AUTUMN IN BULGARIA.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 5240, 9 January 1878, Page 3

AUTUMN IN BULGARIA.

(Correspondent of the London Times.) The worst enemy the contending armies have had to contend against during the last two or three weeks has been the dreadfully cold and wet weather. Rain has been pouring down more or less every day, until the country has become one huge pond of mud, the roads have almost disappeared, small streams have swollen to the size of large rivers, and the difficulties of travelling have very nearly over’ come the bounds of human possibility. The effect of all this upon the poor fellows under canvas, drenched through and through, is most dispiriting, and must work considerably upon the natural melancholy of their disposition, already deepened by the serious check which their arms have latterly received. Officers and others who have to make their berths in the mud-built underground huts of the peasants find the dirty walls and floors soaked through by the rain and damp and moisture pervading every corner. There is not a dry spot whereon to lay oneself, unless it be in a well-covered waggon, which, indeed, is the only safe place where one can sleep without being afraid of getting wet and catching the fever. In such a vehicle the Times correspondent says he slept for several nights, wrapped up in straw and blankets.; but he soon discovered that even the painted cover of the waggon was no longer waterproof, the continual downpour had washed off the paint somewhere and found a hole to drip through into his bed. Continuing this narrative, he says : “ I had then to take up my abode in one of the bare huts which I have mentioned, and there I found, as seems to he the case at present in nearly every domicile in these wretched villages, one member of the family ill. This was in Corny Studen, whence I have just come. A fortnight ago, when at Poradim, before Plevna, the same thing struck me. Nearly all the inhabitants appeared to be afflicted with fever and dysentery, and I do not wonder at it, considering the miserable existence they lead. They have no beds, except in the few principal towns, but all the family lie down together in their clothes on the floor, with their heads against the soddened walls, with, perhaps, a few sticks of wood left burning in the oh'imney-oorner all night. The consequence is that fever rages among them at such a time as thin, and they, apparently, have no remedies. There is no doctor, not even a medicine-man or a quack, in the neighborhood. One told me the other day, when I advised him to send for the doctor, that there was no such individual nearer than Gabrova, two days’ journey or more distant. The inhabitants slouch about, moaning and complaining, and muttering incantations over one another, until they either die or get better. Crouching down around their wood fires in the low, dark, sepulchral dwellings, destitute of every vestige of comfort, trying to escape from the inclement weather, and yet ignorantly courting all its evil effects, they form the most deplorable picture of poor humanity I have even seen. In and about the Balkans the natives are in everything a much superior class, but hereabouts they are very low in the scale, and weather such as we are now having brings out their misery in high relief. “At Corny Studen every one, from the Emperor downwards, keeps under cover, such as it is. Nobody ventures out in the thick, deep mud; to do so is to run the risk of sliding down up to the knees in mire into the valley on either side of which the village hovels are built. His Imperial Majesty occupies the only house which exists there, a'd which was probably the dwelling of some Turkish official before the war. The Grand Duke Nicholas and a few of his staff are installed in Kirghiz kibitkas—in round, dome-shaped tents made with thick felt laid over woolen frames, which look quite warm and comfortable. The rest of the little camp nescle under their few yards of saturated canvas, which swarm with large mice trying to find shelter or creep into the holes which Nature and the Bulgarian peasant have provided. The itinerant restaurateur who has bound himself in writing, much to his regret, to follow the head-quarters wherever it goes and to provide food in all circumstances and in all weathers, is in a sad plight. His tented kitchen is almost washed away, every crust of bread in the place is moist and mouldy, there is not a dry lucifer match to light one’s pipe, and to bring things to a climax, the last loaf was being eaten, as the difficulties of transport had for a time put a stop to the regular supply. A gloom is cast over everything, and the officers are mostly in low spirits. No sunlight appears through the thick, heavy clouds, and at seven o’clock in the evening it is so dark that it is impossible to walk a dozen- yards without a lantern to light the way and a big stick to keep off the wolfish, howling dogs which attack unarmed persons at night with the greatest ferocity. , The most disagreeable sight of all is the hard-worked horses, of which there are a great many at Corny Studen, standing outday and night in the cold rain without cover or cloth of any kind. There is not a stable in thb village. -Even the Emperor’s horses are without shelter. There the poor beasts stand through, the twenty-four hours, dripping with wet, with their tails curled up under them, slowly chewing the wet hay, or even straw, as there is very little of the former to be bought. The picture, as I have seen it for the last few days from the door of: my mud hut, is a melancholy one indeed. “ When I arrived here a few days ago, after riding through rain and slush, I saw even worse things. ' As I descended from the heights into Sistova, looking down on the five bridges across the Danube and the long lines of transports slowly creeping over them and along the river side, I could hear the shrieks arid yells of the Russian, Roumanian, and other drivers urging on their strngghng horses and bullocks through the deep mud and water. When I reached the river hank the scene was a strange one. Bullock waggons and others, drawn by lung strings of small horses, were sinking further and further into the thick mud as the poor beasts strained every nerve, and the, dirty mud-splashed drivers exerted themselves and their voices to move_ on a few, yards at a time. Ammunition caissons had their axles broken, and the debris of carts and, waggons, come to grief were strewn all along the°riyer hanks. Looking down the Danube, ono would have thought that there had been a 1 number of shipwrecks. Splinters of broken vehicles were sticking up out of the mud at the water’s edge, and, worst of -all, many—l should say more than a dozen—horses lay dead and half hidden in the deep mud at intervals along the way. Tho poor beasts were being tramped deeper and deeper into the mud, gradually being buried, so that when all dries up again they will probably he completely

covered over. I had never before seen such a scene of dirt, disorder, and confusion. “ Now that the weather is bad the Russians have begun to make roads on both sides of the river. They have allowed all the summer to pass without attempting anything of the kind, and now they have requisitioned a large number of Bulgarians and Roumanians to construct roads fit for transport to pass over the loose banks of the river to and from the bridges on either side. It will be some time before these are completed, and, in the meantime, during every spell of bad weather there will be the same trouble as I have attempted to describe."