Under the Red Crescent: Adventures of an English Surgeon with the Turkish Army at Plevna and Erzeroum 1877-1878Ryan, Charles S. (Charles Snodgrass)
History
Under the Red Crescent: Adventures of an English Surgeon with the Turkish Army at Plevna and Erzeroum 1877-1878
Ryan, Charles S. (Charles Snodgrass)
Russo-Turkish War, 1877-1878 -- Personal narratives
The frequent defeats of the Servians seemed to indicate a speedy
termination of hostilities; and had it not been for the thousands of
Russian volunteers who flocked to the Servian standard and took service
under the Russian General Tchernaieff, who commanded the Servian army,
it was evident that the resistance of Servia must have collapsed much
earlier. At last, when Servia appealed to the Powers to stop the war and
an armistice was declared at the instance of Russia, a large number of
Turkish troops were sent to the rear, and among them was my regiment the
Kyrchehir. We were ordered to retire to Sofia, and of course I had to
sever my connection with the general hospital and rejoin my regiment.
It was December. The sky was the colour of lead, and the snow lay with a
dead weight upon the pine trees. The regiment started early in the
morning, and when I left for the long, solitary ride to Sofia I was
several hours behind my troops. As I cantered my grey pony over the
frozen ground a mishap befell me at the outset, for the gallant little
animal cast a shoe, and I had to stop at a Bulgarian village to get him
shod. Throughout the Turkish Empire they use flat plates which cover the
whole of the foot with the exception of a small round orifice in the
centre, instead of the crescent-shaped horseshoes which have come down
to more civilized countries from the Roman times, and I had to hunt up a
farrier to do the work. I found him at last, a surly, black-bearded
fellow, who gave free vent to his hatred of the Turkish troops, and
flatly refused to assist me. Out came my revolver; and as I tapped the
barrel, significantly pointing first to the shoeless hoof and then to
the farrier's head, he came to terms and consented. But when I remounted
the grey, I found that he was dead lame. The rascally farrier, I
discovered afterwards, had driven a long nail straight into the frog of
the unfortunate pony's foot, and then nailed the plate on over it.
Before I reached Sofia a Circassian stole my English stirrup-irons while
I slept, and leading my lame pony I finished the journey on foot.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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