ALBANIA--1912-1913
After the victory at Kumanovo, as already mentioned, the 3rd Servian
Army marched westwards into Albania. The northern part of this Turkish
province had a special value in Servian eyes. It included the so-called
Adriatic ports--Durazzo and San Giovanni di Medua.
Colonel G---- P---- had given me some idea of the hatred felt by
his countrymen for Albanians generally. The misgivings aroused at
Belgrade by his reference to this subject were more than confirmed by
the conduct of the Albanian campaign. No detailed narrative of these
operations has been obtained, but the fragmentary reports received,
both from neutrals and belligerents, left no doubt as to the atrocities
which accompanied and stained indelibly the heroism and endurance of
the Servian soldiers. Whole villages were wiped out, old men, women
and children were either slaughtered in their homes or driven forth to
die of cold and famine, the countryside was wasted, an orgy of wanton
destruction was permitted, if not encouraged, by the Servian Staff.
As the army penetrated more deeply into the mountains, fresh horrors
were added; winter set in, the passes became blocked with ice and snow,
men and animals fell from slippery tracks into abysses, disease and
insanity were rife, a line of corpses marked the passage of the army.
Numbers dwindled rapidly; only the strongest survived; stragglers were
left to die in awful solitudes. The Albanian peasants, aided by the
Turks, defended their mountains step by step; bands of them hovered
round the line of march, seeking a chance for grim reprisals. Quarter
was neither asked nor given; men fought like barbarians with a veneer
of science, which made their actions doubly hideous. Episodes described
by competent and impartial observers leave an impression as painful as
it is confusing; nothing more terrible has taken place in any part of
the world, or in the whole history of war.
Servian activities in Albania provoked a protest on the part of two of
the Great Powers, but not on humanitarian grounds. From both Vienna and
Rome there came a note of warning: “Ne touchez pas l’Adriatique”[9] was
the purport of the message. The attitude of the Austro-Hungarian and
Italian Governments was frankly interested; it was that of a big dog
who sees a terrier gnawing a bone within tempting reach of its (the
big dog’s) kennel. This prohibition was not to be lightly disregarded,
but the Government at Belgrade showed unexpected firmness. Strong
in their faith in Russia and in M. Hartwig, the Serbs continued to
advance. After a month of ceaseless struggle against Turks, Albanians,
the elements and nature, this vanguard of Pan-Slavism in the Balkans
came within sight of the forbidden coast, between Alessio and Durazzo.
The soldiers raised a shout of exultation. Behind them lay a barrier
of mountains, impassable in winter; before them was the sea, to reach
whose shores they had endured and risked so much. Some troopers
galloped quickly to the beach and spurred their famished horses into
the sparkling water, and when they found it was not fit to drink they
murmured helplessly. The men of Servia proper, unlike their kinsmen of
Dalmatia, had not the habit of the sea; for them it still remained a
mystery, pregnant with disillusionment both present and to come.
The Turks had withdrawn the bulk of their forces to Scutari and the
Serbs occupied Alessio without encountering serious opposition. This
ancient town is situated at the junction of the new road from the
coast at San Giovanni di Medua with the main road connecting Durazzo
and Scutari. It formed, in consequence, an admirable base for future
operations. For the time being, however, the 3rd Servian Army was
incapable of further efforts; the troops were exhausted, supplies and
ammunition were scarce, boots for the men and shoes for the horses
were alike lacking, and, until sea communications with Servia through
Salonika could be established, a continuance of the offensive was
impossible. Unfortunately, the confusion which reigned at Salonika
prevented the immediate despatch of supplies and reinforcements to San
Giovanni di Medua; the army was immobilized by force of circumstances
and degenerated into an army of occupation, holding a strip of
territory between the mountains and the sea.
The invasion of Albania had been undertaken prematurely and in a
spirit of exaggerated optimism; impatience and want of foresight had
rendered fruitless an achievement which, however marred by atrocities,
was a splendid feat of arms. Servia’s position in Albania became more
precarious with every day that passed in inactivity. The key of the
situation was Scutari. While that fortress remained in Turkish hands,
conquest was incomplete, and at any moment one or more of the Great
Powers might intervene; already there were indications that the Dual
Monarchy[10] was losing patience and fretting against a policy which
kept the ring.
Alessio is noted as the burial place of Scanderbeg, an Albanian
chieftain and son of a Servian princess. During the 15th century he
had waged war against the Turks for over twenty years; his name was a
household word in Servia, as that of one who had fought a common foe.
