A SERBIAN AMBULANCE AT WORK--WE START TO RETREAT
Next morning we all turned out at daybreak, and I got a better view of
my surroundings. The ambulance itself consisted of one largish tent,
where the patients lie on their clothes on very muddy straw, until they
can be removed to the base hospital by bullock-wagon. This is done as
often as transport permits. There were a few cases of dressings, drugs,
etc., in the tent, and a small table for writing at. There were about
twenty patients in at one time, some of them sick and some wounded.
About a dozen little tents, similar to mine, for the soldiers and
ambulance men, and two or three wagons completed the outfit.
There was a Serbian girl, about seventeen, helping; she was very unlike
any other Serbian woman I had ever met, lived and dressed just like
the soldiers, and was very good to the sick men. She spoke German very
well, so that we understood each other and became very good friends;
she gave me lots of tips, and though I had been under the impression
that I knew something about camping out and roughing it, having done so
already in various parts of the world, she could walk rings round me in
that respect. The first thing the men did after I had had some tea with
them by the camp fire was to set to work to convince me of the error
of my ways, and to move my little tent back to its old spot before any
harm could happen to me. We don’t have breakfast in Serbia, but have an
early glass of tea, very hot and sweet, without milk.
The doctor came down shortly afterwards to prescribe for the men who
were sick, and then a couple of orderlies and myself dressed the
wounded ones, those who were able to walk coming out of the tent and
squatting down on the grass outside, where there was more room, and
light enough to see what you were doing. They kept straggling in all
day from Baboona, where there was a battle going on; it was not far
away, and the guns sounded very plain. There were not very many
seriously wounded, but I am afraid that was because the path down the
mountains is so steep that it is almost impossible to get a badly
wounded man down on a stretcher. Any who are able to walk down do so,
and they were glad to get their wounds dressed and be able to lie down.
At lunch-time we knocked off for a couple of hours, and I went back
with the doctor to his loft. We had lunch in great style, sitting on
his bed, there being no chairs, and with a blue pocket-handkerchief
spread out between us for a table-cloth. He said they were expecting to
have a retreat at any moment, and that we must always be in readiness
for it as soon as the order arrived. All the patients we had were to
go off that afternoon if the bullock-wagons arrived. This question of
transport is always a terrible problem; in many cases bullock-wagons
are the only things that will stand the rough tracks, although here
there was a good road all the way to Bitol, and had we had a service
of motor-cars we could have saved the poor fellows an immense amount
of suffering. Imagine yourself with a shattered leg lying in company
with three or four others on the floor of a springless bullock-wagon,
jolting like that over the rough roads for twenty or thirty miles. When
I was in Kragujewatz we used to get in big batches of wounded who had
travelled like that for three or four days straight from the Front,
with only the first rough dressing which each man carries in his pocket.
The wagons came that afternoon, but only two or three for the lying
down patients; several poor chaps who were so sick they could hardly
crawl had to turn out and start on a weary walk of a good many miles
to the nearest hospital at Prilip. One man protested that he would
never do it, and I really didn’t think he could, and said so; however,
the ambulance men, who were well up to their work, explained that it
was absolutely imperative that all should get off into safety day
by day, otherwise when the order came suddenly to retreat we might
find ourselves landed with an overflowing tentful of sick and wounded
men, and no transport available on the spot. “Go, brother,” they said
kindly, “Idi polako, polako” (“Go slowly, slowly”), and fortified
with a drink of cognac from the ambulance stores, and a handful of
cigarettes from me, he and the others like him set off.
We all turned in prepared that evening, and I was cautioned to take not
even my boots off. Later on, sleeping in one’s clothes didn’t strike me
as anything unusual; in fact, two months later, when we had finished
marching and arrived at Durazzo, it was some time before I remembered
that it was usual to undress when you went to bed, and that once upon a
time, long, long ago, I used to do the same.
In the middle of the night a special messenger arrived with a carriage
from the English Consul at Bitol, advising me to come back at once, and
that a motor-car would meet me in Prilip, and take me back to Bitol. I
knew perfectly well that I should not be able to find the motor-car in
the middle of the night in Prilip, which is as dark as the nethermost
regions, there not being a lamp in the town, and that it would probably
mean sitting up in the carriage in one of those dirty little streets
all night; so I said all right, I would see about it in the morning,
and went to bed again. In the morning I had another look at the
telegram, and as it was not an _order_ to go back, but only advising me
strongly to do so, I said I meant to stop. They all seemed very pleased
because I said I wanted to stick with the Serbians, and, as we all sat
round the camp fire in the bitter cold of a November sunrise, we drank
the healths of England and Serbia together in tin mugs full of strong,
hot tea.
