On the second day we were able to push on a good deal faster as the road was more level, and in the evening we came to the small township of Ghumish Khané, which was chiefly known to fame owing to the existence of some very old silver mines in the neighbourhood. To an Australian like myself it did not look at all like a mining township. Where were the familiar poppet heads, the heaps of mullock, and the diligently fossicked alluvial? There was no roar of stampers, no monotonous gurgle of pumps, and there was not one decent bush shanty in the place. We had seen enough of the comforts of a khan on the previous night, so like wise men we went straight to the hammam, or Turkish bath, with which even the smallest Turkish township is always provided. Here we enjoyed the refreshing luxury of being well steamed; and backsheesh, in the shape of a few piastres to the man in charge, procured for us permission to sleep on the divans provided for patrons of the establishment. We had supper and spent the night in the hammam.
Leaving Ghumish Khané next morning, we rode on through a narrow valley between two ranges of hills covered with hazel trees and other light scrub. In this valley, which was about seven miles long by half a mile wide, we found magnificent groves of pear trees fringing the road on either side. When we passed through in the middle of autumn, the fruit was just ripe, and the great juicy pears almost knocked against our faces as we rode on under the trees with the branches interlacing overhead. We telegraphed to the kaimakan at Baiburt, our next stopping-place, before leaving Ghumish Khané, in order that accommodation might be prepared for us; and when we reached Baiburt in the evening, we were agreeably surprised to find it an extremely beautiful town. Baiburt, like all the towns in that country, is a place of grey antiquity. It sleeps on in the present, dreaming of the past and of all the wars that have raged about it since the first men of Baiburt built themselves defences against the robbers of the hills hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago. It was taken by the Russians in 1828, after the massacres in the Ægean Sea had roused England, France, and Russia to take joint action against the Turks, and had whetted the thirst for blood once more by precipitating Navarino. Looking at the majestic ruins of this town of Baiburt and at the traces of their presence, left there by the Russian cannoneers, one thought of the causes that had brought about these ruins; one thought of the Greek struggle for independence, and of the massacres at Chios and the adjacent islands; one thought of Byron singing of "The Isles of Greece," with his passionate appeal against "Turkish force and Latin fraud," and of Béranger stirring all Europe with the lament of the heroic Ipsariotes, "Les rois chrétiens ne nous vengeront pas."
After leaving Baiburt we got among the mountains again, and rode along a track hewn out of the side of the hills that almost overhung us, a road that reminded one in places of the magnificent solitudes of the Julier Pass in Switzerland, and at times brought back the softer beauties of the track from Hobart to the Huon River in Tasmania.
On either side of the road grew groves of giant rhododendrons, making splashes of rich colour amid the green; and here and there the ruined castles, built by Genoese merchant princes to protect their commerce from the robbers of the hills, loomed in lonely state above us. Along this road in the Middle Ages came the greater part of the trade from Persia; and as the long caravan, laden with silks and spices, with fabrics from the Persian looms and precious stones from the Persian mines, made its way slowly towards the markets of Europe, it was no wonder that the brigands descended from their native fastnesses and risked a fight with the well armed escort that rode beside the treasures.
Inspired by a desire to get a nearer look at these romantic old ruins, I climbed up to the ridge upon which one of these castles was poised like an eagle's nest between earth and heaven; but I regretted my curiosity very quickly, for it was only with the utmost difficulty and most frantic clutching at convenient shrubs that I reached the road again with a wild glissade in which everything was forgotten except the instinctive desire to keep myself right side uppermost.
Towards evening we passed through a gloomy gorge where the cliffs rose perpendicularly on each side; and the air, never warmed by the sun's rays, was bitterly cold. Soon after emerging from this we came to a village whose name I have forgotten, and rode at once to the konak, or townhall, where we had a rest and a meal. Here I learnt that Sir Arnold Kemball was at Purnekapan, at the end of the next stage, and that he had with him Lieutenant Dugald of the royal navy as an attaché.
Having sent a telegram to Lieutenant Dugald notifying our approach, we resumed our journey, travelling over a pass which rose to a height of between six and seven thousand feet; and at the summit we halted for an hour at a place called the Kopdagh, from which there was a superb view over hills and valleys and distant mountain-peaks. Far away in front of us was the silver line of a river, the very name of which sent a thrill through our hearts. It was "that great river, the river Euphrates"; and as we looked down over the plain we realized, almost with a gasp of astonishment, that we were gazing at the legendary site of the Garden of Eden.
At Purnekapan I called on Sir Arnold Kemball, whom I had met previously at Nish during the Servian war. Sir Arnold Kemball had stirring news for us. He had just received a telegram from Erzeroum announcing that the Russians had delivered a terrific assault, and that the town had fallen into their hands.
Next morning we pushed on as fast as we could, crossed the Euphrates at midday, and at five o'clock in the afternoon we reached Erzeroum. As we entered the town we naturally expected to find the Russians in possession of the town; but we could see no trace of the well known uniforms, and gradually it dawned upon us that Sir Arnold Kemball had been misinformed when he told us that the long expected Russian assault had already been delivered.
We went straight to the British Consulate, and called upon Mr. Zohrab, our consul, who gave us a most cordial reception, and informed us of the position in the town, which was certainly serious. About a week before our arrival a desperate attack had been made by the Russians, who had taken one of the forts, and the Turks lost two thousand men in killed and wounded. Consequently the hospital resources were taxed to the utmost, although in addition to the Turkish medical staff there were several English doctors in Erzeroum before we got there. Lord Blantyre had sent up a number of English doctors at his own expense; but the total strength of the medical staff had been depleted by various accidents. Dr. Casson and Dr. Buckle, for instance, had been taken prisoners, and were then in the hands of the Russians; Dr. Guppy had died of typhoid fever about a week before we got there; and the available surgeons were Charles Fetherstonhaugh, James Denniston, whom I had known before in Edinburgh, and John Pinkerton. We took up our quarters with these three, in the great bare house where they lived without any furniture except a table and a couple of benches. There were no beds, so we slept on the floor; and our by no means luxurious meals were cooked for us by an Armenian named David whose son Siropé, commonly called Jonathan, acted as waiter and general factotum.