The proprietor of the establishment—_Lingua franca_—Gold,
not paper—Gold a charm to the Greek—No rooms—The Onbashee—His
costume—The guard-house—A queer place—"_At gitdi!_ the horse
has gone!"—The Pacha at Scutari—The corporal's demeanour
when offered a tip—A beautiful country—The bay of Ismid—A
goose plump as a Georgian woman—A Zaptieh—The chief of the
telegraph department in Ismid—A grievance—The appearance of
Ismid—Washing-day—The Pacha of Ismid—Mr. Gladstone—"Gladstone
is what you call a Liberal, is he not?"—The Turkish
debt—Russian agents bring about massacres of Christians.
The proprietor of the establishment, a Greek, slowly raised himself
from a recumbent position. His head was bound up in what appeared to be
a red stocking; the toe part of this article of attire hung carelessly
over his left shoulder. He was a dirty-looking little fellow, and
had a large wen on one side of his forehead. Nature had determined to
make him as hideous as possible, and some fellow-mortal had added to
her handiwork, for a large scar, barely cicatrized, and apparently
inflicted by a knife, extended right across his face. This scar and
the wen were, in the daytime, a perpetual resort for blue-bottle flies.
These insects, I subsequently observed, had a great affection for the
frontispiece of the proprietor.
"What do you want?" he asked in _lingua franca_, that undefined mixture
of Italian, French, Greek, and Spanish, which is spoken throughout the
Mediterranean.
"I want a place to sleep in."
"Place to sleep in? Sleep here," and he slowly subsided into his
original position.
Osman now began to address him, and in a whining tone said that I was
his Effendi, a great person with gold, not paper, in my pocket, and
that I would pay liberally for accommodation. The allusion to the gold
acted like a charm upon the Greek.
"Gold!" he said. "Gold! Let me see it!"
I took out a lira (Turkish pound), and spinning it carelessly in the
air, let it fall on an earthenware dish. The coin gave out a metallic
ring. The Greek clutched at the fallen lira; but the nimble Osman was
too quick for him, and picking it up returned it to me.
"I have no rooms but this," said the proprietor eagerly; "but I have a
stable. Why not sleep in the stable? You want a stable for your horses,
and I will put down some clean straw for the Effendi."
Our horses were all this time tied up to a post outside. I was on the
point of accepting his offer, so as to gain shelter for them as well as
for ourselves, when the door opened. A strange figure loomed in sight.
"The Onbashee (corporal)," said the proprietor in a cringing tone,
springing to his feet; and seizing several soldiers who were asleep
on a bench, he rolled them on to the floor, thus making room for the
new arrival. The latter, a dumpy-looking man, with a fez on his head,
red regimental trousers, and a short yellow dressing-gown, sat down
on the bench, and beckoned to me to sit by his side. The occupants
of the room by this time were thoroughly aroused. A small boy, the
exact counterpart of the proprietor minus the scar and wen, speedily
made some coffee. The fragrant beverage was duly handed first to the
Onbashee and myself, and then to Osman and Radford, the head of the
latter being in close proximity to the ceiling of the establishment.
I addressed the corporal, and told him that I was an English traveller,
who wanted a night's lodging.
"English!" he cried, then springing to his feet he respectfully
saluted, and said, "I thought, Effendi, that you were an Italian or
a countryman of the Greek here," pointing to the proprietor of the
place. "Come along, sir," leaving the building, he led me to a small
building, apparently a guard-house, for in the room below there were
ten soldiers, some rifles and accoutrements being suspended on a rack
on the wall. Ascending a few rickety stairs, I entered a small lobby.
It was about ten feet square, and had no furniture save a wooden ledge.
"This is my room," said the Onbashee. "You and the other Englishman
can sleep here. I will sleep downstairs with the men." Then bringing
two blankets he threw them down on the ledge, saluted in a military
fashion, and disappeared.
"Queer place, sir," said Radford, looking round. "However, it is better
than the hole downstairs. Shall I sleep here, sir, or in the stable?"
"On the floor," I replied. "Go and look after the horses, and then
bring up some rugs."
At daybreak Osman started for Scutari in search of the lost horse.
