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\_____/ Donated by the
Grand Raplds Publ1c Lrbrary
The May G. Quzgley
Collection
of Ch1ldren s Lrterature
December 2001


The University of Michigan-Dearborn
Mardigian Library


ll II I I1 III‘ _' ‘ 1 “"||1‘l_“‘ ' I ‘ ' ' 1 I ' ||| _||| I
X ’_
.
'
_
I
I
I


cHArTER
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX .
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXII I.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
CONTENTS
THE SCOUTS’ CONTES'1' . .
TOM’s HOME . .
THE BEAR-HUNT .
THE REFUGEES . . .
DANGER! . .
THE TZIGANE . . . .
THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE GHEG
IN HIDING . . . .
THE SACK 0F N0vALA .
THE BULGARIAN SCOUTS . . .
THE ASSAULT . _ . . .
THE REPULSE 0F THE NIZAMS
THE RUSH IN THE STORM .
PASSING THE c0RD0N .
A REFUGE FOR THE NIGHT .
THE PRECIPICE . . . .
0N THE TRAIL ONCE 'MORE . .
THE POMAKS . . . .
CAPTURED . . . . .
IN THE BULGAR CAMP . .
A FRIEND IN NEED .
THE ASSAULT . . . . . .
THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD .
A CHANGE OF SIDE . . . .
LULE BURGAS . . . .
TOM'S CONVOY . . . . .
TH'E TURKISH DOWNFALL: THE FLIGHT
T0M’s PLAN . . . . . .
THE FIGHT WITH THE RRIGANDs . .
T0M’s TASK IS ENDED . . .
BACK To NOVALA . . . . .
O C
PAGE
1
13
21
39
55
67
79
98
107
118
132
141
157
166
181
189
202
212
220
230
243
249
269
291
302
320
335
352
367
378
388


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
In the confusion Tom made a break for the friendly
willows . . . . . . . Frontispiece.
A very hard bunch of knuckles landed full on the tall
Turk’s nose. . . . . . . . . .
Tom whirled round his riﬂe, but Yanitch was quicker still .
‘ Hold, Yanitch l ’ he bellowed in a tremendous voice . .
Flourished the yataghan to gain power for the last dreadful
stroke . . . . . . . . . .
Child and revolver fell to the ground; then the bandit
whirled round . . . . . . . . .
TAO!
86
I 64
243
290
376


J ll l '- _.1
E}rIandwl:%od' §L0dg?tt Jri
apld-°a Mlﬂhigang
ﬂ'U._S.A;;g- ‘
A BOY SCOUT
IN THE BALKANS.
CHAPTER I.
THE scours’ conrmsr.
‘ GO it, Beavers! You ’re winning! This
is the sort of game you ought to pull
off! Keep it up!’
‘Now, Wolves, buck up! They ’re sailing
ahead I Go it, Wolves!’
Cries and counter-cries, cheers and counter-
cheers rose from two compact groups of boys
standing in front of the great crowd of Rush-
mere School. Almost all Rushmere was there,
from the Head down to the scrulobiest fag, and
every eye was ﬁxed upon two patrols of Boy
Scouts working like tigers. Scouting had
caught on at Rushmere, and every house had
its patrol; but two houses stood out far beyond
the rest-—Brand’s, where the Wolf Patrol had
Tom Yorke in command ; and Venning’s, where
the Beavers were led by Billy Prescott.


2 THE scours’ courmsr.
There had been a number of scout rallies
during term, and now the Wolves, now the
Beavers, had taken the lead. As the end of
term approached, Billy was seized with the
idea of a friendly battle with the Wolves for
cock-patrol of the school, and challenged them
to a bridge-building match. The challenge was
accepted, and the battle was now in progress.
The affair had roused tremendous interest,
not only because scouting was very popular,
but also because the two scout-leaders were
the cricket idols of the school. Tom Yorke
was captain of the First Eleven, Billy the vice-
captain, and the week before they had covered
themselves with glory by making a splendid
stand in the second innings of a big match
with a rival school, both coming out unbeaten
with a seven wickets’ victory to the credit of
Rushmere. Now they were friendly rivals at
the head of their patrols, while Brand’s and
Venning’s stood and shouted encouragement,
and the rest of the school looked on in deeply
interested silence.
The conditions of the match were these:
a bridge was to be thrown by each patrol over
the wide, shallow brook which ran along the
foot of Big Field. Two hundred yards back,
near the practice nets, were the trek-carts of
the patrols. Midway between the carts and


THE scours’ conrmsr. ' 3
the brook there was a long hurdle ﬁve feet
high. Upon the word being given, each patrol
was to build a bridge, run back to its trek-cart,
bring it to the hurdle, unship it, carry each
part_ over the hurdle, put the cart together
again, and then run it full bat over the bridge.
Whoever gained the farther bank ﬁrst was the
winner.
Excitement was now running very high, for
each bridge was nearly completed, and it was
seen that the contest would be a very close thing.
The leaders were handling their patrols in ﬁrst-
rate style. Each of them pulled and hauled
for two, and directed the labours of his
followers with keen eye and cool judgment.
Tom Yorke, seventeen years old, of middle
height, and compact, sinewy build, strong as a
young bull, and nimble as a hare, never cast
a glance at his rival’s progress, but kept his
Wolves closely at it, building ﬁrmly and laying
every larch pole securely as he went. Billy
Prescott, a year older and a head taller than
his friendly opponent, was a big, fair-haired
fellow, laughing and shouting as he worked;
and when the Beavers ﬁnished the bridge a
little ahead of their rivals he led them in
a joyous whoop before they darted back over
the bridge to fetch their trek-cart.
‘Steady, Wolves, steady!’ said Tom Yorke,


4 THE scoUTs 7
CONTEST.
as some of his followers showed a little ﬂurry
upon seeing the Beavers ahead, and he saw to
it that the last poles and planks were as well
and truly laid as the ﬁrst. Then the Wolves
ﬂew back in turn to ﬁnd that the Beavers were
running their trek-cart up to the hurdle. On
raced Tom and his men, and whirled their cart
back to the hurdle. By the time they reached
it, the Beavers’ cart was over. But at this
bit of work the Wolves were the best patrol
by far, and gained a little of their lost time.
Tom had so drilled the Wolves that the cart
seemed to fall to pieces of itself, so swift was
the handling, and the scouts whipped the
parts over the hurdle in such style that the
spectators gave a shout of applause. Then
the school fell silent to watch the run in-that
is, all save Venning’s, who howled with delight
to see their men ahead, and Brand’s, who yelled
to the Wolves to come along, and come along
quick.
There seemed no chance at all for the
Wolves. The Beavers were half-way to the
bridge, and ﬁfty yards in a hundred is altogether
too good a start. But the Wolves could move
with their cart, and they had cut down a good
twelve yards of the lead when the Beavers ran
on to the bridge.
Venning’s went wild with delight. ‘The


THE scours’ conrrzsr. 5
Beavers win !’ they yelled. ‘Run ’em over,
Prescott! Run ’em over!’
Billy Prescott started to run his Beavers
over with a will. They took the bridge full
rip, and went three parts of the way across
in great style. Then a tremendous shout of
laughter rose from the school. A couple of
struts gave way, three or four planks slipped,
the trek-cart slued and knocked the hand-rail
ﬂying, and then went overboard, with the
Beavers clinging desperately to it and striving
to right it. Finally, all brought up with a big
splash in the brook, where the unlucky Beavers
stood up to their knees in Water, staring in
dismay at the broken bridge.
‘ Easy does it, Wolves!’ roared some fellows
of Brand’s. ‘Easy does it! You can take
the bridge any pace you like, and win ! ’
But Tom Yorke sang out to the patrol, and
bustled them forward. ‘N0, no, Wolves!’ he
cried. ‘Full steam ahead! We must take
the bridge at top pace or it won’t be a fair
thing.’
The Wolves obeyed their leader to the letter.
They took the bridge as hard as they could
pelt, tried it with a strain fully as great as that
which their rivals’ structure had failed to stand,
and raced in triumph to the other bank as the
Beavers waded ashore, dragging their cart with


6 THE SCOUTS’ CONTEST.
them. Brand’s yelled themselves hoarse with
delight, and the school gave the winners a
hearty cheer.
Tom Yorke and his victorious patrol had
halted on the farther bank, and they lent a
hand to pull the Beavers’ trek-cart out of the
water.
‘Hard luck, Billy,’ said Tom to the leader,
as Billy Prescott, who had been on his back in
the stream, climbed up to the bank, the water
streaming from him.
Billy grinned as he rubbed the mud off his
good-natured face. ‘Thought I’d brought it
off that journey,’ he chuckled. ‘It ’1l be a
lesso11 to me to build a bit better next time.
Well, we’ll clear up the mess and go and get
some tea.’
‘Come and have tea with me, Billy,’ said
Tom.
‘Right-0!’ murmured Billy; ‘get out the
best silver teapot and ﬁll it to the brim; I'll
make it ﬂy. Besides, I want a talk with you.’
Half-an-hour later, Billy Prescott, clean and
in his right clothes, strolled into Tom’s study,
and sniffed with approval over the pile of hot
buttered tea-cakes which Tom’s fag had just
prepared.
‘Come on, Billy,’ said Tom; and they sat
down at once to the cheerful spread. VVhen


THE scours’ CONTEST. 7
the fag had gone, Prescott opened on the
subject he wished to speak about.
‘ I say, skipper,’ he remarked, ‘have you
anything on for the third week in August?’
‘ Not that I know of at present,’ said Tom.
‘ Good, excellently good,’ min-inured Prescott;
‘ then come down to our place, King’s Hampton,
you know, and put in a week with us. It ’s
our cricket week, you see. My guv’nor ’s
awfully keen on the game, and we’ve got a
pretty decent wicket.’
This was putting the matter very mildly,
for among cricketers the ground at King’s
Hampton was known as one of the ﬁnest
private cricket grounds in England.
‘We ’re going to have some good games,’
continued Prescott ; ‘ a local team to begin with,
then I Zingari and the Authentics. I ’ve set
my mind on crimping you for our eleven.’
But Tom shook his head and smiled. ' ‘I’d
come like a shot if I could, Billy,’ he replied,
‘ but unfortunately I sha’n’t be within reach.’
‘You said you ’d got nothing on,’ cried
Prescott. ‘ Shall you be at home ? ’
‘ That ’s just it,’ said Tom, and smiled again;
‘ I shall be at home all right.’
‘ Well, then, what’s to hinder you? I sup-
pose there ’s a railway somewhere handy?’
‘ Now you ’re getting on the spot,’ chuckled


8 THE scours’ CONTEST.
Tom; ‘there isn’t a railway for many a mile;
rather more than forty, in point of fact.’
‘ No railway! Then, where under the sun
do you hang out ?’ cried the astonished Billy.
As often happens at school, and particu-
larly with members of different houses, the one
knew nothing of the other’s home life.
‘ My address,’ replied Tom gravely, ‘is
Novala Bazarlik, post-town of Kirk-Kilisse,
vilayet of Adrianople.’
Billy winked the other eye. ‘ Say it again,
and say it slowly, my son,’ he remarked.
Tom said it again.
‘ Very good,’ said Prescott cheerfully. ‘ Now
you ’ve done pulling my leg, we ’ll get back to
business.’
‘ I ’m not pulling your leg, old chap,’ smiled
Tom; ‘not a bit of it. I ’ve given you the
address of my true and only genuine home.
Never knew any other.’
‘Oh lord!’ grunted Billy, ‘you don’t mean
to say it ’s a true bill ?’
‘ Yes, it ’s a true bill,’ said Tom.
Prescott rubbed his head. ‘ I thought it
was a bit of spoof,’ he remarked. ‘Why on
earth do you hang out in such an outlandish
place ? ’
‘ Same reason as most other fellows,’ returned
Tom; ‘ that ’s' where my father makes a living.


THE scours 7
coNTEsT. 9
He ’s got a share in a tobacco and fruit growing
estate, and he has to look after it.’
Prescott whistled, and looked deeply inter-
ested. ‘I-Iow long does it take you to get
home?’ he asked.
‘ It knocks a hole into a week,’ said Tom.
‘ Do you go every holiday ? ’
‘ Oh no,’ said Tom, ‘ only for the long. I go
down to Folkestone for the other holidays.
My mother ’s there, with my two sisters, who
are at school. And my father always runs
over to spend Christmas with us. At any
rate, that ’s how it ’s been for the last three
years.’
‘Rackety sort of spot to live in, isn’t it?’
remarked Billy. ‘Trouble in the Balkans in
the spring, and all the rest of it.’
‘ Our district has always been as quiet as the
quad. there,’ replied Tom, nodding to the empty
space seen through the Window at hand; ‘but
there has been a change of governor since I
was there last year, and in my father’s letters
he has hinted that the change is a good bit for
the worse. In a district where the governor is
no good there is often a lot of trouble.’
Billy Prescott nodded. ‘ So I ’ve heard,’ he
said. ‘ Turks hammering Christians, eh ? ’
Tom chuckled. ‘Not always,’ he remarked;
‘ sometimes it ’s the other way about.’


10 THE scours conrrsr.
Prescott looked puzzled. ‘ But those Turks
are brutes and beasts, aren’t they?’ he de-
manded.
‘Not always,’ said Tom again; ‘many of
them are very ﬁne fellows. A Turkish gentle-
man is one of the best; I’ve known two or
three you ’d ﬁnd it hard to match anywhere.’
‘Sounds queer,’ murmured Prescott. ‘My
guv’nor ’s in the House, member for our part of
the county, you know, and you should hear
him go for the Turks. He ’s great on the
Eastern Question. He says the Turks ought
to be started on the run out of Europe.’
‘He ’s perfectly right,’ agreed Tom; ‘the
power to rule Christians ought to be taken out
of Turkish hands once and for all.’
‘ Look here, old man,’ said Prescott, ‘you ’re
getting rattled; your statements don’t hang
together.’ ' '
Tom stood up, leaned against the mantel-
shelf, and slipped his hands into his pockets.
‘Oh yes, they do, old chap,’ he said quietly;
‘they hang together all right. You see, I’ve
lived on the spot and know both sides of the
question, and there isn’t a more tangled one
in existence. The Turks are useless, and more
than useless, as rulers; but the Christians are
not just the easiest of people to govern. A
Macedonian Christian, you must remember,


THE scours 7
CONTEST. 11
_~
is a long chalk off being the same kind of
Christian that you may meet rambling to an
English village church on a ﬁne Sunday
morning. Two years ago, when I was at home,
a Christian band came over the passes from
Bulgaria, and dropped on a Turkish village.’
‘Komitaji chaps, perhaps,’ said Prescott;
‘I ’ve heard of them.’
‘ Yes, Komitajis,’ said Tom. ‘ Of course they
had wrongs to avenge, but the village upon
which they fell was ﬁlled with perfectly harm-
less people. But they just wiped it off the
map. When they ’d done with it, it wasn’t
a village any more.’
‘Then the Turk takes it out of a quiet
Christian spot, and so it goes on, eh?’ said
Prescott.
And Tom nodded.
‘Well now, my judicious young friend,’ went
on Billy Prescott, ‘ your talk is very unsettling.
You upset the notions of a lifetime, now
stretching over the vast span of more than
eighteen revolving years. Let me put to you
a plain question. If it came to a shindy, would
you side with the Turks of whom you speak so
amiably?'
‘Oh no, no,’ cried Tom. ‘I’d do my very
best to drive them back to Asia, where
they belong. I only wanted to show that


12 THE scours’ con rssr.
the question is not so easy as it looks to
people who only see it from a distance. If
you live on the spot you may be very fond
of some Turks that you know, and think little
enough of some native Christians. But, come
to the bottom of it, the Turk lays a dead hand
on any country he touches, and he ought to
be got rid of’
‘My guv’nor says that war may be nearer
than people think,’ said Prescott.
‘I’ve heard about it ever since I can
remember anything,’ returned Tom, ‘and the
Bulgars and Serbs are wild to be let loose
against the Turks. And if it ever breaks out
it ’ll be a frightful business!’ added Tom
soberly; ‘there ’s such bitter hatred between
them.’


' John "Wood Bl0CIge1;t Jr;
Granfl Fftn piils, M151 i__;1n’.
CHAPTER II.
7
TOM S HOME.
IT was an odd thing that war in the Balkans
was almost the last subject on which Tom
Yorke chatted in England, and almost the ﬁrst
thing which came up when he reached Turkey.
I-Ie gained Adrianople early on a brilliant
morning in mid-July, and found his father
waiting for him on the platform. They did
not enter the city, which is a long Way from
the station, but took the eastern road in a
strong, serviceable vehicle, a kind of cross
between a dogcart and a wagonette, which
Mr Yorke had designed for his own use over
the rough roads of the country.
For more than two hours the pair of power-
ful horses, driven by a Turkish servant, took
the carriage along at a swinging pace, and then
a point was reached where a country byway, a
mere bridle-path, dusty and stony, climbed up
a slope on the left-hand side of the highway,
Here beside the road a man in native dress
was standing with the bridles of three horses
in his hands, and the carriage was drawn up.
Mr Yorke and Tom got down. They in-
13.5.13. B


14 TOM 7
s HOME.
tended to ride home by the bridle-path, which
would save them many miles ; the servant who
drove the carriage would take it round by the
highway and then by a country road, as the
bridle-path was useless for anything that went
on wheels.
The man who held the horses now led them
forward, and his white teeth shone in a cheer-
ful smile as he saw his young master. He
poured forth a ﬂood of Turkish speech as he
salaamed, and Tom replied in the same tongue,
for his childhood had been spent among native
servants, and he spoke the language easily.
Ahmed was a big, powerful fellow, grave, but
pleasant-looking, an excellent and faithful ser-
vant, and devoted to Mr Yorke. The latter
had come across him in an odd fashion.
Staying in Adrianople, Mr Yorke had been
detained one night at the house of an acquaint-
ance until darkness had fallen. The streets of
a large Turkish town are far from being safe by
night; but Mr Yorke knew his way well, and
stepped out briskly for the house in which he
was lodging. At the very door of the place he
sought he was set upon and robbed. His out-
cries brought a servant with a lamp, and the
thieves ﬂed with their spoil. He made com-
plaint to the authorities, and the latter ordered
the police to ﬁnd the robbers. In a short time
I I L


'roM’s noum. 1 5
the police produced a prisoner, and declared
that he was the thief. This was Ahmed, and
he was nothing of the sort. He was poor and
friendless ; the police found him sleeping in a
corner of the bazaar, and they laid hands upon
him to save themselves the trouble of looking
farther.
But nothing could have saved the poor
fellow from terrible punishment had not Mr
Yorke interceded. He had caught a glimpse
of the rascals and knew perfectly well that
Ahmed was not one of them. He used his
inﬂuence to save the unlucky man from a
punishment which would have mutilated him
for life, and, after hearing his story, found him
a small place on the estate. In time he became
a servant about the house. He turned out to
be a most trustworthy and capable man. Now
he was riding behind his masters, old and
young, as they walked their horses up to the
ridge.
The feet of their horses fell almost without
sound in the deep dust of the Way, and Tom
and his father began to talk again.
‘ I say, father,’ said Tom, ‘ what ’s this about
a new Kaimakam [local governor]? Has old
Abdul Bey gone ? ’
‘Yes, Tom,’ replied Mr Yorke, ‘he has been
called to Constantinople to take ofﬁce there,


16 TOM 7
s HOME.
and the change has been a very bad one for
the district. Old Abdul was a decent Turk in
his way; if he did no good, he did no harm,
and that is a big point in a Turkish governor's
favour. But this man is a rascal. He was
an Albanian brigand before he entered the
government service. The old Sultan Abdul
Hamid gave him a good billet to keep him
quiet. Now he has been transferred to our
district. He means mischief; he ’s going to
get rich in a hurry, and there’s only one way
to do that.’
Tom nodded. ‘Bag the taxes,’ he re-
marked.
‘Bag everything that comes before him,’
said Mr Yorke, ‘including other people’s
property if he can get his ﬁngers on it. Three
weeks ago the house of Spiridion, the Greek
merchant, was raided, and the place plundered
to the last dollar. Brigands, the police said;
but I believe they were the brigands them-
selves, and the Kaimakam pocketed the
loot.’
Tom whistled softly, for though he had heard
many such stories of other districts, their own
neighbourhood, ruled by a peaceable and honest
old Turk, had been free of such wrongdoing.
At a later point of their journey Mr Yorke
touched upon the state of public affairs.


'roM’s nous. 17
‘ There ’s going to be trouble in this country
before long,’ he said.
‘Do you think it ’s really coming at last,
father?’ asked Tom.
‘I do, Tom,’ said his father; ‘if Bulgaria
doesn’t mean war, and that very soon, I’m
tremendously mistaken. A month ago I was
in Soﬁa, and I had a pretty strong hint from a
Bulgarian friend as to the way matters were
running. That set me on the lookout, and
I made cautious inquiries wherever I went. I
had to see people in Philippopolis and two or
three other places, and I wasn’t long in ﬁnding
that Bulgaria is quietly arming to the teeth
and making plans for something big to happen,
and that before long.’
‘But she can’t start by herself,’ said Tom;
‘ she isn’t strong enough.’
‘ No, she isn’t,’ replied Mr Yorke; ‘but you
mark my words, my boy. The moment she
lifts her hand against Turkey, then Servia,
Montenegro, and Greece will be in the ﬁeld as
one man, and we shall see the struggle—the
prospect of which has been hanging over
Europe for many years like a black pall—the
battle for the Balkans.’
‘Who will win ? ’ asked Tom.
‘It seems hopeless to dream of the “little
nations,” the Balkan States, beating the Turk,’


18 TOM s noum.
said Mr Yorke slowly; ‘but I don’t know—I
don’t know. There may be a chance for them.
They are splendidly ready for a ﬁght, I am
certain of that; and the Turk, he is never
ready. It ’s a wonderful country if he could
only be driven out of -it. Think of our valley,
and—look at this !’
They were entering a Turkish village, a
scattered litter of rude buildings on either side
of the way. The place looked incredibly mean
and poor; the ﬁlth and squalor beyond descrip-
tion; the people in the streets dirty and ragged.
The ﬁelds about the place were neglected and
overgrown with weeds which choked the scanty
crop. On every side were tokens of the
laziness and thriftlessness, the utter want of
energy which marks a region where the Turk
holds rule. Mr Yorke and his son were glad
to touch the horses up and canter through the
evil-smelling place, and it was with a breath
of relief they emerged from its foulness and
ﬁlled their lungs with the sweet, clean air of
the open hillside.
Half-an-hour later they rode over a ridge,
and Tom said joyously, ‘Here we are!’ and
saw the white walls of the big bungalow, which
had always been home to him, shine out on
the opposite slope.
The rays of the setting sun lighted the


Tom’s HOME. 19
valley with brilliant radiance, and showed a
scene which might well cause Mr Yorke to
feel proud in comparing this valley with that
in which the neighbouring Turkish village
stood. As that had been an example of
untidiness and neglect, this, on the other hand,
was a picture of smiling beauty and luxuriant
fertility. The rich soil of that region demands
two things, water and care. A government
which neglects aqueducts, permits its water-
courses to empty the precious ﬂuid into
marshes, and by its misrule discourages care-
ful cultivation, would blight a very Garden
of Eden; but this valley had known other
handling.
Twenty-ﬁve years before it had borne as
desolate an aspect as the neighbouring valleys,
when it had passed from the possession of a
Turk of the old school into the hands of
his nephew, a man with western ideas, who
had spent much time in Paris and London as
an embassy attache’. The ﬁrst thing he did
was to engage an English engineer, and Mr
Yorke had been recommended for the post.
Into the hands of the young Englishman the
Turkish proprietor gave the whole manage-
ment, and Mr Yorke had splendidly carried
out his trust.
The ﬁrst thing he did was to make a


20 'rom’s nous.
careful survey of the head of the valley
to examine the water resources. He found
them good, but running hopelessly to waste.
At once he set to work upon aqueducts and
plans for irrigation. The cost was heavy, but
the results were magniﬁcent. Within ﬁve
years the burnt-up, parched valley had been
transformed to a fruitful garden. Crops of all
kinds ﬂourished with the utmost luxuriance;
but the land was suited, above all, for the
tobacco-plant, and some of the ﬁnest tobacco
in the world was grown in the ﬁelds which
spread over these sun-warmed slopes.
Now, after twenty-ﬁve years of labour, skill,
and care, the valley was at the highest point
of cultivation. Its ﬁelds of tobacco, cotton,
and maize, its olive-groves, vineyards, and
peach orchards, the trim cottages of the workers
on the estate, all combined to form a scene of
smiling plenty, and to show what could be
done in this rich but neglected country. The
estate had escaped the customary extortion
which usually takes the heart out of the
Turkish cultivator, for the district had been
under the rule of a benevolent and respectable
old pasha, a great friend of its owner.


C H A P T E R I I I.
THE BEAR,-HUNT.
ON the Monday morning of the third week
in September, Tom Yorke stood on the
veranda in front of their low, wide-spreading
house. He was alone, and was gazing up the
valley toward the hills which rose abruptly to
the north and shut off the wild storms from
the Balkan heights. The hills were low, not
more than ﬁfteen hundred feet high; and
as soon as the cultivated land ceased thick
forest began, and clothed the hills to their
summits. Tom was in scout-kit, leaning on
a strong staff; his haversack was now being
packed in the kitchen, and then he would
start for a long tramp over the hills.
Presently he saw a ﬁgure advancing toward
the house. It came nearer, and Tom recog-
nised Dragoulos, the Greek overseer of the
upper part of the valley.
Greetings passed, and the man asked for
Mr Yorke.
‘He ’s gone away,’ replied Tom. ‘He
started for Adrianople at dawn. I-Ie won’t


22 THE BEAR-HUNT.
_ .8
be back until to-morrow night. Is anything
wrong, Dragoulos ? ’
‘Bears are doing mischief, effendi, in the
ﬁelds near the woods,’ replied the overseer.
‘ They have broken into a maize-ﬁeld last night,
and destroyed much of the crop. I came to
report the matter.’
‘ Bears, eh?’ cried Tom. ‘ I ’ll see to them.
I was going a tramp over the hills. I ’ll make
it a stalk instead. I ’ll come up now.’
The overseer bent his head in reply, and
seated himself on the edge of the veranda,
while Tom hurried to prepare himself for a
bear-hunt. He went to the gun-room, hesi-
tated for a moment between a Mauser sporting
carbine and a Winchester, and ﬁnally decided
on the Mauser because it was ﬁtted with a
sling. This would enable him to keep his
hands free for climbing if need be, and it might
easily prove that he would have to cross rough
country to follow his quarry. He ﬁlled a
bandolier with the handy ﬁve-shot clips, slung
it round him, slipped the sling of the carbine
over the other shoulder, fastened a hunting-
knife with a nine-inch blade at his belt, and
was ready.
As he stepped into the hall a servant met
him with his haversack, and he added that to
his load, took up his staff again, and rejoined


"rum BEAR.-HUNT. 23
C
the overseer. Together they went up the road,
which ran from end to end of the valley, Tom
asking questions, and the man eagerly describ-
ing the signs which made him feel sure that
three bears of various sizes had been concerned
in the destruction.
When he arrived at the ﬁeld, Tom found
that there was no mistake about the mischief
that had been done. The tall stalks with their
great golden ears had been torn and trampled
down as if a small army had been let loose on
the crop. Here, there, and everywhere the
bears had ranged through the maize patch, and
the ﬁeld was strewn with half-eaten ears. The
scout went to work, closely inspecting the
tracks, and came to a conclusion which did not
agree with that of his companion.
‘Seems to me there have been four bears
here, a regular family party,’ said Tom. ‘ Look
here, Dragoulos, there have been two small
ones here of different sizes; the prints show
that plainly enough. But the big prints,
though much of a size, vary a triﬂe. There ’s
one set of equal clearness, and another where
a hindfoot leaves a slighter mark. I reckon
that means two big ones, one of them lame
and going easy on the near hindfoot.’
‘ Yes, effendi, I see it now,’ said the overseer.
‘ You have sharp eyes indeed.’


24 THE BEAR-HUNT.
‘Turn out the dogs and send Basil to me,’
went on Tom, ‘and we ’ll soon shake these
marauders up if they haven’t got too far
away.’
The overseer hurried off to a hamlet in a
patch of trees, about a quarter of a mile from
the ﬁeld, and soon returned with a companion,
a Greek lad employed on the estate, whose
name was Basil. At their heels trotted a pair
of nondescript brindled dogs, of no particular
breed, looking more like wolves than anything
else, and almost as savage, but well trained to
bear, and warranted to face anything that had
a hide on it. Basil carried‘ an old muzzle-
loading riﬂe over his shoulder, and was hung
about with powder-horn, bullet-pouch, and a
couple of huge knives.
As soon as the dogs were put into the maize-
ﬁeld their necks bristled up, and soft, deep
growls announced that they knew very well
what creatures had been there and what was
needed of them. They headed at once for the
huge gap in the fence where the bears had
broken in, and Tom and Basil trotted after
them, the overseer bawling a score of good
wishes after the boys as they went.
The bear trail ran across a patch of broken
land and plunged straight into the woodland,
and for some time it was easy going.


THE BEAR-HUNT. 25
Tom kept his eyes at work all the way, and
traced the progress of the marauders easily
by broken twigs and the big, almost shapeless
prints in dusty patches; then they reached a
smooth grassy stretch, where the scent of the
dogs was useful. Across this they sped, and
now came to a point where they had to call
the dogs in to a walk and take matters quietly.
The bears had struck up a steep hill through
thick underwood, and the two young hunters
now had to moderate their speed. With the
aid of his staff, Tom went ahead, and Basil
followed closely. A good seven hundred feet
they climbed, and came out on top of a ridge.
Here they ﬂung themselves down in shade of
an oak to get their Wind ; their climb had been
stiff, and the day was one of blazing heat.
From the ridge they looked down into a little
valley on the west, where a cluster of cottages
formed a hamlet. The people who lived there
were shepherd folks whose ﬂocks fed on the
slopes around.
‘I wonder if they know anything in Polos
about the bears on the war-path ? ’ said
Tom.
‘They must be careful, for they are very
near the forest,’ returned Basil.
‘We ought to warn them,’ went on Tom,
‘for you know, Basil, people are not looking


26 THE BEAR-HUNT.
for bears at this time of the year at such a
distance from the big hills.’
‘ I believe the track runs that way,’ said the
Greek. ‘ Look, there is a broken branch as if
the bears had gone down the bank toward
Polos.’
‘ Come on,’ said Tom; and the dogs were put
on the scent once more.
Basil was right. The bears had gone down
toward Polos, until they were quite near the
hamlet, and then the trail swung away to the
forest, as if the bears had scented the nearness
of man.
‘Wait a bit,’ said Tom, and Basil checked
the dogs. Tom ran toward the hamlet to
pass the word to old Komanoff, the patriarch
of the little community, to keep an eye open
for the marauders.
As Tom drew near to the clump of cottages
he saw Komanoﬁ”s granddaughter, a little girl
of ten years old, standing at some distance
from the ﬁrst hut. To his surprise, the child
turned at sight of him, and ran like a hare for
the hamlet and disappeared.
‘What ’s wrong with little Nadejda?’ thought
Tom; then he chuckled. ‘ It’s the scout-rig,’
he said to himself; ‘it ’s scared her, and she ’s
cut for home.’
On he ran, and the ﬁrst person he met was


THE BEAR-HUNT. 27
old Komanoff himself. He was a Bulgar; the
district was a medley of races, but Tom was
at home with them all. But here again was
a surprise; the old man was unmistakably
shaking with terror. A sound burst from his
lips at sight of the Boy Scout; it was a great
gasp of relief
Again Tom was puzzled, but he had no
time to go into the reason why folks should
be startled upon seeing him. He told the old
man quickly about the presence of bears in
the neighbourhood, and the ancient Bulgar
thanked him again and again, but in a quaver-
ing voice, which showed that for some reason
or other he was completely upset by Tom’s
sudden appearance.
As Tom talked, he took off his broad-
brimmed scout-hat and wiped his forehead,
for his brow was streaming with sweat after
his climb over the hill. In a moment the
little girl who had run from him came from
old Komanoﬂ"s hut with a bowl of goat-milk
in her hands; the women within had been
observing Tom through the window and had
sent out refreshment for him. Tom was not
merely well known in Polos; he was looked
upon almost as a child of the hamlet, for his
nurse had been a daughter of the old man to
whom he was talking. Tom thanked N adejda,


28 rm: BEAR-HUNT.
and took a draught of the milk, though he
was careful to drink sparingly, and then he
hastened to rejoin his companion. The manner
in which he had been received at Polos lingered
in his mind for a few moments; then the
excitement of the chase swept everything else
from his thoughts.
Three hours’ steady work up hill and down
dale over rough and broken country brought
them apparently no nearer to their quarry,
and they halted beside a spring to spend the
time when the sun should be at the height
of its merciless power. Basil had a large piece
of bread in one pocket and a chunk of goat-
milk cheese in another ; Tom had the provender
in his haversack, and both drank from the
Water of the spring which bubbled up cool
and clear at the foot of a great rock. In the
shadow of the rock they lay down to rest; and
while they were stretched at ease on the soft
turf the thought of old Komanoﬂ"s strange
terror came back to Tom’s mind, and he began
to tell his companion about it.
‘I know what it means, effendi; I know
what it means,’ murmured Basil. I-Ie leaned
nearer to his young master and Whispered,
‘There is a Komitaji in the village.’ As he
whispered he looked round as if in terror that
the dread name should be overheard even by
i ‘l i


THE REAR-HUNT. 29
the leaves of the forest-trees, lest thewandering
breeze should carry the sound to some Turkish
ear.
‘ What!’ cried Tom; ‘who is it?’
‘ Black Michael,’ whispered Basil.
‘By Jove!’ muttered Tom; ‘no wonder
they looked frightened. I see it all now,’ and
he blew out a long breath.
A Komitaji is a member of an insurgent
band; one of those bands which have for many
years waged a ﬁerce guerilla war with the
Turks on behalf of their oppressed fellow-
countrymen. The hatred between Turk and
Christian is deep and bitter; between Turk
and Komitaji it is a burning ﬂame--neither
has the least mercy on the other when and
wherever they may meet.
Among the terrible ﬁghters of the Komitajis,
Black Michael had won a great name, and
the Bimbashi, the military commandant of the
district, would have given much to lay him
by the heels. He was the son of old Komanoff,
and had crept by stealth over the frontier to
revisit his friends. He had, in the ﬁrst place,
become a Komitaji because he had a dreadful
score to settle with the Turkish tyrant. Five
years before he had been a peaceful farmer
with a snug cottage and a few ﬁelds in a valley
some six miles from Polos.
B.s.E. Q


30 rm: BEAR-HUNT.
One day there was a ﬁerce skirmish between
Komitajis and Turkish soldiery among the
hills at the head of his valley. Toward
evening a badly wounded insurgent crept
toward Michael’s cottage. Michael was not
at home, but his wife and daughters were
drawn to the door by the cries of the unhappy
man. He was, like themselves, a Bulgar;
he was of their own faith and language; he
was ﬁghting for their cause, and they could
not refuse him what he asked—a cup of cold
water to ease the anguish of thirst, for the
blood was draining from his body through
many wounds. He crawled on, hoping to gain
a refuge, but his hopes were vain; within a
short time a score of his savage enemies came
hot upon his track.
A Turkish shepherd-boy had been watching
his ﬂock on a slope above the valley, and had
seen everything. He ran to join the soldiery,
and he pointed out the way the fugitive had
taken; he told of the drink of water given
at the cottage. The wounded Komitaji was
swiftly caught and despatched ; then the Turks
rushed back to the cottage.
When Michael got home that night from
the market-town the scene which awaited him
was one which has been common enough along
the Balkans for many a year, but none the less


THE BEAR-HUNT. 31
terrible for that. The snug cottage was a
heap of blackened ruins, from which smoke
was still gently oozing; the dead body of
his wife, horribly mutilated, lay among
the ashes of their home; and his daughters
had disappeared. He searched everywhere,
but there was no sign of them to be found,
nor did he ever learn a word of the dreadful
fate which had certainly befallen them.
In his despair he vowed vengeance on the
Turkish oppressor, and ﬂed to join an insurgent
band; and when the Komitajis assailed the
Moslem foe he was foremost in every desperate
encounter, until he became a marked man.
This was the Komitaji now in Polos. His
presence was known to a number of Christians,
but none of them would betray him, and the
Bimbashi and his men were away at the other
end of the district.
‘Then they ’d set little Nadejda on the
watch,’ said Tom to Basil. ‘ She didn’t under-
stand my scout-rig, and took every stranger
for an enemy, and ran and warned them.’
‘ That is it,’ replied Basil. ‘ If the Bimbashi
found that Michael visited his people there
would be trouble for Polos.’
‘ By Jove, yes!’ murmured Tom; ‘and this
Kaimakam isn’t like old Abdul Bey, who kept
things quiet and steady.’


32 THE BEAR-HUNT.
‘No,’ rejoined Basil, ‘he is a bad one; he
sends men round to ﬁnd out who are the rich
people, and then he lays a trap for them. Did
you hear about Strezoff, the rich merchant
who lives near Muselim ? ’
‘ No,’ said Tom; ‘ what happened to him ?’
‘Three months ago there was a big fair at
Muselim, and the people complained that there
was much bad coin passing from hand to hand.
The police took many pieces of bad money
and carried them to the Konak [magistrate’s
court], and there they were kept. Well,
about two weeks after the fair, ﬁve or six
policemen went in the early morning to
Strezoﬂ"s house, and accused him of bring-
ing the bad money into the neighbourhood.
They said they must search the place, and
they went to work and found a bag of bad
money hidden in a hole in the side of the
well.’
‘Of course they would,’ put in Tom; ‘the
police had put it there themselves during the
night.’
‘Without doubt they had,’ agreed Basil,
‘but that did not help Strezoff. He was
ﬁned eight hundred dollars, and beaten with
sticks until he could scarcely crawl from the
place.’
‘They ’re a lively crew, our Turkish rulers,’


THE BEAR—HUNT. 33
remarked Tom; ‘it ’s time they had marching
orders.’
When the two boys took up the trail again
it led them in different directions, as if the
bears were rambling from thicket to thicket,
eating berries, and moving hither and thither
without striking any deﬁnite line. But the
boys stuck to their work until the run began
to slope toward the west, and Basil expressed
the opinion that they would not see home
that night.
‘ Never mind,’ said Tom ; ‘ we’ll camp on the
trail, and take it up again in the morning.
They ’re not going to beat us. Besides, if
you ’ll notice, we ’re working back again. It ’s
my opinion they ’re heading now for our place
and the maize-ﬁeld. Hallo, what ’s that ? ’
The dogs suddenly raised a joyous whimper,
which changed to a savage howl as they burst
into a thicket; at the next moment a chorus
of ferocious growls told the young hunters
they had come suddenly on the marauders.
The thicket was at the foot of a broken rocky
slope, and now a half-grown bear came in
sight over the bushes as it climbed swiftly
up the hillside.
Tom had ﬂung aside his staff and unslung
his carbine at the ﬁrst whimper of the dogs,
and now he raised the Weapon to his shoulder.


34 THE BEAR.-HUNT.
The bear went up about forty feet, then turned
to look below, its mouth open, its tongue
hanging out. Tom ﬁred into the open mouth,
and the long slip of a bullet hit the mark to
a marvel; it drilled the brain, and the bear,
after rocking to and fro for a moment, collapsed
and rolled down the hill into the thicket it
had left. A second bear now appeared, an
immense brute, and it came lumbering out
of the thicket toward them, the dogs hanging
upon it, tearing and snapping at its great
shaggy body.
‘Call them oﬂ; Basil! call them off ! ’
shouted Tom, for a shot was as likely to hit
a dog as the bear. Basil yelled to the dogs,
but they were deaf to his cries ; the half-savage
animals were utterly careless of anything save
the joy of battle with the creature they loved
to hunt. Suddenly the bear stopped and half
raised itself; it had seen the hunters. One of
the dogs reared and leapt at its muzzle. It
was a fatal mistake. There was a single sweep
of that huge forearm, bulging with iron muscles
and ﬁnished off with claws of steel, and the
unlucky dog was lying on the ground seven
feet off with one side ripped away. With a
swift movement, the huge bear caught up
the other dog and retreated among the trees,
crushing the yelping unlucky brute to death


THE BEAR.—HUN'1‘. 35
in its ﬁerce clutch. As it went, Basil let off
his muzzle-loader. It roared like a cannon,
but in his excitement he ﬁred wide and the
bullet thudded into a trunk. For his part,
Tom emptied the rest of the clip into the huge
mark; but though every bullet went home into
the vast mass of hair, bone, and sinew, he
might have been using a pea-shooter for any
effect it produced. The bear made its lumber-
ing retreat among the trees and disappeared,
and in another moment the strangled yelping
ceased, and they knew it had destroyed both
dogs.
Tom whipped a clip from his bandolier and
shot it into the magazine; Basil was driving
his ramrod down the long barrel of his piece
in frantic haste to reload. They were barely
ready when a most horrible noise burst out
among the low trees, a frightful sound which
was at once a yell and a growl, and through
it all a piercing howling which threatened
vengeance. Tom knew it was a she-bear, and
she had discovered her dead cub. I-Ie glanced
across to his companion, and saw to his horror
that the Greek, excited beyond thought of
prudence, was approaching the thicket.
‘Come back, Basil!’ he shouted; ‘come
back! We must draw off and get'room to
meet the charge !’
P


36 THE BEAR-HUNT.
But Basil was now raising his heavy riﬂe.
He had caught a glimpse of the bear in a gap
between the trees.
‘Don’t shoot, you madman!’ roared Tom.
‘Don’t shoot! She ’ll be all over you in a
ﬂash at close quarters ! Come back ! ’
His call was in vain. It was not that Basil
ﬁred a shot; it was that the bear raised
herself a little, saw her enemy, and came
through the bushes at him with lightning
speed. Tom gave a gasp of dismay when he
saw the huge creature burst at a lumbering
gallop through the screen of bushes and bear
down upon Basil.
The Greek showed great courage. He ﬁred
his piece full in her face, but the bullet struck
the huge bony skull, and glanced aside as if
it had alighted on an angle of rock. She
reared and stood above him at her full gigantic
height, and raised her massive paws to strike.
For a moment he had stood as if turned to
stone with the terror of this sudden charge.
Then, as the tremendous blow was launched,
he seemed to come to himself, and leapt aside
and ran from the place at topmost speed.
The bear dropped to all-fours and pursued.
The Greek was a wonderful runner, famous
throughout the valley for his speed, and he
gained some distance While the bear was


THE BEAR-HUNT. 37
getting into her stride. But when she had
fairly broken into her lumbering gallop she
seemed to go over the ground with the speed
of a racehorse.
Meanwhile Tom had been taking a hand
in the game. He had not been able to ﬁre
until Basil ran, so close was his companion
to the thicket and the bear. But as soon as
daylight opened between them he ﬁred at the
bear’s skull, hoping to reach the brain. Twice
he landed a bullet close to her ear, and she
merely shook her head as if some one had
cuffed her. Then he began to search for the
heart, and at that short range the Mauser
bullets must have gone clean through her, yet
so tremendous was the vitality of that huge
frame that she ran on as if untouched. She
passed a clump of‘ bushes and disappeared;
Basil had vanished at the same point an
instant before.
Tom ran after them at full speed. He saw
Basil going faster than ever round the base
of a small rocky knoll; yet the bear was
gaining, there could be no doubt of that.
Tom dashed for the other side of the knoll,
feeling certain that Basil would try to run
right round it and so open a path by which
he could rejoin his companion. Tom was
right. He had scarcely gained the position
-


38 rum BEAR-HUNT.
he sought when the dress of the Greek
ﬂuttered round a corner of the hill, and Basil
was ﬂying straight toward him, the bear in
close pursuit. As Basil came up, Tom sank
on his right knee and steadied his riﬂe. The
Greek shot by, and now the great she-bear
bore down full upon the scout. Her fury was
tremendous; every hair stood on end with
rage, and she looked as big as a horse; her
huge jaws were wide open, slavering foam,
her fangs grinned horribly, her bloodshot eyes
ﬂared ﬂame. One twitter of the nerves, one
shake of the hand, and Tom, kneeling full in
her path, was lost.


