Under the yoke, p.45
Under the Yoke, page 45
victim, or else had he simply sought death — simply revealed
himself and been killed ? What was the meaning of the flag
on the Balkan and the flring in the town, and this silence
now ? Ognianoff could not think of any answer to these
questions. Clearly some great misfortune had happened.
He pondered over what he should do nexfc. To enter the
town now at night and knock at any door, in his complete
ignorance of what had taken place, would be reckless. This
death-like silence which prevailed at Bela Cherkva froze his
very soul. It was more terrible than the most unwelcome
sound. He resolved to wait for dawn in the Monastery
valley, and to see what was to be done in the morning.
And he climbed back over the fence again.
266 UNDER THE YOKE
CHAPTER VI : THE MESSENGER
Ognianoff spent that night in a deserted mill on the
Monastery stream.
Very early in the morning he climbed up the slope
behind the sacred spring,* where the great rocks lay
scattered about as if they had been thrown down there. He
lay hid among these unperceived ; from that height he could
see everything that went on below.
The valley was still deserted. The stream murmured as
it flowed between its banks of granite : the mills and a few
water-wheels groaned and rumbled. The heavens were
clear and blue ; the first rays of the morning sun had just
reached the top of the Balkan ridge. The early swallows
flashed through the air, pursued each other in twittering
zigzags and bathed in invisible water. The morning breeze
rustled among the weeds with which the rocks were overgrown
: over the green plain the golden rays of the sun
gradually spread — they reached the black clump of pines,
penetrated the weeds, and gilded the height on which
Ognianoff stood. But as yet no one appeared on the path.
OgnianofE was weary of waiting in that place : the uncertainty
began to be insupportable. He fixed his eyes on the
valley in the hope of seeing some one from whom he might
learn what was going on, and, if possible, beg a change of
clothes, so as to make his entry into Bela Cherkva less
perilous. But no one appeared, and the fugitive was growing
more impatient every minute. Only the noise of the
stream replied to his disquieted soul.
At last his eyes flashed with satisfaction. The door of a
mill opened ; a little girl came out and began to bathe her
face in the stream.
"
It's Marika !
"
cried Ognianoff joyfully, for his piercing
glance had recognised the girl as poor old Stoyan's orphan
daughter. He now remembered that since her father's
death she had lived with her uncle at the mill. Providence
was coming to his aid.
In a moment he had made his way down to the river, and
crouching behind a rock, he called her by her name.
Marika was already drying her face with her apron. She
* Sacred springs {aylacrfjca) are common in the East, and much
resorted to on the special saint's day to whom they are consecrated, by
votaries of all creeds.
THE MESSENGER 267
turned round and recognised Boicho at once. She ran
towards him.
"
Is that you, Boicho ?
"
she asked.
" Come here, Marika," cried Ognianoff from his hidingplace.
The girl looked at Ognianoff with eyes wide with pleased
surprise. His face was terribly emaciated, his clothes
ragged and blood-stained, he was bare-headed, exhausted, as
is natural in a man who for ten days and nights has battled
with hardships, sleeplessness, pursuers, the elements,
hunger, want, and danger at every step. Any other person
appearing at that hour and in that solitude would have
frightened the girl, but Ognianoff exercised a strange
fascination over her.
" What's going on in town, Marika ?
" was his first
que"stion. The Turks are there, Boicho."
Ognianoff clasped his forehead with both hands and
began to think.
" What was the firing about yesterday, do you know ?
'*
"
Yesterday, Boicho ? I don't know, Boicho."
"
Didn't you hear the guns ?
"
*'
No, Boicho, I wasn't in town yesterday." Marika did
not know what to answer, but Boicho now saw what had
happened. There had been an attempt at insurrection,
which had been immediately stamped out by the Turks,
who were now masters of Bela Cherkva. He had come
too late. An hour or two earlier, perhaps, his presence
might have given affairs a different turn. This delay was
one of those fatalities which sometimes exercise an influence
on the destinies of nations.
After two minutes' thought, Ognianoff asked :
"
Is there any one else at the mill, Marika ?
