, sir, if that 'ere 'orse had a sore back."
The man's remark proved true, and on taking off the cloth a raw place
of at least six inches square was exposed to view.
"He has a sore back," I remarked to the owner. "Take him away."
"Sore back! Yes, he has; it will soon get well. The Effendi would like
this horse though, and he is a great friend of the horse the Effendi
has just looked at—they eat out of the same manger. The Effendi had
better buy him."
"Get on that little bay," I said to my servant, not paying any
attention to the Turk's observation. As my man went past at a trot, I
heard a sound which at once made me aware that there was something the
matter with the horse's wind.
"He is a roarer," I remarked.
"Effendi, he makes a noise, but he is stout and strong. He would make
a capital pack-horse."
The horse was sound in other particulars, and as a roarer for slow
marching is as good as any other animal, I determined to buy him—at the
same time telling the owner that the fact of the horse's wind not being
all right would considerably deteriorate from his value.
"Deteriorate from his value!" said the man, his wall-eye glaring
at me ferociously. "No, Effendi, he makes a little noise, but that
is nothing; he is a useful horse, and when I let him out on hire in
Constantinople he never runs over the blind beggars. He gives warning
of his approach, and they hear him coming."
I had by this time selected two more horses, and now came the knotty
point of what price I was to give for the four.
"How much do you want for them?" I inquired.
"How much, Effendi? Sixty liras (Turkish pounds of 18_s._) I want, and
not a piastre less; even then I should be a ruined man."
"Sixty liras! Sixty dogs and sixty sons of dogs!" I replied, attempting
to address him in the language easiest understood by a Turkish peasant.
"Ah! Effendi," said the horse-dealer, "you know the value. To you
there is much brain, but the Effendi's eyes will show him that sixty
liras are nothing for the horses—besides, sixty liras, what are they?
Sixty grains from the sand on the seashore to the gold in the Effendi's
purse."
I was not going to be bamboozled in that way: taking forty liras from
my pocket, I showed him the money.
"There," I said, "that is all I shall give you, and all that your
horses are worth."
"Look! forty liras!" The man attempted to impart to his countenance an
indignant air, but the sight of the gold was too much for him. "Only
forty liras!"
"Yes," I said, "and if you will not sell them, I will buy my horses
from another dealer," and I turned to go away.
"No, Effendi, do not stir!" cried the owner hastily. "But _forty_
liras—let us say forty-one—one lira more—just one—for a baksheesh."
"Very well," I said, and I handed him the money.
Meantime, Osman, the Turkish servant, led my newly-acquired property to
a stable which he had engaged for me in the neighbourhood.
Later on in the afternoon I received a communication from my friend
H——, in which he said that he had sent the grey horse to Constantinople
by the bearer of the letter, but that the owner of the animal would
not take less than sixteen liras for him. As I had thoroughly tried the
animal I determined to accept the offer, and my stud was now complete.
The final preparations for the journey were soon made. All the horses
were fresh shod, and now I found that a Turkish horseshoe is very
different to the one which we use in this country. It consists of a
thin circular piece of iron, with a very small hole in the centre, not
bigger than a shilling; almost the entire surface of the hoof being
thus protected by the metal.
Two English saddles were bought for myself and Radford, a Turkish
saddle was provided for Osman, and two pack-saddles for the
baggage-horses. Saddle-bags, corn-sacks, and nose-bags had been also
purchased, and a supply of tea and such other necessaries as would be
difficult to obtain when once we had quitted the capital.
Everything was now ready for the start, so I hastened to say good-bye
to my numerous friends. Whilst visiting one of them—an English lady—a
Russian acquaintance called upon her, to solicit subscriptions for a
hospital. This building, as it appeared, was being used for all classes
of patients, and a prince at the Russian Embassy was at that time
occupying one of the wards.
"I went to see him yesterday," said the visitor. He complains
dreadfully of the quietness of the establishment."
"Perhaps he would like a barrel organ in the passage," observed my
hostess.
"That is what I said to him," replied the lady. "If he had his own way,
he would give a ball there before long."
It would rather astonish English people if they were told that a
person holding the position of a Secretary of Embassy was inhabiting
a building which in this country is reserved for the impecunious, but
no one in Russia thinks anything of such matters; there are so many
princes. Not many years ago, a prince could have been seen cleaning the
visitors' boots at Dusaux's Hotel in Moscow.
It was Friday, December the 8th, 1876. I have always been a disbeliever
in the sailors' superstition about leaving a port on a Friday, and
although several of my friends, particularly the Greek, entreated me to
postpone my departure till the following day, I determined to run the
risk of offending the Fates, and at once to commence my journey.
The street in front of the Hôtel Luxembourg was filled with a crowd of
idlers from an early hour. It had been rumoured about that the Giaour
was mad enough to wish to go to Kars from Scutari by land, instead of
by the Black Sea and Erzeroum, and that he was about to start. The Turk
had spread the news. His friends and family had come to see him off. In
the meantime, he himself was busily engaged in loading the pack-horses,
but occasionally found time to glance superciliously at his admiring
and awe-struck relatives. At last everything was ready; giving Osman
the little travelling sword, I desired him to strap it round his
waist. The crowd of relations were now more excited than before. The
bystanders took the liveliest interest in the proceedings. "Osman has
got a sword," said one. "He is buckling it on," said another.
Osman's air of importance increased tenfold when I desired him to sling
my little sporting-rifle on his shoulder. There was a faint approach to
a cheer from a little boy in the crowd. This was instantly suppressed,
and in the midst of all the excitement we rode down the streets of
Pera.
