It is very questionable, to say the least, if inoffensive wayfarers should be expected to quietly submit to the unprovoked attack of ferocious animals large enough to tear down a man, merely in view of possibly checking their ferocity at some other time. When capering wildly about in an unequal contest with three or four of these animals, while conscious of having the means at hand to give them all their quietus, one feels as though he were at that particular moment doing as the Romans do, with a vengeance; nevertheless, it has to be borne, and I manage to come through with nothing worse than a rent in the leg of my riding trousers. Finally, after fording several small streams, giving half a dozen threshing-floor exhibitions, and running the gauntlet of no end of warlike canines, I reach the lost Torbali trail, and, find it running parallel with a range of hills, intersecting numberless small streams, across which are sometimes found precarious foot-bridges consisting of a tree- trunk felled across it from bank to bank, the work of some enterprising peasant for his own particular benefit rather than the outcome of public spirit. Occasionally I bowl merrily along stretches of road which nature and the caravans together have made smooth enough even to justify a spurt; but like a fleeting dream, this favorable locality passes to the rearward, and is followed by another mountain-slope whose steep grade and rough surface reads " trundle only."
They seem the most timid people hereabout I ever saw. Few of them but show unmistakable signs of being frightened at my approach, even when I am trundling-the nickel-plate glistening in the sunlight, I think, inspires them with awe even at a distance - and while climbing this hill I am the innocent cause of the ignominious flight of a youth riding a donkey. While yet two hundred yards away, he reins up and remains transfixed for one transitory moment, as if making sure that his eyes are not deceiving him, or that he is really awake, and then hastily turns tail and bolts across the country, belaboring his long-eared charger into quite a lively gallop in his wild anxiety to escape from my awe- inspiring presence; and as he vanishes across a field, he looks back anxiously to reassure himself that I am not giving chase. Ere kind friends and thoughtful well-wishers, with all their warnings of danger, are three days' journey behind, I find myself among people who run away at my approach. Shortly afterward I observe this bold donkey-rider half a mile to the left, trying to pass me and gain my rear unobserved. Others whom I meet this forenoon are more courageous; instead of resorting to flight, they keep boldly on their general course, simply edging off to a respectful distance from my road; some even venture to keep the road, taking care to give me a sufficiently large margin over and above my share of the way to insure against any possibility of giving offence; while others will even greet me with a feeble effort to smile, and a timid, hesitating look, as if undecided whether they are not venturing too far. Sometimes I stop and ask these lion-hearted specimens whether I am on the right road, when they give a hurried reply and immediately take themselves off, as if startled at their own temerity. These, of course, are lone individuals, with no companions to bolster up their courage or witness their cowardice; the conduct of a party is often quite the reverse. Sometimes they seem determined not to let me proceed without riding for them, whether rocky ridge, sandy depression, or mountain-slope characterizes our meeting-place, and it requires no small stock of forbearance and tact to get away from them without bringing on a serious quarrel. They take hold of the machine whenever I attempt to leave them, and give me to understand that nothing but a compliance with their wishes will secure my release; I have known them even try the effect of a little warlike demonstration, having vague ideas of gaining their object by intimidation; and this sort of thing is kept up until their own stock of patience is exhausted, or until some more reasonable member of the company becomes at last convinced that it really must be "mimkin deyil, " after all; whereupon they let me go, ending the whole annoying, and yet really amusing, performance by giving me the most minute particulars of the route ahead, and parting in the best of humor. To lose one's temper on these occasions, or to attempt to forcibly break away, is quickly discovered to be the height of folly; they themselves are brimful of good humor, and from beginning to end their countenances are wreathed in smiles; although they fairly detain me prisoner the while, they would never think of attempting any real injury to either myself or the bicycle. Some of the more enterprising even express their determination of trying to ride the machine themselves; but I always make a firm stand against any such liberties as this; and, rough, half-civilized fellows though they often are, armed, and fully understanding the advantage of numbers, they invariably yield this point when they find me seriously determined not to allow it. Descending into a narrow valley, I reach a road-side khan, adjoining a thrifty-looking melon-garden - this latter a welcome sight, since the day is warm and sultry; and a few minutes' quiet, soulful communion with a good ripe water-melon, I think to myself, will be just about the proper caper to indulge in after being worried with dogs, people, small streams, and unridable hills since six o'clock. "Carpoose ?" I inquire, addressing the proprietor of the khan, who issues forth from the stable.
