Now a light appeared in the distance, and then another. The swamp through which we had been riding was gradually replaced by harder soil. A few whitewashed cottages were met with at intervals along our path. Presently we rounded a corner, and a large village was exposed to view. The Hammall rode up to a house which was detached from the rest, and in the centre of the town. He leaped from his horse, and, coming to my side, held the stirrup-leather for me to dismount. We had arrived at a Khan, or resting-place for travellers. On lifting up the latch, or rather pulling at a piece of string which was used as a substitute for a handle, the door opened. I found myself in a large, low room. So soon as my eyes became accustomed to the dense atmosphere, I discovered that almost all the available space was filled with soldiery. On one side of the room there were a succession of broad wooden shelves, ascending towards the roof, these too were tenanted. It was difficult to put a foot down upon the floor without treading upon the face or body of some follower of the Prophet. The smell which arose from so much humanity was anything but agreeable. A _mungo_, or circular iron pan on a tripod, was filled with burning charcoal, and placed on a stool so as to be removed from the immediate vicinity of the sleepers. It gave out a blue and sulphurous flame. The charcoal had not been properly burned through previous to being placed in the _mungo_. It added some poisonous fumes to the unhealthy atmosphere. CHAPTER VI. The proprietor of the establishment—_Lingua franca_—Gold, not paper—Gold a charm to the Greek—No rooms—The Onbashee—His costume—The guard-house—A queer place—"_At gitdi!_ the horse has gone!"—The Pacha at Scutari—The corporal's demeanour when offered a tip—A beautiful country—The bay of Ismid—A goose plump as a Georgian woman—A Zaptieh—The chief of the telegraph department in Ismid—A grievance—The appearance of Ismid—Washing-day—The Pacha of Ismid—Mr. Gladstone—"Gladstone is what you call a Liberal, is he not?"—The Turkish debt—Russian agents bring about massacres of Christians. The proprietor of the establishment, a Greek, slowly raised himself from a recumbent position. His head was bound up in what appeared to be a red stocking; the toe part of this article of attire hung carelessly over his left shoulder. He was a dirty-looking little fellow, and had a large wen on one side of his forehead. Nature had determined to make him as hideous as possible, and some fellow-mortal had added to her handiwork, for a large scar, barely cicatrized, and apparently inflicted by a knife, extended right across his face. This scar and the wen were, in the daytime, a perpetual resort for blue-bottle flies. These insects, I subsequently observed, had a great affection for the frontispiece of the proprietor.