s crossed by an
ancient Servian bridge, with pointed arches of admirable proportions.
The village where we passed the night was newly settled, the main
street being covered with turf, a sign that few houses or traffic
exist here. The khan was a hovel; but while it was swept out, and
prepared for us, I sat down with the captain on a shopboard, in the
little bazaar, where coffee was served. A priest, with an emaciated
visage, sore eyes, and a distracted look, came up, and wished me good
evening, and began a lengthened tale of grievances. I asked the
khan-keeper who he was, and received for answer that he was a Greek
priest from Bosnia, who had hoarded some money, and had been squeezed
by the Moslem tyrant of his village, which drove him mad. Confused
ejaculations, mingled with sighs, fell from him, as if he supposed his
story to be universally known.

"Sit down, good man," said I, "and tell me your tale, for I am a
stranger, and never heard it before. Tell it me, beginning with the
beginning, and ending with the end."

"Bogami Gospody," said the priest, wiping the copious tears, "I was
once the happiest man in Bosnia; the sun never rose without my
thanking God for having given me so much peace and happiness: but Ali
Kiahya, where I lived, received information that I had money hid. One
day his Momkes took me before him. My appeals for mercy and justice
were useless. I was thrown down on my face, and received 617 strokes
on my soles, praying for courage to hold out. At the 618th stroke my
strength of mind and body failed, and I yielded up all my money, seven
hundred dollars, to preserve my life. For a whole year I drank not a
drop of wine, nothing but brandy, brandy, brandy."

Here the priest sobbed aloud. My heart was wrung, but I was in no
condition to assist him; so I bade him be of good cheer, and look on
his misfortune as a gloomy avenue to happier and brighter days.

We slept on hay, put under our carpets and pillows, this being the
first time since leaving Belgrade that we did not sleep in sheets. We
next day ascended the Rogatschitza river to its source, and then, by
a long ascent through pines and rocks, attained the parting of the
waters.[8]

Leaving the basin of the Drina, we descended to that of the Morava by
a steep road, until we came to beautifully rich meadows, which are
called the Ushitkza Luka, or meadows, which are to this day a
debatable ground for the Moslem inhabitants of Ushitza, and the
Servia