Price of corn—Indian corn—Barley—Hardly any horses in
the neighbourhood—Bashi Bazouks—The Persians—Bagdad—A
passenger had been drowned—Mohammed is sea-sick—The harbour
of Batoum—The quarantine station—The garrison—The Cossack
outposts—Shooting Turkish soldiers—The encampment—The
sanitary arrangements are good—The new rifle—The
market—Money-changers—A Turkish steamer—The agent—If the Lord
wills it—Farewell to Mohammed—His tears—Human nature—Reform
impossible in Turkey so long as Russia keeps on intriguing—My
fellow-passengers—The Pacha—Trebizond—Arrival in London.
I now learnt that corn is dear in this district, costing two piastres
and a half the oke. It is chiefly brought here from the neighbourhood
of Ardahan, the difficulty of transport adding enormously to the price.
Indian corn is grown in the vicinity of Livana, but it is not easy to
procure barley. This last, however, is not so much required, as there
are hardly any horses in the neighbourhood.
Just above Miradet lie the ruins of an old bridge. At this time of the
year, the only way to cross the river is in the cayeks of the peasants.
I was informed that in the summer months a horseman could ford the
Tschoroch in some places near the village. According to the Mudir, there
are iron-mines in the neighbourhood, but the inhabitants did not work
them.
There was a battalion of infantry, Bashi Bazouks, in his village. The
men, Georgians, were magnificent fellows, much taller than the Turkish
soldiers, and with that light and elastic step which distinguishes
mountaineers. A report had just reached Miradet that the Persians were
attacking Bagdad with thirty thousand men; In the opinion of the Mudir,
this was the precursor of an immediate outbreak of hostilities between
the Sultan's forces on the one hand and Russia and Persia on the other.
We entered our cayek early the following morning. Mohammed was more
alarmed if possible, than on the previous afternoon. A passenger had
been drowned two weeks before, when going to Batoum. Mohammed had learnt
this; he now bandaged his eyes with a pocket-handkerchief.
"What are you doing that for?" I inquired.
"So as not to see the waters," replied Mohammed; "they roar, my stomach
aches."
"Tchok eyi (very nice), is it not?" suddenly remarked Radford, nudging
his fellow-servant violently in the ribs. We were in the midst of some
rapids. Two or three violent bumps announced our close proximity to the
rocks. "He will not laugh at me any more, sir, for not liking to look
down precipices. Have a hegg, Mohammed;" taking one from his own pocket,
Radford handed it to the sufferer.
We had arrived at the open sea. Mohammed removed his handkerchief from
his eyes, the motion of the cayek was different to that which he had
experienced on the river. He gazed upon the egg for an instant, and then
thrust it away indignantly; the sea and his fears were too much for him;
he leaned against the side of the boat. Radford was thoroughly revenged.
The harbour of Batoum is one of the finest in the Black Sea. Numerous
batteries mounted with heavy guns defend it on the sea side. Three large
ironclads were anchored within thirty yards of the shore, the water
being very deep.
I landed at the quarantine station, and now learnt that every house in
the town, or rather village, was crowded with troops. The doctor of the
quarantine offered me a room in the station; I gladly availed myself of
his kindness.
There were only 8000 men in Batoum itself; the remainder of the
garrison, consisting of 12,000 infantry, with some artillery, were
stationed at Tschoroch Su, a strong position about six hours from the
town, and defending the road from Poti. Mohammed's Tokat battalion was
quartered here. It was probably the point against which the Russians
would make their first attack, he was aware of that fact.
"Would you like to accompany me to Constantinople?" I asked.
"No, Effendi, not for all the money in the world will I go there. One
hour on the sea is very awful; five days would kill me. My brother,"
pointing to Radford, "is brave on the water; I am brave on the land; we
are both brave;" seizing his fellow-servant's hand, Mohammed shook it
heartily.
A major on the staff called. According to him, the Cossack outposts were
in the habit of firing upon the Turkish troops. It appeared that on the
26th of March, 1877, a few Turkish soldiers were walking in the Sultan's
territory, but on the edge of the frontier-line. Some Russian soldiers
fired and shot three of them; then, fording a river, which divides the
two countries, the Cossacks carried the dead bodies and arms to the
Russian side of the border. They afterwards complained to their officer
that the Turks had crossed over on Russian soil.
"War has not been declared," I remarked.
"No," said the major; "the Russians are doing their best to make us
attack them; but we shall not do so. They shall have the whole odium of
the war, and Allah will judge between us!"
I accompanied the officer to an encampment close to the coast. The
tents had been pitched between the mouth of the Tschoroch river and the
town. Three thousand infantry soldiers were quartered in this place.
The sanitary arrangements of the camp left very little to be desired.
