Under the Red Crescent. John Sandes
drop him on the wing. But Ahmet Bey galloped on unharmed, having deliberately marked down one sentry for his prey. The sentry emptied his rifle at the audacious horseman in vain, and too late started to run. Ahmet Bey swooped down on him like a sparrow-hawk upon a landrail, and bending down grasped the man by the collar in an iron grip and flung him without an effort across the saddle in front of him. Then he galloped back again, bending over his horse's neck as the bullets whistled over his head, and delivered his bewildered prisoner to the Turkish commander amid the delighted shouts of the whole detachment.
The hero of this extraordinary feat was afterwards attached to the staff of Mehemet Ali Pasha, in command of the army of the Lom. With the same army corps was Baker Pasha, the famous Colonel Baker, who was accounted one of the finest cavalry leaders in Europe; and Baker Pasha, who should be a good judge of soldierly qualities, has left it on record that Ahmet Bey was the beau-ideal of a soldier. Baker Pasha has given it as his written opinion that he never met the equal of this Turkish officer in instinctive military knowledge. He seemed to be able to divine the movements of the enemy and forestall every change of position or modification of strategy.
The frequent defeats of the Servians seemed to indicate a speedy termination of hostilities; and had it not been for the thousands of Russian volunteers who flocked to the Servian standard and took service under the Russian General Tchernaieff, who commanded the Servian army, it was evident that the resistance of Servia must have collapsed much earlier. At last, when Servia appealed to the Powers to stop the war and an armistice was declared at the instance of Russia, a large number of Turkish troops were sent to the rear, and among them was my regiment the Kyrchehir. We were ordered to retire to Sofia, and of course I had to sever my connection with the general hospital and rejoin my regiment.
It was December. The sky was the colour of lead, and the snow lay with a dead weight upon the pine trees. The regiment started early in the morning, and when I left for the long, solitary ride to Sofia I was several hours behind my troops. As I cantered my grey pony over the frozen ground a mishap befell me at the outset, for the gallant little animal cast a shoe, and I had to stop at a Bulgarian village to get him shod. Throughout the Turkish Empire they use flat plates which cover the whole of the foot with the exception of a small round orifice in the centre, instead of the crescent-shaped horseshoes which have come down to more civilized countries from the Roman times, and I had to hunt up a farrier to do the work. I found him at last, a surly, black-bearded fellow, who gave free vent to his hatred of the Turkish troops, and flatly refused to assist me. Out came my revolver; and as I tapped the barrel, significantly pointing first to the shoeless hoof and then to the farrier's head, he came to terms and consented. But when I remounted the grey, I found that he was dead lame. The rascally farrier, I discovered afterwards, had driven a long nail straight into the frog of the unfortunate pony's foot, and then nailed the plate on over it. Before I reached Sofia a Circassian stole my English stirrup-irons while I slept, and leading my lame pony I finished the journey on foot.
However, we were a very jolly party at Sofia, where a fresh lot of English surgeons chummed in with us, and we all resolved to celebrate Christmas in the proper English way by a splendid dinner. On Christmas Eve a special sub-committee was formed to arrange the details of a banquet which should be worthy of the occasion. We were going to have no more of the eternal pilaf, with its accompanying hard biscuit and gulps of hot black coffee, but a real hot joint, a turkey, a goose, a plum pudding, and plenty of wine. I went to sleep that night with my soul filled with beautiful dreams of Christmas, and peace on earth, goodwill towards Bulgarians, and of roast turkey and celery sauce. In the morning I woke, and learned with horror that the regiment was ordered to march at once to the bleak, detestable pass of Orkhanieh in the Balkans, and that we should probably get no dinner at all. They went away without me, and as Christmas morning wore on I came to the conclusion that I had better follow them or else I might get lost. I did follow them, but I got lost all the same; and after riding until ten o'clock at night I reached a filthy Bulgarian village, and decided to camp there. The house which I selected as the most promising was about as clean as an English piggery; but I found a kind of loft where maize was stored in the cob, and there I stopped for the night. I lay on the cobs of maize which were as hard as paving-stones, and made my Christmas dinner off one of them, hardly knowing whether to curse or laugh at the irony of fate and the "happy Christmas" which my friends in England and Australia no doubt were wishing me. Next day I overtook the regiment, and went into quarters with it for five weeks at Orkhanieh. I had plenty to do there, for the men suffered greatly from dysentery; and as they could not all be accommodated in the village, they had to live under canvas, a mode of life which was very severe at that time of the year. After a few weeks there my stock of medicines, which was never very large, began to run out, and I got permission from the colonel to ride into Sofia, a distance of thirty miles, to replenish the regimental medicine chest.
