XIV -- [April 3, 1903] 

THROUGH MACEDONIA

A VILLAGE OF THE TERROR

THE ARMED POMACK

Djumaia, March 23.

Eleshnitza is one of the twelve villages of the district of Raslog, in Northern Macedonia. Of these the two principal ones are Bansko, of which some account was given in the preceding letter, and Mekhomia, the administrative headquarters, where the Governor of the district, Hassan Tahsin Bey, whose name was so often mentioned in connection with the persecution, resides. Many of the worst barbarities of that time were perpetrated at Eleshnitza. Like Bansko, this village is entirely Bulgarian. It contains about two thousand inhabitants--whose "tranquility" is guaranteed by the presence of a small detachment of Turkish troops, besides the ordinary complement of police and night watchmen--all Turks, and all armed. Form this local force of Eleshnitza a small guard, or escort, was dispatched to accompany my old escort from Bansko. So that, owing to this act of courtesy of the Kaimakam's our cavalcade counted twenty-one men. I think my fourteen warriors from Serres--or even the four Zaptiehs among them--would have been more than a match for any of "those rascals the Komitadjis" who should hazard a rush down from the mountains in the light of day. But, as the Governor of Serres repeated, "You never can tell what may happen." The last capture in this district of Raslog "cost our Government fifteen thousand liras" (over fifteen thousand pounds sterling). Moreover, "the rascals" buy rifles and ammunition with the money, thereby adding insult to injury in their manoeuvreing against his Imperial Majesty. Our new reinforcement, with a Pomack guide ahead of them, marched in front, with rifles slung on their shoulders. In their padded sandals and white woollen stockings, or leggings, tied round and round with leathern thongs, they marched on foot with the lightness and agility of cats. Behind them rode the Zaptiehs. Next came the present writer, with his companion, Constantine Stephanoff. The cavalrymen came clanking along in the rear.

BABA MART

We were favoured with glorious weather. "Baba Mart," Mother March, rather late, gave us a foretaste of spring. The meadows were yellowing with buttercups. The cloudless sky was the singing lark's. But up in the mountain King Frost was still in occupation; we became aware of his presence as we ascended from the plain. During the ascent the beautiful valley of Bansko gradually unfolded itself before our eyes. Down below lay the villages of Bansko and Mekhomia. In the grey, brown, red, and green of the valley of the Masta shone like a silver thread. We could distinguish the villages in the far distance, the two Draglishtas, Banya, Belitza, and the rest, on their mountain slopes and Nedobrosko perched high above them all. And overtopping them all, surrounding the picture as in a framework, were the glistening white ridges--of Pirin on the right, culminating in the peak of El Tepe; of Rhodope on the left; and, between them, of Mount Rilo, in Bulgaria,. There, the Bulgarian race is free. Here, it is in prison.

As everywhere else, our march into Eleshnitza caused a commotion--universal, and absolutely mute. Eleshnitza, like very village I have seen, might have passed for an asylum of the dumb. Men saluted. Some welcomed our arrival with a nod and a smile. A few others-very few--would step out from a huddled up, timid little crowd and venture a handshake; a rash thing to do, with those police officers of my formidable escort looking on and taking stock. But I must add that in Eleshnitza and everywhere else that was all the extent of their interference. Indeed, interference it could scarcely be called. Meddling of the worser sort was only tried once--that was at Dobrinishta, and, as already recorded, by Commissary Ibrahim, whom I took to task on the spot, and who did not repeat his offence. The escort watched all who came to see me, and all whom I visited. It followed me wherever I went--whether into a Greek church, or to the top of a tower, for view of a landscape, or in a stroll through the streets. Its sentries were posted round my dwelling all day long, and they tramped up and down and round about it all night. At intervals during the daytime the officer in command, or someone from the Kaimakam, would pay me a friendly, ceremonial visit, just to see that I was "comfortable," and with a most courteous, graciously hospitable what-can-we-do-for-you. But all this was not done to intimidate the villagers--may the base thought perish! It was done to protect me from those "rascals the komitadjis" -- may Eblis seize them! So when we dismounted at the Pope's house in Eleshnitza, Achmet Effendi, the new Commissary, appointed to succeed the officious, sulky Ibrahim (who had been sent about his business), strode round the rooms, tapping furniture, as also inmates, with his whip-handle, and giving instructions, rather peremptorily, that everything should be made "comfortable." And round about the Pope's home the sentries were posted, as before. And upstairs, to my room, without molestation from Achmet Effendi or anyone else, came the villagers, men and women, some of the women with infants on their backs. They came in twos and threes, and by the half-dozen, seating themselves on the floor, until the room was filled with them. When one crowd left another took its place.

"THE WORST OF THE MOSLEMS"

The Pope, an intelligent man, was chief spokesman. Seated tailorwise on the floor, with his back to the wall, counting his beads, and turning now and again for correction or information from those in his flock who squatted round him in the like attitude, the revered gentleman poured forth his grievances against the Pomacks. "Our neighbors the Pomacks," said he, are "the worst of the Moslems. They rob us, and if we got the better of them at the Cadi's court they would take vengeance some time, for they are armed and we are not." (The eternal grievance of arms.) The Pope went on to say that, thought there were no longer any atrocities such as those of the "black month,: the general misery and sense of insecurity were as great as ever. He averred, and the rest agreed with him, that a hundred pounds, a large sum for a population so small, poor, and overtaxed as that of Eleshnitza, would not cover the losses caused every year by the Pomacks' robberies of cattle, sheep, and field produce. The Pomacks were, moreover, the greediest of land-grabbers. Fifteen years ago the Pomacks began to "invade this village and district," said the Pope; "the forest which you see there" (here he pointed to the hills opposite) "is the common property of the village. It always was so. It is a large forest, about two hours long and at least one hour wide. We Christians had the right to feed our sheep and cattle in the forest. But now that the Pomacks are there we are afraid to send them. The Pomacks would kill a 'Giaour' as soon as look at him. They, and other Turks as well, often dig up our potatoes, carry off our grain, and remove our fences. Sometimes we villagers have paid Pomacks to protect our property against other Pomacks; but the watchers stole like the rest." (The plan resembles a familiar Indian custom; but the Indian "chowkidar" may be relied upon; though a thief among thieves, he is as good as god once you put him in charge of your premises.) "We have heard of the new reforms," the Pope continued. "Of what use will they be to us? They leave full powers in the hands of the Turks. What we need is police and financial control by foreign officers protected by the European states."

