He then recounted to us the following narrative, which, coming from an eye-witness, served to enlighten us considerably as to the amenities of Turkish rule.
It must be prefaced that at the present time no one can go from one village to another without being provided with a teskeri or Turkish pass, and that it was one of the functions of the Belgian engineer, as head of the Road Commission, to examine and set his visé on the teskeris of all who passed along this road. A few days ago a young Herzegovinian Christian—a fine young fellow, according to the Belgian—stopped at his tent and showed his pass, which proved to be quite en règle, and was visé’d by the engineer accordingly. He then proceeded on his way with a light heart, but as he was passing by the booths which I have mentioned near the bridge, two Turks—not officials or soldiers of any kind, but armed nevertheless—came up and insolently demanded to see his teskeri. This they had not a shadow of a right to ask for; but the young fellow, knowing that in this country might is right, did not hesitate to comply, and handed his teskeri for their examination. Thereupon the two Mahometans, who could not read a syllable, swore that the whole thing was wrong, and seizing hold of the young rayah began to drag him along, crying out to the Christians at the booths that they were taking him off to the Road Commission.
But they had not proceeded far when they suddenly fell upon him, and hauling him off into the maize where we had seen it trampled down, butchered him with seven blows from their handshars, one of which half cut through his neck. They then made off in broad daylight, making their way through the Christians and others whom the young fellow’s cries were bringing to the scene of the tragedy—not a soul daring to lay a hand on the murderers, who were also Turks! The Belgian, who was in his tent, had been also roused by a loud ‘Homaum! homaum!’ as he expressed the cries, and coming out, found the young rayah, who had succeeded in crawling to the road, past human assistance.
The Belgian at once sent for Zaptiehs to arrest the murderers; but by the time these functionaries were on their way the birds were flown. At any rate they never arrested them—but it is well known that Zaptiehs often let felons escape on purpose, if they are true believers.
When I say that since this event the Belgian has been in a state of painful agitation, I am but feebly expressing the state of mind in which we found that unfortunate official. His colleague, an Italian, has already made off—and the poor man himself has been exercising his engineering sagacity in planning the nearest route over the mountains by which to escape to the Dalmatian frontier. He had collected his effects, and was ready to start at a moment’s notice. He thought he could reach the border at the nearest point in ten hours. He was most afraid of the Bosniac Mussulmans, and especially of the Bashi-Bazouks; and when we suggested that he, being in the Turkish service, ought at least to feel secure, he assured us that this was not sufficient to restrain the fanaticism of the native Moslems, who regard the office of an engineer with pious horror, and curse the new-fangled iron bridge whenever they pass it, as the devil’s handiwork! His fears were so genuine that he dared not walk as far as the bridge—just five minutes off—without an escort of Zaptiehs!
The engineer’s funk, however, did not prevent him from providing us with a most satisfactory repast, consisting of pili, eggs, and fried slices of gourd, which are excellent. He told us that had it been earlier in the summer it would not have been safe to sleep in his tent, as this spot, as well as the whole Narenta valley, is infested in June with snakes and scorpions. During that month the peasants dare not go about with bare feet, as they like to do at other seasons; and indeed, though the dangerous season has passed, we have noticed that the people about here are more swathed as to their legs than ordinary Bosniacs.
Aug. 28th.—This morning our Belgian, who was hardly reassured by the news which we brought from Serajevo, has suddenly discovered that he has a pressing engagement at Trieste—to meet his mother—and hands us a letter to the Vali demanding ‘a temporary leave of absence’—his sole object of course being to visit the old lady. We were much touched by this display of filial affection.
The heat being again cruel, we secured the luxury of a horse to carry our knapsacks to Mostar, the destination of our to-day’s trudge; and, while waiting for the due equipment of our beast in the yard of our Mahometan Kiradjì or driver, we have leisure to observe a most curious phenomenon in the costume of the female Moslems of this district. In every other part of Bosnia and the Herzegovina the veil is de rigueur with the wives and mothers of the faithful. But here at Jablanica, and in this part of the valley of the Narenta on both sides of the spot where the little river Rama[281] debouches into it, the Mahometan women discard their yashmak[282] with one accord, and not only show themselves before strangers of the other sex bare-faced, but do not blush to hold converse with them. It is true that even here they display on occasion a certain shyness of male regards; and the Belgian warned us that, if looked at too curiously, they did not confine themselves to a prudish Haiti! but were known to vindicate their modesty with a volley of stones. We, however, were never saluted after this fashion, the fair Mahometans contenting themselves at most with turning away their faces from the passing Giaour.
But while waiting in our Kiradjì’s yard, we were treated with far greater condescension by the womankind of his family. The yard itself was very unlike the stockaded prison-court of our earlier Bosnian experiences. Here, instead of the tall palisade which as a rule so effectively screens the members of the harem from the public gaze, was simply a low stone wall; and while we were contemplating the dwelling-house, built, like the yard wall, of the rough limestone of the country, and admiring the elegant ogival windows, out came an old Mahometan dame and two younger women—the mother, we conjectured, and two daughters of the house—and calmly took stock of us with faces unveiled, and without the slightest sign of bashfulness. They smiled, and we smiled, and though our stock of Bosniac was limited, we made ourselves intelligible to one another by means of the universal language of signs, and in this fashion carried on a very edifying conversation. As the old lady was particularly desirous of trying on our spectacles, we hastened to gratify her wishes; and as we were particularly anxious to see the carnelian and other rings of virtue that adorned their fair fingers, they obligingly held out their hands for our perusal. We were pleased to see the finger-nails of these would-be Houris stained with rosy henna—a fond reminiscence of the wings, which, as every true-believer knows, Eve lost little by little when driven forth beyond the gate of Paradise. Here, at last, we have Darwin defeated on his own ground! Preposterous to suppose that these who still show traces of the rainbow plumes wherewith their first angelic fore-mother was wont to flutter—that these Rhododactyls—should be great granddaughters of hirsute gibberers!