The Mirediti: An Alarm!
The Mirediti at Prayer.
Slowly fell the mystic twilight of the East. The glorious afterglow had deepened into grey, and night was creeping on quickly when fire balloons were sent up, and then gradually the whole Cathedral became outlined in fairy lamps against the steely sky, even to the utmost point of the high square tower. Men and women gazed upward, and crossed themselves.
Later, while walking back with Palok, we encountered a group of armed tribesmen talking excitedly, shaking their fists, and apparently quarrelling. Palok joined the crowd, and inquired what had happened. Then, turning to me, he said—
“Oh, it is nothing, signore. The town of Kroia has revolted. The Turks sent soldiers yesterday, but they were Albanians, and would not fire on the people. To-day some artillery arrived, and thirty people have been killed—mostly women. A man has just ridden in with the news. It is nothing. We are always fighting the Turks at Kroia. There will probably be a massacre to-night.” And he deftly rolled a cigarette as he spat in defiance of the hated Mussulman.
Later that night I was awakened from sleep by a shot below, and, taking my revolver, went to the window. The night was black, and I could discern nothing.
I heard men’s voices raised in the street below, and suddenly saw the red flash of firearms and heard a second report.
Then all was quiet, except receding footsteps.
The shots disturbed nobody, or if they did, nobody opened door or window. The town was asleep, and by the distant sound of a tom-tom I knew that the hour was half-past three; for the music was calling upon the Faithful to eat, preparatory to the day’s fast.