Alongside the river Murad—Waterfalls—The Melaskert
river—Tchekhane—An attack of fever—Quinine—The doctor at
Toprak Kale—He arrives—The consultation—Excitement amongst the
villagers—The stethoscope—The audience—How clever these Franks
are!—The Effendi is going to die—Rheumatic fever—Pressed
fruit—A native remedy—A long night.
We were once more in winter, deep snow lay along our path. There were
several Yezeed villages by the track, which began to rise abruptly by
the side of the river Murad, and was here and there cut out of the solid
rock.
In many places waterfalls dashed over the path, and we were literally
riding beneath a canopy of water, which fell, several hundred feet over
precipices into the river below. At others the torrent dashed across
the track itself. We had to advance with the greatest caution to avoid
being swept down the abyss.
I now crossed the Melaskert river. Here our guide had a narrow escape of
being carried away by the torrent. Presently we arrived at Tchekhane,
an Armenian village, about eight miles distant from the town of Toprak
Kale.
I had been suffering great pain during the last two marches, and, on
dismounting from my horse, should have fallen to the ground, if it had
not been for Mohammed.
The latter helped me to enter the house of my host, an Armenian peasant.
Staggering up to the hearth, I threw myself down beside the fire. My
legs seemed to have lost all their strength; I had great pain in the
head and back. My pulse was beating very rapidly. It intermitted.
Thinking that it was an attack of fever, I desired Radford to give me
the medicine-chest, and after taking ten grains of quinine, tried to
sleep. This, however, was impossible—the insects in the house would have
prevented slumber, even if the fever had not done so.
The night passed away. In the morning I found myself so weak that I
could barely raise my head from the pillow.
"There is a doctor at Toprak Kale," observed my Armenian host. "He is
a Frank: why not send for him?"
I did so; but the medical man did not arrive. I lay all that day racked
by pain, and half devoured by insects.
In the morning I overheard the following conversation between Mohammed
and the proprietor.
"There are many fleas; my Effendi cannot sleep."
"It is true," replied the Armenian; "but there are by no means so many
here as in a Kurd village a few miles distant. The Kurds have been
obliged to abandon their houses in consequence of these insects. They
have had to live in tents for several months past."
Another night passed without my obtaining any slumber. In the morning I
had a visit from the doctor, a Hungarian who was attached to a regiment
at Toprak Kale.
The news of the arrival of the son of Æsculapius was soon spread through
the village. My bed-chamber, the stable, in which there were three
cows, was speedily thronged by as many excited inhabitants as could find
standing-room.
The doctor was a young man; he had not been long in Asia Minor, and
could only speak a few words of Turkish. But he wore a uniform and was
accompanied by a Zaptieh. This was sufficient at once to strike awe into
the Armenian villagers.
"Are you in pain?" said the doctor, in German.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Behind the shoulders and in the side."
"I will examine you."
Producing a stethoscope, he placed one end of it upon my chest, and
the other to his ear. This proceeding gave rise to great astonishment
amidst the assembled visitors, who eagerly pressed forward to witness
the operation.
"Donnerwetter!" said the indignant physician in German. "Haide, go
away!" This last word in Turkish to the Armenians, who, frightened at
the sonorous sounds of the "Donnerwetter," had already withdrawn for a
few steps.
There were also some Turkish peasants in the room. They had made friends
with Mohammed. He had placed them behind two cows in a corner, so that
they might have a good view of the doctor.
"What is he doing to the Effendi?" inquired one of them of Mohammed.
"He is looking into his body," observed another.
Mohammed himself now craned out his neck in my direction.
"Effendi! is he looking into your stomach?"
"No; he is listening to the beats of my heart."
"How clever these Franks are!" said one of the Turks. "They do not even
take the trouble to look; they are quite satisfied by listening."
"I wish the hakim would put the instrument on my chest; it would do me
good," he continued.
"Perhaps he would if we asked him," added the other.
"Silence!" said Mohammed. "The doctor is saying something."
The face of the medical gentleman became a little grave after he had
sounded me. This gave great satisfaction to the audience.
"See how solemn he looks!" remarked one of the bystanders; "the Effendi
is going to die."
"What is the matter with me?" I inquired.
"Rheumatic fever; and your heart is out of order," said the doctor. "You
must lie quiet for several days, and I will send you some medicine. My
battalion probably marches to-morrow," he continued, "and so I fear I
cannot come here again."
Pocketing his fee, the medical gentleman mounted his horse, and rode
off with the Zaptieh.
I had eaten nothing for two days, and my mouth was parched. Mohammed,
seeing this, brought me some pressed fruit—a sort of wild cranberry,
which the natives dry, and then, if any one has a fever, they soak the
fruit in water and give it him to drink. The pressed berries are very
nasty to look at. They much resemble tezek. For a moment I thought that
Mohammed was giving me a piece of that fuel by way of a febrifuge. On
tasting the beverage I found that the flavour was very agreeable. It was
acid, and, in Mohammed's opinion, was a most valuable remedy for fever.
The day wore on. In the evening the cows inside my bedroom were joined
by three buffaloes.
The air in the room became fouler and more dense. It was snowing
outside, and the proprietor had covered the hole, which took the place
of a chimney, with a large stone. I lay awake for the greater part of
the night, every now and then drinking copious draughts of the pressed
fruit dissolved in water. Nature at last succumbed. I had not slept for
several nights. The figures of the cows and buffaloes became smaller:
they gradually disappeared. The light given out by a piece of cotton
steeped in some melted fat, and placed in an iron tripod, became more
flickering: the sounds of my followers' snoring seemed to fade away. I
shut my eyes and fell asleep.
I was awakened late the following afternoon by something cold and clammy
against my hand. On looking up, I found it was one of the cows. My arm
was stretched out by her trough. The animal was licking my fingers with
her tongue.
"I was afraid that she would awake you, sir," remarked my servant
Radford, coming to my side. "I wished to drive her away, but was afraid
of disturbing you."