Camp Life, as seen by a civilian. A personal narrative

Front matter

PUBLISHED BY JAMES MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW. London, . . Hamilton, Adams &* Co. Cambridge, . . Macmillan &> Co. Edinburgh, . - Edmonston &> Doug-las. MDCCCLXXI. AS SEEN BY A CIVILIAN A PERSONAL NARRATIVE BY GEORGE BUCHANAN, A.M., M.I). GLASGOW JAMES MACLEHOSE, 61 ST. VINCENT STREET PUBLISHER AND BOOKSELLER TO THE UNIVERSITY l87l All ri-^Iits reserved PRINTED BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE, AYR. TO MY DEAR WIFE 29A-2 MARCH DURING the period that I held a temporary Commission as Surgeon to the Hospitals established near the Seat of War, at the time of the Crimean Campaign, I took daily jottings of all that occurred around me ; and, on my return home, I expanded these into a continuous nar rative. The written volume has been read by nrany of my friends, and almost every one of them, on returning it, has expressed a desire that it should be published for more general perusal.

It was not originally intended for pub lication ; but, as the manuscript will not bear much more handling, I have now determined to preserve its contents by having them printed. This will explain why the book is published fifteen years after it was written. The manu script is printed almost verbatim, having been written while the events described, and the scenes portrayed, were fresh in my recollection. GEORGE BUCHANAN. 193 Bath Street, Glasgow, 29//-; March, 1871. CONTENTS.

Chapter I. Constantinople And The Bosphorus

First vie*w of Constantinople — The Bosphorus — The Golden Horn — Ships of all nations — A modern Babel — Fellow-travellers — Galata wharf — Pera — On board a Bosphorus steamer — A true Briton— Therapia — Banks of the Bosphorus — Captain Lyons — Hospital mess — A sailor's funeral — Burial service — Supposed to be lost — Stamboul: jolting along — The Drug Bazaar — Juvenile guides — A Bosphorus steamer — Searching for quarters — The Pincoffs — Admiralty offices : Passage promised — Banking in Turkey — A day's shopping — Districts of Constantinople — A stair -causeway — Tophana : Misserie's hotel — Introduced to friends — Candia House — Sultan's new palace — Forbidden ground — ' ' Bono Johnny " — Transport service not in favour — "Gibson" our servant — A disappointment — The " Brandon" — Irregular currents of the Bosphorus — The "Maiden's Tower" — "Kaimak," or ice cream — Chapel at Scutari — Dog scavengers — A Turkish saddle — Suburban pleasuring — Turkish Fashions — On board Ship for the Crimea — The Black Sea, . . Pages 1-54

Chapter II. The Crimea And Scutari

Land in sight — Arrival at Balaclava — Resemblance to Lochgoil on the Clyde — Crimean Railway — The Plain of the Cavalry CONTENTS. X charge — "The Front" — The Seat os War — The Sailors' Ravine — The Mess-hut of the "Rodney" — Bang, bang, whiz ! — Cathcart Hill — The British batteries — The Russian fire— The "Valleys of Death"— The Malakoff and Redan- Death of Lord Raglan — Opinion of "the men" — Foot-ball on a battle-field— A sortie — A new-comer — Chapman's Bat tery — Sailors at their guns — "Quite satisfied" — Muster and Church — Lost in Camp — Taken for a Spy — Breakfast on board a Cattle-transport — The plague of Flies — A search for a Dinner — On board the "Ottawa": our Passengers — In quarters at Scutari — Victoria House — A Turkish interior — The garden — "Touting" for a fare — Caiques and caidjis — An experiment with snails — Scutari Hospital — Miss Nightin gale — Mrs. Blackwood's staff of Washerwomen — A religious Turk — The Seraglio — An unfortunate step — St. Sophia Mosque — A musical bore — "The English stores" — Turkish shopping — Bond fide travellers — Fountains in Turkey — A Turkish school — Steamer for Therapia — Treatment of Women — Amusements on board steamer — Lawrence our man-servant — How to carry rice — Our rations — Strange rencontres — A real Turkish bath — In for fever — Kindness of my friends — Fever better — The winner of the "Derby" — Aitken's por ridge — The "Sirocco" — Watering the milk — A chorus of wild dogs — The bastinado — Dangers of Scutari streets at night, ..... Pages 55-140

