On the track once more; and now we came to a large stone, in the middle of the path. This marked the resting-place of a victim to the recent famine. The poor fellow had fallen down from exhaustion, and had died on this spot. It was too much trouble for the survivors to move his corpse, they had made a hole and buried him where he lay.
My grey horse, which Osman was riding, still went very lame; so I limited our march to six hours, and stopped at the little village of Daili. Here there were only fifteen houses. Many camels and herds of cattle were grazing in the neighbourhood, and the ground appeared to have been cultivated for a considerable distance. On this occasion the fortune of travellers gave us better quarters. The house in which we were lodged was clean. A raised dais of wood was set apart for the servants. Mattresses with cushions were reserved for the proprietor and his guests.
There were some Turkomans in the village, and when the news was spread that an Englishman had arrived, several of them came to see me.
"We are so glad to see an Englishman," said an old man, the spokesman for their party.
Osman now interrupted him.
"Effendi, they want to tell you that they hate the Muscovites, and that they hope England will not allow the Tzar's soldiers to massacre them like they (the Russians) massacred the Teke Turkomans."
"Were many women and children belonging to the Teke Turkomans killed by the Russians?"
"Many! many!" he replied. "The women were violated by the soldiers. The little boys and girls were abused and then murdered. The men took pleasure in these awful crimes. The Muscovite is a beast! He is worse than a hyena; the hyena sucks the blood of his victim, but the Russian satisfies his lust first, and then tears to pieces the object of his pleasure."
"We hear," he continued, "you have as Padishah, a lady. What does she think of this way of treating the Turkoman's little ones?"[13]