Turkish Barbarism

A correspondent of the London Daily News has sent to that joumal a complete and harrowing description of what he saw in Bulgaria. We copy from his letter of Aug. 2, written at Tatar T5azardjik, in the heart of the province, the following statement: Sinoe my letter of yesterday I havo supped full of horrors. Nothing has yet been said of the Turks that I do not now believe; nothing could be said of them that I should not think probable and likely. There is, it would seem, a point in atrooity beyond which discrimination is impossible, when mere comparison, calculation, measurement, are out of the question, and this point the Turks have already passed. You can follow them no further. The way is blocked up by mountains of hideous facts that repcl scrutiny aud investigation, over and beyond which you cannot see and do not care to go. You feel that it is superfluous to continue measuring these mountains and deciding whether they be a few f ent higher or lower, and you do not care to go sceking for molehills among fchem. You feel that it is time to turn back; that you have seen enough. But let me teil what we saw at Ba tak. Batak is situated about thirty miles aouth of Tatar Bazardjik as the crow lies, high up in a spur of the Bivlkans, ;hat here sweeps around to the south 'rom the main range. The road was snly a steep mountain patn that in places might have tried the agility of a joat. THB VALLEÏ DESOLATED. After three hours' climbing by paths io stoep that we were obliged to dismount and walk half the time, without ;hen seeming quite safo from reling down into some abyss, mounting ligherand higher, until we seemed to iave got among the clouds, we at last merged from a thick wood into a deightful valley that spread out a rich jarpet of verdure bef ore our eyes. A ittle stream came murmuring down rough it, upon which theie was built i minature saw mili. It appears that Jie people in Batak did a considerible trade in timber, which they worked up from the f orests of the sur■ounding mountains, for we afterward sbserved a great number of these little milis, and were even told there were jver 200 in and about the village. The nill-wheels are silent now. This little ralley, with its rich grassy slopes,-ought i ;O havo been covered with herds of heep and cattle. Not one was to be een. The pretty little place was as . onoly as a graveyard, or as tLough no ; iring thing had trod its rich greensward or years. We ascended the slope to o the right, and when we reaehed the op of the ridge which separated it from he next valley, we had a beautiful i irama spread out bêfore ns. ihe ] nonntains hcre soomed to extend aroitnd n a circle, inclo.-dng a tract of country ome eight or ten miles iu diameter, coniderably lower down, wbiih w.f cue up )y a great number o; deep hóliows and ] avines that traversüd it in every ?fr c ion, and seemed tu cross ar 1 c _t off i ach other without the slighiost j mee of anylhing like reférete tj a j '. vatershed. It looked mro like an 1 1 arged photograpU of ilia owmntaini ! )f the moo-i than any thing else I cc ui t i hink of. Down in the bottom of one of these i i ïollows we could make out a village, yhich our guide informed us it would till take us an hour and a half to reach, ilthough it really seemed to be very ïeai1. This was the village of Batak, vhich we were in search of. The hilllides were covered with little fields of vheat and rye that were golden with ■ipeness. But although the' harvest vas ripe, and overripe, although in : nany places the welï-fllled ears had aroken down the first-decaying straw hat could no longer hold them alof t, md were now lying flat, there was no ign of reapers trying to save them. Che fields were as deserted as the little ralley, and the harvest was rotting in ,he soil. In an hour we had neared the rillage. SKDLIjS AND SKEM.TON8 IN HEAPS. As we approached our attention was ïirected to some dogs on a slope overooking the town. We turned asido 'rom the road, and passing over the iebris Of two or three walls, and hrough scveral gardens, urged our borses up the ascent toward the dogs. Ihey barked at us in an angry manner, uad then ran off into the adpining fields. [ observod nothing peculiar as we inounted until my horse stumbled. When looking down I perceived that he lad stepped on a human skull partly lid among the grass. It was quite dry md hard, and might to all appearances lave been there for two or three years, 3O weil had the dogs done their work. A lew steps further there was another, and Deside it part of a skeleton, likewise white and dry. As we ascended, bones, skeletons, and skulis becaine more frequent, but here