Later on during the day came another telegram, and I must say that the
English Consul at Bitol was a perfect trump in the way he did his duty
by stray English subjects and looked after their safety, before he
finally had himself to leave for Salonica. A Serbian officer was sent
out from somewhere, and he said that if I liked to throw in my lot with
them and stop he would send out a wagon and horses, in which I could
live and sleep, and in which I could carry my luggage. I hadn’t very
much of the latter, and what I had I was perfectly willing to abandon
if it was any bother, but he wouldn’t hear of that; and in due course
the wagon arrived, and proved, when a little hay had been put on the
floor to sleep on, a most snug abode.
The next day the wounded kept straggling in all day, faster than we
could evacuate them, and when the order came at ten o’clock that
night that the regiment was forced to retreat from Baboona, and that
the ambulance was to start at once, we had sixteen wounded in the
tent, twelve of them unable to walk. The Serbian ambulances travel
very light, and half an hour after receiving our orders we were on
the move, the men being adepts at packing up tents and starting at a
moment’s notice. At the last moment, while the big ambulance tent was
being taken down, a man with a very bad shrapnel wound in the ankle
was carried in, and as it was blowing a gale, and we couldn’t keep a
lamp alight, I dressed it by the light of a pocket electric torch,
which I fortunately had with me. They said at first that he would have
to go on as he was, but as I knew very well that it might be three
or four days before he would get another dressing I insisted on them
getting out some iodine, gauze, etc., and kneeling in the mud, and
with some difficulty under the circumstances as the tent was being
taken down over my head, I cut off his boot and bloody bandages (he
had been wounded in the morning) and cleaned and dressed the wound.
He was awfully good, poor fellow, though it hurt him horribly, and he
hardly made a murmur. Then two ambulance men carried him out to the
ox-wagon, three of which had appeared from somewhere, I don’t know
where. I found the Kid, as I called her, had been working like a
Trojan in the pitch dark and pelting rain helping the men through the
thick slippery mud down the bank to the road, and had settled four men,
lying down, in each wagon, that being all they could hold, and had also
decided the knotty point which should be the four unlucky ones who had
to walk--these four being, I may say, quite well enough to walk, but
naturally not being anxious to do so. When they were all started off,
she and I clambered into our wagon, and the whole cavalcade set off in
the pitch dark, not having the faintest idea (at least, we had not, I
don’t know if anybody else had) where we were going to travel to or
how long for. We were a long cavalcade with all the ambulance staff,
the Komorra or transport, and a good many soldiers all armed, and a
most unpleasant night we had rumbling along in the dark, halting every
few miles, not knowing whether the Bulgars had got there first and cut
the road in front of us, or what was happening. It was bitterly cold
besides, and as the Kid and I were black and blue from jolting about
on the floor of our wagon I began to wonder how the poor wounded ever
survived it at all.
A little way on we picked up a young recruit who said he was wounded
and couldn’t walk; our driver demurred, saying that he had had orders
that no one else was to use our wagon, but we said, of course, the poor
boy was to come in if he was wounded. He lay on my feet all night,
which didn’t add to my comfort, though it kept them warm. He was
evidently starving, so we gave him half a loaf of bread that we had
with us, and some brandy out of my water-bottle, and he went to sleep.
Putting brandy in my water-bottle had been suggested to me by a tale
a young Austrian officer, a prisoner, who was one of my patients in
Kragujewatz hospital, told me. Poor boy, he had been badly wounded in
the leg, and was telling me some of his experiences during the war
and about the terrible journey after he was wounded, travelling in a
bullock cart. He said he had a flask full of brandy, and that was a
help while it lasted. When that was all gone he filled up the flask
with tea, which was pretty good, too, as it had a stray flavour of
brandy still, and then when he had drunk all that he put water in, and
that had the flavour of tea!
The next morning our “wounded hero” hopped off quite unhurt, and we
couldn’t help laughing at the way we had been done. It was a bitterly
cold dawn, and we found to our sorrow that the recruit had not put the
cork back in my water-bottle, and the rest of the brandy had upset,
as had also a bottle of raspberry syrup which the Kid set great store
by. I once upset a pot of gooseberry jam in a small motor-car, and it
permeated everything until I had to take the car to a garage to be
washed, and go and take a bath myself before I could get rid of it; but
it was not a patch in the way of stickiness to a pot of raspberry syrup
let loose in a jolting wagon, and we were very glad to get out at
daybreak, after eight hours’ travelling, to walk a bit to stretch our
legs, and also to wipe off some of the stickiness with some grass.
