Under the yoke, p.21
Under the Yoke, page 21
reach those semi-brigand haunts that very day. Even if
they did not seize him on suspicion they were quite Hkely
to cut him down as a ghiaour : not a day passed without
some such occurrence in the neighbourhood ; and his town
clothing made such an eventuality still more probable. It
was folly to be over-confident ; it would be going to certain
desti-uction. He determined to wait for nightfall, and with
this view he retreated towards the spurs of the Stara
Planina, where he would be sheltered by the clustering
thickets of dwarf oak.
After two hours' arduous cHmbing over precipices and
through wild mountain passes, he reached the nearest
thickets. There he found a hiding-place among the dry
bushes, and stretched himself out at full length to repose, or
rather to think over his position. The sky had quite cleared
up. The autumn sun shone bright and warm, and the melting
hoar-frost and snow glistened on the grass and the
boughs. Here and there sparrows fiuttered silently overhead,
ahghting every now and then to find some food on the
ground. An eagle of the Balkans floated high above
Ognianoff's head : it had scented a carcase close by, or else
took Ognianoff to be such. This thought made the fugitive
still more gloomy. The eagle seemed to him to be a portent
of evil. He took it to be a living emblem of his
116 UNDER THE YOKE
unenviable fate : the bird of prey seemed awaiting its feast
of blood, for which it had left its eyrie on high. For everything
was possible. That wild spot was far from being
safe ; it was frequently resorted to by Turkish sportsmen,
little better than brigands. Ognianoff waited with impatience
for sunset, and several times changed his place
for a more secret refuge. The day seemed inconceivably
long ; the sun still shone unwearied. And the eagle still
floated overhead. Twice or three times it flapped its wings,
and then stretched them out black and motionless in midair.
Ognianofl's eyes seemed fascinated by the bird, but
his thoughts were far away. Before his troubled mind
passed one after another visions of the past — days of
youth, days of struggles, of suffering, and of faith in a lofty
ideal. And Bulgaria, which had inspired all these — Bulgaria
was so fair, so bright, so worthy of all sacrifices ! She was
a goddess that lived on the blood of her worshippers. Her
bloody aureole bore on it a scroll of glorious names ; and
Ognianoff sought for his own name among them, and
fancied he saw it there. How proud he was — ^how ready
to die — ^nay, to fight for her ! Death was an exalted
sacrifice, but the struggle was a great mystery.
Suddenly a gunshot was heard. Ognianoff started. The
Balkan echoes reverberated the sound till it died " away.
Probably some one out after game," he said to himself.
Ognianoff's rehef was but short-Hved. A quarter of an
hour later he heard the bark of a dog at no great distance.
The bark was immediately followed by a human voice.
Ognianoff was involuntarily reminded of the greyhound of
Yemeksiz, who had belonged to the neighbouring village.
The bark seemed to him to be familiar. It was repeated,
this time nearer ; the thickets rustled as if with the wind,
and two greyhounds rushed towards him with their muzzles
to the ground.
Ognianoff sighed with relief.
Yemeksiz Pehlivan's dog was not there : the animal had
been trained to pursue human beings as well as game.
That accursed creature, contrary to the ordinary nature of
greyhounds, which are generally dull and gentle beasts
enough, was very vindictive, as was seen at the monastery.
It had appeared as Stefchofl's ally and had prepared
Ognianoff's destruction. When the dogs saw him retreating
into the thicket they approached him, sniffed, and passed
THE FUGITIVE lir
on. Suddenly Ognianoff heard men's footsteps approaching.
He fled through the bushes without looking behind
him. Three shots were fired, he felt a sharp sting in the
heel and trebled the speed of his flight. Whether they
were pursuing him, or what was going on behind, he knew
not. The valley of a stream appeared before him. He
plunged into the low bushes on the bank and lay hidden
there. Probably the hunters had lost him. Ognianofl lay
listening for a long time, but not a sound was to be heard.
Then he felt something hot and moist on his foot.
