Soon we left behind us the light sandy soil which admitted of such-like evolutions. A chain of steep heights had to be passed. The mud became at each moment deeper. The baggage animals had great difficulty in ascending with their loads. We were struggling up an almost perpendicular height. At our feet and at least forty yards below yawned a deep abyss. The path itself was in no place more than ten feet wide. The sound of an oath issuing from Osman's lips attracted my attention. One baggage-horse lay on the ground; he was kicking violently, and his head and shoulders were over the precipice. Osman had thrown my rifle into the mud, so as to be able to use his hands more freely, and was endeavouring to make his way to the fallen animal. The Turk's high boots came half off each time he lifted his feet, owing to the sticky nature of the soil. Luckily, perhaps, for us it was so sticky, the gun-case, which was buried in the clay, kept the horse from rolling. The Circassian and Radford had time to reach his head. Pulling off the pack-saddle, they divided the luggage among the other animals. We gradually gained the summit of the hill. CHAPTER IX. Nalihan—Armenian, Turkish, and Circassian visitors—The state of the roads—Will there be war?—The Imaum—The Servians—A bellicose old farmer—The Armenians friends with the Russians—Sunnites and Shiites—Scenery near Nalihan—Alatai river—A Turkish counterpane—Turkish beds—Osman's _Yorgan_—Osman's wife—A girl with eyes like a hare, and plump as a turkey—The farmer's nuptial couch—An uncultivated district—An old Khan—A refuge for travellers—An invalid soldier—A Christian would have let me die like a dog—The votaries of Christianity in the East. It was quite dark when we reached Nalihan, a village with about 400 houses, and situated in a corn-growing district. I halted at the house of the Caimacan. He at once invited me to take up my abode there for the night. Presently several visitors appeared—Armenians, Turks, and Circassians—all eager to question the new arrival. I was seated in the place of honour, on a rug near the fire; the Caimacan, who was enveloped in a fur-lined dressing-gown, sat next me. The rest of the company took precedence according to the amount of this world's goods which each one possessed—the man who had 100 cows being seated next to the governor, and the humble possessor of a mule or a few sheep squatting humbly by the door. Asiatics are proverbially reticent. My visitors stared at each other, and did not say a word. At last the Caimacan broke the silence. He was wrapped up in a fur dressing-gown, and looked like an animated bundle. He gave a little cough, and then said, "Is there any news? if so tell us something." Now the inhabitants of Asia Minor do not talk about the weather—the state of the roads replaces that topic of conversation so interesting to English people. "The roads are very bad," I replied.