There was not a roof left, not a whole wall standing; all was a mass of ruins, from which arose, as we listened, a low plaintive wail, like the " keening " of the Irish over their dead, that filled the little valley and gave it voice.
We had the explanation of this curious sound when we afterwards descended into the village. We looked again at the heap of skulls and skeletons before us, and we observed that they were all small, and that the articles of clothing, intermingled with them and lying about, were all parts of women's apparel.
These, then, were all women and girls. From my saddle I counted about a hundred skulls, 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 bones, the skeletons were nearly all headless Guided Istanbul Tours.
Monotonous Chant
These women had all been beheaded. We descended into the town. Within the shattered walls of the first house we came to was a woman sitting on a heap of rubbish, rocking herself to and for, wailing a kind of monotonous chant, half sung, half sobbed, that was not without a wild discordant melody. In her lap she held a babe, and another child sat beside her patiently and silently, and looked at us as we passed with wondering eyes.
She paid no attention to us; but we bent our ear to hear what she was saying, and our interpreter said it was as follows :— " My home, my home, my poor home, nay sweet home; my husband, my husband, my poor husband, my dear husband ; my home, my sweet home' and so on, repeating the same words over and over again a thousand times. In the next house were two, engaged in the same way; one old, the other young, repeating words nearly identical, " I had a home, and now I have none ; I had a husband, and now I am a widow; I had a son, and now I have none ; I had five children, and now I have one," while rocking themselves to and fro, beating their heads and wringing their hands.
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