In the Track of the Troops

by R. M. Ballantyne

This made him very uncomfortable. He felt sure that some mistake had occurred, and would willingly have retired, if possible, to the hotel kitchen or pantry; but the waiter, to whom he modestly suggested something of the sort, did not understand a word of English and could make nothing of Lancey’s Turkish. He merely shook his head and smiled respectfully, or volunteered some other article of food. The worthy groom therefore made up his mind to hold his tongue and enjoy himself as long as it lasted.

“When I wakes up out o’ this remarkable and not unpleasant dream,” he muttered, between the whiffs of his cigarette, one evening after dinner, “I’ll write it out fair, an’ ’ave it putt in the Daily Noos or the Times.”

But the dream lasted so long that Lancey began at last to fear he should never awake from it. For a week he remained at that hotel, faring sumptuously, and quite unrestrained as to his movements, though he could not fail to observe that he was closely watched and followed wherever he went.

“Is it a Plenipotentiary or a furrin’ Prime Minister they take me for?” he muttered to himself over a mild cigar of the finest quality, “or mayhap they think I’m a Prince in disguise! But then a man in disguise ain’t known, and therefore can’t be follered, or, if he was, what would be the use of his disguise? No, I can’t make it out, no’ow.”

Still less, by any effort of his fancy or otherwise, could he make out why, after a week’s residence at the village in question, he was ordered to prepare for a journey.

This order, like all others, was conveyed to him by signs. Some parts of his treatment had been managed otherwise. When, for instance, on the night of his deliverance, it had been thought desirable that his garments should be better and more numerous, his attendants or keepers had removed his old wardrobe and left in its place another, which, although it comprehended trousers, savoured more of the East than the West. Lancey submitted to this, as to everything else, like a true philosopher. Generally, however, the wishes of those around him were conveyed by means of signs.

On the morning of his departure, a small valise, stuffed with the few articles of comfort which he required, and a change of apparel, was placed at his bed-side. The hotel attendant, who had apparently undertaken the management of him, packed this up in the morning, having somewhat pointedly placed within it his robe de nuit. Thereafter the man bowed, smiled gravely, pointed to the door, beckoned him to follow, and left the room.

By that time Lancey had, as it were, given himself up. He acted with the unquestioning obedience of a child or a lunatic. Following his guide, he found a native cart outside with his valise in it. Beside the cart stood a good horse, saddled and bridled in the Turkish fashion. His hotel-attendant pointed to the horse and motioned to him to mount.

Then it burst upon Lancey that he was about to quit the spot, perhaps for ever, and, being a grateful fellow, he could not bear to part without making some acknowledgment.

“My dear Turk, or whatever you are,” he exclaimed, turning to his attendant, “I’m sorry to say good-bye, an’ I’m still more sorry to say that I’ve nothin’ to give you. A ten-pun-note, if I ’ad it, would be but a small testimony of my feelin’s, but I do assure you I ’av’n’t got a rap.”