CHAPTER IV.
THE REFUGEES.
BUT true eye and steady hand triumphed.
There was no attempt to empty the
magazine into her; no ﬂurried_ delivery of shot
upon shot. The Mauser carbine spoke once,
and once only. But the clip of lead quenched
the light in one blazing eye and pierced the
brain. The monster gave one great ﬁnal
spring, crumpled up, and dropped on her side,
her lolling tongue not a yard from Tom’s left
foot. '
For a second Tom clutched his riﬂe in an
unyielding grip; it seemed scarcely possible
that that living whirlwind had been checked
for ever by that single shot, and he was ready
to ﬁre again. But there was no need; the
weakest creature of the forest was not so
harmless as the vast furry mass which lay
almost within reach of his outstretched hand.
‘Oh splendid shot! splendid shot!’ gasped
Basil, who had pulled up behind Tom as behind
a bulwark of safety. ‘ She would have caught
me; she ran like the wind. A thousand and
a thousand thanks, effendi.’


40 THE msruemrs.
‘ That ’s all right, Basil,’ said Tom cheer-
fully. ‘ Bound to chip in, you know; it ’s one
of our rules. Isn’t she a whopper ? '
He stood beside the great bear, admiring her
huge bulk, her mighty limbs, when a melan-
choly howl broke on their ears.
‘The dogs!’ cried Tom; ‘I had forgotten
the poor beasts. Let ’s see what we can do for
them.’
The two boys ran to the place, but found
they could do nothing. The sound they had
heard was the dying howl of the dog which
had been struck by the bear’s paw; the other
was already dead, its body ﬂattened in remark-
able fashion from the tremendous power of the
hug which had crushed it.
‘ She has killed the dogs,’ said Tom ; ‘ where
is the cub I shot?’
He pushed farther into the thicket, and soon
discovered the body of the bear-cub; then he
began to search for the track of the other bears.
He found they had ﬂed through the thicket,
broken cover on the far side, and escaped along
the hill. Basil came up and looked at the trail.
‘We cannot follow it farther,’ he said; ‘it
will soon be dark.’
‘ It will,’ agreed Tom. ‘ We ’ll turn to and
camp where we are, and bag the other two in
the morning.’
_l.l_I_I


THE REFUGEES. 41
Both went to work with a will. In a trice
they had gathered a heap of dry brushwood
and set a ﬁre going. Of food they had but
little in pocket or haversack; but there lay the
bear-cub, and they took their knives, skinned
it, and cut an ample store of bear-steaks, juicy
and tender. Tom cooked them, scout-fashion,
while Basil hacked away with one of his huge
knives and laid in a supply of ﬁrewood for the
night. When the bear-meat was ready they
made a splendid supper, washed it down with
water from a little brook which ran past the
rocky knoll, and then sat chatting by their
ﬁre until the night settled down over the
mountain and the stars came out.
‘We shall have to keep the ﬁre going,’ said
Tom. ‘We have no blankets, and though it ’s
been hot enough to-day it ’ll be jolly cold
before morning. We ’ll take turns to sleep;
I ’ll keep ﬁrst watch.’
Basil nodded, stretched himself out beside
the pleasant blaze, placed his head on Tom’s
haversack, stuffed with dry grass, for a pillow,
and was asleep in a moment. Tom watched
his spell, made up the ﬁre, woke his companion,
and lay down in turn.
He had been asleep for some time when
Basil shook him by the shoulder. Tom woke
up in an instant. ‘ What ’s wrong ? ’ he asked.


42 THE an-noums.
‘Listen, effendi, listen!’ murmured the
Greek.
Tom listened, and a strange sound came to
his ears. The night was very still, and coming,
as it seemed, from an immense distance, there
was a thin, wailing sound, with a note of dread-
ful horror in it.
‘Queer,’ said Tom; ‘that ’s no creature of
the forest making that noise.’ There was a
faint rattle of teeth, and Tom glanced at his
companion. Basil’s face was white and his
jaws were trembling. He had been full of
courage when tackling the bear, but he was also
full of superstitious terrors, and this mysterious
noise in the darkness of the night had ﬁlled
him with horror.
‘No creature of the forest makes such
sounds, effendi,’ he murmured in a shaking
voice; ‘they are spirits of the dead abroad in
the air—people who have been cruelly slain,
and are mourning their fate.’
‘Not much,’ rejoined Tom; ‘there ’s some-
thing solid behind that outcry, though it ’s cer-
tainly some one in trouble.’
‘But it is as I say, effendi,’ persisted the
Greek. ‘Do you not know that there was a
village in the direction of that sound, where
the Turks killed all the people and burned the
houses?’


mm uuruomms. 43
‘Yes,’ said Tom; ‘ I ’ve seen the ruins many
a time. They ’re on the old road that leads to
the frontier; the road no one ever uses nowa-
days.’
‘ The dead villagers have returned, I am sure
of it,’ said the Greek earnestly.
Tom shook his head, and sprang to his
feet.
‘Where are you going, effendi?’ quavered
Basil.
‘Going to see what ’s the matter,’ replied
Tom. ‘I fancy myself there are people over
there in trouble. They might need some one
to lend a hand, and that ’s a scout’s job. You
stop here and keep the ﬁre going.’
Away went Tom, and as he started east-
ward for the old track whence came the
sound, a waning moon pushed up over the
shoulder of the hill and gave him a little
light. But it was slow work, and as he
picked his way across the rough, broken hill-
side the sound died away. He stopped from
time to time to listen, but he heard it no
more. He came out on the summit of a ridge.
Behind him he could see the burning red
point of their camp-ﬁre; before and around
spread the dim, silent waste of hill-country.
He strained his ears, but in vain; there was
now no sound to guide his feet. He Went
~ ' _ .


44 THE REFUGEES.
back to the ﬁre, where the Greek was very
glad to see him.
At daybreak they made another hearty
meal off the bear-cub ; then Tom shaped their
line for the deserted road and the ruined
village. The thought of the strange cries of
the night could not be driven from his mind,
and he wished to look over the ground in the
direction from which they had come before
pursuing the trail.
He had scarcely set foot upon the ancient
highway, a mere track, before it was made
clear that people had been in their neighbour-
hood that night. The sand of the way was
printed with many steps, big and little, press-
ing northward.
‘Hallo!’ said Tom, ‘not exactly spirit
footprints these, Basil. Something a triﬂe
more substantial left these marks. But what
does it mean?’
The Greek shook his head, but said nothing;
he was puzzled. Moved by a common impulse,
the two lads turned along the track and fol-
lowed the footprints, so little to be expected in
this wild hill-country, miles from the nearest
hamlet. Three hundred yards from the point
where they struck the deserted path it wound
round a rocky corner. Here, like a true scout,
Tom paused and took a keen glance round the


THE REFUGEES. 45
country they were losing sight of ' Below him
the track fell away in loop after loop down a
long slope, and at the foot of the latter it dis-
appeared among a tangle of low acacia-trees.
Suddenly a ﬁgure shuﬂied out of the acacias;
it was followed by another and another; then
a bunch came into sight, then more and more,
stringing along the path.
‘Redifs!’ cried Torn. ‘Redifs! What are
they doing here?’
But before the inquiry had fallen from his
lips he had answered himself. When Turkish
irregular soldiery were marching along a path
already dinted by feet of men, women, and
children there was but one answer. Both boys
knew at once that a band of refugees was in
front of them; a band of bloodthirsty ruﬂians
behind. Now Tom understood the wailing
heard in the night. The fugitives had halted
awhile in their ﬂight; the scout and his com-
rade in camp had heard the groans of the
wounded ; the cries of those who mourned their
dead, left in the village which the Redifs had
destroyed. The latter had been delayed by
staying to sack the houses and mutilate the
fallen, but were now on the trail of the escaped
peasants to complete their work of blood.
‘ Come on !’ snapped Tom; and both sprang
out, and the active young limbs bore their
B.B.B. D


46 -rum REIUGEES.
owners up the hill at twice the pace of the
shuﬂling soldiery. ‘We must warn those
people ahead,’ said Tom. ‘Perhaps they are
resting near at hand, not expecting pursuit.
Where have those Redifs sprung from?
Every one said the Bimbashi and his men
were nowhere near us.’
‘I know, effendi; I know!’ cried Basil.
‘ They must belong to a battalion of Redifs
from Anatolia who have just come up to
relieve the men stationed on the border.’
‘Anatolians! the worst of all,’ said Tom;
and there ﬂashed into his mind a hundred
stories he had heard of the savage barbarities
inﬂicted by these wild Asiatic troops upon
the helpless peasants of a village given over
to their mercy.
As Tom ran he was turning over in his
mind what village this could be that had been
assailed, and why the punishment should have
been inﬂicted. It must be a hamlet in the
district, but he could not imagine which. The
country had been so quiet in their neigh-
bourhood for so long a time. Then the
path plunged into a ravine, deep and narrow,
its banks overgrown with brushwood, and here
they found the fugitives. It was a pitiable
sight, and the boys cried out in wonder as well
as sorrow ; they knew every soul there. More


ram REFUGEES. 47
than forty people, old and young, lay or sat
upon the grass, and all from Polos.
‘Up! up!’ cried Tom and Basil together;
‘ the Redifs are coming.’
At that name of terror the fugitives sprang
to their feet, and began to hurry on. A tall,
dark man ran toward Tom.
‘Where are they, effendi?’ he asked. It
was Black Michael.
Tom told him.
The Komitaji thought for a moment. ‘No,’
he said, ‘we cannot hold them at the
mouth of this ravine. They could outﬂank
us. But a mile farther, where it ends in a
broken path, we can check them, while the
women and children hurry forward. Five of
us have riﬂes.’ The insurgent’s face broke into
a ﬁerce smile, and he patted the stock of his
weapon as if he promised himself a grim use
of it ere long. He shouted to his friends to
hasten forward, and he began to stride along
at the rear.
Tom and Basil hurried beside him, asking
eager questions, and soon heard the story.
Within three hours of Tom leaving Polos a
sudden assault had been made on the place by
a score of zaptiehs (mounted police) and ﬁfty
Redif soldiery. Among the zaptiehs, Michael
had recognised a man whom he had always


48 rum REFUGEES.
supposed to be a fellow-Komitaji. He saw
now that the fellow was a Turkish spy, who
had joined the insurgents to betray them when
he found a chance.
There had been the usual scene 'of ﬁre and
sword, the village folk who could do so ﬂying
for the hills to escape the horrible scene of
pillage and massacre. Many more than usual
had got away, for Polos was a thriving little
place, offering plunder beyond common, and
the troops had been eager to sack the village
and collect loot. Still a good number of dead
were lying in the ruined homesteads, and the
Redifs hoped to complete the tale of slaughter
ere long, and search their victims for any
treasure which might have been carried off
The lads came up to a woman burdened
by a child in her arms and another dragging
at her skirts.
‘Draga!’ cried Tom, and sprang to her
side. It was his old nurse. She turned on
him a face grim and stony with grief, then
looked at the child she clasped. To Tom’s
horror he saw it was dead. As the fugitives
ran from the village, a shower of bullets had
been loosed after them, and the child had been
shot through the body without the bullet
touching the mother. Yet she had carried
it with her, for she could not bear to think


THE REFUGEES. 49
of leaving the lifeless form for the Redifs
to mangle in brutal sport.
Tom caught up the little one that toddled at
her skirts and swung it to his shoulder. He
did not do this with an easy mind; but he
simply could not hang back from lending a
hand to his old friends to aid them in escaping
from the brutes in human form who sought
their destruction. He heard a deep voice at
his ear. Black Michael had come up beside
him.
‘You are wrong, effendi; you are very
wrong. You ought not to have anything
to do with us. Put down the child and
leave us.’
‘You are quite right, Michael,’ replied
Tom; ‘but, hang it all, it ’s too frightful to
desert poor old Draga in this awful business.
I ’ll see her and this youngster up the path,
then dodge into the bushes and work back.’
At the foot of the broken path Tom set
down the little girl he had been carrying, and
watched for a moment the sad refugees climb-
ing the rocky height. Then with a last hearty
wish for luck, he and Basil turned aside among
the bushes and began to work their way back
along the side of the ravine. Their position
would now have been one of considerable
danger had they been turning back to meet


50 THE REFUGEES.
trained troops, who would search the sides of
the ravine as they advanced. But Tom had
not the smallest fear of that. The irregular
peasant soldiery had no idea of any such
tactics. When they drew nearer, Tom and his
companion would curl themselves up in a knot
of brushwood, and the Redifs would shamble
and shuﬂle by, with no thought or eye save for
the tracks of the people they followed.
‘Here we are,’ said Tom, and crouched
behind a thick patch of brushwood. Basil
tucked himself beside his leader. Tom had
not stopped because he had heard any sign of
danger, but because the cover was so good.
Nor was it wise to go forward until the last
moment, lest their rustling progress through
the bushes should betray them to a soft-footed
advance-guard.
They were straining their ears to catch the
sound of the Redif advance when a babel of
shouts and riﬂe-shots broke out down the
ravine. Tom peered out through the branches,
but from his position could not see more than
thirty yards down the glen. At the next
moment a little ﬂying ﬁgure raced round the
rib of rock which closed the view, and Tom at
once leapt to his feet. It was Nadejda run-
ning after her friends as fast as she could put
her little bare brown feet to the ground. The


THE REFUGEES. 51
child had lain down behind a bush, and, tired
with the night march, had fallen asleep.
When Tom startled her companions into ﬂight
she had been overlooked. She had been
awakened by the noisy advance of the irregular
soldiery, and had ﬂed from them. They had
seen her, and were in hot pursuit.
The child ran in silence and swiftly as a
little hare. Her face was white and ﬁlled
with terror. Her friends had gone on, and the
terrible men, of whose cruelty she had heard
stories all her short life, were close at her
back; were shouting after her, and running to
seize her. It was a bad moment for little
Nadejda ; it was a bad moment, too, for Tom
Yorke. It ﬂashed across his mind that here
he might be forced to come into the open to
aid Nadejda. No thought of personal danger
troubled the scout; that was impossible. But
there were many heavy reasons why he should
not be seen in connection with the refugees.
But at the next moment the die was cast.
A tall, thin Redif, active as a wild cat, and
far ahead of his comrades, darted round the
bend, and ﬂew upon the child. He had
already emptied his riﬂe at her and missed;
but that was to be expected, for the average
irregular would consider a tree to be a fair
mark at twenty yards, so now he was running


52 THE REFUGEES.
with his bayonet at the ready. Tom stepped
from his cover, then sprang at full speed down
the steep slope. Right below him Nadejda
caught her foot in a root hidden in the grass,
pitched on her face, and rolled helpless on the
ground. With a ﬁerce yell of triumph the
Redif was upon her. He lifted the butt of
his riﬂe high in the air, and was about to drive
his bayonet through the struggling child, when
there was a rustling among the bushes at his
side.
The Redif never saw who struck him. The
butt of Tom’s carbine was just a second quicker
than the glittering bayonet. Thud! came the
swinging blow on the dirty red fez, and the
savage irregular went down in a stunned heap;
and Tom seized the little girl, swung her to
her feet, and called in her ear, ‘ Run, Nadejda
—run. Straight on! You ’ll be safe soon.’
She was not hurt, and was off like an arrow
from the bow.
There was a clatter of voices, and a dozen
Turks ran round the angle. A riﬂe bellowed
at Tom’s elbow, and they tumbled back into
cover; they thought an ambuscade had been
laid for them. But it was only Basil who had
loosed off his ancient piece at sight of the hated
troops. It was a splendid diversion, and en-
abled the boys to regain their hiding-place; it


54 THE REFUGEES.
They might run on Turkish stragglers, and it
would not be healthy to be implicated in any
doings which gave the 'authorities a chance to
make trouble. So they lay close in the camp
all day; cooked and ate more bear-meat, and
started for home an hour before dark, moving
carefully across country and avoiding every
path.
The light was failing as they skirted the
ridge which lay above Polos. They did not
go near the hamlet, but they peeped from the
top of the hill and saw a most desolate picture.
A few walls and gables still stood hunching
their shoulders above the dark masses /of ruin
below ; charred roof-beams leaned from wall to
ground like great black rulers; other houses
were mere heaps of rubble ; that once thriving
hamlet had become a blackness of desolation,
and amid its sacked and devastated houses lay
the bodies of many of the village folk.


CHAPTER V.
DANGER!
THE night had fallen as they came down
through the woods at the head of their
own valley. As they entered the road which
ran through the plantation and orchards down
to the bungalow, a ﬁgure stepped from the
shadow of a tall hedge and placed itself in their
way. It was Ahmed, the Turkish servant.
‘ Do not go to the big house at this moment,
effendi,’ said the Turk.
Tom’s heart sank; he felt sure there was
trouble in the wind. ‘Why not, Ahmed?’ he
said.
‘I do not think it will be well,’ said the
Turk; ‘ and it will be wise for Basil to leave us
at once and seek his father’s house.’
Tom turned, but the Greek was already
gliding away. He did not need a second hint,
and he vanished at the next instant down a
bypath.
‘ Look here, Ahmed,’ said Tom, ‘tell me at
once what's wrong ? ’
‘I do not know, eﬂendi,’ replied the Turk;
‘but I have heardI things this afternoon, and


56 DANGER !
some one has arrived to speak with the master,
who has just come home. I knew you would
return by this road, and I came here to await
you. Follow me, effendi.’
Tom followed, for he scented danger, and
knew that Ahmed was to be trusted. Ahmed
led him by deserted ﬁelds and quiet ways until
they gained a little cabin standing by itself
beyond the gardens. This was Ahmed’s own
lodging; he did not live in the large house.
He opened the door, and they went in.
‘Stay here, effendi,’ murmured the big Turk.
‘ I will fetch the master. I will lock the door
again lest some one should come to seek me,
enter the house, and ﬁnd you here. It is not
good for too much talk to be raised.’
He went out, locked the door again, and
Tom was left in the dark, a prisoner. But no
thought of uneasiness on that score came into
his mind. He knew Ahmed, and felt con-
ﬁdence in his faithfulness; nor had he pressed
again for any reason for this secrecy, this
creeping by byways. He knew. Not a
shadow of doubt was left in his mind that he
had been seen and recognised in the ravine.
The scout leaned against the table in anxious
thought till the soft shuﬂle of Ahmed’s slippers
told him that the Turk was returning. The
door was opened, and Ahmed came in. He
1;;


DANGER I 57
drew a wooden hatch across the single small
window and lighted a lamp. As the ﬂame
sprang up, Mr Yorke hurried in.
‘Oh here you are, Tom!’ he exclaimed.
‘Ahmed has hinted to me that you had better
not come to the house at once, but the good
fellow is beside himself to suppose you have
been mixed up in this bad business at Polos.
The whole country’s gone crazy, I think, for
that smooth-tongued rascal the secretary of
the Kaimakam has been here, and said that
you have been recognised amongst the in-
surgent band. I laughed in his face. I know
what they ’re up to. This ex-brigand of a
governor wants to make mischief so that he
can trump up an excuse to meddle with us.
But you know your way about this country
better than to make such a terrible mess of
things as would follow if you lifted a ﬁnger in
their affairs. Now, how has this foolish tale
got wind? Just tell me what ’s happened and
I ’ll soon settle affairs with the Kaimakam.’
Mr Yorke was very much put out. He had
been greatly distressed by the news of the
attack upon Polos, and was boiling with rage
at the thought of the cruel outrages which the
people had suffered, people whom he had known
many years, and some of whom had been closely
connected with his family by service. On the


58 DANGER !
top of this had come the visit from a meek-
looking and very polite Turkish gentleman in
frock-coat, trousers, and down-at-heel elastic-
side boots—shabby European at every point
save for his fez--a gentleman who had hinted
in the most polished manner that Mr Yorke’s
son was said to be in league with rebels; but
no doubt it was all a mistake, and if Tom would
just ride along to the Konak and explain it
would certainly be all put right in a moment.
Now as Mr Yorke spoke he was too stirred up
to keep still; he moved up and down the
cottage with his quick, abrupt step, and as he
ceased speaking he swung round to face his son.
Tom’s face was dark with troubled
thought; but he lifted his head, and looked
steadily into Mr Yorke’s eyes as he said,
‘Father, I am very sorry, but it can’t be put
straight; it ’s true—not true as you have heard
it, but true in a way.’
‘What!’ cried Mr Yorke. The word shot
from his mouth like a bullet from a gun, and
his face turned ghastly pale. For a moment
he could say no more, then his speech returned
to him. ‘Tom, my lad,’ he said in a deep
voice, ‘ what have you done? What have you
done? Have I not told you a thousand and a
thousand times never to lift a ﬁnger, never to
meddle, never to say a word, whatever wrong


DANGER I 59
or injustice you may see‘? For a foreigner to
interfere can do no good, but may bring most
terrible mischief, not only to him but to all
belonging to him.’
‘ I know it, father,’ said Tom in a low voice;
‘but matters were driven to a point where I
could not stand back without making myself a
sneak and a coward.’
He plunged into the story of the situation
which had forced him to strike down the Rediﬁ
and Mr Yorke listened without saying a word.
When Tom ended, Mr Yorke passed his hand
over his brow and sighed.
‘No, Tom,’ he said, ‘I cannot blame you.
The rufﬁan would have spitted the child as
coolly as possible if you had not saved her.
No, upon my honour, had I been there nothing
could have stopped me from doing the same
thing. Well, we must face the difﬁculty, and
see what is to be done. The ﬁrst thing is to
secure your safety.’
‘ Of course it would be of no use to go to the
Kaimakam ? ’ suggested Tom.
Mr Yorke raised his eyebrows and his face
wrinkled into a wry smile. ‘ Merciful heavens,
my lad, no!’ he replied. ‘It would give the
thieving rascal just what he wants. Upon
the basis of your cracking the head of a rascally
Redif he would build up plans to ruin me, and


-~
nxnoaa I 61
Ahmed waved his hand and nodded gravely.
‘I know it, effendi,’ he replied. ‘I knew it
hours since.’
Mr Yorke nodded in turn. He was well
aware of the extraordinary fashion in which
news ran among the natives.
‘Now, effendi,’ went on Ahmed, ‘I beg you
to return to the big house at once. It is most
dangerous for you to be out of sight for long.
Be sure that the Kaimakam has clever spies at
work, and if he ﬁnds aught out it is all over
with us.’
‘ But what are we to do with my son ? ’ said
Mr Yorke. ‘I must hide him, and that very
quickly. We are far from any one to whom
we can appeal for help.’
‘ I will ﬁnd a way for him to pass the guard
of the Kaimakam, effendi,’ returned the Turk.
‘Let him stay quietly in my house for two
hours, and I will provide a man who shall lead
him whither you will.’
Mr Yorke looked irresolutely at his son.
‘ Let us trust Ahmed, father,’ said Tom
earnestly. ‘I will do anything and go any-
where, if it will serve you to throw the
Kaimakam off the scent.’
‘ The main thing, my lad, is to keep you out
of his hands for the moment,’ said Mr Yorke.
‘Unluckily, it seems clear that there were
B3-B. I


62 DANGER I
plenty of witnesses who would swear to you,
and give him an opportunity of doing mischief.’
‘Return to the big house, effendi, return,’
beseeched Ahmed; ‘in less than two hours I
shall be able to tell you if my plan can be
carried out. If not, then we must think of
another. Meantime my young master can eat
and drink.’
Ahmed sprang to a cupboard, took out a ﬂat
cake of bread, a piece of cheese, and a vessel
containing milk. He set these on the table,
and blew out the lamp before the door was
opened.
‘Well,’ said Mr Yorke, with a sigh, and
went out.
Ahmed followed him, and this time left the
key with Tom, bidding him lock the door and
open to none save himself.
‘It would be well not to relight the lamp,
effendi,’ whispered Ahmed to his young master.
‘ Better let any one who should happen to pass
by think that the house is empty.’
‘ Right, Ahmed,’ said Tom ; and at the next
instant the Boy Scout was alone, and the door
securely locked.
It was with a heavy heart that Tom munched
the bread and cheese and drank the milk. He
knew well the tremendous power that a Turkish
governor can arrogate to himself, above all


muoms I 63
when he is in high favour with the authorities
at Stamboul, and this was the position occupied
by the Albanian brigand turned government
ofﬁcial. It was of his father Tom thought;
not of himself Mr Yorke had spent the best
years of his life in the country, had worked
himself into a position of great comfort, had
turned the valley into a garden, which was to
him as the apple of his eye, and now things
seemed likely to go all wrong merely for hitting
a scoundrelly, murderous Redif a single crack
on the head. Yet Tom well knew that the
vast majority of Turks would consider no treat-
ment too severe for a giaour and inﬁdel who
had raised his hand against a true believer, and
so aided in the escape of Christians who were,
in Moslem eyes, the natural prey of their
Turkish masters.
An hour passed, an hour and a half, and
now Tom began to look for the return of
Ahmed. He posted himself at the window,
drawing the hatch a little to one side, and
peering through a crack thus formed. The
night was perfectly still, the sky clear, and the
moon would not be up for a long time. But
the air was ﬁlled with starlight, and even in the
gloom of the tall shrubs which surrounded
Ahmed’s cabin Tom felt sure he would be able
to make out the ﬁgure of the Turk approaching


64 DANGER !
the place. He had been watching for a long
time, as it seemed to him, when from the mass
of shade around the hut a darker mass seemed
to detach itself and creep toward the door.
‘Ahmed,’ breathed Tom to himself, and then
his heart gave a great leap and he caught his
breath. It was not Ahmed; even in the deep
dusk Tom could make out that this man was
much smaller than the big Turk. Who, then?
Friend it could not be creeping here with such
mysterious care and silence; and if enemy, what
enemy ?
As the scout stood there, a score of thoughts
and conjectures ﬂashing through his mind,
there came a gentle tapping at the door. Tom
gave no sign of his presence; the knocking was
repeated, and then the man without gave a soft
whistle on a high note; it was exactly the
sound which a disturbed bird will sometimes
make when roused from the perch on which it
has settled for the night. It was a signal, and
in response to it two more men crept silently
from the gloom of the shrubs and joined him.
‘Zaptiehs ! they must be zaptiehs,’ thought
Tom, his heart beating fast as he saw the
danger which appeared to threaten him. ‘The
spies of the Kaimakam have found out where
I am, and hope to gain a reward from their
master by seizing me. And I can’t get away.’
"J


DANGER ! 65
He could not. There was but one door and
one window to the cabin. The window was
too small to admit of the passage of his body,
and, besides, it was Within a yard of the door
at which the three men were now gathered.
Tom strained his ears to catch some of the
whispered words now passing between the men
without, but he could not make out a word.
Now the door was tried and gently shaken.
The lock rattled, then all was silent again for
fully two minutes. This interval seemed as long
as an hour to the prisoner, who was certain by
this time that enemies prowled without.
Tom was in a fearful quandary what to do.
He had laid his hand at ﬁrst upon his car-
bine, Which leaned against the wall beside the
window; but no, that would not do. A shot
might draw a score of his lurking foes, and
it would in any case proclaim who had been
hidden there; Ahmed had no riﬂe. Could he
open the door suddenly and burst through
them, and make a run for it? A doubtful
business, but anything was better than being
taken in this fashion, like a rat in a trap. He
tiptoed toward the door, and as he went the
door began to creak and groan; it was being
forced. The men outside were using a lever
of some kind, perhaps a small crowbar, and
were slowly bursting the door in.


66 DANGER !
This destroyed all chance of swiftly turning
the key and rushing out; the bolt was now
ﬁrmly jammed against the staple as the door
was driven inward. But door, bolt, and staple
were all stout, and for a few moments all held.
Tom moved a little aside, and pulled himself
together for a rush, when the door swung in.
As he went he brushed his shin against a
stout wooden stool which Ahmed had made
for himself. Here was a weapon silent and
effective. ‘I can lay one of them out with
this I hope,’ thought Tom, ‘ and I must chance
the other two.’
He swung up the stool, a leg in each hand,
and poised himself for the stroke. As the Boy
Scout gathered his legs under him the door
gave one last groan of resistance, then began to
splinter. Tom raised the stool a little higher,
drew a long breath, and with every muscle
tense waited to spring from the darkness upon
the foes who sought him.


C H A P T E R V I.
THE TZIGANE.
CRASH! the door came in with a tre-
mendous bang, and Tom saw a ﬁgure
straightening itself from a last big heave at
the crowbar. Down whirled the stool, and the
ﬁgure went spinning from the doorway and
was stretched at full length on the ground; a
cry burst from the man’s lips. Out leapt Tom,
and bounded over the prostrate body. He
was ready to strike at the others, but there
was no one at whom to strike; to his utter
surprise they had darted away, and he was
actually running on their heels as if he were
the pursuer. He checked himself and turned
aside into the shrubbery ; the men in front of
him vanished like shadows.
Tom was bewildered; he never for a moment
dreamed that the men were not in the pay of
the Kaimakam; and if not, who about the
place should wish to break into Ahmed’s
cabin? Yet if zaptiehs, why had they ﬂed
from him like this? It was very puzzling.
‘ Where ’s that chap I laid out at the door?’
thought Tom, and he slipped back under cover
/


68 mm TZIGANE.
to Ahmed’s cabin. All was silent. There
was no sign of the man whom he had felled,
and when he looked over the ground he found
no sign of the tool with which the door had
been broken in. Save for the door hanging
back into the cabin, there was no vestige of
the mysterious assailants.
But Tom did not re-enter the place. He
felt safer outside, and he slid once more among
the bushes and kept watch. Barely a quarter
of an hour passed before he heard the shuffle
of Ahmed’s slippers, and a whisper from the
shrubs brought the Turk up all standing. He
stood perfectly still while Tom told him what
had happened, and then he seized his young
master’s arm. ‘ To the house of Dragoulos,’ he
murmured; and they crept away toward the
dwelling of the Greek overseer.
Ahmed was to the full as much puzzled as
Tom. ‘If not zaptiehs,’ said the Turk, ‘who,
then, were they? And zaptiehs would not ﬂee
like hares disturbed in a ﬁeld; they would
make an uproar which would fetch all the
country to see what was the matter. But we
will say no more, effendi. Who knows what
ears may catch our words ? ’
Within ﬁfty yards of the overseer’s house
Tom caught sight of a dark form at the side
of the path. He half-stopped; but Ahmed


THE Tz1GANE. 69
murmured, ‘There is nothing to fear, effendi;
he awaits us ;’ and the ﬁgure joined them, and
marched a little in their rear. Skirting the
Greek’s orchard, Ahmed led the way to a
granary hidden in shelter of the great barn;
and here they found Mr Yorke, to whom
Ahmed had given the rendezvous, sitting on a
rough bench.
‘It is lucky, effendi,’ said the Turk, ‘that
I changed the meeting-place. I thought it
would not be well if you were seen going in
the same direction too often, and, in truth, I
thought right. Men have broken into my
cabin.’
‘What!’ said Mr Yorke quickly; ‘can they
suspect where Tom is ? ’
‘ It was a queer business, father,’ said Tom ;
and he told his story.
‘ Queer, indeed,’ commented Mr Yorke ; ‘ but
once you go in the smallest way out of the
straight and narrow path of keeping strictly
to your own affairs, this becomes a very queer
and dangerous country.—Now, Ahmed, what
is to be done ? ’
Ahmed turned toward the door. The man
who had joined them recently was lingering
there in the shade. ‘Come forward, Sherif,’
said the Turk; and a strange and sinister
ﬁgure moved into the light of the small


70 THE TZIGANE.
lamp which burned beside Mr Yorke on the
bench.
‘Why, what’s this—what’s this?’ said Mr
Yorke, speaking half to himself and using
English; ‘the fellow ’s a Tzigane, a born
rogue, who would cut any man’s throat for
twopence.’
The new-comer was a middle-sized, well-
knit man, with a ﬂattened nose and ﬁerce,
hawk eyes, and a close-lipped, savage mouth,
half-hidden by thin, wiry mustachios. 'His
dress was strange and fantastic, and of very
bright, striking colours. He wore a vest and
baggy breeches of a rich, deep crimson shade,
his cap and sash were of a soft pink, his white
leggings were strapped tight with the strings
of his raw-hide sandals. Craft and villainy
were stamped on every line of his cunning
face, and cruelty incarnate looked from the
bold eyes, whose gaze never sank before that
of any man. Both Tom and his father knew
the man from his dress and appearance to be a
Tzigane, a Turkish gipsy, one of a wild and
wandering tribe—beggars and thieves, one
and all.
‘ Effendi,’ said Ahmed, turning to Mr Yorke,
‘this is a chief of the Tziganes, and a man of
great authority among them.’
Mr Yorke nodded, but said nothing. It was


THE TZIGANE. 7 1
plain to see that he was in a state of great
uneasiness and anxiety; to him it appeared
utter madness to admit this dark and dangerous
vagrant into a knowledge of the secret; but it
was done, and he awaited the upshot.
Ahmed turned again to the Tzigane.
‘Sherif,’ he said, ‘do you remember the day
at the bridge of Chirman, when I took your
daughter from the hands of the three Redifs
whose reason had been taken from them by
the unlawful cup ? ’ *
‘ I do, brother.’
‘Have I ever asked of you any service in
return ? ’
‘Never, brother.’
‘ Would you give such service?’ '
‘ I would, brother.’
‘You know the Kaimakam, Dervish Bey ? ’
‘I do, brother; may unclean dogs howl
above his grave ! ’
‘He seeks this young man,’ and Ahmed
pointed to Tom.
‘ I know he does, brother.’
‘ His zaptiehs are besetting this place.’
‘ I know that, brother.’
‘ Will you lead this youth to safety?’
The Tzigane for a moment said nothing,
but merely eyed ﬁrst Tom, then Mr Yorke.
* Wine, which is forbidden to the Moslems.


72 THE TZIGANE.
Ahmed with equal keenness watched his old
acquaintance.
The gipsy chief opened his lips. ‘I will,
brother,’ he said.
‘Will you swear to me by the great oath?’
‘ I will, brother.’
‘Then do so.’
The gipsy motioned to Tom to approach
him. Then he drew from his belt a heavy,
brass-handled knife. The blade was chased
with curious scroll-work; the handle was inlaid
with roughened ivory to aid the grip. Hold-
ing the butt toward the scout and the point
toward himself, the gipsy chief took hold of
the knife in an odd fashion, the back of it
resting in the palm of his right hand, while his
ﬁnger-tips were laid along the keen edge.
Then he began to speak in low, guttural tones.
‘I swear by the edge of my knife, by Alde-
baran and all the bright stars of heaven, that
I will bring this youth safe from all his
enemies, whoever and wherever they may be,
if I and my people can compass it.’
‘It is enough,’ said Ahmed; ‘the oath is
truly taken, Sherif.’
The Turk had been watching every motion
of the gipsy, listening with closest attention to
every word, and now he breathed easily; he
looked content.


THE TZIGANE. 73
‘ But wait a moment,’ said Mr Yorke ; ‘ what
does this mean? What is he to do ? ’
No reply was given. Ahmed was about to
speak, when a boy, the son of Dragoulos, ran
into the granary, his scared face pale and
eager.
‘ Zaptiehs, effendi—zaptiehs !’ he called softly
to Mr Yorke. ‘ Five of them have just stopped
in front of the house. My father is speaking
to them now.’
Mr Yorke sprang to his feet. Here was
danger. ‘ This means a search,’ he said quickly.
‘It does, effendi,’ replied Ahmed. ‘I beg
of you to leave us and return again to the
house, lest suspicion should grow and bear
evil fruit. We will lead the young master to
a place of safety. You can trust Sherif;
he will never betray the oath he has just
taken.’
‘This way, eﬁ'endi, this way,’ whispered the
boy who had caught up the lantern from the
bench. They followed the little fellow to the
farther end of the granary, where a ﬂight of
rude steps led down to a small door. Before
the door was opened the lamp was blown out,
and the party ﬁled into the deep dusk. »
‘ Good luck, Tom,’ said his father ; there was
one grip of the hand, and then Tom and the
gipsy chief were hurrying down a narrow ﬁeld-


74 THE TzIGANE.
path, while Mr Yorke and Ahmed left the
spot by other ways to show themselves at the
bungalow.
As Ahmed left the gipsy he had whispered
a word in his ear, and Tom had caught it. It
was the name of a ruined hamlet on the ridge
above the valley. At a turn of the way the
gipsy bore off to the right.
‘If you are making for Siga,’ said Tom
softly, ‘ the road to the left is nearer.’
The Tzigane gave a grunt of surprise on
hearing Tom’s easy Turkish. ‘True, effendi,’
he replied ; ‘ but there are a couple of zaptiehs
on that path.’
‘ All right,’ said Tom, and followed in silence.
Not another word was said until they had
climbed the steep slope, and the gipsy chief
paused near a grove of walnuts. Looking back,
Tom saw the valley stretched below him, the
enclosing ridges dimly seen against the starry
sky, and the soft gloom of the vale broken
only by one patch of lights, those burning in
his own home.
The Tzigane now squatted on the ground,
lighted a cigarette, and began to smoke peace-
fully.
‘This is not Siga,’ said Tom. ‘ Why do you
halt here ? ’
‘ There is plenty of time, effendi,’ replied his


run rzroxnm. 75
swarthy guide; ‘we shall be at Siga long
before Ahmed reaches the place.’
‘ Oh then Ahmed is to meet us there ? ’
‘ He is, effendi, but I need something from
my camp; I shall wait here for a messenger.
One will come to my call before long.’
He took the cigarette from his lips and piped
a soft, bird-like note. It was not loud, yet
seemed to carry far in the silence of the night.
He repeated it, then returned to his cigarette.
Tom scarce knew what to make of this.
Here he was in company of a man whose clan
was notorious through the land for its depth of
cunning and treachery. Was he safe? Were
these notes a signal to call those who would
seize him and reward his betrayer? He had
nothing to go on save the assurance of Ahmed,
but the word of that faithful Turk had great
weight, and Tom stood still, watching and
listening. He strained eye and ear to catch
any sound of danger, ready to dart into the
dusk of the grove if an enemy should approach,
and when the gipsy chief gave out the call once
more his vigilance redoubled. Yet so silent,
so ghost-like was the appearance of the men
who answered the call that Tom would have
had no chance of escape had they been the
zaptiehs he feared. Without a sound in
warning, he found himself and the seated gipsy


76 THE TZIGANE.
surrounded by three ﬁgures which seemed to
have risen from the earth.
Each gave a low grunt of surprise on dis-
covering Tom, and this at least was reassuring;
it showed that they had not expected his
presence. And at the next moment he found
they were followers of the Tzigane, for a low
murmur of conversation broke out in the gipsy
tongue. Of this strange language Tom knew
nothing, but he grasped the odd words of
Turkish mixed up in it, and presently he began
to see light. A Turkish phrase slipped from
one pair of lips, and the chief chuckled. Tom
saw it all.
‘ By Jove !’ he thought, ‘ these then were the
fellows who were breaking into Ahmed’s cabin.
This chap rubbing his shoulder is the one I
fetched down with the stool, and the call he
used now was the call I heard from them;
gipsy thieves, not zaptiehs. Lucky for me it
was too dark for either side to make out the
other.’ ’
One or two words fell from the chief; the
gipsies vanished as swiftly and silently as they
had come.
‘We will go on, effendi,’ said the Tzigane;
and they struck through the grove toward
Siga.
They gained the spot, and sat down in a gap


THE TZIGANE. 77
of a broken wall. The gipsy lighted another
cigarette, and before it was ﬁnished a stealthy
ﬁgure came toward them, guided by the glow-
ing spark ; it was Ahmed.
The Turk at once plunged into business.
‘Sherif,’ he said, ‘the effendi wishes you to
guide his son to Adrianople. You will see
him safely into the hands of the English
consular-agent. My master sends you ten lira;
here is the money, count it. When the young
effendi is safe, you will receive forty more.’
As a Turkish lira is worth nearly a sovereign,
and the Tzigane had never owned a coin to the
value of half a lira in his life, this vision of
wealth abounding struck him breathless with
astonishment and delight. In a short time he
recovered his wind, and poured out a ﬂowof
thanks and protestations of faithfulness.
Ahmed turned to Tom. ‘Effendi,’ said he,
‘the master will ﬁnd means to warn the con-
sular-agent that you are journeying to Adrian-
ople, and he will be ready to receive you.’
‘What about clothes, Ahmed?’ said Tom.
‘ I cannot travel through the country in this
dress; I shall be discovered in a moment.’
‘Oh Sherif will ﬁnd you a dress; he has
already sent a messenger to his camp to bring
you the clothes of a Tzigane, and no one, you
know, troubles to meddle with Tziganes. They
B.s.H. F ’


78 THE TZIGANE.
wander where they please, without soldier or
zaptieh taking the smallest notice of their
movements.’
He turned to the gipsy chief and asked,
‘Where is the messenger with the clothes for
the young effendi, Sherif? ’
‘He comes,’ replied the gipsy chief, whose
keen ears had detected the approach of one of
his followers, though his companion could hear
nothing. At the next moment a man glided
up to them with a bundle under his arm.
With some difficulty Tom exchanged his
familiar kit for this strange dress, Ahmed help-
ing him to arrange the unaccustomed garb.
Of his scout-rig Tom kept nothing save the
belt, which he fastened round his waist below
the Turkish vest which formed part of his
disguise.
Within ten minutes Tom looked to the life
like a young Tzigane, from the Greek cap on
his head to the charruks, the native shoes of
raw hide, on his feet, save that he was far too
clean. Ahmed soon remedied this. He ran
to al spring near by, fetched a handful of mud,
and rubbed it on Tom’s face, neck, and hands.
Tom was very deeply tanned by the glowing
Turkish sun, and even the anxious Ahmed was
satisﬁed that he could travel with the gipsy
band in safety.


Jclrn 'Vvcod Bl0¢ige'tt Jr,
Grand Rapids, Michigan‘;
K '
CHAPTER VII.
THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE GHEG.
THE next day, as the sun was rising to
his noonday power, a couple of gipsies
wandered into a little Turkish village, some
ﬁfteen miles from N ovala, Tom’s home. The
elder played a soft Turkish air on a ﬁddle, the
younger had a long, thin copper drum slung
over his shoulders, and occasionally he struck
a deep note in time with the air played by
his companion. They were Sherif and Tom.
The latter had spent the night under an up-
turned cart in Sherif’s encampment, and had
left it before dawn in company with the gipsy
chief. Sherif was striking across country to
join another band of vagrants with whom they
would wander into Adrianople. The latter
town is one of the greatest gipsy centres of
eastern Europe. It has no large resident gipsy
population, but innumerable bands halt there
to rest and reﬁt on their journeys. Sherif had
decided on a ﬁrst move alone with Tom, because
they could march with much greater speed than
the unwieldy caravan, and he was anxious to
get out of a district which threatened danger.


