Note 2 — ISAIAH. (continued 4)

During one part of the trip our party was augmented by a redif, or soldier of the reserves, who was going home on leave of absence. He wore the uniform of the Turkish soldier, but I observed that in the evening he threw over his shoulders a woman’s robe, made of a soft thin kind of felt, worn by the women in this country, and beautifully embroidered in colours around the neck and bosom. I had the curiosity to inquire into the history of this gown, and could scarcely restrain my indignation at the story I heard. The soldier said he had got the gown at Saitschar. After the discovery of the evacuation of the place by the Servians, he and a party of four or five more entered the town. In one of the houses they found a Servian family that had decided to remain in their house, and throw themselves on the mercy of the Turks. This family consisted of an old man, a married daughter with two children, and a girl of fourteen, whose relationship to the rest of the family they did not take the trouble to inquire into. The husband of the woman, if she had one, was absent. They began by fastening all the doors, so that nobody could escape: then they thoroughly pillaged the house, and took and divided everything of value among themselves. They were in the house a day and a night, for it was a rich one apparently, and it took some time to get everything properly divided and packed; and besides, they were disposed to be merry and make a night of it.

I will not enter into the details of what they did during the night, because there are people who do not apparently object in the least to the commission of these deeds, who object to anybody lifting a finger to prevent them, or even to the expression of any indignation on the subject, but who are dreadfully shocked at the recital of them; and I wish to spare the feelings of these sensitive persons. Suffice it to say that the next morning the question arose as to what should be done with the two women, the two children, and the old man. Some of the party were in favour of letting them go; but the rest were of opinion that it would be amusing to kill them, and a discussion ensued, which lasted more than an hour, in the presence of the weeping, trembling victims, who were wildly begging for mercy, and among whom, it should be remembered, there was a mother begging for the lives of her two children. The narrator said that he, with another of the party, had leant to the side of mercy, but that the majority were against them, and that they finally ended the discussion and the prayers of the victims by falling upon them with their sabres. I asked him how he had come by the gown, and he replied that, seeing what the result was going to be, he had stripped it from the girl while the discussion was in progress, before she was killed, so that it might not be blood-stained. He had taken a fancy to it, because it would just be right for his daughter, who was about the same age; and his companions, perceiving this, made him pay rather high for it—fifty piastres. He was a heavy, dull-looking brute, and it seemed strange to think that he had a daughter, a pretty, tender, joyous little thing, perhaps, that would wear this gown with delight. He told the story in a quiet, phlegmatic manner, and spoke very freely, looking upon me as an Englishman, and therefore as a friend.—Letter in the “Daily News,” Nov. 15, 1876.