CHAPTER XXV

THE SHIPKA

The beauty of the Tundja Valley - Advance of Suleiman's army - Desolation and ruin - Some types of war correspondents - Rescue of a Bulgarian woman - She disappears in a night attack - Assaults on the Shipka Pass - An invaluable icon.

THE severest fighting during that war - not excepting Plevna itself - took place in the Tundja Valley, which lies between the Greater and Lesser Balkans, having the celebrated Shipka Pass at its western boundary. It is one of the most fertile and picturesque villages in that part of Europe. Never can I forget the striking beauty of the scene when, very early one morning, in the month of August, having ridden ahead of my servants and carts - toiling slowly up the mountain road � I topped the pass and looked down on it, spread below in an exquisite blue mist.

The saffron light of early dawn was slowly spreading over the eastern sky behind the main range, and beginning faintly to illumine the hills opposite, whilst, through the gaps in the mountains, pale bands of light shot across the valley and flashed over the shallow waters of the Tundja River. Under the shadow of the eastern range the uplands and small valleys still lay enshrouded in the folds of night, broad belts of forest above

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THE SHIPKA

them adding to the intensity of the gloom with their dark foliage. Here and there some giant oak or weirdly twisted pine, which had gained a foothold on the rocky ridge, stretched its leafless arms in black relief against the morning glory, immovable sentinels over the slumbering scene beneath. Far overhead, where the dawn-tints faded imperceptibly into the deep nocturnal blue, stars still twinkled, and a young crescent moon held on her course. Not a cloud was to be seen in the vast expanse of heaven, where eternal harmony seemed to reign, and a solemn silence, broken only by the bark of some wandering wolf, or the challenging bellow of a great stag - leading his hinds to the grass slopes of the uplands - seemed to rest over the country.

But, alas ! how deceptive this appearance of peace and security: for as the light broadened the Ottoman army, bivouacked on the slopes on the opposite range, gradually appeared, whilst as far as the eye could reach were long trains of country carts stretching from east to west, the unyoked cattle lying by the side of them, whilst - a still more painful evidence of what it all meant - columns of smoke could be seen rising in a hundred different spots from burning villages or isolated farms, and right away in the extreme west. And even as I watched, columns of fresh smoke began to rise as the retreating Russians set fire to the town of Kezanlik.

I rode down into the valley with a sickening sense of the cruelty and horror of it all - the peaceful, harmless population scattered - every conceivable and inconceivable sorrow and agony accompanying their dispersal - families never to be reunited - children lost for ever. For within the brief space of three weeks a devastating whirlwind of fire and sword had twice swept through that doomed valley, and on each occasion it had been the turn of either one or the other of the two races that occupied it to be

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WANTON DESTRUCTION

victims of a ferocious extermination. So sudden, too, had been the appearance of the first destroyers - the Cossacks with their Bulgarian allies - that almost the whole Mahoinmedan population had been slaughtered in their beds, whilst as the tide of war ebbed back and the Russians retreated, the not less bloodthirsty Circassians and Bashi-bazouks made their appearance and it became the turn of the Bulgarian peasantry to suffer. And now, except for fighting men, there was scarcely a thing left alive for hundreds of miles in that part of Thrace save dogs, now grown furious and rabid, prowling about the smoking ruins in quest of their gruesome food, or with their fidelity unshaken still looking for their dead masters, whilst above them chattered and screamed great flocks of kites, vultures and carrion crows, disputing with them for the horrid feast. Every green herb had been blighted, thousands of acres of corn, of maize, of beans, ruthlessly burnt or trodden under foot, and hundreds of miles of rose bushes - the chief industry of the country having been the manufacture of attar of roses - hacked down or uprooted. As silk, too, was a great industry here, mulberries were grown in great quantities, but now their fruit hung in scorched clusters on their withered branches, whilst shrivelled vines, looking like knotted and tangled ropes, seemed to writhe over their broken trellises. Here and there some minaret, which had withstood the raging fire, lifted its blackened form above the ruin of a mosque, and it was painful to see the storks sitting in mournful meditation on the ruin of places, which from time immemorial had been their sanctuary. With wanton recklessness - similar to the blind insensate folly of the Russian mujik - every rickyard, cornstack and granary had been burnt, and all the implements of husbandry destroyed. Ploughs, hoes, the great copper stills for making the attar, spinning wheels

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THE SHIPKA

and textile looms, crockery and household furniture, everything had been smashed to atoms or piled up and set on fire. No fiends from hell could have produced more utter destruction.