80 rnm ZAPTIEHS AND rnm euro.
The Tzigane and his companion had not
gone twenty yards into the village when they
saw an old Turk seated beside the way in front
of his house, busily at work. He glanced up
at them as they drew near, and Sherif stopped
to beg.
‘ Oh effendi, in the name of the One, give us
food.’
‘Thou shalt have it,’ replied the old man;
‘praise to Allah, there is food in my house
without lack.’
He called upon those within to bring food to
the vagrants, and presently a large piece of
bread and a vessel of goat’s milk were brought
by a boy. The wanderers took the provender,
pouring out a stream of thanks, and sat down
in the shade of a small tree to eat and drink.
As Tom munched his chunk of bread he
eyed with much curiosity the task upon which
the old Turk was engaged. The Moslem was
a most venerable-looking person. He had a
long white beard, a ﬁne grave face full of
dignity, and clear, brown eyes which seemed to
look upon the world with calm, friendly gaze.
He wore the green turban which marks the
hadji, one who has made the pilgrimage to
the tomb of Mahomet, a ﬁgured muslin vest
tucked into baggy breeches, and the breeches
were bound below the knees into woollen leg-


THE zarrmns AND THE cnre. 81

gings; his feet were covered with Turkish
shoes with pointed toes. Around his waist
ran a broad sash, from which the butts of a
couple of revolvers stuck out, with the handle
of a knife lying handy to the grip. On the left
side an empty sheath was thrust through the
sash, and the blade which had ﬁlled this sheath
was in his hands. It was a yataghan, that
favourite Turkish weapon which is something
between a large knife and a short sword. It
was a splendid piece of steel, with a sentence of
the Koran inlaid running down the centre in
curving letters of gold. It was single-edged,
and that edge whetted to razor-like keenness.
The back was broad and heavy, to give weight
to the swinging blow, and up and down both
edges of the back ran a row of notches. The
old Turk was now at work cutting out another
notch with a small triangular ﬁle. The ex-
cellent temper of the steel was shown by the
very slight progress he was making; but he
worked away with the most patient care, and
when he held up the blade to see how deep
he had cut there was a look of pride in his
eye.
Tom had rather a notion what the notches
meant, but the Tzigane knew for certain.
‘You have been fortunate when you have
met your foes, oh effendi ! ’ said the gipsy chief.


THE zarrnn-1s AND rum onus. 83
_~
said the Tzigane soothingly, not caring in the
least himself how many Christians had their
throats cut at the hands of his host. Then he
cast a swift warning look at Tom, who, choking
with rage, had ﬂung down the bread in his
hand. The keen-witted gipsy understood, but
the old Turk, absorbed in his task, observed
nothing.
Sherif caught up his ﬁddle, and began to
play a Turkish air in order to make a diversion.
He did not like the look in Tom’s eye. At
that moment a tall, black-bearded, sour-faced
man in dirty robes and a crimson fez came up.
It was one of the elders of the village; a man
who held very strict views of authority, and
had more than the usual Turkish contempt for
the gipsy tribe.
‘Why do you encourage these unclean dogs
to halt among our abodes, oh Abdullah?’ he
demanded. ‘ Have you not heard I have for-
bidden these ﬁlthy outlaws to linger among
us?’
The old Turk looked up from his yataghan.
‘It is my day of triumph,’ he said. ‘I have
returned from my journey, having accomplished
a deed pleasing to Allah. I will that these
men, though they be little above the beasts,
make music for me.’
‘And I will that they at once depart,’ said
—;=.._»-.-==-=- T!


84 THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE GHEG.
the tall Turk; and he spat contemptuously on
the gipsy chief, who was nearest to him.
Sherif rose to his feet with a doleful whine
as if full of grief at causing dispute in the
village, and Tom was up too in a second.
The old slayer of Christians was very angry
at having his concert interrupted, and he began
to yell furiously at the man in ofﬁce, and a
small crowd collected at once. Suddenly there
was a clatter of hoofs, and a police-oﬁicer with
two mounted gendarmes at his back rode up to
the spot and drew rein. Tom felt very uneasy.
These might be men on their round, or they
might mean mischief. He looked round warily
to mark a way of retreat if it came to ﬂight,
but things looked far from rosy. Here they
were in a ring of villagers and three mounted
men, the latter riding wiry Arab ponies of a
useful stamp. At the next moment he knew
that the coming of the mounted police meant
danger. '
‘Ah! gipsies,’ said the police-ofﬁcer, a stout
man in a dirty blue uniform, with broken riding-
boots; ‘how long have they been here ? ’
‘ But a short time, effendi,’ replied the elder.
‘ I am even now driving them from the place.’
‘Where is the rest of your band, and how
many do they number?’ demanded the police-
oﬂicer of Sherif.


THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE GHEG.
The gipsy broke into a ﬂuent account of the
circumstances which had separated them from
their friends, and accounted most plausibly for
the reasons why he and his follower were
marching alone, and said that the rest of their
band awaited them near Adrianople.
‘ I am looking for a band of about thirty
people, having seven carts, ﬁve tents, nine
mules and asses, and twenty goats,’ said the
police-oﬂicer to the elder. ‘ Among them it is
said that a Christian is hidden; one who has
given aid to the enemies of the Sultan.’
‘ May he burn in the hottest ﬁres of Gehen-
num!’ was the pious wish of the village
elder.
Whatever the gipsy chief may have felt
upon hearing his band so clearly described by
the ofﬁcer of zaptiehs, and upon discovering
that in some strange fashion the Turkish
authorities had gained a hint of Tom’s method
of escape, he allowed not the smallest sign of
interest to appear in his face, but continued to
play very softly the air of a Turkish love-song.
‘I have no band near the village,’ he de-
clared. ‘We came here alone, and alone we
shall depart.’
‘By Jove, I hope so,’ said Tom to himself.
The police-oﬂicer had a heavy face ; but a pair
of black, suspicious eyes shone above his fat


86 THE zarrrans AND THE cnre.
cheeks, and it might occur to him to round all
gipsies up till he had secured the band which
held the Christian, and Tom would be lost if
it came to detention and close examination.
‘Truly they came alone, oh effendi,’ said a
goatherd who had just come down from a hill
above the village. ‘ I saw them from afar, and
no man was with them.’
The police-ofﬁcer turned to his men. They
began to fumble with hanks of green cord
coiled about their left arms, and intended for
the binding of prisoners; they knew what
he wanted.
So did the village elder. ‘Go forward, dog,
and be bound,’ snarled the tall Turk; as he
spoke, he raised a stout stick which he carried
and fetched Tom a sounding crack across the
shoulders.
In his astonishment and anger, Tom jumped
a clear foot off the ground. Secure in his char-
acter of a British subject, he had always walked
about the country safe as a young prince, and
upon receiving this severe and painful stroke he
clean forgot that he was supposed to be a
gipsy, to whom blows, kicks, and curses were
daily food. Out ﬂashed his right ﬁst, and a
very hard bunch of knuckles landed full on the
tall Turk’s nose. Tom was not the middle-
weight champion of Rushmere for nothing,


A very hard bunch of knuckles landed full on the tall Turk’s nose.
B.S.B. PAGE 86


THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE GHEG. 87
and the straight ﬂush was delivered with such
power that the Turk went over headlong, his
pointed slippers ﬂourishing in the air.
For a second every spectator was struck
utterly dumb and helpless. A gipsy, the most
degraded and cowardly being under the sun,
had resented and returned a blow! Had
struck a Turk! Had struck the headman of
a Turkish village! The thing mounted and
mounted in wonder and horror, and for an
instant not a hand was lifted against the
young Tzigane.
The gipsy chief used that second for all that
it was worth. Whatever happened to the
Christian, he knew what would happen to him.
To be beaten slowly to death with heavy
sticks, and then for his body to be ﬂung on
the nearest dung-heap :for the dogs to devour
would be as easy a fate as he could expect, and
he felt in his bones that it was time for him to
go. He shot one swift Word into Tom’s ear,
and was away like the wind. Tom turned
to follow, and was barely quick enough to
escape furnishing the twenty-ﬁfth mark on the
murderous old Turk’s yataghan. The ancient
fanatic was as quick of wit as he was cruel of
soul, and yelling, ‘Here is the Christian!’ he
bounded on Tom and let loose a slashing cut.
But Tom had got into his stride, and though the


88 THE ZAPTIEHS AND rm: cHEe.
heavy blade missed him by fractions of an inch,
it missed, and he was racing down the village
street at the heels of his companion.
Their escape would have been easy had
their capture depended upon the slow-footed
villagers ; but the zaptiehs were to be reckoned
with, and these were ready mounted, and rode
yelling in their rear. But it was impossible to
put the nimble little Arabs to their full speed
in the broken, littered street, and for the
moment the runners held, and more than held,
their own. Bullet after bullet whistled by
their ears as they ﬂed, for the police-ofﬁcer
had drawn his revolver and was emptying
chamber after chamber. Tom gurgled with
laughter as he ran; he could not help it, for
a fat old Turk bustled out of his house a little
ahead to see What was the reason of the uproar,
and, a full dozen yards off the mark, received a
bullet in his leg, and began to howl and hop
about like a madman. Still, both fugitives
were satisﬁed when the revolver was empty and
ceased to bark; by sheer luck the Turk might
have hit one of them. '
Tom glanced over his shoulder. After all,
things looked pretty serious; if the Turks
could not shoot, they could ride, and were
handling their good little nags like work-
men, and each held a drawn sword. Once


THE zarrmns AND THE cnme. 89
the Arabs were let out on the open road they
would be alongside in short order.
‘The horses are the danger, Sherif,’ said
Tom.
‘ I know it well, effendi,’ replied the Tzigane ;
‘but we must try to shake them off. Follow
me closely.’
Twenty yards farther, Sherif made a swift
turn aside and darted up a very steep, narrow
by-lane, and then turned again into a still
narrower passage between two cottages. He
knew the village—he knew everywhere, did
Sherif—and though the pursuit of the zaptiehs
was now completely thrown off, he continued
the ﬂight at unabated speed. Suddenly, among
a huddle of outlying mud huts, he pulled up
and began to walk quietly. Tom followed the
example. They passed one or two open doors
whence faces peered out at them, but a pair
of gipsies was an ordinary sight and little
regarded.
‘On this side of the village there is a deep
river, with a little bridge across it,’ murmured
the Tzigane. ‘If we are once on the other
side we can run up to the hills where we shall
be quite safe.’
The last of the cottages of mud and thatch
was deserted; its roof was partly fallen in, and
its door hanging half-open on broken hinges.


90 THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE or-me.
Sherif paused a moment in shelter of the wall,
and peered out. He gave a cluck of the lips;
Tom knew it for a sound of deep vexation.
He drew up, looked over his companion’s
shoulder, and understood. The path ran out
into the open, down a broken, rocky slope
for a hundred yards or more, and then over
the bridge, a broken arch of stone; useless
for carriages, but of ample width for foot-
passengers. From the farther end of the
bridge a pack-trail ran up and up into a tangle
of wild, naked mountains.
Beyond the bridge they saw an unpleasant
sight. Forty yards up the trail stood a loaded
mule, his long ears hanging down, and beside
the animal was its owner, an Albanian. The
latter wore a white skull-cap, short jacket, and
loose white breeches heavily embroidered with
a pattern in black stripes and gathered closely
at the ankles. He had his riﬂe over his
shoulder, and pistols and daggers were thrust
into the broad crimson sash round his waist.
He was talking with a goatherd, who had run
from his ﬂock to pass the time of day, and the
villager had his gun tucked under his arm.
Their conversation, it was clear, had fallen
dead upon hearing the uproar in the village,
and both were looking eagerly toward the
very point where the fugitives must break


THE zarrmns AND THE onus. 91
cover. It was quite certain they would shoot
a Tzigane at sight, and then go up to the
village to see if he were the person wanted.
‘ We can’t pass the bridge,’ growled Sherif ;
‘ they would be there long before us. What is
to be done ? ’
‘ We ’ve got to do something, Sherif,’ replied
Tom ; ‘the people we have run from will be
here before long.’
‘Those men will move soon,’ said the gipsy
quickly. ‘Yes, see; they are coming on.
They will pass the bridge, and then we can
escape. Let us hide here for a little.’
He slipped into the ruined cottage, and Tom
followed. There seemed a chance to clear off
yet if their pursuers were delayed and the
bridge should be left free. They crouched
down below a broken window, over which a
tangle of vine-shoots had grown, and through
the green veil they watched the men below.
Their hopes were dashed upon the spot.
The muleteer and the goatherd advanced to
the bridge, only to take their stand upon it
and hold their riﬂes at the ready. They
had divined the sounds as those of a pursuit,
and were guarding this outlet.
‘Is the river easy to pass?’ asked Tom
quickly.
‘Only by swimming,’ said Sherif. ‘It is


92 THE zAPTIEHs AND THE GHEG.
very deep above and below ; the ford is a long
way down.’
Tom raised himself again to peer through the
vine tangle. ‘There ’s only one man to fear
there, Sherif,’ he remarked. ‘The Albanian
has a good riﬂe, but the goatherd can’t do
much as far as shooting goes.’
The latter was armed with a weapon with
an immensely long barrel, and Tom had spotted
it as an ancient muzzle-loader, most probably
of uncertain aim.
‘Look here, Sherif,’ said the English lad;
‘how would it be if we separated, one going
up and the other down? We ’d start off
quietly, and they ’d be puzzled for a bit. If
we could get over the river we ’d meet at that
big rock up there where the trail disappears.’
‘ It is our only plan, effendi, if we are driven
to show ourselves,’ replied the Tzigane.
The words were scarcely out of his lips
when they were forced to show themselves or
be shot down where they stood. A bullet
hummed over the broken wall behind them,
thudded into the mud just above Tom’s head,
and covered them with a shower of dust. Tom
whirled round in time to see a ﬂash of crimson
fez as its owner raised his head over a fence
some ﬁfty yards away, under cover of which he
was sniping them.


THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE euro. 93
‘Here they come!’ cried Tom. ‘We must
chance it, Sherif. You go up ; I ’ll go down ;’
and the two fugitives leapt fromtheir refuge,
parted, and raced across the slope at full speed,
heading in a diagonal line toward the bank of
the stream.
At sight of them both men on the bridge
let out a yell, and the goatherd ﬁred at the
Tzigane. If the ball came within ﬁfty yards
of him it was as near as it did, and the warrior
with the ancient ﬁrelock could do no more,
though he hastened busily to reload. The
Albanian was the man to be feared. He
ran down the bank at full speed, holding his
ﬁre until Tom was crossing a piece of open ﬂat.
Now he dropped on one knee and loosed a
shot. The bullet whizzed by unpleasantly
close, and Tom saw that the man was a fair
shot.
‘I’ve got to leg it for the ford,’ said the
Boy Scout to himself. ‘ I oan’t swim the river
with that chap potting me from the other
bank. A long way, Sherif said it was; all
the better—more chance of dropping this
ugly customer.’
Tom looked over his shoulder, and felt that
he need not fear the Turks shuﬂling behind
him. Ten or a dozen were on his track, but
they would have to move a good deal faster to
ass. G


94 THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE GHEG.
get anywhere near him, and he set himself to
outrun the Albanian.
He ran a good four hundred yards, running
as he had never run on the Rugger ﬁeld at
Rushmere, and then the Albanian let out a
high-pitched yell. The river was on Tom’s
left, and he glanced away to the right to see
what danger threatened there, for the yell had
the sound of a hail in it.
A hail it was, and to the most dangerous of
foes. Rounding a curve of the slope which
ran down to the river, they had opened out the
road which ran to the ford, and there was one
of the zaptiehs patrolling the road, watching
that side of the village. Tom saw him wheel
his horse at the hail, and in another instant
the ﬂeet little Arab was scouring after him at
full speed; its rider mercilessly driving in the
spurs, and uttering savage yells of triumph as
he rode.
Tom’s situation was now utterly desperate.
Still he ran on, not in blind terror, but with a
keen eye for any chance that might offer. He
glanced round in search of the Albanian.
He had dropped the white-capped runner by
a fair stretch, and now he saw that a thick
clump of low trees and brushwood stretched
for more than a hundred yards along the
opposite bank. While the Albanian pushed


THE ZAPTIEHS AND_ THE GHEG. 95
through the clump or ran round it he must
lose ground, and a plan darted into Tom’s
mind. Could he swim the river, gain the
other side, and make off before the muleteer
cleared the little wood? It was his only
chance. The well-mounted zaptieh was riding
him down hand-over-ﬁst, and would soon have
him within sweep of the sword which shone
in the horseman’s grip.
Tom wheeled to the left and made for the
edge of the bank which was ﬁve feet above
the water. The bank was seven or eight
feet high on the other side, so that if the
zaptieh forced the horse to leap into the
stream and swim, he could not get the little
Arab out on the farther shore, and Tom saw
that this was a big point to him. It was a
point he nearly failed to score, for when the
zaptieh saw what the fugitive meant to do
he called upon his good bay pony for a fresh
effort, and the gallant little beast responded,
and came up behind Tom with a tremendous
burst of speed. It was by the barest of
margins that the scout won. He shot his
head down and his heels up as the gendarme
pulled the Arab back on his haunches at the
very edge of the tiny cliff, and Tom hit the
water as the sword swung through the spot
his body had occupied the instant before.


96 '1'!-m zarrmns mm rnn: ense.
The river gave Tom a great surprise. He
had no idea that it was ﬂowing with such
power. Before he could get fairly into his
stroke he had been swept a good twenty yards
by the current, and now he understood the
depth of the banks; the rushing stream was
cutting out a deep channel for itself. He
struck out with all his might, for he saw that
the journey across the swift-running river
would take much longer than he had expected,
and now he could not see what was happening
on the other bank ; he knew not what progress
the Albanian was making.
Steadily he drove his way through the
brown water, and was within ten yards of
the shore when he felt the full rush of an
inshore current which ran faster than ever and
thrust him back toward mid-stream. Tom
dropped his feet to feel for the bottom; no
sign of it. He swam on, but knew that he
was gaining on this ﬁerce current only by
inches at a stroke when a ﬂash of white
drew his glance upstream. The Albanian was
coming along at the edge of the bank at full
speed, his short, gaily embroidered jacket
swinging as he ran, his riﬂe in his hands.
Tom swam on doggedly, still hoping to
scramble ashore, and only raised his head as
the mountaineer gave a yell of savage joy.


THE ZAPTIEHS AND THE GHEG. 97
The scout looked up to see the Albanian on
the bank right above him. The muzzle of
the riﬂe was pointed straight at the swimmer’s
head, and Tom saw the ﬁerce, cruel eyes peer-
ing down the barrel as the ﬁnger was crooked
on the trigger. What hope had he to escape
from this wild hillman, to whom man-slaying
was second nature ?


CHAPTER VIII.
IN meme.
TOM was saved by his enemy, the zaptieh.
The latter began to yell with all his
might when he saw the Albanian about to
shoot, and Tom caught the sound of the name
of the Kaimakam, Dervish Bey. This checked
the Albanian as nothing else could have done.
If his powerful fellow-countryman wanted this
wretched Tzigane, it was not for him to make
the thing impossible, and he held his shot and
beckoned to Tom to come ashore.
The latter made the bank and clung to a
projecting root for a short time to get his
wind. He felt frightfully downcast. He was
in the enemy’s hands, after all, and in two
minutes more he was marching up the bank
toward the bridge, the muleteer stalking
behind him, and the gendarme walking his
Arab along the opposite side of the river. As
Tom went, he caught sight of a tiny, bright
ﬁgure scudding up a far-off slope, and knew
the gipsy chief had escaped.
The Albanian showed in his bearing that
he held both gipsy and gendarme in the


IN ammo. 99
utmost scorn. The zaptieh represented order,
or such order as is kept in Turkey, and he
held that an Albanian should be free to do
as he pleases; besides, he was a muleteer only
in the intervals of brigandage, and a zaptieh
was an enemy. As for gipsies, he looked
upon them as unclean beasts, and while he
would willingly have shot the dripping Tzigane
who walked in front of him, he thought it
much below his dignity to guard such a
creature. Indeed, he had only joined in the
chase as a sporting affair, and in sheer lust
of blood.
So, when the river-bank opened a little and
the sides were no longer precipitous, he called
upon the zaptieh to cross and take this piece of
dirty work off his hands. It soon appeared
that the gendarme had no great fancy for
taking to the water; but the muleteer was
peremptory, and pointed out a good spot at
which to enter the stream, some short distance
farther up the bank. The Turk argued, as
a Turk always does, preferring the easy way,
and urging that they should go on to the
bridge. In this he was supported by a band
of villagers who had arrived on the spot,
ﬂourishing guns and hurling curses at the
captive.
The muleteer’s anger mounted fast. He


100 nv ammo.
was a Gheg from northern Albania, as bitter a.
Moslem as the Turks, but holding the latter
in savage contempt. His eyes ﬂashed in
superb scorn of the red-fezzed, baggy-breeched,
chattering crowd on the other shore, and he
stepped forward and stamped with the butt of
his riﬂe on the bank at the edge of the 'stream,
and again roared a ﬁerce command to the
gendarme to come over and receive his captive.
In doing this he lost sight for a moment of
the latter, but that did not trouble him; he no
more dreamed of danger from the Tzigane than
a lion would fear the assault of a timid cur.
But this time things were not quite what they
seemed. Inside the dress which was the badge
of a cowardly and shrinking race was a stout-
hearted Boy Scout, trained to be prepared for
any chance that might turn up, and ready to
take it. »
Tom gathered himself together, with every
muscle tense for a big spring. Then he made
a huge leap, and delivered a tremendous Soccer
charge, planting his shoulder square in the
middle of the broad back before him. The
Gheg, taken altogether by surprise, pitched
forward and shot head ﬁrst into the river. In
trying to save himself he dropped his riﬂe.
Tom pounced on it, and with a mighty swing
whirled it far into the stream, where it splashed


IN moms. 1 O1
and sank. Then he turned and ﬂed, even as
the Albanian ﬂoundered round and began to
scramble to the shore.
So astounded were the watching villagers
that for an instant they could only utter yells
of surprise; never, never had they heard of
sucha feat on the part of a Tzigane. And
when at last they began to clap riﬂes to
shoulders they dared not shoot; for the Gheg
had now scrambled from the river, and was
pursuing the daring gipsy, actually covering
the latter in his ﬂight and securing his safety
from the bullets of the Turks.
Tom glanced over his shoulder, and was very
glad that the Albanian’s riﬂe was somewhere
in the bed of the stream. So nimbly had the
muleteer recovered himself that there was
barely forty yards between them, and a riﬂe
would have been an awkward thing in the
hands of the pursuer. Tom had no fear of the
Gheg’s pistols. He had observed them and
noted they were not of modern make like the
riﬂe, and when they began to bark behind him
he only let himself out a little on a patch of
easy ground and went the faster. Tom was
heading for a little ridge, not high, but steep
and stony. He looked back again, and saw
what he expected. The Albanian was pegging
away in the rear; but he did not matter, Tom
_,_ e as


102 IN HIDING.
was going three feet to his two. What did
matter was that the zaptieh was just spurring
his Arab up the nearer bank.
Tom did not add one yard in the hundred
to his pace. He was doing a little under his
best, but he eyed the ridge and eyed the horse-
man, and reckoned he could do it without
pumping himself utterly. He did it. He
gained the ridge, went up it almost as swiftly
as he had crossed the ﬂat, and turned in the
shelter of a great boulder to get his wind and
see how matters stood. Barely two hundred
yards away the zaptieh was coming on at full
gallop, and behind the gendarme the Albanian
ran steadily on, burning to seize that Tzigane
and teach him just what happened to any one
who upset a Gheg and soused him in a river
and robbed him of his most precious possession,
his adored riﬂe.
But they never caught their man, never
came within a chance of catching him. Tom
took a very short rest, then leapt into a boulder-
littered ravine which opened on the farther
side of the little ridge, and his pursuers saw
him no more.
When the scout came out on the open hill-
side again it was at a point so far up the ﬂank
of the mountain that the river was a silver
band below, and the villagers, straggling back


IN HIDING. 103
to their homes, looked like doll ﬁgures in the
landscape. Tom heard a long, shrill call; he
looked up the wide slope, and saw a bright
spot at the foot of the great rock upon which
he and his comrade had ﬁxed as a rendezvous.
Tom struck into scout-pace, and did not halt
till he drew up beside Sherif.
‘ Well, effendi,’ chuckled the gipsy chief, ‘ we
are safe and sound after all. How I laughed
when you threw the Gheg into the river! He
will think you are no Tzigane but an evil
spirit, to do such a thing.’
The gipsy, far-sighted as an eagle, had
watched all from aloft, and he chuckled again
and again at the thought of the Albanian’s
discomﬁture.
‘Hallo, they ’re coming after us,’ said Tom;
and pointed down the trail. The zaptieh had
rejoined his comrade and the ofﬁcer; three
mounted ﬁgures were cantering along the
opening stretch of the trail where the going
was easy.
The Tzigane made a gesture of disdain.
‘Let them come, effendi,’ he said; ‘we shall
be far out of their reach long before they get
up here.’
‘Where does this path run to?’ asked
Tom.
‘To a big Turkish village four miles away,’


104 m HIDING.
replied Sherif; ‘a very bad place for us. We
shall not go another step along it, effendi;
this is our road.’
He led the way round the corner of the
great rock, and at once left the trail and struck
across the open mountain. Tom followed, and
both of them steamed as they went. The
powerful sun was drying their clothes on them,
and within a short time they were as dry as a
pair of sun-bleached bones.
For three hours Tom followed his guide over
naked slopes and ridges, and through bare
ravines where not a sign of life existed, so
solitary was the line which the gipsy chose.
At length they pulled up at the mouth of a
cave, and the Tzigane looked carefully about
for tracks, and whistled a call. But there was
no answer, and no sign of feet appeared on the
rocky path which passed the black hole yawn-
ing in the cliff.
‘This is a path sometimes used by gipsy
bands when crossing the mountains,’ said
Sherif; ‘they often camp in this cave. No
one else uses it, and we shall be safe here.’
‘ It doesn’t look as if any one had been this
way lately,’ remarked Tom.
‘ N o, effendi, it does not; but I can soon tell
when the last band stayed here.’ The Tzigane
stepped into the mouth of the cave, and


IN HIDING. 105
peered intently at a point in the rocky
wall about a foot above his head. Tom could
see nothing in particular. There might have
been a few scratches on the stone, but he could
not be sure about that. But it was clear that
some record was there which the gipsy chief
read like a book.
‘At the beginning of the last moon the tribe
of Hassan stayed here,’ he remarked. ‘This
path, as I said, is not often used, it is so
rough.’
They went inside the cave, and saw black
patches where ﬁres had been lighted, and Tom
asked, ‘ How long must we stay here ? ’
‘Many days,’ replied Sherif. ‘ There will be
a great search among the gipsies, and there
will be a close watch kept for us, for I am
known in that village from which we ﬂed, and
many men called out my name.’
‘ What about food ? ’ asked Tom.
‘ It will be easy to get food if the effendi has
any money,’ said Sherif. ‘There is a Christian
village about four miles away, and I have
a friend in it. I can go down and purchase
what we need-—-always, that is, if the effendi
has money.’
‘I’ll bet twopence he has the ten lira
pouched somewhere about him,’ thought Tom.
‘He ’d never trust anybody else with that


106 IN HIDING.
,I_,_,_ _ _, , -_~'
I/ikti/w-'-7 - 1-fr-" .
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I1 (_/ I
,1] ' I *6’ ’ ' [
{II "’ ' ._ ’
” ' ‘” ' car
: I .'l _ _\ ;_ : /’ _
2l___L¢'.(}- P-ELK: \' ' "L; IA“; I FL .- - -" g
2 ,W,_:_"','Jr_’__-' ii,-5,4 1/ 0'15 qy
‘ I I p I-' W1 ’
q ':0 ’'abtu 1;?’-L_la J’ - r
’l - -|- Ti, r
g.‘__-_|fv\~( _< 1:‘ ,__:
lump of treasure. Luckily I’ve got a triﬂe
in my belt.’
‘ I have some money, Sherif, but not a great
deal,’ said Tom aloud; and thrust his hand
under his vest and explored the money-pocket
of his scout-belt, which he had luckily slipped
round his waist. He brought out two med-
jediehs, coins worth about four shillings each,
and nine piastres, worth about twopence half-
penny each.
‘Plenty, effendi, plenty,’ cooed the Tzigane.
‘That will buy food for many days.
He took two piastres and set off at once.
He was back before dark with a great brown
loaf, a mass of fresh sheep's-milk cheese, and a
big bottle of goat’s milk, and Tom fell on the
provender with hearty appetite.
i


_~
CHAPTER IX. '
THE SACK or NovALA.
SEVERAL long, slow, monotonous days
now dragged by while Tom and Sherif
lay hidden in the hill-fastness. They slept in
the cave by night, but left it before dawn, and
spent the day on a neighbouring hilltop, whence
they could survey the country far and near,
and guard against a surprise. There was no
fear of any such thing after dusk had crept
over the hills, for the Turk is not to be feared
after darkness has fallen. With the approach
of night he hastens for the nearest shelter,
and lies close until the daylight comes again.
But though these days were monotonous
to the pair in hiding, they were far otherwise
throughout the Balkans, and not only the
Balkans, but all Europe. Suddenly a whisper
ran through every capital that the great day
was at hand—that Bulgar and Serb, Monte-
negrin and Greek, had strained on the leash
until they could be withheld no longer, and
were about to leap at the throat of their
ancient enemy, the enemy who had misruled
and mishandled them in so dreadful a fashion


108 THE SACK or NOVALA.
for century after century, from whom part of
them had won their freedom, and part still
remained to be freed.
On the last day of their lonely sojourn, Tom
was awaiting the return of Sherif with food
from the village when he saw a ﬁgure come into
sight in the distance. It was a Turk, march-
ing swiftly along the path by which they had
approached the cave. Tom kept himself care-
fully hidden, and watched the new-comer. But
as the latter drew nearer and ﬁnally stopped at
the mouth of the cave, Tom leapt from his
sheltering boulder and raced down the hill-
side. ‘ Ahmed!’ he called. ‘ Why, it is you,
Ahmed!’
The tall Turk smiled gravely, and salaamed.
‘ Greetings, effendi,’ he said ; ‘ you are safe and
well, the praise to Allah!’
‘How did you know where I was?’ said
Tom.
‘ It is well known among the Tziganes,
effendi,’ replied Ahmed; ‘ and I sought the
knowledge among them when I wished to ﬁnd
you.’
‘Is anything wrong?’ cried Tom. ‘Has
the Kaimakam found out the truth and done
any harm at Novala?’ A sense of disaster
had suddenly smitten him.
‘ The Kaimakam has found out nothing about


110 THE SACK or NOVALA.
such bitter accounts to settle with the Turkish
power.
‘Ah !’ said Tom, and turned to the Tzigane.
‘ Sherif,’ he said, ‘ the Kaimakam has attacked
Novala, and my father has been wounded. I
shall return at once.’
‘ It will be easy, effendi, if there be no guard
left on the place.’
‘ There is none,’ said Ahmed ; ‘ the Bimbashi
and his men were called away just as they had
ﬁnished plundering, and have marched to-day
for the north to ﬁght on the frontier.’
‘Where is my father?’ asked Tom.
‘ He was carried to the house of Issett Bey,’
replied Ahmed, ‘and there he is being tended
by the Bey’s servants.’
Issett Bey, the owner of Novala estate, lived
in Constantinople, but he had a summer resi-
dence on a spur of the hills about a mile to the
south of the Yorkes’ bungalow, and that had
not been assailed.
‘You must rest, Ahmed, before we take the
road,’ said Tom.
‘ Give me food, effendi,’ replied the hardy
fellow, ‘ and I will turn with you at once.’
Tom was not surprised at the answer, for he
knew the stubborn endurance of the Turk, and
when Ahmed had eaten a hasty meal all three
struck away eastward toward N ovala.


rm: SACK or NOVALA. 111
The sun was low when they gained the ridge
which sheltered the valley on its western side.
Here they halted to await the dusk lest they
should run upon belated prowlers in search of
any triﬂes which had not been carried off from
the plundered homes.
Tom’s heart swelled with wrath as he looked
on the valley he had left so rich, beautiful, and
smiling. Fire had been set to the ripened
crops, and the ﬁelds were a stretch of blackened
desolation. Houses, granaries, and barns were
burned to the ground, and their contents with
them. His own home showed a few charred
beams and a rafter or two pointing to the sky;
in one fell day the wealth and comfort of many
garnered years had become the prey of the
spoiler, and the bands of happy and contented
workers had ﬂed homeless to the hills, or lay in
horrible, mutilated shapes among the ruins of
their homesteads.
With the ﬁrst shades of dusk, the little party
crept over the blackened expanse and sought
the house of the Turkish owner. Night had
fallen when they reached its walls, and Ahmed
went forward to see that it was safe for Tom
to advance. All was quiet, and within ﬁve
minutes Tom was beside the divan on which
his father was stretched.
Tom was horribly startled by the ghastly


112 THE SACK or NovALA.
pallor of Mr Yorke’s features; but the wounded
man’s face wrinkled into a faint smile as he saw
Tom’s fantastic dress.
‘Might be worse, Tom !’ murmured Mr
Yorke; ‘I’m not hit in any vital part, and
no bones are broken. The bullets went clean
through, but I've lost a tremendous lot of
blood. I ’ll soon pull round, I hope.’
‘Father, was it my fault?’ asked Tom in a
low, anxious voice. ‘Have I brought this
awful business on you and Novala?’ That
was the doubt that had tortured him every
moment of the journey. Was it all his fault?
‘ Not a bit of it, my lad,’ replied Mr Yorke.
‘ It is the news of war which has upset things.
You ’ve heard of it ? ’
‘Yes, Ahmed told me.’
‘It has come at last,’ said Mr Yorke.
‘ Everything ’s going into the melting-pot now.
We shall see strange times, I fancy. Now
Issett Bey is a member of the Young Turk
party, and Dervish Bey is his bitter enemy.
The Albanian rascal has had word that the
Young Turks are out of favour at Stamboul,
and he sees that with the country tremendously
unsettled by this sudden outbreak of war, his
chance has come to pay off old scores against
Issett Bey, and rake in a lot of loot for him-
self. So yesterday morning he sent a lieu-


rum SACK or NOVALA. 113
_~
tenant with forty or ﬁfty Redifs to search the
houses for arms; a favourite pretext to start
trouble. At the house of Dragoulos they
found, or said they found—it comes to just the
same—a riﬂe and bandolier. No one was at
home but the overseer’s wife, and the brutes
strung her up by her thumbs to a branch, and
as she hung there beat her with heavy sticks
to make her confess, though, of course, she had
nothing to confess. Dragoulos came running
from the ﬁeld with a reaping-hook in his hand,
and slashed the cords through and cut her
down; nothing more. That was all they
wanted. Word was sent at once to the Bim-
bashi, who was near at hand with the rest of
the rascals, that resistance was being offered.
Into the valley he marched with a whole
battalion of the worst scum of the savages
from Anatolia, and they went to work. You ’ve
seen the valley ? ’
Tom nodded. ‘ I ’ve seen it,’ he replied in a
low, ﬁerce voice; ‘all your work, dad, and all
our poor people ! ’
‘I’d be easy enough about my work, lad,’
said Mr Yorke bitterly, ‘if our folks were safe ;
but they tell me a good half of them have been
killed.’
There was silence for a few minutes; then
Tom asked, ‘ How did you get hurt ? ’


114 rm: SACK or NOVALA.
r
‘I’d gone to the top end of the valley to
look at the sluices,’ said Mr Yorke, ‘and the
ﬁrst thing I knew was that a tremendous pillar
of smoke was shooting up from our house. I
galloped back at full speed, thinking the place
had taken ﬁre by accident, when I saw half-a-
dozen other places begin to spout smoke, and
heard the troops yelling like ﬁends, and knew
what was afoot. Still I came along as hard as
I could to seek the ofﬁcer in charge and see
what it meant, when I came full upon a band
of Redifs, and they loosed a volley at me on
sight. Two of them hit me, and I dropped
out of the saddle. They ran forward with
bayonets at the ready, and it would have been
all over with me in another moment had not a
lieutenant come up. He stopped them when
he saw I was a European, and had the Bim-
bashi fetched. He knew me well enough, and
had me carried here.’
Mr Yorke stopped speaking, and closed his
eyes wearily. He was very much exhausted
from loss of blood.
‘Can nothing be done to Dervish Bey for
this,’ demanded Tom ; ‘all this cruel slaughter
and destruction and outrage '? ’
Mr Yorke opened his eyes and looked at his
son. ‘What a question for you to ask, Tom !’
he said.
*5. :_|-n-_mn_-‘_.-


THE sacx or NOVALA. 115
‘Yes, I know,’ answered Tom; ‘only I feel
as if it were too frightful to be endured in
silence.’
‘He ’s done as much in twenty places,’ re-
plied Mr Yorke; ‘and if Issett Bey is out of
favour Dervish Bey will get praise for yester-
day’s work. In any case, blame or censure is
impossible. But now to business, Tom. I
have something for you to do; something of
the ﬁrst importance to us and our fortunes.’
Tom did not speak, but he nodded and ﬁxed
an eager gaze on his father.
‘I have never explained my business to you, , jg-
my lad,’ went on Mr Yorke; ‘but now itg/,5”
becomes necessary, for I am helpless, and
tremendous changes may be at hand. Some
one must act, and act quickly, and that some
one must be you.’
Again Tom gave his brisk, decided nod.
continued Mr Yorke, ‘I agreed upon a salary
of rather more than three hundred pounds
sterling a year, and one-fourth of the proﬁts of
the estate. For some years my one-fourth
was nothing wonderful in amount; but as I
got the place into shape it grew, and last year
it was close upon three thousand pounds. Now
Issett Bey is one of the kindest and most
generous of men, and a year ago he proposed
3013
*3 '°i°~>"
‘When I came here to take Novala in hand,";f”;O o 0


116 run SACK or NOVALA.
that I should become a formal partner with
him in the ownership of the estate, one-third
being vested in me and two-thirds in him.
He was good enough to say that I had made
the place, and part of it should be secured to
me. The deed of agreement was drawn up at
the Konak in the time of old Abdullah Bey,
and was sealed and witnessed in correct form,
and is an ample title to my rights. But it is
in the hands of Issett Bey; it is ﬁled with
the other deeds relating to the estate, and it
is a lucky thing in one way that it is there. If
it had been in our house at Novala it would
have been destroyed, for the ﬁre was tremen-
dous. Now mark this, Tom: this country is
going to see a change of masters ; the Bulgars
will go far when once they start, I am sure of
it ; the Turk may even be driven out of Europe.
Where shall we be if I can show no title to
this land, if I have nothing to prove my rights?
Issett Bey is an oﬂicer. Suppose he is killed
in battle or dies of disease. In that case
we are lost, for he has no children, and his
heir, Achmet Effendi, is a fanatic and hates
Christians. If the Turks hold their own,
Achmet would destroy the deed and drive us
out. We must see Issett Bey and get hold of
that title. It was the ﬁrst thing that ﬂashed
into my mind when I heard that the day of


THE SACK 0F NovALA. 117
the great struggle had arrived; but now this
has come, and I am helpless.’
‘I will go, father; I will go,’ said Tom
earnestly. ‘I will ﬁnd Issett Bey at once, and
tell him what you wish. But the estate is a
wreck.’
‘Ay, my lad,’ said Mr Yorke with a sad
smile. ‘I grant you these crops have gone,
and much of the work of twenty years is a
wreck; but the rich land is still there, and the
irrigation works, and much else. Let me get
these bullet-holes patched, and give me two
years of peace, and I will make Novala look
its old self again.’
‘Where do you think the deed is, father?’
asked Tom.
‘ Most likely at his house in Constantinople,’
said Mr Yorke. ‘But you have only to ﬁnd
him, and I am certain all will be right.’
‘Good,’ said Tom; ‘I’ll go on scout for
Issett Bey at once. Must I go down to
Constantinople to look for him '4 ’
‘ Try Kirk-Kilisse ﬁrst,’ replied Mr Yorke;
‘the last time I heard from him he was near
there with his regiment.’
‘Kirk-Kilisse! that will be an easy journey,’
said Tom. ‘If I can get hold of him there I
shall soon be back, father.’


CHAPTER X.
rm: BULGARIAN scours.
FOUR days later Tom was crossing a ridge
among the foothills of the Balkans, many
miles north of Kirk-Kilisse. He had reached
the latter town only to ﬁnd that Issett Bey’s
regiment had marched north to take part in
the defence of the frontier, and he had followed
on, eager to gain the Turkish position and see
his father’s patron, lest the chances of war
might destroy all hope of an interview.
Rumours of ﬁerce ﬁghting were already
pouring through the country, and in one
village it was said that the Bulgars had won;
in another, the Turks. But that very morning
Tom had seen a sight which set rumour at
rest; he had met a train of Turkish fugitives
hurrying south with their ox-wagons laden
with their household goods, and from them he
had learned of the advance of the Bulgarian
army, pouring its columns in great force through
the Balkan passes, and rolling, a human river,
down to the plains of Thrace, there to grapple
with its age-long foe. He had been told that
there had been severe ﬁghting with the Turks


THE BULGARIAN scours. 119
posted on the frontier, and he was pushing up
to the scene of action in hope of hearing
something of the man whom he sought.
He was still clad in the parti-coloured dress
of a Tzigane, for no guise could be less likely
to draw attention; north or south of the
frontier no one looked twice at a gipsy or was
surprised when his gay rags were seen ﬂutter-
ing in town street or village lane, or on the
loneliest path among the hills.
Tom was alone; he had been accompanied
to Kirk-Kilisse by Ahmed, but the Turk had
been left in the town to keep watch for Issett
Bey and to gather information. Great streams
of Turkish reinforcements were swarming north-
ward through the place, and if there should be
a backward ebb, that must sweep through the
town also, and Ahmed was to stand on guard.
Tom was on foot, his scout-staff in his hand.
He leaned upon the latter and looked toward
the north, where in some of those hidden
dips among the hills the Bulgarian army was
moving southward and beating back before it
the Turkish troops.
The day was bright; but he had left the
plains, and the heat was not so great on these
fresh uplands and among the hills which rolled
before him like waves of the sea. The silence
was perfect, the scene was altogether desolate;


120 THE BULGARIAN scours.
no house or other sign of human life was in
sight, for the hamlets were in the deep valleys;
war and a struggle of nations seemed a very
distant thing from this peaceful stretch of
broken heights. And yet, upon the instant,
Tom was thrown into the midst of one of those
desperate hand-to-hand grips which mark war
at the ﬁercest; not a combat where men lie
down to ﬁre leisurely at an enemy so distant
that fear of him seems nonsense, but a struggle
where death comes within arm’s length and
grins in the face of each ﬁerce ﬁghting-man.
Tom had been full of excited curiosity as
he worked up toward the ﬁghting-line. What
would war be like? He ﬁgured it to himself
as a most wonderful and striking spectacle.
In imagination he saw regiments moving
forward, timing their steps to salvos of
musketry, cannon roaring, shells ﬂung high
in the air, then swinging down and bursting
to let fall a rain of death on the enemy, the
thunder of hoofs as cavalry swept forward to
the charge with sabres glittering above the
troopers’ heads. But the reality was nothing
like this. When it came, war slipped into his
life so quietly that at ﬁrst he did not dream it
was war.
Upon one side of the ridge a deep valley
ran toward the east until it ended in a belt


Z
;--'/
l
1
rum BULGARIAN scours. 121
of woodland at the foot of a distant slope.
Tom was idly gazing down the valley when
a number of ﬁgures ran from the woodland
and began to hurry up the vale. They were
so distant and so far below that each man
looked no bigger than his thumb. When they
were some ﬁve hundred yards from the trees,
one of the tiny running ﬁgures fell and lay at
full length. Three or four of his comrades
ran back to him, for he was almost the last,
and Tom could make out that the man was
picked up and carried forward among the
cluster of his friends. Within twenty yards
another fell, and again three or four ran to
him. But this man was not picked up; Tom
saw a little group gather round him for a
moment, then the group ran at full speed after
the main body. As they ran, another man
fell. Again there was a little rush to him,
and again in an instant he was left, and on
went the party up the valley, the distance
widening at every moment between them and
the fallen men, who made dark spots in the
bright hollow of the vale. Tom could not
understand this, for he saw no reason for it.
Why did the men fall? And why was one
carried away and two left to lie where they
had dropped? The next odd thing was that
the whole party suddenly went down ﬂat.