"
"
Only Uncle Mancho — he's still asleep." "
Marika, do you know where Dr. Sokoloff lives ?
"
'' Yes ; at old Mother Yakimitch's."
"
That's right. And do you know where Brzobegounek's
house is — -the Austrian, I mean — with the whiskers ?
"
"The man who makes the little black people ?
"
"
Yes, yes, that's right, dear," said Ognianoff with a
smile at this innocent satire on the poor photographer. " Do you think you could go and take a letter to them,
darling ?
"
268 UNDER THE YOKE
"
Oh, yes, Boicho," answered the girl, joyfully.
Ognianoff drew from the pocket of his tunic a pencil and
a piece of paper, much crumpled. It was Rada's letter.
The sight of it filled him with dismay. With a trembling
hand he tore off the blank part, and, spreading it on a flat
stone, wrote a few words on it, after which he folded it " up.
Now, Marika, you're to take this letter to Dr. Sokoloff :
if he's not at home, take it to the Austrian. Put it away
car"efully in your pocket. Yes."
"
If they ask you where I am, you can tell them — but only
those two, do you hear ? Say I'm in the empty mill, behind
the HambarofI Mill."
Marika glanced towards the northern side of the valley,
where the solitary mill lay, half in ruins.
Ognianoff had not put his name nor his hiding-place in
the letter, fearing lest by some mischance the paper, instead
of reaching its destination, should fall into dangerous
hands. He was quite convinced of Marika's devotion, but
dared not entrust her with a verbal message, lest in her simplicity
she might make some slip, of which the consequences
might be fatal.
To impress still more deeply on her mind the importance
of her errand, he added quietly :
" Because if you lose the letter, dear, or tell any one else
by mistake that you've seen me, or where I am, the Turks
will come and kill me. Be careful, darling."
At these words Marika's face assumed a grave and
frightened look, and her hand involuntarily sought the
place under her arm where she had inserted Boicho's letter
under her dress.
*'
I'll go and tell uncle I'm going to fetch the bread."
"
That's right, Marika — mind you remember what I told
you."
Marika went into the mill.
Boicho returned to his hiding-place behind a rock, and
waited to see Marika start.
He waited for a whole hour, with terrible impatience.
At last he saw the girl picking her way barefoot across the
stones in the path : he watched her disappear in the direction
of Bela Cherkva.
MARIKA'S FAILURE 269
CHAPTER VII : MARIKA'S FAILURE
When she reached the meadow before the Monastery,
Marika stopped, out of breath, and looked anxiously round ;
but she saw that she was unobserved, and continued her
journey hurriedly. AU the way to the town she did not
meet with a single person ; the fields were deserted, as also
the street which the orphan was about to enter appeared to
be. Suddenly Marika stopped. She saw three Turks coming
towards her from the other end of the street. Filled
with terror at the sight of these men, she turned round without
hesitating, and fled down into the rose-gardens, intending
to enter the town by the other street on its western side.
This was going considerably out of her way, and increased
the distance between her and Sokolofl's house. At last
Marika reached the western side of the town. To the right
stretched the great bare plain ; to the left was the town,
with its narrow street, and the row of low shops on either
side. The shops were completely deserted ; neither Turk
nor Bulgarian was to be seen there. AU the shops, doors,
and windows that had shutters were closed : this soHtude
encouraged the poor girl, and she ran down the street. But
she had hardly advanced ten paces when something made
her turn back : she remained transfixed with surprise. Not
far away on the plain a huge cloud of dust was rising, from
which proceeded a confused clamour of heavy footsteps,
trampling of horses, and loud human voices. Soon,
through the dust, could be seen the origin of all this disturbance.