Of all my campaigning experiences none were more awful than those lonely rides from Orkhanieh to Sofia and back again. My horse went lame soon after I started, the cold was intense, and in half an hour I was overtaken by a snowstorm which nearly blinded me. All day my poor horse hobbled along on three legs, while I was afraid to dismount, knowing that if I once left the saddle I should be frozen to death on the ground. When I arrived in Sofia at ten o'clock that night, I had to be lifted off my horse and put to bed. In the morning my good horse was found dead in the stable, killed by that fearful journey. An Italian doctor, who drove into Sofia on the same day, was lifted out of the vehicle dead. Perhaps if he had ridden he might have been saved.
After a rest of two days, I had to start back for Orkhanieh with my replenished medicine chest. The prospect was not a pleasant one; but I faced it with a fresh horse and renewed confidence. Before I had gone half-way I missed the road, and going across country came to a frozen river, which I was afraid to cross, lest the ice might give way and let me and my horse through into deep water. Accordingly I rode along the bank until I came to a place where I judged from the colour of the ice that the water was shallow, and there I resolved to attempt the crossing. When I was in the middle, there was a crack like a pistol shot, the ice broke, and we fell through to the river-bed, my horse standing up to his shoulder in the icy water, which reached to my knee. I was off his back in a moment, and the poor brute, after a couple of frightened plunges, stood still shivering. It was plain that the ice would not bear us, even if I could get myself and the horse to the surface again, so the only course open was to cut a way out. I took my two heavy stirrup-irons, fixed them on one leather, and, using this improvised implement as a hammer, broke away the ice piecemeal, and dragged myself and my horse up the bank on the opposite side. At last I reached the camp, as stiff as though I was encased in plaster of Paris, and with my clothes frozen hard to my body. It was three weeks before I properly recovered sensation in my bridle-hand.
The regiment was ordered to Widdin before I had recovered from that last ride, and on the eve of our departure I had a severe attack of dysentery, which weakened me terribly. However, they lifted me on to my horse, and at last we reached the town of Vratza, one of the most picturesque towns in Bulgaria. Here I found the Turkish regiment to which my friend Stiven was attached; and to my great joy almost the first man whom I met was Stiven, who was living in the house of a Polish apothecary. I was very weak and ill; but I accepted Stiven's invitation to dine, and he prescribed a nourishing diet with plenty of good blood-making wine. What is more, he saw that I had it; and my performances at that dinner, which was the first European meal I had eaten since leaving Sofia, made our Turkish servant open his eyes. I am afraid to think how many bottles of the wine of the country Stiven and I got through between us; but I know that, when at last I tumbled off to bed in the mosque where the regiment was quartered, I slept the deep sleep of those who have dined both wisely and too well. It was a good prescription of Stiven's, and next day I was completely restored in health.
CHAPTER III.
THE IMMINENCE OF WAR.
Off to Widdin—Strong Fortifications—Osman Pasha in Command—The Kalafatians at Work—Dr. Black—A Discreditable Englishman—Shooting on Sight—An Arrest and a Release—"Life off Black"—Egyptian Troops