122 THE BULGARIAN SCOUTS.
They had just crossed a ripple of the vale and
had dropped behind it to rest. Tom whistled,
for he saw daylight. At the next instant he
was sure. A host of ﬁgures now shot into sight
on the edge of the woodland, and each distant
head was a speck of white; Albanian skull-
caps, Tom had no doubt of that.
‘Albanian Redifs,’ said Tom half-aloud to
himself. ‘I say, this is war; those fellows
in front are Bulgarians. It is a skirmish,
with the Bulgars frightfully outnumbered.
What a tremendous crew of Redifs are in
pursuit!’
Now he understood the fallen ﬁgures. The
ﬂying party dared not encumber themselves
with their dead; none could be carried off
save wounded. The Albanians had ﬁred from
the skirts of the woodland, but a strong,
smooth breeze was blowing from the west and
had carried the sound of their riﬂes from his
ears.
Tom watched the little battle, far below,
with straining eyes and parted lips. Soon he
caught the rattle of the riﬂes when a volley
was ﬁred, and marked that the Bedifs were
advancing very cautiously, and that men
among them dropped fast. In a short time
the Redifs retired a little, for even their
ferocious courage could not carry them up


THE BULGARIAN scours. 123
the slope, which was swept by the deadly
riﬂes in the' hands of their enemies. As soon
as the Redifs showed any signs of retirement
Tom marked that the band sprang up at once
and began swiftly to continue their retreat up
the valley. In a short time the Redifs dis-
covered this, and again burst into pursuit,
forming a great irregular line, which stretched
across the valley from side to side.
Tom watched the escaping party eagerly.
All his sympathies were With them. Surely
the government of the Turk had wasted and
destroyed this land long enough. He burned
to see it fall, and the land freed from the
dead hand of the Moslem, and the Christian
inhabitants delivered from Turkish tyranny.
As he watched the retreating Bulgars he saw
that they were following a very faintly marked
track. He ran his eye along it, and saw that
it climbed the slope and passed over the ridge
ﬁfty or sixty yards from the point where he
stood. He ran along the ridge and found
the track. He looked at it carefully, and saw
that a large party had passed that day.
Without doubt, the Bulgars had gone that
way, and were now retreating by the same
path.
Tom looked round, wondering which way
to strike. He had his own business to see to


124 ram BULGARIAN scours.
and it would not advance him on his way
to get mixed up in a savage skirmish, where
the picking off, by accident or design, of a
wandering Tzigane would be a matter of the
smallest moment.
‘I’ll clear out,’ said Tom to himself; and
he turned to retrace his steps and descend
the farther edge of the ridge.
As he went he glanced down to his right
to mark the position of the fugitives. They
were approaching the foot of the long slope
which ran up the ridge. He could see clearly
that they were Bulgars; the round caps, the
dark dress, the white leggings wound about
with strips of hide were now plain to view.
He glanced to the right and stopped dead.
A column of men was winding into sight
round a distant bend of the track. The men
were in khaki and were marching on toward
the ridge. The new-comers and the Bulgars
would meet on the crown.
‘By Jove, if that ’s a Bulgarian regiment
coming up the Albanians will get it hot!’
thought Tom; but scarce had the thought
entered his mind than he saw it was wrong.
A mounted ofﬁcer rode into sight, wearing
a scarlet fez; they were Turks. The Bulgars
would run slap into them.
Tom turned on his heel and shot at full


THE BULGARIAN scours. 125
speed down the slope, heading straight for
the Bulgars. ‘I don’t want to be mixed up
in the ﬁghting,’ he thought as he ran; ‘but
this time it ’s a scout’s job to pass the
word, or I’m a long way out of it. If
they come up the hill those poor beggars will
be smashed like a nut between hammer and
anvil.’
As he drew near to the band he saw that
they were led by a short, sturdy man in spick-
and-span uniform, and a huge, stout fellow in
the dress of a Komitaji. The big man raised
his riﬂe as Tom darted down upon them, but
lowered it at once when Tom shouted in the
Bulgar tongue, ‘Danger! danger! You are
running into a regiment of Turks ! ’
‘Where are they?’ cried the Bulgarian
captain, he of the neat uniform.
‘Marching along this very track to meet
you,’ cried Tom. ‘They will be on the ridge
in a short time.’
‘Thanks, comrade,’ cried the captain, and
turned to his huge companion.—‘Lazoﬂ',’ he
said, ‘ you know this country better than I ’
‘Hill and valley, dale and plain; by sun,
by moon, by stars, by dark,’ broke in the big
man, chanting the words as a recitative in a
great, booming, jovial voice.
‘Well, then, which way '2 ’ said the captain.
3.5.3. I


126 THE BULGARIAN scours.
‘ To yonder peak which fronts the sun,’ sang
the giant.
Tom grinned, and thought’ that here was
a cheerful joker. It was no peak at all
to which the big Bulgar pointed, merely a
hillock on the ridge which bounded the valley
on the opposite side, a little hillock bathed
in sunlight.
‘ This way, men 1’ cried the captain; and the
Komitaji echoed his call with, ‘This way,
brothers!’ and the line of march was changed
almost at right angles. Tom went with them,
for the line which was safe for them was the
only one safe for him.
Far behind them the irregulars raised a yell
of joy, which came to the fugitives’ ears, and
bullets began to patter among the band. The
Albanians clearly knew that another Moslem
regiment was in the neighbourhood, and had
divined why the Bulgars’ line of ﬂight had been
changed. But the fugitives were marching in
very open order, and no one was hit.
The Bulgars were well up the opposite slope
when the advance-guard of the Turks appeared
on the ridge. The huge Komitaji saw them
ﬁrst. He had been literally marching with
his big beard on his shoulder, and now he
growled savagely, ‘Turks!’ and nodded to the
height from which Tom had rushed down.


THE BULGARIAN scours. 127
The latter was hurrying along beside the
captain, and both turned their heads to see
the van of the regiment crowning the distant
rise.
‘We ’re within range yet,’ said the captain,
and called upon his followers to hasten their
steps. The wounded man was being 'assisted
by relays of helpers, and these were now
changed more swiftly, and they put out their
strength with all their might to get the injured
man to the little hillock of which Lazoff had
spoken.
They were at its foot when the Turks
opened ﬁre from the ridge, but it would have
been sheer luck for a Turk to have struck an
enemy from that distance, and the ammunition
was wasted. Up the side of the little rise
the Bulgars streamed, and came out on a tiny
plateau, thirty yards across, and littered with
boulders, some loose, some ﬁxed in the
ground.
‘Here we are, my captain,’ cried Lazoff
‘I once held this place for three days with
twenty men, so surely we can make a stand
here till nightfall.’
‘And against whom did you hold it, Lazoff,
my good friend?’ asked the captain, as he
drew his glasses from their Case to examine
the Turkish regiment.


128 rum BULGARIAN scours.
‘Oh I grant you that,’ laughed Lazoff ;
‘ they were only Bashi-bazouks.’
‘And yonder is a N izam regiment,’ murmured
the quiet little captain, ‘and a good regiment,
too, as far as I can make out. Can we continue
our march, Lazoff? I should like very much
to get back to headquarters with my report.’
It was not the big Bulgar who made answer;
it was Tom. ‘Look!’ cried the scout, and
pointed.
For some time both Turks and Albanians
had been spending cartridges freely, and the
rattle of musketry had been incessant. In
one way the powder had been burned to
waste; in another way it had not. For while
none of the fugitives had been hit, yet the
ﬁring had drawn attention. Looking out on
the road he must follow to push forward, Tom
had seen a strong troop of horsemen ride into
sight, and he now called the attention of the
captain to them.
The ofﬁcer turned his glasses upon the distant
squadron. ‘Turkish cavalry,’ he remarked.
‘ Then here we must stay,’ said Lazoff ; ‘ they
are lying on the only road in that direction,
and they could cut us oﬁ' from the hills, being
mounted men.’
The officer nodded; then turned to scan the
nearest enemy of all, the pursuing Redifs.


THE BULGARIAN scours. 129
He slipped his glasses into their case and
glanced at Tom.
‘Comrade,’ he said, ‘you have served us
nobly. Had you not given us word of that
Nizam regiment we should have been lost
men.’
‘He is a good Bulgar,’ roared the giant,
‘and no one can say more. He is true to
his friends and his country. I have made just
such a character the subject of my poem, “ The
Dawn of Liberty;”’ and the big man began
to recite a stanza, to which his companions
listened with respectful attention.
The captain beckoned Tom aside, and mur-
mured in an undertone, ‘ I make you my com-
pliments on your excellent disguise. Nothing
could be more admirable. Who would suspect
a Bulgarian spy in the dress of a Tzigane? ’
‘I am sorry to disappoint you, captain,’
replied Tom, smiling, ‘but I am not a Bulgarian.’
‘You are not!’ cried the other. ‘What,
then, are you ? ’
‘I am English,’ said Tom.
‘A young Englishman, speaking Bulgar,
wearing the dress of Tzigane,’ murmured the
Bulgarian, his face ﬁlled with astonishment.
‘This is strange; but, believe me, we are all
the more grateful to you.’
‘ Captain Yanitch,’ called a man from the
.~.- ' _ ,7_ \__'


130 rum sunommn scours.
other side of the plateau, ‘there are more
Redifs advancing on this side.’
‘Ah,’ said he, ‘we must prepare to receive
these gentlemen,’ and within ﬁve minutes he
had placed his men in readiness for the hot
work that threatened. Two sides of the
plateau were so steep that an escalade would
be very diﬂicult, and each of these sides was
guarded by ﬁve men. The third side was not
easy to climb, and ten men were placed along
its edge. The fourth side, that by which they
had ascended, was an easy slope, and here the
rest of the band, twenty-three in number,
took their places. With wonderful speed and
dexterity, each marksman built himself a tiny
schantze of stones on the edge of the plateau,
and stretched himself behind it, fondling his
riﬂe and twitching his bandolier into an easy
position.
Tom was wondering at the calm, business-
like style of these men preparing to face an
overwhelming mass of their foes; no fuss, no
apparent excitement, hardly a word passing,
when, in calm, unconcerned tones, the captain
began to explain. Tom had tucked himself
behind a big, outcropping boulder beside the
post of Yanitch, and the latter glanced round
to see that his handful was placed in order.
‘These are not ordinary troops,’ he said to


THE BULGARIAN scours. 131
Tom; ‘they are old insurgent ﬁghters, every
one of them. Not a man here but has ﬁred
many a bullet at the Turk.’
‘Yes,’ replied Tom; ‘any one can see they
know what to do and how to do it.’
Captain Yanitch nodded. ‘I was sent out
with them to reconnoitre and gain information.
Most of them know this country well, and
have fought up and down in it. The poet
Lazoff knows it best of all.’
‘ Oh he is a poet ? ’ asked Tom.
‘He is one of our best national poets,’
replied Yanitch; ‘his verses are good too.
They swing, and the men love to march to
them. They recite them or sing them, for
he often writes war-songs which may be sung
to old airs of the country.’
Tom looked with interest at the big Komitaji,
who was raising his schantze rather higher
than that of his neighbours, because his bulk
was so much greater. Another man, whose
wall was high enough to suit him, was tossing
stones to the poet, and the latter whipped
them into place with a deft neatness which
told that he had built many a schantze in a
hurry in his time.


C H A P T E R X I.
THE AssAuLT.
SUDDENLY there was a great roll of
musketry from the valley. The Nizam
regiment had deployed on the ridge and
descended the slope, keeping a fairly {regular
front. This showed that they were one of the
regiments which had been trained by German
ofﬁcers, for, as a rule, Turkish soldiery shamble
forward in all sorts of shapes. In the valley
they had halted and ﬁred a volley; now they
were setting their faces to the hill to wipe out
the daring band which had ventured into
country still held by them.
‘ Not a shot till I give the word,’ sang out
the captain; and there was a grunt of assent
from the cool, trained ﬁghters, each tucked
behind his little wall with his riﬂe ready and
an ample store of cartridges laid handy. Tom
had already observed how well this scouting-
party was supplied with ammunition. Each
man had a couple of bandoliers criss-crossed
over his chest, and a third strapped round his
waist, and every bandolier stuffed full with
cartridges.


THE ASSAULT. 133
Tom slipped his head inch by inch past an
outcropping boulder on the edge of the little
plateau until he could peep into the valley.
His heart gave a leap of excitement. The
Nizam regiment was below him, moving
forward, not swiftly, but steadily, and in
dreadful silence. Away on their right ﬂank
the Redifs were coming up in a straggling
crowd, ﬁring and shouting, an undisciplined
mob. A bullet whistled within a foot of his
face, and Tom threw himself back.
‘Beware the chance shot, comrade,’ said
Captain Yanitch. ‘It is that which picks off
many a good man.’
‘ Will they rush us ? ’ asked Tom.
‘ They will try, without doubt,’ said the cool
little captain. ‘Whether they get in among
us or not depends entirely upon how they take
punishment. I do not fear the Redifs; they
will not stand hammering, I am sure of that;
but a good Nizam regiment is a very difﬁcult
nut to crack. The odds, too, are pretty severe ;
they are eight hundred at least to our forty-
three, without counting the Redifs, though,
of course, we have an immense advantage of
position.’
At this moment a feeble voice began to cry
out for water. Tom looked round; the cry
came from the wounded man, who had been


134 THE ASSAULT.
laid in shelter of a great boulder which stood
like a table in the midst of the little ﬂat. The
poet was already scrambling to his feet, a
water-bottle in hand, when Tom called to him
to remain where he was. To attend to the
wounded was a ﬁtting task for a non-combatant,
and Tom ran to take the bottle and give
drink to the sufferer.
The injured man was a tall, thin young fellow
of two or three and twenty, and a Redif bullet
had passed clean through his body. He had
not bled much, so far as the scout could see;
but possibly the bleeding was internal, for his
ghastly face and hurried breathing told that
the wound was mortal. Tom raised his head
and gave him a drink. The Bulgar smiled
faintly and thanked him, and the poet called
across to Tom, ‘ Brother, bring the bandoliers
of our poor friend. Some of us used many
cartridges at the foot of the valley, and his
store will be of service.’
The wounded man nodded feeble assent to
this; he knew he would never burn cartridge
again, and he moved as well as he could to
assist Tom in stripping off the three well-ﬁlled
bandoliers. Scarcely had Tom carried the store
of cartridges over to Lazoff than there burst
out a most terriﬁc fusillade. The Moslems
advancing to the assault were lashing the crest


THE ASSAULT. 1 3 5
of the hill with a tempest of bullets to cover
their attack. Full ﬁfteen hundred riﬂes-
Nazim and Redif—were trained upon the
hillock, and the bullets ﬁlled the air with a
humming and twittering rush of lead. Not
one fell on the plateau, but they thudded on
the shelters and sang low overhead, so that no
one dared stand up near the lip of the descent.
Every Bulgar kept his place, lying close behind
his schantze, save the captain, who crawled
round his men, inspected their position, passed
a cheerful word here and there, then took up
his place once more, and peered through a
crack between two boulders to watch the
Turkish advance.
Steadily the roar of the ﬁring swept toward
them, and still not a shot rang from the summit.
It gave Tom the oddest sensation to sit beside
the wounded man in the centre of the little
ﬂat, and hear the terriﬁc uproar of the Turkish
musketry. He could see nothing save the
level patch and the sky, for they were on the
highest point of the neighbourhood. All round
the ring of the plateau were the schantzes and
prostrate men, and the only sound upon it was
made by the poet. He had stretched himself
ﬁat on his back behind his all, his riﬂe lying
beside him, and he was chanting softly in his deep
voice a song of praise of the little motherland


136 THE ASSAULT.
of the Bulgars. It was clear that his comrades
knew it, for each stanza had a different refrain,
which they recited in chorus. Into a chorus
came a shrill note—a call upon the captain’s
whistle. The chorus dropped dead, every man
threw his riﬂe forward and poked the muzzle
through a loophole left in the wall. From
below, the lively notes of bugles rang out and
mingled with the rattle of the riﬂe. Tom
knew the call well. The Turkish bugles were
blowing the ‘Charge!’ and at that instant
Yanitch gave the word to his men, and thirty-
three riﬂes spoke as one. The ten men guard-
ing the steeper sides were silent ; the rest ﬁred
again and again into the mass of the climbing
foe.
Every Bulgar kept most rigidly under cover
save one, a man stationed near Captain Yanitch.
Carried away by the excitement of opening ﬁre,
and eager to gain a better aim, he raised
himself into the tempest of lead sweeping
over the crest, and ﬁred over the top of his
schantze.
‘ Down, Prile{f—down ! ’ roared Yanitch ; but
he spoke to a dead man. Prileff rolled behind
his schantze, with three bullets through head
and chest.
Yanitch turned his head and beckoned to
Tom. ‘ Comrade,’ he cried, ‘here is your post ; ’


THE AssAuLT. 137
and he pointed to the schantze where Prileff
lay.
Tom obeyed the order at once. He was here
to live or to die with the band of Bulgars, and
he must take' his part in the battle. If they
won he would share in their safety, if they
lost he would certainly perish with them under
the Turkish bayonets ; for no one on the hill
could hope for quarter.
Tom seized Prileﬂ"s riﬂe, threw open the
magazine, and saw that only one cartridge
remained. He recharged the weapon, drawing
cartridges from the bandolier fastened upon
Prileff’ s body, and drew himself forward, slipped
the muzzle through the loophole in the schantze,
and looked down the long slope. At his ear
Yanitch was shouting, ‘ Fire slowly, comrades !
Not a shot must be wasted! Mark your
man !’
Tom’s heart gave a jerk in his body when he
saw how near the enemy were. The ﬁerce
Albanians had rushed to the front, and were
swarming up the hillside well in front of the
Turkish regulars. They were yelling like
madmen as they came, and the rattle of their
riﬂes was incessant. There was no question of
judging the range; it was point-blank; the
nearest Redifs were not four hundred yards
away, and Tom ﬁred slowly and steadily into


1 3 8 rum ASSAULT.
the climbing mass. He emptied the magazine
once, twice, thrice, and suddenly the Albanians
were gone. The captain had been right. The
savage irregulars were full of ﬁght, but they
could not stand hammering ; they swung right
and left, rushed back, and sought shelter behind
the Turks. They left the hillside littered with
their fallen; the cool, dreadful ﬁghters on the
hilltop had thinned their ranks terribly.
' As the Albanians broke, the Nizams de-
ployed again, and opened their ranks still more
widely to offer a more difficult mark to those
deadly riﬂemen who had decimated their Redif
comrades. The manoeuvre was executed with
wonderful steadiness and precision for Turks;
in truth, it would not have disgraced a Western
army, and Yanitch hissed a little through his
clenched teeth. Tom glanced at him, and saw
the little captain frowning as if considering
what to do. Suddenly Yanitch laid down his
glasses, turned, and crouching low, for plenty
of bullets were still whistling about their ears,
went swiftly across the ﬂat to the men stationed
at the other side. At the next instant four of
each party were scrambling toward the ﬁring-
line, their bearded faces ﬁlled with delight, and
Yanitch came with them, pointing his place to
each man. The captain had now left only a
single Bulgar as watchman upon the two faces


rnm ASSAULT. 1 39
most difficult of attack, and had lined the slope
up which the Turks were preparing to advance
with every riﬂe at his command save two.
As the Turks deployed, Tom was watching
them closely through his loophole, and somehow
his eye was drawn again and again to the
mounted oﬂicer with the scarlet fez. There
was no question that here was a cool, brave
man. He rode up and down his lines, ordering,
directing, pointing here and there, as calmly as
if it were rain that was falling and not deadly
bullets, for many of the Bulgar marksmen had
now turned their riﬂes on the Turks, and men
were dropping steadily all along the Nizam
line.
The Turkish officer threw up his hand with
a gesture which made Tom jump. Was it he?
The scout remembered the glasses which the
captain had set down, and glanced round
quickly; the tiny Zeiss binoculars were within
arm’s length, and Yanitch was at the other end
of the line. Tom caught them up and clapped
them to his eyes. Both focus and width suited
him, and the wonderful power of the little
glasses seemed to bring the mounted officer
within biscuit toss. Yes, it was he; it was
Issett Bey !
Tom quickly replaced the glasses on the spot
where Yanitch had laid them, and drew a long


140 mm ASSAULT.
breath. Here was a situation! The man
whom he sought, the man whose life was so
precious to the Yorkes, lay full under the
deadly riﬂes of this picked band; he would
advance, a most conspicuous mark, against
their schantzes; he would advance against
Tom’s own weapon. ‘It is Issett Bey on
Selim,’ breathed Tom to himself. No wonder
both man and horse had looked familiar; many
a time had Tom run his hand over the silken
coat of the ﬁne Arab charger, a dark bay, upon
which Issett Bey was mounted. As he gazed,
horror-struck, through his loophole, Issett Bey
turned his horse, drew his sword and waved
it toward the hilltop. The Turkish bugles
shrilled the order to advance and the Nizams
swept forward, shouting and ﬁring, while the
Redifs in their rear added their riﬂes to the
hail of bullets which once more swept the
position held by the Bulgars.
‘Mark the leader! Mark the mounted
officer! ’ sang out the captain.


C H A P T E R X I I.
THE REPULSE or THE NIZAMS.
TOM scarcely dared to look, and a groan
which he could not check burst from his
lips as he saw man and horse go down in a
heap, over which the Nizams swept in their
splendid advance. The Turkish regulars, led
by their company officers, were coming on in
magniﬁcent fashion. They went down in scores
as they rushed up the steep slope, but nothing
seemed able to check those staunch ﬁghters of
the padishah, and the Redifs followed, yelling
like ﬁends. The last hundred and ﬁfty yards
was very steep, and the pace was checked ; but,
as the pace slackened, the ﬁre from the lip of
the plateau doubled and redoubled in fury.
Tom was ﬁring as swiftly as any man there;
he had thrown in his lot with the Bulgars, and
he must stand by his friends. Suddenly he
reached out his hand and found no more
cartridges within his grasp; he had actually
stripped that half of Prileff’s body which lay
uppermost. He laid down his riﬂe to turn the
dead man over and expose the cartridges on the
under side when the captain roared, ‘ Bombs !’
B.S.B. J


142 THE REPULSE or THE NIZAMS.
Ten men, led by the poet, dropped their
riﬂes, and hauled round the haversacks in which
they carried the missiles which the Turks dread
so much. Each man, squatting behind his
schantze, coolly and carefully lighted the fuse
which explodes the charge of dynamite packed
within the steel ball. The poet, a famous
bomb-thrower, was ready ﬁrst. He drew back
a little; there was a swing of his huge body
and great arm, and he hurled the bomb down
the hill just as Tom regained his loophole.
Tom saw the bomb bounding down the slope
like a big cricket-ball, and watched eagerly to
see it land amongst the Turks. So well had
the poet timed the fuse that it burst full among
the leading N izams, and the roar of its ex-
plosion was echoed by the shrieks of wounded
and dying men. Fast upon its heels came the
other missiles, directed against various parts of
the line, and again a fresh volley was delivered,
and the roar of the exploding bombs rang
dull and heavy amid the shrill crackle of the
riﬂes.
‘They give! they give!’ shouted Yanitch.
‘Another volley of bombs, brothers! And
you others, ﬁre as fast as you can !’
It was at this moment, when the gallant
Nizams faltered in face of the dreaded bombs,
that Tom saw Issett Bey again. VVithout his


THE arrutsr or THE mzxms. 143
fez, his face streaked with blood, his right arm
hanging useless at his side, his sword in his left
hand, the Turkish ofﬁcer rushed to the front of
his men, bringing a bugler with him, and by
voice and sound of trumpet sought to reanimate
their failing spirits, and urge them to the
charge once more. A storm of bullets ﬂew in
hisfdirection. The bugler fell dead, the charge
half-sounded ; but Issett Bey seemed to bear a
charmed life. He hurried to and fro amid the
hail of bullets travelling with terriﬁc power at
so short a range, and tried to reform the broken
lines. He failed; the Turks had borne the
punishment splendidly so far, but now it
became too hot for them. At this range a
bullet cut through man after man where they
were gathered thickly, and the Nizams began
to fall back. At ﬁrst they moved slowly, re-
paying the hot ﬁre of the Bulgars with volley
after volley. Then their pace quickened, until
they were hurrying for any shelter they could
gain.
Captain Yanitch shouted orders to cease
ﬁring, and the rattle of riﬂes on the hilltop
dropped at once.
‘Not a cartridge must be wasted,’ said
Yanitch ; ‘ we have used many rounds already,
and we have not ﬁnished with these fellows
yet, take my word for it.’


144 rum REPULSE or THE NIZAMS.
The poet left his schantze, and came across
to his leader.
‘ Never have I seen Turks ﬁght better, my
captain,’ said Lazoff.
‘You are right, Lazoff,’ replied the oﬂicer.
‘It is a good regiment, and it is most unlucky
for us that the colonel has escaped.’
‘No, no, he went down, man and horse,
almost as soon as we opened on the last rush,’
cried Lazoﬁf.
‘ But he was up again,’ replied Yanitch.
‘I-Ie was doing his best to force the charge
home. He appeared on foot, wounded, but
still able to lead.’
Lazoff made a gesture of vexation. ‘Ah,’
he said, ‘why did not some one pick him off
A good leader means much anywhere, and very
much to the Turks. I know them; I have
fought with them since I was a boy. But are
you sure he got away ? ’
‘ Quite sure,’ replied Yanitch. ‘ I was watch-
ing them through my glasses as they fell back.’
Tom drew a long breath of relief. He had
lost sight of Issett Bey, and knew not for
certain what had happened to him.
‘Do you think they will come again?’ he
asked the captain.
‘Hard to say,’ replied Yanitch, as he moved
away to make a round of his men. ‘There


THE REPULSE or '1'HE NIZAMS. 145
are plenty of them left if they are willing
to try.’
The poet seated himself on a low boulder
and lighted a cigarette. ‘ Comrade,’ said he to
Tom, ‘these men will not come back for the
present. But there will be a moment of
supreme peril, and for that the captain bids us
save our cartridges. If we are living men ten
minutes after the dusk has fallen we shall be
safe, for I, Lazofﬁ will lead the men who still
live on a path where none can follow us. But
the moment of danger will come when dusk
gathers over the hill. If yonder Turkish
colonel knows his business, and I fear he is a
very capable man, he will place his troops
round us and work them as close as he can
during the last half-hour of light. Then when
the light is too poor for good shooting, but
good enough to see your man at close quarters,
he will rush us with the bayonet. Those
Albanian Redifs are just the fellows for such
work. Yes, he will throw the White Caps on
to us with the cold steel, or I am much
mistaken in him.’
‘It is lucky he has no guns,’ remarked a
man who had come up to listen to Lazoff.
‘Guns! artillery!’ snorted the giant; ‘no,
he has no guns with him. We are many miles
from a road over which wheels could roll.


146 rm: mnrutsm or THE mzms.
We are safe, I tell you, until the dusk begins
to fall.’
But the poet was wrong; he was altogether
wrong. Long before the dark should fall the
Bulgar band were to undergo a dreadful ordeal,
far more terrible than a bayonet charge from
the active, white-capped Redifs.
For an hour after the repulse of the Nizams
all was quiet, save for sniping shots from below.
Three of the defenders had been wounded in
the attack which had failed, but no one seriously,
and after their hurts were bound up the men
returned to their schantzes and lay down. From
time to time Captain Yanitch made the round
of the hilltop. The party of mounted Turks
which had come into sight and checked their
movement toward the north had disappeared
again; but Yanitch knew they might be lying
in wait somewhere near the road by which he
and his men must travel, and he did not dare to
attempt to escape in that direction. Upon the
hilltop all the band, save three, slept soundly.
When Lazoff had ﬁnished his cigarette he
had stretched himself at full length with a
tremendous yawn. ‘ Well, we marched all last
night, and have been running and ﬁghting to-
day, my captain,’ said he to Yanitch. ‘I, for
one, could do with some sleep. No need to
wake till half-an-hour before the dark.’


THE REPULSE or THE NIZAMS. 147
The captain nodded. ‘To rest would be
wise, Lazoff,’ he agreed. ‘ I will post a guard,
and the men may get sleep for a time.’ So he
appointed three men to watch, and the tired
Bulgars were soon fast asleep.
Of the three watchers, Tom was one, for he
had slept the night before, and had volunteered
for the ﬁrst watch. Captain Yanitch had
bidden him keep special observation on the
point where the mounted men had been seen,
and had lent Tom his binoculars to observe the
distant hillside.
But it was not from that point that danger
threatened after all. The menace arrived by
the road which the Nizam infantry had followed,
and when a couple of horsemen appeared on
the opposite ridge the Turks gave a yell of joy
which re-echoed along the valley.
Tom turned the glasses on the new-comers,
and saw a row of laden ponies in ﬁle behind
them. He gave one glance at the burdens
borne by the shaggy beasts, then called in a
sharp voice to the captain. Both Yanitch and
Lazoﬂ’ had been wakened by the yell, and were
springing up.
‘Artillery!’ cried Tom excitedly. ‘Guns
have arrived!’
‘ Guns!’ boomed Lazoﬂ’. ‘ Never; no wheels
can roll ’

.. N


148 res REPULSE or rnr: NIZAMS.
'I
/
/
kw
»/
X
‘They haven’t come on wheels,’ said Tom;
‘ it ’s a mountain battery.’
Yanitch said nothing, but made one jump
for the glasses, and pointed them for the ridge.
The train of laden ponies had drawn up, and
there was a great bustle and running to and fro
of men who had marched on foot beside the
animals.
‘ Three seven-pounders,’ said Yanitch quietly.
‘ Four ponies to a gun. The ﬁrst carries wheels
and shafts; the second, the carriage ; the third,
the gun; the fourth, the ammunition. The
gunners are mounting them; they will open
ﬁre in a few minutes.’
‘Look,’ said Tom, ‘the cavalry are coming
into sight again.’
From a deﬁle in broken ground to the north,
the strong squadron of Turkish horsemen rode
into view, and then halted as if to watch the
hill. The position of the Bulgar patrol was
now so critical as to be hopeless. It was this :
they held the crest of a hillock which stood
upon a ridge running east and west. North
and south the land fell away. Beyond the
valley to the south rose the ridge, now crowned
by the mountain battery. To the north the
land was more open, and if they advanced into
it the Turkish cavalry could cut them off.
Finally, the whole neighbourhgpd swarmed
a * -
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1Y "'
-'!g,1
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..-»-"" ’ *i":’
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* . a
_ rnm REPULSE or THE mzxns. 149
7-3 J---"Z‘W
with Nizains and Redifs, reghlars and irréulars,
all with severe losses to avenge, and thirsting
for blood. The trap was closed at every point.
‘ Pile the loose boulders together,’ commanded
Yanitch. ‘ Build a breastwork as strong as
you can make it, and all men not on duty can
lie in shelter.’
There were many large stones which had not
been put into the schantzes, and every man,
save the sentinels whom the captain posted to
watch all sides of the hill, turned to and began
to heap the rocks together. Tom and the poet
had just raised a big stone between them when
a roar ran across the valley, and something
tore its way through the air above their heads,
shrieking as it went.
‘ First shell,’ grunted Lazoff. ‘Sighting
shot. What ’s the distance?’
They dropped the big stone into position;
then the big Komitaji straightened himself
and stared at the ridge where the busy gunners
were hurrying to and fro. ‘ Two thousand
ﬁve hundred yards, or something pretty close,’
murmured Lazoff ; ‘ an easy range for them,
but scarcely worth our wasting cartridges when
we shall need them so badly when the rush
comes.’
‘ You are right, Lazoff,’ said the captain,
catching the poet’s words as he came up; ‘all


150 rnm REPULSE or rm: NIZAMS.
we can do is to take it quietly, and hope for
night and bad aim on; the part of the Turkish
gunners.’
‘ And bad shells,’ added the Komitaji with a
H I
r-1
chuckle. ‘ Plenty of them are of no use. The *
Turkish authorities serve out rubbish, and put , ’
the money which should buy good stuff into
their own pockets. For my part, I care little
for these guns. The edge of dark, that is the
time, I tell you, when either we are lost men
or can snatch a chance of escape.’
It was the fate of the poet that day to show
himself a bad prophet time and again. The
ﬁfth shell proved that there was a marksman
among the Turks. It dropped almost exactly
in the centre of the tiny plateau. Every man
threw himself ﬂat behind such shelter as was
nearest. Crash! the shell burst and shrapnel
ﬂew on every hand. The heavy bullets caught
two men unprotected—0ne had a ﬁnger taken
off as if slashed away with a knife; the other
lost the upper part of his right ear. Both
were thankful things were no worse.
Fully a dozen shells now went over or fell
short, and the imprisoned men began to hope
that the shell which had landed among them
had been a lucky shot, when the marksman
got to work again. This time he dropped
common shell right in front of a schantze, and
L-j_!
\!;
T5,)
\l
/\
\
/ 
xi_ /


mm amrutsm or THE NIZAMS. 151
sent the loose wall ﬂying in all directions.
Two men were lying behind the schantze—one
was killed upon the spot; the other frightfully
cut and bruised by whirling splinters of stone
and steel.
The next hour and a half was a most terrible
time for the men pinned on the tiny plateau.
Some one working the dwarf guns on yonder
ridge had got their range to a hair, and at very
short intervals shell after shell dropped among
them. Sometimes shrapnel burst over them,
scourging them with a frightful rain of heavy
bullets; sometimes common shell exploded
with a roar, hurling splinters of metal, which
rang upon the boulders beneath which they
crowded for shelter. Not once but many
times did a fearless Bulgar pounce upon a
new-fallen shell and hurl it down the hill before
it could burst. Twice did a shell burst in the
hands of the gallant man who had raised
it, and he was torn to pieces by the fear-
ful explosion; yet none shrank when the
opportunity came to repeat’ the daring act.
The tension of the thing strained every nerve
almost to breaking-point. Tom saw for him-
self the vital truth of the saying that for the
soldier the hardest thing is to endure; to
take punishment without wincing. To lead a
forlorn hope was a far easier thing than to


152 THE REPULSE or THE NIZAMS.
wait patiently for these frightful blows which
smote the hilltop and its little band of de-
fenders. None knew where the next might
fall. Nine men had already been killed or
crippled, and still the shells sailed in amongst
them. A tenth man was horribly wounded by
a shell which burst as it fell bounding at his
very feet.
A splinter of this shell rang like a hammer
on a boulder beneath which Tom and the
poet were crouching. They had scraped away
the earth and partly burrowed under the big
stone, and in this way secured some shelter.
The man who had just been struck was one of
the watchmen posted on each face to observe
any movement of the infantry. Captain
Yanitch peered from behind a neighbouring
rock. ‘Ah poor Detcheff!’ he cried; then
turned his head to order another man to creep
forward and take Detcheff’s place.
‘ I will go, captain,’ cried Tom.
‘ As you will, comrade,’ replied Yanitch ; and
Tom slid forward and placed his face against
the loophole in the schantze, as two men
crept up and dragged Detcheff into shelter of
the breastwork formed of the boulders piled
together.
Tom had volunteered on the spur of the
moment; besides, he wanted to look into the


THE struts}: or THE NIZAMS. 153

valley. One place on the hilltop seemed much
as risky as another, and Tom’s mind was ﬁlled
with a burning desire to learn something of
Issett Bey. It was true the captain had seen
him returning with his troops; but he was
certainly wounded, and Tom was in a fever
to discover his condition. Not a single riﬂe
was being ﬁred against the hilltop; so Tom
raised himself boldly and peered over the top
of the schantze.
His eye ranged over the fallen Turks whose
bodies were dotted thickly about the slope,
and he marked the motionless bulk of the
gallant bay charger; Selim, then, had been
killed when he fell under his master. As for
combatants, not one was to be seen. They
had retired into folds of the hillside, and were
awaiting the end of the artillery preparation.
In a few moments a ﬂeck of white broke
the edge of the wall of a ruined sheepfold far
down the ridge. It was the felt skull-cap of
an Albanian on the watch. At the next
instant it disappeared, and ridge and valley
alike seemed empty of active foemen.
In a short time the gun-ﬁre ceased, and
for full three-quarters of an hour a profound
silence reigned. The captain crept to the
schantze where Tom lay, and examined the
opposite ridge closely.


154 rnm REPULSE or ran mzxus.
‘The gunners are strolling about or sitting
on ammunition-boxes,’ he said; ‘very possibly
they are running short of shell, and that is the
reason for holding ﬁre. But they have still a
number of rounds left, for I see three men
carrying them into position.’
‘The Turks in the valley seem very quiet,’
remarked Tom.
‘ There ’s no sign of movement, certainly,’
replied Yanitch; ‘but they may be working
into position against us for all that. There
are folds of the hill and tiny dips and hollows
which would give ample cover for clever
skirmishers to gain a good deal of ground.’
‘But they could not come close to us,’
urged Tom. ‘We can see both sides of the
ridge and both ways along it for a good
distance.’
‘Can we?’ said Yanitch, and shook his
head. ‘Both sides, I agree; and to the west,
I again agree ; but to the east, I am not sure.’
Tom looked eastward, and he was puzzled.
The bald crown of the ridge seemed to run
away smooth and unbroken. But he lacked
the trained eye of the officer.
‘Three hundred yards from us there is an
inequality of the ground,’ said Yanitch. ‘It
may be insufficient to hide a man; it may be
suficient to hide a regiment.’


THE REPULSE or THE NIZAMS. 155
‘I have no doubt you are right,’ said Tom ;
‘but I cannot see it.’
‘ It ispthere,’ returned the captain; and he
raised his voice and called Lazoff, and put the
matter before him.
‘Yes, there is a dip there,’ said the poet;
‘but as the sun stands now you can scarcely
make it out. It is deep too. I should have
spoken of it, but these gentlemen have kept
us so occupied that I have had no time to
think over these points.’
‘I will see if any one is there,’ cried Tom.
‘Go, comrade,’ said Yanitch; ‘but take
care. Do not be too bold; we should not like
to see you come to harm.’
‘Keep a wary eye open,’ added the poet,
‘and retreat on the ﬁrst sign of danger. We
will cover your return if you should stir up
a hornets’ nest.’
Tom at once slipped over the edge of the
plateau, worming his way behind a big boulder
which stood out at the tip of the descent, and
working from stone to stone until he gained
the level run of the ridge. Here, by bending
low, he could conceal himself from observation
in the valley, and he hurried swiftly over the
short distance which lay between the plateau
and the spot which he had been sent to recon-
noitre. He went two hundred and ﬁfty yards,


156 rum REPULSE or THE NIZAMS.
and then saw how right Yanitch had been.
He could see that a gap some twenty yards
wide—a deep gully it seemed to be—cut at right
angles into the ridge from below. The opposite
side of the gully was steep and dropped like a
wall. Tom crouched lower and went forward,
moving in his charruks as softly as a shadow,
to see what the nearer side was like. As he
approached the edge he went on all-fours, and,
so crawling, he thrust his face over the brink.
For a second the scene wavered before his eyes.
The gully was packed with Nizam soldiery;
full three hundred men stood there, riﬂe on
shoulder, awaiting in perfect silence the order
to rush the plateau. A sergeant below looked
up, and stared right into Tom’s eyes.


CHAPTER XIII.
THE RUSH IN THE STORM.
THE Turk gave a low, guttural cry, and
threw forward his riﬂe. But the face
was gone. Tom had sprung to his feet, and
was tearing back at topmost speed to warn his
friends.
‘ Turks! Turks!’ he shouted as he ran; ‘the
gully is full of them !’
His speed, his gestures, had given the alarm
as soon as he was seen to be racing back, and
by the time the Nizams began to climb out of
the gully the Bulgars were ready for them.
The schantzes facing eastward were lined with
twenty-three men, and as Tom scrambled,
gasping, up the hillock, the bullets of the ﬁrst
volley screamed and whistled over his head.
The Nizam attack proved an utter ﬁasco.
Not more than thirty or forty men came into
view. The sergeant who had seen Tom had
rushed up the side of the gully in pursuit, and
the nearest men had rushed after him. But
the officer in charge of the storming-party—a
gray-bearded captain—knew that they were to
wait another twenty minutes before launching
B.3.B. K


158 rm: RUSH IN rm: sromr.
the assault, and ﬂew after the too eager
sergeant and his following. The Turkish
captain beat the over-anxious men back to the
gully with the ﬁat of his sword, and settled
down again to await the appointed time,
leaving seven or eight stretched on the ridge.
It was a most foolish thing to do, for now
that their presence was known the only chance
of success lay in pushing the attack home at
once; the dull, punctilious captain had spoiled
all. The Bulgars on the hilltop shouted with
delight at this turn of affairs, and cheered
the English Tzigane, and some of the more
enthusiastic wished to embrace Tom ; but he
dodged them by tucking himself away in the
schantze. Among the younger men were
several who spoke as if the Turks were now
beaten, and that escape after nightfall would
be easy.
The poet was not among these. ‘Wait
till the edge of dark,’ was his unceasing warn-
ing; ‘ we shall then see what our chances are.’
Yanitch stood with his glasses glued on the
little stumpy guns across the valley. ‘ It
isn’t all luck this,’ he remarked; ‘it is
good to have drawn the attack and obtained a
chance to damp their spirits; but, on the other
hand, it has given us away. The artilleryman
over there sees we are far from being crushed;


rm; nusn IN THE STORM. 159

we ﬁred too many riﬂes; he is about to start
pounding again.’
‘ Let us hope he has little ammunition left,’
remarked Lazoff.
‘He has some left,’ replied Yanitch, the
binoculars still at his eyes. Then he raised
his voice. ‘ Take cover!’ he cried; ‘ gun-ﬁre !’
The Bulgars vanished under rocks and
boulders like rabbits darting into their burrows
as the three seven-pounders roared together.
Only one shell dropped among them, and that
did not explode. But the range was quickly
picked up again, and once more the shells burst
over the heads of the devoted band, and
splinters of steel and stone ﬂew in all directions,
while the men cowered low in such shelter as
they could make or ﬁnd.
The seventh shell was shrapnel, and it burst
as it struck the great boulder in the centre of
the plateau. Beneath this boulder had been
laid the wounded man, who had been carried up
there on the retreat, and hitherto he had been
untouched in the ﬁrst hail of shell. He was a
dying man when the missile burst, but now he
was killed instantly, and from the same shell
a bullet ﬂew across the face of the little ﬂat to
ﬁnd a new victim. Yanitch was making one
of his rounds as the whip-like crack of the
shrapnel broke on the air. Down he went
H


160 THE RUSH nv rnm STORM.
headlong, and Tom, who saw him fall, darted
to his side. Yanitch had fallen near a stone;
he half-scrambled up, sank back again, turned
himself with his hands, and sat up with his
back against the stone and his legs stretched
before him.
‘It took my feet clean from under me,’ he
said; ‘ they feel numbed by the shock.’
Numbed! They might well feel numbed;
the shrapnel bullet, skimming with tremendous
force along the ground, had broken both of his
ankles.
‘Where are your bandages?’ cried Tom.
‘ I will bind them up.’
‘It is useless,’ said the little captain in his
quiet, even voice, looking at his feet; ‘ they will
not carry me to serve Bulgaria any more.
Why take needless trouble?’
The poet came scrambling across. ‘You
are wounded, my captain!’ he cried, and
groaned when he saw the hurt.
‘ It is death, Lazoff,’ said the captain.
‘ It is death, my captain,’ agreed Lazoff with
a solemn gesture. ‘ You die for Bulgaria!’
Tom looked at both in turn. Die! The
wound was severe, but far, far from mortal.
Crash! Another shell burst, but high up,
and doing no damage, and with the twinkle
of its splinters came heavy raindrops. Tom


THE RUSH IN rum sroam. 161
started with surprise as a drop fell upon his
neck, and he glanced up at the sky. A storm
was on its way. Their faces had been set to
the south, and heavy clouds were swinging over
toward them from the Rhodope heights on
the north. The ﬁrst drops were hissing about
them on the hilltop, and, far away, a dark
curtain of torrential rain was sweeping across
the country, blotting out every landmark as
it passed.
A cry of warning ran from the watchman
on the western face. ‘ The Redifs are moving,’
he cried; ‘they are swarming in hundreds up
the hill.’ Scarcely had he uttered the words
than they were echoed north and east. The
northern sentinel reported the approach of
Albanians; the eastern, of Nizams.
‘They will rush us in the darkness of the
storm,’ shouted the captain. ‘Fix bayonets,
men, and ﬁght to the last if you cannot escape.
Let every man who can escape do so, that he
may serve his country again.—Lazoﬂ’, take
command.-—You, Grueﬂ; prepare the wounded.’
‘Bombs, my brothers!’ roared the giant.
‘There are still ﬁve of us who can throw
bombs, and we have some left. Two men on
the west face, three on the south ; we can hold
them at bay a little.’
As the Bulgars ran to their places, Tom


162 THE RUSH IN THE STORM.
turned to the captain. Yanitch had drawn the
two revolvers he carried, and was opening the
cylinders and seeing that the big snub-nosed
bullets were in their places. He glanced up.
‘ Comrade,’ he said to the scout, ‘get me a riﬂe
and some ammunition; I can pick oﬁ’ a few,
perhaps, before I use my last bullet.’
Tom ran and seized a riﬂe propped against
a schantze; then unbuckled a bandolier from
the body of its dead owner. ‘ But, captain,’ he
cried as he returned, ‘ you are not so seriously
wounded as that. If we could but carry you
away you would recover easily.’
‘No man will escape from here save on his
own feet,’ replied Yanitch quietly; ‘those who
are crippled must sell their lives as dearly as
they can, and ﬁre their last bullets into their
own heads.’
Tom gave a gasp of horror; but upon the
moment he knew the captain was terribly
right.
‘Albanian Redifs do not give a captive so
quick and easy a death as he can secure for
himself,’ went on Yanitch grimly.
Tom nodded; again the dreadful truth.
Some one was moving toward them. It
was Grueﬂf’, dragging a wounded man along.
‘ I have seen to the rest, captain,’ he said.
‘Every man has his loaded pistol lying by


rns RUSH IN rrm sroam. 163

him to end things when he sees no chance is
left. But Peter here is unconscious.’
‘ He still lives?’ said the captain.
‘ There ’s plenty of life in him,’ replied Grueﬂ,
‘ but no sense.’
‘Put him beside me,’ commanded Yanitch.
‘If he comes to, and can do something for
himself--well ; if not, I will blow out his brains
at the last moment before I blow out my own.’
‘Ay, ay,’ said Grueff; ‘better that than let
the Albanians bring him to himself to make a
slow end of him.’
The crash of the main downpour of the storm
and the crash of the enemy’s riﬂes burst upon
the hill-crest almost at the same instant. The
bullets hummed most thickly from the western
side, and thither Tom ran with Prileﬁ”s riﬂe
and a bandolier three parts full of cartridges.
He saw dimly, through the dusk of the down-
pour and the darkened evening, masses and
clusters of forms moving steadily along the
ridge and ﬁring as they came. So dark was it
now under the pall of cloud that the ﬂashes
from the muzzles of their riﬂes could plainly
be seen, and he ﬁred again and again at the
gleams of light as the Nizams drew near.
Upon the other side, the advance of the
Albanians was far more swift. The ﬁery
irregulars despised the slow movements of the


164 THE RUSH IN THE STORM.
trained men, and rushed at the hillock in great
force, swarming up with a desperate fury
which was checked neither by bomb nor riﬂe-
bullet.
Tom heard Lazoff roaring to his men; he
heard the crash of the bombs, the shouts of the
Bulgars, and then suddenly there rang across
the plateau a high, shrill chorus of yells. He
turned his head to see a wave of white-capped
heads swing into sight, and the Albanians were
all over the little remnant at once.
A tall Redif ran forward, and raised his
bayonet to transﬁx the seated captain. Tom
whirled round his riﬂe, but Yanitch was quicker
still. His revolver cracked, and the Albanian
staggered forward and fell at full length. His
white skull-cap ﬂew off and rolled to Tom’s
very feet.
‘ Go, brothers, go !’ Tom heard the captain’s
voice shouting this last command as his weapon
cracked again and again. Then,_right below
the schantze where Tom lay, broke out the
shouts of the charging Nizams. Useless for
him to attempt to go; if he stood up to ﬂy
he would receive a score of bullets. At his
feet was the Albanian’s cap. He snatched it
up, pulled it on his head, threw himself at full
length, and lay cheek by jowl beside the dead
Redif. As he dropped, he saw the captain lean


Tom whirled round his riﬂe, but Yanitch was quicker still.
B.s.B. ' -_ PAGE 164.


