It was near the frontier, as we learnt afterwards, that the staff
had a very ghastly experience. They came, quite unexpectedly, upon
the mutilated bodies of some fifty men--Serbs, not regular soldiers,
but transport-bearers and drivers--practically unarmed. They had
been massacred by Bulgars, a skirmishing party that had been shown a
path across the mountains by some treacherous Albanians, and which
had fallen unawares upon the unfortunate Serbs. The brutality of the
Bulgars upon this occasion--brutality as to which there can be no doubt
whatever--was on a par with all the other stories that have percolated
through.
They tied their unfortunate victims--defenceless men, be it
remembered--hand and foot and then proceeded to slash them to pieces
with their swords. Having perpetrated these murders and secured all the
booty that they could carry off, they escaped by the same way that they
had come.
No punishment could be meted out to them, but it is good to know that
the treacherous Albanians were caught and promptly shot, while their
houses were razed to the ground--a more drastic punishment still,
according to local views.
No wonder we heard firing among the hills!
About midday we determined to abandon the lorry and to make our
way on to the next village--some dozen miles--on foot. We did not
feel disposed to face another night of discomfort, but what put the
finishing touch was the introduction into the car of a little live pig
that was destined to be a new travelling companion until such time as
he should be killed, cooked, and eaten. We had no food left of our own,
but we felt that we could never regale ourselves upon that pig.
We found an officer friend who gave us a couple of soldiers to carry
our baggage, and we set out to thread our way through the stream of
traffic; but we did not walk very far, for coming presently across
a carriage, empty except for a load of forage, we determined to
commandeer it. The driver informed us that he belonged to a cavalry
division attached to the First Army, and if his commandant had no
objection to our intrusion he, for his part, had none either.
Presently the commandant himself came along. He knew us by repute,
as did most of the other officers, and the result was that we were
cordially invited to ride with the division and offered hospitality and
refreshment for the night.
It was, however, well after seven o'clock and dark by the time we
had crossed the old frontier and descended upon the broad plain of
Kossovo. Having practically had nothing to eat or drink all day--and
very little the day before--we rejoiced when at last camp was reached
and we found ourselves sitting beside a huge wood fire--it was bitterly
cold--waiting for our supper to be cooked for us and for our tent to be
pitched.
We did not reach camp, by the way, without some excitement. Out of
the darkness there suddenly came the sound of shooting uncomfortably
near. Our friend the commandant was riding by our side at the moment;
he apologized and galloped off sharply. Then came more shooting. We
learnt afterwards that it was a case of Albanian snipers, and that due
punishment had been meted out.
Our supper consisted of "confection," as the tinned meat provided to
the army is called. When cooked it is quite good, as each tin, besides
the meat, contains an ample supply of soup. We had Nestlé's milk, too,
and now for the first time we learnt to appreciate this commodity at
its true value. What we should have done without Nestlé's later on
it would be hard to say. Our friend was very apologetic about the
entertainment he was able to offer us, and kept repeating that it would
have been very different in other circumstances; but we were able, with
absolute truth, to assure him that we had rarely enjoyed a meal so much.
We might have added: "or slept so well." We were accommodated in a
little "dog-kennel" tent, but there was a comfortable mattress and
plenty of wraps, and though the rain fell in torrents during the night,
it did not affect our rest. We only felt a sense of rejoicing that we
were no longer wedged in among the petrol cans, cold and uncomfortable,
and in unavoidable proximity to uncleanly companions--not forgetting
the pig. As a matter of fact, had we remained in the lorry we should
have been another three nights _en route_.
Our kind friend's hospitality did not end with the night. The carriage
was placed at our disposition the next morning, and starting at six
o'clock we reached Prishtina by noon. There was no breakfast in camp
for anybody, but we were provided with _peksimeat_, as the hard army
biscuit is called, water, and cognac as we drove along.
And as we came to Prishtina our spirits revived, and we told each
other that, after all, there was still hope for Serbia. There would
be a concentration of the three armies upon the historic plain of
Kossovo, and perhaps, if things were well in the south, a junction
might yet be established between the Serbs and the Allies. It would be
a grand thing, we argued, if Kossovo should once again be the scene of
a tremendous battle--Kossovo which is already the centre of all that
is best in Serbian legend and story--and if at Kossovo Serbia should
vindicate her honour and re-enter into possession of her own!
Perhaps at Prishtina our flight would find its end! Alas, for such
sanguine views; our stay at Prishtina was destined to be short, and
when once again we set out upon the weary road of retreat it was to
find the wayside scattered with dead oxen, dead horses--and dead men.
At Prishtina Serbia entered in earnest upon her road to Calvary.