Michael rose and joined her. Presently flames leaped up into the darkness, and armed men were visible in silhouette against the bonfire they had kindled, so large a bonfire, indeed, that, in the shadows beyond, the stony outcrop of a rough, steep country seemed in contrast to be the threshold of titanic chasms. A noise of shouting reached the train, and presently Bulgarian regulars, the escort of the prisoners, joined the merrymakers round the fire. Slow music rumbled upon the air, and a circle of men shoulder to shoulder with interwoven arms performed a stately, swaying dance.
"Or are they just holding one another up because they're drunk?" Sylvia asked.
"No, it's really a dance, though they may be drunk, too. I wish we could get this window open. It looks as if all the soldiers had joined the party."
The dance came to an end with shouts of applause, and one or two rifles were fired at the stars. Then the company squatted round the fire, and the wine circulated again.
"But where are the officers in charge?" Michael asked.
"Playing cards, probably. Or perhaps they're drinking with the rest. Anyway, if we're going to stay here all night, it's just as well to have the entertainment of this al fresco supper-party. Anything is better than that intolerable silence."
Sylvia blew out the stump of candle, and they sat in darkness, watching the fire-flecked revel. The shouting grew louder with the frequent passing of the wine-skins; after an hour groups of comitadjis and regulars left the bonfire and wandered along the permanent way, singing drunken choruses. What happened presently at the far end of the train they could not see, but there was a sound of smashed glass followed by a man's scream. Those who were still sitting round the fire snatched up their weapons and stumbled in loud excitement toward the center of the disturbance. There were about a dozen shots, the rasp of torn woodwork, and a continuous crash of broken glass, with curses, cries, and all the sounds of quarrelsome confusion.
"The drunken brutes are breaking up the train," Michael exclaimed. "We'd better sit back from the window for a while."
Sylvia cried out to him that it was worse and that they were dragging along by the heels the bodies of men and kicking them as they went.
"Good God!" he declared, standing up now in horror. "They're murdering the wretched Serbian prisoners. Here, we must get out and protest."