Time had wrought many changes since those days. The narrow streets
around the hero’s tomb were thronged by an invading host of Serbs, with
devastation in their track, their hands imbrued with Albanian peasants’
blood. An evil genius seemed to possess the Servian leaders. The war,
no more a war of liberation, had loosed their basest passions; success
had made them cruel, vindictive and tyrannical, the very faults for
which they blamed the Turks.
As Bacon says: “Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes;
and adversity is not without comforts and hopes.” While Servia groaned
beneath the Turkish yoke, cycles of songs had fortified her faith and
poetized defeat. Only a “Hymn of Hate” could chronicle this victory--a
fierce lament, resounding through a land of desolation, echoing a
people’s cries of woe.
Winter passed without any active protest on the part of the Great
Powers in regard to the presence of Servian troops in Northern Albania.
In the early part of February, the Young Turks, under the leadership
of Enver Pasha, broke off the peace negotiations in London, and
hostilities recommenced in Thrace and Albania. Macedonia was clear of
Turks and, from a purely Servian point of view, the only remaining
military operation was the capture of Scutari. The troops on the spot
were unequal to the task, and the Servian Government decided on the
despatch of reinforcements, by sea, to San Giovanni di Medua. Time
pressed. The Serbs had learned at the London Conference that a _fait
accompli_[11] was a better basis for bargaining with their Allies and
the Great Powers than the most righteous cause; they feared that, at
an early date, a second armistice might be imposed upon them, and they
were determined to, if possible, attend the next conference as masters
of Scutari and the adjacent coast.
The organization of the expeditionary force was completed rapidly
and efficiently, and by the end of February the Servian troops were
concentrated at Salonika. Unfortunately for the Serbs, they were
dependent on their Greek allies for overseas transport and a naval
escort. The intentions of the Greek Government may have been excellent,
but their administrative services left much to be desired. It was not
until March 17 that the fleet of transports steamed out of Salonika
harbour; at least 14 days had been wasted in vexatious, and in some
cases unnecessary, delays.
The ships were overcrowded to an extent which would hardly have been
justified if the voyage had been made in time of peace, when it would
have lasted only four or five days; in time of war, and more especially
in view of the recent activity of the Turkish cruiser _Hamidieh_, a
prolongation of the voyage should have been allowed for and suitable
arrangements made; they were not, and once again the soldiers had to
suffer for the optimism of the Headquarters Staff. In point of fact,
the _Hamidieh_ was never within 1,000 miles of the Adriatic, but
its name inspired dread, and the transports dared not move without
an escort of Greek warships. At the last moment these were not
forthcoming, owing to the occurrence of a naval display at the Piræus,
on the occasion of the funeral of King George of Greece, who had been
assassinated a few days earlier in the streets of Salonika. Twelve
precious days were spent between the Ægean and the Gulf of Corinth.
The convoy reached the Ionian Sea and anchored off San Giovanni di
Medua after a journey lasting 17 days. So long a voyage in crowded,
insanitary transports had its inevitable result; typhus had broken out
among the troops, many men were buried at sea, the horses and oxen
suffered terribly; some had been embarked a fortnight before we left
Salonika. Without firing a shot the Servian Expeditionary Force had
lost much of its fighting value, mainly through the muddling of the
military and naval staffs. War is at all times wasteful. When Allied
States share in an enterprise officials speak in many tongues, their
jealousies are national as well as personal, the waste is augmented out
of all proportion to the results achieved.
As we approached our moorings at San Giovanni di Medua, I was standing
on the bridge of the flagship with Colonel G---- P----. After looking
through his field glasses at the coastline for some minutes, he turned
to me with the laconic remark, “Dasz ist ein groszes nichts.”[12] No
better description could have been made in words.
Lying before us was a bay sheltered from the north by a low headland,
below which could be seen a sandy beach with two jetties; to the east
of the beach was the mouth of the River Drin; from here the coastline
ran in a southerly direction and was fringed by mangroves. The only
human habitations in sight were two houses on the headland, and in the
distance, about six miles away, Alessio. Stranded on the beach were
two Greek steamers, victim of the _Hamidieh_. San Giovanni di Medua
was not a port, it was an open roadstead, affording no shelter from a
south-west wind.
The reinforcements sent by sea brought the total number of Servian
combatants in Albania up to 23,000 of all arms, with a good proportion
of artillery. At this stage of the war, and taking into consideration
the jealousies which divided the Turkish commanders, a force of such
size and composition had Scutari at its mercy. One determined assault
would have brought about the fall of the fortress. For reasons which
have never been explained, the Servian General, who directed also the
operations of the Montenegrin Army, continually postponed the day for
the assault. This procrastination was destined to have disastrous
consequences.