" Peefci, effendi," he answers, and goes off to the garden for the melon. Smiling sweetly at vacancy, in joyous anticipation of the coming feast and the soothing influence I feel sure of its exerting upon my feelings, somewhat ruffled by the many annoyances of the morning, I seek a quiet, shady corner, thoughtfully loosening my revolver-belt a couple of notches ere sitting down. In a minute the khan-jee returns, and hands me a "cucumber" about the size of a man's forearm.
"That isn't a carpoose; I want a carpoose-a su carpoose." I explain.
"Su carpoose, yoke" he replies; and as I have not yet reached that reckless disregard of possible consequences to which I afterward attain, I shrink from tempting Providence by trying conclusions with the overgrown and untrustworthy cucumber; so bidding the khan-jee adieu, I wheel off down the valley. I find a fair proportion of good road along this valley; the land is rich, and though but rudely tilled, it produces wonderfully heavy crops of grain when irrigated. Small villages, surrounded by neglected-looking orchards and vineyards, abound at frequent intervals. Wherever one finds an orchard, vineyard, or melon-patch, there is also almost certain to be seen a human being evidently doing nothing but sauntering about, or perhaps eating an unripe melon.
This naturally creates an unfavorable impression upon a traveller's mind; it means either that the kleptomaniac tendencies of the people necessitate standing guard over all portable property, or that the Asiatic follows the practice of hovering around all summer, watching and waiting for nature to bestow her blessings upon his undeserving head. Along this valley I meet a Turk and his wife bestriding the same diminutive donkey, the woman riding in front and steering their long-eared craft by the terror of her tongue in lieu of a bridle. The fearless lady halts her steed as I approach, trundling my wheel, the ground being such that riding is possible but undesirable. "What is that for, effendi." inquires the man, who seems to be the more inquisitive of the two. "Why, to bin, of course! don't you see the saddle?" says the woman, without a moment's hesitation; and she bestows a glance of reproach upon her worse half for thus betraying his ignorance, twisting her neck round in order to send the glance straight at his unoffending head. This woman, I mentally conclude, is an extraordinary specimen of her race; I never saw a quicker-witted person anywhere; and I am not at all surprised to find her proving herself a phenomenon in other things. When a Turkish female meets a stranger on the road, and more especially a Frank, her first thought and most natural impulse is to make sure that no part of her features is visible - about other parts of her person she is less particular. This remarkable woman, however, flings custom to the winds, and instead of drawing the ample folds of her abbas about her, uncovers her face entirely, in order to obtain a better view; and, being unaware of my limited understanding, she begins discussing bicycle in quite a chatty manner. I fancy her poor husband looks a trifle shocked at this outrageous conduct of the partner of his joys and sorrows; but he remains quietly and discreetly in the background; whereupon I register a silent vow never more to be surprised at anything, for that long-suffering and submissive being, the hen-pecked husband, is evidently not unknown even in Asiatic Turkey.
Another mountain-pass now has to be climbed; it is only a short distance- perhaps two miles - but all the way up I am subjected to the disagreeable experience of having my footsteps dogged by two armed villagers. There is nothing significant or exceptional about their being armed, it is true; but what their object is in stepping almost on my heels for the whole distance up the acclivity is beyond my comprehension. Uncertain whether their intentions are honest or not, it is anything but reassuring to have them following within sword's reach of one's back, especially when trundling a bicycle up a lonely mountain-trail. I have no right to order them back or forward, neither do I care to have them think I entertain suspicions of their intentions, for in all probability they are but honest villagers, satisfying their curiosity in their own peculiar manner, and doubtless deriving additional pleasure from seeing one of their fellow-mortals laboriously engaged while they leisurely follow. We all know how soul-satisfying it is for some people to sit around and watch their fellow-man saw wood. Whenever I halt for a breathing-spell they do likewise; when I continue on, they promptly take up their line of march, following as before in silence; and when the summit is reached, they seat themselves on a rock and watch my progress down the opposite slope.
