The proprietor of the establishment—Lingua franca—Gold, not paper—Gold a charm to the Greek—No rooms—The Onbashee—His costume—The guard-house—A queer place—"At gitdi! the horse has gone!"—The Pacha at Scutari—The corporal's demeanour when offered a tip—A beautiful country—The bay of Ismid—A goose plump as a Georgian woman—A Zaptieh—The chief of the telegraph department in Ismid—A grievance—The appearance of Ismid—Washing-day—The Pacha of Ismid—Mr. Gladstone—"Gladstone is what you call a Liberal, is he not?"—The Turkish debt—Russian agents bring about massacres of Christians.
The proprietor of the establishment, a Greek, slowly raised himself from a recumbent position. His head was bound up in what appeared to be a red stocking; the toe part of this article of attire hung carelessly over his left shoulder. He was a dirty-looking little fellow, and had a large wen on one side of his forehead. Nature had determined to make him as hideous as possible, and some fellow-mortal had added to her handiwork, for a large scar, barely cicatrized, and apparently inflicted by a knife, extended right across his face. This scar and the wen were, in the daytime, a perpetual resort for blue-bottle flies. These insects, I subsequently observed, had a great affection for the frontispiece of the proprietor.
"What do you want?" he asked in lingua franca, that undefined mixture of Italian, French, Greek, and Spanish, which is spoken throughout the Mediterranean.
"I want a place to sleep in."
"Place to sleep in? Sleep here," and he slowly subsided into his original position.
Osman now began to address him, and in a whining tone said that I was his Effendi, a great person with gold, not paper, in my pocket, and that I would pay liberally for accommodation. The allusion to the gold acted like a charm upon the Greek.
"Gold!" he said. "Gold! Let me see it!"
I took out a lira (Turkish pound), and spinning it carelessly in the air, let it fall on an earthenware dish. The coin gave out a metallic ring. The Greek clutched at the fallen lira; but the nimble Osman was too quick for him, and picking it up returned it to me.
"I have no rooms but this," said the proprietor eagerly; "but I have a stable. Why not sleep in the stable? You want a stable for your horses, and I will put down some clean straw for the Effendi."
Our horses were all this time tied up to a post outside. I was on the point of accepting his offer, so as to gain shelter for them as well as for ourselves, when the door opened. A strange figure loomed in sight.