It was the horde of Tossoun Bey, returning victorious
and triumphant after three days' plunder from the
ruins of Klissoura. Men on foot and horsemen advanced in
inextricable confusion, loaded with arms and booty. Soon
the throng surged like a wave into the street, which it completely
filled, and passed through it with wild clamour. It
was only a part of the horde, consisting of a few hundred
Bashi-bozouks, all natives of the neighbouring villages to
the east of Bela Cherkva. They were now marching in
triumph, with their banners displayed, to the sound of music
and with such trophies as they could bring with them. The
rest was stored in the endless line of waggons which came
behind. For the sake of ease, the Bashi-bozouks had put
on the most precious clothes plundered from unhappy
Klissoura, so that the bloodthirsty array had in some
270 UNDER THE YOKE
respects a comic appearance — ^it resembled a carnival procession,
in Asiatic taste. Many had put on women's
valuable fur jackets, fine shirts, and quilted satin vests, in
spite of the heat. Some Bashi-bozouks had even decked
themselves, doubtless in contempt, in rich ecclesiastical
vestments stolen from the churches at Khssoura. Their
leader, Tossoun Bey, wore a magnificent European dressinggown
of grey cashmere, lined with red cloth, with long
hanging red tassels. Evidently Tossoun Bey was unacquainted
with the use of this garment, which he took to
be some luxurious overcoat, most appropriate for his return
to Bela Cherkva.
It was a repulsive sight.
But Marika hardly saw it. At the very moment that the
horde came into sight she disappeared from the street and
passed through others still more silent and deserted. At
last she reached Sokolofi's door. She knocked : there was
no reply. She knocked again and " again. Who's that knocking ?
" asked the old housekeeper
from inside.
"
It's me. Open the door, mother Yakimitch," was all
the girl could say. " What do you want here ?
"
*' Dr. Sokoloff. Open the door — do !
"
cried the girl
tearfully.
The old woman muttered something angrily, but opened
the door.
" What do you want ? He's not at home," she said
cur"tly. Where is he, mother? "
"
Tell me, and I'll tell you. They've been looking for
him since yesterday, and there's not a sign of him. Be off
with you."
And the old woman slammed the door.
Marika stood in dismay outside.
She ran back. The photographer's door was close by :
she knocked at it.
" What do you want, little girl ?
"
asked a woman in rags,
haggard, and sorrowful.
*' The Austrian."
" What do you want him for ?
"
*' Let me in to see the Austrian !
"
cried Marika, as she
tried to force her way past the woman.
MARIKA'S FAILURE 271
" Are you mad, child ? Haven't they killed the Austrian
?
" answered the woman wildly, pushing Marika into
the street.
These words terrified the poor child. She now began to
think that Boicho would be killed too, that the Turks were
after him, and that they would take the letter away from
her, because some one had told them she had got a letter
from Boicho. What could she do ? She looked round
her, and noticed that the street was quite empty, and that
there was no one there. She became frightened and began
to cry. Just then some one stumbled against her from
behind. She looked round : it was Kolcho.
" What are you crying for, my dear ?
"
asked the blind
lad, fixing his sightless eyes upon Marika, as if he sought
to recognise her.
If Marika had known Kolcho better, she would have
transgressed Ognianofi's orders and told him the whole
story : Kolcho would have replaced Sokoloff . But she
was afraid of this strange man and fled down another
street.
"
Stop, stop, Marika !
"
cried Kolcho, who at that minute,
through his wonderful faculty, recognised by her weeping
that it was old Stoyan's daughter. He had knocked
immediately after her at Sokoloff's door, to ask the old
woman about the doctor : from her he had learnt that
a little girl had just been to look for him. Some presentiment
told him that the girl was Marika, and that if she was
looking for the doctor it must be for some very serious
reason, as indeed was shown by the fact of her crying
because she had been unable to find him. Who could
hav& sent her to Sokoloff at such a time as this ? Only
some one who did not know what was going on — some
stranger. Could it have been he ? Since the previous
evening a rumour had been current that Boicho had not
perished, but had escaped to the mountains, and was
probably in hiding there now. Perhaps it was Boicho who
had come down to the Monastery stream, where Marika
lived at her uncle's mill, and had sent her to inform
Sokoloff of his arrival. Yes, yes, this Marika was an instrument
of Providence. The supposition strangely excited
Kolcho. He cried, advancing in the direction the girl had
taken : "
Marika, Marika, come here, child."
272 UNDER THE YOKE
But there was no answer.
I Kolcho groaned in despair. I
By that time he had reached the market-place.
