Chapter 17 kirshari

Kirshali is of Bulga origin in terms of his ancestry. "Kirshari" means warrior and hero in Turkish.I don't know his real name. Kirshali robbed houses and houses, and Megatron Moldavia.In order to get to know him better, let me tell you a story about him.One night he and two Arnauts, Mikhailaki, attacked a village of the Bulgars.They set fires from both ends of the village, and went in and out of the farmhouses.Kirshali beheaded with a knife, while Mikhailaki robbed property.The two shouted: "Kirshali is here! Kirshali is here!" The whole village fled in all directions.

When Alexander Ibsilangi announced his rebellion and began to recruit troops, Kirshali led some old comrades to join him.The true purpose of Ageria was poorly understood.But the war offered a good opportunity to plunder the Turks, and possibly the Moldavians, and make a fortune.They are well aware of this. ① Arnauts: The Turks' name for Albanians. ② See the note of "Shooting". ③Ageria: The Greek National Liberation Organization, which led the people of Moldavia, Wallasia and other places to resist the armed uprising of the Turks in 1821. Alexandre Ibsilangi is bold, but he lacks the qualities for the role, he is too hasty, too careless.He doesn't get along well with his subordinates, who neither respect nor trust him.After one unfortunate battle, the best of Greek youth was sacrificed.Iordaghi Orimbiocchi persuaded him to leave and took his place.Ibsirangi fled on horseback to the Austrian border, from where he sent a letter cursing the so-called disobedients, cowards and villains.Most of the so-called "cowards and rascals" died in Sheku Monastery or on the banks of the Prut River, fighting an enemy ten times as powerful as themselves.

Kirshali joined Georgy Kondakujin's troops.About this man, the same thing can be said about Ibsilangi.On the eve of the battle at Skuliano, Kondakushin asked the Russian prefect for permission to join our frontier post.Therefore, the army has no leader.But Kirshali, Safianos, Kontagoni and others don't need anyone to lead them at all. The Battle of Sculliano, it seems, has not yet been described in all its touching truth.Just imagine: 700 Arnauts, Albanians, Greeks, Bulgars, and all kinds of mobs, with no military literacy, retreated in panic in the face of 15,000 Turkish cavalry.The detachment was driven to the Prut River, and two small cannons, which had been procured from the court of the Grand Duke of Iasi, were originally intended for a birthday salute.The Turks wanted to shoot with shot, but they dared not use it without the permission of the Russian prefect: because the shot would surely fly to our river bank.The head of the frontier station (now dead) had been in the army for forty years and had never heard the roar of bullets, but God let him hear it this time.A few bullets whistled past his ears.The old man lost his temper and cursed Okhotsky, a major in the infantry regiment at the frontier station.The major didn't know what to do, so he ran to the river, and the Turkish guards galloped across the river, showing off their might.The major gestured threateningly at them.When the Turkish guards saw it, they turned their horses and galloped away.Then the Turkish brigade retreated with them.The major who was gesturing was named Khorczewski.What will happen to him in the future, I don't know.

The next day, the Turks came to attack the Ageria elements again.They did not dare to use shotgun shells, nor did they use ball-ball shells. They violated their own practice and decided to use cold weapons.The battle was bad.The crescent-shaped machete slashes and kills.The Turks also used spears never seen among them.These spears were made in Russia, because the Nekrasas fought among them.The Ageria elements had permission from the Russian prefect to cross the Prut River and hide in our frontier posts.They started to cross the river.Contagoni and Safianos remained at last on the banks of the Turkish river.Kirshali had been wounded the night before and was already lying at the border post.Safyanos was killed.Contagoni was a fat man with a spear in his belly.He raised the big knife with one hand, grabbed the enemy's spear with the other hand, and stabbed it hard into his stomach so that the big knife could reach and kill the enemy.The two died together.

① Nekrasa elements: The Russian immigrants in Dubrush, Turkey, are descendants of the Don Cossacks. They fled under the leadership of the leader Igrat Nekrasa after the failure of the Braven uprising in the early eighteenth century. The battle is over.The Turks became the victors.Moldavia was cleaned.About 600 Arnauts were scattered in Bessarabia.They don't even know how to support themselves, but they are still grateful for the protection of Russia.They have nothing to do, but they are not running amok.You can often meet them in cafes in the semi-Turkized Bessarabia, drinking long pipes and holding small cups, sipping espresso in small sips.Their striped jackets and red pointed shoes were torn, their shaggy hats were worn askew on their heads, and their cutlasses and muskets hung from their belts.No one accuses them.It is hard to imagine that these honest poor people were once the comrades-in-arms of the well-known Moldavian liberation fighters and Kirshali on the Weizhen side, and he himself was among them.

The Pasha, who ruled the Iasi region, found out the whereabouts of Kirshali, and after peace negotiations, he asked the Russian authorities to extradite the robber. So the police started searching.They learned that Kirshali was actually in the city of Kishnev.One night, as he and seven companions were sitting down to eat in the dark at the home of a fugitive monk, he was caught. Kirshali was imprisoned.He does not hide the truth, admitting that he is Kirshari."But since I crossed the Prut," he added, "I have not touched a single needle of another man, nor have I insulted a single poorest gypsy. To the Guineans, of course, I am a robber, but to the Russians I am a guest. When Safyanos, having exhausted all his shells, came to find us at the border post, he went from The wounded man collected brass buttons, nails, little chains for his knives, and studs for shot. I gave him twenty sireks, and I was left without a penny. God behold, I have lived on charity ever since. Why are the Russians betraying me to my enemies now?" After speaking, Kirshali stopped talking, calmly waiting to decide his own fate.

