The sixty soldiers were already at the station when we arrived, also
Colonel Pops Dragitch, and Colonel Guentchitch followed, to watch the
embarkation of wagons and motors on the train. We were not to leave
till early next morning, so we went in relays to the camp for supper,
leaving the others in charge of the goods; and we slept that night in
our carriages on the train.
The hospital was to be officially known as "The First Serbian-English
Field Hospital (Front)--Commandant Madame Stobart," and we were
attached to the Schumadia Division (25,000 men). The oxen and horses
were entrained at dawn, but the train did not start till eight o'clock
(Saturday, October 2nd). Colonels Guentchitch and Pops Dragitch came to
say good-bye. We little guessed that we should next meet at Scutari,
near the coast, in Albania, after three months of episodes more tragic
than any which even Serbia has ever before endured. I was amused at
being told that I was the commander of the train, and that no one would
be allowed to board it, or to leave it, without my permission. I don't
remember much amusement after that.
We reached Nish at seven that evening, and during the train's halt
of an hour and twenty minutes, we dined in the station restaurant.
Members of the Second British Farmers' Unit, which had been working at
Belgrade, with Mr. Wynch as Administrator, were at the station on their
way to England.
After Nish the line was monopolised by military trains, in which were
Serbian soldiers, dressed in every variety of old garments, brown or
grey--the nearest approach to uniform producible. They reminded me of
the saying of Emerson, "No army of freedom or independence is ever well
dressed."
We arrived at Pirot at 3 a.m. (Sunday, October 3rd). I was interested
and also glad to find that I was not going to be coddled by the
military authorities. The assumption was that I knew all about
everything, and didn't need to be told; so I assumed it too.
As soon as the train stopped at Pirot, I called the sergeant, and
then immediately I realised that I was face to face with a quaint
little embarrassment. In the hospital at Kragujevatz, and at all
the dispensaries, the soldiers and the people had always called me
"Maika." For the position I then held this word was appropriate enough;
but now, as Commander of an army column, might not other men hold
our men to ridicule if they were under the orders of "Maika"? The
sergeant appeared in answer to my summons. He saluted. "Ja, Maika?"
he answered. There was no time for hesitation; there never should be;
act first and find the reason afterwards is often the best policy, and
I quickly determined to remain "Maika." The word "Maika" is already,
to Serbian hearts, rich with impressions of the best qualities of
the old-fashioned woman; it would do no harm to add to this a few
impressions of qualities of authority and power not hitherto associated
with women. It was a risk, but I risked it, and I never had cause for
regret. I then told the sergeant to disembark the men, oxen, horses,
and wagons, while the chauffeurs saw to the handling of the motors. I
hoped that meantime a message would arrive giving the order for the
next move; but, as nothing happened, I started off at 5 a.m. in one
of the cars, with Dr. Coxon and the interpreter, to try and find the
Staff Headquarters. Colonel Terzitch having, at Aranjelovatz, said I
should find him at Pirot, I went into the town and asked at various
public offices where Colonel Terzitch could be found, but no one could,
or would, give any information, and we were eventually driving off on
a false scent, and in a wrong direction, when I stopped an officer,
who was driving towards us in his carriage, and I asked him to direct
us. He gave us the information we wanted, and we ultimately tracked
the Staff to their Headquarters, in their tents in a field about five
kilometres from Pirot, at the moment when Major Popovitch was starting
to meet us. Our train had arrived earlier than was expected, and he
said he was glad we had pushed on. He took us at once to see the
Commandant, who was awaiting us, and he gave us a hearty welcome. He
was in the tent which we had given him, but it was wrongly pitched.
So we took it down and put it up in the right way, whilst the Colonel
told his soldiers to watch and see how it should be done. Then he took
us to have slatko (jam) and coffee in the ognishta; a circular fence,
made of kukurus, enclosed a wood fire, which was crackling busily in
the middle; in a circle round the fire was a trench, about three feet
deep and two feet wide, with a bank all round, levelled as a seat. We
sat either on dry hay on the bank, or on stools, our feet comfortably
touching ground in the trench. The usual slatko and glasses of water,
followed by Turkish coffee and cigarettes, were handed round. We were
so delighted with the ognishta that the Colonel said he would tell his
men to build one for us in our camp, and later in the afternoon this
was done.