'* I'm
wounded," he thought with terror, seeing his boot drenched
with blood. He took off his left boot and saw that blood
was gushing from two places, the buUet had passed right
through his heel. He tore off a piece of his shirt and
staunched the blood. The pain grew more intense, and a
long and difficult path still lay before him. The loss of
blood had greatly weakened him, and he had moreover
eaten nothing that day. Soon it became quite dark, and
he left his hiding-place, which was sure to be ransacked the
next day by a band of Turks. With nightfall the cold
became more piercing. The first Turkish village he came
to was quite dark. Turkish villages become silent and
deserted as graveyards as soon as night approaches. The
only light to be seen was in a grocer's window. But
Ognianoff did not dare to go in, though he was half starved.
He pushed on for two hours more, passed through the
other villages, and at length saw something white and
glittering before him. It was the stream. He waded
across with some difficulty and sat down on the opposite
bank, because the water had chilled his wound and the
pain was very great. He saw that his heel was swollen,
and began to be afraid lest inflammation should set in and
impede his further progress. He rose, pulled up one of
the reeds growing on the bank, and proceeded to wash the
wound in the manner he had learnt when he was a member
of Hajji Dimitr's band. He filled his mouth with water
which he blew through the reed into the wound. Having
repeated this several times, he bound the place up tightly,
and pushed towards the Sredna Gora, on the spurs of which
he was already. The darkness increased every minute.
Ognianoff was making for Ovcheri, but seemed to be
getting no nearer. At last he saw he must have missed the
path : he found himself in a labyrinth of bushes. He
118 UNDER THE YOKE
stopped in despair and listened. He was now high up in
the Sredna Gora. A dull murmur of human voices reached
his ears. As he conjectured, there could be no one there
at that hour but charcoal-burners ; indeed, he could distinguish
a shght red flame. But were they Bulgarians or
Turks ? He was half stunned, frozen, and exhausted ; if
they were Christians there was some hope of assistance
from them. He mounted a Httle higher and then saw
clearly their fire close by : he made his way towards it.
Through the bushes he could now distinguish human forms
by the fire, and his ear caught a few Bulgarian words.
How should he disclose himself ? He was covered with
blood. His appearance might scare these Bulgarians into
flight, or have even worse consequences for him. There
were three of them — one was lying covered over, the other
two were talking by the fire. On one side a pack-horse,
half-laden, was grazing. Ognianoff strained his ears to
listen to the conversation.
*' Put on some more wood, there's no time for talking.
I'll get out a little hay for the mare," said the elder of the
two, " rising.
Why, I know that voice, that's Nencho, the son of old
Ivan, of Verigovo," said Ognianoff to himself, joyfully.
Verigovo was a village on the other side of the Sredna
Gora, which Ognianoff also knew.
Nencho approached the mare and stooped down to take
some hay from a goatskin bag. Ognianoff moved towards
him through the bushes, and said to him :
" Good evening, Nencho." Nencho started to his feet.
" Who's there ?
"
*' Don't you know me, Nencho ?
"
The dim glare of the fire lighted up Ognianoff's face.
"
What, is that you, teacher ? Come along, these are all
our people ; this is our Tsvetian and that's Doichin. Why,
you're frozen to death — you've lost your way," said the
peasant, leading Ognianoff to the fire.
"
Tsvetian, put on some more wood. Let's have a good
fire. Here's a Christian perished with cold : we must warm
him up. Don't you recognise him ?
"
"
What, the teacher !
"
cried the boy, gladly.
" Wherever
are you from ?
" he asked, putting down some dry
branches for Ognianoff to sit on.
" God bless you, Tsvetian. Glad to see you."
THE FUGITIVE 119
" The devils have wounded him ; but it's not serious,
thank God," cried " Nencho, angrily. Bah ! it's nothing." " Father Doichin, get up, here's a friend !
"
cried Nencho,
waking up the sleeper.
Soon there was a big fire blazing before them. The
charcoal-burners looked pityingly and sympathetically at
OgnianofiE's pale face, as he briefly recounted his adventures.
He soon felt the beneficent effect of the fire. His frozen
limbs began to thaw and the pain from his wound
decreased. Father Doichin drew from his ragged bag a
hunch of bread and an onion, and gave them to Boicho.
"
That's all I can give you, it's the only food we've got.
But as for warmth, thank God, we're better off than the
Sultan. Fall to, teacher."
