"No," said the captain, "it is empty. The Turks prayed in it,
after their own fashion, to that God who is theirs and ours; and the
house of God should not be made a grain magazine, as in many other
Turkish villages scattered throughout Servia." At this place a number
of wild ducks were visible, perched on rocks in the Drina, but were
very shy; only once did one of our men get within shot, which missed;
his gun being an old Turkish one, like most of the arms in this
country, which are sometimes as dangerous to the marksman as to the
mark.
Towards evening we quitted the lovely Drina, which, a little higher
up, is no longer the boundary between Servia and Bosnia, being
entirely within the latter frontier, and entered the vale of
Rogatschitza, watered by a river of that name, which was crossed by an
ancient Servian bridge, with pointed arches of admirable proportions.
The village where we passed the night was newly settled, the main
street being covered with turf, a sign that few houses or traffic
exist here. The khan was a hovel; but while it was swept out, and
prepared for us, I sat down with the captain on a shopboard, in the
little bazaar, where coffee was served.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149