Chapter III. Therapia And Dardanelles

To Therapia in a Six-oared Boat — A hearty Welcome — Rev. Mr. M'Kenzie — The "Pyddockian controversy" — A ride to the Turkish Camp at Buyukdere — Riding "Midshipman style" An amusing rencontre — An unqualified Lady-nurse — Boardin" a Dundee ship— The voyage to Dardanelles— One of the Passengers love-sick — The Bashi-Bazouks — Catching ponies CONTENTS. XI Dardanelles hospital — The village of Renkioi — Maunder's Vineyard — Men-servants — A giblet pie — A picnic — Want of enterprise — An "Arabajee" — The "hows" — Unpleasant company — A Turk's Clothes-bag — Embarked again for the Crimea — Glasgow "magistrates," . . Pages 141-175

Chapter IV. Camp Life In The Crimea

Off Balaclava, in the Bay — Camp Eatables — Keeping things dry — Our cosy tent — Camp General Hospital — Civil Surgeons — Early music — Noises of the Camp — The "Quarries" — Relics of battle — The Redan : Difficulties of approach — Ingenuity of the Defences — Blood-stained ruins — On Duty — A beautiful scene — Fort of Nicholas — Cafe St. George — Through the parallels — Our Cooks and our Rations — "Irish stew" — Mr. Caterer — Laying in a supply — "Our mess" — Hospital assistants — Sergeant Beer — Woronzoff road — The Tchernaya — Ill-fated Turkish redoubts — A mushroom village — Neutral ground — Mackenzie Heights — Scene of battle, . Pages 176-215

Chapter V. Excursions To The Outposts Of The Allied Position

A sham tight — A dinner party — Sanatarium and Monastery of St. George — Monks prisoners of war — Divine service in Camp — "Hunt the Slipper" — French Naval Brigade — A barrack on fire — Military engineering — A "serpentine sap" — An ' ' Abbatis " — Sebastopol docks — Dangerous quarters — A "Class dinner" — Horse races — Difficulty of getting news — Regimental bands — The Sardinians — Camp of the Highland Brigade — Making themselves snug — French mode of preparing coffee — A Crimean stable — Purchase of a pony — A severe gale — A tent blown down — A narrow escape — French bazaars CONTENTS. XII and canteens— Mr. Stafford's visit— General Simpson and Marshal Pelissier — Vivandieres — Camp delicacies— Chicken soup, and how it was made — Crimean Pass of Killicrankie — A model hamlet — Commissariat of the Army — Hunting after a Passport for Cowan — An obstinate Ambulance mule — Left alone — Balaclava sanatarium — Polychrone, the Greek servant — Letters from home, requesting my return — Packing up — The ' ' Circumlocution Office " — The ' ' Bahiana " — Homewards ! — Final leave of Constantinople, . . Pages 216-277

Chapter VI

HOMEWARDS! BY MALTA, &c. Passengers by the " Bahiana" — Crucifix captured from the Russians — Arrangements of the ship — Valetta Harbour — The "Alhambra" — Duneford's Hotel — Maltese beggars — Cathedral of St. Giovanni — A squall in the harbour — The Surgeon, Chief Engineer, and Mate — Presbyterian Chapel at Malta — Drive to Citta Vecchia — Maltese Divers — Sea-sickness — Straits of Bonifacio —Marseilles — Crimean "heroes" — Arrival in London, ..... Pages 27S-290

Preface

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Explanatory — The British and French Alliance — The casus Belli — The Allied Armies before Sebastopol — The hurricane — Sufferings of the Soldiers during the first Winter — The horrors at Scutari — The Times Relief Fund — Miss Nightingale and her band of Heroines — Re-organization of the Medical department — The "Civil" element — Great Hospital at Dardanelles — Sir James Clark — My Commission — Recapitulation of the Contents of the Volume, . . . Pages 291-298

Chapter I

On the 25th of June, 1855, I rose at five a.m., and went on deck. All was life on board. The apathetic Turks who had been lying huddled together, presented the appearance of a huge mass swaying to and fro, as they got up from their recumbent posture to get a glimpse of the great city. The Franks on the quarter-deck were get ting up on the companion or the gangways, or any point from which a view could be obtained. All was vivacity, all eagerness to catch the first view of the pinnacles of Constantinople. Around, all was still and quiet. The breeze had died away, and we had distanced the flotilla of yesterday. Not a sail was in sight. Behind, A away in our wake, and on each side, spread the waters of the Sea of Marmora, as motionless, as fiat, as smooth as a block of the marble from which it takes its name.

