The crush of wagons in the gorge grew worse and worse, as the night
went on, till at 1 a.m. all movement stopped, and the block seemed
permanent. Were the Bulgars closing in upon us in front? Or were the
Albanians taking this easy opportunity of attacking convoys? There were
no officers about, and the soldiers of our column and of neighbouring
columns, who were unaware of the full danger of the situation, all
assumed that there was a bad hole or a broken bridge ahead of us, and
that the stoppage was irremediable. But nothing is irremediable till
all remedies have been tried, and then others can probably be invented.
There was barely room to pass, but I rode forward with Vooitch,
scraping and bruising my legs against the wagon wheels and hard wooden
pack-saddles, to try and discover the reason for the long halt. If
there was a serious reason, it was as well to be prepared. But we
found, as we had suspected, that a little way up the line, some of the
oxen had decided that, enemies or no enemies, it was now bedtime, and
they were calmly lying across the road, and the complacent drivers,
in the absence of officers, had acquiesced, as there was no space by
the side of the road, on which the animals could rest. The soldiers
were seated around the promptly lighted fires; they were not sleeping,
they never seemed to sleep; or eating, one seldom saw them eat; they
were gazing into the red ashes, in apparent ignorance, or indifference
to their pending fate. There was only one remedy. Vooitch and I were
both wearing thick boots. We dismounted, and with the optimism of Mark
Twain when he tried to push the glacier forward with his stick, we
walked along the line of the columns ahead of us, kicked the oxen out
of their slumbers, called the men from their dreams, and provoked a
move; we may thus possibly have prevented the capture of some of the
rearguard columns.
We then journeyed continuously, except for short compulsory halts, due
to congestion of convoys, all through that night, and the next day,
till 6 o'clock in the evening--a 25 hours' ride--till we reached Ravni,
in an opening which ended the first, or Maidevo, half of the gorge.
This opening was also the entrance to the second, or Yankova, portion
of the defile.
We bivouacked by the side of a small river. We economised time in
those days, and pitched as few tents as possible--one for hospital,
one for doctors, one for men, and one for women. This evening we
made our kitchen in the open, under a large walnut tree, by the side
of the stream. Four or five officers, including the Colonel who had
been the head of the powder factory at Krushievatz, joined us for
supper, and we gave them blankets, and straw, and the shelter of the
hospital tent, for the night. The Colonel, like most officers, had
been obliged to leave his wife and children in Krushievatz. How could
he have transported them, and where could he have taken them? He hated
the Germans, although, or was it because, he had a German wife, but
he trusted, he said, that they would be cavaliers. But he was nervous
and excited. Is it a wonder? He asked the question which I always
dreaded, "Where are the English?" And I could only reply, as always,
"Oh! they'll turn up some day." But I never, during our three months'
retreat, heard either officer, or soldier, utter a word of bitterness,
or reproach, about the non-arrival of the Allies. They always said,
with quiet dignity, that there was some good reason why they had not
yet been able to send help.
We were, of course, happy to offer these officers hospitality, and we
were glad to be able to show, even in a tiny way, British sympathy with
the Serbian nation. But now our little stock of stores was coming to
an end, and there was no prospect of renewal, and on this evening we
shared our last pot of jam with these Serbian friends. Could they, we
asked, have a more practical proof of sympathy than that?
Some of the oxen were lame, and I found that it was because the men had
carelessly omitted to reshoe them. Next morning, therefore, early, I
summoned all the drivers, and told each man to bring his oxen before
me, that I might examine their feet. Oxen parade. I then reminded
them that the time might come, any day, when we in our turn should be
in pursuit of the enemy, and how would they feel if they had to stay
behind because their oxen were lame? I was told it was not possible
to shoe them now, and this, that, and the other plausible excuse was
offered. But this was no time for excuses; fierce eye and deep voice
were summoned, and then at once the sergeant acquiesced. "Ja! Ja!
Dobro! Dobro!" ("Yes! Yes! All right! All right!") Then I heard him
murmur to Vooitch, as he shrugged his shoulders, "It's no use. If she
says it's got to be done, we've got to do it." And it was done. (I
knew there were shoes and a smith in another column near us.) That
little affair was scarcely finished, when I heard that one of the
kitchen boys was playing cards, when he had been told by the cooks to
fill the lamps. Fierce-eye business again. I don't believe in corporal
punishment, but I couldn't begin teaching the Serbian soldiers abstract
reasons for the necessity of obedience, and obedience was essential.