A couple of miles down grade brings me to Torbali, a place of several thousand inhabitants with a small covered bazaar and every appearance of a thriving interior town, as thrift goes in Asia Minor. It is high noon, and I immediately set about finding the wherewithal to make a substantial meal. I find that upon arriving at one of these towns, the best possible disposition to make of the bicycle is to deliver it into the hands of some respectable Turk, request him to preserve it from the meddlesome crowd, and then pay no further attention to it until ready to start. Attempting to keep watch over it oneself is sure to result in a dismal failure, whereas an Osmanli gray-beard becomes an ever-willing custodian, regards its safe-keeping as appealing to his honor, and will stand guard over it for hours if necessary, keeping the noisy and curious crowds of his townspeople at a respectful distance "by brandishing a thick stick at anyone who ventures to approach too near. These men will never accept payment for this highly appreciated service, it seems to appeal to the Osmanli's spirit of hospitality; they seem happy as clams at high tide while gratuitously protecting my property, and I have known them to unhesitatingly incur the displeasure of their own neighbors by officiously carrying the bicycle off into an inner room, not even granting the assembled people the harmless privilege of looking at it from a distance - for there might be some among the crowd possessed of the fenna ghuz (evil eye), and rather than have them fix their baleful gaze upon the important piece of property left under his charge by a stranger, he chivalrously braves the displeasure of his own people; smiling complacently at their shouts of disapproval, he triumphantly bears it out of their sight and from the fell influence of the possible fenna ghuz. Another strange and seemingly paradoxical phase of these occasions is that when the crowd is shouting out its noisiest protests against the withdrawal of the machine from popular inspection, any of the protestors will eagerly volunteer to help carry the machine inside, should the self-important personage having it in custody condescend to make the slightest intimation that such service would be acceptable. Handing over the bicycle, then, to the safe-keeping of a respectable kahuay-jee (coffee khan employee) I sally forth in quest of eatables. The kah vay-jee has it immediately carried inside and set up on one of the divans, in which elevated position he graciously permits it to be gazed upon by the people, who swarm into his khan in such numbers as to make it impossible for him to transact any business. "Under the guidance of another volunteer, who, besides acting the part of guide, takes particular care that I get lumping weight, etc., I proceed to the ett-jees and procure some very good mutton-chops, and from there to the ekmek-jees for bread. This latter person straightway volunteers to cook my chops. Sending to his residence for a tin dish, some chopped onions and butter, he puts them in his oven, and in a few minutes sets them before me, browned and buttered. Meanwhile, he has despatched a youth somewhere on another errand, who now returns and supplements the savory chops with a small dish of honey in the comb and some green figs. Seated on the generous-hearted ekmek-jee's dough-board, I make a dinner good enough for anybody.
While discussing these acceptable viands, I am somewhat startled at hearing one of the worst "cuss-words " in the English language repeated several times by one of the two Turks engaged in the self-imposed duty of keeping people out of the place while I am eating - a kindly piece of courtesy that wins for them my warmest esteem. The old fellow proves to be a Crimean veteran, and, besides a much-prized medal he brought back with him, he somehow managed to acquire this discreditable, perhaps, but nevertheless unmistakable, memento of having at some time or other campaigned it with "Tommy Atkins." I try to engage him in conversation, but find that he doesn't know another solitary word of English. He simply repeats the profane expression alluded to in a parrot-like manner without knowing anything of its meaning; has, in fact, forgotten whether it is English, French, or Italian. He only knows it as a "Frank" expression, and in that he is perfectly right: it is a frank expression, a very frank expression indeed. As if determined to do something agreeable in return for the gratifying interest I seem to be taking in him on account of this profanity, he now disappears, and shortly returns with a young man, who turns out to be a Greek, and the only representative of Christendom in Torbali. The old Turk introduces him as a "Ka-ris-ti-ahn " (Christian) and then, in reply to questioners, explains to the interested on-lookers that, although an Englishman, and, unlike the Greeks, friendly to the Turks, I also am a " Ka-ris-ti-ahn; " one of those queer specimens of humanity whose perverse nature prevents them from embracing the religion of the Prophet, and thereby gaining an entrance into the promised land of the kara ghuz kiz (black-eyed houris). During this profound exposition of my merits and demerits, the wondering people stare at me with an expression on their faces that plainly betrays their inability to comprehend so queer an individual; they look as if they think me the oddest specimen they have ever met, and taking into due consideration my novel mode of conveyance, and that many Torbali people never before saw an Englishman, this is probably not far from a correct interpretation of their thoughts.
