A letter now arrived from Captain F——, a friend of H——'s, to say that, in the absence of the latter, he had opened my letter, and in consequence had sent me a horse. Such a horse as he was too, with no shoulders, and only about thirteen hands high; when I mounted the animal and had let out the stirrups to their last hole they were too short. I had the cramp. When I rode without stirrups my legs were in the mud. It was a choice of evils—the cramp or the mud, and the mud gained the day.
At last I came to the little village where Colonel H—— and his friend were residing. An Armenian servant now informed me that his master was busy surveying, but that he would soon return. The other officer, who had sent me the horse, was also out, but was shortly expected home. In about three hours both of them arrived. H—— had lost his way in the dark. He had been attacked by a dog; the savage brute had bitten his boot, and H—— had only saved himself by using his revolver. He had ordered a man to bring me a horse, but from the officer not being able to speak Turkish his instructions had been misunderstood.
The room was not a large one, and only a few feet square. There was no other, so we shared it between us, I being accommodated on the floor. We were up at daybreak, and rode over the position, a succession of rising slopes, which looked as if nature had made them especially for the defence of Constantinople. The distance from the Sea of Marmora to the Black Sea is twenty-four or twenty-five miles;[4] but each flank, being covered by lakes and rivers, could be easily watched and secured. The extent of the real fighting-ground would be by these features reduced to nine or ten miles of plain, but with favourable undulations affording a good command over the front. Batteries could be so arranged as to enfilade each other at every point, and should fifty thousand reliable troops ever make a stand at this position, it would be a very difficult one to carry.
This time my friend had mounted me on a different sort of animal to the one which I had ridden on the previous day. He was a stout grey cob, with good shoulders: when I mounted him the first thing which he did was to try and run away. I turned his head towards a neighbouring height, and let him gallop through the deep mud. To my astonishment on arriving at the summit he continued pulling. There was evidently some good stuff in that horse, and I determined to buy him. His owner was not in the village, so I left word that if he would send the cob to Constantinople, I would give 10l. for the animal—a very fair price taking into consideration the market price of horses in the capital.
Meantime, after having said good-bye to my hospitable entertainers, I turned my face towards the railway-station. A line of telegraph-posts served me as a guide, and I arrived at the booking-office in time to catch the train.
An acquaintance, a friend of the silk-merchant, called upon me later in the evening. He proposed that we should go together to a café, and hear a song which a French girl sang every night, and one in which the Turks delighted.
The café, or rather music hall, was a fine building, crowded with men of all nationalities. Good-looking Hungarian and Italian girls took the place of waiters, and bustled about, receiving orders from the more than usually excited true believers. Many of the latter, in spite of the Prophet's injunction, were freely partaking of raki. Volumes of smoke from the cigarettes and chibouks of the spectators had created a dense atmosphere in the building. Some of the attendants were remarkably handsome girls. Indeed, as I subsequently learnt, the proprietor of the café would not engage an ugly woman, his idea being that the Turks, his chief customers, came quite as much to look at and talk to his waitresses, as to see the performance. It must have been a hard trial for the digestive organs of the better-looking of these girls. One in particular, a tall and very handsome Italian, with large dark eyes and an innocent expression, which probably her character belied, was in great request, the Turks always inviting her to share the raki or the coffee which she brought them. The performance lasted from eight p.m. till about two in the morning; it was a wonder that her constitution could stand the trial. I called for a cup of coffee, and when she handed it to me, I asked in Italian what she would like for herself. The girl's eyes sparkled on being addressed in her native tongue.
"Nothing, signore," she said; "I am not a barrel, although the Turks think I am; but you are not a Turk. However, I cannot afford to offend them, for the proprietor pays us no wages; all I have is what the visitors give me. It is a dreadful life, signore. Chocolate, raki, and beer. I only sip, but I have to swallow a little all the same; then there is lemonade, coffee, mastic, and occasionally, when gentlemen like yourself come here—champagne. It is such a mixture. I have a pain sometimes," she continued, at the same time pointing to the bodice of her dress, "I wish to cry, but I have to run about, smile, wait upon the visitors, and drink with them—it is a dreadful life. Oh, if I could only return to Florence!"
A Turk seated near me, and who was eagerly gazing at the girl, made a sign to her.
"I must go," she said. "He is a friend of the proprietor—I dare not offend him."