Before us, in the distance, the coast was slightly obscured by a thin veil of mist which hung over the low hills, but a lighter streak close to the water showed where the buildings would soon be visible. As we advanced, the sun dissipated the curtain and lighted up the whole panorama with the utmost brilliancy. When we drew near within a mile of the city, the scene which gradually unfolded itself baffles description. The Bos phorus, where it flows into the Sea of Marmora, is upwards of a mile wide, and divides the view into two parts. The hilly banks of the strait are seen away beyond, studded with the quaint est houses, towers, minarets, and tall dark trees. On its surface are floating all sorts of vessels, from that motionless hulk which serves as a Turkish hospital-ship, to that almost invisible needle which skims like lightning, hardly touch ing the water.

The left half of the picture is Stamboul, a dense mass of dark houses, clustering AN EASTERN LANDSCAPE. 3 one above another to the summit of a low hill, which is crowned by a huge dome and four brilliant white needle-like minarets, which we at once knew to be the Mosque of St. Sophia. In strong contrast to the picturesque, but sombre, mass behind, the white and dazzling buildings and fresh green gardens of the Seraglio — among which quaint columns and domes, and stately trees are interspersed — oreep out into the stream. On the opposite side of the strait, perched upon the steep cliffs, we recognise at a single glance the four white towers and square courts of the Barrack Hospital of Scutari, grouped be hind which we see the irregular and truly Turk ish village, and, extending around both, the dark green foliage of the cypress trees of the cemetery.

The whole landscape is Eastern to a degree. Soon the steamer reaches Seraglio point, and turning abruptly to the left enters a bay, between two parts of the city, about half-a-mile wide and extending far up into the country. This is the Golden Horn or harbour of Constantinople, of such depth that a man-of-war is anchored at the very bank, and of a size which could contain all the navies of Europe. We steered in among ves sels of every conceivable rig and of every nation. Here are two hospital ships, old Turkish hulks, covered in with boards. Close by, a wicked looking schooner with bright brass guns ; the Turkish ensign, red with a yellow crescent, at the peak. There, is a French man-of-war under steam with a transport in tow — with draughts for the Crimea. On the opposite shore are the offices of our Admiralty, and off them is anchored an old 74 with Admiral Grey's flag.

But the whole harbour is crammed with vessels in seemingly bewildering confusion; dozens are moored in rows, and yet there is a constant movement of smaller lighters and luggage punts, and whole shoals of caiques, or needle-shaped skiffs, which shoot about like magic. We have hardly time to notice these scenes, and the infinite variety of costume and character, which burst on the eye with all the rapidity and medley of a harlequinade, when down goes the anchor, and we are moored alongside two other Austrian steamers of the same company. And now for ashore. Had I been alone, I A MODERN BABEL. 5 would have gone down to the cabin, locked up my luggage, and calmly waited till evening, in the hope of getting away without beginning the war till I was somewhat a match for the enemy ; for such a scene as presented itself around the steamer was most appalling.

The only thing to which I can compare it, is the descriptions we have of South Sea voyagers surrounded by shoals of canoes filled with cannibal savages, and I defy the savages to make such an unearthly noise. For about twenty yards round the vessel you could see nothing of the sea, so closely were the boats jammed in, each hoping to get first to the gangway. Not one was allowed to touch the ladder till the health boat gave permission, the surgeon having gone ashore with the ship's papers to report a clean bill of health. As there was the delay of a quarter of an hour, during which the boatmen were kept off from the passengers, they appeased their eagerness by fighting among each other till they could attack their prey. The boatmen were Turks, Greeks, Ionians, and Maltese, and what a babel of tongues !

