We left the corn-growing country behind us, and emerged upon a plain thickly planted with tobacco. On one side of the track, the mountains were covered with vines, on the other were many-coloured sand-hills.
Presently a wonderful phenomenon presented itself to us. A thick, black cloud, which all the morning had hung above a mountain-top, burst over our heads, and then being gradually wafted onward, it poured down its waters on the sand-hills. The sun, which was shining brightly, formed a magnificent rainbow—the glorious orb joined earth to sky, its matchless colouring lit up the whole of the firmament.
The waters dashed down the sides of the hills. The torrent bore with it a million particles of coloured sand. In a moment the rivulets at our feet ran white, red, and then crimson. The thunder roared in the distance. A flash of lightning streaked the horizon with gold.
The sun was setting ere we reached our halting-place, and as we rode up the main street of the village of Bazar, our horses had to wade through about three feet of water—the result of the recent storm. I obtained quarters for the night in a small, but clean wooden house belonging to a Turkish gentleman. He was formerly an officer in the army, and had been employed at Kars during the siege.
"Pacha Williams proved himself to be a great man," observed my host. "He was always busy, and not like other Pachas, who spend their lives in the harem. He went out at all hours of the night to inspect the fortifications. There was another Englishman with him—a young man of fair complexion, but with a heart like a lion."
"Teesdale?" I observed.
"Yes, that was his name. The hearts of our poor Osmanlis were cheered when they saw this young Englishman sharing all their privations, never grumbling, and always cheerful. If the war breaks out again, God grant that you may send us many more such officers! Is Pacha Williams still alive?"
"Yes."
"Is he a very great man in your country?"