The dissemination of such information during the ‘general rising’ defeated the designs of the lawful administration, and, of course, the Turkish police were hard on the trail of the enemy in their midst. Hitherto it had been the practice of the Governor-General (who, like us, had left Uskub for more active fields) to inform foreign consuls only of such serious disorders as he could not hope to keep from them. Until now the number of casualties on the Turkish side in any single combat had been limited to ‘three killed and two wounded,’ and the Imperial Ottoman reports invariably defeated the ‘brigands.’ Now the limit of losses had to be raised, because of consular scepticism as to their accuracy, but still no record of defeat at the hands of the insurgents was ever permitted. Insurgent bands seldom numbered more than a hundred; nevertheless, his Excellency Hilmi Pasha would occasionally announce a loss to them of several hundreds. Invariably such a ‘destruction of brigands’ proved on unofficial information to be a massacre of non-combatants. It annoyed the chief officer of reforms exceedingly that foreign consuls and correspondents should give credence to the reports of the insurgents in preference to those of his office. His worry, however, was only on the score of effect in Europe; the tacit implication as to his veracity disturbed his excellency indeed very little.
A square-jawed Servian of some six-and-twenty years, dressed as a European with the exception of the fez, entered the Hôtel Belgrade for a cup of coffee—one act which never attracts suspicion. The café of the distinguished hostelry was otherwise deserted except for the Englishman and me. The stranger seated himself near us, looked us over while he sipped his coffee, then addressed us cautiously.
‘You are English correspondents?’ he inquired in a low voice in German.
‘We are,’ said my comprehending companion.
‘I have a confidential communication to make. Will you take me to your room?’
We went to the Englishman’s room, and the Servian explained his mission; whereupon he opened the door and called in a boy, not over fifteen, clad in a Greek gabardine, and carrying a basket of eggs.
This was our first meeting with the agent of the revolutionary committee. Of course, the papers meant for us were among the eggs.
For many weeks thereafter the envoy extraordinary and his youthful first secretary delivered the incriminating documents, but seldom twice in the same manner.
One day we received a message asking us to meet the insurgent at a certain house within the hour; the case was imperative. We made our way to the place indicated, and there received the revolutionist’s report with the map already mentioned. The man apologised for being unable to bring his final paper to us, and continued, ‘I must not be seen in the street to-day. They have my brother. They came to the house this morning while I was out and took him. The boy found me, and warned me not to return. For me it is fortunate that my work here is done.’
We never saw the Servian committaji again, and do not know that he eluded his pursuers; perhaps they were too close on his trail.