The mystery was that there was not murder, but I presume boatmen have some magical tenacity of life. Bikelas, Borkheim — two fellow-travellers whom I had met at Smyrna — and I, agreed to go ashore together ; so we managed very well. When the enemy got on deck, which they did by ladder and ropes, and at every conceivable point, we stood our ground, entrenching ourselves behind our luggage, beating off the assailants until Borkheim engaged a Greek whose boat was pointed out to us some three rows off from the ship. Seizing my portmanteau, and beckoning me to follow, he got down the ladder ; and, by dint of pushing and pulling with great perseverance, I was at last seated in the boat. Several boatmen endeavoured to capture me in passing, but I pushed on. In about ten minutes Borkheim got down beside me, and we had to wait as long for Bikelas ; and all this time we were actively engaged in keeping the boat from being swamped, for the boats were so closely wedged together, that sometimes one was fairly forced up between its two neighbours, sometimes nearly pushed under water by the gunwales of those beside it.

GALATA WHARF. 7 At last we shoved off from the crowd, and moved in to the shore. I had no leisure to notice the hundred sights of this celebrated landing place ; only, one prominent object arrests the attention of all who land at Galata bridge — a huge board bearing the sign, " Dr. Glascott's Surgery." " 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view " — truer of Constantinople than any other place. You could not conceive a more gorgeous landscape than the swift-flowing Bosphorus, with its palaces, mosques, minarets, and cypress groves, or a more lovely city than the one that guards its outlet. You could conceive nothing more filthy and disgusting than the wharf of Galata. We stepped ashore, and Bikelas at once recognised a friend of his who happened to be at the wharf about some goods. A hamal or porter was at once engaged, and, piling our portmanteaus on his back, he led the way to a hotel.

We went along through some narrow ill-paved lanes, and then commenced the ascent of a steep hill with a horrid causeway. Whole crowds of people of every nation were streaming along, but I seemed to be amazed at nothing more than that I should be one of them! There were British and French soldiers, Indian officers, Zouaves, marines, sailors, and lots of men with unknown uniforms, Greeks, Italians, and the Turks ; but, most wonderful of all, the hamal in front toiling up the hill like a beast of burden with the tower of luggage on his back. At the top of this hill we came to a long street with shops on each side, bearing French and Italian signs, " Magasin de Nouveau tt's," " Marchand d' Habits," " Confiseur, " &c, just like a narrow back-street in Paris. This, I learned, was the district of Pera or the Frank quarter, and the people, except some undoubted Turks, looked much like French.

At last we came to a gateway and entered the Hotel de Globe, where Borkheim and I took quarters at sixteen francs a day, meals included. Breakfast was just being served, and we joined ; after which, the hotel people being French, I en quired the whereabouts of the different staffs of the British army. I learned that the Renkioi men, to whom I belonged, were in quarters at Scutari ; and I also found that Therapia, where THE BOSPHORUS. 9 my friend Dr. Davidson was quartered, was at a convenient distance, and that a steamer started for it at ten o'clock. As I could have no better informant than he, I lost no time in hastening back through the narrow streets to the wharf at Galata ; and, seeing a steamer whizzing off its steam, I shouted out Therapia, and was passed along a plank into a little steamer bound for the Bosphorus.

Seating myself on a little stool of which there were plenty standing about, I asked a young man in undress uniform about Therapia. He was an interpreter to the Turkish contingent, and was proceeding on duty to Buyukdere, where they were encamped. He pointed out the various villages as we passed along, procured my ticket for me, and was very attentive. It was a lovely morning, and the scene was most enlivening. The banks of the Bosphorus, which varies from a mile to a mile and a half or two miles broad, are lined with one continuous row of houses, gardens, mosques, palaces, castles, forts and cypress groves, and cemeteries. Several of the mosques and palaces, which stand down on the water's edge, are of pure white marble, and with their domes, pillars, and needle - like minarets, are most quaint and striking.

Numberless caiques of all sizes, the passengers in the most varied costume, flitted about, and the whole scene was enchanting. Many a time afterwards have I sailed through that picturesque channel, and every time I have seen some new beauty to admire. It takes an hour and a half to reach Therapia, sailing against the current. Landing at a little pier, I asked an English sailor boy if he could point out the hospital. He was going there ; and I found I had fallen in with Dr. Davidson's servant. In a few minutes I was reclining on the divan in his quarters, inhaling the fresh breeze which was blowing in from the Black Sea. Davidson came in, just what I had seen him a year and a half ago — the only specimen of a real Briton I have seen since I left home. The white hat, surtout, and shaved face were refreshing to see.

