We were disappointed to find that the cars had not arrived, but we
discovered that the road which they had been told to take did not
come to Dreznik; we should, however, we were assured, find them at
Petch (Ypek). The continued lack of rugs and baggage seemed of little
consequence, for there never was time or opportunity for playing with
such relics of past civilisation.
But at Dreznik we had a lovely dry camping ground, near a farmhouse,
and we slept in a tent, on beds, for the first time and the last for
many weeks. The night was cold but dry, and we had a real supper
round the camp fire. Our kindly Captain (a barrister in the reserve)
bivouacked in the field next to us, and joined us for supper, and
we arranged to start together at daybreak the next morning. We knew
that there would be difficulty in getting into the line, as myriads
of wagons were already blocking our road of entrance. I hoped that
Captain W. would do the fierce-eye business, and secure a place in the
line, but he thought melting-eye business would be more effective,
and he asked me to make the arrangements. So I rode on to see the lie
of the land, as we were encamped away from the main road (I had sent
Vooitch with the motors and the staff, and I was, meantime, without
interpreter, as G. was useless). It was sometimes a little difficult
to carry on in a language which one only understood imperfectly, but
everything in Nature and this world is in a language which one doesn't
understand, and we have to carry on. A big munition column of 200
wagons was the next in order of progression; I found the officer in
charge, who, as usual, could talk German and French, and I asked him
to let us follow immediately after him, and he cheerfully agreed. This
was great luck, as oxen and horse wagons--all struggling and fighting
for places--were clustered like bees before swarming-time, at every
angle of the entrance to the narrow road of flight, and Captain W. was
mightily pleased at the quick success. A snow blizzard began whilst we
were waiting, and continued all through the day.
[Illustration: OUR CARTLESS COLUMN OF PACK PONIES AND OXEN HALTING
Discarded Shells in foreground]
[Illustration: "I DIDN'T MISS MY SUNRISE, AFTER ALL"]
The word "road" is a euphemism for the river of mud into which we
immediately plunged; indeed, all day long we met no road, but journeyed
over ploughed fields, bogs, now covered with snow, rivers, mud banks,
and stick-hills. My horse was continually over its knees in mud, and
was growing weaker every hour; but it was necessary to ride up and
down the column, through the slough of mud, whenever this was possible
without getting legs broken against the wagons and hard wooden packs,
to watch that when a wagon stuck or broke, and had to be left, that the
load was not thrown away, but was distributed amongst other wagons,
whose drivers strongly resented extra burdens.
Horses fell, and their riders were thrown into the slush; wagons
overturned, and were then, with their contents, destroyed as the
quickest remedy; the road was one long pandemonium. At one bridge, over
the River Drin, the scrimmage was even worse than usual. The bridge
was so narrow that passage could only be effected in single file, and
an officer near me estimated that 5,000 wagons were, at one moment,
struggling at the entrance for places in the line. The loud voices
of officers on horseback, shouting, and sometimes quarrelling, and
of drivers urging their weary oxen, was like the noise of a thousand
furious football crowds. Then suddenly above the din I heard my name,
and an officer, wishing to expedite our column, shouted a dramatically
worded biography, as an appeal to the soldiers to let us pass. But
while we were still waiting to cross, I saw one desperate soldier, who
was angry because an officer would not let him pass, seize the officer
by the arm, with the intent to strike him. Promptly the officer took
out his revolver and aimed it at the man. Fortunately the weapon was
not loaded, so the officer, thwarted, turned round and seized a rifle
from a soldier standing near. The culprit fled. The officer dismounted
and pursued, caught up the man, whanged him on the head with the butt
end, and was evidently intending to shoot. It was a horrible moment,
but the man pleaded, others intervened, and the man was led away.
Everyone's nerves were overwrought, and suffering and discomfort were
so universal, that I don't believe that one death, more or less, would
have seemed a great thing to those who were watching.
But once across the bridge, and on the tramp, all was again silent,
except for the monotonous and automatic cries of the drivers to their
oxen: "Terrai! Chovai! Ide! Napred!" The route all day was roadless,
through sloughs of mud, and unbroken scrub, and over boulders, and
everywhere it was strewn with the dead bodies of oxen and of horses.
At dusk we outspanned for the night, in the snow, at the top of a hill,
near an Arnaut village. We had now, presumably, made up for the time
lost at Prishtina, and rest for the animals was imperative. Captain W.
supped with us.
We were away again by 6 o'clock next morning (Saturday, November
27th). We ate mealie porridge at 5.30, as it was impossible to stop
for food during the day, and it was good to have some physical basis
of energy. This meant an hour's less rest for me and for the cook
(now, in the temporary absence of Mrs. Dawn, Demetrius, the soldier
man). But it was worth the effort. We trekked, this day, first through
an Arnaut village; the houses were one-storied, mostly of stone, as
protection from enemies and from Serbian vendettas, and, indeed, they
were so substantially built that only cannons could have dislodged the
inhabitants; and then we came into a vortex of columns converging on
all sides from their various encampments.
One officer (a doctor) told me that he had been blocked with his column
at that spot during two days, and it was now seven days since he had
left Prishtina. We got into line behind the guns, which soon, however,
got ahead of us, as they were horse-drawn, and at a narrow bridge we
were again blocked for hours. Thenceforward there were no roads, only
tracks over fields and through scrub of Turkey oak, and mud incredible;
and another of our riding horses collapsed.