Several friends of mine were staying at the Hôtel Royal; as we passed
their windows they invited me to take a stirrup-cup, and in addition
poured out a bumper for the Turk. However, Osman could not be induced
to drink. He was more particular in this respect than many of his
fellow-countrymen. He handed the glass to Radford. The latter was
not displeased at the Turk's religious scruples, as he thus got two
glasses for himself instead of one. He at once tossed off the contents,
and smiling benignantly returned the tumbler to his companion. I now
shook hands with my friends at the Royal, and we continued our journey
towards the port.
"Good-bye, old fellow," cried my hospitable entertainers.
"We shall meet again soon," was my answer.
"Let us hope this side of Hades," said another, and we rode onward
towards Galata.
An acquaintance, a Greek gentleman, accompanied me as far as the port.
Here I discovered that one boat for Scutari had just started, and that
it would be at least three hours before there would be another. This
threw out my plans. I had wished to march my horses about five hours
that day, but in consequence of the delay, and the shortness of the
evenings at this season of the year, night would be on us before we had
left Scutari.
The steamer arrived. A wide platform was pushed out from the deck to
the shore, and two carriages with some horses, belonging to a Turkish
Bey, were taken on board. Then came Radford and Osman, each leading
two horses: I followed with the little grey. The carriages and animals
belonging to the Bey were placed towards the bow of the vessel, and the
other horses near the engines.
The sea was as calm as a duck-pond. In Osman's opinion it was
unnecessary to tie up our steeds to the bulwarks. The animals which
belonged to the Bey were simply held by their grooms, and stood quietly
enough by the carriages. Everything looked _couleur de rose_, and I
went up the ladder to a sort of raised deck, which arched over the
place reserved for horses, cattle, and other merchandise. Here several
Turkish ladies were sitting. They were engaged in sipping glasses
full of water. One, who appeared to be the elder of the party, had
some sugar in her pocket; producing it, she carefully sugared the
tumblers of her companions, and then sugared her own. The faces of
these ladies could be clearly seen through the very thin muslin texture
which served them as veils. They were not prepossessing, and sadly
wanted expression—a defect which I subsequently observed in almost
every Turkish woman whose countenance I had the opportunity of seeing.
We need not be surprised at this. I have been informed by the Turks
themselves that very few women, not one per 1000, can read or write.
They amuse themselves with gossip and eating. Their mental faculties
become absorbed. They live for the moment, and pine after the coarser
and more sensual pleasures. The domestic life in a Turkish family
is often not a happy one; the elder and less favoured wives hate to
desperation the more attractive and younger additions to the harem.
The middle-aged spouse is goaded to madness at being deprived of those
favours which the more comely wife is allowed to share. She endeavours
to poison her lord's ear with respect to the new arrival. The jealous
husband does not know what to believe, his home becomes a pandemonium.
Suddenly a loud report, followed by another, and then another, aroused
me from my reflections; a tremendous noise could be heard below our
feet, and men's voices expostulating in anger.
What had happened? One of the Turkish ladies let her tumbler fall,
the faces of the other passengers became white. Was it a torpedo which
General Ignatieff had set to blow up the Mohammedans, or had the engine
burst?
I hurried downstairs. The first thing which met my gaze was the black
horse, "Obadiah"—I had named him after a favourite old charger—lying
stretched out on deck, and my English servant seated on the animal's
head. Osman was holding one end of the grey horse's halter, the animal
amusing himself meanwhile by lashing out with his heels at the panels
of the Bey's carriage. Fortunately the other horses had remained quiet.
The Bey's servants, instead of attempting to save the panels of their
master's carriage, vented their wrath by numerous expletives, and were
keeping as far as possible from the scene of action.
"Well, I'll be d—d!"
This ejaculation, uttered in a strong Celtic accent, attracted my
attention, as I was busily engaged holding up the grey's foreleg to
keep him from doing any more damage to the Bey's vehicle. The forcible
exclamation issued from the lips of an engineer who happened to be
engaged on board the boat.
"What has happened?" I asked.
"Happened, sir! The Lord only knows. We were down below. There was an
explosion on deck. I ran upstairs and saw smoke coming out of that box.
All the horses were topsy-turvy."
The box in question contained about 500 loaded cartridges, which I was
taking for sporting purposes.
"What does it all mean, Radford?" I inquired.
"Lor, sir, it was that black 'orse Obadiah, as was the bottom of all
the mischief. He is that artful. He stood quiet enough till we started
and the paddles began to turn; he then began to kick, and frightened
the grey. That 'ere Turk," pointing to Osman, "was a-praying by the
side of the paddle-boxes, and not taking any account of the hanimals,
drat him! Obadiah upset his pack-saddle and then stamped on the
cartridge-box; some of them have gone off. Hosman left off praying
and began to swear, that's all he did; and as for them there Turks in
charge of the other 'orses, they did nothing. Obadiah slipped up and I
sat on his head to keep him quiet."
Luckily no great damage was done except to the Bey's carriage. We
commenced putting the pack-saddle on Obadiah, but before this operation
was completed our vessel arrived at Scutari. The steamer would only
stop a few minutes at the port. There was no time to properly arrange
the baggage. The greater part of it had to be carried out by hand. A
crowd of idlers stood on the shore; some of them, recognizing Osman,
came to help us in adjusting the saddle, each individual offering
advice as to how the baggage should be strapped to the saddle; Osman
meanwhile talking to his friends about the awful danger which he had
incurred, and how, had it not been for him, the steamer and all the
passengers must inevitably have gone to the bottom. The Bey's carriage
drove past us; the servants on the box vented their indignation at the
damage done to their master's panels in some strong language. Osman
answered them in a torrent of expletives, which, translated into Saxon,
would frighten a Billingsgate fishwoman. The bystanders joined in the
chorus, and it was some time before we were ready to start.