But now at Scutari there was no further work in prospect, and there
seemed to be no object in remaining as an embarrassment to a behungered
town. If we could have been of use, we should have stayed. But the
Army, at that time, intended to remain at Scutari, and there recuperate
itself after its exhausting labours; it was, therefore, best for our
British staff to return to England and await there subsequent events.
The British Minister and the Consul were anxious that we should leave
next day for Medua, as it was uncertain how many more boats would be
available to Brindisi. But we felt that we must, if possible, have one
day for rest before starting on another country walk.
Colonel Guentchitch kindly arranged for us to have meals at the Hotel
de la Ville, otherwise reserved for Serbian officers. In the evening
J. G. and I were invited to dine, as the Colonel's guests, at the
officers' mess at Staff Headquarters. About one hundred officers of the
Serbian Army were dining, and I shall never forget my feelings as I
took my place amongst these brave men. Of their bravery in the field,
I and all the world had known, but here, now, was a more difficult
bravery, most admirably shown. The hearts of these Serbian officers
were brimful of the knowledge that everything which they prized on
earth was lost. Their wives and children were in enemies' hands; their
homes were desolate; strangers devoured their land; the imperative of a
cruel suffering was upon them; yet, if you had sat and thought, for a
year, of the demeanour which should be shown, under the circumstances,
by officers of a defeated army, met together in exile, at the end of
three months of retreat, no finer ideal of quiet dignity and courage
could have been conceived.
I had seen them in the heyday of success, when, during the spring and
summer of 1915, they enjoyed the knowledge that they had been the
conquerors of the Austrian Army, whom they had driven from the land.
They had then shown no arrogance, no vain-glory, no petty conceit of
their wonderful achievement. They were modest, as conquerors, and now
they were equally modest in defeat. They had been outnumbered, and
attacked simultaneously on three fronts, but they had never lost heart
or hope, because, though the men who fought the physical battles might
be killed, the ideal for which they fought would never die; the spirit
of Serbia was unconquered; the Serbian Army was saved, and in the
Serbian Army, whether conquered or defeated, the Serbian spirit lived,
immortal.
There were no repinings at the non-arrival of the French and English,
who might have saved Serbia. There was, the officers still said,
probably some good reason why the Allies had not arrived. And even if
this sentiment was only expressed to spare our feelings as British
subjects, it showed good taste and a refinement worthy of an advanced
civilisation.
The Serbian people whom I had met during the first six months had
appealed strongly to me. Lovers of poetry and of peaceful arts;
intelligent and imaginative; impressionable to new ideas; warm-hearted,
gay, with a keen sense of humour; brave as soldiers, courageous as
citizens; responsive to the best within reach, whilst aiming at ideals
possibly beyond reach: how could they fail to awaken a sympathetic
response? Is there any other of the Balkan nations which could more
safely be entrusted with responsibility for the evolution of culture
in the Near East, than our youngest ally? I had felt this strongly
during their time of triumph, but I felt it more strongly in their
time of trouble. Adversity, like X-rays, reveals the bones, and the
marrow, too, within the bones; and if adversity reveals no weakness,
the constitution may be reckoned sound.
My old friend, Captain Doctor Yovan Yovannovitch, from whom I had
received many kindnesses, was present at the dinner, and he told
me that His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, had, in the morning,
expressed a wish to see me. Accordingly, after dinner, I went, with
the Captain, to the house in which the Prince was staying, and the
Captain sent a messenger to ask if H.R.H. would like to see me now?
Some important general was, at the moment, having audience, but the
general was dismissed, and I was graciously asked to come in and have
a talk. The Prince was in his study, sitting at his writing table, and
we talked, in French, about Serbia, not as though she were dead, but
as though she were a bride preparing in an ante-room of the world's
cathedral, for union with the great ideal. Serbia is fortunate in
possessing as heir-apparent, this intelligent, brave, and modest prince.
On Thursday, December 23rd, we must, without fail, start for Medua,
or we might miss the last steamer, and we should then have to walk to
Durazzo, over tracks, which, from all accounts, were, if possible, more
difficult than those we had already met. Most of our ponies were now
unfit for work till they had had rest and food, and we gave them to
Headquarters, and kept six.
