Thursday, December 16th, the last day in the mountains of Montenegro,
consummated the impressions that had been stamped upon our minds of
the gaunt, desolate nature of this country. Rain fell all day, as we
trekked through valleys which were only wide enough for the narrow
road, and for that bright green ribbon river which, below us, ran
between mountains of bare, precipitous rock. Occasionally there was
an interlude of basaltic formation. That was a relief, for it spoke
of kinship with our Giant's Causeway, and the Caves of Staffa. By a
further stretch of the imagination, it was just possible sometimes,
when relenting boulders hung less threateningly over the river bank, to
be reminded of the cliffs of Cornwall, but, as a rule, nothing reminded
you of anything you had ever seen, or ever wished to see again.
On all sides grey prison walls, and mist and rain, shutting out
earth and heaven; only the track visible, and on the track, dead
oxen, inside out, surrounded by their entrails (I never knew before
how multitudinous and how disgusting the internal arrangements of a
simple ox could be); hungry men, slashing with knives, the still warm
carcases, and marching off with hunks of bleeding flesh in their bloody
hands; dead horses; dying horses who understood, and forebore to harass
you with the appealing eye; and now, too, dead men at every turn--men
dead from hunger, cold, fatigue and sorrow. With the dead men the
pathos lay, not in their deadness--we shall all be dead some day--but
in the thought that these simple, ignorant, peasant soldiers had, in
these desolate mountains, laid down their lives, away from military
glory and renown, for an idea which must, for many, have been blurred
and indistinct, almost sub-conscious. The idea was the same as that for
which Serbian soldiers had laid down their lives at Kossovo, an idea
which had nothing in it of vulgar conquest or aggression, the idea that
the soul of Serbia must be free, to work out its own salvation. Home,
family, even country, count for nothing, if the soul of Serbia is not
free. Home, family, even country must be sacrificed, if needs be, to
ensure that the soul of Serbia shall be free.
At two o'clock that day we could scarcely believe our eyes. In front of
us, was a break in the imprisoning rocks, and we saw an open plain, and
on the far side of the plain, a town--the town of Podgoritza. Could we
dare to think, for the first time, of rest from cold and hunger, treks
and columns? Could we dare to think of home, and of those we loved,
from whom, during three long months, we had had no tidings? No! No! Not
yet.
We descended, and emerged into the open country. Our backs were now
turned to the mountains; and whatever might happen in the future--and
we had a notion, alas! mistaken, that the road from Podgoritza to
Scutari would be more normal--whatever might be before us, the
mountains of Montenegro were behind us, and we uttered a Sbogom
(good-bye) of intense relief.
The mountains ended with characteristic harshness, abruptly on the
plain, and soon, along a good road, we outdistanced them; but between
their folds, the octopus of death was still busy, clutching with
tentacles of hunger, cold, and sorrow, victims who had escaped the
battlefield. I wanted to forget the past, and I would not at first
look back on Sodom and Gomorrah--I remembered Lot's wife. But I had
prayed, often enough, in vigorous determination, for strength to
bring the column through; should I not now look back, with equally
vigorous prayer and thankfulness for their deliverance? I looked back;
the high mountains were closing ranks behind us, as though to guard
their horrors; there was now no sign of passage-way. Yes, I looked
back, and I saw a vision which would, in olden days, have been called
supernatural. For, across the black mountains, from peak to base, a
rainbow shone, and hid the hideousness of bare rocks, beneath its
lustrous colours. It spanned earth and sky, and formed a highway from
heaven, even to this cruel land. And in it I saw the token of the
Covenant, which, of old, God made between Him and all flesh, that He
would not destroy the living creatures that are on the earth. I saw and
understood. God's Covenant still holds good. Hope guarded the entrance
even to that purgatory. Therefore, we must not forget the past that was
enshrined in these mountains; the memory of that past must be carried
with us as a fire, wherefrom to kindle counter-fire, against the
flaming sword which now destroys the living creatures which are on the
earth, and keeps them from the Tree of Life.
We were soon in Podgoritza. Leaving the column in a side-street, V. and
I went, according to custom, first to the military station, to ask for
bread and hay. The captain in command was extremely genial and kind.
But he said that no bread was available till to-morrow. I knew it was
not his fault, and I said "Thank you," and was leaving; but he then
broke into a eulogy of our nation; he seemed pleased because we had
not grumbled at not getting bread, and he compared us with some other
nations, who were not, he said, so adaptable to circumstances. Then he
tried to persuade me to go to Scutari, more or less comfortably, by
boat, across the lake, and to leave the soldiers to come by themselves,
with the ponies and the remaining oxen by road--only ten oxen were
now left. The road was, he said, execrable, and we couldn't make the
journey in less than three days. But as long as there was one man and
one ox left, I couldn't desert the column: I must carry on.
[Illustration: MORNING MIST ABOVE THE BRIGHT GREEN RIVER IN MONTENEGRO]
[Illustration: TRACKLESS MOUNTAINS IN MONTENEGRO, BEYOND ROSHAI]
There seemed no reason, however, why the British staff should not take
advantage of the offer; they could meet me at the other end of the
lake, and save themselves from days of discomfort; the Captain would
make all arrangements for them. But the suggestion was met with scorn.
Having gone through so much together, they loyally insisted on sharing
with their chief, the fate of the column.
I then asked the officer if he could help us to find rooms, as we
should be glad to get out of the rain, and he gave us an address;
but every room in the town was occupied a hundred times over, and I
decided that we must commandeer a room in the big school building.
There must be a few spare corners left there. But "nema nishta" greeted
us in every room, and no one would let us share their corner. One big
class-room was being guarded by an officer's servant, for his master
alone. We couldn't let that be, and eventually, as the result of a
combination of fierce-eye and melting-eye business, we British staff
all shared that room with the Major and his servant.
And then a charming incident occurred, typical of Serbian chivalry. The
floor was filthy, but I was about to go to bed upon it, like the rest
of the unit, when the Major very politely came up to me, and invited me
to share the tiny platform on which his mattress was laid; the floor
was there less dirty than elsewhere, as it was raised, and away from
the traffic; there was just room for two people if they lay quietly.
Serbian majors don't snore, so I accepted, and, raised regally above
the others, the Major and I slept side by side; but it all seemed so
natural that we didn't even smile. I should like to meet that Major
again. We could laugh at it now. The soldiers were housed in a room
downstairs, with many others, and when night came, the stairs, and the
landing, were blocked with snoring soldiers.
In Serbia, sanitary arrangements had been a little difficult, but in
Montenegro they gave no trouble, for they were non-existent. It was not
the custom to include lavatories in the building scheme, and in that
huge school-house there were none.
The town was, as usual, on the point of being evacuated, and no stores
of any kind could be bought; we were told that no restaurants were
open, and that no food was obtainable, but we discovered one restaurant
which was that evening serving the last meal before evacuating, and we
partook of that meal with some zest.
We parted here from gaolbird. He wanted to come to London with us, and
I thought that the nearer we were to the coast, the more difficult it
would be to prevent his coming on board, so we gave him enough money
to enable him to communicate with his well-to-do friends in America,
and parted. Next morning, Friday, December 17th, we did not leave till
noon, as we had to wait for the bread, and for the shoeing of some
ponies. Fifty-four loaves came, and these had to last us and our sixty
men, till we reached the next military station, wherever that might be.
We only had four loaves for ourselves.