We Had Up Till Now Been Singularly Fortunate As Regards Accidents, Or
Rather Evil Results From Them.
To-day, however, luck deserted us, for
a few miles out of Deybid my right leg became so swollen that I could
scarcely sit on my horse.
The pain was acute, the sensation that of
having been bitten by some poisonous insect. Gerome, ever the Job's
comforter, suggested a centipede, adding, "If so, you will probably
have to lie up for four or five days." The look-out was not cheerful,
certainly, for at Mourghab, the first stage, I had to be lifted off my
horse and carried into the post-house.
With some difficulty my boot was cut off, and revealed the whole leg,
below the knee, discoloured and swollen to double its size, but no
sign of a wound or bite. "Blood-poisoning," says Gerome, decidedly. "I
have seen hundreds of cases in Central Asia. It generally proves fatal
there," he adds consolingly; "but the Russian soldier is so badly
fed." The little man seems rather disappointed at my diagnosis of my
case - the effect due to a new and tight boot which I had not been able
to change since leaving Ispahan. Notwithstanding, I cannot put foot to
ground without excruciating pain. Spreading the rugs out on the dirty
earthen floor, I make up my mind to twenty-four hours here at least.
It is, perhaps, the dirtiest post-house we have seen since leaving
Teheran; but moving under the present circumstances is out of the
question.
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