Everything was clean and orderly. An air of smartness prevailed amongst
the soldiers, which was refreshing to witness after what I had seen
in other parts of the empire. The men's tents were banked up with
stones to a height of three feet from the ground. Well-dug trenches
carried off the rainfall. Many of the officers lived in huts which were
surrounded by little gardens. All these battalions were armed with the
Martini-Peabody rifle. I asked some of the men how they liked their
new weapon, being curious to know if they objected to the recoil. There
was no fault found with the gun on this score. The troops were highly
pleased with the arm. They wished for nothing better than to have the
opportunity of trying it upon their quarrelsome neighbours.
We next visited the market in the town, or rather village, for Batoum
with its few hundred straggling houses does not deserve the former
title. There was hardly anything exposed for sale. A solitary sheep
was hung up in one shop. Some stale fish were lying on the counter of
another. There were several money-changers in the streets; business,
however, was slack, and these gentlemen lived by lending money on
exorbitant terms to the Turks—the usurers being many of them Armenian
Christians.
A Turkish steamer was to leave Batoum that night for Constantinople.
I made inquiries as to when she would be likely to arrive at her
destination.
"In five days," said the agent at the booking-office—a most
saturnine-looking old Turk, "that is if the Lord wills it; but the Lord
may will that the vessel shall lay to in Trebizond, and return here with
troops without going to Stamboul."
Under these circumstances I determined to go in the Turkish boat as
far as Trebizond, and continue my journey in some other steamer to
Constantinople. Mohammed accompanied me on board the vessel. The moment
for parting at last arrived. The poor fellow was much affected. Some
big tears began to roll down his cheeks.
"Will you go with me to Constantinople?" I inquired.
"To the end of the world, Effendi!"
"But think how ill you will be."
"Never mind, Effendi, only let me come. It is true that my stomach sank
within me yesterday, but my heart is very full to-day; for am I not
losing my lord as well as my brother?"—seizing Radford's hand, Mohammed
wrung it heartily.
The vessel had got up steam; the deck was being cleared. Mohammed rubbed
his eyes with the back of his hand and clambered down the side of the
ship into a little boat. Several of his countrymen tried to comfort him.
He was not to be consoled. As we steamed out of the harbour, I could
still see the poor fellow straining his eyes in our direction.
"That Mohammed was not such a bad chap after all, sir," presently
remarked Radford. "Them Turks have stomachs, and like filling them they
do; but they have something in their hearts as well."
There was a great deal of truth in the observation. Those people in
England who have declared that it is impossible to reform the Turks
would do well to learn the Turkish language, and travel in the Sultan's
dominions. Human nature is everywhere much the same. There is more good
in the world than bad, or otherwise, as a French philosopher once said,
the bad would have destroyed the good, and the human race would no
longer exist. Give the Turks a good government, and Turkey would soon
take her place amidst civilized nations.
This, however, would not be pleasing to the Sultan's powerful neighbour.
Reform is impossible in Turkey so long as Russian agents[25] foment
rebellion amidst the Sultan's subjects.
One of my fellow-passengers was a Turkish doctor. He had the rank
of Pacha and was under the Army Medical Department. He had left
Constantinople with orders to visit Kars, and report to his Government
about the sanitary state of this town. On arriving at Batoum, he found
that the tracks were still covered with snow. The doctor, who was
suffering from heart disease, had determined to return to Trebizond.
"In what state is the road between Erzeroum and Kars?" he now asked.
"Probably it is covered with snow."
"Dear me," said the Pacha, "I shall wait a little at Trebizond for a
change of weather."
"You had better go to Kars as soon as possible," I remarked, "or there
will be an outbreak of fever there."
"If I travel quickly," observed the official, "I shall die of heart
disease. A little sooner or later will not make much difference to the
people in Kars. I shall be able to leave the service in a year and a
half," he continued; "if I were to hurry myself, death might carry me
off before I could enjoy my pension. Please God there will be no war.
We shall have so many cases to attend. I was at Alexinatz," he added.
"Did you have a great deal to do?"
"Yes, so few of our surgeons know anything about anatomy; dissecting a
Mohammedan is contrary to the tenets of Islam. But there were plenty of
dead Servians, and so our people practised upon them."
The following morning we arrived at Trebizond. There was a French
steamer on the point of starting for Constantinople. I had just time to
take my luggage on board of her. In a few minutes we were again steaming
ahead. Three days later, and after a most delightful passage, we
anchored in the Bosphorus. My leave of absence had nearly expired. There
would be another French vessel belonging to Les Messageries Maritimes
leaving on the morrow for Marseilles. I took our tickets on my way to
the Hôtel de Luxembourg, and eight days afterwards arrived in London.