The drug store of the town had been sacked and burned, and the doctor who owned it had been killed. A young and less efficient medical man was left alone to care for 150 wounded. The Roman Catholic sisters at Monastir applied to Hilmi Pasha for permission to go to the relief of Krushevo and take medicines. But they had told foreign consuls and correspondents what they had seen at Armensko, and Hilmi replied, in Mohamedan fashion, ‘Those who will die, will die, and those who will live, will live.’
I attempted to enter some of the Bulgarian homes at Krushevo, but they were still tightly barred. The inmates pleaded with me to pass on lest the Turks should come after me and punish them for telling tales. But the Vlachs were bolder; they besought me to enter and see the havoc the Turks had wrought, to see the wounded women, children, and infants lying on the floors, their injuries barely tended, the wounds of many mortifying, as the stench told too well. And men, women, and children died from wounds not vital.
Each evening at sundown the awful stillness of Krushevo was shocked by three long-drawn, triumphant shouts from a thousand throats. They were Turkish cheers at evening prayer for Abdul Hamid, the Padisha.
We were mounted ready to leave Krushevo when a native woman came out of the crowd bringing a small boy. She went up to the interpreter and spoke to him in a whisper.
‘She wants you to take the boy back to Monastir,’ said my man. ‘She says no native is allowed to leave Krushevo, and she wants to get her boy to a safer place.’
‘We can’t do that,’ I replied. I was apprehensive about the journey back.
But the woman wept, so I took the boy, and she kissed my hand. He was about eight years old. He had no luggage but a loaf of heavy bread, and he wore but a single garment, a gabardine. He sat quietly behind my saddle and did not bother me much, and towards sundown we reached Monastir safely. The horses picked their way slowly over the rough cobble stones. As we wound into a side street the grip about me loosened, and I turned to see the youngster slip down from the horse. He waved his hand to me and ran like a hare down a narrow lane.
‘That is all right,’ said the dragoman, as we went on our way to the mission.