But the road to Medua was said to be possible for ox-carts; we,
therefore, ordered four, with Albanian drivers, to be at the Consul's
house at 7.30 a.m. to carry our food and bedding. The girls would not
ride, and I thought they might accept a lift on the carts when tired.
But the carts did not arrive. Colonel Michaelovitch, who came from
Headquarters to see us off, inquired, and found that they had
been kidnapped on the way. He very kindly, with much difficulty,
commandeered other carts, oxen and drivers. But, in the meantime,
German aeroplanes arrived, and dropped their little souvenirs all over
the town. Sir Charles and J. G. and I climbed up the tower to get a
view of the Taubes, and of the country around; the Lake of Scutari and
the fortified rocks beyond; and the mountains--God forgive them--over
which we had come, and which we had overcome. And now one of these
Taube bombs elected to fall in the barracks yard, in which our men were
lodged, and some of our oxen were killed as they were starting to come
to us; this so scared the Albanian drivers that it was difficult to
re-collect them, and it was one o'clock when they finally arrived.
Albanian carts are two-wheeled (this looked of bad omen for the road
conditions), and the wheels tower above the oxen, which are very small.
The cart looks as if it was composed of wheels only, the rest of it
consisting of a few planks loosely nailed together. Our own Serbian
soldiers now remained in Scutari, with the exception of half a dozen,
whom we took with us as pony leaders. They were to return to Scutari
from Medua. The Albanian drivers seemed sulky, but we hoped it was
only because we didn't understand their language. The road was fairly
good, and near Scutari bazaar town, which was extremely picturesque, we
crossed a swift river on a real iron bridge. The lake, with its setting
of high mountains, was magnificent. It was such a relief to be no
longer officially responsible for a column, that there was temptation
to dally. But Sir Charles had told us to hurry; he was nervous about
that last boat; so we jogged on till 7.30 p.m., when we reached the
village of Bashat. For a wonder, the Albanian host of the first house
in which we asked for shelter, welcomed us warmly to his room, which
was, as usual, up a step-ladder. He sold us hay for the horses and the
oxen, also he gave us the use of his wood fire. There was no fireplace;
the fire was at one end of the room, on the dried mud floor. There was
no chimney, but there was no smoke in the room, because the roof was
full of holes, and the plank floor also had many gapes, so there were
plenty of smoke exits, both above and below. I put my whip on the floor
beside me, and it disappeared into the stable below.
Our host was a widower with four sons. These sat all round the fire
with their father, and gazed at us as we tried to eat our tough trek-ox
steak, with some fried onions. When bedtime came, we all lay down on
the floor, on our packs. I was on one side of the fire, and our host
fetched his mattress and quilted bed-cover, and spread the mattress on
the floor, on the other side of the fire. I wondered if he was going to
undress, and I began to wish I was not quite so near. The next minute
he alarmed me, for he came over to my side of the fire with his bed
quilt in his hands. Good heavens! "No! No! Indeed! Many thanks. I can
manage all right by myself," I answered hurriedly, in broad English,
as I tucked my rug tightly round me; but he persisted in offering me
his bed quilt, and as I found it was not necessary to take the owner
with the quilt, I accepted the latter with gratitude, much touched at
his fatherly care. But I wished with all my heart that he had not been
so kind, for now I was nervous lest I might, after all, have to share
that quilt with other smaller undesirable companions; it seemed highly
probable from the look of the room. But it would have hurt my friend
if I had refused the quilt, or had not made use of it, so I risked
everything, put it over me, and--spent the night alone. I expect the
cold had killed them.
I had told the ox-drivers that they were to be up at four in the
morning for an early start; we must reach Medua that night. No one at
Scutari had any certain knowledge about boats; but Sir Charles had
said, as plainly as he could, that haste was desirable. At 4 a.m.
therefore, I went out to see if the men were up, and I was greeted by
our own men with the news that the Albanians had bolted, and had taken
their oxen with them. They had left the carts, but these were useless
without oxen. Our biggest and best horse (gaolbird's) had lain itself
down to die directly we arrived last night; and unless we could procure
other oxen or ponies, we must leave all our remaining food and blankets
behind, and, not knowing what might still be before us, this was risky.
