"What does it all mean, Radford?" I inquired.
"Lor, sir, it was that black 'orse Obadiah, as was the bottom of all the mischief. He is that artful. He stood quiet enough till we started and the paddles began to turn; he then began to kick, and frightened the grey. That 'ere Turk," pointing to Osman, "was a-praying by the side of the paddle-boxes, and not taking any account of the hanimals, drat him! Obadiah upset his pack-saddle and then stamped on the cartridge-box; some of them have gone off. Hosman left off praying and began to swear, that's all he did; and as for them there Turks in charge of the other 'orses, they did nothing. Obadiah slipped up and I sat on his head to keep him quiet."
Luckily no great damage was done except to the Bey's carriage. We commenced putting the pack-saddle on Obadiah, but before this operation was completed our vessel arrived at Scutari. The steamer would only stop a few minutes at the port. There was no time to properly arrange the baggage. The greater part of it had to be carried out by hand. A crowd of idlers stood on the shore; some of them, recognizing Osman, came to help us in adjusting the saddle, each individual offering advice as to how the baggage should be strapped to the saddle; Osman meanwhile talking to his friends about the awful danger which he had incurred, and how, had it not been for him, the steamer and all the passengers must inevitably have gone to the bottom. The Bey's carriage drove past us; the servants on the box vented their indignation at the damage done to their master's panels in some strong language. Osman answered them in a torrent of expletives, which, translated into Saxon, would frighten a Billingsgate fishwoman. The bystanders joined in the chorus, and it was some time before we were ready to start.
CHAPTER V.
Scutari—The resting-place of departed Turks—A frightened horse—Obadiah—Tea and sugar in the mud—A rahvan, or ambler—A runaway steed—Osman always praying whenever there is work to be done—The grave-digger—The Hammall—Radford—Through the swamp—The Khan at Moltape—A mungo.
The shades of evening were falling fast as we rode through the town. Presently, leaving behind the dirty lanes and filthy streets, the main features of Scutari, we emerged upon the open country. The road was in a dreadful state, at least a foot of black mud was piled on the strata below. In order the better to avoid the dirt we rode along a raised path which overhung the highway, Osman and Radford each leading a baggage-horse. In about half an hour we arrived at a place where the highway ascended rapidly for a few hundred yards. The footpath rose yet more abruptly, and here and there large sections of it had fallen into the road below. We were passing by the cemetery at Scutari. Thousands of grave-stones which mark the resting-place of departed Turks lay scattered here and there. A deep silence reigned around, and the place appeared a desert, tenanted only by the dead. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me; a sound of horse's hoofs striking violently against some hard substance. I looked round. The first thing which met my gaze was the horse Obadiah, the source of all our previous difficulties, with his pack-saddle under the girth. In the hurry of re-saddling him at Scutari the yarn breastplate and crupper had not been well adjusted, nor had they been properly buckled. The saddle had turned, and Obadiah was amusing himself by a second time kicking at my cartridge-boxes, gun-case, and tins of tea and sugar. Clash went his iron hoof against one of the cases, away flew the white sugar into the black mud. A bang resounded from the gun-case, and that went spinning in another direction. Fortunately the boxes of cartridges had rolled to a little distance, and were just out of reach of the now infuriated beast's heels. Osman, in a moment of fear had released the animal's halter; dismounting from his own steed, he tried to get to Obadiah's head. This was by no means an easy task; the path was very narrow, in fact there was barely room enough for a horse to walk. To reach the pack animal it was necessary to descend to the road, which lay some feet below us, and then climb up the steep and muddy bank.
Whilst this was being done I took charge of Osman's horse, the roarer, and which he had selected for his own riding, because, he said, the animal was a rahvan or ambler. He had rubbed his trousers when he made this remark, and had grinned complacently: by this gesture he sought to convey to my mind, that his skin was tender, and that he did not wish to be galled during the journey.
A noise in front now called my attention to that direction. The horse that Radford was leading had become alarmed, and in his struggles to release himself was half-way over the bank.
"Let him go!" I cried to my servant, fearing that he would be dragged over the steep incline.
Down fell the animal on his back, and all the remainder of my luggage was covered with the slimy clay. The horse was a little shaken by the fall and did not attempt to rise—he lay prostrate and helpless in the midst of the havoc which he had created. Meantime Obadiah, who had been frightened to death by the luggage which was hanging round his heels, had kicked away his trammels. Osman approached him from the bank, and tried to get to his head. It was in vain. The horse sprang back a yard or so, plunged and kicked, then slipping like his fellow steed, he rolled down the steep. He was none the worse for the fall, and bounding on his legs, dashed headlong along the road—his saddle and everything he had previously carried lying scattered in every direction.