So, hoping to teach the sergeant a little elementary discipline, I
called him, put my whip in his hand, and took him with me to the
bivouac tent in which the delinquent was playing truant, and told him
he was to use the whip if I gave the word. We arrived in front of the
kitchen sleeping tent, and there, sure enough, was the naughty Nicola,
playing cards with three other soldiers. Very fierce eye, and very
fierce voice this time. They could play cards, I told them, in leisure
hours, not in work time; I took away the cards, tore them in pieces,
and told the sergeant to use the whip. He thought it would be a pity to
discriminate between Nicola and the others, and he belaboured all four,
and we had no illegitimate card-playing after that.
My next job that same morning concerned Sandford and Merton. We had,
two days ago on the trek, failing to find oxen, commandeered some cows
to help draw the wagons, as our oxen were exhausted. They had with them
two calves, and last night, on arrival, Sandford and Merton had killed
the calves, and, with their own little group of friends, they had eaten
them, without asking permission and--here was the rub--without offering
us any veal. Sandford was stout and lazy, and was catering very badly
for us, and if we had relied on his services, we and the cattle should
have fared badly, and now food was getting scarcer, and he gave
himself less, instead of more, trouble. So I took the opportunity of
a fierce-eye talk. I used to disbelieve in the necessity for anger,
but, with the soldiers, I found that an ounce of anger was worth a
ton of argument. But, for the sake of the interpreter, the wrath had
to be broken up into sections, else Vooitch forgot what I had said
and, then he invented, and his inventions were not the same as mine.
But to bring the wrath duly to the boil, then let it wait, simmering,
whilst the interpreter translated, then again boil and simmer, boil and
simmer, in quick alternation, as often as required, needed, in order to
be effective, a little stage management. So far, I had got on without
"damn," for which I didn't know the Serbian.
Our Artillery Major looked in for coffee and a talk after mid-day
dinner. News was as bad as ever, but he was as cheery as usual. There
were only a few wounded, and that was the worst sign of all.
At 4 p.m. came the order to move on. Night treks seemed now to be the
rule, and this night we must tackle the second half (Yankova portion)
of the defile.
The first stretch of road was terrible for the cars, very soft, and
deep in mud and holes, but the soldiers all helped to push and carry,
and the chauffeurs, as usual, mastered all difficulties. Before we
entered the gorge, we passed our divisional commander, who was watching
some of the artillery wagons enter the main road, from a by-track to
the hills, where the guns had been in position, and as we were held up,
we had a short talk. He was, as always, delightfully genial, friendly
and cheerful. If we passed safely through the gorge to-night, the Army
would, he said, probably be saved. There was renewed hope that the
French and English--and even the Russians were mentioned--were on their
way from Salonika. Possibly we might join them at Velles. He also gave
me the good news that our dispenser was to be removed next day.
The congestion last night had been so great, and had caused such
dangerous delay, that to-night steps were taken by officers to control
the way, and to get the columns in a single line, to allow of passing
up and down. Officers were also stationed at intervals to prevent
wagons and refugees from butting in from side-roads and causing
confusion, which it would take a Dante to describe.
The cars were allowed to go short distances ahead and await us at
intervals, but in view of the possibility of capture by enemies, at
either end of the gorge, it was not desirable that they should be
beyond easy reach of the rest of the column. The guns were making
their usual din, resounding noisily against the mountain sides, as we
entered the gorge, but the valley seemed less full of forebodings than
yesterday, and we reached Blatzi at the astonishingly early hour of
eleven p.m.
I left the column outside the town, and went on with Vooitch to find
shelter. But the town was choked with troops, and every house, though
deserted by its own inhabitants, was full of soldiers. Eventually we
found a side lane for the encampment, and by one o'clock we were all
asleep. At six the next morning, some officers vacated two rooms in a
house near, and we took possession, for kitchen and hospital. Wounded
arrived, and we had to evacuate them to Kurshumlya, about twenty
kilometres distant.
Major A. and the French doctors were bivouacked at the other end of
the town, and came to see us at tea-time--the former much depressed,
the latter still full of optimism. A cousin of our Artillery Major, so
like him that he might have been a twin brother, presented himself,
and from talks with him and with other officers, I gathered that the
situation was extremely black. The numbers of the infantry were rapidly
diminishing; 1,000 had been left, dead and wounded, on the field near
Bagrdan. It had been impossible to move the wounded; the Germans had
fired on the ambulance parties. Officers were now reduced in numbers
by one third. The absorbing consideration still was, "should we meet
the French and English before the Bulgars caught us up?" Skoplye was
already in Bulgarian hands, and now I heard for the first time that,
if there was no hope of being joined by the Allies, the Army must
retreat across the Montenegrin mountains, to the coast of Albania. But
conversation still ended always with the hope that the Allies would
come.