On Sunday, October 31st, the order to leave for Voliovtza came at 10.30
a.m. On the road, Major A. and one of the French doctors, who were both
riding, joined us, and we pitched our respective camps on either side
of the road, just outside Jagodina. While we were pitching our tents, a
German aeroplane dropped bombs within a few yards of Major A.'s camp.
No harm was done, though in Jagodina many were injured, and six people
were killed, including the brother of one of our men, by bombs dropped
a few minutes later by this same aeroplane.
Major A.'s mother and sister were living at Jagodina, having fled there
from Belgrade, from the Austrians, some months earlier. The Major was
now much troubled, because it seemed that they must remain in the town.
Where, he asked, could they go? If they went south, they ran grave risk
of being captured by the Bulgars. If they stayed in Jagodina, they
would, it is true, be taken by the Germans, but they preferred the
Germans, as the lesser, they said, of two evils.
This time we were able to pitch our bivouac on dry ground, on short,
sheep-eaten grass by the roadside; and we received at once some
wounded. But it was discomforting to find that the number of our
patients was in inverse ratio to our losses in the field. This evening
we only had a dozen, and they walked in. They told us that the severely
wounded were being left upon the field; the enemy would give no time
for collecting them, and they were, as usual, firing on the ambulance
parties. Only those men, therefore, came for treatment who could move
themselves. Also wagons for transport, usually commandeered from the
local peasants, had now all been taken away by the refugees for their
own uses. Fighting was continuous, and the thought of the wounded
lying untended on the field, was nearly unbearable. I knew that fierce
battles had been raging near us, and yet there were only a few wounded
in our dispensary tent. I spoke next morning about this condition of
affairs to Major A., but he said, and I knew that it was true, that the
P.M.O. was doing all that was possible. I was for the moment, however,
sorely tempted to go with our own ambulance cars to the battle-field
and pick up as many wounded as we could, but I remembered in time,
that I had been entrusted with the command of a column which had its
own deputed work, and that such command had, for the first time, been
entrusted to a woman; it would be a dereliction of my responsibilities
if, for any purpose, I neglected these to take upon myself somebody
else's responsibilities. I resisted the temptation, but with a sore
heart.
The French doctors and Major A. spent the morning with us, the former
and we trying to assure the Major that the situation must change for
the better before long. He, however, was convinced, and rightly so,
that his country was doomed. In the afternoon J. G. and I went over
to his (the Major's) camp and had coffee in an arbour, placed in a
vineyard of American vines; these were of a light green colour, and
looked beautiful against the purple mists upon the mountains. They had
been imported as a check to the vine pest, the phylloxera.
On Tuesday, November 2nd, the situation looked desperate. It had never
looked so black. Even rumours as to the arrival of the Allies, were now
less frequent, though poor old King Peter, remembering, no doubt, how
a year ago he had, by his presence at the front, inspired his troops
to further effort, drove that afternoon past our camp to the trenches,
saluting us as he drove past, and told the men that if they would only
stick to it bravely for a few more days, help would be forthcoming. But
it was obvious to us all that the Serbian Army, with its inferiority of
artillery, might check, but it could not stem the tide of the enemy's
advance. The big guns now roared and thundered mercilessly, louder and
nearer, almost continuously day and night. I could never understand
why, being so near, the enemy did not make a dash and cut off our
retreat. It might be expected any minute, and the tenacious defence
that was made by this Serbian Army, in the face of terrific odds, was
indeed worthy of admiration.
The Germans had taken Kragujevatz; this town had, whilst we were there,
seemed to us like a second home, and now it was, together with its
inhabitants, who had been so friendly to us, in the enemy's hands;
all our wealth of hospital material and equipment was being fingered
by Germans, and German soldiers were bivouacked within our much-loved
tents upon the racecourse; and--and this was the saddest thought of
all--the fine arsenal was now being used to fashion German munitions
to be used against our Serbian friends. The Germans were also at
Milanovatz, and our dispensary headquarters at Rudnik would be in their
possession.
From our present position we could watch the battles raging on the near
hills; these were ablaze with fire from shell and shrapnel. We were
already, as Major A. pointed out, surrounded on three sides. Could
we--that is, could the Army--possibly escape?
The Major thought it was impossible, but the French doctors were as
usual delightfully optimistic. They had, with me, confidence in the
Serbian _état-major_, which had formerly done excellently against the
Turks, the Bulgars, and the Austrians; and they were not likely to fail
us now. They must have some way of escape up their sleeve; the retreat
was being conducted in such a dignified fashion, it was clear that the
control was in capable hands. But faith was a useful companion.
Then came a sudden influx of severely wounded--96 that day up to 10.30
p.m., and with a bound, up went the spirits of the doctors and the
nurses. But it was piteous to see these wounded. We knew that most of
them must die, for there was no time for them to rest anywhere; they
were evacuated from station to station. After we had treated them they
must, according to our instructions, continue, in the ox-wagons which
had brought them, to Treshnitza--14 kilometres distant. Two officers
were in a pitiful condition--their brains were bulging through their
skulls, and they had also been shot in the stomach. They must die in
the carts.
At sunset I climbed a small hill with Major A., and on three sides we
saw the battle--many battles--raging. White smoke, and black smoke,
and flashes of fire, were belching forth, with thunders, and roaring,
and occasional silences, which were worse than the noises, for in the
silence you could feel the agony of the wounded--the passing of the
dead. On the fourth side, and just below us, was a sight which would, a
few years ago, have been no less remarkable. By the side of the road,
along which were passing at that moment, guns damaged in the action
which we had just been watching, the various columns of an army in
retreat, and refugees in flight, we saw a small white camp. Moving in
and out, quietly, and leisurely, amongst the tents, were some women,
who seemed to have no concern with the tumult that was raging all
around them. One of them was cooking supper over an open wood fire. She
was apparently joking with the Serbian cook-orderly and threatening
to hit him on the head with the frying-pan. An ox-wagon stopped in
front of--ah! yes!--that was a Red Cross flag. Immediately, a woman
in a long white coat, and two women in white aprons, stepped out from
the tent nearest the road. The white-coated woman climbed up on the
wheel of the wagon, and stooped down to examine a mangled form, which
was immediately taken out, placed upon a stretcher, and carried into
the tent. And we realised that the picture formed a tiny fragment of
the European mosaic of war; it was a scene in the routine of the First
Serbian-English Field Hospital.
That evening we ate supper in the open, round the fire, but it was
difficult to take our eyes off the absorbing scenes that were being
enacted all around us. Occasionally an extra loud and startling
outburst of cannon-roar, quite close to us, made us jump; but no one
took any further notice, and we went on with our supper. After supper
we received a message that we were to hold ourselves in readiness to
depart at any moment, and we accordingly packed our hospital tent. But
the wounded continued to arrive. For this we were always thankful, and
the doctors and nurses now attended them in the open, by the light of
hurricane lanterns; our acetylene gas lamp was packed. But then came
a further order that we were not to move until the morning, so we put
up the hospital tent again, for it was raining, and shelter for the
wounded must be provided.