"Among those trees," said one of the group, pointing to the hill opposite (as the Pope had already done), "two young men of this village were murdered last month. We suppose both have been murdered; the body of one of them has been found underneath a heap of stones. The other young man has been neither seen nor heard of. A third murder took place in that part of the forest at the end of the year. As we are unarmed, few of us would venture out there after dark. If we were maltreated, and complained at the Konak, we would be asked to produce witnesses, and there the matter would end. We get no protection from the Government, and we are not allowed to protect ourselves." Until the end of last summer Christians as well as Turks were appointed as rural guards. But though the Turk carried a rifle and the usual equipment of "yatag-homerie" (as a French writer has named it), the Giaour watchman was restricted to a stick, a stout one, maybe, but still only a stick. Now, if under the Russo-Austrian scheme Christians enter the gendarmerie they must be armed in the same way as the Moslem members of the force. Perhaps that is why the Turks to whom I have spoken on the subject regard that provision of the scheme with a bitter detestation, and why nothing has been done to put the provision into execution.

WITNESSES OF AN ATROCITY

Among my visitors were two women who said they had been witnesses to an atrocity which attracted much attention during the late disturbance, and which was inquired into by a Turkish Commission. As the facts are still in dispute, I may here recall the circumstances. Besides the two women there was present the victim's husband, Todor Giorgiev. "It was my wife," he said to me, "who was exhumed." He himself being absent at work his wife was beaten by order of Abeddin;s colleague, Rooni. She became ill, pined away, and died at Christmas. The Turkish doctor (a Greek), who accompanied the Turkish Commissioners, caused the body to be exhumed. This was very shortly after the interment. "Death from natural causes" was the doctor's report. "But," said the two women, "we could see the marks of the beating upon her flesh when she was dug up." One cannot listen to the conversation of the villagers in Eleshnitza, Dobrinishta, and other places that became notorious during the late troubles without coming to the conclusion that, though there were exaggerations through hearsay (as in statements about wholesale burning of villages), the accusations against the Turkish officials and gendarmerie were substantially true. That great numbers of women were beaten, and with a callous brutality worthy only of savages, is beyond doubt. That they were subjected to a fate still worse is also certain. And yet there are in this region Turkish officials, of high position and great responsibility, who assure me that nothing of the kind ever happened. As one woman remarked to me, "those of us whose husbands were in Bulgaria were in danger of being beaten more severely than others, because the Turks said that the men were plotting with the insurgents." The threat, said another woman, of being handed over to the soldiers "kept us in constant fear." In Eleshnitza there are women whom maltreatment has wrecked for the rest of their lives. I have questioned some of them--Yanna Rashniko, for instance, and Elena Teofilova. The latter had her child with her, who toyed joyously with his mother, while she, weeping, told the story of her wrongs.

"PUSHKA" -- RIFLES

Christo Landin, headman, or mayor (a rough translation of the Turkish name), described how he had been beaten, how he escaped to the hill opposite, where a shepherd gave him shelter, and where, at night, he could hear the shrill cries from the village. Cries of people maltreated? Yes. It is possible the headman's fancy may have played him false, though the village was not too distant for hearing. Headman and Popes always ran the risk of especially hard treatment, because they were supposed to know everybody's business, and, therefore, to be in a position to give information whenever the terrible word "pushka"-- the word that struck many a poor soul dumb with fright--was uttered. "Pushka" -- rifles -- Abeddin, or his crony, Rooni, or their followers, would growl, bursting in upon some terrified family in the dead of night. The Eleshnitza people tell me that most of the beatings were inflicted in the village school, which belongs to the Orthodox Church. Those who were beaten "made a noise like the moaning of cattle," says a man who is present. Not for the first time has that comparison been made in my hearing; so, quite possibly there may be something in it. Christo Ivanoff, a man of sixty, who comes limping into my room, tells me (the others present confirming his story) how, after his beating, he had to be carried home on a stretcher. His right arm and left leg are badly injured. Why was he beaten? "Pushka." And he had no "Pushka" to give up.

Many a man, or woman, on the demand for "pushka" has bought a musket or rifle or some sort for the purpose of delivery, and in the hope of escaping castigation. And there are many curious stories afloat about the devices by which the Abeddins and the Roonis turned purchases of this sort to their own pecuniary advantage. The trick was easy. A musket or rifle belonging to an Abeddin might be passed on for sale, say through a confederate. The owner would pocket the purchase money and, of course, seize the weapon--with the due exhibition of loyal indignation. A diligent searcher for "pushka" might in this way make a little fortune out of any moth-eaten flint-lock. I allude to stories of this sort for what they are worth. And now that I have mentioned flint-locks I may say that almost all the weapons captured in the villages by the Turks are old-fashioned muskets and rifles of the earliest date; things likely to cause more harm to the men who fired them than to the men they were fired at. The hiding places of the forty thousand or so up-to-date rifles are known to no more than four or five "Komitadjis: in each village, but I am assured that if the signal were given now the distribution could be effected in a few minutes.