PTER TWENTY FOUR.

FAREWELL TO SANDA PASHA--A SCUFFLE, AND AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.

Some time after the events narrated in the last chapter I was seated in
an apartment of Sanda Pasha's residence in Adrianople, the Turkish city
next in importance to Constantinople.

My health had returned, and, although still somewhat weak, I felt
sufficiently strong to travel, and had once or twice urged my kind host,
who was fast recovering from his wound, to permit me, if possible, to
return to the Russian lines. I had had from him, of course, a full
account of the fall of Plevna, and I had also learned from another
source that Nicholas had been desperately wounded; but the latter
information was a mere rumour, which only rendered me the more anxious
to get away.

The Pasha's chief secretary, who spoke Russian well, informed me at this
time of some of the doings of his countrymen in the city and
neighbourhood. I could hardly credit him, but English "correspondents"
afterwards confirmed what he said. The daily executions of Bulgarians
on the slightest pretexts, without trial, were at that time so numerous
that it seemed as if the Turks had determined to solve the question of
Bulgarian autonomy by killing or banishing every male in the province.
In one instance fifteen Bulgarian children, the youngest of whom was ten
years of age, and the eldest fifteen, were condemned to hard labour for
life. It was said, but not proved I believe, that these young people
had committed murder and contributed to the insurrection. At this time
there were over 20,000 refugees in Adrianople, all of whom were women
and children whose protectors had either been massacred or forced to
join the army.

The secretary evidently rejoiced in the slaying and otherwise getting
rid of Bulgarian men, but he seemed to have a slight feeling of
commiseration for the helpless refugees, among whom I had myself
witnessed the most heart-rending scenes of mental and physical
suffering.

Wherever I wandered about the town there were groups of these trembling
ones, on whose pallid faces were imprinted looks of maniacal horror or
of blank despair. Little wonder! Some of them had beheld the fathers,
brothers, lovers, around whom their heart-strings twined, tortured to
death before their eyes. Others had seen their babes tossed on
spear-points and bayonets, while to all the future must have appeared a
fearful prospect of want and of dreary sighing for a touch of those