Meantime we returned to the station, to bring out the convoy. The
Colonel and Major Popovitch met us on the road and helped us to choose
a site for the camp, about half a mile away from, and on a hill
above their Headquarters. It was necessary to protect ourselves from
aeroplanes by sheltering as much as possible near trees, and we found,
on a reaped wheat-field adjoining a vine-field, a gorgeous site which
gave us the protection of a hedge and of some trees, with a view to the
east over a valley which divided us from Pirot, and the mountains of
Bulgaria beyond.
From over these mountains we might at any moment hear the sound of guns
telling of the outbreak of hostilities between Bulgaria and Serbia.
The Allies had played into the hands of Bulgaria, and, by refusing to
let Serbia strike at her own time, had given Bulgaria the advantage of
striking at her time, chosen when support from Germany and Austria on
the Danube front, would make the position of Serbia hopeless.
The Colonel had hospitably invited us all to lunch with him, but we
couldn't burden him to that extent; and the camp work had to be done.
Eight of us, therefore--the doctors, two nurses, two chauffeurs, the
secretary, and myself--took advantage of the hospitality, and enjoyed
an excellent lunch in a cottage which the officers were using as
mess-room.
By the evening our first camp was installed, and next day, Monday,
October 4th, Major Popovitch and various officers from Pirot came
up, while the nurses were busy preparing dressings and cleaning the
surgical instruments in the hospital tent, to see the arrangements.
They seemed much pleased. The Pirot officers came up in an English car
made in Birmingham.
We only had as patients a few sick soldiers, but there was plenty to
do otherwise in arranging the men's routine of work and meals. The
soldiers always did what they were told, but they needed constant
prodding. In the morning early, for instance, I went to see if the
horses and oxen were being properly fed, and I found that the hay and
oats sent was insufficient; there was not enough to go round. Though
the men knew this, they had said and done nothing, but had tethered the
horses on barren ground, and left the oxen foodless in the same empty
field. They were surprised when I told them that they must take all the
animals to a pasture.
But they were quite as careless with their own food. They had eaten no
hot meal since we left Kragujevatz; but, even now, when they had the
chance, they were contenting themselves with bread and cheese, because
the cook was too lazy to prepare hot food, and I had to insist on a
meal being cooked. I made them light a fire, clean a big cauldron, and
stew sheep and potatoes, with plenty of paprika or red pepper; then I
told them I should come and taste it later. This I did, and the stew
was excellent.
We were encircled by mountains, and near us, to the east, the beautiful
little village of Suvadol, 1,300 feet above the sea, nestled snugly in
its orchards of plums and apples.
The whole valley between us and Pirot was alive with bivouacs of armed
men, all ready to march on Bulgaria. At any moment we might hear the
rumbling of cannons over the hills, telling us that war had begun. But,
as yet, the mountains were silent, their secrets hidden in the blue
mist, which, in the evening, under the sunset colours, quickened into
rainbows.
On Wednesday, October 6th, we waited all day for news. We noticed that
the grey dots in the valley below were fast disappearing; something
was evidently happening down there. And that evening our turn came.
At seven o'clock twenty-four of us, including the Commissaire and
Treasurer (Sandford and Merton, the inseparables), and the Serbian
dispenser, were sitting in our picturesque ognishta, round the wood
fire, which held a tripod with a cheery kettle for after-supper tea.
The opening of our ognishta faced the Bulgarian mountains, but the
night was dark, and everything beyond our tiny firelit circle was
invisible. We had nearly finished supper, and some of us were lighting
cigarettes, when a drab-dressed soldier--an orderly from Staff
Headquarters--appeared in the entrance. He handed to me a small, white,
square envelope, addressed to the Commander of the Column. I opened it
and took out a slip of paper; I put my signature upon the envelope as
a token of receipt, and gave it to the messenger, and he disappeared.
The interpreter, Vooitch, came and stood behind me, and we read the
slip of paper in silence; then he whispered the translation. I shall
never forget the looks of eager expectation on the faces which were
illumined by the firelight. "What does it say?" "We move from here at
five o'clock to-morrow morning," was the answer. The destination, must,
of course, not be revealed. Immediately, when the precious tea had been
drunk, we all went out and began preparations. As every one was new to
the work, it was better to do all we could before going to bed. The men
were called, and dispensary and kitchen tents and their contents were
packed, and also my tent, to save time in the morning.