A few hours later I took my gun, and went to see if I could find any
snipe in a marsh near the town. About six p.m. Osman returned. It was
easy to see from his crestfallen face that he had heard no news of the
lost Obadiah.
"_At Gitdi!_ The horse has gone, Effendi," he said. "I have been to
every farm-house near here, and no one has seen a black gelding with
his tail cut short. Praise be to Allah that I cut all the horses' tails
before starting; our animal will be different from the others in the
neighbourhood, and will be easily distinguished."
"I went to the Pacha at Scutari," he added, "he has given orders to the
police to search for the horse. When he is found, he will be sent after
the Effendi by train to Ismid."
_Gitdi_ (it has gone), I began to hate that word. Later on, if our tea
had been stolen, Osman invariably greeted me with _gitdi_. It is the
first word which a traveller in Turkey hears, he is kept in mind of
it during his entire journey. There was nothing to be done but to hire
another baggage-horse, and give orders for a start at daybreak.
A few minutes before leaving Moltape, I went to the corporal, and
put in his hand a dollar (medjidi), in return for the accommodation
he had given me. There were several soldiers present. He declined
the present with a grandiose air, adding that his home was mine, and
that all strangers were welcome to the abode. However, a few minutes
later, when I was alone, he approached, and putting out his hand, said,
"Effendi, no one is looking, I will accept a present." Human nature
in all countries is much the same. The corporal's demeanour before the
soldiers much resembled that of a railway porter when offered a tip in
the presence of a railway director.
We rode through a beautiful country. Our track lay across a plain. It
was surrounded by undulating hills. Pretty villas with Venetian windows
decked their crests. Vines, fig, and other fruit trees studded the
rising slopes. A few hours later the path became very bad. We made our
way across deep, half hidden ruts, which compelled us to advance with
the greatest care for fear of breaking the horses' legs.
We ascend a steep incline, and then, far away in the distance, and
across the bay of Ismid, are cone-shaped hills covered with fleecy
snow.
The path turned, we rode along the seashore. The railway ran along the
side of the track, now ascending in tortuous coils, now disappearing
altogether from our view, to appear once more in the distance, and
almost level with the azure deep. Not a ripple disturbed the surface of
the waters; coloured rocks and stones met our gaze as we glanced into
the abyss below; festoons of variegated sea-weed hung from the rugged
cliffs.
The sun's rays were fierce and scorching. In spite of its being the
month of December, there was a glare as if on a July day. I was
not sorry when, on reaching the crest of an adjacent hill, Osman
dismounted, and suggested a halt for lunch.
"A capital spot, Effendi," he remarked, "there is a spring of fresh
water, a cave, and firewood. I have a beautiful goose, plump as a
Georgian woman, in the saddle-bags. My brother," pointing to Radford,
"shall cook him. Our stomachs grieve now, but soon they shall be
comforted."
He led the way to a sort of cavity in the rock. A fire was kindled, and
the goose, the subject of Osman's admiration, was shortly simmering on
the embers.
Presently the track became worse, if possible, than before. Several
wooden bridges over deep and narrow gullies had to be crossed. There
were no parapets to the bridges. Here and there holes a foot square
let us see the stream below. Then we traversed lanes of water, in some
places up to the horses' girths. The Hammall went first, and wended his
way with caution. Two ditches skirted the borders of the track; the
rain had fallen heavily, and had one of our horses made a mistake or
floundered, his rider would have found himself in at least six feet of
water.
We were nearing Ismid, the Nicomedia of ancient history. Our tired
animals seemed aware of its proximity; they quickened their pace.
Very shortly afterwards we rode into the town. I had sent forward a
messenger to tell the chief of the police that an English traveller
was coming to Ismid, and to ask him to provide me with lodgings for the
night, there being no hotels in the place.
I was met at the entrance of the town by a Zaptieh, or gendarme. Going
before us, he led the way to a house kept by a Greek. Here I found
two clean rooms furnished in the European fashion. The Zaptieh, after
inquiring if I had any orders to give him, left the room, saying that
he would report my safe arrival to the Pacha.
