This was more than mortal patience could stand. I got up, and, disregarding the menaces of the two self-constituted guardians, who, seeing that I meditated some act of personal chastisement on their protégé, shouted ‘Tursko! Tursko!’ ‘He’s a Turk! he’s a Turk!’ in tone as if they would bid me lick the dust off the urchin’s feet, I simply said, ‘Inglese!’[210] ‘I’m an Englishman!’ and gave the stripling a good hearty box on the ears. The rage of the Turks knew no bounds. For a moment they recoiled a few paces as if struck dumb with amazement; then, with a look of fury one of them drew his sword-knife and was making at me, but before he had time to disentangle it from its sash or its sheath, I was on him with my stick—happily a good heavy one—and the coward let go his _handshar_ and took to his heels. The other Turk, who was beginning to draw his weapon, imitated the example of his mate; the boy ran off in another direction, and I was left in possession of the field. As, however, I was not prepared to withstand all Travnik in arms, and as it seemed possible that this spark might serve to kindle that conflagration of fanaticism which the official had warned us was imminent, I profited by the impression I had made to retreat in good order to our Han, where were my reserves and munitions; and with L⸺ once more by my side, and our revolvers in our hands, felt more at ease. Meanwhile there was an ominous hum in the town, and it was perhaps fortunate that a Zaptieh shortly arrived to escort us in the other direction to the Prefect of Police, as our French interpreter styled him, who demanded our immediate attendance. On our way we passed through a kind of _Champ de Mars_, with a row of light field-pieces glittering in the sunshine, and swarming with a motley array of those organised brigands, the Bashi Bazouks. Drums were beating, trumpets were sounding, a Tartar messenger in his long coat was riding up post haste to the Konak, and large crowds of citizens were assembled to see a body of these Mahometan volunteers march out of the town for Banjaluka. It was becoming more and more unintelligible to us why troops against Herzegovinian insurgents should be wanted there, and the real truth that we were in for a Bosnian insurrection was beginning to dawn upon us. These suspicions were confirmed by the official who had ‘wanted’ us. After re-inspecting our _bujuruldu_, he informed us, by means of an Italian interpreter, that we were on no account to go to Foinica (where was another Franciscan monastery), as we intended; that a Zaptieh was attached to us, and an Arabà provided to take us straight to Serajevo. So there was nothing for it but to start as if we acquiesced in the arrangement, without, however, in the least relinquishing our intentions. To the last we were taken (so it turned out) for Austrian emissaries, and it was thought desirable to prevent us from holding any communication with the Roman Catholic monks of Foinica.