As darkness fell the scene became a sinister one. To the left, behind
the railway station, one building after another burst into flame; the
employees were firing the storehouses and blowing up the wagons on the
siding. A few minutes later the whole town was shaken by a series of
explosions. The accumulated stocks in the Obelitchavo powder magazine
were being blown up.
From the eminence on which I stood the spectacle was terrifying.
Krusevatz was blazing at half a dozen points, the whole sky was covered
with a crimson glare, while below us the river, like red blood in the
flames, could be followed to the horizon, where the flashes of Serb
guns delaying the German advance could be seen.
On the line of retreat confusion was becoming worse. The whole road
was filled with a triple line of bullock wagons, their panting teams
straining to tear them through the tenacious mud.
Suddenly there came an explosion like an earthquake. An immense column
of yellow flame shot heavenward. The heavy girder bridge over the river
had been dynamited. At the same instant three immense German shells
came screaming overhead and burst with tremendous explosions, one near
the town hall and two near the railway station. These nerve-shaking
explosions caused a wild panic, the first I had seen in Siberia. The
terrified oxen broke into a run and poured in a surging mass, with my
carriage in their midst, down the road.
Suddenly they came on a narrow bridge spanning a small ravine. Those on
the outside were forced against the parapet. I saw the carriage balance
for an instant and then with the three horses roll into the ditch
thirty feet below. There was a sound of smashing glass, and it was all
over with our vehicle.
The only thing was to extricate the kicking horses and salve such
baggage as had escaped. This was a long and difficult process in
torrents of rain, but after an hour and a half of hard work we finally
got our belongings ranged alongside the road.
The next difficulty was a means of transport, but an obliging
non-commissioned officer to the Reserve Munition Column of the Timok
Division stopped a half-empty ox wagon and our belongings were hoisted
in. We in turn found shelter under the tilt of another wagon and made
ourselves as comfortable as the munition boxes would allow.
* * * * *
The German infantry was of miserable quality, men who a year ago would
never have passed the doctor, they burst their way through by shell and
shrapnel fire.
It was during these attacks that they took hundreds of prisoners, all
of them, as I have said, of miserable physique. I saw a youth in the
streets of Krusevatz, who could not have been more than sixteen or
seventeen years old. His "pickelhauben," much too large for him, came
down over his ears. Another I saw was minus a finger on his left hand,
and a French surgeon told me he had a German patient who was deaf and
dumb. All were pale-faced, narrow-chested, and not the class of men one
saw twelve months ago.
* * * * *
Then came the blizzards of snow and inundations which blotted out
the road in districts hundreds of kilometers in extent. Add to this
fact, all communication with the outside world was completely cut off,
there were no letters, telegrams or newspapers, and such vague reports
as filtered in were brought by circuitous routes over hundreds of
kilometers of the worst roads in Europe.
With every trump card in the hands of her enemies, Serbia's fate was
sealed. All she could do was to fight to the last, and this she did.