~
§
\
\
1


THE RUSH IN THE STORM. I65
forward and place his revolver against Peter’s
ear. Tom shut his eyes and held his breath.
Crack! and in a moment, crack! they were
safe now from a death of torture. What would
his fate be?
lghn 'Wood Blﬂdgett ’.Tr}
Grand Rapids. Mwh1gan2
Y U.s3.A.~A=


C H A P T E R X I V.
mssmo THE connon.
AT the next instant there was a trample of
footsteps, and a dozen Nizams clambered
over the schantze and a score more ran round
it. They were holding their ﬁre, for by the
shouts they knew the Albanians were in, but
they were ready to let drive with cold steel at
anything that looked like a Bulgar. A dozen
bayonets were poised above the bodies of Tom
and the irregular, but not a blow was struck.
In the dim light and the heavy driving misty
rain the white felt cap saved the scout
from any chance of a thrust. I-Ie kept his
face down, and his Tzigane rags helped him far
more than otherwise. Many of the irregulars
were as ragged as any beggar that ever asked
alms.
The Nizam troops rushed forward, and for
an instant Tom was alone. He was up like a
shot, and, leaning on his riﬂe, limped round
the schantze, and down the slope. The limp
was genuine, for a big Nizam, charging care-
lessly over what he supposed to be dead bodies,
had ground his heavy ammunition boot most


mssme rnm coanou. 167
cruelly on Tom’s left knee. The limp served
him well. Half-way down the slope he met
a detachment of troops moving up in support
of the stormers. To them he appeared a
wounded Albanian retiring from the mélée.
‘Is the hill taken, brother?’ cried a
Turk.
‘It is taken,’ replied Tom in Turkish as
pure as the speaker’s, and the detachment
hurried on.
The Boy Scout gained the ridge, turned,
and pushed on down the northern slope. That
way lay safety, if he could once escape from
the 'neighbourhood of death. In a moment
he seemed swallowed up in the storm. The
rain was descending in more terriﬁc volume
than ever, and the hiss and plash of its
multitudinous drops made the shots and shouts
from the hilltop seem thin and feeble in the
roar of the storm.
Down, down the slope he ran, and soon he
had lost all sight and sound of the fray from
which he had ﬂed. As he went, his knee
gave him less pain, the stiffness of the bruise
received from the crunching boot was less felt,
and by the time he had gone half a mile he
was running at little less than his best.
He had now gained the open ground below
the ridge, and he laid his course full in the
v


168 PASSING THE coanon.
teeth of the storm. That gave him his line,
for he had heard Lazoff say that any chance
of safety lay to the north, and the storm had
rolled from that direction. Now he looked
keenly on either side as he ran, for there was
the cordon of Turkish cavalry to pass, and he
might blunder full upon them in the semi-
darkness of this tremendous downpour. He
pulled up dead. Away on his right he could
make out a dim cluster of ﬁgures. Who were
they? Friends or foes? Surely the latter,
for they were a little in front of him, and now
a bullet whistled toward him through the
slanting lines of rain. He spun on his heel,
and would have run from them at full speed
when he caught a voice. He knew it. Lazoff
was speaking. The poet was there. Then they
were Bulgars. Why had they ﬁred at him?
Did they take him for an enemy? Of course
they did. They had caught a glimpse of his
Albanian cap. That which had secured his
safety was now placing him in danger at the
hands of his friends.
Tom snatched off the white cap, ﬂung it
from him, and raced toward the dim ﬁgures,
shouting the poet’s name. He caught Lazoﬁ"’s
great voice again, saying, ‘Do not shoot,
Miloff! it is a friend ;’ and at the next
moment Tom had gained his side.


PASSING THE coanou. 169
‘It is I,’ said Tom breathlessly. ‘I seized
an Albanian cap, and managed to get away.’
‘ The English Tzigane ! ’ roared Lazoﬂ, ‘and
we thought him an enemy.—-Welcome, brother,
welcome.—Now, follow me, comrades.’
They hurried on again through the storm,
and as they went they exchanged stories.
Lazoff and Miloff had escaped from the eastern
face, clearing the way before them with their
bombs; the third man, Ivan, had scrambled
down the steep northern slope and passed
through a gap in the carelessly formed line
of the irregulars. No one else, it seemed, had
'got away.
‘We shall soon see if others have escaped,’
said the poet. ‘There is but one point on
this side where men on foot can evade pursuit,
and they would make for it, though, for a
certainty, we are not there yet.’
The hint of danger conveyed in the words
received full conﬁrmation within the next ﬁfty
yards. A patch of low trees and tall brush-
wood loomed up before them, and there in its
shelter were two Turkish troopers standing
beside their horses, while a third man was
cantering slowly away. The meeting was in-
stant, and the Turkish troopers, only keeping
half a watch, were lost men on the spot. The
Bulgars jerked forward their riﬂes and ﬁred.


170 PASSING THE coRDoN.
Both Turks went down, and their horses
threw up their heads and galloped madly
away. The mounted man drove in his spurs
and scoured off at full speed. The poet and
Miloff ﬁred after him, but the steady hoof-
beats died away in the distance.
‘ We have roused the cordon with a venge-
ance,’ said Lazoff. ‘This way, brothers ; ’ and
he changed his course more toward the north-
west.
As they went the leader turned his head to
Tom. ‘Comrade,’ he said, ‘you did not ﬁre
at those rascally Turks.’
‘I could not,’ replied Tom ; ‘I have not a
cartridge. I had laid a bandolier in front of
me, and I left it in the schantze.’
‘And I have very few in hand,’ said the
poet. ‘ Miloﬂ’ is the best provided among us.’
‘Yes,’ said Miloff; ‘I can spare enough to
ﬁll a magazine;’ and he handed a clip over,
and Tom reloaded as he ran.
They had barely gone ﬁve hundred yards on
their new course when the rain began to thin
and the sky to clear.
Lazoﬂ’ gave a deep growl of vexation. ‘ Oh
for another ten minutes of storm ! ’ he muttered.
‘We cannot get across; we can never get
across, and I thought we should do it easily
under cover of the rain.’


PASSING rum coanou. 171
‘I, for one, could never get across,”gasped
Ivan. He was a thick-set, clumsy man, a
better ﬁghter than runner, and was almost
spent. ‘ I shall hide among the Seven Stones.’
‘We shall all hide there, Ivan, my friend,’
replied Lazoff; ‘there is nothing else for it.
Luckily we are just upon them.’
A last burst at full speed brought them
up to a cluster of boulders, and into the shelter
of these the ﬁghters threw themselves. Miloff
and Ivan dropped to the ground and lay there
panting; the latter was quite exhausted, the
former in nearly as bad a state. Lazoﬂ’, big
and heavy as he was, ran lightly as a hare,
and was still breathing easily.
‘Now,’ said he cheerfully, ‘if we only had
an abundance of ammunition it would take the
enemy all their time to clear us out of the
Seven Stones, unless, of course, they brought
those villainous little guns over.’
Lazoff was quite right. The Seven Stones
were seven great boulders set on end in a
small rude circle. It was certainly no natural
formation, and most probably it was some
relic of pagan worship in long-forgotten days;
assuredly it was an admirable little fortress
for staunch riﬂemen. Suddenly a pale yellow
light ﬁlled the air. The sun was struggling
out for a few moments before its setting. It


172 PASSING THE connon.
bathed the plain before them with its dying
radiance; it showed scattered groups of horse-
men riding here and there, the disturbed cordon
searching for the fugitives who had ﬁred upon
the vedettes.
Lazoff and Tom peered out from shelter of
a great stone. ‘It was lucky for us, brother,
that we ran on that outpost and changed our
line,’ said the Komitaji, ‘or We should have
gone straight into the thick of them, and the
storm would have cleared to discover us full
in the open; in which case’ and Lazoff
gave an expressive shrug.
‘ It would have been an easy thing for them,’
suggested Tom.
‘Easy, to be sure,’ said Lazoff; ‘now, if
they ’ll leave us alone here for another half-
hour, we’ll slip across to yonder dingle ; and
once we get among the trees I ’ll ask no more
of fortune.’ '
From the Seven Stones the plain ran, open
and fairly level, to the foot of a sudden rise.
The face of the hill was smooth and unbroken
save for one deep cleft, whose mouth opened
so nearly opposite the Seven Stones that Tom
could see far up the glen. The mountainside
was bare, the glen thickly wooded with small
trees so that the latter looked like a huge
dark gab in the ﬂank of the hill. °


- ‘Hm
kg;
1
j PASSING THE coanon. 173
‘ Too far to make a rush,’ said Tom ; ‘ there
are horsemen much too near.’
‘They may come this way at any moment,’
said Lazoff; ‘let us look to our stores. Turn
out all cartridges, comrades,’ he went on.
‘We ’ll make a heap of them and share them
fair and square.’
Miloff and Ivan sat up and began to go
through their bandoliers. Miloff had twenty-
ﬁve rounds, Ivan had fourteen, and Lazoff had
only nine, but every magazine, including Tom’s,
was ready charged.
‘Forty-eight altogether,’ said the poet; ‘a
dozen rounds apiece. Not much, that ’s a fact,
and every man must take care not to waste
a single bullet.’
Just as the division of the scanty store had
been completed, Miloff started and pointed.
‘ They ’re coming,’ he said.
Every one looked, and saw a dozen cavalry-
men trot slowly into sight, spread into a line,
and start to beat over the plain in their
direction. It was not likely that such a
prominent object as the Seven Stones would
be overlooked, and detection seemed near at
hand. Without a sound, and following the
directions given by movements of Lazoff’s
hand, the fugitives took their positions, and
awaited the inevitable moment. In the silence
B.s.B. 1',


174 PASSING rum connou.
of the evening and the quietude after the
storm they _could catch clearly the voices of
the troopers as they called to each other, and
the orders of the ofﬁcer in command of the
squad.
The Turks came on very slowly, and they
were not yet half-way toward the boulders,
when, faint and distant, but quite plainly to
be heard in the stillness, came a few dropping
riﬂe-shots from the west. The shots were
followed by a perfect fusillade, and the Turks
near at hand pulled up dead, and looked over
their shoulders. Out on the plain their com-
rades were at full gallop toward the unseen
point where the riﬂes were crackling. Not a
trooper but felt sure that the men for whom
they were searching had been rounded up
westward of the point where the vedettes had
fallen. Round whirled the squad, and west-
ward they galloped at full speed to be in at
the death.
‘ Some of our poor fellows down there caught
in the open,’ groaned Lazoff, unmindful for the
instant of the change which had been brought
about in their own fortunes.
‘Let us push forward, Lazoff!’ cried Ivan.
‘ Here is a chance to cross the plain while the
Turks are drawn away.’
‘Yes,’ said the poet; ‘this position is very


PAss1NG THE coRDoN. 175
dangerous. We might be discovered’ at any
moment. Can you make the effort, Ivan?’
‘I can,’ cried the Bulgar. ‘ I say, come on.’
‘Come, then,’ said the leader; and they
darted from the shelter of the Seven Stones
and ran across the plain toward the mouth
of the glen.
In doing this the refugees counted without
taking into reckoning the loose and slovenly
indiscipline of the Turks. The cordon had
fallen to pieces. Instead of men retaining
their places, the whole line had followed the
unsoldierly trick of swarming to the place of
interest at the moment. Thus the poet and
his companions had barely gone three hundred
yards when they were alarmed by a trample
of hoofs on their left hand. They looked, and
saw a patrol from the east galloping toward
the ﬁring. Seven men, led by an ofﬁcer, who
ought to have known much better, had left
their places and were riding swiftly toward
the little band. The latter had, in truth,
jumped out of the frying-pan into the ﬁre.
Bulgars and Turks discovered each other
at the same moment. The advantage at the
instant lay with the former. The troopers
had only their swords drawn, their riﬂes were
slung at their backs, and they rode in a
compact body. The ofﬁcer was splendidly


176 PASSING THE connou.
mounted on a white Arab, and when he saw
the running men he waved his sword high
above his head, let out a tremendous yell, and
charged on them with his men in full gallop
behind him. This attack was repulsed with
perfect ease and deadly loss to the Turks.
There was no time for the latter to handle
their riﬂes; their only chance was to ride the
fugitives down with horse and sword. But
they never reached the Bulgars. The riﬂes
cracked, and three saddles were emptied; they
cracked again, and two Turks went down, horse
and man. The little skirmish was over; the
three remaining Turks turned the bridle-hand,
and scoured away fast from the cool, deadly
marksmen.
‘ Not another shot,’ snapped Lazoff. Cart-
ridges were too precious, and their danger
was now terrible. It had never lain with
these men who had blundered on them; it lay
with the squadrons whose attention had been
drawn to their presence. Scores and scores of
troopers were already spurring toward them,
and the glen was still a long way off, and Ivan
and Miloff were in no condition to outrun fresh
and ﬂeet horses.
‘The oﬂicer’s horse!’ cried Tom. ‘We can
catch it, and it seems unhurt.’
Lazoff took his meaning at once. ‘Yes,


PASSING '1'HE coanon. 177
yes,’ he said; ‘for Ivan and Miloff.’ They
ran for the White Arab. The Turkish officer
had fallen before Lazoff’ s unerring riﬂe; he
had pitched clean from the saddle, and lay ﬂat
on his back, the reins still grasped in his hands.
The well-trained charger, feeling the check on
his mouth, had pulled up instantly, and stood
beside his dead master. N o other horse was
near. Tom ran up and snatched at the reins.
They did not give. Lazoff was by his side in
a moment. The giant grasped them, and gave
a tremendous pull. He swung the oﬂicer clean
oﬂ’ the ground, but the dead man did not loose
his grip; his ﬁngers were inextricably locked
about the leathern thongs. Tom whipped out
a keen knife and slashed swiftly. One, two
cuts, and the reins were freed, and the docile
creature was led forward.
Up lumbered Ivan and climbed to the
saddle; Miloff swarmed up behind him. Tom
and Lazoff each seized a stirrup-leather, and
away they went for the mouth of the glen.
A single stride told them that the Arab was
uninjured, for he struck at once into a swift,
easy gallop, bearing the two heavy men as
easily as if they were children.
Without the aid of the stirrup-leather
neither Lazoff nor Tom could have kept up
with their comrades, but the help afforded was


178 PASSING rm; coanon.
innnense. Tom was on the side toward the
enemy, and he kept his eye, scout-fashion, upon
them as he ran. But the danger was neither
in the horsemen who galloped behind them nor
in those who rode at full speed upon their
ﬂank; it was ahead and away to the left.
A squadron of troopers was scouring along the
foot of the slope, all riding madly to throw
themselves across the mouth of the glen and
cut off the last hope of escape for the fugitives.
‘By George,’ thought Tom, ‘they won’t be
there before us; but, by all that ’s unlucky,
they ’ll be there quite as soon. We shall go
bang into them. What ’s to be done?’
A big voice on the other side of the Arab
answered his unspoken question. ‘Miloff,’
called the poet, ‘ have you a bomb left?’
‘ Yes, one,’ replied the bomb-thrower.
‘ And I also have one,’ said the big Komitaji.
‘ Well, we must see what they will do.’
Zip! zip! zip! a ﬂight of bullets came over.
Some of the outpaced cavalrymen had dis-
mounted and taken to their riﬂes; some had
pulled up, and were ﬁring from the saddle.
The hunted men paid no attention to these
snipers; their danger lay ahead in the com-
pact scouring squadron with which they were
closing at great speed.
‘ Light up, l\Iiloff,’ said the poet coolly ; ‘the


mssmo THE connou. 179

fuses are long. We can get rid of them, I
think, before they go off’
Miloff sat a little back on the Arab’s
quarters to give himself more room, and
calmly ignited the fuse in each bomb. He
handed one back to Lazoff ; the other he held
in his left hand, for upon that side he would
have to hurl it.
Zip! zip! the snipers sent another volley
whizzing after their enemies, and this time a
chance bullet hit the mark. Ivan’s cap ﬂew
off; he gave a low sound, between a cry and
a grunt, and swayed in the saddle.
Miloff seized his companion with his right
hand and groaned aloud. ‘They have hit
Ivan; he is falling. I must have both hands
to support him.’
‘Give the bomb to the English Tzigane,’
commanded Lazoff. ’
Tom had been running with his riﬂe in his
left hand. I-Ie swung it up, shot his hand and
shoulder through the sling, let the piece drop
at his back, and seized the bomb which Miloff
was holding toward him. All was done at
full speed, for dozens of Turkish troops were
closing in on either ﬂank; the ﬁring-party was
right behind them.
If Tom had been in danger that day, it was
here and now. He held a bomb with fuse


180 PASSING THE coRDoN.
burning, the spark running swiftly toward the
dynamite stored in the ball of steel—dynamite
enough to blow a score of men to atoms. And
this terrible missile of destruction was held
in his hand. Near as was the danger from
the charging Turks, this terror within arm’s
length—from which there was no escape, for he
bore it with him—held Tom’s attention almost
to the exclusion of every other idea. Scores
of stories ﬂashed to his mind of insurgents
who had lighted the fuse too soon, had held a
bomb too long, and had been blown to pieces
by their own missiles.
Suddenly a mighty yell rent the air right in
front of him. With a start he came to himself,
and saw that the Turks had just won the race ;
the squadron was hurling itself across the
mouth of the glen, barely forty yards in front
of them. With a tremendous shouting, and
with ferocious tuggings of bridles, the troop
horses were dragged back on their haunches;
an oﬂicer had already drawn his revolver, and
was ﬁring toward the fugitives as fast as he
could press the trigger.


C H A P T E R X V.
A REFUGE ron THE NIGHT.
‘ NOW, comrade,’ bellowed the Komitaji;
and he rushed forward, Tom close at
his heels, while Miloff drew rein and checked
the Arab. Six great sweeping strides gave
Lazoff immense impetus, and with a tremendous
swing of his long arm he hurled his bomb high
into the air. Up it went, arched over, and
fell square into the midst of the Turks barring
the path into the glen. Tom could not hope
to ﬂing the heavy bomb in this style, but he
put his load among their enemies just as
surely. He took a run as if going up to the
wicket, and bowled the ball of steel, making a
full toss of it. The bomb dropped on a hard
patch of land, and bounded once or twice,
then rolled steadily on among the feet of
the Moslems. It reached a panic-stricken
squadron. The ﬁrst bomb burst with a crash
as it struck the ground, hurling jagged splinters
of steel on every hand with a terriﬁc force.
‘ Mashallalz [Heaven preserve us] ! ’ screamed
the terriﬁed Turks, for every Turk fears and
hates a bomb. ‘lllashallahl mashallah! ’


A REFUGE FOR THE NIGHT. 183
caught up Miloff, and they both trotted at the
heels of the huge Komitaji, till he laid Ivan
down behind a thicket and puffed out a long
breath.
Here in the heart of the wood of scrub-oak
it was quite dusky, and the two Bulgars began
to talk as unconcernedly as if the Turks were
ﬁfty miles away.
Lazoff bent over Ivan. ‘I felt him move
on my shoulders,’ said the poet. ‘Ah! he is
stirring again. Where is the wound ? ’
‘ In the head,’ replied Miloff ; ‘ the blood was
streaming through his hair.’
The poet struck a match, and looked at the
injury. ‘Lucky Ivan!’ he said; ‘he has lost
his cap, and a strip of hair and skin across the
skull. The bullet ploughed across, stunning
him, but doing no serious harm. When he
comes round he ’ll be little the worse.’
Lazoff now looked round, and saw Tom at
the turn of the path, his riﬂe thrown forward.
‘ For whom do you watch, comrade?’ he asked
with a smile. '
‘ For the Turks,’ replied the scout.
Lazoff’s smile broadened into a laugh. ‘ You
will watch in vain, comrade,’ he said. ‘ There
is not a Turk from here to Constantinople who
would venture into thick cover after bomb-
throwers. No, we have ﬁnished with these


184 A REFUGE roa rnm NIGHT.
gentry. We will rest here for an hour, then
push forward. Within an hour we shall know
if others of the band have escaped, though I
fear that we shall go forward alone.’
The poet’s fear proved to be true. They
stayed an hour behind the thicket. Ivan
came to himself, and proved little the worse
for the snick of the bullet. They heard the
Turks talking, shouting, moving to and fro on
the plain without. They saw the glare of the
watch-ﬁres lighted by the enemy, but no one
followed them ; no attempt was made to disturb
them. Nor did one of their comrades appear.
The hour passed, and Lazoff rose to his feet
with a sigh. ‘They have died for Bulgaria,’
he said; and tramped away along the narrow
path, his companions following in single ﬁle.
The path mounted toward the stars, gained
a ridge, held along this for a mile or more,
and then dropped to a valley. Presently
Tom’s nose gave him warning they were
approaching a village; they were marching
upwind, and he could smell it.
At the ﬁrst house the poet stopped and beat
a light tattoo on the door--a tattoo with
regular pauses in it; clearlya signal. In a few
moments there was the sound of bars being
drawn gently, the door was opened, and they
were admitted. The door was closed and


A REFUGE FoR THE NIGHT. 185
fastened without a word being uttered, and
the poet took Tom’s arm and led him toward
the ﬁreplace. Tom knew all about a country
cottage, so he stepped high lest he should
stumble on the uneven ﬂoor of hard-trodden
earth with occasional blocks of stone laid in it.
The ﬁreplace was shown by a red spark in
a heap of wood ashes, and the owner of the
cottage now hastened before them, spread the
ashes abroad, and tossed an armful of twiggy
stuff on them. Up sprang a bright ﬂame, and
showed the usual cottage interior--walls of
rough stone blackened by smoke, a great
clumsy, sooty chimney corner, with a heap of
pine-boughs for fuel in one angle, and some
blocks of wood and rough stools for seats.
Above the ﬁre ran a heavy beam, and from
this a big iron pot was hanging by a stout
chain.
The man of the cottage, a Bulgarian in a
sheepskin coat and a fur cap, swung the pot
over the ﬁre, which he fed with dry pine-
boughs, and talked in an undertone to the
poet. He gave a grunt of sorrow on hearing
of the fate of the band, and repaid the news
with the tidings of that countryside. Tom
heard that the Turks were in strong force
to the west and north-west, and that heavy
gun-ﬁre had been heard all day; but the


186 A REFUGE roa rum ruonr.
peasants of the place had no knowledge what
it meant.
When the pot bubbled the peasant took off
the lid and let out a savoury smell of vegetable
soup. He ladled the red pottage into big
wooden bowls, handed each man a wooden
spoon, and set a loaf of brown bread on the
butt-end of a block of wood. It was supper,
and quite good enough for the hungry fugitives.
Each whipped out a knife, out a big chunk
from the huge loaf, and there was no more
talking for a while. Supper over, the tired
men stretched themselves on a heap of straw
placed against the farther wall, and slept.
It seemed to Tom that he had scarcely closed
his eyes before he felt some one shaking him
by the shoulder. He looked up, and saw the
poet bending over him.
‘Come, comrade,’ said Lazoff, ‘we must be
well away before the dawn, and that is barely
two hours hence.’ Tom sat up and looked
round. The cottage was just as when he had
closed his eyes. The peasant sat by the ﬁre
stirring the soup, the ﬂame of the pine-boughs
threw a dancing ﬂicker of light over the sooty
walls, and his companions were moving about
the ﬁre, bowls in hand. He joined them; made
a breakfast exactly the same as supper, and
enjoyed it as much; then they ﬁled out into


A REFUGE FOR THE NIGHT. I87
“(Ya 1'
the dark hour before the dawn and took the
trail once more.
They went down a slope, crossed a meadow,
forded a noisy brook—-ice-cold water to the
knee—and mounted steadily up a slope beyond.
The ﬁrst gray of dawn found them crossing a
broken hillside, and aiming for a bridge which
spanned a swift river in the valley below.
They were moving cautiously, for their peasant
host had warned them that a rumour had
reached the village of Turks in force in this
valley; but it was only a rumour, and Lazoff
had not allowed it to turn him from the
nearest path to the Bulgar outposts.
They turned a corner, and rumour for once
was true ; a dim ﬁgure was on the path before
them, and they heard a hoarse word in Turkish :
‘ I/Var [halt] ! ’
‘Kim olir 0 [who goes there]?’ cried the
Turkish sentry; but the men whom he chal-
lenged were already gone. They had darted
back out of sight, and his riﬂe cracked as he
launched a bullet after them. _
The crack of the riﬂe was followed by a
most extraordinary burst of musketry. The
sentry was guarding the sleep of a Turkish
regiment halted there on the march. Every
man woke; every man grabbed his riﬂe, and
emptied his magazine, ﬁring here, there, and


. ,\_’_/
188 Q/‘C3’ A maroon: ron rm: menr.
,,,w>2
anywhere, while the angry oﬂicers yelled orders
which were not listened to, much less obeyed.
This uproar, as of a ﬁerce skirmish in pro-
gress, quickened the steps of Tom and his
friends as they ﬂew back at top speed along
the path.
At an angle of the track, Lazoff cried in a
low voice, ‘ After me,’ and shot off at a tangent
into a tangle of brushwood, through which he
threaded his way swiftly. He led them along
the hillside on a course which gradually rose,
and they went a full mile before he paused
amid a patch of brambles. He raised himself
as he peered over the bushes. ‘From here
we should see the camp we nearly ran into,’
he remarked.
Tom thrust the long shoots aside with his
gun and looked in the same direction. Yes,
they could see the disturbed regiment plainly
enough, for the day had now come. The
Turks were scattered here and there, and
scores were rushing out of sight, following the
path by which the fugitives had retreated;
the enemy were eager to discover where were
the men upon whom the sentry had ﬁred.


C H A P T E R X V I.
THE PREGIPICE.
‘WE have lost all chance of passing the
bridge,’ said Lazoff. ‘But there is
a friendly village standing on this bank about
three miles from here. We ’ll go there, and
get some one to ferry us across.’ And they
pushed on once more.
They crossed a ridge, and saw before them
a fresh dip of the rolling country through
which they were marching. On the farther
slope a ﬂock of black-and-white sheep fed
quietly. Tom ran his eye along the hillside
in search of the shepherd. Had the Boy Scout
not done so at once the shepherd would never
have been seen. As it was, Tom only caught
a glimpse of him as the man darted into a
little wood.
‘The shepherd has ﬂed at sight of us,’ called
Tom to Lazoff
‘Was he Turk or Christian?’ asked Lazoff
anxiously. ‘But it is too far to make that
out.’
‘Turk,’ replied Tom; ‘he carried a gun, I
saw it over his shoulder.’
13.5.13. M


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190 THE PRECIPIOE.
That settled it. An armed shepherd must
be a Turk, since no Christian was allowed to
carry a weapon. At the next moment they
knew that the shepherd carried a gun; it was
discharged. They heard the shot plainly
beyond the edge of the dip, and a second
report, and a third. Then all was silent once
more.
Lazoff pulled up, and the others stopped
at once. ‘That was a signal,’ said the poet;
‘the shepherd is calling some one to his side
to help him. He saw at once that we were
enemies. To whom does he signal?’ Lazoff
shook his head as if he did not like the
look of things, and turned to skirt round
the dip. ‘Better not go into the valley till
we see who will occupy the ridge above us,’
he said, and the precaution was a sound one.
Tom was watching the skyline, and saw
it broken by the gleaming tip of a bayonet.
‘Down! down!’ he cried in low, sharp tones;
and every man dropped among the shrubs
through which they were trampling. They
did not wait to ask a question, to look for
themselves; they had learned to trust the
English Tzigane. The bayonet glittering in
the level rays of the low sun was followed by
a riﬂe-muzzle and by a fez on the head of a
Turkish infantryman. In a trice a dozen
__-x
Fx


' rnm PRECIPIOE. 191
4'_
comrades followed him, and the ﬁgures stood
clear to view on the hilltop, scanning the
broken land, the slopes patched with brush-
wood, below them. Lazoff lay beside Tom
watching the Turks closely.
‘Those men must have been very near,’
murmured Tom; ‘the shepherd seemed to
summon them at once.’
Lazoff nodded. ‘Yes, for once the chatter
of the village was right,’ he remarked. ‘ It is
certain that the Turks are along this country-
side in force. And, mark you, these fellows
were on the alert; they had heard the ﬁring
from the camp upon which we ran.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Tom. ‘I had forgotten
that; it would put them on the watch and
set patrols moving. But, I say, look at their
numbers!’
Group after group of fezzed heads came over
the skyline till full sixty or seventy Turks
were gathered on the ridge. Suddenly they
moved. Some began to march down the slope
below them; some to shuﬂie round the dip,
keeping well up the hill ; the Turks were
about to beat over the hollow, and the hunted
men began to creep as fast as they could
through the low shrubs toward the lower side
where no Turks were to be seen. Miloff led
the way after a word from the poet. He, too,


4
1


'\
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6%
E3 \’
192 rnm PRECIPICE.
knew this neighbourhood well, and shaped a
course which would bring them into the bed
of a tiny river which ﬂowed through the little
valley. The cover served them until they
4-’ Q’ gained the stony bed of the stream sunk in a
deep hollow cut by the ﬁerce rush of the
winter ﬂoods. Now they turned downstream,
leaping from rock to rock, wading through
the pools, throwing themselves almost head-
long down the water-slides, which were fre-
Qt quent as the river rushed down in its fall.
1 Then Miloff leaped to the bank, and rushed
\'> up a steep slope. The others halted, and Tom
<5 \
saw that a path fell sharply to the river,
crossed it by half-a-dozen stepping-stones, and
climbed the other wall of the ravine.
‘ Wait,’ said the poet. ‘ If Miloff reports the
coast clear we will follow; if not ’
The answer was given as the words fell dead
upon his lips, but not by Miloﬂ’. The ragged
Turkish shepherd thrust his turbaned head
over the edge of the descent within six feet
of the climbing Miloff. He vanished with a
cry of surprise, and Miloff came tumbling back
without an instant’s delay.
‘No road that way,’ grunted Miloff; and fell
in the rear of the little column, for Lazoff was
already leading the ﬂight straight ahead down-
stream. A bullet whistled after them, and left

___._ -yd


THE PRECIPICE. 193
\ O
a splash of lead on a rock just above Tom’s
head; but they were round a bend of the
ravine at the next instant, and the half-dozen
riﬂes which rattled together could not reach
them; could only warn them that the shepherd
had been leading a party of their enemies to
block that outlet from the valley.
They came to an open stretch, where a bank
of gravel ran for ﬁfty yards before the river
leaped and boiled again among boulders, and
Tom was beside Lazoff.
‘We must go down the cliff,’ said the poet,
‘as the river does. But it will cost us a little
more trouble.’ He chuckled and nodded ahead.
Tom had heard for some moments a dull roar-
ing sound, a thunder which rose above the
rushing river ; but the ravine narrowed in front
and took a sharp turn, so that nothing could
be seen.
They turned the bend, and Tom gave a cry
of surprise. Twenty yards before them the
river leaped out into space, and the walls of
the ravine, like an open doorway, framed a
view of country lying far below them; it was
the thunder of the waterfall which had ﬁlled
his ears. He advanced with Lazoff to the lip
of the descent, and saw the tops of lofty
trees below him, and the precipice falling
away to a giddy depth.


194 rum PRECIPICE.
The smooth, perpendicular walls of the ravine
shut them in on either hand ; the sheer chasm
lay before them; the Turkish soldiers were
in hot pursuit, and they had no rope. Tom
looked round, and saw that Miloff and Ivan
had stayed at the bend; they were crouching
behind a boulder, and their riﬂes were pointed
upstream. Suddenly both bent lower and
ﬁred, only one shot apiece; there was another
terrible addition to their danger--the cartridges
were almost ﬁnished.
‘Ah, ha, they have come, and they have
come quickly,’ said Lazoff. ‘Well, it is time
to think about a rope,’ and he stripped off his
leggings and the thongs which bound them
from ankle to knee. He drew out his knife
and began to cut a legging into strips. Tom
seized upon the other legging, and went to
Work in the same manner. A bullet whizzed
by so close as to fan his cheek. The Turks
were ﬁring hotly upon Miloﬂ? and Ivan, and
bullets glanced from the wall of stone. Lazoff
moved back into a water-worn hollow in the
rock, and Tom followed. Here they were safe.
Lazoﬂ? looked up toward his comrades. ‘I
hope they will not throw away a shot,’ he said
anxiously.
‘Look,’ said Tom, and pointed. A grim
proof that no shot had been thrown away was


THE PREOIPICE. 195
passing at their feet. A fez bobbed by on the
swift current, and shot out on the arch of the
fall and disappeared. Lazoff gave a grunt of
satisfaction, and returned to his work. In a
few moments he looked up, caught Tom’s eye,
and nodded toward their comrades. Tom
knew what he meant, and 'ran upstream to
Miloff and Ivan. He slipped between them
and told them what he and Lazoff were doing.
In turn they stripped off everything which
could serve Lazoff’s purpose, and cast them in
a heap on the bank. While they did this, Tom
took a peep upstream. A Turk lay across the
gravel bank, half in and half out of the water,
his face downward in the stream. It was
from his head that the fez had ﬂoated down
with the current. A second was crouched in
a heap against the wall of the ravine.
‘ Five of them ran into sight at once,’ said
Ivan. ‘ The other three ran back a lot quicker
than they came. There are plenty of them up
there now, but they won’t show themselves,
and are only ﬁring at random.’
‘We ’ll soon have the rope ready,’ said Tom,
and ran back to the little cave where Lazoff
was tying knot after knot, and testing each
carefully. Within ten minutes he sprang to
his feet, and began to measure off the rope,
taking length after length with his arms
v-~f"


196 THE PRECIPIOE.
outstretched and reckoning six feet to a
length.
‘Ten lengths,’ said Tom, ‘sixty feet. Not
nearly enough.’
‘Yes, comrade,’ rejoined the poet, ‘very
nearly enough. A couple of lengths again to
tie round yonder tree at the edge of the
precipice, and we are ready.’
‘Why,’ said Tom, ‘it ’s more than a hundred
feet to the foot of the cliff.’
‘Quite right,’ said Lazoff; ‘but look down,
brother, while I knot on the last strips.’
Tom advanced to the brink of the abyss, lay
down beside the rushing water, and thrust his
head over. Now he understood Lazoff’s mean-
ing. For sixty feet the precipice fell sheer,
smooth as a wall, then a ledge broke the run
of the drop, a ledge which slanted downward
till it was lost in broken ground heaped against
the foot of the cliff. He studied the face of
the descent for a few moments, then looked
farther aﬁeld. Half-a-mile away the silver
ribbon of the river glittered brightly in the
sun, and the land between the stream and the
precipice was thickly wooded. To the right
a projection of the rocky wall prevented a
view of any distance; but to the left the line
of the precipice could be seen for a great
distance until it gradually sank into the plain.


THE PRECIPICE. 1 9 7
When the rope was ready he helped Lazoﬁ‘
to knot one end ﬁrmly round the tree. Then
it was paid out, a motley patchwork but of
much strength, until it lay at full length, almost
sweeping the ledge; in any case, a man’s feet
would be on the ledge before he needed to
loosen his grip of the rope.
‘Good,’ grunted Lazoff, and beckoned Tom
to accompany him. They went to the boulder
where Miloff and Ivan were keeping guard.
‘ How now, brothers ?’ asked the poet.
‘ No sign of them,’ replied Miloff. ‘ We
cannot see so much as an edge of a fez to shoot
at. They are lifting their riﬂes over the tops
of stones and ﬁring at random.’
‘ Let them waste their bullets,’ said the big
Komitaji. ‘It matters little to us now that
the rope is in position. Here is our line of
action. The English Tzigane goes ﬁrst.’
‘ No, no,’ broke in Tom ; ‘ why should I have
ﬁrst chance ? ’
‘ The English Tzigane goes ﬁrst,’ repeated
Lazoff in a ﬁrm voice, ‘because we are engaged
on our duty, while he has risked his life again
and again to help us purely of his own good-
will.’
‘ True, true I’ cried Miloff and Ivan; and Tom
was silenced.
‘He goes ﬁrst in the name of common-sense


1 98 THE PRECIPICE.
also,’ continued Lazoff; ‘he is by far the
lightest, and will be the least strain upon the
rope. After him goes Ivan, who is lighter
than Miloff. I, who am the heaviest, stay
here and watch these red-capped gentlemen,
give them a few shots at the last moment to
make them cautious of advancing, and then
slip down after you. Go, comrades, and guard
the rope in turn where it passes over the edge
of the rock lest it fray. That will leave the
less risk for me.’
He was the leader, and they obeyed at once.
Tom slung his riﬂe on his back and dropped
on the edge of the precipice beside the rope.
Miloff stripped off his thick tunic, rolled it into
a bundle and placed it on the angle of rock
over which the rope’ passed to protect the
latter from the sharp rib of stone.
There was no time to be lost, and Tom was
prompt. He had seated himself, dangling his
legs over the abyss while Miloff put the tunic
in position. Now he turned over on his face,
gripped the rope with his hands, felt for it
with his feet, and began to let himself down
the face of the cliff, hand under hand. In an
instant he was wet to the skin. The waterfall
leapt clear of him, true, but its spray enveloped
him like a cloud, and streams of water ran
down his body and dripped from his charruks.