* * * * *

Later in the day I came across Suleiman Pasha himself, the Commander-in-Chief of the Turkish army of the Balkans. He was bivouacked in unostentatious simplicity, and his staff no better provided as to accommodation. He gave me the impression of a man to whom human suffering was entirely indifferent, and I was long enough with him to know that he was nothing but a brute in human form. His career proved that no tie of friendship, no oath of fidelity was binding on him. Any obstacle on his path was remorselessly swept aside - in fact, he was precisely of the same clay out of which many a Roman Emperor was moulded. In form and manner he did not belie his origin, that of a low-born Turk from a back slum of Stamboul - powerfully built, with coarse red hair, small, cunning grey eyes, and a shrill, querulous voice. His closest companions and such friends as he had, never disguised the fact that he was entirely wanting in moral sense. Hanging about his tent was a very handsome young Hungarian, who - at that time seemed the only human being for whom he had any regard. I knew the man well and frequently obtained information from him, for which he was well paid. One morning - this was later on, when we were under the guns of the Shipka - I missed him, and when I went into Suleiman's tent to ask for him, an aide-de-camp came up and whispered mysteriously that I had better not inquire about the Hungarian as the Pasha had discovered that he was spying for the Russians and had sent him away suddenly. As a matter of fact, the man - by order of the Pasha - had been lugged out of

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SOME OF MY COLLEAGUES

the Pasha's tent without a moment's warning and shot, and his body buried close by. It had nothing to do with spying, but something totally unconnected with anything either official or military.

In a few days' time two or three other correspondents turned up, and with that singular absence of mistrust of each other - in spite of keen rivalry - which marks the intercourse of war correspondents of a good class, we all chummed up and became great friends. I do not know what it is like now, but I am speaking of things and men as they were nearly thirty years ago, when our numbers were few and the class entirely different from what I believe it to be nowadays. My companions were: Leader, of the Daily Telegraph, a high caste, handsome Irishman, a born adventurer, for whom war in any form had an irresistible attraction ; Scarborough, double-barrelled for the Standard and some provincial paper, an amiable, unassuming man, always ready to share his information with any of us, always with some desperate plan in his head for penetrating the Russian lines in disguise though entirely unfitted for any such enterprise, being ignorant of every language but his own, physically weak, and almost always ill. But he had the heart of a lion, and a better friend never walked. He had no servant, and trusted for what news he could pick up to a ramshackle kind of Jew, who led the poor beast Scarborough bestrode, a broken-down Shumla pony, the colour of a carriage sponge, with flat, sunken nostrils, a pendulous lower lip, above which, forming an acute angle, appeared a few long yellow teeth. There was not another such horse outside a German-sausage shop. For this curious beast Scarborough had paid four medjideh - that is, about seventeen English shillings - and on its back he had placed a huge saddle of Mexican shape, with stirrups to match. As

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THE SHIPKA

the saddle was far too large for the horse no tightening of the girths - or rather the strings which did duty for them - could keep the saddle in its place, and it was a daily sight to see Scarborough roll off, saddle and all, and lie under his animal's stomach with all his paraphernalia on the top of him. Not that this was much, for his entire equipment for the campaign consisted of a blanket, a small valise - supposed to contain a spare shirt and another pair of trousers � an ink-bottle, a pen, and a few sheets of paper.

* * * * *

I now determined to get up with the advanced guard, and accompanied by my two friends we pushed through all the long lines of marching troops, of artillery and cavalry, until we were within six or eight miles of the rear guard of the retreating Russians .

