In spite of the efforts of the authorities to suppress the news of what was happening, and to gull the correspondents, we were able to collect much valuable information, and through the Consular post to get our despatches safely to the Servian frontier, whence they were wired to London uncensored. When the Governor-General learned--_via_ London and Constantinople--the nature of the reports the correspondents were sending through, he was much disturbed, and sought to frighten us out of the country. He sent a communication to Mr. McGregor informing him that he had received a letter from the committajis announcing that they intended to assassinate a British consul, a British correspondent, or an American missionary. The Consul--I use his words--considered this ‘a step taken by the authorities in order to cast suspicion on the Bulgarians in the much more likely eventuality of a Turkish outrage,’ and ‘consequently reminded Hilmi Pasha that, whatever the nationality of anyone guilty of a crime against a British subject, the responsibility of the Imperial Government will be the same.’ CHAPTER XIV ON THE TRACK OF THE TURK A rude shaking roused me from my slumbers at the early hour of 4.30 A.M., and I discovered myself in the clutches of a tremendous Albanian, a skirted fellow wearing wicked weapons. His remarks were unintelligible to me, but he presented a card containing a few words in bad English. It was from a consul, a man who gave me much assistance, and read: ‘Be ready for ten o’clock Turkish; an Albanian which can be trusted shall bring horses, and you shall be taken to Krushevo.’ I surrendered. This was the morning after my interview with Hilmi Pasha, at which I had received the Turkish version of the Krushevo affair. Was I to defeat the Governor-General again? My dragoman and I were ready when the guide arrived, and in less than eight hours we were ‘taken to Krushevo.’ The Monastir Valley was almost deserted. Bridges were down, and we forded the rivers. Occasionally parties of soldiers and bashi-bazouks were potting at something, perhaps at peasants. Near Krushevo we passed Turks on the road, some carrying short adzes and axes in their sashes, as the Albanian wears his yataghan; others bore hand-pumps of reed. Our difficulties were not serious. We traversed the long plain without mishap, and began at noon to climb the tall mountain to the Vlach town in the sky.