they had not been picked so clean, for there were fragmenta of dry, half-putrid flesh still clinging to them. At last we carne to a kind of little plateau or shelf on the hillside, where the ground was nearly level, with the exception of a little indentation where the head of a hollow broke through. We rode toward this, with the intention of erossing it, but all suddenly drew rein with an exclamation of horror, for right before us, almost beneath our horses' feet, was a sight that made us shudder. It was a lieap of skulis, intermingled with bones from all parts of the human body, skelotons nearly enth-e, rotting ; clothing, human hair, and putrid flesh lying there ni one foul heap, around which the grass j was growing luxuriantly. It emitted a sickening odor, like that of a dead horae, and it was here the dogs had been seek ing a hasty repast when our untimely approach interrupted them. In the midst of this heap I could i tüiguish ono slight skeleton form sti'l inclosod in a chomise, the skuli wrapp jd about with a colored handkerchief, auJ i the bony aukles encased in the ejubroiderod footloss stockings worn ly the Bulgarian girls. We looked about ! us. The ground was strewed with bones hi every direction, where tLe dogo nd cai'ried them off' to gnaw thpin at their leisure. At the distarce &Í 10 yarda beneath us lay the town. As cetn from our standpoint, it remiuded oue bomewhat of the ruins of H;rc".ilaü9um or Pompeii. There was to. a v ooi left, not a whole wall btanding ; all wa'j a mass of ruin, dom wli.-h arose as we listened n low plaiutivo wail, like the "keemng" of tho Irish over thir dead, thai. tJlled the litiiu vallay and gave it vuioe. W Md the esj-laaation of this ourious bound wheu we ufttrward dipcend.1.1 int.) the villa j . We iookoid aguiu at the heap of Bknlls ind skeletons "bei'orfl us, ar;l vo ostr-ed that they wore all srnall, and that tlie article3 of clothing intwrmingled with thern and lying abont were all parts of women's apparel. These, then, were all women and girle. From my saddle I couiited ooout a hundred s kulls, not including those that were hidden beneath the others in the ghastly heap, nor those that were scattered far and wide through the fields. The skulls were nearly all separated from the rest of the bonos ; the skeletons were nearly all headless. These women had all been beheaded. WOFUIi ASPECT OP THE TOWN. We descended into the town. Within the shattered walls of the flrst house we came to was a woman sitting on a heap of rubbish, rooking herself to and fro, wailing a kind of menotonous chant, half sung, half sobbed, that was not without a wild, discordant inelody. In ïer lap she had a babe, and another child sat beside her patiently and silenty, and looked at us as we passed with wcndering eyes. She paid no attention ;o us; but we bent our ear to hear what sho was saying, and our interpreter said t was as follows : "My home, my )oor home, my sweet home; my hus)and, my husband, my poor hus)and; my home, my sweet home," and so on, repeating tüe same words over and over again a thousand times. In the next house were ;wo, engaged in the same way ; one okl, he other youag, repeating words nearly dentical : "I hada home and now I ïavo none ; I had a husband and now I im a widow ; I had a son and now I ïave none ; I had five children and now I have none," while recking themselves to and fro, beating their heada and wringing their hands. These were women who had eseaped from the massaere, and had only jast returned for the flrst time. having taken advantage of iur visit or that of Mr. Baring to lo so. They might have returned long ago, but their terror was so great that hey had not dared without the presnce and protection of a foreigner, and now they would go on for honrs n this way, " keening" this kiud of 'uneral dirge over thoir ruined homes. ?his was the explanation of the curious ound we had heard when up on the liill. As we advanced there were more and nore; some sitting on the heaps of stones ihat covered the floors of their houses; thers walking up and down bef ore lieir doors, wringing their hands and epeating the same despairing wail. 'here wore few tears in this universal mourning. It was dry, hard, and desp uring. The fountain of tears had been dided up weeks before, but the tide of sorrow and misery was as great as ever, and had to flnd vent without their aid. Ah we proreeded most of them feil into iine behind us, and they finally formed a procession of 400 or 500 people, mostly women and ehildren, who followed us about wherever we went with their mournful cries. Such a sound as their united voices sent up to heaven I hope never to hear again.