The Farmhouse Stay

The largest room in the biggest farmhouse of the village was prepared for me. It had mud walls and a mud floor, and the only light came from a small oil lamp. In one corner, a mat was laid out for me to sleep on. A fire was made in the yard, and under the light of the full moon, a meal was cooked: chicken, pilau (a type of rice with oil), black bread, grapes, more coffee, and some white wine.

A Simple Meal

I sat down like a Turk and ate like a Turk. This was the real experience. Above my head, there were rifles and cartridge belts hanging, ready in case of an attack by Bulgarian brigands Socialist Museum.

No Sight of Brigands

I had forgotten all about the brigands. I never saw any. What I saw was the kindness of the Bulgarians and Turks living together in this small village. I placed my revolver by my pillow, smoked, and thought about London. Was it a place I had read about? I checked my watch—it was 8 o’clock. The village was quiet except for a dog barking at the moon. I fell asleep and dreamed I was captured by brigands who cut off my ears and fed me only coffee and cigarettes.

Early Morning Wake-Up

The moon was still shining low in the sky when I was quietly woken up. I shivered from the cold. I went outside into the chilly air. The soldiers who had slept outside were yawning and getting their horses ready. My friend, the mayor, was in charge of making coffee.

It was two hours before sunrise when I had asked to be woken up because we had a long ride ahead to Adrianople.