Vooitch and I rode into the village, a couple of miles away, and saw
the Prefect, but it was "Nema nishta Bogami." He could, or would, do
nothing. No ponies or oxen were available, and there was no telephone
or other communication with Scutari. But there were other columns
encamped near. Perhaps they could lend us animals. We waited until 7
a.m., as the officers would not have liked to be disturbed before, and
then Vooitch and I climbed over walls, and waded through streams, until
we reached the nearest likely camp.
The captain was in bed. Seeing people in bed had lost all its terrors
in these days, for no one ever undressed. He came out on being awoke
by his servant, but the answer was "Nema nishta." He had no animals
to spare, but he was very kind, and gave us a note to an artillery
officer stationed three miles away. This time I spared Vooitch, and
took our old "narednik" (sergeant) from Kragujevatz, who had joined us
at Scutari. Colonel Guentchitch had wished, and had even ordered, him
to accompany me from Kragujevatz, and I should have been thankful to
have him, but he was so serviceable to the Kragujevatz Hospital, that I
would not obey orders. On our worn and weary ponies, we crawled to the
camp, and to our joy and gratitude it was "Dobro! dobro!" and we were
given half a dozen ponies and half a dozen men to lead them, and with
these, added to our own, we had enough. The men would bring the ponies
back when we had done with them.
[Illustration: LEADING THE COLUMN ON FOOT OVER THE MOUNTAINS
Other columns following down the slope (to the left) behind us]
[Illustration: LEAVING OUR NIGHT'S BIVOUAC
(between Petch and Roshai)]
We eventually started with thirteen ponies at 11 o'clock. Another of
our horses fell within the next quarter of an hour, and had to be
left at the artillery camp as we passed. We trekked hard till 4 p.m.,
then halted for half an hour, to make tea in a field near Barbalucci.
The main road after that was impassable, with three feet of mud,
and we were warned to take to the fields. Here great caution had to
be exercised, as every now and then, stretches of bog had already
engulfed other unwary wayfarers, and wreckage of carts and of fiacres
was plentiful. We grew more and more thankful that our drivers had run
away, and had saved us from having our stuff left in a bog. Also we
were able to move much quicker without oxen, and time was, as instinct
told me, of importance. I am glad I did not then know of how much
importance it was.
There were still mountains--mountains everywhere, but they had lost
their sting. We no longer formed part of a suffering nation in flight
from an invading enemy. Whatever sufferings we might meet, they would
only be our own, and--we were on our way home. Home! We had not allowed
ourselves to think of home till now; and now--no, it was still too
early for the luxury of personal hopes.
We reached the cross-roads, near Alessio, at 6 p.m., and much regretted
that the darkness hid from us the ideally beautiful little town, built
picturesquely on the mountain-side by the swift River Drin. The town
was only distinguishable by the lights in the houses, and by the
eternal camp fires on the mountain, on the other side of the bridge.
The girls, and the men too, were exhausted, and would have liked to
halt for the night, but the possibility of that walk to Durazzo, gave
me courage to be hard, and we pressed on, leaving Alessio on our left.
Once or twice, murmurs of "Can't go any further" were audible, but I
pretended not to hear; we could not be beaten on the last lap. Would
the lights of San Giovanni de Medua never come in view, and what should
we find when we arrived?
The last stretch of road seemed interminable. On our right were the
usual bare and rocky mountains, and caves, and between them and our
road, a narrow belt of grass, on which soldiers and refugees were
camped. And then, at last, we saw ahead of us, lights--of Medua? And
to the left of this, apart, a collection of lights like those from the
cabins of a big vessel, and above, were those the mast-head signal
lights? Then, thank God, this was the harbour, and this was a boat to
take us home. But look! Was it only we who were moving? Or--no--there
was no doubt, the huge vessel was slowly gliding out of the harbour,
and making for the open sea. We were just too late.