Nearly three weeks had passed since the landing when, one evening at
dinner time, I was informed that the general assault would take place
at dawn on the following day. The infantry and guns were already in
their advanced positions, and every one was confident of success.
Towards the end of the meal a Servian Staff Officer entered with a
message for Colonel G---- P----, who, after reading it, leaned across
me and addressed the General. Both men seemed agitated, and left the
tent together. A few minutes later I was asked to join them. A curious
document was put before me. It was signed by a British admiral, who
described himself as the commander of an international squadron of
warships, anchored at the time of writing off San Giovanni di Medua.
There was nothing ambiguous about this document. It was a formal order
to the Servian General to withdraw his forces from the neighbourhood of
Scutari and bring them back to the coast; no diplomatic verbiage was
employed and no explanations were given.
The first effect of this amazing communication on the two Servian
officers was stupefaction, which soon gave way to strong resentment.
They, not unnaturally, considered such treatment as an affront to the
sovereignty of their country and a flagrant breach of neutrality.
They found some consolation, however, in the fact that a British
admiral had signed. It gave them a sense of security, so they said.
Everywhere in the Balkans one found this sentiment towards the British.
It touched the heart and flattered pride of race; one tried to forget
the ignorance and detachment of the British Government, to justify
this simple trust and to be worthy of it. The signature was not very
legible, but the name was already sufficiently well known for me to
recognize it as Cecil Burney.
No steps were taken to countermand the assault, which would undoubtedly
have taken place had not a telegram from Belgrade arrived at midnight
containing full instructions as to the future conduct of the Servian
forces in Albania. The withdrawal of all troops to the sea-coast
whence they had come was to be absolute and immediate; advanced posts
were to be withdrawn under cover of darkness, to minimize the risk
of rearguard actions with the enemy. On arrival at San Giovanni di
Medua, preparations were to be made at once to re-embark the troops on
specially provided transports, already on their way from Salonika.
The Serbs marched back to the coast bursting with anger and despair.
All their hardships and sufferings had been endured in vain. Coming
down the valley towards the beach they saw before them a great array
of warships, flying the flags of six Great Powers, and learned another
bitter lesson. The sea was not for them--not yet at least. A swift
reaction followed. The force that daunted them was force afloat, on
land they held themselves invincible, and asked for nothing better than
to return to Macedonia, to conquests nearer to their hearts and homes;
to mountains and inland plains where water was not salt; where men and
animals were not cooped up in stifling holds, and did not have their
stomachs turned by the uneasy movements of the sea.
They thought they had been tricked, and from this mood a frame of mind
emerged which brooked no compromise at Monastir. The “Black Hand”
society got many new adherents from the Servian Army in Albania during
these fateful days. Made bitter by helplessness and disappointment,
the belief spread among the men that that society alone stood up for
Servia’s rights, and so they joined the ranks of the enemies of peace.
Colonel G---- P---- looked grey and haggard; this termination of an
enterprise of which he had been the principal organizer was a set-back
in his career, but to all personal considerations he was indifferent.
The causes of this sudden display of energy on the part of the Great
Powers did, however, give him food for anxious reflection. He saw the
handiwork of Austria-Hungary, and said bitterly: “Albania is a small
country, but it contains three races and four religions. There is only
one way of maintaining peace here, and that is by dividing this country
between Servia and Greece. At the beginning it would be hard, but no
harder for the Albanians than when they were under the Turks, from whom
we have liberated them. Austria wants an autonomous Albania, though
she knows it is an absurdity, because she does not want peace in the
Balkans, except on her own terms. Great Britain and France are helping
Austria--God knows why! What do your people know about Albania?” He
pointed to the warships in the bay and added: “Today is the first
birthday of autonomous Albania; it is a bad day for all the Balkan
States.”
I thought of that suburb in Berlin where there was one bank too
many, and then of a Conference of Ambassadors in London, called to
resolve the Albanian riddle. Burian[13] would be there as well as
Mensdorff.[14] Austria would speak with no uncertain voice. If the
British Government had a policy in Albania, it was surely an Austrian
policy. A division of Albania between Servia and Greece was the logical
outcome of the Balkan War of 1912; it might have been effected under
the control of the Great Powers and guarantees could have been exacted
for the protection of the different nationalities. For harder questions
have been dealt with on these lines, since the expulsion of the Serbs
from the Albanian coast.