THE PREOIPIOE. 199
' He went twenty feet or more all right,
then he found that the rope began to hang
well away from the face of the cliff. This was
awkward. Hitherto he had been steadying
himself by catching with his toes in any slight
projection or roughness. But now his body
was clear of the rock, and the rope began to
twist so that he found himself revolving as he
climbed down. Now his face was toward the
rock, now he looked far out over the country.
He glanced down and saw that the rope again
brushed the precipice within another ﬁfteen
feet, and as he was lowering himself about a
foot at a time he reckoned his toes would soon
be scraping against the cliff once more.
He raised his head to ﬁnd his face to the
open country, and something moving on the
far edge of a clearing in the woodland caught
his eye. Before he could make it out he had
swung out of sight; but he gave his body a
jerk, and went round as quickly as possible to
see who or what was down there. Ere he
could catch a glimpse he heard a yell from
Miloff above. He could not grasp the Bulgar’s
words, but the note spelt danger, of that there
could be no doubt. He was lowering himself
at the instant his face came round, and he
almost lost his grip of the rope in the start
which he could not check when he saw the


THE PRECIPICE. 201
There was a jerk at the rope. Tom looked up
and saw that it was half-cut through not a
yard above his head. He held his breath and
drove his toes hard against the rock, for he
was now within reach of the cliff again, and
tried to ease the strain on the rope. So he
went a couple of yards again, supporting him-
self partly by the rope, partly by the roughness
on the face of the precipice. Suddenly the
rope went. He felt it slackening horribly in
his grip. He dug his ﬁngers and toes madly
into the cliff, but all in vain. He felt himself
falling—falling; and the Turks were running
to the foot of the precipice.
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‘;;/1i:'a4/
CHAPTER XVII.
on THE TRAIL once MORE.
TOM fell about twelve feet sheer, and
landed all in a heap on the ledge-
landed with a splash which sent water ﬂying
in a sheet around him; for the ledge had
been worn by the droppings of the waterfall,
and was itself a race of water. A lucky thing
for Tom too; it broke his fall, and he scrambled
to his feet little the worse for the heavy bump.
Down the ledge he went like a hare, his shoes
of raw hide giving him a ﬁrst-rate grip on the
smooth stones which littered the face of the
waterway. He was on the broken ground
which led to the ﬂat before he saw the Turks
again. Then a fezzed ﬁgure in khaki burst
from the trees near at hand, and was followed
by half-a-dozen more.
‘ N izams,’ grunted Tom, to himself, and held
away in the opposite direction. He leaped to
the plain as the ﬁrst bullets ﬂew in his direc-
tion. He had been running fast on the broken
slope ; he now ran a good deal faster. He had
an open grassy stretch between him and the
nearest trees, and he covered it in very good


on THE TRAIL oncm MORE. 203
\
time indeed; no such spur as bullets singing
about your head. The Nizams had halted to
ﬁre, so that Tom gained the trees well ahead
of them, and when they shufﬂed forward in
pursuit they were not going at more than half
the speed of the Boy Scout. On the chance
that he had been hit, the Turks made a short
search on the edge of the trees into which the
Tzigane had ﬂed. They found no sign of him
-—no trace of blood; so they gave themselves
no further trouble, but shambled back to the
foot of the cliff and watched the outlet of the
river.
If the Turks gave themselves no trouble
about Tom upon ﬁnding that he had disap-
peared, Tom certainly gave himself as little
trouble about them. He knew they would
never put themselves to the exertion of pur-
suing a gipsy; they would think as soon of
pursuing a pariah dog. _So he halted within
a short distance, and posted himself behind
a bush at a point where he could see the
precipice.
What were his friends to do? In what a
cruel trap they now lay! There was the use-
less rope dangling part of the way down the
cliff; they were beleaguered above and below.
What hope of their escape? Suddenly there
was a brisk rattle of riﬂe-ﬁre on the top of the


204 on rum TRAIL ones MORE.
cliff. Shot upon shot rang out, and then arose
a wild outcry which Tom knew for Turkish
yells; the Turks below howled in chorus.
Two minutes later all fell silent again, and
some time passed.
Tom was watching the outlet of the river
and the edge of the cliff in an agony of anxiety,
when he saw a fearful token of Turkish victory.
A fezzed ﬁgure came into sight, and a Nizam
advanced and stood on the edge of the preci-
pice. He raised his right hand in triumph,
then swung up his left, and Tom saw with a
gasp of horror that the Turk held a ghastly
trophy of success. It was a human head,
freshly severed from the body and dripping
with gore, clutched by the hair. From the
distance Tom could not make out the features;
nor had he any chance of long observation, for
the Turk gave a great swing of his arm and
hurled the head far out, to fall among his
shouting comrades below.
The scout was still staring in dismay and
sorrow, when a sound of voices fell on his ear;
he slipped into the thicket and hid himself.
In a few moments a Turkish patrol came along,
not following the track by which he had ﬂed,
but marching from another direction, clearly
drawn by the shouts of their comrades a short
distance away. As soon as they had passed,


0N THE TRAIL oNcE MORE. 205
Tom left his hiding-place and pushed forward
at a sharp trot, keeping his eye open for any
sign or sound of danger; but all remained quiet,
and before long he found himself on the river-
bank. He took a drink of water, then sat down
to think over his next movements.
This did not take him long, for he was eager
to get back to his quest of Issett Bey. He
decided that he must return to the valley where
the skirmish had been fought with the Bulgars,
and track the Nizam regiment engaged there.
That would be the only way to gain news of
his father’s patron. He sprang to his feet, and
tossed into the river the riﬂe he had been
carrying. He unstrapped the bandolier which
Miloff had lent him to hold the cartridges
shared out to him at Seven Stones, and pitched
that after the riﬂe. An armed Tzigane would
excite instant suspicion; rags and poverty were
his safeguards, and none could be more secure.
He was not, however, as poor as he looked.
Under all his clothes he had his scout-belt
round his waist, and in a pocket of that was
a store of money. It was as safe there as in a
bank; who would dream of money on a ragged
gipsy?
He went away at once along the river-bank,
not directly on his course, but heading for the
Christian village of which Lazoff had spoken.
B.S. B. N


206 on THE TRAIL ones MORE.
It lay so far on his way, and he wished to
obtain food there, for his line of march would
carry him across wild, naked country where no
house could be found.
He reached the neighbourhood of the vil-
lage without meeting a soul, and was sur-
prised as he drew near to see there was no one
about, and not a single chimney showing smoke.
What was wrong? The place looked all right ;
if it had been sacked by the Turks it would
have been a heap of blazing ruin.
He entered the main street, and found that,
after all, it had been sacked. But the Turks
must have been in a great hurry, for it had not
been destroyed. The strong little stone houses
were perfectly empty, but stripped to the walls
save forgreat pieces of wooden furniture too
heavy to carry off. Nothing was left in them
that the most greedy marauder could desire in
the least. Nor were there any dead, save one
old man with his head battered in; he must
have been too feeble to ﬂee when the other
inhabitants ran for their lives upon news of the
approaching Turks.
Tom searched house after house in hopes of
ﬁnding some food; but the pillagers had seen
to that, every cupboard was bare. At last in
a small cottage he came across a sack of rough
meal; it had been slashed with bayonets, and


on THE TRAIL omem moam. 207
its contents scattered over the ﬂoor in waste.
The scout scraped together the cleanest por-
tions of the scattered meal, and made a bag
from the remnants of the sack.
In a corner he saw an old jacket, too tattered
to be worth carrying off Just what he wanted.
It was monstrously too big for him; when he
slipped it on he looked most comic. All the
better. He whipped out his knife; cut the
sleeves down so that his hands were free, and
slid his bag of meal into a cavernous pocket.
Now he made haste to leave the lonely place.
As he went out at the other end of the main
street he saw a turban lying on the ground.
It was a good new one; and whether it had
been dropped by a fugitive or a soldier he knew
not, nor troubled to speculate, but pounced on
it at once. He was wearing a ragged Greek
cap, and he took this off and threw it away.
The turban was much too ﬁne for a Tzigane;
but he soon put that right by rubbing it in the
mud of the ditch, and ripping a dozen holes
into the stuff. Then he twisted it dexterously
round his head, as Ahmed had taught him,
and went his way, looking quite different from
the Tzigane who had marched in at the other
end of the village.
It was not indeed very likely that he would
be recognised as the Tzigane who had fought


208 on rnm TRAIL ones MORE.
for the Bulgars, evenif he should hit on the
Nizam regiment; but there is nothing like
making sure, and Tom’s business was too im-
portant for him to take any chances.
After leaving the village the scout marched
across the hills for nearly ﬁve hours, seeing no
one on the march save two regiments of Turks
moving along a highroad which ran squarely
across his path. He hid himself until they
had gone by; then hurried across the valley,
and took to the heights again and pushed
forward.
It was well after midday when he halted in
a little wooded hollow to rest his weary feet,
and to satisfy the furious hunger which the
keen mountain air had awakened. His feet
were weary not so much by reason of the length
of the journey, but by wearing the charruks.
The native footgear is soft and easy, supple as
a moccasin, splendid for running; but it has no
heels, and this causes a strain on the feet of
a walker accustomed to shoes with heels on
them, and the insteps feel it in particular.
He felt anxiously for his matches, for he had
been soaked, though his clothes were dry now;
he kept them in a tin box with a closely ﬁtting
lid, and to his great satisfaction found they
were perfectly dry. In a trice he had a ﬁre
going, and piled it with brushwood to get a
----~. ..---.


on THE TRAIL oucm MORE. 209
good bed of hot ashes. He did not use the
inside of his coat—scout-fashion—to mix his
meal and water, for the chupatties would have
been a triﬂe too tasty under the circumstances;
but he took a large ﬂat stone out of the bed of
the little brook beside which he had paused, and
that served him well. He made a dozen little
cakes, baked them carefully, and his hunger
made the meal of unleavened bread, washed
down with water, seem delicious. While he
ate he sat with his feet in the cool stream, and
the food and the hour’s rest greatly refreshed
him. Then he pushed forward once more.
As the afternoon drew on he began to scan
the tangle of hills with great care. If he had
hit a true line, and he was in great hopes that
he had—for he had been marching by a small
compass which he had stored in his belt—he
should not be very far from the scene of the
skirmish. He mounted a tall hill and looked
around. Like a true scout, he had very care-
fully trained his eye for a locality, and he felt
sure that the trail he had followed yesterday
ran between the double peaks of an oddly
shaped hill well away to his right.
On he pushed in that direction, and suddenly
hope became certainty. He climbed an easy
slope, and came full on the track running along
the ridge above. It was a tangle of footmarks


210 0N THE TRAIL 0NcE MORE.
and hoofmarks, all pointing forward—the trail
of the Turkish soldiers and gun-ponies. Then
they had not returned, but gone on from the
skirmish; his feet were winged now, and he
ﬂew forward.
The sun was getting low, and suddenly its
light was ﬂashed back at him from a number
of glistening objects. He hurried up to the
spot, and saw the ground littered with empty
cases of shells; he was standing at the place
where the battery had been unlimbered. There,
straight across the valley, was the hillock they
had held, and there was a gash on the opposite
slope-—a long mound. Who lay there? The
Turkish dead without doubt. What of the
Bulgars? Tom gave a shiver of horror. The
hillock they had held was dotted with carrion
crows, rising and falling, or ﬂapping lazily to
and fro.
The scout turned his eyes again on the
trench where lay the Turkish fallen. Was
Issett Bey there? He had not been in the
last assault of the Nizams, and nothing would
have prevented him from leading his men if he
could stand on his feet; Tom knew that very
well, and things looked black. The scout’s
glance ranged along the track. Not far away
were small heaps of ashes, and he ran along to
them. Here the Turks had spent the night.


on rnm TRAIL ones MORE. 211
He could see where their camp-ﬁres had been
built, and where one or two tents had been
pitched. The trail of their morning march
was easy to follow ; it ran straight ahead along
the rude hill-track, the line which the Nizam
troops had been following when Tom ﬁrst saw
them. He followed up without an instant’s
delay; once more his quest had become all in
all to him.
He did not halt again until the edge of dark.
Night overtook him in a little pine-wood beside
a small river which, from the lie of the country
and its direction, he thought must run down to
the Maritza. He built a ﬁre, made some
chupazties, and lay down to sleep, with his
tattered garments disposed as well as he knew
how to protect him from the chill of the
autumn night. He slept until he was awakened
by the cold, when he made up his ﬁre anew
and slept again. Thus passed the night, and
with the peep of dawn he was afoot.
John rw,o<>a Blodgett J,’
G1’aDd.4 Rapids, Mighigan;
ﬁiU,3.A~.$k


CHAPTER XVIII.
rnm POMAKS.
DURING Tom’s last nap his ﬁre had died
out, and he did not relight it. He had
four cakes left, and he ate them, took a drink
of water, and returned to the track which
skirted the little wood, and went down the
valley beside the stream. He was among the
last trees of the pine-wood when he came to a
full stop, and slipped behind a pine bole and
reconnoitred the scene before him. He had
not been the only camper in the neighbour-
hood. In an open space beyond the wood a
little ﬁre was burning, and round it sat three
men eating their morning meal. The light
was now strong enough for Tom to distinguish
them clearly. Were they friends or foes?
‘ Pomaks !’ said Tom to himself; ‘Pomaks!
Good! perhaps I can ﬁnd out from them some-
thing about the Nizam regiment; ’ and he went
forward.
The men seated round the ﬁre were Bul-
garians in looks and build, but they wore green
turbans and were dressed as Turks. The
Pomak is a Bulgarian Moslem. He belongs
. ._i_- --_-‘_,_


214 THE POMAKS.
Allah (to His name be praise !) to slay the
inﬁdels (may they be cursed!) who dare to lift
their hands against the padishah.’
‘ Was not one of them, effendi, a Nizam
regiment?’ asked Tom.
‘ One Nizam, one Redif,’ replied the Pomak;
‘ but why shouldst thou, an idle wanderer, con-
cern thyself with the troops of the Commander
of the Faithful ? ’
‘ I seek that Nizam regiment, oh effendi ; tell
me, I pray you where I may ﬁnd it.’
‘ Whom seekest thou in the regiment ? ’
‘ I seek the Bimbashi.’
‘The Bimbashi! the commander!’ said the
Pomak in a tone of contemptuous surprise ;
‘ and what should the Bimbashi have to say to
thee, a Tzigane ? ’
‘ I have a message for him,’ replied Tom.
‘ He will receive me with welcome.’
‘What is the name of the Bimbashi?’ was
the next question.
‘ Issett Bey,’ replied Tom.
‘And you will be Welcome to him ? ’
‘ I shall.’
‘If that be so,’ said one of the Pomaks who
had not yet spoken, ‘who knows but that the
Tzigane hath news of value. I say that we
should guide him to the Nizam regiment.’
The Pomak who had now struck in was


THE POMAKS. 21 5
younger than the man who had been talking
to Tom; but he had an air of authority, and
the elder man listened to him in a respectful
manner and bowed his head slightly.
‘Let us march at once,’ said the third
Pomak; ‘if we move quickly we shall overtake
the Nizam regiment before the midday halt.’
The Pomaks at once started to break camp
and take the road. They had three strong
riding asses and a mule to carry their baggage,
and Tom worked with all his might to assist
them, and to aid, above all, the Pomak who had
proposed to guide him to the Turkish Bimbashi.
In a very short time they were on their way,
and for a time Tom followed them with much
contentment, carefully wearing the submissive
air of a Tzigane who is allowed to attend on
his superiors.
It was at the hour of second prayer that
an uneasiness as to his companions entered the
Boy Scout’s mind. At that time—Tom could
judge it pretty closely by the height of the
sun—they approached a roadside fountain, as
no other water was near at hand, for they had
left the river.
‘They ’ll call a halt here for abtest and
namaz,’ thought Tom; ‘ I hope they won’t be
too long over it.’
Abtest is the ablution which every good


2 1 6 THE POMAKS.
Moslem must make before reciting his prayers.
It consists of washing hands and arms to the
elbows and the face and feet in running water,
and for this purpose the silvery jet of the
fountain would do excellently. The namaz
is the prayer, offered up on the praying-carpet
spread to guard the worshipper against any
impurity there may be on the ground.
The Pomaks pulled up at the fountain, and
Tom expected to see them rummage among
their baggage for their praying-carpets. For
his part, he stretched himself at ease beside the
fountain, intending to wait for his drink until
the Pomaks had done with the water. This
was quite in keeping with his character, for a
Tzigane has no more religion than a cat or dog,
nor pretends to any. To his profound astonish-
ment the Pomaks drank leisurely, and then
turned away to continue the journey. The
third Pomak, a grim-looking fellow with a
great black beard, surlily bade Tom get up and
march, addressing him as rapek (dog), and
bidding him go ahead leading the mule.
Tom sprang to the fountain, cupped his
hands, took a hasty drink, and went ahead at
once, his mind one riot of mistrust and
suspicion, not at all because he had been
spoken to roughly—~that was the natural thing
for a gipsy outcast to expect; but these men


rm: POMAKS. 2 1 7
were leaving running water at the hour of
prayer without ablution, without reciting the
confession of faith. Pomaks? They were no
Pomaks! A Pomak is more fanatically rigid
in the performance of Moslem rites than any
Turk. Who and what were they? Tom made
up his mind on the spot that these men would
never guide him to the quarters of the Turkish
regiment. They must be Christians, and if so
their company meant danger, for they knew
him to be in search of a Turkish colonel, and
would set him down as a friend and helper of
the Moslem cause.
Half-an-hour after leaving the fountain they
came to a point where the track forked. The
trail of the Turks ran on; the other branch
turned northward. The third Pomak shouted
to Tom, and bade him lead the mule up the
northward track.
‘ But, effendi, the regiment has gone straight
on,’ said the scout humbly.
‘ Ay, but we will cross the hills by a shorter
path, and catch them up the more speedily,’
said Black Beard.
‘I hear, effendi,’ replied Tom, meaning that
to hear was to obey; and he led the mule along
the unmarked track.
Tom felt now that he was in a ﬁx, and how
big a ﬁx he could not tell; he only knew he


2 1 8 ma POMAKS.
meant to get out of it in short order at the
ﬁrst chance which came his way. So he
marched forward in a meek and obedient
fashion, with eyes and ears wide open. It
would be no easy task to get away, for the
three Pomaks were armed to the teeth, and
Black Beard rode close behind the led mule.
They had not gone more than a hundred yards
along the new track when there was a rattle
of hoofs at Tom’s side, and the old Pomak
cantered by on his ass, and took up position
ahead of the mule. Tom was now beset front
and rear, and he knew very well that the
change of position was no accident; the man
in authority rode behind where he could
observe everything.
Toward midday they were fording a broad,
shallow stream, the farther bank of which was
fringed with willows, and above the willows
peeped the low, reed-thatched roofs of a scattered
hamlet. The ford was not more than a foot
deep, and they splashed across until they were
within a dozen yards of the other shore, when
the ass of the old Pomak in front suddenly
bethought himself how refreshing would be a
roll in the cool stream. He was a knowing
beast, and did not give his rider the least hint
of his intention; perhaps he had shown his
plans on other occasions and been shaken out


THE POMAKS. 219
of them with spurs and whip. At any rate,
this time down he went as if he had been shot,
and splash went his rider into the water.
The led mule greatly approved of his half-
brother’s example, and dropped in turn, sousing
the baggage in the river, and kicking up a
huge cloud of mingled spray and sand with his
heels. The two Pomaks behind splashed up to
aid their comrade and beat the animals ashore,
and in the confusion Tom made a break for
the friendly willows.
He entered them along with a pistol-bullet,
which snicked off a branch at his shoulder, and
this, with the cries of the pursuing Pomaks,
told him that his forebodings of their un-
friendliness had been true enough. As he
leapt among the trees he glanced back. The
two men who had remained in the saddle were
following him, ﬁring pistols plucked from their
sashes ; but the plunging animals beneath them
rendered their shots a matter of luck, and Tom
bounded out of sight, for the moment un-
touched, but with his enemies in hot pursuit.


222 csrrunmn.
Tom drew himself up to meet her. There was
no time to hide, and nothing remained but for
him to seek her protection. As he stepped
into the outhouse he spoke to her in the
Bulgar tongue.
‘Do not be startled,’ he said, ‘and have no
fear. I am a friend, and no Tzigane.’
The young woman gave a low cry upon
seeing him; her ﬁrst thought was that a
gipsy thief had crept in to steal. But upon
hearing Tom’s words, she looked at him in
wonder. ‘ Then, why are you here ? ' she asked.
‘ I am hiding from three Pomaks,’ said Tom;
‘ they pursue me.’
‘Pomaks!’ she replied; ‘there are none
near this village. We are all Christians.’
‘ I too am a Christian,’ returned Tom, ‘and
I do not know where the Pomaks came from.
I met them on the road.’
‘Then why are you dressed as a Tzigane?’
she asked.
‘ It is a disguise,’ replied Tom ; ‘it aids me to
travel without interference.’
‘ No Pomak shall touch you,’ said the Bulgar
woman; and a ﬁerce light shone in her eyes.
‘I have reason to hate them; they killed my
father, and burnt the house where I was
born.’
‘They seek my life at this moment,’ said


CAPTURED. 223
Tom. ‘Will you not hide me till they have
gone?’
‘I will,’ said the Bulgar woman; ‘stay in
this house, and I will watch at the door until
my husband returns. He will be here in a
short time, and he will guide you to a place of
safety.’
She closed the door, and busied herself about
the yard; while Tom, thankful for this haven
where he seemed to have met a friend, sat
down on a corner of the bench to await the
upshot of events. It was hardly likely that
the Pomaks would be allowed to search every
corner of the village, and when they had gone
he could resume his journey.
The creaking of the gate leading into the
yard drew Tom to the knot-hole, and he saw a
tall young Bulgar in a sheepskin coat enter
the place. The woman ran toward the new-
comer.
‘Ivan, Ivan,’ she said to her husband, ‘are
there Pomaks in the village?’
‘Yes, there are three men dressed as
Pomaks,’ laughed Ivan. ‘How comest thou
to know of them?’
‘Because the Christian they seek is here,’
whispered his wife. ‘ He is only a boy.’
‘He is here, is he?’ cried Ivan quickly;
‘ and is he dressed as a Tzigane ? ’


224 onrunrcn.
‘Yes,’ replied the young woman; ‘the poor
lad is hiding in the shed where we store the
ﬂeeces.’
Ivan now astonished his wife. He sprang
across the yard, seized a heavy stick of
wood, and clapped it against the door. The
door opened outward, and the shed became a
prison.
‘What are you doing, Ivan?’ cried his
wife.
‘Serving the good cause!’ shouted Ivan.
‘Helping on the day of freedom. Pomaks! A
Christian! They are no Pomaks! This is no
Christian! Those three men are scouts from
the Army of Deliverance ! They seek a Turkish
spy dressed as a Tzigane, and we have him—we
have him. Run, run and fetch them, while I
keep guard.’
These words came plainly to Tom’s ears, and
almost before he had gathered their meaning
his enemies arrived. The woman had met
them as soon as she ran into the street, and
into the yard rushed two of the sham Pomaks,
with a crowd of villagers at their heels.
‘Is this the Tzigane you seek?’ cried Ivan,
and threw open the door. The Pomak who
had seemed to be the leader appeared in the
doorway, a revolver in his hand.
‘Yes,’ said he quietly; ‘this is the Tzigane


CAPTURED. 225
who ﬂed from us. We will take care of him in
future.’
He covered Tom with his pistol, and bade
him keep perfectly still; then curtly ordered
his companion, the old fellow with the white
beard, to bring the third man and the animals
to the courtyard.
Scores of the villagers pressed forward to
catch a glimpse of the captive, to shake their
ﬁsts at him, and yell curses at him in the
Bulgar speech. The apparent Pomaks were
Bulgarian spies, and had chosen the Pomak
dress because their build and features would not
betray them in that disguise. The villagers,
tremendously elated by the news of the
Bulgarian advance, looked upon these men as
deliverers, and were ready to worship them.
The Bulgar spies felt sure that they had
seized a Turkish spy in Tom, and it was easy
for them to persuade the villagers to agree
with them. The scout tried to argue and to
explain to the Bulgar who covered him, but
it was of no use. The man was a non-commis-
sioned officer, and ordered Tom to be silent.
‘You may or may not be a Tzigane,’ he said ;
‘that is nothing to me. I shall take you in
and turn you over to my captain. With him
remains the rest. I shall have done my duty,
and you may explain to him what you please.’


226 cxrrunmn.
‘Oh well,’ thought Tom to himself, ‘things
might be worse. If these fellows take me to
the Bulgarian camp I can explain myself
there.’
Ten minutes later he was being borne away
from the village, bound as a prisoner on the
back of the mule. The non-commissioned
oﬂicer had taken the baggage from the mule,
and left it in the village. Tom was on the
mule, his feet tied together underneath, and
a Bulgar on each side of the animal with a
leading rein in his hand; the sergeant rode
behind with his pistol ready.
The scout resigned himself to circumstances,
and these were by no means so uncomfortable
as they became half-an-hour later. A band of
horsemen was seen in the distance, advancing
toward them, and then lost to sight for a time
where the road dipped into a hollow. At a
word from the sergeant, the Bulgars threw
themselves upon Tom and gagged him with
his own tattered turban. They did it so
swiftly that they were moving forward again
before the horsemen appeared from the hollow.
The riders came up swiftly, a well-mounted
patrol of Turkish cavalry, led by a young
ofﬁcer. The oﬂicer drew rein, and looked over
the group in haughty surprise.
‘What do ye, oh Pomaks, with a Tzigane '5 ’


osrrnnmn. 227
‘We seized him, oh eﬁ'endi, in a Christian
village, where the unclean dog was speaking
evil words of our lord the padishah. There
were some who said that he was a spy in the
pay of the faithless men who now assail our
land. We know nought of such matters, but
we are carrying him to the nearest Bimbashi
to look into this thing.’
‘What Bimbashi do you seek?’
The Bimbashi Issett Bey. We heard that
he was in command of a Nizam regiment, and
this path was pointed out to us as the one to
follow to reach his camp.’
‘ Issett Bey is no longer the Bimbashi. He
was wounded in a battle yesterday and has
been taken to Kirk-Kilisse. Major Youssouf
is in command.’
‘ And this path, oh effendi, will it lead us to
the camp as we were told ? ’
‘ By whom were ye directed?’
‘It was in truth, oh eﬁ'endi, by Christian
dogs.’
‘They have misled you. Go to yonder hill
where a tall tree stands alone. To the south
lies a valley with a river in it. Follow down
the bank and ye will reach the camp beside
the stream.’
‘A thousand thanks and a thousand thanks,
effendi. We will go at once.’


228 carruamn.
They went, and the ofﬁcer, followed by his
men, rode on his patrol. The young Turk
scarcely gave the matter a second thought.
Some idle story about a gipsy and a knot of
ofﬁcious Pomaks seemed very little to him
compared with the strict order he had received
to discover, if possible, whether Bulgarian
outposts were near at hand. And so he went
on his way, little dreaming what surprising
things the prisoner could have said if he had
not been so cunningly silenced.
In truth, the Bulgarian outposts were near
at hand—nearer than the Turk fancied; for,
when the false Pomaks and their prisoner
gained the top of the hill of which the oﬂicer
had spoken, they could see to the north a broad
plain opening_among the hills, and far out on
this plain were moving dots. The sergeant
drew a small pair of ﬁeld-glasses from beneath
his robe and focussed them on the dots.
‘Our cavalry,’ he cried joyously; and the
animals they bestrode were urged at a swifter
pace toward the distant Bulgars. On they
rode, and soon they could make out the screen
of cavalry working carefully south, and search-
ing the country as they came for signs of the
enemy. As they approached the mounted
men an ofﬁcer galloped forward to see who
they were, and he knew the non-commissioned


CAPTURED. 229
man, and directed them where to go to ﬁnd the
authorities to whom he had to report. The
turban was now removed from Tom’s jaws, and
he was very glad of it, for he had found the
gag abominably uncomfortable. Two miles
again, and they rode over a ridge to see the
Bulgarian camp, a great mass of dark-clothed
men, of horses, of guns, with but very few
tents pitched, for this was merely a bivouac
on the march.


CHAPTER XX.
IN THE BULGAR. CAMP.
TO one of these tents the scout was taken,
and brought before a group of officers.
The sergeant made his report, and then the
chief officer bade Tom account for himself.
His story was received with smiles of derision.
‘You say that you are English, and had
private business with the Turkish colonel,’ said
the presiding oﬂicer; ‘but we ﬁnd you in the
rags of a Tzigane; you speak Bulgar and
Turkish with ease, and you are seeking the head-
quarters of a Turkish regiment. Do not play
with us, or it may cost you dear. You are a
clever spy ; there is no doubt of that. Tell us
all you know that may be of service to us, and
it will go in your favour ; if not, you will have
to face a ﬁring-party.’
‘ I know nothing,’ replied Tom ﬁrmly; ‘the
Turkish movements have nothing to do with
me ; it is only yesterday I fought against them
side by side with Bulgars.’
‘How interesting!’ said the ofﬁcer with an
ironical smile. ‘Pray let us hear your ad-
ventures.’


IN rm: BULGAR. cxur. 231
Tom spoke brieﬂy of the struggle, but a
young ofﬁcer laughed. ‘This Tzigane is the
cleverest liar that ever I heard,’ he chuckled.
Tom started and stared at the man. It was
Captain Yanitch or his ghost. The face and
voice were perfectly those he had seen and
heard on the hillock. How had he escaped?
How had he come here? At the next moment
Tom understood.
‘ Have you not received a report lately from
your brother, Lieutenant Yanitch?’ asked the
colonel.
‘Not two hours ago, sir,’ replied Yanitch,
‘Boris Peritch brought a despatch from my
brother, and said that all was well.’
‘As a spy this young fellow has picked up
information in a most wonderful manner,’
remarked a big man in a major’s uniform.
‘Just think of the way the names trip off his
tongue—Yanitch, Lazoﬁ, Miloffl Prileff, and
the rest of them.’
‘And he is therefore the more dangerous,’
murmured the colonel.
‘ Yes, sir,’ returned the major ; ‘ that is true.’
‘I have told the simple truth,’ said Tom.
‘ Lieutenant Yanitch will never see his brother
again.’
The grave, steady tones of the scout took
effect on the gay young lieutenant. He tried


232 IN THE BULGAR camr.
to laugh once more, but there was that in
Tom’s voice which went to his heart, and he
could not repress a shiver.
‘Search him,’ said the colonel curtly to
Tom’s guards. In a trice the scout’s rags were
stripped from him in no gentle fashion, and
his scout-belt was revealed. There was a
general raising of eyebrows as the sergeant
unbuckled the belt and handed it to the colonel.
Every one knew that no Tzigane in the length
and breadth of the Balkans ever wore a money-
belt, or had any money to put in it. The
colonel examined every pouch, and turned out
the money and the compass which the belt
contained. The possession of the money went
strongly against Tom, but the sight of the
compass went still more convincingly against
him.
‘Come,’ said the colonel sternly, ‘tell the
truth; who and what you are in reality? ’
‘ I have told the truth,’ responded Tom.
‘ Your tale is absurd and impossible,’ replied
the Bulgarian. ‘Young as you are, you have
shown Wonderful cunning in your trade.
Confess that you are a spy, and give us such
information as you must possess, and we will
look upon you as a prisoner.’
‘ I will tell you what he is,’ said the major;
‘he is one of those young Turks who have


IN rm: BULGAR csnr. 233
been sent to the West to be educated. I have
heard that many have returned to Turkey, just
as our young fellows are coming home from
other lands to help us.’
At this moment there was a clatter of hoofs
in front of the tent. The ﬂap which covered
the entrance was thrown widely back, and all
could see a courier dismounting and fumbling
in his pouch for a despatch. An orderly
stepped forward, and the paper was in the
colonel’s hands in an instant. He ran his eyes
over it and looked up. ‘ Take that spy away,’
he said sharply, ‘and guard him closely until
I send for him again.—Major,’ he went on,
turning to the officer beside him, ‘your
regiment must move at once;’ and his voice
dropped into a low murmur as he ran over the
points of the despatch.
Tom shuffled into his rags and was led away
by the sergeant, the latter still clothed as a
Pomak. Forty yards from the tent he was
halted beside a bullock-wagon, and the ser-
geant seized a bundle of ropes which had been
used to tie the load in place, and now lay
on the ﬂoor of the vehicle. Tom was bound
ﬁrmly to a wheel and a sentry placed on guard
over him. His captors then disappeared to
strip off their disguises.
In a short time they returned, dressed in


234 nv THE nutem omr.
Bulgarian uniform, and settled down near at
hand to aid in watching Tom, for they were
convinced they had made a very important
capture. Numbers of soldiers ran to stare at
him, but no violence was offered—nothing was
shown save curiosity to look upon a Turkish
spy. Then all attention was drawn by heavy
ﬁring in the south, and Tom was left alone.
Two or three regiments were sent forward, but
the main part of the army remained in bivouac;
and as the day wore on the ﬁring rolled away
to the west and died into silence.
The hours passed, and no one came to call
Tom before the colonel. The sergeant never
left him for a moment. The big Bulgarian
was responsible for the scout’s reappearance,
and he paid the strictest attention to this duty.
Time and again he urged Tom to confess that
he was a spy and tell all that he knew about
the Turkish movements.
It was useless for Tom to say that he knew
nothing and had nothing to tell; the sergeant
merely snapped his ﬁngers, and would not give
an instant’s credit to that story. Toward sun-
set the scout was unbound from the wheel,
and a great block of wood was dragged for-
ward. To this block he was secured by a cord
bound round his ankles, and in this posture he
could sit up or lie down on the sandy soil.


IN THE BULGAR CAMP. 235
Neither food nor drink was offered to him;
but the sergeant, between the mouthfuls of his
own supper, offered him ample rations if he
would give up his stupid attitude and do as
his captors wished. Tom paid no heed to this
useless advice, and stretched himself out on
the sand, resolved to watch an opportunity
to escape. His knife had been taken from
him ; but his hands were unbound, and if his
guards slept a chance might offer itself.
He himself dozed for an hour or so, and
awoke to a sensation of warmth. The plain
was dotted with camp-ﬁres, and one was quite
near to him. The sergeant had lighted a ﬁre
close to the log to which Tom was bound, and
sat on the log before it, his riﬂe between his
knees. Tom moved a little, and the dark,
watchful eyes of the Bulgar were turned upon
him instantly. So it was hour after hour.
The night fell, the camp-ﬁres became silent;
but the sergeant, watchful and intent, main-
tained his post, trusting no other to guard the
captive he had taken, and concerning whom
he had received such strict orders from his
commanding oﬂicer.
Several times during the night he returned
to his exhortations, which always ended up
with the threat that Tom would be shot in the
morning if he did not give in. ‘ Do you think


236 IN rum BULGAR CAMP.
our colonel will let a spy go who has been in
the camp? Do you think he will trouble him-
self with a spy as a prisoner?’ said the ser-
geant. ‘He is not that sort of man, I can
assure you. He will make short work of you,
my ﬁne young Turk. He will order out a
ﬁring-party, and then you will never have
another chance to serve the padishah.’
Now, to tell the truth, Tom did not give
great heed to these threats. Strong in the
consciousness of his own innocence, he felt sure
that something would turn up to show that his
story was true, and that he was neither a spy
nor a Turk. He had appealed to his captors in
English, but they had not understood him ; and
indeed, if they had understood the language,
would have set down his knowledge of it as
merely another proof of his western education.
Dawn came and found the scout dreadfully
stiff and hungry, and quite hopeless of escape
from the watchful gaze of the unsleeping ser-
geant. The light grew, the bugles sang the
reveille, and the camp was astir ; ﬁres began
to smoke. A regiment of cavalry came trot-
ting by, and went ahead to the south. The
infantry near at hand ran to gaze at them,
shouting to them to make mincemeat of the
Turks when they met them, and the troopers
shouted back with rough jesting.


238 IN THE BULGAR CAMP.
cause of Islam is carried at once to Paradise.
The officer turned to the sergeant. ‘Draw
out a ﬁring-party at once,’ he said, ‘and be
quick about it. I must get back to head-
quarters, and the colonel ordered me to stay
and bring him word that this dangerous young
spy was cleared out of the way.’
The sergeant saluted and hurried off to the
nearest lines, while Yanitch drew out a cigar-
ette, lighted it, and began to smoke, blowing
rings with thoughtful deliberation. Tom’s
heart was going like a trip-hammer. Then it
was true; they meant to do it—meant to shoot
him like a dog! Yanitch was to wait and
bring word that he had been put to death.
No, no, it must be an attempt to frighten
him. There was the sun just coming over a
ridge, his beams ﬁlling the sweet, fresh mom-
ing air with delicious warmth, and making the
plain, with its copses and scattered ﬁelds, the
hills with the patches of brushwood, one mass
of pale gold; and before it had fairly risen were
his eyes to be closed for ever to the vision of
this good, honest earth on which we live? It
was a frightful moment for the Boy Scout when
he realised that the whole thing was deadly
earnest, and that Yanitch was really in haste
to see his body riddled with bullets and return
to the colonel with the news of his execution.


IN THE BULGAR CAMP. 239
Back came the sergeant, followed by a ﬁle
of infantrymen, each with riﬂe on shoulder.
‘There ’s a good place,’ said Yanitch, and
nodded carelessly toward a mud-walled hut a
short distance away.
The sergeant cut the cord which bound
Tom’s ankles, and drew him to his feet. Half-
leading, half-supporting him, for he was stiff
and cramped, the sergeant and another man
took Tom across to the mud wall and placed
him at its foot.
‘ Give him water,’ said Yanitch; ‘ he has ten
minutes to wash and recite his prayers. Place
the men and I will give them the word.’ He
drew out his watch, glanced at it to mark the
time, then continued to smoke, with the watch
in his hand as if he did not wish to give
an extra second, as if his duty called upon
him to use imperative haste in this military
execution.
Water was brought to Tom, but he did not
use it; he only stared round in stunned
wonder on the ring of faces which hemmed
him on three sides. A crowd of soldiers had
swarmed up to see the sight, and their pitiless
eyes ﬁlled with a light of satisfaction at the
prospect of seeing a Turk die. Tom looked
from face to face, and saw no sign of pity.
Murmurs arose from the Watching Bulgars.


242 IN THE BULGAR CAMP.
It might yet come to light that he was a
Briton, and he must leave in the minds of the
onlookers a memory that he had died with
British courage. I-Ie stiffened his shoulders
against the mud wall, pulled himself up
straight as a dart, stared with steady, un-
ﬂinching eyes on the deadly weapons now
pointed full on his body, set his teeth hard,
and waited for the last word—‘ Fire ! ’


‘ Hold, Yanitch !’ he bellowed in a tremendous voice.
PAGE 213.
um
&
A


CHAPTER XXI.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
A BIG man strolled up to the ring, and
such was his height that he glanced
easily over the heads of the cordon around the
place of execution. Oh what a yell burst
from his lips when he saw what was happen-
ing! It rang in the profound stillness of that
moment of threatened death like a sudden
thunder-clap.
‘ Hold, Yanitch!’ he bellowed in a tremen-
dous voice ; ‘ on your life, hold !’ and the giant
burst into the ring, ﬂinging men to right and
left as if they were children. A riﬂe rang
out, and a bullet chipped dust out of the wall
beside Tom’s cheek. At the next instant he
was covered and entirely hidden by the huge
form of Lazoff.
‘Miloff!’ roared the poet; ‘to me, Miloff !
’Tis the English Tzigane !’
There was another heave of the crowd, and
Miloff lumbered into the open space and ran
to join his friend. There was something
almost comical in the look of pure wonder on
Miloff’s dull face. He gaped with open mouth


244 .4. FRIEND IN NEED.
on Tom, on the ﬁring-party, on Lieutenant
Yanitch. Then he grasped the situation; the
wonder ﬂared up into anger, and, to complete
the astonishment of the watching Bulgars, he
began to growl imprecations and to shake his
great ﬁst at them as he shambled forward.»
‘Lazoff!’ cried the lieutenant, ‘what does
this mean?’
‘ Mean!’ and the voice of the poet rang like
the roar of an angry lion; ‘it means that you
were about to shoot one upon whom your dead
brother would not have laid a ﬁnger for all
the wealth of Europe!’
The lieutenant sprang forward, his face pale
and working violently. ‘Is he dead, Lazoff?
Are you sure?’
‘Too sure, Yanitch, my poor friend. But
he died gloriously, ﬁghting for our little
motherland. Miloff and I and the English
Tzigane alone have escaped to tell the tale.
Listen, comrades!’
The poet had now an audience after his own
heart, and away he went into the history,of the
skirmish on the hillock. Tom heard his great
voice rise and fall as it swept along in glowing
and moving speech; he heard the cries and
cheers of the crowd, which became tremen-
dously excited as his hearers followed Lazofl"s
narrative; but the scout heard it all as in a


A FRIEND IN NEED. 245

dream. He pressed himself hard against the
wall to check the trembling which for a time
he could not control, and gripped the horny
hand of Miloff to assure himself that he still
looked upon the world in safety. The bullet
which had just missed his head was a shot
ﬁred in pure nervousness. The yell which
Lazoff had let out had made a strung-up
marksman of the ﬁring-party jerk his trigger
off; but the same jerk had disturbed his aim,
and Tom was safe.
Lazoff ended his ﬁery harangue, turned, and
took Tom in his arms. This was not a very
cheerful arrangement certainly, to be hugged
in public; but, take it all round, it was not so
bad as a handful of bullets in his body, and
Tom submitted with the best grace he could
muster. By this time the emotional Slav
crowd was surging around him, acclaiming him
to the skies, and he was thankful when the
practical Miloff asked him if he were hungry,
and Tom could declare with truth that he was,
for he was starving. Miloff at once marched
him off, holding one arm, while Lazoff held the
other, as if in fear that any one should touch
their precious Tzigane.
The blare of many bugles now woke up
the echoes of the hills, and the men ran to
their companies; and the comrades, still with


A FRIEND IN NEED. 247
of great peril, unless a very careful comparison
of times and so on had been made. And in
war these things are not looked into with the
closeness of a judge in a court.’
‘Come, comrade,’ cried Miloﬁl ‘eat and
drink, and let past troubles be forgotten. You
are safe and sound after all has been said and
done.’ He set bread, cheese, and a tin of
steaming hot coffee before Tom, and the scout
found the provisions delicious.
Tom was ﬁnishing his meal when Lazoff
tossed into the ﬁre the end of the cigarette he
had been smoking, and looked up.
‘Comrade,’ he said, ‘it seems to me very
strange that you should be seeking the Bim- cm ma/M,
bashi of the men against whom we fought.’ "’ "-
‘At ﬁrst sight it does look very strange,’
replied Tom. ‘ I will explain the whole affair.’
He went back to the time of the bear-hunt,
and laid everything before the poet.
‘I understand it all,’ nodded Lazoff, as Tom
made an end of his story. ‘Yes, brother, it
will be necessary for you to get hold of that
title-deed. This land is going to change hands
as sure as we sit here. This is our land,
although for more than ﬁve hundred years we
have been robbed of it, and we are not going
back to Bulgaria until it is our own once
more. But no one will be disturbed who can


248 A FRIEND IN NEED.
show a true claim to his land or property.
And your Bimbashi is in Kirk-Kilisse ? ’
‘He is,’ said Tom, ‘and being wounded, he
will have to stop there.’
‘Well,’ said Lazoff, ‘we are going straight
to Kirk-Kilisse, and you shall come with us.
It is true there is a great force of Turks
between us and that town, but we shall get
into Kirk-Kilisse for all that.’


250 THE ASSAULT. '
yet seen any ﬁghting, and listened with savage
intentness as the old Komitaji told story
after story of brushes with the Turk, of hair-
breadth escapes, and of night marches across
the hills.
There had been much desperate ﬁghting in
the last three days, but these men had not
taken part; they had been in the rear-guard.
Their comrades in the van had known almost
unceasing battle, driving the Turks back on
Kirk-Kilisse in engagement after engagement,
until the Moslem enemy was at last massed
in front of the important position and stood at
bay. Now this regiment had been moved to
the front to take its share in the desperate
assault which must be delivered on the morrow,
and the men were greatly excited. Some were
whetting their long sword-bayonets ; others
were greasing their weapons carefully; others
again were munching at the brown bread
which formed their only food. Wild, hardy
fellows they looked in their sheepskin caps and
coats, their white woollen leggings bound
with thongs, their skin sandals with turned-
up toes, on which they moved noiselessly; and
their dark eyes glittered at the prospect of
coming to hand-grips with the ancient enemy
and oppressors of the Bulgar race.
‘Well, brothers,’ said Lazoff ﬁnally, ‘I am


THE ASSAULT. 251
talking while we should all be resting. VVe
shall be afoot long before the dawn. To-
morrow will be a great day for Bulgaria.’
The peasants grunted assent, and a few
nodded. They were stolid, matter- of - fact
fellows, and their enthusiasm though very
deep was also very silent. Lazoff picked
himself up, took a few strides, and sat down
beside Tom. The scout looked much the same
as his comrades. He wore a sheepskin cap
and coat, though his Tzigane dress was under
them. He carried riﬂe and bayonet, and a
bandolier slung about him, for Lazoff had
furnished him with the usual outﬁt to avoid
the attention of oﬂicious strangers, quick to
report any one who appeared to be out of the
ordinary.
‘ Brother,’ said Lazoff, ‘we shall be in Kirk-
Kilisse to-morrow. I hope you will ﬁnd your
Bimbashi there.’
‘Why are you so sure that we shall get in
to-morrow ? ’ replied Tom, smiling. ‘ It may be
the next day, you know. The Turks are
reckoned very good in defence, and they are
said to be strong.’
‘They are well over forty thousand strong,’
said the poet, ‘and I know they are stubborn
ﬁghters. But I know also that our fellows
are to be sent in with the bayonet to-morrow,


252 THE ASSAULT.
and they will go through, I am sure of it;
there is no Turkish force which will hold Ivan
when he sets his teeth and charges like a mad
buffalo.’
The poet used the familiar name ‘Ivan’ to
typify the peasants, who had come from their
ﬁelds and threshing-ﬂoors to ﬁght for their
native land.
Tom nodded. ‘Yes, your people are ready
to give their lives, Lazoff ; they are wonderful
ﬁghters.’
‘You will see to-morrow, my boy,’ said the
poet in conﬁdent tones. ‘ If they do not open
a way for you into Kirk-Kilisse may I never
write a verse in praise of our little mother
Bulgaria again;’ and he stretched himself out
in the drizzle of rain, pulled his sheepskin
coat about his ears, and was asleep in an
instant.
It was still raining when the peasant troops
were aroused by their non-commissioned ofﬁcers
and stood to arms. There was no sign of the
dawn, and the men tugged round their haver-
sacks and munched their brown bread while
they awaited the next orders. Some of them
had ﬁnished their rations the night before, and
these were fed by their comrades who had
a little to spare.
‘ I could eat more,’ grunted an infantryman


254 THE ASSAULT.
cover on the reverse side of the trench, for
to-day the ﬁre from it would be in an opposite
direction from yesterday. This work was done
in a crouching attitude. If so much as a hand
had been put up into the whirlwind of lead
sweeping along the surface of the ground it
would have been cut off at the wrist, so ﬁerce
and constant was the Turkish ﬁre.
Tom was scraping away as busily as any
one with the short-handled shovel served out
to Bulgar troops for entrenching, when the
Turkish ﬁre slackened and a word from
the young oﬂicer in charge of that part of the
trench caused every man to seize his riﬂe.
Another word and the trench was lined by the
big, shaggy peasants, and a growl of delight
went up as they saw their foe. Their silence
had deceived the Turkish commandant in the
works twelve hundred yards away ; he thought
that the trenches were empty, and he was
pushing forward a regiment to retake them
before it was broad day. Tom saw a mass of
dark ﬁgures shuffling at a sort of trot across the
open toward them; the light was still very
faint, but the advancing troops could easily be
made out.
‘What madman has started those fellows?’
thought Tom. ‘No skirmish-line; no one to
feel the way for them ; it ’s just murder!’