We came through Prilip that night, and were rather doubtful how we
should get through, but though the people standing about glowered at
us, and we heard a few shots in the distance, nothing much happened,
and only one man got slightly hurt.
We arrived somewhere between Prilip and Bitol at sunrise, and made
a big fire and waited for further orders when the Colonel of the
regiment should arrive. Presently he rode up with his staff, and I was
introduced to Colonel Militch, the Commandant of the Second Regiment.
My first impression of him was that he was a real sport, and later
on, when I got to know him very well and had the privilege of being a
soldier in his regiment, I found out that not only was he a sport, but
one of the bravest soldiers and most chivalrous gentlemen anyone ever
served under. We stood round the fire for some time and had a great
powwow; my Serbian was still in an embryo stage, but the Colonel spoke
German.
We were all very cold and hungry, but one of the officers of the staff,
who was a person of resource, made some rather queerish coffee in a
big tin mug on the fire, and we all had some, and it tasted jolly good
and hot, and then the Colonel produced a bottle of liqueur from a
little handbag, and we drank each other’s healths. I got to know that
little handbag well later--it used always to miraculously appear when
everybody was cold, tired and dying for a drink.
After a couple of hours the ambulance went on about a mile and pitched
camp, and I went with them. The Kid went to sleep in the wagon and
I did the same outside on the grass. The doctor sent me a piece of
bread and cheese, which I casually ate on the spot, not liking to
wake the Kid up, but afterwards I was filled with remorse for my
thoughtlessness, when I was convicted by her later on for not being
a good comrade at all, as it appeared it was the only eatable thing
in camp; but, as I was new and green at “retreating,” at that time it
never dawned on me: I learnt better ways later on. I made her some tea
with my tea-basket, but it was not very satisfying.
Later on in the day the Commandant of the Bitol Division, Colonel
Wasitch, and an English officer came up in a car. I was introduced to
them, and went with them in the car somewhere up the road to visit a
camp. The Commandant of the division went off to attend to business,
leaving the English officer and myself to amuse ourselves as we liked.
Here we were witnesses of a case of corporal punishment. I relate it
because some people think this is quite a common occurrence; it is not,
cruelty is absolutely foreign to their natures. Some people once talked
of setting up a branch of the “Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” in
Serbia, and were asked in astonishment what work they supposed they
would find to do; who ever heard of a Serbian being cruel to child
or animal? Corporal punishment, that is to say, a certain number of
strokes with a stick (maximum 25--schoolboys will know on what part),
is the legitimate and recognised way of punishing in the Serbian Army,
and the sentence is carried out by a non-commissioned officer. As an
officer once explained to me, some punishment you must have in the
interests of discipline, and what else _can_ you do in wartime, when
you are on the move every day? Particularly was it so at this most
critical juncture, when it would have been fatal for the whole Army had
the men been allowed to get out of hand.
This question of corporal punishment in the Serbian Army has so
frequently been brought up to me by English and French officers that
I purposely mention it, as I have always tried to thoroughly disabuse
their minds of any idea that the men were indiscriminately knocked
about. I may add that it is not so very many years since flogging was
abolished in our own Navy, and no doubt in course of time the Serbian
Army will follow suit. The most popular officer I knew, who was
absolutely adored by his own men, was extremely ready to award corporal
punishment. “My soldiers have got to be _soldiers_,” he replied curtly
to me once, and his men certainly were. These things always depend
largely on the particular officer, of course. I think the Serbian
soldier, more than anyone else I have ever come across, can excel as
a “passive resister” when he is under an unpopular officer; while all
the time keeping himself just within the bounds of discipline, he will
contrive to avoid doing anything he does not wish to do, while he is
extraordinarily “clannish” and loyal to one whom he likes. In the
critical moments in a battle it is not the question whether an officer
is “active” or “reserve” that counts, or whether he has passed through
his military academy or risen from the ranks, but whether the men will
follow him or not.
Captain ---- and I walked back to the ambulance together and found that
some of the orderlies had got a pig from somewhere and were roasting it
with a long pole through it over the camp fire: it smelt jolly good,
and as we were very hungry, having had nothing to eat but a piece of
bread and cheese, we accepted their invitation to have supper with them
with alacrity. As soon as it was cooked we all sat round the big fire
in a semicircle, and ate roast pig with our fingers, there being no
plates or cutlery available, and Captain ---- said he had never tasted
anything so good in his life, and wished he could come and join our
ambulance altogether.
At some of the other fires dotted about they were roasting some unwary
geese which had been foolish enough to stray round our camp. As the
inhabitants of the houses had fled leaving them behind we certainly
could not call it looting. Looting was very firmly checked; the
Serbian is far from being the undisciplined soldier in that respect
that some people suppose.