‘To follow us! So he still takes us for spies, then?’
‘Oh, that is not the reason! It is simply for your safety. You see we are in a very critical state: the Mahometans here are very fanatical—they may rise against the Christians at any moment.’ Had he said, as indeed was the case, that they were actually rising in the neighbouring town of Banjaluka—that the Christians of Bosnia had risen against the Turks—that the Turkish burghers had in places flown to arms in self-defence—that massacres were being perpetrated all along the Save—he would have put us more on our guard. As it was, by subsequently admitting that we were still suspected to be insurgent emissaries, he destroyed the effect of his previous warning, and left us as averse to having a Zaptieh clattering at our heels as we had been before. Perhaps, too, we were rather obtuse in not reading the signs of the times more clearly. During the whole day raw levies, not regulars, not redìf or reserve, but the old Bashi Bazouks, Mahometan volunteers dressed in the ordinary country costumes—the red turban and sash, loaded with antiquated pistols and handshars or short sword-knives—had been streaming into the town. Some of them were beating a diabolical tattoo on drums shaped like the bowls of spoons—quite in harmony with the savage aspect of the warriors. During the night we were frequently woke up by bugle-calls, and next morning the uproar had rather increased. We, however, knowing with what brotherly feelings the Bosniac Turks regarded Englishmen, felt no uneasiness on our own account. So that leaving L⸺ at the Han, I hesitated not to sally forth alone, unencumbered either with escort or a revolver, to sketch the old castle.
This, like the other old castles we have seen, belongs to the days of the Christian kingdom, and is in fact said to have been the work of Tvartko, the first King of Bosnia.[209] In form and general aspect it is very much the same as the Starigrads of Doboj and Tešanj. Like them it terminates at one angle in a polygonal tower; and, like them, is more remarkable for its situation than the beauty of its architecture. It rises on a peninsular rock with ravines on every side, except where a low narrow neck connects it with the mountains, which dominate it so completely that it would be quite untenable at present, though the Turks seem still to use it as a kind of arsenal.
Old Castle of King Tvartko at Travnik.
While I was drawing this venerable ruin I became unpleasantly conscious that a battery of some kind or other was opening a lively fire on me from the rear, and presently, a larger stone than usual whizzing past my head, I thought it high time to make a reconnaissance, and looking round perceived that the enemy chiefly consisted of a lad of about fourteen. Seeing me get up with no very amiable intentions, the urchin fell back on his reserves, a group of armed Turks, to whom I made unmistakable signs that I should consider it a favour if they would restrain the enthusiasm of youthful Islâm; and having thus given vent to my feelings I returned tranquilly to my drawing. Then it was that a well-aimed missile—judging by the sensation it produced, larger than any of its predecessors—hit me on the middle of the back; and this time, being thoroughly roused, I went for our young artilleryman in such earnest that he made for a neighbouring house, and slamming the door, disappeared from my indignant view. Whereat, being still in a very pretty temper, I knocked at the door with my stick, hoping at least to wreak vicarious vengeance on the rascal by means of his parents. While in vain attempting to gain an interview with the inmates, one of the group of Turks with whom the boy had first taken refuge came up and shouted to me ‘Tursko! Tursko!’ meaning that the boy being a Turk might throw as many stones as he liked at the cursed Giaour.
Finally, as neither knocking nor thumping made any impression on the door, and myself beginning to recover from this ‘short madness,’ I went back to my original station, and was putting a few finishing touches to my sketch, when the door of refuge opened; the lad, accompanied by two armed Turks—one on either side—issued forth, and the three swaggered up to me to insult the dog of a Christian at their leisure.
This was more than mortal patience could stand. I got up, and, disregarding the menaces of the two self-constituted guardians, who, seeing that I meditated some act of personal chastisement on their protégé, shouted ‘Tursko! Tursko!’ ‘He’s a Turk! he’s a Turk!’ in tone as if they would bid me lick the dust off the urchin’s feet, I simply said, ‘Inglese!’[210] ‘I’m an Englishman!’ and gave the stripling a good hearty box on the ears. The rage of the Turks knew no bounds. For a moment they recoiled a few paces as if struck dumb with amazement; then, with a look of fury one of them drew his sword-knife and was making at me, but before he had time to disentangle it from its sash or its sheath, I was on him with my stick—happily a good heavy one—and the coward let go his handshar and took to his heels. The other Turk, who was beginning to draw his weapon, imitated the example of his mate; the boy ran off in another direction, and I was left in possession of the field. As, however, I was not prepared to withstand all Travnik in arms, and as it seemed possible that this spark might serve to kindle that conflagration of fanaticism which the official had warned us was imminent, I profited by the impression I had made to retreat in good order to our Han, where were my reserves and munitions; and with L⸺ once more by my side, and our revolvers in our hands, felt more at ease. Meanwhile there was an ominous hum in the town, and it was perhaps fortunate that a Zaptieh shortly arrived to escort us in the other direction to the Prefect of Police, as our French interpreter styled him, who demanded our immediate attendance.
On our way we passed through a kind of Champ de Mars, with a row of light field-pieces glittering in the sunshine, and swarming with a motley array of those organised brigands, the Bashi Bazouks. Drums were beating, trumpets were sounding, a Tartar messenger in his long coat was riding up post haste to the Konak, and large crowds of citizens were assembled to see a body of these Mahometan volunteers march out of the town for Banjaluka. It was becoming more and more unintelligible to us why troops against Herzegovinian insurgents should be wanted there, and the real truth that we were in for a Bosnian insurrection was beginning to dawn upon us.