The prison in Sivas—Christian prisoners—The gaoler—Kurds and Circassians—A few Armenians—False statement made to me by Christians—The old murderer—The firman for his execution—Kept in suspense—Our Governor dislikes shedding blood—Issek Pacha—He may die—His residence—The law in Turkey about murder—Mercenary dealings—Lax justice. The following day I walked across the square to the prison. I had not said anything to the authorities in Sivas about my intended visit to this establishment. I wished to see it under its everyday aspect, and at the same time to find out if there were so many Christians prisoners as the Armenians in Yuzgat would have had me believe. I found the gaoler seated in the doorway, he was smoking a long pipe. "Can I see the prison?" I asked. "Certainly, Effendi." Going before me, he led the way to a lofty but narrow room. Here there were twenty-seven prisoners, clothed in rags and tatters; each man had his wrist fastened to his instep by a light iron chain. No gaoler slept in this room with the prisoners. They would not have had any difficulty in freeing themselves from their manacles had they tried to do so. "What do you give them to eat?" I inquired. "A loaf of bread (about 2 lbs. weight) every day, and some water," was the reply. "However, many of them have friends in the town, and they are supplied with provisions from outside." "What are the prisoners mostly here for?" I asked. "For robbery and murder. We have a great many Kurds and Circassians for horse and cattle stealing. Then there are a few Armenians, the latter chiefly for crime connected with money matters." "How many prisoners are there altogether?" I remarked. "One hundred and two." "And how many Christians?" "Six; all the rest belong to Islam." As the population of Sivas is fairly divided between the two sects, it was very flattering for the Armenians that there should be so few of their number amongst the prisoners. But, after what I had been told at Yuzgat, my belief in the truthfulness of their community was very much shaken. In another part of the gaol there were several prisoners without chains. They were walking about in an enclosed courtyard. One of them, an old man who was very much bowed down by years, appealed to us. Taking my hand he touched it with his forehead, and then besought me to speak to the Pacha for him. "What is he here for?" I inquired. "For murder," was the reply; "and a very cold-blooded murder too." "He is a Circassian," continued the gaoler, "and the firman for his execution arrived at Sivas two years ago." "Yes," said the old man, in a whining voice, "two years ago! and I have been kept in suspense ever since. It is an awful thing, Effendi—I never know from one hour to another that it may not be my last!" "Why was he not executed?" I inquired of the official. "Our Governor dislikes shedding blood," said the gaoler," and he has put the firman away in a drawer."