After mutual greetings, with the eye of a sailor, seeing I was fresh off the water, he at once pointed out the bathing box, and in a few minutes THERAPIA. 11 I was enjoying the luxury of a swim in the clear, cold stream of the Bosphorus. Of all the charming spots on this strait, Therapia is probably the most charming. There is a bay about half a mile wide, forming a safe harbour, where a number of Sardinian vessels were taking in stores, and one or two French and English steam frigates moored off as guard ships. The bay is encompassed by hills, which swell gradually up from the water's brink, leaving a narrow strip of land, on which the village is built, — a single row of tumble - down, wooden houses, very pretty from the water, but forming no exception to the squalor which is the accom paniment of all Turkish towns and villages.

Towards the two points which bound the bay, and along the shore beyond these, are handsome houses with gardens — the favourite residences of the Franks of Constantinople — and at one side of the bay is a kiosk, or summer palace of the Sultan, now occupied as our naval hospital. A little beyond the other point is the residence of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe. The houses arc built on the very edge of the water — only a narrow path, about three or four feet in width intervening ; and quite close to the bank the water is of great depth, so that you can walk by a short plank into the stern of a frigate, which lies moored with its rudder against the footpath. In some parts, you can see that alongside this footpath the depth is from four to six feet, at others you can see no bottom, the brink being rock.

There is no tide in the Bosphorus, so the water is constantly at the dis tance of from one to four feet below the level of the path. The head wave from a large steamer often washes over the road, which is anything but pleasant to a by-passer. I have seen steamers landing passengers at convenient parts of this path, where there was no regular landing-place, just running in and stopping where some one wanted to get out. You can fish without any trouble in these parts. I have seen very impos ing-looking patriarchs sitting in their summer villas with a fishing-rod sticking out at the win dow. The Bosphorus is quite two miles broad here, there being a large sweep of the Asiatic coast CAPTAIN LYONS. 13 opposite, forming the Bay of Beikos, where the Allied fleets were moored before entering the Black Sea.

At present, several British, French, and Turkish men-of-war were anchored there ; among them the " Miranda," lately commanded by Captain Lyons. After being a little rested, I visited the hospital with Dr. Davidson. A large wooden house in three floors, clean, well-aired, and comfortable, capable of holding 150 patients. At present the beds were not all filled, the health of the fleet being favourable. There is a large and beautiful airing ground attached, but that I saw better on a subsequent visit. Coming out of the hospital, we met a gentleman, whom I took, from his civilian dress, to be a youth of the diplomatic corps. He came to make arrangements about the burial of Captain Lyons, who had died of his wounds the day before. This gentleman, the son of Admiral Lyons, the idol of the fleet, had sustained a com pound fracture of the leg on the iSth, and had begged the surgeons to save the limb.

He was brought down to Therapia in his own ship, the " Miranda," but before he reached the hospital mortification had set in, and he died in a few days, to the great grief of his men, and all who knew him. From his relationship to the Admiral, his bravery, and character, his burialwas to be with naval honours. Overhearing Dr. Davidson address his friend as Mr. Brodie, after their business was finished I presented a card of introduction from Mr. James Blair, with whom he had been acquainted. We had some conversation together, and I met him occasionally afterwards. He was an attache of the British embassy. I dined at the hospital mess with Drs. David son, Dalby, Stewart, Irvine, and Ward, and Mr. MacKenzie, interim chaplain, son-in-law of Dr. Chalmers. It was very quiet — they all seemed affected at the loss of Captain Lyons.

He must have been a brave and noble man, for his influence to have been so widely felt. It was a luxury to taste the old home diet — soup, roast mutton, pudding, and a glass of sherry. The funeral took place at six o'clock. So the first episode of the war which I saw was the A SAILOR'S FUNERAL. 15 funeral of a brave and lamented officer. I felt melancholy and depressed. An hour or two after landing from my tour, hitherto of pleasure, I ex perienced that I was among the dread realities of war. Every one was touched ; each seemed to have lost a friend. It was an imposing ceremony, the sailor's funeral. They collected on the bank of the Bosphorus where the pathway was broad, in front of the kiosk where his remains were lying. They marched along slowly past the quarters, and, as the window looked out to the path, I saw every one as be went by.