I had bought a magnificent Arab horse, stolen from the stables of some Vali, and worth several hundred pounds. He was a pure Arab of the Nedj, but with great bone and strength. I christened him Bayazid, and parted with him - when I came home - with infinite regret. Trusting to his great speed and endurance I frequently rode close up to the Russian forces, and also made many excursions up the hills on both flanks. I once came across a wolf prowling along in a deep glen and gave him chase. I cannot say how far I chased him - perhaps four or five miles - the brute keeping just ahead of me and preventing me getting a shot at him with my revolver. My horse was going at his top speed all the way over very rough ground, but he never once stumbled or made a mistake. At last the wolf dashed up some rocks where I could not follow him. I then got a shot at him, but missed him, and so gave up the pursuit. I dismounted to give my horse a rest ; to my astonishment

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A MARVELLOUS ESCAPE

he was not in the least blown, and looked as if he could have galloped another twenty miles if necessary.

During our advance I was one day crossing a shallow part of the Tundja - the opposite bank being lined with alder bushes - my dragoman and my carts bringing up the rear. Suddenly a shot was fired amongst the alders, followed by many others, the balls whizzing past us in unpleasant proximity. Then I heard a wild scream, and next moment a woman, in Bulgarian dress, dashed out of the trees and came wading across the stream towards us with all the speed she could, whilst still more shots were fired at her. I spurred my horse towards her and caught hold of her, but in her terror she must have taken me for another foe. She struggled violently - a very tall, muscular woman she was, with a low-type Slav face - but I managed to keep my hold of her, though she nearly pulled me out of my saddle. I saw that one arm was dangling uselessly, and that a stream of blood was coming out of a wound in her side. Meanwhile several Circassians and Bashi-bazouks had rapidly gathered round us, some even endeavouring to drag her out of my grasp. But fortunately Stamos, my dragoman, rushed in and what with belabouring all and sundry right and left with the huge staff he always carried, and by bawling at them in every known language to leave her and me alone, we managed to rescue her and get her back to my araba : into which we hoisted her. But even here she was not safe, for the Circassians were furious at being baulked of their prey and gathered round us in most menacing manner. But Stamos laid about him right valiantly, and more than one of the ruffians went off with a broken skull, and then, just in the nick of time, a Turkish General, Chakir Pasha, came up and put an end to the fray.

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THE SH1PKA

He very politely acceded to my request to be allowed to take charge of the woman until I could send her back to the Bulgarian Eefuge - organised by Lady Kembal - at Constantinople in fact, he knew well that he could not trust any guard he himself could place over her. Not so, however, Suleiman Pasha - who a day or two later - having heard of the affair, sent an aide-de-camp to me with a request to deliver up my charge to him, and that he would look after her. As the woman was seriously wounded, and still in a high state of fever after an operation by the English Red Cross surgeon, I declined to do so, and this led to much unpleasantness. The surgeon who if I remember right was Dr. Leslie - found that she had been fired at point-blank, indeed so close that the flesh of her arm was blown away. The ball had smashed her elbow, had glanced off the elbow-joint into her ribs and lay under the skin under her breast. By the dim light of a solitary candle we gave her chloroform, and then extracted the ball. We made a bed for her in our araba, and she remained under our protection for over three weeks, no opportunity offering itself to send her safely to Constantinople. Being of a very low type of humanity her wounds like those of an animal healed very rapidly, and as by this time I had taken up a more or less permanent abode in a small Turkish house on the outskirts of the town of Shipka itself, I made her sleep in a tent outside the verandah, the garden as is the case with many Turkish houses in Thrace - being surrounded by a very high wall. Here she was quite safe - for Stamos and the others were near at hand - and, above all, as a further protection, a gigantic dog who would have killed any one coming into the enclosure, prowled about there at night. She was a curious, cross-grained, ill-tempered kind of woman, but she showed