Ognianoff felt better every moment. His being was filled
with a new and inexpressible comfort. That bright golden
fire cheered him up, the hospitable wood round him, the
rough but kindly faces that looked so friendly, the hard,
toil-stained hands stretched out to him in true Bulgarian
hospitality, however humble — all this awoke a strong
emotion within him. But for his wound Ognianoff would
have sung aloud for joy.
At dawn Nencho, leading the horse, on which rode
Ognianoff, was already knocking at a door at Verigovo.
The dogs barked and Father Marin at once appeared.
The unusually early hour told him some visitor out of the
common had arrived.
After a word of greeting, Nencho gave the necessary
exp"lanations.
May God cut off the heathens, root and branch ; may
dogs devour them ; may the devil take their souls," cried
Father Marin, as he gently helped down Ognianoff, who
had suffered much from the jolting.
They took him into a remote room in the house, where
Ognianoff had once before spent the night. Old Marin
looked carefully at the wound and bound it up. "
I'll cure you as I would a sick dog," said he.
Soon the patient fell into a sound slumber.
120 UNDER THE YOKE
CHAPTER XXI : AT VERIGOVO
Ognianoff's convalescence went on satisfactorily, though
not quite so fast as Father Marin had promised. The
hospitable family was quite devoted to the sufferer, to
alleviate whose pain everything was done. His only
doctor was Father Marin, who knew something about
surgery, while Marin's old wife surpassed herself daily by
some new triumph of the culinary art. Casks of the
white wine of the Sredna Gora seemed always forthcoming
; every morning a chicken hopped headless about
the courtyard, and eventually appeared at Ognianoff's table,
he alone being able to enjoy this good cheer, as the Advent
fasts were now being observed with the strictness usual
among members of the Orthodox Greek Church.
Three weeks passed by during which Ognianoff improved
daily, thanks to the unflagging attention and care bestowed
upon him by the Bulgarian household. But he was tortured
by an impatient desire to know what had happened at Bela
Cherkva — ^how Rada was, what his friends were doing, and
how the cause he had worked for so arduously was progressing.
He entreated old Marin to send some one to make
inquiries, but the old man would not hear of it.
"
No, I'll send no one ; I'm going myself next week to
buy one or two things against the feast. You must wait till
then, my son. You keep quiet and you'll be well all the
sooner. God's merciful."
" But I'll be able to go myself next week."
" Do you think I'U let you ? That's my business ; I'm
your doctor, and you've got to ask my leave," replied the
old man with " paternal severity. But let them send word to Rada that I am safe."
*' She knows you're safe, since the Turks haven't got
you."
And Ognianoff had to content himseH with this.
A few faithful villagers were allowed to come and see
him : they had obtained the old man's leave after many
prayers. Their simple souls thirsted for the
"
teacher's
"
inflammatory speeches ; whenever they left him their faces
were flushed and their eyes bright. Ognianoff's most
frequent visitor was Pope Yosif, the President of the local
Revolutionary Committee. He had already been elected
voivode leader) of the future insurrection, and kept his wand
AT VERIGOVO 121
of office concealed among the church vestments. Another
was Father Mina, the old schoolmaster. Ognianoff was
convinced that, except these few and old Marin's family,
no one else in the whole village knew his secret. Meanwhile
he noticed with surprise that his table was more
bountifully provided every day : fried chickens, eggs
cooked in butter, rice with milk, pastry, even wild duck and
hares were supplied him ; wines of different kinds appeared
daily. This lavishness annoyed him ; he began to be
ashamed of the expense he was causing. One day in the
courtyard he observed that the fowl-house was empty. He
said to Father Marin :
" Father Marin, you're ruining yourself. Unless you come
to your senses I shall refuse all your dainties and send to the
grocer's for bread and cheese — that's quite enough for me."
" Don't you bother whether I'm ruining myself or not.
I'm your doctor and know how you're to be treated, so
does my wife. Don't you interfere."
And Ognianoff, much moved, said no more.
He did not know that the whole village was contributing
to feast their beloved
" Daskal." * The secret was kept in
common, yet treachery was out of the question, so great
was his popularity now. The report that he had accounted
for two bullies had raised him high in favour even with the
most indifferent. Heroism is of all virtues the one that
strikes the public fancy the most.
However Ognianoff's wound healed but slowly, and his
hot and impetuous nature was perforce condemned to inactivity
: he was tortured by anxiety. Of all his visitors he