From midnight to 3.30 a.m. I rested in the dug-out, round the fire,
looking out over the dark valley to the invisible mountains. What a
silence! Would it soon be broken by a murderous sound echoing through
the valley? Were those men, those peasant soldiers in the plain below,
already rushing to be destroyed, shattered into ugly fragments, by
other men--other peasant soldiers--who would also be shattered into
ugly fragments soon? Yes, soon, very soon, Hell would be let loose--in
the name of Heaven.
I rose at 3.30 to ensure that everyone should be in time at his or
her own job, and punctually at five o'clock all was ready for the
start. With human beings, as with all animals, habit is second nature;
whatsoever thing is done at the beginning, that same thing, rather
than some other thing, comes most easily at all times. "As it was
in the beginning, is now and ever shall be," is the text for most
folks. I took care, therefore, that the start should be methodical.
At the sound of the whistle, the convoy drew up in line; first, the
ox-wagons, loaded with tents and stores and general equipment, the
leading wagon carrying the Red Cross flag; next, the horse-drawn
wagons, also with stores and provisions; in these rode the dispenser,
Sandford and Merton, and the interpreter; then the motor ambulances, in
which travelled the twenty-one members of the British Staff with their
personal kit.
Colonel Terzitch had kindly, the night before, sent up four riding
horses; no one had said that I was to ride, but it was obvious that I
couldn't control the column of men and of slow-moving wagons if I was
sitting comfortably inside a swiftly-moving motor-car. I therefore made
up my mind to ride at the head of the convoy always, and to take the
lead in every deed, for better or for worse, and to share with the men
the practical difficulties of the road. So I took one horse, the black
one, for myself, and how thankful I was that I was not dependent on a
side saddle; gave two to the armed orderlies, who had been told to keep
near me always, and one I reserved for Vooitch or for Sandford, whose
duty it was to ride in advance and procure food for men and cattle.
Dawn was breaking as the wagons and ambulances came into line in single
file; I mounted my horse, shouted "Napred!" (forward), and, followed by
the two mounted orderlies, took the lead out of the field and over the
ditch, which we had levelled, into a narrow lane which turned abruptly
to the right and led down a steep hill into the main road.
Out of the folds of the mountains in the east, white mists were slowly
rising, and reflecting colours of purple, and pink, and mauve, from
the heralding rays of the rising sun. The valley plains, which had
yesterday been alive with bivouacs, were now deserted, the men in
thousands were already in procession on the road.
As we reached the bottom of the hill and struck the main road, Colonel
Terzitch and our P.M.O. were starting from their encampment, and
joining the road, in a carriage drawn by two horses. They waved us a
salute, and we took our place in the line already formed behind the
ambulance column. In front of this column came the pioneers, engineers,
and other auxiliaries, then all the other various columns of our
division; behind us were the butchers and the bakers; there were no
candlestick-makers.
Our destination was Stananitza, 40 kilometres distant, and the road lay
through Pirot. Where was now the carpet-making industry? I had little
thought that day at Rudnik, when I so much wished to go to Pirot, that
I should visit the place so soon, but that carpet-seeing would not be
on the programme.
Congestion of convoys was great, and progress was slow; we were for
hours crawling and stopping, and crawling, crawling, crawling through
the town. I realised at once that there would be difficulty in keeping
the column together owing to the different paces respectively of
the cars, the horses, and the oxen. The cars wanted to go fast, the
oxen wanted to go slow, and the horses neither fast nor slow; but
I determined that first day that, as I myself couldn't go at three
different paces, and as I was responsible for the safety of all, we
must, by one means or another, keep together. The wagon horses had no
objection to going at oxen pace, and the motors compromised by driving
on for half an hour and then waiting, or else by starting half an hour
after the rest of us. This plan was adopted throughout, with the result
that during the whole of the next three months we never lost any of the
convoy.
[Illustration: BURYING OUR DEAD BY THE ROADSIDE]
[Illustration: THE HISTORIC PLAIN OF KOSSOVO]