Unfortunately, the streets and environments of Torbali are in a most wretched condition; to escape sprained ankles it is necessary to walk with a great deal of caution, and the idea of bicycling through them is simply absurd. Nevertheless the populace turns out in high glee, and their expectations run riot as I relieve the kahvay-jee of his faithful vigil and bring forth my wheel. They want me to bin in their stuffy little bazaar, crowded with people and donkeys; mere alley-ways with scarcely a twenty yard stretch from one angle to another; the surface is a disorganized mass of holes and stones over which the wary and hesitative donkey picks his way with the greatest care; and yet the popular clamor is "Bin, bin; bazaar, bazaar." The people who have been showing me how courteously and considerately it is possible for Turks to treat a stranger, now seem to have become filled with a determination not to be convinced by anything I say to the contrary; and one of the most importunate and headstrong among them sticks his bearded face almost up against my own placid countenance (I have already learned to wear an unruffled, martyr-like expression on these howling occasions) and fairly shrieks out, "Bin! bin!" as though determined to hoist me iuto the saddle, whether or no, by sheer force of his own desire to see me there. This person ought to know better, for he wears the green turban of holiness, proving him to have made a pilgrimage to Mecca, but the universal desire to see the bicycle ridden seems to level all distinctions. All this tumult, it must not be forgotten, is carried on in perfect good humor; but it is, nevertheless, very annoying to have it seem that I am too boorish to repay their kindness by letting them see me ride; even walking out of town to avoid gratifying them, as some of them doubtless think. These little embarrassments are some of the penalties of not knowing enough of the language to be able to enter into explanations. Learning that there is a piece of wagon-road immediately outside the town, I succeed in silencing the clamor to so mo extent by promising to ride when the araba yole is reached; whereupon hundreds come flocking out of town, following expectantly at my heels. Consoling myself with the thought that perhaps I will be able to mount and shake the clamorous multitude off by a spurt, the promised araba yole is announced; but the fates are plainly against me to-day, for I find this road leading up a mountain slope from the very beginning. The people cluster expectantly around, while I endeavor to explain that they are doomed to disappointment - that to be disappointed in their expectations to see the araba ridden is plainly their kismet, for the hill is too steep to be ridden. They laugh knowingly and give me to understand that they are not quite such simpletons as to think that an araba cannot be ridden along an araba yole. " This is an araba yole," they argue, "you are riding an araba; we have seen even our own clumsily-made arabas go up here time and again, therefore it is evident that you are not sincere," and they gather closer around and spend another ten minutes in coaxing. It is a ridiculous position to be in; these people use the most endearing terms imaginable; some of them kiss the bicycle and would get down and kiss my dust-begrimed moccasins if I would permit it; at coaxing they are the most persevering people I ever saw. To. convince them of the impossibility of riding up the hill I allow a muscular young Turk to climb into the saddle and try to propel himself forward while I hold him up. This has the desired effect, and they accompany me farther up the slope to where they fancy it to be somewhat less steep, a score of all too-willing hands being extended to assist in trundling the machine. Here again I am subjected to another interval of coaxing; and this same annoying programme is carried out several times before I obtain my release. They are the most headstrong, persistent people I have yet encountered; the natural pig- headed disposition of the "unspeakable Turk" seems to fairly run riot in this little valley, which at the point where Torbali is situated contracts to a mere ravine between rugged heights.