① Turkey's senior military and administrative chief. ②Behirek: The name of Turkish currency. He didn't have to wait long.The magistrate was not obliged to view the robbers from a romantic point of view, and seeing the justice of the claims made by the Turks, ordered Kirshali to be extradited to Iasi. There was a man with a mind and a conscience, an unknown young official who was now in a high position, and he vividly described to me the scene of the escort that day. A postal cart is parked at the gate of the cell... Readers, you don’t know what a postal cart is, do you?It was a low, braided carriage, and not so long ago it was common for half a dozen or eight bad horses to be harnessed.A Moldavian with a big beard and a sheepskin cap on one of the horses was yelling and cracking his whip, and his horse was running pretty fast.If one of them got tired, the coachman would give him a bad word, unload him, and leave him alone by the road.On the way back, he believed that he would find it in the original place, and it would graze quietly on the grassland.This often happens: a passenger sets out from a post station and harnesses eight horses, and at the next station, there are only two horses left.This was fifteen years ago.By now, in Russified Bessarabia, the Russian harnesses and carriages have been replaced.

One day in late September 1821, one of the above-mentioned dirt carts stopped at the gate of the cell.Jewish women shuffling in sandals, Arnauts in tattered and gaudy clothes, and well-built Moldavian women with black-eyed dolls in their hands surrounded the prison wagon.The men remained silent.The women eagerly awaited something. The cell door opened, and several police officers came out.He was followed by two soldiers who escorted Kirshali, who was shackled and handcuffed. He looked thirty years old.His dark face is straight and serious, his tall stature and broad shoulders make him look powerful.A colorful turban wrapped obliquely over his head, a wide belt around his thin waist, a thick blue woolen jacket, a shirt with a loose hem hanging down to his knees, and a pair of beautiful shoes, this was his attire.He looked proud and calm.

A red-faced old officer in a faded military uniform with three buttons dangling from it, tin-rimmed spectacles resting not on his nose but on a purplish tumor.He unfolded the document and read it in Moldavian, with a nasty twang.From time to time he looked contemptuously at Kirshali in chains, and it seemed that the document was aimed at him.Kirshali listened attentively to his reading.After the official finished reading, he folded the official documents, shouted sternly at the crowd, told them to get out of the way, and ordered the earthen carriage to come.At this moment Kirshali turned to him and said something in Moldavian, his voice trembled, his face changed color, he wept, and knelt at the feet of the officer, making the shackles jingle.Startled, the officer took a step back.Several soldiers tried to help Kirshali up, but he got up himself, took up the chains, stepped into the carriage, and shouted: "Let's go!" A gendarme sat next to him, and the Moldavian coachman cracked his whip. , the carriage started.

"What did Kirchari say to you?" the young magistrate asked the police officer. "You see, he asked me," replied the policeman, laughing, "to take care of his wife and children, who lived in a Bulgarian village not far from Cali. He was afraid that they would be implicated because of him. People are stupid !" I was deeply moved by the stories told by the young officials.I sympathize with poor Kirshari.News of his fate remained unknown to me for a long time.A few years later, I ran into that young official again.We talked about what happened in the past. "How is your friend Kirshali?" I asked him. "Do you know where he is?"

"Why don't you know!" he answered, and went on to tell the following story: After Kirshali was escorted to Iasi, he was handed over to the pasha.Pasha sentenced him to death.The date of death is postponed to a certain festival.Put him in prison temporarily. Seven Turks guarded the prisoner. (Seven were common people, and their souls were as much robbers as Kirshali.) They respected him and, with the hunger of an Oriental, listened to his tales of his disappearance. An intimate relationship was finally established between guards and prisoners.One day, Kirshali said to them, "Brothers! My death is coming. No one can escape his fate. Soon I will say goodbye to you forever. I want to leave you something as a souvenir." " The Turks listened with pricked ears. "Brothers!" Kirshali continued, "Three years ago, when the deceased Mikhail Raj and I robbed houses together, we buried a pot full of gold on the grassland not far from Iasi. It seems neither he nor I can enjoy the treasure. So be it! Take it, and divide it amicably." The Turks were ecstatic.How, they thought, could they find that secret place?They thought it over, and finally decided to let Kirshali find it himself. In the night.The Turks unshackled the prisoner, tied his hands with ropes, and led him out of the city into the steppe. Kirshali led them in one direction, passing one hill after another.They walked for a long time.At last Kirshali stopped beside a large rock, measured twelve paces to the south, stamped his foot, and said, "It's here." The Turks arranged it.The four drew out their scimitars and began to dig the ground.Three guard prisoners.Kirshali sat on a rock and watched them work. "Hello! Is it coming soon?" he asked. "Have you dug it out yet?" "Not yet!" replied the Turks, sweating profusely from their digging. Kirchari looked impatient. "Oh, you people!" said he, "you can't even dig the ground, but I can do it in a moment. Boys! Untie my hands, and give me a knife." The Turks pondered and discussed.They decided: "What? Just untie his hands and give him a knife! He is alone and we are seven." So the Turk untie his hands and give him a knife. Kirshali is finally free and armed.How he must feel!He hurriedly dug the ground, and several guards helped him...Suddenly, he stabbed a guard in the chest with a knife, and before pulling out the knife, he reached out and snatched two pistols from his waist. The remaining six fled when they saw Kirshali holding two pistols in his hand. Kirshali is currently still looting in the Iasi area.Not long ago he wrote to the Grand Duke demanding five thousand livas, and threatening to burn Iasi if he did not pay on time, and that he would have nothing to do with the Grand Duke himself.Five thousand livahs were sent to him. What kind of person is Kirshali? ! ①According to certain documents, Kirshali was hanged in Iasi on November 24, 1834. ② Liva: Bulgarian currency name.