The view, as we neared the snow-covered mountains, of which Petch was
at the base, was magnificent. We encamped at dusk, on the slope of a
hill, in the valley. Captain W. had supper with us. During the day,
to my relief, Vooitch reappeared; he had left the motor party safely
ensconced at Petch, and I was thankful to have his help again and to
know that the others had arrived.
At 6 a.m. Sunday, November 28th (Advent Sunday), we were on the march.
As usual now, there were no roads; we scrambled and stumbled over
ploughed fields and every variety of rough country, but there was less
block, because, as there was no road, we could choose our track. Hard
frost, too, helped to make swamps more manageable. We had to abandon
another wagon, because the oxen were growing weaker, and the kitchen
wagon needed extra help.
The worst block of that day, after the start, occurred at the end of
the day. I had scrambled through a hedge, in advance of the blocked
column, and, with Vooitch, had chosen as camping site a grass space,
partially sheltered from the icy wind by the wall of an Arnaut village.
When we returned to the hedge we found that the Bakers' Column had
intercepted ours, and refused to let our wagons pass. They said this
was in revenge for their having been forced, by another officer, to let
us pass them earlier in the day. When our men eventually got through,
they were so angry at having been kept for an additional hour from
fire and supper, that when they got through the hedge, they placed
their wagons close under the hedge, instead of coming across to the
other side of the enclosure, where I was awaiting them and keeping
the ground from other columns. So, with fierce eye flaming, I stalked
across to them, through intervening convoys, and told them to come at
once. They said that they had already outspanned their oxen and lighted
their fires. Full of wrath, I kicked their fires out, with my impellent
boots, and gave the order to inspan and to follow me at once. They came
meekly, and were soon glad of the shelter of the wall. How could I help
loving these men? For they never sulked or bore malice when they had to
do things they didn't like; perhaps they remembered that we, also, were
doing things which we didn't like, for their sakes.
That evening I had the good fortune to be able to buy, for 90 dinars, a
pony to replace my horse, which was exhausted. We took the latter with
us to Scutari, but it was never again ridden on trek.
In the evening a rumour came that the town crier at Petch, was crying
that the Russians had been victorious in Galicia, and that the Germans
were leaving Serbia. It was also rumoured that we might be ordered back
to Mitrovitza. And much as the men wanted to return to Serbia, they all
shouted in chorus, "Never again along that Prishtina road."
J. G. and Mr. Little and I slept in the wagons that night. We were
up at five next morning (Monday, November 29th), and when we were
starting, the local Prefect came up and said he had only just heard
that we were here, or he would have invited us to his house for the
night. He made a charming speech of appreciation of our work, and asked
me to come and drink a glass of new milk at his house. I had not time
to dismount, but I shall never forget that drink of milk. It was half
cream, and the daughter of the house warmed it. I had not realised,
till I found myself gulping like a greedy puppy, that we had lately not
been overfed. I called the other two, and they also had a gulp.
The cold was horrible all day, and the route was worse than ever: over
hedges, ditches, rivers, bogs, ploughed fields and slippery ice, all
the way to Petch, which we reached at 4 p.m. Major A. and his column,
with hundreds of others, were encamped on the bare, frozen marshes
outside the town, and he suggested that we, too, had better stop on
this side of the town. But it was a bad place for a camp, no wood for
fires, or shelter from the icy wind, and the ground was a swamp. Our
cars were on the other side of the town, near a monastery, and that
sounded very hopeful and peaceful. I was told that we should not be
allowed to go through the town, but we risked it and got through.
I found that the doctors and nurses and their cars were inside the
monastery walls; the other cars, with the remainder of the staff, were
outside, beside a stream. On the other side of the stream we placed
the column. There was no wood available, in or around Petch. A Serbian
soldier would sell his soul for firewood, as our Tommies would for
a long drink, and I had to consent that one of our wagons, the most
dilapidated, should be cut up, in order that the men might make their
magic fire circles, and, whilst sitting round them, dream of past and
future, and forget the present. The continuous strain and lack of food
were exhausting the oxen. Every day now loads had to be readjusted, and
if there was one wagon less, the men would be helped.
It was pleasant to be welcomed "home" again by the staff after a
separation of six days. We took up quarters near the wagons outside
the monastery. Doctor May and the unit from Kragujevatz, who had all
been obliged to evacuate the Stobart Hospital, by order of the military
authorities, were now, I heard, in the town on their way to England,
so I went to see them, and I found that Doctor Curcin, who had at
Kragujevatz been officially responsible for the welfare of foreign
units, was in charge of the party, and that all arrangements had been
made for their journey with ponies to the coast. They were returning
to England as quickly as possible, and it was now decided that the two
doctors of our Serbian-English Field Hospital, two nurses and three
chauffeurs should go home with the Curcin party. I could not guarantee
that I should return to London immediately. I was pledged to the Army
and to the column as long as my services were needed, and I could not
yet foresee what might be required of me, and it seemed wise that those
who wished to make sure of being in London before Christmas, should
take the opportunity of Doctor Curcin's escort. We helped them to
buy ponies, and they left Petch on December 1st, for Andreavitza and
Podgoritza.