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A NIGHT SORTIE

most slavish gratitude for what we had done for her, and though her left arm was helpless, she did all she could in return, helping to wash up the dishes and to rub down our horses. Stamos had found her a fresh fit-out of clothes, and had taken away and burnt all her own blood-stained garments, and what with washing herself and doing up her hair she began to look quite presentable in spite of her extraordinarily animal face. Her whole family had been massacred, and, when we saved her, she had been a week hiding in different places and living on maize, or what she could pick up of fruit. And here I may as well record her end - as far as we could ever learn of it. We had shifted our camp to a place higher up in the valley, the woman still with us, when one night there was a great sortie made by the Russians from the Shipka, the first intimation we had of it, volleys of rifle balls and shrapnel whizzing past our tents, whilst we found ourselves surrounded on all sides by a flying mass of Turkish soldiery, cavalry, infantry, and artillery. In a few moments we were on our horses, Stamos putting the Bulgarian woman into our araba, and were off, leaving everything behind us. We got to a narrow part of the road, with a considerable precipice on one side and unclimbable rocks on the other. The rush and crush were terrific, a confused mass of men of all arms, with artillery and cavalry surging through it, every man straining every muscle to get away, some endeavouring to drag the horsemen to the ground in order to seize their horses, others trying to pull the gunners off the limbers every one for himself. In the middle of this an ammunition wagon blew up and practically blocked the road, but the pressure from behind was so great that guns, horses, and carts were forced over the precipice and went thundering down into the dark. In this frightful scene my araba and, of

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THE SHIPKA

course, the Bulgarian woman with it disappeared, and we could never get any tidings of her afterwards, nor of our cart. The sad part of it is that, after all, there was no necessity for this panic, for some Turkish troops had succeeded in getting in between the sortie party and the fugitives, and in a short time we, in the rear, were back again in our camp as if nothing had happened.

* * * * *

By this time the serious siege of the Shipka position had begun, and what might have been a walk-over on the day we arrived at the foot of the Pass, grew into one of the most deadly affairs in modern war. Hecatombs of magnificent Turkish soldiery - amongst the finest troops in the world if properly led - were sacrificed, either through Suleiman's treachery, who, it was almost certain, had received a large sum from Russia to delay his advance a few days - or through the extraordinary lack of military skill this man betrayed as a tactician. As far as I was concerned things were comfortable enough, for I had found a permanent abode, after the debâcle described on the last page, in a deserted village, nestled most picturesquely amongst chestnut groves by the side of an icy cold stream, whose spring, only a few yards above us, guaranteed its purity - no slight recommendation in a state of warfare when it was the almost invariable custom to poison every source of water or well by throwing into them dead men, pigs or horses.

The village, which had escaped burning, was just as its inhabitants had left it, but now only occupied by snarling dogs and a large flock of geese, who, with that instinct of coming danger which all of their breed seem to have inherited from their progenitors of the Capitol, flew screaming and cackling before we had even got within gunshot. However, they never left us entirely, and

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WE FIX ON A NEW ABODE

were a source of most welcome food. I sent several as presents to different friends in the Army and to Suleiman Pasha, who thanked me very graciously for the best dinner he had had since he had left his headquarters in Albania. Brute as he was in almost every other respect, he was not a glutton - a very rare thing in a Turk. But then he was no more a real Turk than his Armenian master the Sultan.

The scene of confusion in this peaceful little hamlet was heartrending : the courtyards and lanes strewn with clothes and household utensils, beds, bedding, blankets, pots, pans, babies' cradles, plates, dishes, glasses, fur cloaks, silk, thousands of unwound cocoons, women's finery, in fact all the material of life - lying practically uninjured. How the place had escaped the attentions of both Russians and Turks was a mystery, but I may safely say there were hundreds of pounds worth of valuables lying about ready to the hand of the first plunderer that came along.

The house we took possession of commanded a splendid view, standing as it did on a projecting spur of the Balkans. On the slopes opposite broad patches of rye shone as yellow as gold, interspersed with streaks of maize, intensely green, and here and there dark clusters of trees. Above, the ragged crests of the Balkans : below, the valley and the serpentine curves of the Tundja. We were in clover here, for some considerable time, both ourselves and horses finding plenty to eat. As to Bayazid he flourished like a bay-tree, his coat shining like polished brass. He was the most perfect horse I ever saw - gentle, affectionate, high-mettled, speedy, and as handsome as ever left the hand of his Maker.