THE ASSAULT. 255
Murder it was. The Bulgarian officer com-
manding in the trenches held his troops down
with an iron hand until the Turks were at
close, easy, point-blank range. The Bulgar
knew that his reservists were a long way from
being ﬁrst-class shots, so he kept down the ﬁre
till every shot must tell.
At three hundred yards he gave the word.
The peasant soldiers leapt up, and thrust the
muzzles of their riﬂes over the lip of the trench
and poured a tremendous hail of bullets into
the Turkish ranks. The Turks halted, and
made an attempt to return the ﬁre. Empty
trenches! They were undeceived in the most
terrible fashion. The front ranks of the
advancing Turks went down bodily, completely
swept away by that pitiless scourge of lead.
Tom saw men falling by whole platoons, and
the face of the regiment was in a moment
beaten completely in by the terriﬁc weight of
shot poured into it by the magazine riﬂes.
The distance was appallingly short for modern
weapons, and the Turks could not gain a single
yard after the Bulgars opened ﬁre; they stood
their ground barely a dozen seconds, then those
left on their feet began to hurry back toward
their own lines, falling by scores as they ran,
and the Bulgars shouted with joy as they
lashed the retreating enemy with a last hot


256 rnm ASSAULT.
volley as the survivors tumbled into the
Turkish works.
‘A good start for the day,’ laughed Lazoff
as he threw another clip into his magazine.
‘Come, Giorgi Nedeﬂ; my boy, what do you
think of our old masters now that you face
them once more?’
Nedeff was too excited to speak; his only
reply was a growl of ferocious joy, a growl
which might have come from the throat of an
angry wolf. He was trembling from head to
foot, so that his riﬂe quivered in his grip, and
Tom noticed with wonder that drops of sweat
as big as peas hopped down his face.
Giorgi Nedeff was the man who had grumbled
because his breakfast was so slight. He was a
real Bulgarian from the Balkan; a man of no
great height, perhaps ﬁve feet nine at the
most, but of immense breadth and thickness.
One thought of a bear when looking at Giorgi
in his sheepskin coat, and it was very natural;
he was much of the size and shape, and he had
a bear’s vast strength in his huge shoulders and
long thick arms. He had a square, grim face,
half-hidden under a mat of beard, and only one
ear. His right ear had been shorn from his
head in so clean a fashion that nothing was left
save the small hole into the head.
‘ Giorgi is meeting the Turks for the second


THE ASSAULT. 257
time in his life,’ said the poet to Tom ; ‘ and, you
see, he is so pleased to meet them that he can’t
talk. He wants to make them pay for his
ear.’
‘Ah, they cut off his ear ? ’ asked Tom.
‘ They cut it off when he was three days old,’
replied Lazoff. ‘ Giorgi is a child of ’76. He
was born in a big village in the Valley of Roses.
The Bashi-bazouks came, and out of the whole
village no one got away alive but Giorgi and
his grandmother. The old woman threw him
on her back in an apron, and ran for the Balkan.
As she went, a Turk gave her a wipe with his
yataghan. He missed the old woman, and
sliced off Giorgi’s ear. The old woman ﬂed
right away to the north, and kept out of the
way of the Turks. But see how well she has
brought Giorgi up to hate the tribe of Osman!
He ’ll make them pay to-day for his ear, for
his father and mother, and a whole squad of
brothers and sisters. Hallo! there go the big
guns!’
A deafening roar of artillery broke out some
distance to the left, but upon the other side of
a low ridge, so that nothing could be seen.
The ﬁeld-guns and howitzers crashed and
thundered, and the peasants nodded to each
other as much as to say, ‘ Our fellows are
thumping the Turks in ﬁne style.’


258 THE ASSAULT.
M .
At the next moment they also had some-
thing to do. A bugle-call rang out, and orders
ran along the line. In a trice the trenches
were manned, and a steady ﬁre was kept up
on the Turkish works. Every man was loaded
with an ample store of ammunition, for the
oﬂicers knew that many bullets would be ﬁred
this day, and a great reserve of cartridges had
been brought into the trenches.
For the next hour the two sides sniped each
other steadily. Some of the Bulgars were so
eager that they raised themselves boldly to get
a good shot at the enemy. Foremost among
these was Giorgi Nedeff. He laid his riﬂe
along the top of the parapet, and took most
careful aim, with his head and shoulders fully
exposed. Twice he hit his man, and each
success was hailed with a joyous growl. He
seemed to bear a charmed life. Several of
those who raised their heads above the works
were killed or badly wounded, but Giorgi
continued to ﬁre, and remained unhurt.
‘ Listen, brothers,’ shouted Lazofﬁ ‘ Music!
Listen to the music of the bands ! ’
Amid the roar of the big guns, the crash of
riﬂes, strains of music were coming down the
wind. It was a number of Bulgarian bands
massed, and playing the ‘Slivnitza March.’
The Bulgarians began to cheer, and the cheers


260 rm: ASSAULT.
men in chorus; and they raced abreast with
all their might.
The leading regiment won. With levelled
bayonets, the determined Bulgars dashed upon
the trenches and fought their way into them
in a marvellous fashion. Few of the leaders
survived. Exposed to a furious ﬁre from the
Turkish line, they fell in hundreds before the
position until their bodies formed a heap over
which their comrades scrambled and rushed
upon the enemy. Scarcely had the Bulgarians
gained the trenches than the combat was over.
The prowess of the Bulgars with the bayonet
had already become famous among the Moslem
soldiery. Stories had spread among them of
the fearful work their enemies could perform
with la nosche (the knife), as they call the
bayonet. No sooner did the Turks see the
survivors of the leading regiment bounding
upon them like tigers, the terrible blades
glittering at the end of the riﬂes, than they
broke and ﬂed, ﬂinging down riﬂes and
ammunition, and racing down the farther side
of the ridge toward the town.
Close at the heels of the men who had
rushed the trenches came the second regiment,
pouring in and making the victory at that
point complete. Into the battery leaped
Lazoff and a score of others, charging right up


THE ASSAULT. 261

to the muzzles of the guns and between them.
The Turkish artillerymen stuck to their post
in most gallant fashion. They ﬁred a couple
of rounds as the dauntless Bulgars rushed on
the cannon’s mouth, and did terrible mischief to
the ranks of the assailants. But at the next
moment they were shot down or bayoneted
where they stood, and the Bulgars were
masters of both the redoubt and the ﬂanking
works.
The impetuous men would have dashed on
in pursuit of the ﬂying Turks; but this was
no part of the plan, and their oﬂicers checked
them and hastened to secure the position so
gallantly gained. They found plenty of am-
munition in the redoubt; Bulgarian gunners
swiftly appeared, and the two pieces were
slued about and soon began to hammer the
Turkish inner posts, the last line of defence
around the doomed town.
‘Ha, ha, brother! we have but one more
step to gain,’ cried Lazoff to Tom as they
dropped into the Turkish trenches. ‘See,
yonder is the town.’
Tom nodded, for his eyes were already
roaming over the place, picking out familiar
landmarks. From the ridge they had a clear
view over the broken plain, dotted with gardens
and vineyards, to Kirk-Kilisse. The sun had


262 THE ASSAULT.
come up, a clear, bright) autumn sun, and in
its golden rays Kirk-Kilisse shone out in the
distance, a white, sparkling little city, with
rounded domes and tall slender minarets shoot-
ing high above its close-clustered houses.
Every eye in the Bulgarian ranks was ﬁxed on
the place which formed the main outpost of
the Turkish right wing; once let that be seized
and the position of the enemy would be turned,
the right wing crumped up like a front of
paper, and the army of the Cross would be free
to strike a frightful blow at the enemy’s main
line of communication between the capital and
Adrianople.
Every Bulgarian officer knew the immense
importance to his side of capturing Kirk-
Kilisse, and the men clamoured to be launched
upon the masses of Turks who manned the
fortiﬁcations of the ancient town.
An oﬂicer came along, and Lazoff demanded
news of him. ‘ When do we go in for the last
push of the bayonet, Captain Chonina ? ’
‘Not yet, Lazoff, my friend,’ replied the
oﬂicer. ‘We are to stay here awhile and ﬁre
on the Turks. Other regiments are being
pushed forward to attack, and we are to cover
them.’
‘And why may we not attack?’ grumbled
the giant.


THE ASSAULT. 263

‘Oh we have lost very heavily,’ replied
Captain Chonina, ‘and the regiment is to be
given a rest.’
‘A rest that no man wants,’ cried the poet.
‘ Let us cry “Forward!” and every man will
do his duty as he did when we rushed this
position.’
‘I believe you, Lazofﬂ’ said the other; ‘but
those are the orders, and that is enough
for us.’
Presently an order came down the line, and
the ﬁre of every riﬂe was directed on a part of
the Turkish lines a little to the left of the
trenches where the peasant regiment was
stationed, and for more than two hours the
exchange of shots was incessant. Then new
regiments sprang to view, and the men who
had charged madly that morning yelled en-
couragement as their friends raced across the
open toward the Turkish line.
But these defences proved a hard nut to
crack. The covering ﬁre fell as the Bulgar
line dashed up to the forts, and the attackers
were received with a most punishing ﬁre from
the Moslem troops which held this last cover
to Kirk-Kilisse. The Turkish general, Mukhtar
Pasha, had some stubborn ﬁghters here. They
showed the ancient obstinacy of the Turk in
defence: they clung to their posts; they poured


264 THE ASSAULT.
in so withering a ﬁre that the Bulgarian line
reeled back, broken and defeated.
But defeated only for the moment. Up
dashed reinforcing regiments, and again the
shaken line was formed anew, and, stiffened by
fresh troops, ﬂung itself once more with ﬁerce,
exultant shouts upon the foe. Again the storm
of bullets burst out, and such was the power of
the Turkish ﬁre, both riﬂes and artillery, that
the stormers were hurled back again with ter-
rible loss. So tremendous a sheet of ﬁre swept
the plain that no body of men could march
across it and live. Tom saw whole groups of
the attackers swept away at a stroke; he saw
men crouching for shelter behind heaps of
dead, and saw them, from this ghastly cover,
coolly and boldly ﬁring on the enemy.
Several such charges were made, and all in
vain. The Turks were suffering, for their lines
were being pounded with terriﬁc blows dealt by
the splendid Bulgarian guns, and scourged by
incessant riﬂe-ﬁre ; yet they held their ground,
and received every assault with a storm of
bullets, through which it seemed impossible for
men to advance.
But on the Bulgarian side there was no
thought of falling back, of abandoning the
assault. Line after line was pushed forward
without hesitation, without faltering. The


266 THE ASSAULT.
unceremonious simplicity of the peasant soldier,
appealed to him.
‘Look here, my captain,’ said Giorgi, ‘have
we come here to ﬁght the Turks or not?’
‘What do you call this?’ replied Chonina,
smiling, for he knew his man; ‘it seems to me
a very good ﬁght.’
‘ A good ﬁght ! ’ repeated Giorgi, in drawling
tones of amazement; ‘ a good ﬁght ! Hiding in
a hole and shooting at the red caps. I want to
get at them—I want to see the whites of their
eyes. How otherwise am I to get my seven?’
‘ Seven! What seven?’ demanded the
captain.
‘ When I woke this morning,’ said the simple
mountaineer, ‘ I prayed to Saint Kiril and
Saint Metod that to-day I might slay seven of
our enemies.’
Some of the younger men at hand smiled at
Giorgi’s earnestness ; but the older men crossed
themselves, and the poet said heartily, ‘ Bravo,
Giorgi! that ’s the way for a soldier to begin
the day.’
‘Well,’ said Captain Chonina, ‘you may
have done so. Look at your bandolier. You
have shot oﬂ' scores and scores of cartridges.
Perhaps you have killed a dozen.’
‘ But how can I tell that, my captain?’
growled Giorgi, slapping the stock of his riﬂe.


THE ASSAULT. 267
‘ How can I be sure of that, hiding in this hole
like a wolf in his den’? Come now, let us go
and turn the Turks out yonder. If we got
into this place, we can get into that.’
‘Be quiet, you old bear from the Balkan,’
roared Chonina, half-vexed, half-amused. ‘ Do
you not know you have only to wait for orders
and obey them ?—All of you,’ he went on,
‘who have any food left had better eat. We
shall be busy again in a very short time.’
There were very few who pulled their haver-
sacks round. Most of them had ﬁnished their
rations, and though they were surrounded by
heaps of Turkish baggage and accoutrements,
not a scrap of food was to be found in the bags
and knapsacks left by the enemy.
The morning was now wearing on, and the
sun rising toward noonday height was casting
rays of great warmth over the battleﬁeld. Sud-
denly a loud shout arose away to the right, and
mingled with it a far-off clatter of hoofs. A
hundred heads were at once thrust up from the
trench to see what this new uproar meant, and
they saw a cloud of Kurdish cavalry streaming
from the town, and dashing at full gallop
toward the Bulgarian lines as if making a
desperate sortie. Scarce were the Kurds well
into the open than a regiment of Bulgarian
cavalry rode into sight, and went at full speed


268 rnm ASSAULT.
for the enemy, striking at his ﬂank. The
Kurds wheeled in beautiful order, and the
two bodies of the troopers encountered with
a tremendous shock. '
Tom was staring entranced at the struggling
mass, above which swords ﬂashed, rising and
falling, as Kurd and Bulgar hewed ﬁercely at
each other in hand-to-hand combats, when
there was a sudden stir beside him. He looked
along the trench, and saw Lieutenant Yanitch
hurrying from ofﬁcer to oﬁicer.
‘Here comes Yanitch with orders,’ cried
Lazoff ; and all looked eagerly to Captain
Chonina, who was listening while Yanitch
spoke to him in low, quick tones.
‘Our turn now, boys,’ shouted Chonina,
waving his sword. ‘Forward at the double
when the bugle sounds!’
They were almost at the end of the line, and
the bugle rang out in a few seconds.
The trench was empty of living men upon
the moment. The peasant soldiery ﬂung aside
their great sheepskin coats, their knapsacks,
everything that could hinder them in the race,
and leapt out with riﬂe, bayonet, and bandolier
for the last desperate rush. A dozen other
regiments sprang to view at the same time,
and the whole mass swept across to the Turkish
position, shouting and ﬁring.


//’
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD.
CAPTAIN CHONINA ran ahead of his
company, directing them to a block-
house near the spot where the cavalry had
been ﬁghting. The combat between Kurds
and Bulgars had been brief; the Kurds had
been overpowered swiftly, and many fell; the
rest ﬂed back toward the town.
This was the last stand of the Turks, and
they made it a good one. They poured as
ﬁerce a storm of bullets as ever into the
advancing ranks of the assailants; but this
time the Bulgarians _ were not going back.
Utterly careless of the hurricane of lead, the
hardy peasants set their teeth and toiled on,
springing lightly over the heaps of their dead
that blocked the way, and eager to come to
handgrips with the hated foe.
So ﬁerce a resolution could not be denied.
The Bulgarian wave rolled on and on, swept
up to the works, and threw a spray of ﬁerce
riﬂemen into the Turkish positions. That
settled it. The few who sprang in ﬁrst hurled
themselves with the cold steel on the defenders.
13.3.13. R


/I (__ W
/
270 THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD.
Their numbers grew swiftly, for the Turkish
ﬁre slackened now that the Bulgarians were
in their midst, and the supports came up in
safety and dashed to the aid of their comrades.
The Turks gave way all at once, and streamed
back in full ﬂight toward the town, pursued
by their victorious foe. _ - - ~-6,;
Tom had advanced with his companions,’
and in the rush toward the enemy’s lines
lost nothing save his cap, which was whirled
from his head by a bullet. They crossed a
part of the ﬁeld where the carnage had been
ﬁercest in the many assaults which had been
delivered that terrible morning. The ground
was dotted so closely with the fallen that it
was not easy at some points to advance with-
out treading upon them, and the groans of
the wounded made a dismal chorus to which
the ﬁrst troops rushed on, raising shouts of
vengeance against the Turkish enemy as they
went.
The blockhouse was now taken with perfect
ease. It was held by a band of Redifs, whose
numbers had been already thinned by shell
and shrapnel. When these irregulars beheld
the whirlwind of reservists bursting upon
them they ﬁred a ragged volley and ﬂed, and
the Bulgars entered the post. Their stay
there was very short. Chonina gave his
H,-—
ii


THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD. 271
company a few moments to get their wind,
then pushed on again.
‘Victory!’ shouted the captain. ‘Victory!
Forward, and Kirk-Kilisse is ours ! ’
‘Victory, brothers, victory !’ roared the
tremendous voice of Lazoff. ‘On! on! the
Turks are running. Drive them before you!
Bulgaria for ever!’
Advancing steadily, the Bulgars drove in a
number of parties of the broken soldiery; but
there were still groups of stubborn Turks who
threw themselves behind walls and fences and
galled their pursuers with sharp riﬂe-ﬁre.
These were the picked ﬁghters of the padishah,
the men who sought to win Paradise by dying
in battle against the inﬁdel. As for the great
mass of the Moslem troops, they were off
helter-skelter, ﬂying in every direction to save
their skins from the Bulgarian bayonets.
As the assailants closed upon the town
their order became utterly lost. They became
involved in narrow ways between the walls
of vineyards and gardens, and from many
points they were ﬁred upon by parties of the
ambushed foe. Captain Chonina was followed
by a small but compact body of his men, and
he led them across an open stretch of ground
toward a point where a street ran to the
outskirts of the city.
,1


272 THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD.
‘I should like to seize the Konak [the
government office],’ he cried gaily. ‘ I wonder
where it is? We could hold it until our ﬂag
is run up over it.’
‘Here is a guide for you, captain,’ sang out
Lazoff; ‘the English Tzigane will show us
the way. He knows Kirk-Kilisse from end
to end.’
‘Good!’ laughed Chonina, and beckoned
Tom to his side. ‘Will that street lead us
to the Konak?’ he asked, pointing to the
mouth of the lane before them.
‘Yes, but not directly,’ replied Tom. ‘It
is on the other side of yonder tall minaret;’
and Tom pointed out a much nearer path by
which they could strike into the town.
‘ Come on, boys!’ shouted the captain, waving
his sword; and the party, some thirty strong,
ran at his heels toward the approach to which
the scout was guiding them.
They were near the mouth of the road they
sought when a tremendous clattering of hoofs
came to their ears, and at the next instant,
sweeping at great speed from between two
high walls which enclosed the way, came a
squadron of Kurdish cavalry, their horses
stretched at full gallop, their swords in their
hands, bound on a last desperate effort to cut
their way out of the doomed town.
av


THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD. 273

The dark knot of Bulgars stood full in the
way of the charging squadron. There was no
scrap of cover near, no time to avoid the rush
of the galloping horsemen had they wished
to do so, but such a wish never entered their
heads. True hand and steady eye alone could
save them, nor were these lacking. The
peasant soldiers gave one shout of deﬁance as
the Kurds, mounted superbly on ﬁne gray
horses, ﬂashed into sight; then up ﬂew riﬂe-
butts to shoulders, and the Bulgars stood
without a quiver.
The odds seemed fearfully against the bunch
of infantry. The Kurds were fully twice as
many, and formed a glorious picture of wild
horsemen as they charged, one mass of waving
draperies of brilliant hues, the saddle-cloths
ﬂapping, gaily coloured shawls ﬂying from
turbans, beneath which dark savage faces
shone with ﬁerce excitement and hate of the
inﬁdel.
Knee to knee they rode, in such a style
as cavalry had charged under Tamerlane or
Khengis Khan, and for this close formation
in face of modern riﬂes they paid a terrible
price; for the knot of Bulgars, looking more
like a band of reapers stripped to work in
the harvest than a group of soldiers, loosed
not a shot till the cloud of horsemen seemed


THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD. 277
~
inﬂamed to fury the minds of these Turks,
chaﬁng savagely at the day’s ill-fortune, when
the door at the back of the square was blown
open, and they saw a Bulgarian oﬂicer spring
to sight.
‘They come!’ screamed the softa, ‘the
giaours come! Wash away the shame of
the day in their blood, my brethren, to the
glory of the One! Slay the inﬁdel and spare
not!’
His words were the knell of the gallant
Chonina. The latter fell at once under the
storm of bullets, and the crowd of mixed
troops rushed toward the doorway, pouring
a hot ﬁre through it as they advanced. Three
of the Bulgars fell, and the rest dropped back
in obedience to the orders of Lazoff, who took
command.
‘Back among the vines, brothers,’ shouted
the old Komitaji leader. ‘Weigh every shot
carefully, and let no man come through that
door and live.’
He was obeyed to the letter. The handful
of men with him threw themselves into cover
of the great vines with their huge dark stems,
their broad, concealing leaves, and a deadly
stream of bullets was launched into the door-
way. For a few moments the slaughter was
frightful. The foremost Turks made to rush


278 THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD.
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into the vineyard, but were met by that
withering hail which fetched them down in a
heap. Those of the second rank strove to
turn and struggle back. They strove in vain;
they were thrust forward by the rush of the
crowd behind them, and were helplessly exposed
to the ﬁre of men ambushed but a few yards
away. The tremendous initial velocity of the
\Mannlicher bullets drove the slips of lead into
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this living target with such terriﬁc power that
a single bullet passed through three or four
men, and, upon the spot, the gateway became
a veritable shambles. Nor was there any
escape for the leaders until the pressure of
the crowd eased, and the Turks could spring
aside into the shelter of the wall. The last
man to fall in the gateway was the soﬂa him-
self. He had seized a heavy yataghan and
rushed into the opening just as it was left
empty by the assailants whom he had been
urging forward. In his blind fanatical rage,
utterly heedless of the danger, he sprang upon
the heap of struggling men, waved his blade
above his head, and shouted to all the faithful
to follow him. He was struck upon the
instant by half-a-dozen bullets, and collapsed
upon the fallen. His death was followed by
a tremendous howl of rage from the mixed
soldiery without.


THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD. 279
?~
‘We must retire, brothers,’ said Lazoff.
‘Three men stay with me to cover this gate-
way and hold those yelling dogs back; the
others slip off by yonder breach. We will
follow soon.’
This order was obeyed at once. Under
cover of the vines, the retiring Bulgarians
advanced toward the breach; two men were
in front, and sprang out and made to run
through the gap. They never reached it.
Within two strides of the broken wall they
became exposed to the ﬁre of the Turks_beyor_1d./
the gateway, and a dozen Mausers cracked.
The two leaders dropped, and never moved
again ; the rest halted, and none dared advance
into the line of ﬁre. The breach was fully
commanded by the Turks ﬁring through the
gateway and across the vineyard, nor could
Lazoff and his companions keep this ﬁre down
without stepping into the open and exposing
themselves to certain death.
This stalemate was only a matter of seconds.
Miloff was just behind the two men who had
fallen. As he stared with puzzled gaze upon
the breach, a bullet sang through it and whistled
close to his head. At the next moment a
band of the enemy came into sight advancing
toward the breach and ﬁring upon one or two
Bulgarians near it. The latter were out of
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280 THE FIGHT IN.'l‘HE VINEYARD.
sight in an instant; they sprang back among
their comrades, and all ﬂew among the vines
and returned to Lazoff.
‘What does this mean, brother?’ said the
giant, turning to Tom. ‘Is there a lane by
which they could hurry round to beset us on
both sides? ’
‘ No,’ said Tom ; ‘ but they have run through
courtyards and back-doors, and so passed the
buildings which lie beyond the vineyard there;’
and Tom nodded to the houses which clustered
thickly up to the enclosure on the side toward
the town.
Lazoff looked round, and gave a grunt of
satisfaction. ‘ Fall back,’ he commanded, ‘ and
occupy the little house in the corner. It will
give us shelter, and a battalion of our people
may be up at any moment and deal with these
fellows.’
The Bulgarians slipped along the paths and
through the vines toward a strong shed built
in an angle of the walls. As Tom went with
them, he passed a row of late vines laden with
huge bunches of ﬁne grapes, plucked a handful
of the delicious fruit, and crammed the purple
berries into his parched mouth; the juice was
like nectar. Bullets were humming through
the trees after them, for a strong party of the
enemy had entered by the breach, and the


THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD. 281

rest were now free to pour through the
gateway.
Into the shed tumbled the Bulgars, _and
hastened to occupy the two long low windows
and the door. The windows had no glass, and
the spaces were ﬁlled with a kind of wooden
grating, offering plenty of loopholes. Through
these the muzzles of the Mannlichers were
thrust, and a ﬁerce volley opened as the Turks
shuﬂied into sight among the vines. The latter
were not checked. They came on at a steady
lope, chanting ‘Allah! Allah! Allah!’ in a sing-
song chorus. There was an open space of
about thirty yards before the outhouse, and
the Bulgars lashed the enemy with a stinging
hail of bullets; but on they came, ﬁring at the
doorway and the windows, their monotonous
chorus never failing, and the wounded continued
to chant as they dropped to the brown, dusty
earth.
The leaders of this ﬁerce attack were a tall,
slender Turk and a huge negro. The Turk
was a Nizam in new uniform, a ﬁne-looking
fellow, with high forehead, long hawk-nose,
and pale handsome features; the negro was a
ragged Redif, blubber-lipped, ﬂat-nosed, and
with ears like an elephant; their only resem-
blance was in the wild light which ﬂashed from
their eyes and showed their common hatred of


THE FIGHT nv THE VINEYARD. 283

wooden frame of the doorway. With a jerk
the Bedif tore it free with his uninjured arm,
and tried to raise it again; but now Giorgi
Nedeff and two or three more leapt to aid
Lazoﬁ; and there was a ﬁerce hand-to-hand
ﬁght in the doorway.
To a man, the Bulgarians dropped riﬂe and
bayonet and betook themselves to the weapon
they loved best of all. From their belts they
plucked their huge brass-handled knives, hurled
themselves breast to breast on the hated foe,
and struck and stabbed with a joy as ﬁerce
in its way as the fanatics’ wild hate. There
was dreadful work for two or three minutes
in that knot of savage, struggling ﬁgures, but
the grim, resolute peasants were the victors.
The Turks fell back. Not those who had
joined battle with the Bulgars—they lay in a
heap, with a couple of Bulgars, dead—but their
comrades who shrank from the strife, and
darted away to hide among the vines.
From the doorway a ﬁgure leapt after them
in pursuit. ‘Come back, Giorgi! are you
mad?’ roared Lazoff. But Giorgi Nedeff did
not turn back; in truth, he was mad, ﬁghting
mad, and had no idea in his mind save to
strike and strike again at the Turkish foe. In
his noiseless sandals he bounded after the
retreating men, and was close upon a Kurdish
. .--— " '


284 rum FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD.
trooper when the latter turned his head. He
whipped round and ﬁred the pistol in his hand
at the Bulgar. The bullet struck the knife
upraised in Giorgi’s right hand, and broke the
blade clean off against the haft. Nedeff’s wild
glance shot from side to side in search of a
weapon.
At his feet was stretched the body of the
huge black. The Redif, -who had received
another wound—this time a fatal one—had
dragged himself from the press around the
door, and fallen. His axe had dropped from
his nerveless grip, and lay beside him. Giorgi
snatched it up with a growl of delight. He
spent his winters in wood-cutting, and could
use an axe with as much skill as strength. The
Kurd and a comrade were springing upon him,
their sabres in their hands; each had a green
turban wound about his fez, showing that they
were hadjis, men who had made the pilgrim-
age to Mecca, devout Moslems who bore the
ﬁercest hatred to the giaour. Giorgi set his
feet, swung the axe on high, and awaited their
onslaught.
The foremost Kurd delivered a tremendous
cut at the peasant’s head; but Giorgi, with a
nimbleness wonderful in so clumsy-looking a
man, leapt backward, and the sabre whistled
by. Timing hand and foot perfectly, Giorgi


THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD. 285

bounded within reach, and down came his
weapon with tremendous force. With the
skill of a practised axeman he laid the broad
keen edge on the mark at which he aimed,
the neck of his foeman, and his gigantic
strength did the rest. He swept the Kurd’s
head clean from his shoulders, and the tre-
mendous stroke was hailed with a shout of
applause from his watching comrades.
‘Bravo, Giorgi!’ roared Lazoff, ‘that ’s the
way to cut cabbages.’ This was a very old
Bulgarian joke, and hinted at the slicing oﬁ'
of green-turbaned heads of Turks; his comrades
received it with a burst of laughter. Again
they acclaimed Giorgi Nedeff as he encountered
the second Kurd, and cut him down with a
sweeping blow, which the trooper attempted
in vain to parry. Then Giorgi turned and
walked leisurely back toward his friends. He
did not hurry, though scattered bullets were
beginning to hum from the Turks who had
regained their cover. When bullets had been
ﬂying like hail, it seemed scarcely worthy to
notice an odd one or two whimpering through
the air.
A look of wild joy was on Giorgi N edeff’s
rough, hairy face. ‘ Seven !’ he muttered aloud,
and again, ‘Seven! Seven!’
Miloff caught the word, and shouted in
B.S. B. S


286 THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD.
jest, ‘Well done, Giorgi! Seven for one
ear!’
‘ No, Miloff,’ cried the peasant, now near at
hand, ‘seven for Bulgaria!’ His right hand
held the dripping axe; as he spoke, he threw
up his left, and a smile ﬂashed across his harsh
features. Phut! there was a little thud; one
of the wandering bullets slipped under Giorgi’s
upraised arm, and took him at the ﬁfth rib,
and stilled his brave patriotic heart for ever.
He fell over stiffly upon the heap at the door,
and did not move again.
Many men had fallen that day, and yet the
fall of Giorgi Nedeff seemed to stir the breasts
of his comrades to a new ﬁerceness against the
Turkish enemy. They burst from their shelter,
and ran in among the vines with the bayonet
to search for their foes. Lazoff charged in
the van, nor did that wary old ﬁghter make
the smallest attempt to restrain his men. He
knew that a sortie at this moment when the
Turks had been driven back was their best
chance. Bandoliers were almost empty, and
if the fanatics made a second rush it might be
that the few Bulgars left could not check it,
and would fall under sheer weight of numbers;
so he charged down the vineyard at the head
of his remnant.
In an instant they were running amidst a


288 THE FIGHT IN rm; vrumnnn.
others thrust with bayonet or struck with
clubbed riﬂe-butt. Lazoff was at work with
the butt, and Tom, who had two clips left,
was partly covered by the giant’s body. A
bunch of Kurds came together against the
poet. He struck down the leader, and the
second was shot by the scout, thus defending
both his friend and himself.
‘Thanks, brother,’ chuckled Lazoff grimly,
cool as ever. ‘ I was slow in recovering my
riﬂe; that fellow nearly had me;’ and he stepped
out and felled a dark-faced Redif whose bayonet-
point was within inches of Miloff’s ribs. Then
came a tremendous rush of the Turks which
hurled them bodily on the Bulgars. Even
Lazoff was ﬂung from his feet in this ﬁerce
charge, and down went Tom under the
weight of a charging Kurd who tripped over
the poet’s body and cannoned full into the
Boy Scout.
Tom’s head struck against the wall and he
fell, and for a moment he knew nothing save
that suddenly a great weight began to press
on his chest. With a jerk he came to a know-
ledge of things, and found that the weight was
the knee of the Kurd planted ﬁrmly on him to
hold him down. He looked straight up to the
dark, ﬁerce face of the Asiatic, wild with deadly
fury, and to a glittering yataghan, held aloft


THE FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD. 289
7
dagger-fashion, in the Kurds hand. Down
came the heavy blade straight at Tom’s throat.
With a convulsive effort, Tom jerked his head
aside, and the keen point was driven into the
earth beside his neck.
So narrow was the miss that the sharp
blade grazed his ﬂesh, and the blood ﬂowed
freely. The frenzied Kurd gave a wild yell
on seeing the blood, and for a moment
thought that he had accomplished his aim
and slain this Tzigane who fought for the
Bulgars. But he was undeceived when Tom
shot up his hands and seized the wrist which
was tugging the knife out of the earth. The
Turk’s yell changed for a savage snarl when he
felt the ﬁerce grip of the scout’s hand, and he
used all his strength to snatch out the yataghan
and repeat the stroke-—-this time in a surer
fashion.
He planted his other knee on the scout’s
body, and held the boy down with all his
might. With his left hand he seized Tom’s
right wrist and tore one hand free from its
hold. With a tremendous heave of his big
muscular shoulders he ripped the yataghan
free, and raised it on high; but this time he
held it squarely across his victim. With a
swift slash he would draw it across the throat,
and Tom had but one hand free to check the


290 wns FIGHT IN THE VINEYARD.
downward sweep of the huge knife. The Boy
Scout darted his free hand upward to grip the
Kurd’s wrist. He could not grasp it; the
savage Asiatic raised it above his reach, then
ﬂourished the yataghan to gain power for the
last dreadful stroke.


F lourished the yataghan to gain power for the last dreadful stroke.
n.s.B. PAGE 290.

1
I


CHAPTER XXIV.
A CHANGE or smm.
A1‘ that moment Lazoff began to roar in
his most tremendous tones. ‘Welcome,
brothers 1’ he shouted; ‘welcome! You arrive
in the nick of time; and he was answered
by a yell of charging Bulgars. Yet it was
almost by a miracle that Tom was saved.
Had not the Kurd glanced over his shoulder
on hearing new and still more deafening
cries added to the tumult, the yataghan
would have fallen with irresistible force. But
a gray-coated oﬂicer leapt out, his sword ﬂashed,
and the Kurd was cut down by a tremendous
sabre-stroke, and dropped in a heap on his
intended victim. A hand seized Tom’s ragged
vest, and he was dragged from under the fallen
Kurd.
‘Ah, ha, Tzigane !’ said a voice which Tom
knew. ‘ I am glad I was in time. I owed you
this!’
‘ Thanks, many thanks, Lieutenant Yanitch,’
cried Tom, as he sprang to his feet and picked
up his riﬂe again. He looked round to see
that the struggle was over; the Turks had


292 A CHANGE or SIDE.
been utterly crushed under the attack of a
strong body of troops who had heard the
uproar in the vineyard and had rushed to their
comrades’ aid. Five only of the original band
were left; every man had his wound to show,
but Lazoff and Tom were the luckiest. The
poet had received a riﬂe-bullet through his left
hand, and Tom had suffered no more than the
graze from the Kurd’s knife.
The troops who had rushed into the vineyard
to the rescue of their friends were already
pouring back through the breach to rejoin the
ranks of their battalion, and Lazoff, Tom, and
the other survivors followed. They saw a
striking scene in the open space before the
town. It was dark with wave upon wave of
the advancing Bulgars. The victors were
beside themselves with joy at this glorious
triumph over the Turk. One column came on,
chanting in full, deep strains a patriotic song,
and the song spread till the chorus rang across
the plain. In the town the ﬁring had almost
died away for the moment, and the scattered
shots were now drowned in this chant of victory.
Tom dropped upon a block of the shattered
masonry to rest; he was panting and exhausted,
and some time passed before his breath came
easily once more. Suddenly he came to himself
with a start. He was in, or rather on the


A CHANGE or sum. 293

outskirts of, Kirk-Kilisse. What of his quest?
What of Issett Bey? His own narrow escapes
had put other things out of his head for a time;
but now he sprang to his feet and looked round.
I-Ie was quite alone. Lazoff and his com-
panions had followed Lieutenant Yanitch, and
Tom glanced toward the street into which the
troops were pouring. Useless to try that way;
he would be lost among the crowd even if a
Tzigane were allowed to pass, and he turned
back into the vineyard, hurried across to the
gate, and scrambled over the mass of bodies
which choked it, the soﬂa crowning the heap.
The open space, a kind of square beyond the
vineyard, was deserted. At its farthest corner
a small archway shaped like a horseshoe pierced
the white walls. It was the mouth of a paved
alley running into the town, and Tom hastened
to it, and ran along it.
As he entered its mouth he threw aside his
bandoleer; his riﬂe he had already left in the
vineyard. His old character, that of an un-
armed Tzigane, was once again the best game
he could play, and the ragged ﬁgure, going
with the true Tzigane shufﬂe along the alley,
seemed that of the only neutral in this war of
races; the gipsy who was neither Moslem nor
Christian, and cared nothing for either side.
Tom was now heading for the house where


294 A CHANGE or SIDE.
he had left Ahmed. What he would ﬁnd there
he could not say. In the dreadful disorder of
the great assault and the crushing Turkish
defeat, in a town upon which powerful artillery
had rained shells, and into which a victorious
army had rushed, who could say what might
have happened? The house he sought lay on
the farther side of Kirk-Kilisse, and he used
his knowledge of the place to gain it by narrow
and unfrequented lanes, into which the invaders
would be shy of entering at ﬁrst. At last he
came to the house he sought, its door opening
upon a narrow court where all was quiet,
though in the distance a terriﬁc uproar accom-
panied the inrush of the Bulgarian troops.
Tom rapped smartly on the door, and waited
a little. He rapped again, and now he heard a
shuffling of slippers within. A face appeared
at a grating, and there was an exclamation in
Turkish.
‘Ahmed ! ’ said Tom, ‘ open quickly.’
The Turk had the bolts withdrawn almost
before the words were out of Tom’s mouth.
The scout sprang in, and the door was swiftly
fastened behind him.
‘ Welcome, effendi ! welcome ! ’ said the Turk.
‘I have been full _of fear for you. And you
are bleeding ! ’
‘It ’s nothing, Ahmed—nothing; a mere


296 A cmmcm or sum.
‘ I am ready, effendi,’ said Ahmed ; and they
left the house at once, and sought to escape from
the town toward the south. Cn this side of
Kirk-Kilisse they saw no sign of the Bulgars,
and very few of the townspeople. Those of
the latter who had not ﬁed had fastened their
doors and closed their windows, and the silence
in the lanes they traversed was death-like.
But across the low roofs came the sound of a
great uproar in the northern part of Kirk-
Kilisse, where the victors were taking posses-
sion of the place. Suddenly at a corner they
met a short, stout Turk, who had replaced his
fez with a cloth cap.
‘ It is Topal Hassan the basket-maker,’ said
Ahmed quickly. ‘Issett Bey has been in his
house; he can tell us of the Bimbashi.’
He called out to Topal Hassan, and asked if
Issett Bey had departed with the train.
‘Not he,’ replied Topal Hassan; ‘it would
have been far more easy to get into Paradise
than to get into that train, Ahmed. It seemed
to me that all Kirk-Kilisse was ﬁghting to
leave the town by it. Those who could not
get into the carriages climbed up to the roof.
Those who could not ﬁnd a place on the roof
hung to the door-handles and foot-rails; some
even climbed on to the front of the engine and
clung there.’


