As I was descending the steps, my attention was called to a man who was seated on the stair. He was sobbing like a child; at the same time striking his chest with the palms of his hands. "What is the matter?" I inquired. On his looking up, I recognized the muleteer whom I had hired to bring my baggage from Sileh Zela to Tokat. The man on seeing me sprang to his feet, then throwing himself on the ground, he began to embrace my legs, at the same time kissing my boots. It appeared that several baggage animals were required for the battalion which was about to march. The Zaptiehs of Tokat had pressed the muleteer into their service, and had taken his mules. "Do speak for me, Effendi!" he said. "They will take me to Kars. I shall be a ruined man. And my wife expects me home—she is in a delicate state of health; I shall shortly be a father." "It is useless," said the Caimacan, who overheard his prayers. "We must have baggage animals," he continued; "you will not be taken to Kars, only to Samsoun; you will be paid for the hire of your animals. Dry your eyes, and do not block up the steps." "It is a great pity, and I am very sorry for these poor fellows," observed the Caimacan, turning to me; "but what can we do? It is war time, or very soon will be so: some of us must suffer." "Listen to those poor women there," he continued, as we rode through the gate, preceded by the brass band of the regiment playing a melancholy march. A deep wail could be heard even above the noise of the instruments. The wives, mothers, and other female relatives of the soldiers, had not been permitted to enter the barracks; but from an early hour they had taken up a position along the streets. The bitter cry, which was joined in by hundreds of voices, announced to the people in the very outskirts of the town that the battalion was on the march. Presently the band ceased playing; and the old major, his long white beard streaming in the wind, began singing the words: "God is great. There is but one God, the God, and there is but one Prophet, the Prophet, and he is the Prophet of God." The soldiers took up the strain, ten thousand bystanders joined in the verse—it even silenced the women's wail—and resounded along the banks of the river. Here taken up by some people on the ruined citadel, the words were re-echoed back to us; there wafted by the breeze to an adjacent hamlet, the peasantry swelled the chorus. The standard of the battalion, with the crescent embroidered on a green border, was raised high in the air, and several of the crowd, rushing up to the major, implored him to take them in his ranks. It was a striking scene—these weeping women in their shroud-like dresses; the many-coloured garments of the men; the excited soldiery—the still more excited major; and the immense religious enthusiasm.