Some Turkomans, dressed in white tunics, broad red trousers, and with grey sashes round their waists, were sitting idly at the entrance to their burrows. A woman, in a crimson dressing-gown, and a few girls, with naught on save long white shifts, and caps, were busily engaged in drawing water from a neighbouring well. Some goats, which had descended the hill, were feeding on the roofs of the houses. We entered one of the dwellings, but so many fleas were hopping about that I determined to eat my lunch in the open air. The proprietor of the hovel was very much surprised at our preferring the cold outside to the shelter of his domicile. "My Effendi does not like fleas," said Osman. "There are not many here!" said the proprietor. "It does not do to be particular. In Sekili," he continued, "fleas abound, the Effendi ought to be accustomed to them by this time." "What does he say, sir?" asked Radford, as Osman gradually explained the Turkoman's remarks to me. "Say! He says that you ought to be accustomed to fleas by this time." "Accustomed, sir? No, but they are getting accustomed to me. Haldershot is a joke to this here Turkey so far as fleas are concerned." Presently my servant continued,— "These Turks, sir, ain't got no decent tobacco, why a pipeful of cavendish, or good bird's hi, is worth all the hay they smoke. No wonder people in England abuse the Turks—and quite right too. Men who might grow shag tobacco, and prefer growing hay tobacco, can't be of much account." CHAPTER XVI. A victim to the famine—Daili—A conversation with some Turkomans—The massacre of the Teke Turkomans by the Russians—Women violated—Little boys and girls abused and murdered—The Muscovite is a beast—Should not you like to cut the throats of all the Russians?—What is the best way to get rid of a wasp's nest?—A war of extermination—Yuzgat—A cavalcade of horsemen—Mr. Vankovitch—The telegram—Our reception—Old friends of the Crimea—Some visitors—Things have altered for the better—The Christians at Yuzgat—Armenians and Turks dine together—Mr. Vankovitch's experiences—The Polish insurrection—General Muravieff—Brutality to the women at Vilna. On the track once more; and now we came to a large stone, in the middle of the path. This marked the resting-place of a victim to the recent famine. The poor fellow had fallen down from exhaustion, and had died on this spot. It was too much trouble for the survivors to move his corpse, they had made a hole and buried him where he lay.