366 THE RAINS. 



Something, a stone or some drift-wood I suppose, 

 gave me a severe blow on the kneecap in crossing, 

 but this I only discovered subsequently , and when 

 at last I struggled somewhere safe to shore amid 

 the shouts of my men, I think, as I stood spent 

 and dripping in the hailstorm after my icy bath, I 

 fully realised the pleasures of travelling in the 

 Caucasus in the rainy season. 



To go for the Cossack who had led me into the 

 scrape by his ignorance of the ford, to deprive him 

 of his horse, and, having seen my men cross by 

 the true shallow higher up, to gallop madly for 

 the Cossack station, were my first acts on recovering 

 myself a little ; and between my bath and the 

 station I never drew bridle until I tumbled off 

 breathless at the door, whence, regardless of ques- 

 tions, I made my way to the room where a dozen 

 Cossacks lay loafing in every stage of dirt and 

 idleness. Casting all squeamish scruples to the 

 winds, I stripped off my icy clothes where I stood, 

 borrowed a shirt from one dirty rascal and an 

 unutterable sheepskin from another, got a wander- 

 ing telegraphist, who happened to be at the station, 

 to give me about half a pint of neat spirit and as 

 much hot tea as I could drink, and turned in with 

 my back against the stove, trusting to the heat 

 within and without to restore my circulation 

 which the ride had failed to do and so save me 

 from the consequences of my immersion. 



