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Updated: May 6, 2025
And though his tones were more controlled his emotion was working deeply. "D'you know why I brought that bullet along? No," as Kars shook his head. "I guess I don't quite know myself. And yet it seemed to me it was necessary. I sort of felt if we got behind things here on Bell River we'd find a link between them and that bullet. Now I know. Say, I've got it all now.
He stopped on the road every caravan he met, threw off their goods, put on his own, and impounded the animals for his journey. After a brief stay at Erzeroum which Gordon describes as a very pretty place at a distance, but horribly dirty when entered, and where there are eight or nine months of very hard winter the Commission passed on to Kars, which became its headquarters.
Have the least confidence in man or woman!" he cried in bitter tones, as he sat with his new friends in prison, and recounted to them his favourite stories of the siege of Kars, and the resuscitated soldier. On the whole, he accommodated himself very well to his new position. Ptitsin and Varia declared that he was in the right place, and Gania was of the same opinion.
Here is an extract from the diary of Nicholas Myravyov of Kars, which was not passed by the censor, and is not known in Russia: "Tiflis, October 2, 1818. "In the morning the commandant told me that five peasants belonging to a landowner in the Tamboff government had lately been sent to Georgia.
Both men shook hands with the factor, while the priest drew up the other chairs to the stove, which he replenished with a fresh supply of logs from the corner of the room. "But I guess we're birds of bad omen," Kars went on, addressing Murray in particular. "The neches are out on Bell River, and they sniped us right along down to within twenty miles of the Fort."
But the news of the arrival of John Kars, wounded, swiftly overwhelmed all other considerations in Jessie's mind. Breakfast was left in the hands of the squaw while the girl hastened to her mother's room. Ailsa Mowbray listened to the girl's story with no outward signs of fear. She had passed through the worst fires that could assail her a year ago.
For Kars all his memories were now centred round the home of the girl who had taught him the real meaning of life. Bill Brudenell was sitting on a rough log, within a yard or two. He, too, was gazing out into the approaching night while he smoked on in meditative silence. His keen face and usually twinkling eyes were serious. He had small enough claims behind him.
It was rough, uncouth. Its inadequacy was only mitigated by the skill and gentle mercy of the man. Kars' voice broke in upon the doctor's preoccupation. "Twenty," he said. "Twenty out of eighty." Bill glanced up from the wounded head he was dressing. "And the fight just started." Kars stirred from the support of the door-casing which had served to rest his weary body. "Yes," he admitted.
As monuments of two extreme events in this historic period, two spots might have attracted our attention—one right below us, the ruins of Artaxata, which, according to tradition, was built, as the story goes, after the plans of the roving conqueror Hannibal, and stormed by the Roman legions, A. D. 58; and farther away to the north, the modern fortress of Kars, which so recently reverberated with the thunders of the Turkish war.
He gave his life, and intended to give it, for a poor weak fellow creature who was being tortured out of her senses by a man who was no better than a hound of Hell. That man was made of the same stuff as John Kars, if I know him. I can't see Murray McTavish acting that way. Yet I could see him act like the other feller if it suited him. Murray's good. Sure he's good. But John Kars is better."
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