It was many days before the Ottoman Army got near enough to the Pass to make an assault, but meanwhile, with Leader and Scarborough and a strongish

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THE SHIPKA

guard of irregulars, who, without any reference to the General or his staff, we had organised for ourselves, we visited the town of Shipka, which lies at the bottom of the Pass, and was then burning, having been given to the flames as the Russians retired. There was nothing to distinguish its condition from any other town in similar circumstances, beyond that thousands of tons of hay and stacks of unthrashed oats and rye were on fire, whilst within a mile or two an army of unfortunate horses and cattle were practically famishing.

The principal church was also blazing, the flames playing fantastically about the dome and cupolas, the great doors, at the top of an easy flight of broad stairs, standing wide open. Some curiosity impelled me to ride up these steps - for Bayazid could climb like a cat - and looking in through the smoke I saw that the three great doorways leading into the adytum were also open. I rode right into the church, and looked about to see if I could find anything as a memorial of the place, and my eye fell on an icon, which seemed to me of extraordinary beauty. I jumped off my horse and unhooked it, put it under my arm, and rode out again as quickly as possible. I had hardly cleared the building, in fact was still on the steps, when, with a deafening crash, the whole of the roof fell in, sending up a blinding cloud of dust and smoke.

I have that icon still: for, with immense trouble and having sewn it carefully up in flannel, first packing it with cotton-wool, which I found in a draper's shop, and then in stout canvas - I carried it always attached to my saddle, and so eventually got it home. Several connoisseurs and artists of repute have declared it to be absolutely unique and probably of early Byzantine workmanship. The colour is magnificent, and the drawing somewhat archaic. It represents the "Passing of the Virgin," according to a scroll in some early form of Slav or Russian character.

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CIRCASSIAN HORSE STEALERS

The Virgin lies dead, but her soul - in the form of a swathed child, like the Bambino - has been caught in the arms of Christ, who stands by the couch surrounded by the twelve Apostles with two acolytes holding candles. Below the couch are two small figures, one an angel with wings, and a drawn sword with which he has chopped off both hands of some evil spirit, which are left lying on the bed, whilst the demon falls backwards to whence he came, with a very unpleasant expression on his face.

* * * * *

I was always warned by Stamos that some fine day I should be robbed of my beloved Bayazid, and his prophecy nearly came true. I had ridden up into a narrow valley which debouched off the Tundja with the idea that I could obtain a view of the Russian rear, in which I was not disappointed, for with my glasses I could see the road stretching away into Bulgaria proper, and could even distinguish the carts bringing up provisions and what must have been masses of soldiery. Guns of the calibre of even those days could have enfiladed that part of the road, but neither Suleiman nor his staff had ever thought of carefully examining the hills, or, what is quite likely, did not wish to. I had left my horse tied to a tree, to climb some rocks to obtain a better view, and was coming back, when I saw some ten or fifteen Circassians riding rapidly up the valley, and had no doubt they had seen me go up and were intending to rob me of what might be on me, and steal my horse. I had no time to lose. I jumped on Bayazid's back, and, at the risk of breaking my neck and his too, rode off along the rough rocks and amongst the scattered trees along the mountain. In a short time I came across some cleared forest, and here I let my horse go. Had he been bred in the Australian bush he could not have acquitted himself better, for he rattled along at a fair gallop, placing his feet with the accuracy of a goat,

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THE SHIPKA

and, though frequently stumbling, never actually coming down. We reached the bottom in safety, and here, of course, I felt in perfect security ; in fact I never saw anything more of my friends the Circassians. But it was not all of us had such luck, for on one occasion some of these thieving irregulars stopped Scarborough, and though they left him his horse - too sorry a beast for even them to steal - still they cleared out his pockets, and, what was more important, relieved him also of his note-book and of an immense German sausage - the size of a small bolster - which he carried, wrapped up in linen, lashed across his saddle-bow.

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