First came a party of marines — English, French, Turkish, and Sar dinian. Then the band, playing the " Dead March," the drum muffled with crape ; then the men of the "Miranda;" then the coffin, with his hat and sword on the top, borne on handspikes by the marines and sailors ; then his officers in full dress, with crape mourning. Next Admiral Grey, accompanied by the French and Turkish Rear-Admirals, and the chaplains ; then the hospital staff in full dress ; then a crowd composed of sailors of all the fleets, the attaches of the embassies, &c. I mixed with the crowd, and followed up into a little glen shaded with trees, where the new-made graves showed that this was the cemetery. Mr. MacKenzie, at that time acting in the capacity of chaplain, read the burial service of the Church of England.

Beside him stood Mr. Pydduck, chaplain from Scutari, and also the priest of the French Admiral's ship. I have often seen clergymen of different Protestant denominations on the same platform, and joining in the same services, but surely it was an evidence that his loss was very deeply felt, when a Roman Catholic priest said " Amen " to a prayer read by a Presbyterian minister over Captain Lyons' grave. The burial service over, the people dispersed ; and the band led the way, playing up a cheery tune ; and there was a bustle to get into the boats, and row back to the ships ; and the officers of the " Miranda " came to tea to the hospital, and things moved on as before. Dr. Corbet of the " Miranda," a stout man nearly smothered in crape, recognised me. I had seen him when he was on a visit to Glasgow.

SUPPOSED TO BE LOST. 17 26th.— Left by the steamer at ten, and on arriving at the Hotel de Globe in Pera, I found my companions, Bikelas and Borkheim, in a state of frantic grief. They were on the point of sending out a crier, or some such herald, in search of a lost man. Not knowing that I had a friend at Therapia, they imagined I had fallen among thieves, and was kidnapped, or tipped into the Bosphorus or some place of durance. However, I told them to be in no anxiety about me, for I had plenty of compatriots going about. Bork heim introduced me to his brother, who was returning home from the Crimea. Being rather afraid of his health, he asked me to prescribe for him, which I did. I now set out alone for a stroll through the streets, or rather passages, for they do not deserve the name of streets.

Passing across the bridge of boats, which floats on the Golden Horn, I stepped on to the Turkish quarter, or Stamboul. Gorgeous when seen from the water, or even from the other side of the harbour, the whole illusion vanishes as you thread your way through the lanes, between rows of shaky, cranky wooden 1; houses, of one or two storeys. The road is paved with irregular rounded stones, two or three inches apart, which forms a path admirably suited for doing penance on, and peculiarly adapted for twisting your ankles out of joint. When it is remembered that the sun is beating with scorching heat, and that not a breath of air can penetrate into that labyrinth of passages, some idea may be formed of the pleasure of walking in Stamboul Ponies may be had for hire, with a boy-guide to whip them up from behind ; but being no great equestrian, I feared the " sclla Tursiea."

There are a few carriages belonging to the Pashas and harems, but a ride in those conveyances, even if attainable, would be far from desirable. The mode of progression is of the most spasmodic kind — the vehicle bolting from stone to stone, like a cricket-ball on a ploughed field. I have seen a Pasha jolting along in his state-carriage, holding on with a hand on each door, to prevent his being pitched right out like the pellet of a tow-gun. It reminded me of the countryman, who, being escorted in a sedan-chair which had lost its flooring, remarked, that if it THE DRUG BAZAAR. 19 were not for the honour of the thing, he would much rather have walked. So I loitered on, star ing like a country bumpkin at every queer sight which presented itself. The first place I visited was a mosque. The door was open, and the devout were at prayers.

Knowing the custom of the country, I merely peeped in, as I had not the proper apparatus for putting on my shoes, which I must have taken off if I had gone inside. The mosque was a large square building without seats, and had no altar, or any other erection, to catch the eye. But all the people, who were at prayers, on their knees, were bending, and pressing their foreheads on the ground, looking in one direction, which I presumed was towards Mecca. I next came to a large, lofty arcade, with a few windows on the top ; and by the peculiar rich and aromatic odours, I at once knew I was in the Drug Bazaar. This consists of a double row of stalls of the most primitive kind, little boxes which can be shut up by a folding-door, the hinges of which are about two feet from the ground. When the salesman opens his shop, he folds down the door, supports it on two legs, and this forms the counter, on which he spreads samples of his wares ; then, placing a little carpet on one corner, he squats there with his tchibouck, and smokes away till providence sends him a buyer.