On the morrow I received a visit from the chief of the Telegraph
department in Ismid—an Armenian who spoke French. On showing him a
letter of introduction which I had received at Constantinople, for the
Christian dignitaries in Ismid, he at once became very communicative,
and hastened to relate a grievance which, according to him, an Armenian
had lately suffered owing to Turkish misrule. It appeared that this man
had borrowed money from a Turk, and had given his wife's earrings and
necklace as security for the debt. The arrangements for the loan had
been made in the presence of my informant. "But now," he continued,
"comes the pith of the story. The Turk died. The Armenian, paying
the debt to the dead man's heirs, asked for his wife's necklace and
earrings. The Turk's family would not give them up. The Armenian
appealed to the Cadi. The Cadi would not do justice, because it was
the word of a Christian against the testimony of a Turk; and in such
instances an Armenian's evidence goes for nothing. However," added the
speaker, "I telegraphed to the authorities in Constantinople. An order
at once came for justice to be done."
Later on I walked through the town. It is built in the form of a
half-moon, and is erected on the heights around the shore. Tiers
and tiers of houses are perched up in out-of-the-way corners. Here
a solitary one stands aloof like an eagle's nest and far above its
fellows. No order has been followed in the construction of these
houses. Every sort of shape and pattern is to be seen. Many of them
are like Swiss chalets. Their wooden walls are bright with an infinite
variety of hues.
It was, apparently, a washing-day. The nether garments and shirts
of Turks and Christians were suspended from every window-sill. This
apparel was of all the colours in the rainbow, and lit up the scene
still more. There were a few well-built stone buildings—amongst them
the palace of the Pacha. I called upon this official in the afternoon,
and found him a tall, fine-looking man, considerably over six feet in
height. He was seated in European fashion upon a sofa, and not squatted
on the floor like some others of his countrymen who were present at the
time of my visit. He spoke French fluently, and also Russian, having
spent some years in the Turkish Consulate in Odessa; his residence
there had not inspired him with any affection for the subjects of the
Tzar, whom he cordially detested.
"Your minister, Mr. Gladstone, hates us poor Turks quite as much as the
Russians do," presently remarked the Pacha.
"Mr. Gladstone is not a minister," I remarked, "he is not by any means
omnipotent in England. A great many of my countrymen have already
evinced their sympathy for your nation."
"Yes," said the Pacha, "that is true, they have sent medicines to our
wounded soldiery. Gladstone is what you call a Liberal, is he not?"
"He is one of the leaders of the Liberal Party, and was its chief till
he was turned out by the actual Government."
"Ah! I remember," said the Pacha. "He told the people of England that
they must not drink after certain hours, and quarrelled with your
priests. I read all about it in the newspapers. It struck me as strange
conduct in a man who calls himself a 'Liberal.' Has he many friends in
Parliament?"
"Yes, but not so many as formerly; his conduct about this Eastern
question has drawn away some of his most influential supporters."
"Well, at all events if there is war, please God we shall be allies."
"Please God we shall," I replied devoutly.
"You know," he continued, "that we are much stronger than people in
Europe believe. We can put an army of 700,000 men into the field."
"Praise be to Allah!" interrupted an elderly Turk who was squatted on
the carpet, at the same time gravely stroking his white beard.
"Why is it that the people in England hate us so much?" inquired the
Pacha.
"Partly on account of the excesses of your irregular soldiers in
Bulgaria; but mainly because you repudiated your debt. How should you
like to have lent money and then to receive no interest?"
The Pacha laughed.
"Yes, you are right. It was a great mistake. But that is all Russia's
fault. Her agents brought about the revolution in the Herzegovina. Her
functionaries encouraged Sultan Abdul Aziz in his extravagance, and
were the main cause of the debt being repudiated. They thought that
this would make us unpopular with England, and they were very right in
their conjectures. There is plenty of wealth in Turkey," he continued.
"If it were not for the impending war, we could pay some part of our
interest now; but Russia will not let us be quiet. She compels us to
keep up a large army. Her agents bring about massacres of Christians,
and set the whole world against us."[5]
"If there is a war, I hope that we shall cut the throats of all the
Russians," interrupted the old gentleman on the carpet.
"Allah grant that we may!" exclaimed the rest of the assembly.
Coffee and pipes were now handed round, and my interview came to an
end. The Pacha having kindly given orders for a telegram to be sent to
Scutari, to inquire if anything had been heard of my runaway horse.