Usury laws in Turkey—An Armenian in prison for debt—The Caimacan—The Turkish creditor—Hanistan Ereek's father—A Government cannot be imprisoned for debt—The redif soldiers—Their unwillingness to serve—The Armenians not to be trusted—Yanoot—A picture of desolation—A Jordan road—Turkish soldiers do not grumble—Arabkir—A silk-merchant—My host—His library—Pretty covers—A Russian servant—He was taken prisoner during the Crimean war 344 [Illustration: A MAP OF CAPT. BURNABY'S ROUTE Stanford's Geogl. Estabt., Charing Cross. London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington.] ON HORSEBACK THROUGH ASIA MINOR. CHAPTER I. The start—Cartridges and medicine bottles—The obese Englishman and the Yankee's cook—The refreshment-room at Dijon—"Ne vous pressez pas, messieurs"—Fellow-passengers—The silk-merchant—The pretty Greek girl who was a friend of Madame Ignatieff—The doctor—The respective merits of medicine and Christianity—The bay of Smyrna—The Greek ladies are not shy—Come along and smoke a Nargileh—A café in Smyrna—The Italian prima donna—The Christians and Turks in Smyrna—Newspapers believed to be in Russian pay—The Pacha's seraglio—A comely dame—Five hundred recruits—A doleful melody—To die for the sake of Islam—People so silly as to think that Gortschakoff wishes for peace—The fat woman—The eunuch in difficulties. "Be quick, sir; you have no time to lose!" cried an officious porter in the Charing Cross Station, as he bustled me into a first-class carriage; and I found myself in the same compartment with a Queen's messenger bound for St. Petersburg. Time fled rapidly by, and I had hardly realized to myself that London was left behind, ere I was walking down those very uncomfortable steps which lead to the Calais boat. A rough passage with a number of Gauls, who all talked loud at starting, but whose conversation gradually died away in mournful strains, and we steamed into Calais harbour; five hours later I was having my luggage examined in the waiting-room in Paris. "Sir, they ain't found the cartridges, for I took good care to mix them up with the medicine bottles," whispered my servant Radford, as he mounted the box of our fiacre, and I drove away to a hotel, somewhat relieved in my mind, as I was not quite sure whether carrying loaded cartridges is permitted on the Chemin de Fer du Nord. I did not remain long in Paris. The 2000 miles ride which lay before me across Asia Minor would take up every day of my leave. There was no time to lose, and in a very few hours I was in a railway station taking tickets for Marseilles. The night mail was just about to start. There were none but first-class carriages. The result was that servants and masters had to travel together.