298 A cnanem or sum.
was the heat from the burning houses, so
choking the great billows of smoke which
eddied to and fro.
‘There are no Bulgarians here,’ said Tom;
‘ who has set ﬁre to the village ? ’
The question was answered before long.
The countryside had been well populated, and
soon they came to another hamlet. This was
being set on ﬁre by Turkish soldiery; they
were destroying every place which might
afford shelter and cover for the Bulgarian army
which would shortly be advancing from Kirk-
Kilisse.
Both Tom and Ahmed looked in vain for
the people of the country. Not a soul was to
be seen. The peasantry had vanished; the
country was a desert. They had gone ﬁve
miles before they saw any living creature save
Turkish troops retreating before the enemy,
and destroying everything as they went.
Then, upon gaining a height of the rolling
country, they saw that the road far before
them was packed with a slow-moving mass of
wagons.
Moving briskly with their strong, nimble
pack-animal, they rapidly gained on the pro-
cession, and found it was a train of village
wagons, drawn by buffaloes and bullocks, and
rough little carts to which donkeys were


300 A CHANGE or SIDE.
and it was diﬂicult to say which was the
greater, their fear or their misery.
Past mile after mile of this doleful line of
refugees Tom and Ahmed made their way.
About two o’clock they halted, and ate from the
store of food which Ahmed had packed in the
saddle-bags, and the ass munched the forage
which was slung behind the bags. When they
started again they left the main road, for a
Turkish peasant to whom they gave food
offered to show them a bridle-track to Lule
Burgas, a path nearer than the main road
and less frequented, since no wheeled vehicle
could run on it. '
Dusk was falling when their guide led them
through plantations, down a slope, at the foot
of which lay the little town of Lule Burgas.
The townlet lies in a valley, a hollow of the
rolling down country which surrounds it, with
a shallow river before it.
Tom and his companion crossed the bridge
over the stream and entered the place. Tom
had never been in Lule Burgas before, but he
knew exactly what to expect, and he found it.
It was the usual Turkish township of shabby,
ramshackle houses, overhanging and tumble-
down, set on either side of narrow cobbled
streets, ﬁlth and disorder on every hand. Now
it was choked with troops and refugees. It


A CHANGE or sum. 301
was scarcely possible to move along the lanes,
and Tom cudgelled his brain for some plan of
action. How was he to ﬁnd out whether
Issett Bey had passed or no? He had still
formed no plan when that difﬁculty vanished.
‘ Effendi ! ’ shouted Ahmed joyfully. ‘ Look
there, effendi !’
BBB T


C H APT E R XXV.
LULE BURGAS.
THEY were passing a courtyard, and its
gates were open. Just inside stood a
light carriage. Ahmed had recognised it.
‘It is the carriage of Issett Bey, effendi,’
said the Turk. ‘ He is here.’
Yes, he was there. Tom entered the house,
and found the Turkish colonel stretched on a
divan Where his servants had placed him. At
last the Boy Scout had discovered the object
of his search. But Issett Bey was a very sick
man, and Tom felt very uneasy when he saw
that the colonel did not recognise him, did not
know his voice when he spoke, had not even
suﬂicient strength to turn his head and look
at him.
Issett Bey had lost a terrible amount of
blood, for his wounds were of the severest
nature. Two bullets had passed clean through
his body, and a third smashed his left arm
above the elbow. He had received no surgical
treatment at the time of being injured, for the
Turkish column of which his regiment formed
part had neither a medical staff nor medical


LULE BURGAS. 303
stores; but during his stay in Kirk-Kilisse
his wounds had been bound up by a local
physician.
He was attended by two Turks—his own
servant, Rashid, and his orderly, named Sali;
and these faithful fellows were doing their
utmost to get him to the rear.
Rashid at once recognised Tom, even in his
Tzigane rags, and came forward and salaamed
with the utmost gravity and respect. He said
that Issett Bey had fainted as they entered
the town, and they had obtained a billet for
him in the empty house, from which an
Armenian family had ﬂed.
‘You have done well, Rashid,’ said Tom.
‘I will stay with you now, and when the
Colonel Bey is strong enough to move we will
push on for Constantinople.’
Rashid salaamed again, and then retired to
a charcoal brazier, where he was boiling a
chicken to make soup for the wounded man.
Tom turned, to ﬁnd Ahmed looking him over
with a critical eye. Ahmed had brought his
ass into the courtyard and closed the doors.
‘Effendi,’ said the tall Turk, ‘you have no
need now of the Tzigane dress. Nay, it may
even be a danger to you.’
‘You are right, Ahmed,’ said Tom, who
had been considering the point himself. He


304 LULE BURGAS.
saw that he must take charge of the party if
the colonel was to be pulled through, and the
rags of a Tzigane, useful as they had been,
would no longer be a help. ‘ I must get some
other clothes.’
Sali, the orderly, was seated beside the divan
ready at any moment to moisten Issett Bey’s
white lips. He glanced up. ‘ There is an inn’
at the foot of this street, effendi,’ he said.
‘ When I passed it I saw the courtyard was
full of wounded. There are certainly many
dead among them.’
Upon this grim hint, Ahmed nodded and
went away. Within twenty minutes he was
back again bearing a tunic, trousers, and
puttees. They were new, but muddy and
blood-stained. In a trice he had them in a
tub of water in the courtyard and was washing
busily, slapping the clothes on a large ﬂat
stone to loosen the mud and blood with which
they were caked. ‘I shall make a ﬁre in the
corner of this yard, effendi,’ he remarked, ‘and
they will be dry and ﬁt for you to wear in the
morning.’
It was the evening of Thursday, the 24th of
October, when Tom entered Lule Burgas, and
four days later he was still there. Every
morning he had sprung from the heap of straw
on which he slept, eager to make a move that


LULE BURGAS. 305
day if at all possible, and had not dared to risk
the danger of moving Issett Bey. The colonel
was improving a little under the devoted care
of his servant Rashid; but there was a risk
of the wounds in his body bursting open, so
Tom resolved to give him as long a respite
as possible before they took the road again.
The four days had been full of bustle and
confusion. Vast trains of refugees had passed
toward the south, ﬂeeing before the advancing
Bulgarians, and great masses of Turkish troops
had been pushed forward from the south to form
a bulwark against the invasion of the Bulgars.
Tom watched the gathering of the Turkish
forces with deep interest. Army corps after
army corps rolled up or concentrated, until a
vast Turkish army was arrayed along a front
of fully thirty miles in length. The left wing
of the Turkish forces rested on Lule Burgas,
where Ahmed Abouk, a stout old general, was
posted at the head of the Fourth Army Corps.
An oﬂicer on Ahmed Abouk’s staff was a
friend of Issett Bey, and sought him out, and
was anxious to be of service. To him Tom
went from time to time to learn how matters
were progressing. This oﬂicer, Major Fusil,
spoke strongly against any attempt to move
Issett Bey for the present.
‘ It is cold; it is wet,’ he said, ‘and you have


306 LULE BURGAS.
a good roof over your heads. Stay where you
are. The Fourth Corps is in front of you,
with Ahmed Abouk in command. When the
Bulgars over there run against him they will
ﬁnd no second business of Kirk-Kilisse; no,
no, I assure you. As for that Stamboul
Army Corps, those riﬁ'-raff of Constantinople
who are running from Kirk-Kilisse to the rear
as fast as their legs can carry them, do not
give them another thought. Just wait and
see what our fellows will do.’ ,
So the gay, smiling young officer ran on,
and his words carried this much weight with
Tom that, though the latter knew how terrible
in attack the determined Bulgars could be,
and knew that Major Fusil and his friends
were likely to get a very unpleasant surprise,
it seemed certain that there would yet be
ample warning to pursue the retreat with the
invalid in good time. It appeared inconceiv-
able that this magniﬁcent Turkish army,
strongly posted, could be beaten back until
after a long and desperate struggle, during
which time Tom and his charge could be far
on the way to the south and safety.
On Monday, the 28th of October, Tom was
passing through the streets of the town when
a roar like distant thunder ﬁlled the air. He
knew at once what it was—the booming of


310 LULE BURGAS.
~The next morning Tom was astir bright and
early. He felt a profound uneasiness for which
he could not account, and when the roar of the
cannon broke out anew, but far nearer than
the day before, his uneasiness deepened. Before
he went out in search of news he looked to
everything with the utmost care, like a true
scout. He saw the vehicle ﬁlled with straw
and the baggage all arranged in such fashion
that it could be handled swiftly. Rashid was
left in charge of his master; Sali was ordered
to watch the horses; Ahmed was sent to scour
the town for provisions, as supplies were run-
ning short, and Tom went to see what was
afoot around Lule Burgas.
He went down to the bridge, and found
troops pouring across and climbing the slope
up to the ridge, beyond which the cannon were
thundering. At present there were no sounds
of musketry, so the troops were not yet
engaged. It was the artillery duel which pre-
cedes the strife of riﬂe and bayonet. Tom
heard the news, which was buzzing from man
to man, that a powerful force of Bulgars was
advancing from the north-east to attack Lule
Burgas, and soon the battle would be joined
on the ridge. He crossed the bridge and
struck up the hill, gained the ridge, and found
it occupied by a strong body of Ahmed Abouk’s


3 1 2 LULE BURGAS.
Then came a crash of musketry in the distance,
and bullets whirled upon the ridge, spattering
on tree-trunks, rattling and tinkling on rocks
and stones. The Bulgarian infantry were
creeping up, and had sent a volley of bullets
to search the hilltop as they advanced.
The fall of the shell had warned Tom that
danger was at hand, and he was lying ﬂat on
the ground behind the thickest tree he could
ﬁnd when the Mannlicher bullets whistled
about his ears. The ﬁre steadily thickened
until the hilltop was scourged with a veritable
hail of bullets. Whence? It was absolutely
impossible to say. Peeping round the friendly
trunk, Tom commanded every inch of the
country before him and could see nothing, not
the smallest sign of any living creature. Yet
among the brushwood, the patches of low
woodland, the clumps of heather, the in-
equalities of the ground two thousand yards
away, there crept vast numbers of Bulgars,
working forward, ever forward, yet showing
not so much as a ﬁnger-tip to guide the
Turkish ﬁre.
Time and again the voices of Turkish soldiers
in the ranks near at hand came to Tom’s ears.
‘Bimbashi, where shall I ﬁre?’ ‘Bimbashi,
there is nothing to shoot at. Where are these
men who shoot at us?’ And then the Turkish


LULE BURGAS. 3 1 7
A ﬁerce ﬁre was opened upon them, though
the range was a long one. Yet the ﬁre must
have taken effect, for presently the dark
patches of Bulgars retired, and the ridge
became empty once more. Not for long.
Again the Christians crept into sight; but
this time in strict order, forming a powerful
ﬁring-line, which began to advance slowly
but» steadily toward the town, ﬁring as it
came.
The rear-guard and the Turks in the town
began to hammer the attacking force, and a
ﬁerce riﬂe duel broke out at long range.
Within a dozen feet of the spot where Tom
now stood, four infantrymen were ﬁring at
the Bulgars, their riﬂes resting on top of the
broken wall. Up rode a staff-ofﬁcer.
‘Cease ﬁring, men,’ he shouted, ‘ and fall
back at once through the town to the higher
ground beyond, where you will ﬁnd entrench-
ments. Only the rear-guard will remain.
The town cannot be held.’
‘ The town cannot be held.’ Before the last
word was out of the staff-oﬂicer’s mouth
Tom was running as hard as he could go for
the house where his people lay. Lule Burgas
was to be abandoned. The news had already
been told elsewhere, and he saw those of the
inhabitants who had clung to the place swarm-
B.S.B. U


318 I LULE BURGAS.
ing from their homes like bees from a hive,
harnessing oxen, mules, ponies, asses to their
wagons and carts, and preparing for a hasty
departure. He gained the house and bounded
in. Issett Bey was still asleep on the divan,
and Rashid and Sali sat chatting in whispers
beside the brazier. The uproar in the town
was plainly to be heard, but the two Turks
paid not the least attention to it. The young
eftfendi had gone out to see what wasjafoot.
In Allah’s good time he would return and give
orders ; till then there was no need for them to
bestir themselves, and they did not intend
to do so.
Tom crossed swiftly toward them. ‘Sali,’
he said in sharp, low tones, ‘why are you
here? Did I not bid you watch the horses
in the stable ? ’
‘The horses, effendi,’ murmured Sali; ‘they
are all right. I saw them a short time ago
lying on the straw.’
‘In with them at once!’ commanded Tom;
‘the troops are retiring, and we must get
away from Lule Burgas at once.’ He made
for the door leading to the courtyard; the
Turks at his heels. ‘There again, Sali,’ said
Tom, ‘ another piece of your carelessness. Did
I not bid you keep the stable-door fast
closed?’


LULE BURGAS. 819
‘But I did close it, effendi ! ’ murmured
Sali.
‘You did?’ cried Tom. A sudden sense of
disaster smote him. He ﬂew across the court-
yard, bounded in at the open stable-door, and
gave a cry of despair. The horses were gone!


CHAPTER XXVI.
7
TOM S CONVOY.
THE horses were gone, and the little door
in the far corner of the stable stood wide
open. Tom rushed through it and along the
narrow lane into which it led. Within forty
yards he came to a criss-cross maze, where a
whole tangle of alleys ran into each other, and
almost every alley was crowded with streams
of people hastening to leave the town.
Search was useless, time was very, very
precious, and Tom ran back to the stable.
‘Effendi!’ shouted Sali joyfully as Tom
came in, ‘they have not taken the ass. Yes,
we have the ass. It was in this dark corner,
and the thieves missed it.’
‘ And look, effendi,’ cried Rashid, ‘the
thieves did not break in this little door. Here
are the bars taken from their places and set
against the wall. Nor is there a single mark
on the door. They opened it from the inside
just as we honest men might have done.’
‘What clever thieves they have in Lule
Burgas,’ murmured Sali in a tone of deep
admiration. ‘ How did they do it ? ’


'roM’s convor. 321
‘They did it easily enough, you careless
watchman,’ said Tom angrily. ‘ They were for
a certainty men of the neighbourhood and
knew the place. While you sat lazily by the
brazier they climbed over the wall of the
courtyard and went through the stable into
the lane behind.’
‘ The effendi speaks truth,’ said Sali, nodding
at his companion; ‘he sees it all. He is as
clever as the thieves.’
‘But we have the carriage, effendi; the
carriage is quite safe,’ cried Rashid.
‘No credit to you,’ replied Tom. ‘They ’d
have had that as well if they could have got
it through a three-foot doorway. But bar the
door again, and make ready for departure;
there is no time to be lost.’ 
Tom hurried toward the street; there was
but one thing to do, and that was to obtain
fresh transport animals if it were at all
possible. The stupid, careless Turks, utterly
without providence or forethought, had upset
his plans for the moment; the need for swift
movement had come, and he could not move.
Six steps from the door he met Ahmed.
‘Effendi,’ began Ahmed, ‘I have found no
food in the town. I have bought a few bottles
of wine, and that is all.’
In a few words Tom told his man of the


322 TOM s convoy.
terrible loss which had befallen them, and sent
him on a fresh quest, bidding him hire or buy
anything that would pull a carriage and bring
it at once to the house.
While Ahmed scoured the east of the town,
Tom hurried through the west, asking of all
he met whether there were any animals to be
hired or bought. He asked in vain. This
sudden call to desert the town had convinced
every one that shortly it would be in the hands
of the enemy and the houses would go up in
ﬂames. The inhabitants were ﬂeeing in haste
and confusion, and every mule, ass, horse, or
ox was harnessed to cart or wagon on which
were loads of goods, children, old men and
women, the sick and inﬁrm. Amid this scene
of frightful confusion Tom sought in vain, and
he returned to the house in hope that Ahmed
had had better luck. He found the Turk
beside the door with an old peasant and a
buffalo.
‘ This man, effendi, wishes to leave the town
and go to Chorlu,’ said Ahmed ; ‘but his cart
is broken and he has no food for the journey.
He will lend us his buffalo if we will give him
food, and a lira when we reach Chorlu.’
‘It ’s a bargain,’ said Tom; ‘we can drag
ourselves out of the town before the Bulgars
rush it, and that will be better than nothing.’


324 Tom’s convor.
stayed for a time to learn how things would
go.
The scene from the ridge was one of the
deepest interest and excitement, and Tom
watched it eagerly. Below lay the town, still
held ﬁrmly by the rear-guard, and around it
the Bulgarians lay in a huge semicircle.
The assailants had advanced nearly half-way
down the slope, and were lying ﬂat on the
ground ﬁring at the rear-guard. The hillside
was naked, bare, and open, not a scrap of
cover upon it, and the dark ﬁgures of the
attacking troops could be seen clearly. Upon
this array, undefended by entrenchment or
shelter-work of any kind, the Turks ﬁred
rapidly, but the Bulgarians crawled forward
in the most stubborn fashion.
Not all of them. As the line shifted yard
by yard, great numbers of dark dots were left
scattered here and there, dead and wounded,
smitten by the Turkish bullets. It was a
combat of heroes. The Turks clung unshakenly
to their grip on the town; the Bulgarians,
although their advance was checked, would
not retire one inch, and lay in the open, suffer-
ing heavy losses, but keeping up a constant
ﬁre on the defenders of the town.
In a lull of the ﬁring, faint and far-off
shouting came to Tom’s ears. His gaze was


Tom’s couvor. 325
drawn to the ridge behind the Bulgarians, the
ridge where he himself had lain that morning.
He saw it now crowned with masses of the
dark-clothed soldiery; he heard their cheers
when these fresh troops saw the beleaguered
town, their battling comrades. The new-
comers swept down the hill into the ﬁring-
line, and, as they came, the superb infantry,
which had patiently been working its way
toward the bridge, rose as one man, and the
whole line dashed forward in a heroic charge.
It was a magniﬁcent movement, and the Turks
met it with splendid resolution. The rattle of
the defenders’ ﬁre became one shrill, continuous
note. No volleys were loosed, but in this
moment of death or victory every man ﬁred
as fast as he could work his magazine, and the
slope was littered with those stricken down
among the charging infantry, who rushed on
utterly careless of death.
On swept the Bulgarian line, nor was the
movement checked until the assailants were
within a few hundred yards of the trenches.
Then the advancing troops again dropped into
such cover as they could ﬁnd or scratch up for
themselves at the moment, and lashed the
defenders once more with a savage ﬁre.
This charge, though not driven home,
decided the fate of the town. It placed the


326 'roM’s convor.
Bulgars in a position from which they com-
pletely dominated the ﬁre of the Turkish
defenders. More, several Bulgarian batteries
were now in position on the ridge and were
‘shelling the town. Most of all, the noble
rear-guard had ﬁred almost its last shot in
that withering storm of lead poured on the
charging line. The stubborn Turks were
compelled to fall back, and the victorious
enemy swarmed over the bridge and entered
the hard-won position. Tom, watching the
town, saw something ﬂutter out from the top
of the mosque. He looked closer. It was the
Bulgarian ﬂag, the three bars of red, green,
and white. The Christian banner was waving
above the Moslem temple.
Now the Turkish batteries on the ridge
came into action, and began to ﬁre on the
town they had lost. Their shells fell thick
and fast into Lule Burgas and checked the
Bulgarian advance.
Soon a tremendous uproar away to the
west drew attention, and Tom ran to a higher
point of the ridge to look in that direction.
The struggle for Lule Burgas was but a tiny
corner of the vast battle which was joined
over many miles of country, and far to the
right of the town a terriﬁc combat was being
waged in the centre, where the Turkish Second


328 Tom’s convoy.
Tom rubbed his head. It was of no earthly
use to say a word about it; it was all in the
day’s work when dealing with Turks; but what
was he to do?
‘Look here,’ said Tom to the old peasant,
‘ has the buffalo had much to eat lately?’
‘Very little, effendi,’ replied the old fellow
Ineekly.
‘ Ah, just as I thought,’ replied Tom ; ‘ well,
we ’ll halt for the night, and ﬁll him up.
We ’ve got a good bag of corn. He may go
better in the morning, and the Bulgars won’t
get up to the ridge behind us to-night, I feel
pretty sure.’
‘ I can show you a place to camp, effendi,’ said
the old peasant eagerly; ‘a place with a little
house where the sick effendi will be under cover.’
‘ Good,’ cried Tom, and slapped the old fellow
on the shoulder. ‘You ’re worth having with
us for that alone.—N ow, boys, pull the buffalo
out, and let the old man lead him on and show
us the way. We ’ll haul the carriage.’
This was done, and within two hundred yards
they left the main track and followed a lane
which dipped into a hollow of the rolling
country. Within a short distance of the road
they came to a sheepfold tucked away behind
a little rise and quite invisible till they were
close upon it. In a corner of the fold was a


roM’s couvor. 331
injunctions as to what should and what should
not be done, and then set off back to the ridge.
They were no great distance from it, and in
less than half-an-hour he was approaching the
front once more. In the darkness of the night
the spectacle before him was wonderful. The
whole horizon was lighted up by the ﬂames
which sprang from a vast chain of blazing
villages and hamlets. The Bulgarians had set
on ﬁre every place they had seized in order
to leave no cover for the Turkish troops
if they should advance; the Turks had done
the same, and the destruction was widespread
and tremendous. The silence was strange and
remarkable. All day long the thunder of battle
had pealed from ridge to ridge, from valley to
valley; now not a sound revealed the presence
of vast numbers of men lying on their arms in
the black and bitter night, waiting for the
dawn to ﬂy once more at the throats of their
foes.
Tom approached the Turkish lines without
let or hindrance. Not a sentinel was posted,
not a man was on guard; the camp was as free
and open as a highroad in time of peace. He
entered the lines at a lucky spot, for he hit
upon a ﬁre round which a number of staﬂ'-
ofﬁcers were sitting, and he saw that one of
them was Major Fusil. Tom called the major


332 'roM’s convor.
by name, and Fusil came at once to talk to
him.
" How are things going?’ asked Tom.
‘Splendidly,’ replied Fusil, his voice full of
enthusiasm. ‘This has been a grand day for
Turkey.’
‘Have you retaken Lule Burgas?’ said
Tom.
‘ Not absolutely, but it_ will be in our hands
to-morrow,’ replied _Fusil. ‘We moved down
on the enemy about an hour before dark, and
many of them have been driven back to the
ridge beyond the town. So that, at the
present moment, Lule Burgas is in the hands
of neither ourselves nor the Bulgarians. Our
position at this instant is just as it should be.
Our left has been withdrawn on the side of
Lule Burgas here, to tempt the Bulgars to
come on. Our centre, under Shefket Torgut
Pasha, has made ground against the enemy;
and our right, on the Viza side, has done mag-
niﬁcently. Have you heard of the work of
the Fourth Army Corps to-day ? ’
‘Not a word,’ said Tom.
‘ Mahmud Muktar Pasha has covered himself
with glory. His Fourth Corps has driven the
Bulgarian left back in the utmost confusion,
and he has captured their main position,
Bunar Hissar. To-morrow he will push them


Tom’s convor. 333
before him again, the centre will fall upon
them while they are in disorder, and we shall
advance from the left and roll them up before
us; you will see the great battle of the war
and a glorious Turkish victory. In forty-
eight hours we shall be on the road to Soﬁa.’
His triumphant tones were still ringing in
the air when two infantrymen shuffled up.
‘Bimbashi,’ said the foremost in a humble
voice, ‘give us bread. We have not eaten
to-day; we are starving.’
‘ There is no bread,’ said Fusil sharply. ‘ I,
too, have not tasted food since daybreak.
A provision train will reach the front in the
morning. Till then you must wait.’
The men turned away, and Fusil said in
a vexed tone, ‘All the fault of these Con-
stantinople fellows who ran from Kirk-Kilisse.’
He muttered to Tom, ‘ Food and ammunition,
supplies of all sorts, had been pushed up
toward Kirk-Kilisse in ample store, and they
ﬂed and left them in the hands of the enemy.
Now we are in terrible straits for want of
them. There is a rumour that supply-carts
will be here to-morrow. Allah send that it
prove true, or the men must starve as they lie
in the trenches.’ He stood for a moment in
silence, and then changed the subject. ‘How
is Issett Bey?’ he asked.
B.S.B. V


CHAPTER XXVII.
THE TURKISH DOWNFALL : THE FLIGHT.
THE next morning Tom returned to the
front as soon as he heard the guns open.
This was not until well after daylight, for the
dawn found the hills covered with heavy mist,
and the gunners had to wait till it had cleared
before they could pick out their marks.
Tom had resolved to watch the struggle for
a time, and act according to the way in which
he saw things going. He had left everything
in order at the camp, and Ahmed would see
that matters were in shape for an instant start
if need be. Ahmed had equipped his master
with a haversack and water-bottle. He had
procured these articles by walking as far as
the broken morass called the highroad, and
making a selection among the litter of kit and
accoutrements which strewed the way, cast
aside by the Turks who were ﬂying from the
front. The haversack was stocked with bread
and cheese ; the water-bottle was ﬁlled from a
spring which bubbled up at a corner of the
sheepfold.
Tom struck for Lule Burgas ﬁrst, to see how


THE TURKISH DOWNFALLC THE FLIGHT. 339
7
The Turks eyes gleamed like those of a
hungry wolf, and he drove his teeth with all
his might into the crust which Tom broke off
and handed to him.
‘Never have I eaten anything so delicious
in my life,’ he murmured between his mouth-
fuls; ‘it is more than ﬁfty hours since I tasted
food.’
‘Then this division is without supplies,’ said
Tom.
‘ The whole army is without supplies,’ replied
the captain ; ‘ and almost without ammunition.’
At this moment an oﬂicer of high rank,
attended by several mounted followers, rode
up and waved his sword as if to hurry on the
approaching regiments.
‘Of what use to march these men up?’
muttered the captain. ‘ They have not had so
much as a biscuit for nearly three days.’
As the regiments advanced a murmur rose
from their ranks. ‘Bread! bread!’ they cried
piteously to the general, who had posted him-
self as if to review them as they marched; and,
as rank by rank passed, the same thin, wailing
cry arose, ‘ Bread! bread! We are starving!’
But the general only shook his head. He
had no bread for them; he had no bread for
himself, and he could only point to the line
of battle, where the Bulgarian shells were
I


340 THE TURKISH DOWNFALL: THE FLIGHT.
falling thicker and faster. On they went, the
brave, dogged Nizams, and Tom’s heart
throbbed as he saw the dark lines march
toward the inferno of conﬂict which raged
in front of the Second Corps.
‘It is a waste of life,’ said the old Turkish
captain. ‘We are not ﬁghting men; we are
ﬁghting furies—demons. Yesterday my regi-
ment was posted in the centre of the line.
We gained ground; the men shouted for joy.
Then, just before the dark—the hour they love
best for ﬁghting—the Bulgars rushed at us
over open ground. We fetched them down
in heaps ; we destroyed their ﬁring-line utterly.
But the reserves, did they fall back? No,
they came on like madmen--they clambered
over the piles of their own dead. They ran
in among us with incredible speed. We were
not driven out of the position; we were slain
there. I was overwhelmed in a rush, and
crept away after night had fallen. I am going
back. I have no men to lead. I have fought
enough; it is the will of Allah that we should
be defeated.’
Without another word he went on toward
the rear, still gripping his broken, blood-stained
sword, a type in himself of his failing cause.
Tom followed the Nizam infantry, and was
in time to see the great assault of the Second


rum TURKISH DOWNFALL: THE FLIGHT. 341
Corps on the Bulgarian lines, the event which
was the heart and core of this great battle.
At this point the Bulgarians lay amid
plantations of low trees surrounding a village
named Turk Bej. If the Turks could seize
this position they would break the enemy’s
line, and the day might still turn in their
favour. The commander of the Second Corps,
Shefket Torgut, resolved to throw his men
against the Bulgarian post; it was a forlorn
hope at best, to hurl his starving, wornout
troops against a powerful enemy, to pit his
few batteries with their scanty remnant of
ammunition against the numerous Bulgarian
guns with their well-ﬁlled caissons ; but it was
the only hope of the Moslems, and the attempt
was heroic. _
Standing on a ridge, Tom saw the brown
lines of Turkish infantry leap from their cover
and hurry across the open ground toward
Turk Bej. They were met by a terriﬁc artillery
ﬁre. The air was ﬁlled with the smoke of
bursting shells and bombs, and shrapnel fell
in showers like rain. But through the storm
the Turks pushed steadily, doggedly on. Then
the Bulgarian riﬂemen took a hand, a terrible
hand, in the game. From the cover of low
trees there broke forth such a crash of ﬁre
that Tom’s heart seemed for a moment to


THE TURKISH DOWNFALLZ THE FLIGHT. 343
incessant. It seemed to him that the smoke
of the bursting shells was farther to the south
than it had been, and he hurried back toward
the Turkish left to see how Ahmed Abouk
and the Fourth Corps were getting on.
In front of him he saw a mounted man
walking his horse slowly along, and leaning
forward with one hand on the horse’s crest.
Then the rider pitched suddenly from the
saddle, and the horse stood still, snufﬁng at
the fallen man. Tom went up to the place
and saw that the man was just breathing his
last. He wore the uniform of a regimental
oﬂicer, and had been hit in the breast.
The horse was a prize, and Tom seized it,
and leapt into the saddle, and rode toward
Lule Burgas. His mount was a big, bony
Hungarian, with a mouth like leather, but as
quiet as a sheep, and Tom wondered if the
beast could be put in harness and replace the
buffalo. If so, it would be just what he wanted.
The raking stride of the big horse carried
him back to the ridge above Lule Burgas in
quick time, and at a glance Tom saw that
things were going very badly for the Turks
at this point also. The Turkish left was almost
entirely enveloped; the Bulgarians were push-
ing forward, and broken Turkish regiments
were streaming away to the south on the road


344 THE TURKISH DOWNFALLZ THE FLIGHT.
toward Chorlu. The scout drew his left-hand
rein and galloped across the plateau for his
little camp. It was time to be on the move.
The Turks would never be in Lule Burgas
again as masters.
When night fell Tom and his little convoy
were eleven miles from Lule Burgas on the
road to Chorlu; they were part and parcel
of that dismal stream of refugees which will
stand out in history as the last sign of Turkish
incapacity in high places. The Turkish soldier
was not to blame; he had proved himself
hardy, resolute, and enduring; he had fought
three days without food, he had ﬁred his
last shot; and now, uncared for by those who
should have fed and armed them, the Turks
were leaving the last great Turkish battleﬁeld
of Europe in huge, formless hordes.
Tom and Ahmed marched at the head of
the animals. The horse had proved a godsend.
He was as quiet in harness as under the
saddle, and the old peasant had been paid his
lira and disbanded with his useless buffalo.
Quickly they were not going, nor could they
do so; the morass into which they plunged
almost mid-leg deep forbade that. And the
whole vast train, of which they formed a part,
churned the mud deeper and ever deeper as
the stream of fugitives plunged forward.


THE TURKISH DOWNFALLZ THE FLIGHT. 345
So vast were the numbers of ﬂeeing troops
that pressed toward Chorlu that it seemed
to Tom as if not a man could be left at the
front, and yet a little before the dusk he heard
a tremendous roll of musketry and shell ﬁre
as the Bulgarians were crushing the last efforts
of Turkish resistance, and the far-off crash of
artillery seemed to quicken the haste of those
afoot as if a whip had been cracked over their
heads.
The wayside was a scene of remarkable and
terrible confusion. Here lay a deserted supply-
wagon, the over-driven oxen dead in their traces,
there a battery of guns had been deserted,
and in another place were country carts and
ammunition wagons with broken wheels and
shafts, left when they became useless. Some
of these abandoned vehicles had been dragged
to the side of the road ; many had broken down
in the way, and the stream of horsemen and
footmen divided and ﬂowed around these
islands of war’s ﬂotsam stranded in the midst
of the highway.
Great numbers of the troops were wounded,
most of them slightly, but some so terribly
injured that it was a marvel to see how they
dragged their shattered frames along. Nor
did they receive help. It was each for himself,
and the unhurt men were often so weak with


346 rm: TURKISH DOWNFALLI ram FLIGHT.
hunger that they had much ado to keep them-
selves going. Time and again it made Tom’s
heart bleed to see a poor maimed wretch,
who had struggled with all his failing strength
to keep up with his comrades, halt and look
around with wild, appealing eyes. He looked
in vain. No help, no succour could be found
in that starving, struggling horde; he could
but drag himself aside from the throng and
drop beside the way in hopeless despair, to
die.
It was striking to see how thickly these
exhausted and dying men lay where the road
mounted to one of the numerous ridges of
this rolling country; the lift of the hill had
signed their death-warrant. Thus far could
they go, but no farther, and their exhaus-
tion had been complete. Numbers of the
crouching ﬁgures were dead, had been dead
one or two days, wounded men crawling back
from the opening encounters of the long battle
and dying on the road. It was such a vision
of misery, suffering, and despair as war can
only show at its worst and darkest.
Plodding slowly along, Tom revolved plans
in his mind. A bitter cold night was creeping
over the uplands, and it would be useless to
keep up their march. For the colonel’s sake
he must have a camp and a ﬁre. Issett Bey


348 THE runmsn DOWNFALLZ rum FLIGHT.
cold. Tom served out supplies, and supper
was eaten beside the blaze, near which the
carriage was drawn. Then the axe went to
work again, and a great pile of wood was cut
from the ammunition wagon and a couple of
deserted country carts lying not far away. Not
till Tom was satisﬁed that the heap would
furnish an ample store of fuel for the night did
he allow any one to be idle. Then they sat
down beside the cheerful ﬁre to rest.
Tom’s head began to nod at once, for he was
very weary. He had been on the move all
day following the movements of the great
battle, and the activity and intense excitement
had exhausted him in every nerve and every
limb. He pulled himself together, got up, and
walked about to keep himself awake.
‘ Sleep, effendi,’ said Ahmed; ‘ you are tired,
and we have done little to-day. We will watch
in turn.’
‘A watch must be kept,’ said Tom, ‘or the
ﬁre will go down.’
‘ I will stay awake, effendi, and feed the ﬁre.
Do you not trust me ? ’
‘I do, Ahmed,’ said Tom, ‘and I ’ll give you
ﬁrst watch. In three hours you will waken Sali.
Three hours later he will waken me, and I will
watch the rest of the night. Rashid may sleep,
for he has much to do in waiting on his master.’


350 THE TURKISH DOWNFALLZ THE FLIGHT.
took no notice of him; he had gained the
haven where all were bound, for death was
their certain portion.
A murmur of thanks poured into Tom’s right
ear. He turned his head, and saw a tall, gaunt,
white-faced Nizam, whose right hand had been
shot away; the stump was bound up in ﬁlthy
rags. In his left hand the man held a piece of
bread, at which he was tearing eagerly. But he
had seen the effendi wake up, and his native
courtesy called upon him to stay his famished
fury, and give grateful thanks for the food
which the effendi’s servant had distributed.
Food! the man was eating! others were
eating! What did it mean? Food in the
mouths of men who had not seen rations for
days and days, who were many a mile from
stores of any kind.
Tom’s heart jumped, and he was on his feet
and beside the carriage in an instant. He felt
certain what he would ﬁnd, and he found it;
the provision sack was empty. Sali had given
its contents to his starving brethren.
At this moment the Turk came up with a
grin on his dull face. ‘ Poor fellows, they were
very glad of the bread and cheese, effendi,’ he
remarked. ‘There was only a very little for
each, but it must be better than nothing for
them.’


THE TURKISH DOWNFALLZ THE FLIGHT. 351
Tom said not a word. Of his own will he
would have given all he possessed to help
the unhappy creatures; but the careless, im-
provident Sali, in giving a slight help to the
wounded, had dealt out ruin to Tom and his
friends. At a stroke they, too, joined the
hungry, starving crowd struggling across the
bleak, wild plateau with no hope save that of
reaching some distant spot where food could
be found. And Issett Bey? There was the
rub; a wounded man who could only be con-
veyed very slowly. How could they gain
shelter and supplies before all gave out and
they sank amid the wornout wrecks around
them. What had they now? A little fodder
for the animals; nothing else. The only thing
to be done was to move with earliest dawn and
make a forced march to Chorlu.


n
CHAPTER XXVIII.
7
TOM S PLAN.
BY two o’clock of the next afternoon they
had reached the crossing of the Ergene
River, and Chorlu was still a number of miles
ahead. A halt was made to rest the animals,
and during this halt Tom saw an oﬂicer,
attended by an orderly, cantering against the
line of retreat, and going toward the front.
Rashid saw him also, and ran toward him
crying, ‘Javer Bey! Javer Bey! Oh come
and help my master ! ’
The oﬂicer turned his horse, rode up to the
carriage, and gave an exclamation of sorrow as
he glanced under the tilt. In a moment Tom
learned that this was a close friend of Issett
Bey whom Rashid had recognised, and at the
next instant they were in earnest conversation,
Javer Bey taking Tom for a young Turkish
oﬂicer.
‘Chorlu!’ cried Javer Bey; ‘you can get
nothing in Chorlu. It is scraped as clean of
food as a bone of meat when a street dog
drops it. Nor can you get shelter. Every
house is crowded and thrice crowded with


Tom’s PLAN. ' 355
over which it was expected that the Bulgarians
would advance.
Tom’s last precaution before leaving the line
of retreat had been to provide themselves
with the means of defence. This was done
simply enough. The road was littered with
riﬂes, bandoleers, empty water-bottles, haver-
sacks, boots ﬂung aside because their wearers
could get along better on bare feet, accoutre-
ments of all kinds. Ahmed and Sali in a
moment collected four Mausers; and one of
these, when Tom came to examine it, had a
signiﬁcance of its own. It was absolutely
clean and new; it had never had a shot ﬁred
from it, and Tom knew what this meant.
The weapon had been carried by one of the
Christian soldiers in the Turkish army, and he
had not ﬁred a single cartridge against his
Christian brethren. This mingling of their
Christian subjects with Moslem troops had
been a source of great weakness to the Turk,
and here was a silent witness to the blunder.
To pick up riﬂes was an easy matter ; a cart
could have been loaded with them within a few
hundred yards. Cartridges proved a different
affair; but after a good deal of rummaging
of almost empty cases, and lucky ﬁnds on the
bodies of two dead men lying beside the river,
a very useful store was gathered. Riﬂes and


356 Tom’s PLAN.
cartridges were stowed in the carriage, and
away they went across the open country.
Within a couple of hours they had lost all
sight and sound of the retreat. The going
was difﬁcult, but not worse than along the
swamp called a highroad, and the horse which
Tom had picked up proved a treasure. With-
out him they could not have made headway;
but he went into his collar and pulled with the
greatest docility, nor was the hardy ass a bad
second.
As evening began to close in they hit upon
a bridle path running toward the river.
' ‘ This leads to a ford,’ said Tom to Ahmed,
‘and is a path used by the people of some
hamlet. Run, Ahmed, down to the river, and
see if any houses are near the bank.’
Ahmed was back in a short time, and re-
ported that the path ran toward a broad,
shallow stretch of the Ergene ; but no houses
were to be seen.
‘Then the village lies the other way,’ said
Tom. ‘We ’ll follow the path.’
They did so, and soon a patch of low trees
and brushwood rose before them in the dusk.
Cold, heavy rain began to fall, and Tom saw
that a bad night was coming on, a terrible night
to spend in the open,Iand he hurried ahead
along the path, hoping to ﬁnd shelter.


Tom’s PLAN. 361
‘The brigands! the brigands!’ cried Tom
half-aloud. Had they run on Osman Aga’s
band after all? But these men were not
coming toward him, and he turned his eyes
again on the smoking village. At that moment
he heard plainly a volley of riﬂe-shots. A
second volley rang out; then there was silence.
Was ﬁghting going on in the burning village?
He could not understand it at all. Then he
saw a still more startling sight. A band of
horsemen began to ride round the trees which
masked part of the hamlet on the side toward
the watcher.
Tom jumped in the saddle. Bulgarian
cavalry! He could not be making a mistake.
No, they were Bulgarian troopers. Flat caps,
uniforms, slung carbines, Tom had seen too
much of Bulgarian cavalry of late to be mis-
taken. And they were coming toward him !
He wheeled his horse and galloped back at
top speed for his little convoy at the foot of
the rise he had just climbed. As he Went he
looked keenly, anxiously over the ground. A
little to the right of the slow-moving wagon
was a thicket of bushes which ran along the
banks of a streamlet crossing the road. He
waved his kalpak in the air as he rode, in
order to check the march of his followers, and
the wagon was halted to await his approach.


CHAPTER XXIX.
THE FIGHT wrrn THE BRIGANDS.
‘ STOP !’ cried Tom. ‘Wait a little; do not
be in such a hurry to ﬂy. Are there
no men among you who can ﬁnd riﬂes to defend
your homes against these bandits?’
‘I have a riﬂe,’ cried a young Bulgar, a
strapping fellow of ﬁve-and-twenty ; ‘and if
others will join I will stand against them.’
Three or four others echoed this speech, and
Tom told them to get their weapons at once.
These were Bulgars, and their riﬂes were
carefully hidden, for up to this moment it had
been an offence against the Turkish law for
a Christian to own a ﬁrearm. Of the Turks
several were armed already, and in a short time
eleven men had gathered beside Tom and his
three followers.
From the miller’s garden the Boy Scout had
seen the brigands creeping very slowly and
cautiously down the ridge toward the village.
It was clear that Osman Aga had watched the
departure of the patrol, and meant to make a
second assault on the place. The fate of the
unhappy people should they fall in the end


374 THE FIGHT WITH THE BRIGANDS.
the defence, the young leader and his three
steady Turks, and thought that the villagers
had taken to their old Martinis and were trying
to beat him off. He poured a still heavier ﬁre
upon the house, then tried to rush it. Fully
thirty ruﬂians leapt from the cover of broken
walls and burning cottages, and darted upon
the place in two bands; one division hurled
itself upon the courtyard gate, the other upon
the door of the house. The front rank of each
band was armed with heavy axes to cut a way
1n.
The savage attack was met with an equally
ﬁerce resistance. Every loophole spouted a
ﬂame; the Bulgars who lined the wall exposed
themselves with the most reckless bravery to
get a shot at the hated marauders, and brigand
after brigand fell. Tom had shot one of the
assailants at the gate, and was helping to drag
a heavy log into position to bar it, when he
heard a fearful scream of terror break out in
the room where the women and children had
taken refuge. He ﬂew up the courtyard, his
Mauser at the ready, and burst into the place.
At the farther door, that leading to the main
room, a man was standing; a man so tall that
he had to crouch a little in the doorway. At
sight of his long, thin, pale face, the village
women had burst into cries of terror, for it was


THE FIGHT WITH THE BRIGANDS. 375
Osman Aga himself The brigand sprang
forward, shot out his left hand, and seized a
little girl about four years old. He turned and
leapt back toward the door, holding the child
easily in one hand before him like a shield; in
the other hand he held a revolver.
Tom had thrown his Mauser up to ﬁre, but
he checked his ﬁnger on the trigger; the bullet
might strike the child. As Osman Aga
vanished, he darted across the room in hot
pursuit of the brigand, passed through the
door, and saw before him a scene of most
savage combat. The outer door had been
forced, and six or seven bandits had entered.
Four lay dead or severely wounded near the
threshold, three of the Turkish villagers had
fallen, and the rest, with Rashid and Sali, were
engaged in desperate struggle with the assail-
ants. No shots were being ﬁred; it was sheer
bludgeon work, clubbed riﬂes and main strength.
Osman Aga advanced to the fray. A Turk
turned and made toward him with uplifted
riﬂe-butt, but hesitated when the brigand chief
held forward the screaming child to receive the
blow. That moment’s natural hesitation cost
the villager his life; the revolver cracked, and
he slid to the ground. Osman Aga, covered
with the buckler his cruel cunning had devised,
was moving against a fresh knot of combatants


Child and revo
a.s.B.
_ .4 I ----.
+511.
lver fell to the ground; then the bandit whirled
PAGE 376
round


THE FIGHT WITH THE BRIGANDS. 377
before his eyes, blood drummed in his ears. A
swirl of the ﬁght eddied against them, and they
went down together; but the brigand did not
loose his deadly grip. A keen pang went
through Tom’s breast, and he knew no more.


CHAPTER XXX.
\
'roM’s TASK IS ENDED.
TOM came to himself to ﬁnd his throat stiff
and aching, and when he looked round
he saw that the ﬁght was over and that
Ahmed was bending over him.
‘Good, effendi, good,’ muttered the faithful
Turk. ‘ Some of these men thought you were
dead, but I knew better.’
‘ Where is Osman Aga ? ’ gasped Tom.
‘ Here, effendi,’ and the Turk pointed with a
contemptuous gesture to a body near at hand.
Tom put his hand to his breast.
‘I felt as if he had stabbed me,’ he said;
‘and, yes, I am bleeding.’
‘ No, effendi,’ replied Ahmed, grimly smiling,
‘it was I who stabbed you, but it is a mere
prick. I have examined the wound.’
‘You stabbed me, Ahmed?’ said Tom, still
a little confused about things.
‘Yes, effendi,’ returned the Turk, ‘but my
yataghan had been right through the rogue’s
heart ﬁrst. I ran in just as you fell to the
ground, and Osman Aga was uppermost. I
struck him without remembering that you


'roM’s TASK IS ENDED. 383
4?
But he never relapsed into his former comatose
state, and it became plain during the day’s
march that his splendid constitution had
triumphed over the fearful drain of blood from
his wounds, and that he would recover. He
lay, partly propped up, in the araba; and while
Tom rode ahead with the guide, Rashid walked
beside his master and talked with him, narrat-
ing all that had happened since they left Kirk-
Kilisse. '
That day they made over thirty miles, and
at nightfall camped in an empty house of a
little village lying on the road which runs to
the south of the Belgrade Forest. Tom’s
heart now beat easily. They had far out-
stripped any fear of falling into the hands of
the Bulgarians, and another day’s march would
see them in Constantinople.
They made the march next day at a slow
pace, for they found themselves in the thick of
another vast train of refugees pouring down
toward Stamboul. It was, as Rashid’s relation
had said, the return of the Turk to Asia. It
was like the movement of a great nomad race
in the early ages of the world. The IMoslem
population had left their houses, shops, and
farms, and were streaming eastward with all of
their belongings which could be packed on
bullock-wagons. The air was ﬁlled with the


Tom’s TASK IS ENDED. 387
my hands of it,’ said Issett Bey. ‘ Allah wills
that the land where it lies shall pass over to
the rule of my country’s enemies. Inshallah
[as Heaven wills]! But I will have neither
part nor lot in the lost land. When my
wounds are healed I shall retire to our old
home, to my ancestral lands in Asia Minor,
near Soma, and there dwell in peace. The
destiny of every land, as of every man, is
written in the Book of Fate. It is Kismet.
Who shall ﬁght against the will of Allah?’
Issett Bey spoke with the quiet fatalism
which lies at the root of every genuine Turkish
nature. Disaster had stripped from him every
shred of his western culture. He now saw
things from the point of view of a true
Moslem, who looks upon every event in life as
preordained, a thing that was to be, and must
be accepted, for to rail against it is to dispute
the decree of Heaven.


BACK T0 NOVALA. 395
in possession of Novala. Besides, the man
now in charge of this district is a Bulgarian
gentleman of the highest character; he is a
son-in-law of my old friend Zankoff, and has
been several times to see me. From the way
he speaks, I know that he already looks upon
me as the owner of the place.’
‘Doctor Zankoff!’ cried Tom. ‘I went to
see him in Soﬁa, and he helped me through
the lines.’
_ Mr Yorke nodded and tapped the papers.
‘Novala is ours without a doubt,’ said he;
‘thanks to my old patron’s generosity and to
your ﬁne piece of work, Tom. You went in
search of a great deal more than you knew.’
‘And Novala itself, father; can you get it
into shape again? It looks bad enough this
morning.’
Mr Yorke laughed. ‘Never fear for that,
lad,’ he said. ‘This will mean a couple of
years’ hard work for the pair of us, and then
we ’ll have things in shape all right. You ’ll
have to stop and help me. I don’t think you
can go back to Rushmere.’ .
‘Ah, old Rushmere!’ said Tom thought-
fully. ‘ No, father, I don’t think I could settle
down to school-life again. I’ve spent this
term in a very queer fashion; and I should
have been leaving next term, in any case.’


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Flnnemore, John,
A boy scout 1n the Balkans


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